Chapter 2 TWO
The other maids gave me a wide berth that night. Their whispers followed me to the washbasin and clung to my cot like cobwebs.
"Did you see her? She just stepped right out."
"Anya would be in the cells if not for her."
A shadow fell over me. It was Brigitta, the senior laundress, her arms crossed. "That was a dangerous game you played, Liana. Drawing the Lord's eye like that. We survive here by being unseen."
"I just told the truth," I said, keeping my voice soft.
"The truth?" She leaned in closer. "You pointed a finger at Malachi's household. You think that trouble is over? It has only just begun. Remember, girl, when the lords clash, it's the servants who are crushed underfoot."
She walked away, leaving a cold knot in my stomach. She was right. But the alternative was letting an innocent girl be destroyed. I lay in the dark, the memory of Lord Kaelen's icy touch on my skin, and wondered if I had traded one kind of danger for something far worse.
Dawn came too soon. My feet carried me to the upper levels, to the immense, carved doors of the library. I took a steadying breath and pushed them open.
The space was vast, a cathedral of knowledge. An elderly vampire with spectacles looked up from a massive ledger at the central desk, his expression one of mild annoyance.
"You are the new girl? Liana?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am Master Fenwick. Your duties are simple. You dust." He gestured to a tray of soft brushes and white cloths. "You do not touch the books on the restricted shelves—those with the red ribbon. You do not read. You do not linger. Preservation, not perusal. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, sir."
He peered at me over his spectacles. "The Lord himself assigned you here. That is… unusual. Do not make me regret it."
"I won't, sir."
He pointed a long, bony finger toward the eastern wall. "Start with the historical genealogies. And be careful. Some of those volumes are older than the stones of this Citadel."
I took my supplies and went to my assigned section. The shelves towered over me, filled with the weight of vampire history. I began to work, the soft whisk-whisk of the brush the only sound. My mind, however, was anything but quiet.
I was so lost in thought that I didn't see the warped floorboard. My foot caught, and I stumbled hard, my shoulder slamming into the bookcase.
The entire structure shuddered. A small, leather-bound book from the very top shelf teetered and fell.
I lunged, my hand snapping out with a speed that was not human. I caught it just before it hit the stone floor, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Is everything alright over there?" Master Fenwick's voice called out from the depths of the library.
"Yes, sir!" I managed, my voice tight. "Just… dropped my dusting cloth."
I stood there, trembling, the plain journal clutched in my hands. I knew this script. It was Lord Kaelen's.
"Find something interesting?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Master Fenwick was standing right behind me, his eyes narrowed on the book in my hands.
"I… it fell," I stammered, holding it out. "I was just putting it back."
He took it from me, his expression unreadable. "This is not for your eyes, girl." He studied my face. "Why are you really here? The Lord does not take a personal interest in maids."
My mouth went dry. "I don't know, sir. I spoke out of turn in the hall yesterday. Perhaps he thought my eyes would be better used here than on the floors."
He let out a dry, rasping sound that might have been a laugh. "Or perhaps he wants to keep a closer watch on a potential troublemaker." He tucked the journal under his arm. "Get back to work. And try to be less… clumsy."
I nodded, turning back to the shelves, my skin prickling. I had been so close. The secret in that journal felt tangible now, a ghost in the room.
A few hours later, a soft, smooth voice spoke from beside me.
"So, you are the philosopher maid."
I turned to find Lord Kaelen himself standing there. He was dressed more casually than yesterday, in a simple black tunic, but his presence was just as commanding. My breath froze in my lungs.
"My Lord," I whispered, dipping into a curtsy, my eyes fixed on the floor.
"Look at me when I speak to you."
I forced my gaze up to meet his. The storm-grey eyes were calm, but intensely focused.
"Master Fenwick tells me you had a small accident this morning."
"It was my fault, my Lord. I was careless."
"Carelessness in a library can be costly." He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over the shelves I was cleaning. "Histories. Do you find them enlightening?"
"I cannot read, my Lord," I lied smoothly. "I only dust the covers."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Can you not? A pity. There are many lessons in these pages." He reached past me, his sleeve brushing my arm, and pulled a heavy, embossed volume from the shelf. "The Rise of the Crimson Citadel. It details my great-grandfather's campaigns. His… decisive victories."
My heart was a frantic drum. Was he testing me?
"It looks very heavy, my Lord," I said, keeping my voice blank.
He watched me, that same searching look from the day before. "It is. History often is." He placed the book back. "Continue your work, Liana. I am curious to see how you find your new duties."
He walked away, leaving me standing there, my hands clenched tight around my dusting brush. Every word had been a carefully placed stone, building a wall around me. He was watching. He was testing. He knew there was more to me than a simple maid.
And I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that the most dangerous thing in this library was not the secrets in the books, but the man who had just placed me directly in his sights. The game had truly begun, and I could no longer afford to be clumsy.