The Half Light

[3.2] The Makings of a Spy

Aryial awoke, her body aching with bruises and sore muscles from her sparring session.

It was still dark out, and Aryial blamed that fact when she swung her legs out of bed, only to whack them against the beside table.

She hissed as her body and the new addition to her array of bruises all gave a collective burst of pain.

At least she has one bruise that wasn't from the beating she got from Evhanna.

Just because Aryial technically come out the victor, didn't mean she walked out of the sparring ring without a full painting of bruises.

Aryial had dragged herself to draw up a bath, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she dunked a generous dollop of jasmine bath salts into the water.

The shelves were well stocked with jasmine scented products, she had made sure of it as soon as she had 'officially' moved into what used to be Ivan's old room.

He had found another one with ease, he was nobility after all.

Aryial supposed he did count as royalty as well since his father ruled the kingdom for quarter of the year.

Already, Aryial's mind was thinking about food as she went through the familiar motions of donning her uniform and tying her hair back.

Soft pale light from the white flame lanterns seemed to almost bid Aryial good morning as she stepped out of her room, the hallway dimly lit in the evasive moments before dawn.

Yawning, and trying to politely cover it with her hand, Aryial made her way down to the kitchens to grab a quick bite before starting her work.

Chefs and cooks milled around the pristine, white kitchen. The smell of breakfast tempted Aryial, beckoning her to dip her finger into the soup she spied on the table-top.

She made her way to the basket of fresh produce, swiping an apple and a slice of bread.

Her proper meal would come later during her break, when one of the chefs was free enough that Aryial could sweet-talk them into making her something nice.

Holding the apple in her mouth, Aryial helped another servant carry a basket of cabbages, earning a thankful smile from one of the chefs who then hobbled over, tucking a small muffin into the pocket of Aryial's apron as she headed out.

The sun had start to rise, the light peeking over the horizon like a cheeky child, gently brushing its gold over the walls.

The roster had been written and pinned up on the wall in the servant's common room.

Aryial's eyes scanned for the East Wing maid list of chores, picking out a select few that required the less work.

First in, first serve.

The black ink felt cold as Aryial grazed the top of her thumb over it, careful not to get too much.

She smeared her the pad of her thumb, now covered in ink, over the tasks she was going to do, effectively marking them off.

Just as she finished wiping the ink off her thumb using the scrap of cloth pinned next to the list, another servant rushed towards her, holding a folded piece of parchment.

He held the note out to her.

Moving the apple to her slightly-inked hand, Aryial took the note with the clean fingers.

She didn't want to take any risks since there was still a bit of ink left on her right thumb.

"So, who do I send the note to?" Aryial asked, tucking the note into her pocket.