Niall’s red hair is instantly recognizable, if a little mussed from sleep. He yawns.
“Heading back into the field again?” another Bard asks him.
“You know me.” Niall chuckles in response, adjusting the bag slung over his shoulder. “Can’t stay still in the castle too long before I go stir-crazy.”
So he’ll be leaving High House to collect more tithes or recruits. Or do more harm to other innocent victims.
I chance a peek around the side of the target, angling my head to get a look at Niall’s feet.
Still no dagger.
From what I’ve seen, the Bards display the hilt in their boots almost like a badge of honor. That Kennan and Niall both forgo wearing theirs, whatever the reason, is unusual at best—damning at worst.
I duck back into my hiding spot, waiting for the dining hall rush to die down. After the last few Bards have trickled through the door, I wait a few minutes longer to ensure the coast is clear.
The door to the barracks is not kept locked. Getting inside was the easy part of the plan. Now I have to find Niall’s quarters, and anything that might suffice as evidence, before someone finds me. Perhaps he keeps trophies from his doings and conquests. Maybe I’ll find a bloodied sleeve, or the Gondalese ox that was taken from our home. Something. Anything.
The door from the shooting range empties into a large common room of dark stone. Comfortable chairs and a few tables littered with discarded goblets, wine bottles, and card games fill the space. These quarters are far vaster than where the women are housed, which makes sense, as there are so few of us comparatively. The air in here smells of ash and musk. Stuffed heads of various hunting game are mounted on the walls. Deer, coyote, wolves, even a mountain lion. A buffalo’s head is prominently displayed over the mantle of the large stone fireplace.
A staircase leads to a landing at the far side of the room, and I head up, trying to keep my footsteps quiet in case there’s anyone still present. When I reach the top, I’m led through another door.
For a second, I’m caught between the immense satisfaction that I managed to reach the barracks and anxious uncertainty as to how I’ll ever find what I’m looking for here—there’s too much to search. The largest corner of the room is reserved for an array of military bunk beds, shelved three by three in wide rows. At the foot of each are footlockers for personal belongings. Farther down are stone cubicles, each with a cloth divider.
In this instance, I’m glad I’m not a man, I think.
Shaking away my distraction, I start to wander through the rows of bunks. Nerves and frustration coil tightly in my gut. I’m running out of time before I’m to meet with Kennan.
At the far end of the barracks is another fireplace. This one is unlit, and there’s a small figure in black and white servant’s clothes leaning over it, sweeping vigorously.
My heart hitches in my chest and I clutch my needles tightly, willing myself not to breathe. I step back, but in my surprise, the heel of my boot bumps into the nearest bedpost. The sound might as well have been a horn piercing the air, and I stumble backward onto the floor between the bunks.
I’m too late. The servant is hurrying over. She has a dark smudge of ash on her cheek, but I instantly recognize the younger girl with the dark, curly hair and the gap in her teeth. The one who served my breakfast a short eternity ago on my first day.
“Are you all right, my lord?” she asks, offering a hand to help me up. I accept reluctantly, letting her haul me to my feet. Despite her slight build, she’s much stronger than she looks.
“I’m fine,” I grumble. “No worse than the rest of this blasted week…”
“Oh, my lady! I didn’t recognize you!” Her eyes widen with shock, her brow knitting. “You shouldn’t be in here! It’s not—”
“Not proper, I know.”
“I’m only allowed in here to sweep the fireplaces,” she says. “I could get in big trouble if we’re not gone by the time the Lord Bards return.”
“I need to find Niall’s room,” I say, hoping she proves trustworthy. “I’ll be in and out, I promise.”
The girl frowns, unsure. “Niall? He’s the older, redheaded one?” I nod. “Oh, you’re in completely the wrong place! But…” She trails off, one brow crooking upward. “Why are you going to his room?”
I pause, chewing my lip. My heart begins hammering when I think of the seconds passing by. “It’s really important,” I say urgently. “I need you to trust me, all right?”
The girl stands back on her heels. Her eyes narrow and she scratches the back of her neck near the cluster of dark, wild curls tied there. Seconds feel like they are creeping into hours as she stares me down, taking my measure.
“Just this once, I suppose,” she says eventually. She doesn’t wait for me to reply before she starts heading back to the front of the barracks, gesturing for me to follow.
“Wait,” I say. “Thank you. What should I—what is your name?”
The girl blushes. “I’m…” She hesitates and I wonder if I’ve done something improper by asking for a servant’s name. “Imogen,” she says quietly.
“I’m Shae.” I give a tentative smile as I walk behind her. “Thank you for trusting me, Imogen.”
“We’re women—we have to trust each other, right?” She grins over her shoulder, and I feel myself warm to her. It’s exactly the thought I had. “I don’t break the rules very often. It’s a little exciting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” I have to admit.
We pass bed after bed, and I realize there’s another thing I would never admit to; the idea of being so close to where Ravod sleeps has me feeling jittery with nervous excitement. Some of the quarters have small personal touches adorning the space, flowers in vases or paintings on the wall. I wonder what Ravod’s room would reveal. Maybe he likes art or collects something odd and obscure. There’s more beneath his proper, dignified surface than he lets on, and I ache to learn what it is.
I sharply force my gaze forward. I’m not here for Ravod, even if he somehow manages to infiltrate my thoughts at the least convenient of times.
Imogen has a small spring in her step, and when we’ve reached the front of the room, her curly hair bounces happily against her back as she turns right, leading me toward the larger row of Bards’ quarters.
“Only the junior Bards sleep in the bunks. The older ones get their own cubbies here,” she explains, stopping along the second row and pointing to a drawn velvet curtain. “This is Niall’s.”
“Thank you again,” I say, touching her slim shoulder briefly in hopes that I can project my sincerity through my hand somehow. “You should get out of here in case there’s any trouble.”
Imogen cocks her head. “But what about you?”
“I’ll manage. I don’t want you getting punished on my account if something goes wrong.” I can’t help but feel protective of her.
“I’m nearly thirteen years old, you know. I can take care of myself,” Imogen says, drawing herself to her full height, nearly the same as mine.
I sigh, but quickly realize I don’t have time to argue. I offer a quick nod and dart behind the curtain.