“Just the Commander and Margg. Will that help you sleep better?”
Ignoring his question, I asked, “Is Margg your personal housekeeper?”
“Mine and the Commander’s. We wanted someone we could trust. Someone instantly recognizable. She was with us before the takeover, so her loyalty is beyond doubt.” Valek sat at his writing desk, but turned his chair to face me. “Remember when you were in the war room?”
Confused by the change in subject, I nodded.
“There were three Generals in the room. Brazell, you knew, but can you identify the other two?”
“Tesso and Hazal,” I answered, proud that I had remembered.
“Can you describe them? Hair color? Eyes?”
I hesitated as I thought back. They had worn Generals’ uniforms, and they had been eating lunch. I shook my head. “I think General Tesso had a beard.”
“You identified them by their uniforms and didn’t look at their faces. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought. That’s the problem with the uniform requirement. It makes a person lazy. A guard will see a housekeeping uniform and just assume that person belongs in the castle. It’s too easy for someone to sneak about, which is why I keep the Commander surrounded at all times by loyal people. And why Margg is the only housekeeper permitted to clean the Commander’s and my suites and offices.”
Valek’s tone made me feel as if I had been transported to a classroom. “Why not dismiss all the servants in the castle and use your own people?”
“Soldiers make up the majority of our army. Civilians who joined prior to the takeover were made advisers or given other prominent positions. Some of the King’s servants were already on our payroll, and the others we paid double what they earned working for the King. Well-paid servants are happy servants.”
“Does the entire castle’s staff get paid?”
“Yes.”
“Including the food taster?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I hadn’t even thought about receiving wages until Valek mentioned it.
“The food taster is paid in advance. How much is your life worth?”
Chapter Ten
N ot expecting an answer, Valek swiveled back to his desk.
Ah, well, he had a point. I finished the cold food. When I set the tray aside to go to my room, Valek turned back to me.
“What would you buy with the money?”
A list rushed from my mouth, surprising even me. “A hair brush, nightclothes, and I’d spend some at the festival.”
I wanted nightclothes because I was tired of sleeping in my uniform. I didn’t dare sleep in my undergarments for fear I’d have to run for my life in the middle of the night. And the annual fire festival was approaching. It was sort of an anniversary for me. It had been during the previous fire festival that I had killed Reyad.
Although the Commander outlawed all forms of public religion, he encouraged the festivals as a form of boosting morale. Only two annual festivals were permitted.
I had been in the dungeon during the last ice festival, missing the indoor event where artists and craftsmen displayed their work. The ice festival was always held during the cold season when there was nothing to do but huddle by the fire and make crafts. It was a local event with each town hosting its own festival.
The fire festival was a massive carnival that traveled from town to town during the hot season. The festival began in the far north, where the warm weather lasted a few short weeks, and then wound its way south.
Traditionally, additional performances and contests were scheduled for the weeklong celebration at the castle in the middle of the hot season, and I was hoping I might be permitted to attend. Valek had indicated to me that he would be teaching me additional tasting techniques in the afternoons, but the rest of the time between meals had, so far, been mine.
I had always loved going to the fire festival. Brazell had given the children in his orphanage a small allowance so we could go each year. It had been the most anticipated event at Brazell’s manor house. We would practice all year to qualify for the various contests, and save every penny possible for the entry fee.
Valek’s practical voice interrupted my thoughts. “You can get some nightclothes from the seamstress, Dilana. She should have included them with your uniforms. As to the rest, you’ll have to make do with what you can find.”
Valek’s words brought home the realities of my life; meaning fire festivals were not included. I might get a chance to see the festival, but I wouldn’t be able to sample the spicy chicken steaks or taste the wine.
Sighing, I picked up my journal and went into my room. A dry, warm breeze caressed my face. I cleaned the rest of the dust, but I only wiped away half of Margg’s message. She had been right in a way. The noose did wait for me. A normal life was not in my future. Her message would serve as a reminder to me to not get too comfortable.
I was either going to screw up and be replaced as the food taster, or I was going to foil an assassination attempt with my own death. I might not technically die from a broken neck, but the haunting image of an empty noose would always plague me.
The next morning I hovered outside Dilana’s workroom. She sat in a small patch of sunlight, humming and sewing. Her golden curls gleamed. Unwilling to disturb her, I turned to go.
“Yelena?” she called.
I stepped back into view.
“My goodness, girl, just come in. You’re always welcome.” Dilana put her sewing down, and patted the chair next to her. When I joined her in the sunlight, she exclaimed, “You’re as thin as my finest thread. Sit. Sit. Let me get you something to eat.”
My protests didn’t stop her from bringing me a large slice of buttered bread.
“My Rand sends me a steaming loaf of honey bread every morning.” Her light brown eyes glowed with affection.
I knew she would stand over me until I took a bite. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I suppressed my desire to taste the bread for poisons. Only when my mouth was full was she satisfied.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
Between bites, I asked about nightclothes.
“My goodness! How could I have forgotten? You poor dear.” She bustled around the room, assembling quite a collection.
“Dilana,” I said to stop her. “I only need a few things.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner? Margg should have said something to me.” Dilana was genuinely upset.
“Margg,” I began, then quit. I wasn’t sure how Dilana felt about her.
“Margg’s a mean old grump, a spiteful hag and an overgrown bully,” Dilana declared.
I blinked at her in surprise.
“She instantly dislikes anyone new, and she’s basically a plague on the rest of us.”
“But she was nice to you.”
“She hounded me for weeks after I first arrived. Then I snuck into her wardrobe and tightened all her skirts. It took her two weeks of physical discomfort to figure out what was happening.” Dilana swooped down next to me, smiling. “Margg can’t sew a stitch, so she had to tuck in her pride and ask for my help. Since then she’s treated me with respect.”
Dilana grabbed my hand in hers. “Unfortunately, you’re her new target. But don’t let her get to you. If Margg’s nasty, be nasty right back. When she sees you’re not easy prey, she’ll lose interest.”
I had trouble believing that this lovely woman was capable of such underhandedness, but her smile held a glimmer of mischief.
She draped a pile of nightclothes over my arms, and added an array of brightly colored ribbons.
“For the festival, my dear,” she said, answering my quizzical look. “To augment your beautiful dark hair.”