“I want you to learn when to shut up and listen,” Cygnus growls. “Put your head down anddo the damn work.”
“Fine,” I snap. “In exchange, I’d like you to stop treating me like a simpleton.”
Cygnus gives me a long, hard look. “You can have my respect when you’ve earned it, Leera.”
“It’s Leer—ee—uh.Lyria!” I shout at his retreating form.
As my first week in the castle passes, Cygnus and I sink into a stalemate.
He barely glances at me each morning when he issues the day’s instructions: chamber pots, laundry, scrubbing,repeat. I learn the definition of loathing while marching off to complete them. The impasse takes hold as he realizes, gradually, that I’m willing to take everything he throws at me.
I scrub bloodstains from bedsheets until my fingers are raw. I crush lice eggs and wash corpses and sweep urine-soaked mats. As I work, I’m trailed by glares and whispers. Anna is the only person who will even return ahello.Loneliness devours me, but that’s nothing new. When I catch myself pining for Finn, I smother the thought. His rejection still stings, which is mortifying. It was stupid to expect that he cared enough to be here when I arrived. My value to him is my craft. Nothing more.
I take Cygnus’s advice, put my head down, and do the damn work. But I hate every second. I race through my tasks, but I complete them so thoroughly that he can’t protest when I finish early. For the first time in my life, I feel grateful I was raised by such a perfectionist. There’s a special satisfaction when I stroll into his office each afternoon and announce the completion of my drudgery. Then I skip off to the storehouse, where myrealwork can start.
Cleaning Ragglestaff’s mess is a daunting undertaking. The more I excavate, the worse it seems. It takes hours and hours of scrubbing, wiping, and hauling Gods know how many buckets of soapy water, but toward the week’s end, I have something close to a functioning workspace.
One night, I return to my chambers to find a box on the bed. My heart skips a beat when I see the royal crest on the accompanying letter, thinking that perhaps Finn has written to me, but it sinks again as I tear it open.
Lyria,
I’ve accumulated Ragglestaff’s notes for your inspection. Please cross-reference the information here with whatever else you find in the storehouse. I appreciate your attention to this vital matter.
With warmest regards,
Her Royal Majesty
Queen Davina
I stifle my disappointment and examine the box. Inside is a trove of handwritten notes, diagrams, and charts. A few books are included, with notes scrawled in the margins in the same spidery script. Most of the documents are baffling. I find no reports of experiments or outcomes—Ragglestaff mostly seemed to scribble nonsense. I find some rambling thoughts about blood and the elements, and countless pages detailing symptoms. Some descriptions make me shiver:PAIN. SO MUCH PAIN.
I decide that the best first step is to transcribe everything into a fresh notebook. Once it’s all laid out, I can decipher possible meanings. I’m in the middle of copying a diagram of a cliffcrow one afternoon when I’m startled by a crash behind me. I nearly tumble out of my chair as I whip around to meet the intruder. It’s a tiny girl around my age with short, frizzy blond hair.
“Uh…hello!” She jerks a little wave, wincing as we both glance at the bottle she’s tipped. “Sorry about that. You’re Lyria, right? My name’s Daisy. I heard you’re new here and sort of just…came to say hello. Do you need help?”
“Uh, sure,” I say after a moment’s pause. It’s been so long since anyone’s spoken to me, I don’t know what to make of her offer.
“How’ve you been settling in?” Daisy asks, glancing around the storehouse. She wears a cornflower-blue uniform, which I’ve come to learn means she’s a nurse. She takes a nearby sponge and begins scrubbing the counters. Before I can answer her question, she adds, “I’ve always wondered what Ragglestaff had in here. He was so secretive. Nice man, but really kept to himself, y’know?”
“You should have seen it a week ago,” I say. “So far, I’ve done basically nothing but clean.”
“I noticed you on the staging floor yesterday!” Daisy grins. “I’ve never seen anyone scrub floors so enthusiastically.”
“That’s because Cygnus is trying to work me to death,” I grumble.
“Cygnus?” She giggles.
I’m a little alarmed to see her blush. “You know him?”
“Of course! I mean, I don’t interact with him much…but he waved to me last week in the dining hall, so he definitely knows who I am.”
“He’s the worst, isn’t he?”
She looks puzzled. “You think so?”
“He’s been hateful since the minute I got here,” I confide. “You’re the first person who has actually talked to me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”
