“Shall I stay with you?” Beryl wanted her—needed her—to open the door. Perhaps there were a few moments to spare before the terrible lord made his appearance. Moments in which Beryl might reclaim the confidence of the woman, might somehow encourage her to tell that which she had been on the verge of. And if she was present in the chamber, perhaps she might glean details of the evil man’s plans for Darlyrede’sbold claimant.
Darlyrede belongs tome, he’d said.
Beryl shook the image from her mind. “I might be ofsome comfort.”
“It is unnecessary,” Caris said. “I will be with mylord husband.”
“I know,” Beryl blurted out, and then felt her cheeks heat. She hadn’t meant to be so bold. “Forgive me, my lady. But…if I may speak plainly, I worry—”
“Nay. Hush. You may not speak plainly,” Caris snapped. But then her hand—pale and cool and dry—shot out from the darkness and clutched at Beryl’s wrist. Beryl turned it to wrap her fingers around the lady’s own—it was like gripping the tiny bones of a bird encased in the thinnest, softest leather.
“He would never harm me,” Caris whispered. Her fingers tightened, like thin, strongtwine. “Never.”
“If anything were to happen to you, milady, I could not forgive myself.”
True.
A ghostly sigh came from the darkened chamber. “Ah, my girl. Seek your bed, and let no dire worries trouble your young dreams. All is well. Think upon it no more.”
Beryl hesitated, noting the woman had not relinquished her grip. Was she only putting ona brave front?
“Shall I return later? To see if there is anything you desire?”
Lady Hargrave gave a rare, low chuckle, and Beryl could imagine the soft lines near her eyes and mouth pressing into her sad, gentle smile. And then she did slip her handfrom Beryl’s.
“Good night, Beryl.” She closed the door soundlessly.
“Good night, milady,” Beryl whispered, hot, stinging tears coming unbidden to her eyes. She leaned her forehead against the wood and pressed against the door with both splayed hands, wishing in that moment that she could vanish the barrier, or turn it transparent at least.
But she had been given her instructions, and she would carry themout faithfully.
Beryl pushed herself away from the door and moved efficiently about the chamber, pulling the heavy drapes closed, straightening the bedclothes. She removed the piece of cheese from the platter and rolled it into a corner of her apron, which she tucked into her waist, and then carried the tray to the corridor, where she placed it on the floor to the side of the doorway. She returned to the chamber to blow out the candles, one by one, save the last, which she pulled from the holder and carried with her to the door.
She paused in the doorway, the single flame barely pressing back the darkness that wept from the corners, from the seams of floor and ceiling and walls. The chamber seemed pregnant with secrets, and perhaps Beryl had come close to witnessing the bearing ofthem tonight.
Fifteen years of darkness. Of mourning and misery and quiet, tragic ritual. Her breath caught in her throat at her sigh. She closed the door with a silent prayer for the noblewoman waiting alone, just out of her reach.
But as soon as the latch clicked sure, fear for her own safety occupied her thoughts. It was a test of will for Beryl to walk calmly during the long trek to her own chamber from Lady Caris’s wing of Darlyrede House. Her heart pounded in her chest so that her blood crackled against her ears. Every whisper of her own slippers against corridor floor or stair she imagined was a footstep behind her; every creak of rafter or window caressed by the wind outside was a door easing open in the darkness. She met not another visible soul on her downward journey, then into the dark corridor inside the curtain wall, and yet she thought she could feel evil eyes watching her just beyond the meager circle of light provided by the diminishing flame of the candle she carried. The hot wax ran in a sudden, burning rivulet over her knuckles and she gasped, instinctively dropping the tiny stub, and the corridor was at once cloaked intotal darkness.
Beryl gave up all pretense of bravery now, picking up her skirts in her left hand and running down the passage, her right hand skimming the stones for bearing. The archway to the courtyard near the stables was open, and even though it was fully night, there was enough ambient light from the torches around the barracks for Beryl to reorient herself. She heard the laughter and conversation of the soldiers outside, but she didn’t pause to look through the doorway—in fact she ran faster past the opening, praying that she wouldn’t be seen.
Stone; wood. Stone; wood. Her fingertips read the corridor like a map. Here, the wall curved into emptiness to the right; to the left was her own passage. Stone, going on forever it seemed, and then, finally, wood again. Beryl threw herself against the door, fumbling with the latch until her trembling fingers could make it work, and then she was at last inside, gasping, her back against the door. She grasped blindly with her left hand, sliding the bolt into place.
The chamber was black, cold, silent. No one had come to lay her fire, as usual. And still she stood there for another pair of moments, giving her heart time to slow, listening to the darkness. She blew out a long, relieved breath, in control of herself once more, and then pushed herself away from the door, shaking off the weak feeling in her limbs.
It took her several moments to build a fire in the tiny alcove. It wouldn’t give off very much heat, but the chamber was small enough that it was sufficient. She lit a pair of candles and set one on the little wooden table near her shallow cot and the other in the long, narrow stone inset of what could laughably be referred to as a window. It had at one time been an arrow slit in the exterior side of Darlyrede House’s original curtain wall, whose wide, inner corridor had been made over into a wing of tiny servant cells many years ago. The opening was now covered over with a sheet of horn scraped thin and set in a wooden frame, and although it admitted little light, Beryl appreciated being able to open the small portal on nice days to let some of the chill out. It was far too small to ever admita person. But…
The familiar, scalp-tingling scrape of claw on the bone glazing sounded in the next moment, and Beryl returned to the window, removing the candle and holding it aloft while turning the crude closure and swinging the frame inward. A slithering white stream poured itself through the opening and leaped gracefullyto the floor.
“You nearly had me in the muck today.” Beryl quickly closed the window and replaced the candle. “How many times must I tell you to keep out ofthe kitchens?”
“Meow.” He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, looking regal, as always.
She crossed the floor and bent to frame his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “It’s not as if I don’t feed you like aprince, Satin.”
He pulled out of her hands and stretched out his neck to sniff at the waist of her apron.
“Not even a proper hello. Oh, all right.” She took up the candle from her small table and moved to the foot of her bed, squatting to pry at the wooden panel that made up her wall. It came loose easily now, after so many times being removed. She slid it aside and reached into the blackness, finding at once the small, dinged metal dish she kept hidden.
