“Miss Weston.” Elena’s greeting was formal and brisk as they passed in the corridor. The woman had been head of household since before its owner had disappeared from the premises, but she did not seem to mind his absence. Lady Weston, it seemed, was of no bother to her, either. As long as she kept her friendship with a member of the house staff and her unseemly undertakings from the woman’s notice, all would remain well.
Nim inclined her head politely and carried on, the pad of her shoes silent as Elena’s echoed off the walls in their wake. Three corridors and a long flight of wide marble stairs later, Nim glanced over her shoulder as she neared the door to her suite. She did not feel unsafe there, but it felt as if the Trust was always watching and had a hand in every move she made. She pulled the key to her rooms from her pocket and slid the metal into the lock. The latch clicked, and when she opened the door, she was not surprised to find that Allister had already prepared a fire and lit the candles near her vanity. Nim let her gaze trail over the space, but nothing seemed amiss. She tucked her key away and dipped her hands in the basin to wash. By the time she had patted them dry, a knock on the door signaled her dinner being delivered.
“Come in,” she told the door. Elena’s turnover for maids and servers had been impressive, but the new girl had managed to stay on for nearly a week. Her hands trembled as she set the tray on a low table. Nim asked, “What’s your name?”
The girl flinched but turned to curtsy. “Alice, your ladyship.”
“Alice,” Nim repeated.
The girl looked up, her eyes wide and green.
“You seem you’ve maybe a chance here, so I’d like to discuss the rules. When my doors are locked, you do not enter. Should the manager of the household inquire whether these rooms have been serviced, tell her yes.” Her color rose, and Nim added, “Should the task be brought to question, I will assure her of your faithfulness to duty.” Nim clasped her hands in front of her waist and stepped nearer, dropping her tone. “I cannot pay you in coin or jewels, as Elena will search your person, but for your risk, you are welcome to half my rations and may come to me if you are ever in need of a favor.”
“My lady…” The words fell out of the girl in a breath, and apparently, whatever follow-up declarations she might have made could not find their way to her.
Nim reached up to tuck a rumpled fold of the girl’s uniform into place. “The last half dozen in your position were tossed for being slow. Best make haste.”
Alice’s attention seemed to snap back, and she bobbed another curtsy. “Thank you, my lady.” She was out the door in a moment, glancing back only once with what Nim thought was a desire to verify that she was not falling into some sort of complicated trickery.
Nim had only lied about a few of the girls. At least three had been replaced for being too slow. The others, though, had asked questions they should not have or spoken out of turn. If there was anything Elena couldn’t tolerate, it was being talked of among society. Nothing had made keeping Nim’s own secrets easier.
She smashed together a hunk of bread and meat from the platter while she unlaced her gown and fussed with the tiny buttons along her sleeve. She could barely stomach food on nights she had to venture to the undercity, but years of experience had taught her it was better to have something other than hollowness in her belly when she was scouting a mark. The king’s seneschal was no usual mark, though, and the food felt like sand in her mouth. She tossed it aside after only a few bites then moved the tray outside her door with well more than half the food remaining for her bargain with Alice.
She crossed to her wardrobe, prepared to dress not for bed but for the warm night air. Soon, she would be on the dark streets outside Inara Castle, silent and stalking, ready to plot her way inside.
Chapter 4
The following day, Margery sent over several sealed maps and documents she’d been able to secure. It was more than Nim could have hoped for but still far less than she would have liked. Few could be trusted in a task tied to treason, and there was little information to be found on such a private, powerful mark.
“Mark,” she muttered, disgusted that she even sounded like the criminal she’d become. Best to get her story straight, though. Should she be caught, nothing she said was likely to save her from the dungeons.
“Except a hanging rope,” Margery had said.
Indeed. So it was the gallows or the Trust. She could not flee without being caught, and even the attempt would break the terms of her contract. As it had for her father, breaking those terms meant losing more than just her freedom. Nim had been given his debt, but his future was forfeit. He would forever be owned by the Trust. There would be nothing left of him to restore. It had been too long even before she’d gained his debt.
She stared at her reflection in the looking glass of a bedroom in a home that had never truly been hers, black silk tucked snugly over her pinned tresses, dark cloak over clothes unfit for palace wear. The Trust had gotten her there. The Trust had kept her tied to a life of misery and deceit. She would not let them take what was left—the Trust was not where she would die. Her expression grew grim. “The gallows it is.”
She took the hidden corridor from her room to an alleyway outside the manor. Normally, she followed the dark alleys toward the common areas of the city and toward the Trust. But tonight, her steps were swift and sure, despite the objections of her hammering heart, and led her in the opposite direction—toward the stables and servants’ quarters of Inara Castle. She’d had a previous task inside those quarters the year before, and though she’d returned the item Calum had requested, Nim was certain the young man she’d procured it from had been killed the following week. There had been a fire and the rumor that as many as two dozen of the castle staff had been lost and not a word of the incident since—not that Nim had been fool enough to ask. Investigation into the Trust was the most expedient way to an unpleasant end. One didn’t try to discover the Trust’s secrets without coming to regret that they’d even been born.
The layout of the quarters had not changed. The king’s men had simply washed the ash from the stone and installed new cots—and new servants—by the following moon. Since taking the throne, King Stewart made occasion to publicly denounce the use of magic, but he did not openly discuss the Trust. Even with evidence that the fire had been their doing, to call them out by name would be akin to an act of war. It was safer to sit in his castle and warn that the use of magic led to such just deserts. It was safer to have anyone who tangled with the Trust hanged before the consequences of their bargains took root.
There were rumors about the king and whispers of how a decade of potential queens had been burned inside their rooms, how dark magic had slithered inside to steal his chance to create an heir.
Nim didn’t countenance rumors. The truth, she’d found, was often far worse than any idle gossip would bear.
Nim stepped quietly through the corridors, clinging to the shadows or striding with purpose when necessary, avoiding attention in the ways she’d learned from previous tasks and previous mistakes. Guards passed through the castle grounds on constant rotation. She only needed to appear as if nothing she was doing was out of the ordinary, as if she belonged. Ideally, she wouldn’t be seen at all. The change of guards would come in more than an hour, which meant those on duty were wearing down. It wasn’t as if the servants’ quarters needed a good deal of their attention, in any case. Fire incident aside, no one had much interest in sneaking into a room full of overworked castle staff.