Chapter 3

“Pay attention, you silly girl,” the cook said.

Razai grimaced. She’d been listening for any sounds coming from upstairs, but the noise of the footmen clomping through the hallway outside the kitchen had drowned out anything else.

“Yes, Cook,” she said, appropriately obsequious. “Sorry, Cook.”

The job Renny Senshall had given her, determining whether two of her sister concubines were being abused by their patrons, had proven surprisingly difficult. The first problem had just been getting into the households. The concubines in question—paired with the older brothers of Renny’s own patron, Varsin Senshall—rarely left their homes, which meant the easiest option to watch over them had been to seek employment with the families.

Burton, the eldest brother, didn’t have any openings within his household, so Razai was still working out an alternate plan to spy on him.

In the meantime, though, a position had become available in the middle brother’s home. Tobin Senshall’s housekeeper had been looking for a serving maid. After securing a fake letter of recommendation from Renny, Razai had managed to get herself hired. She was going by the name Molly, the same name she’d used when masquerading as a prostitute, but she’d switched to a much homelier illusionary disguise, not wanting to attract Tobin’s attention herself.

The cook—a stout, ruddy-faced woman who went by no name other than Cook—shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I’m finished with you for tonight. But mark my words, you’ll never become a kitchen maid if you can’t even handle the simplest of tasks. I’ve had girls like you before, always watching the men, sneaking down to their rooms in the middle of the night. It’s a good way to get yourself booted out the door. Now, I’ve finished warming the milk. Can you at least manage to pour it?”

“Yes, Cook,” Razai said. It wouldn’t do her any good to protest that she wasn’t interested in the footmen. She poured the warmed milk into the three mugs that were already waiting on a tray, quickly wiping up a spill while the cook’s back was turned.

“Now, then,” Cook said, returning with a jar in her hand, “just a dollop of honey in each.” She bent to her task, then handed the platter to Razai. “I trust you can manage to get that upstairs?”

“Yes, Cook. Thank you.”

“Go on with you, then,” the cook said, smiling as she waved Razai away. Cook pretended to be a harsh taskmistress, but her jovial nature always showed through eventually, even when she was reprimanding the girls. “I’ll wash the pot this one time, since Sara’s not feeling well. You make sure she drinks the whole thing, though.”

Razai nodded and carried the tray down the hall to the rear of the basement, then up the back stairs that led to the servant’s quarters. She shared a room in the attic with the other maids who worked in the kitchen—Edina, the kitchen maid, who handled the lesser cooking tasks, and Sara, the scullery maid. Razai’s own position as serving maid ranked somewhere in between the two, but for some unspoken reason, Sara hadn’t been considered for the promotion. Likely because the serving maid needed to be quick on her feet, and Sara was anything but.

There was a small table outside the room, so Razai set the tray down. Checking the hall to make sure none of the other maids had come out of their rooms, she slid a packet of gray powder out from where she’d hidden it inside her sleeve, then poured one spoonful each into two of the three mugs and stirred it in thoroughly.

Slipping the packet back into her sleeve, Razai picked up the tray and opened the door without knocking. “Warm milk and honey from Cook,” she announced. “Sara, you’re to drink it all.”

“Why bother?” Edina said. “She’s faking again.”

“I am not!” Sara said from where she was sitting up in her cot. She didn’t look sick, but Cook and the housekeeper had both believed her, and the housekeeper was much stricter than Cook. Razai trusted their instincts over Edina’s.

“Cook gave me enough for all of us,” Razai said, handing them each a mug.

Sara sipped from hers, then glanced at Edina and smiled mischievously. “I heard that the young master paid a call on a lady friend this afternoon,” she said, referring to Tobin’s oldest son.

“Oh, he did not!” Edina said. “He’s far too young for that sort of thing.”

“I heard it from Nell!” Sara insisted. Nell was one of the chambermaids.

“And what would Nell know about it?”

As they continued to snipe at each other, Razai drank from her own mug, then grimaced at the taste. She preferred whiskey for a nightcap, but the servants were only allowed watered-down ale at best. She pretended to drink the rest, then set it aside to wait.

Soon, the two women started yawning and stumbling over their words.

“I’m more tired than I thought,” Edina said, sitting down on her cot and trying to keep her eyes open. “Molly, can you take the mugs back down?”

“Of course,” Razai replied.

Sara didn’t say anything; she just set her mug to the side and stretched out under the covers.

After the two maids fell asleep, Razai checked their breathing to make sure they were all right. Herbalists sold the sleeping powder to customers who had trouble falling asleep, but it was strong enough that chirurgeons used it to keep their patients unconscious during surgery, when there was no healer around who could do so. It was supposed to be safe, but she’d only used it a few times in the past and she didn’t want to take chances. She wouldn’t have used it at all if she’d had a choice, but the two women were light sleepers. If either of them woke up and saw her missing for any length of time, they’d assume she’d snuck away from the house to visit a man, and then they’d gossip to everyone about it the next morning. The powder would keep them asleep for at least six hours, and Razai would finally have the chance to do the job she was there to do.

Razai waited another hour to ensure the housekeeper and butler had turned in for the night, then took the tray and mugs back down to the basement kitchen and washed them in the scullery. She’d learned early on that the kitchen staff didn’t allow anything to stay dirty for long. With the dishes clean, she no longer had an excuse to be away from her room. She headed back to the servants’ stairs, allowing her footsteps to be heard. Checking the men’s apartments as she passed, she saw a flickering light coming from underneath the butler’s door, but even as she watched, it went out.

She climbed the first flight of stairs, making sure to step on all the ones that creaked. Then she silently made her way back down to the basement and disguised herself as Greta, Mistress Elba’s lady’s maid. Elba was Tobin’s concubine, and nobody other than the housekeeper or butler would dare to question Greta if she claimed her mistress had sent her downstairs on an errand.

Using the key she’d stolen from the butler’s pantry earlier that evening, she snuck into the wine cellar and retrieved a bottle of port, Elba’s favorite evening drink. She poured a glass and returned the bottle to its place, then went up the kitchen stairs to the dining room, and from there to the mansion’s ornate front staircase. She’d practiced Greta’s voice and mannerisms for days, just in case, but nobody disturbed her along the way. Elba’s quarters were on the third floor, but it was too dangerous to remain in disguise there since Greta’s own room was nearby. Razai dropped the illusion and cast her invisibility spell.

The spell was as frustrating as it was useful—she had to move painfully slow or it would end, leaving her visible. Hidden from any prying eyes, she carefully, and slowly, made her way to the door that led to Elba’s apartment. There was a chair just outside, but it was a little too convenient. Razai couldn’t risk someone unknowingly sitting on her lap. She stood next to it instead, leaning back against the wall.

Settling in to wait, she drank the glass of port. It wasn’t whiskey, but it was better than warm milk.

When Ellerie arrived at the Council Building, she found Sarette waiting with a man she introduced as her Uncle Vartus.

“I didn’t realize you were going to be here,” Ellerie said. “I thought it was just Corec and me.”

“They don’t want me to leave,” Sarette said, scowling at the doors that led to the council chamber. “My mother complained to someone who complained to the Council.”

“I don’t particularly want you to go either,” Vartus said, “but since you insist, I believe we can convince them.”

They waited in somewhat awkward silence. Ellerie didn’t know Sarette very well. The weather on the journey to the ruins hadn’t been conducive to socializing, and the stormborn woman had spent most of her time with Treya and Corec. If Ellerie had been waiting with Katrin or Shavala instead, at least the awkwardness would have been comfortably familiar.

It was a relief when Corec arrived. He had an annoyingly useful ability to bridge gaps between different groups.

“Did I make it on time?” he asked. “I stopped on the way and picked up my new scabbard.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the sheathed sword attached to the harness on his back.

“We haven’t been called in yet,” Sarette said. “There was someone else ahead of us.”

He nodded, then turned to Ellerie. “We found another pack mule, so I think Boktar’s got everything ready to go for tomorrow. I feel bad sticking him with all the work.”

“So do I, but we’ve been busy. If I’m not careful, he always just goes out and gets stuff done without waiting for me. I’ve gotten used to it. At least he has Nedley now to help.”

That was all they had time for before being summoned into the council chamber. A wide, half-circle table took up the far third of the room. Behind it sat the nine men and women that made up the stormborn Council of Elders. Although the Council ruled Snow Crown and the rest of the Storm Heights, the chamber was surprisingly sparse. The building might have been constructed of tershaya wood, but it was still a log structure at its heart, like most other buildings in Snow Crown. It was no match for the Glass Palace in Terevas.

In addition to the Council, there was another stormborn man standing off to the side who hadn’t been in attendance the last time. He seemed vaguely familiar.

The man at the middle of the table, Rurik, First Seat of the Council, stood and addressed them. “Thank you for attending this session, Lieutenant Sarette, Stormrunner Vartus, Warden Corec.” Each title was accompanied by a nod to the bearer. Then he faced Ellerie. “I must apologize for our previous meeting, Your Exalted Highness. We didn’t realize that a member of the di’Valla family had come to Snow Crown. Not many of your people visit the Storm Heights.”

Ellerie froze. She’d suspected that Oracle Galina, the Fifth Seat, had guessed who she was, but for some reason, she hadn’t expected the strange woman to tell the others.

Corec stared at Ellerie, stunned, but she couldn’t spare any time to explain herself to him. She had to come up with a response that didn’t embarrass herself, her mother, or Terevas.

Quickly translating political courtesies from Elven to trade tongue, she said, “No apologies are necessary, Councilor Rurik. No titles are necessary, either, but if you insist, then Exalted will be sufficient. I’ve abdicated, and I’m no longer in the line of succession.”

The councilors exchanged concerned glances with each other and with the familiar-looking man at the side of the room. He stepped forward.

“Exalted,” he said with a small bow. “Lady Ellerie, I am Ambassador Tomek. We’ve met before. I apologize—while I haven’t seen you around the Glass Palace recently, I wasn’t aware of your abdication. If I had been, I would have let the councilors know of the appropriate term of address. I just this morning found out you were visiting Snow Crown, and I immediately informed the Council. I understand your intention is to leave tomorrow, but would you allow us to hold a reception this evening in your honor?”

So it hadn’t been Galina that had told the others after all. Ellerie recognized the ambassador now. The stormborn were an insular people and didn’t keep a full embassy in Terevas, but Tomek spent two months of the year there, splitting the rest of his time between Matagor, Larso, and Stone Home.

“It’s hardly necessary, Ambassador, but if you’d like to hold a reception, I’d be delighted to attend.” The flowery language still rolled off her tongue even after her years away from Terevas. She would have rather gone unnoticed, but now that they knew who she was, she had no choice but to play the role. “I must offer my own apologies. I had no intention of deceiving anyone about my identity. I didn’t use my title because I’m not here on official crown business, merely my own scholarly interest. I didn’t want to force any obligations on your people.”

“It’s not an obligation but an honor,” Tomek assured her before turning to Corec. “And Warden, you’ll attend as well, won’t you?”

“Uhh, sure. I guess.” Corec was usually more eloquent than that, at least in official situations, but he was still staring at Ellerie.

The woman to Rurik’s left spoke up. “Exalted ... or Lady Ellerie? I am Head Magister Inessa. I would like to thank you for your discoveries in South Valley. Even as we speak, Magister Borya is searching our old records for any mention of Tir Navis, and there are at least three expeditions already planned to search through the new tunnel complex you found.”

“It was just a matter of luck,” Ellerie replied uncomfortably, “building upon your people’s own work.”