My hackles rise, and I shrug off her hand as politely as I can, though my insides surge with defiance. Who is this woman to tell me where my rightful place might be? She may be charged with the running of this castle, but she was born no better than I am. “Thank you for the concern, mistress,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “I will take your counsel to heart, but still—I’m not leaving until I speak to the steward.”
She shrugs her broad shoulders in frustration. “Go, then,” she capitulates, mouth pinching. “Wait for him in the great hall. I’ll send word, and he’ll come find you when he’s free.”
I sketch another curtsy, deeper this time. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m in your debt.”
She shakes her head, almost ruefully, waving away my thanks. “It’s that way, down the corridor and then to the left. I hope you’ve patience to spare, child. I’ve never known Aurel to hurry.”
“I’ll be fine, mistress,” I assure her, and I will be. It’s warm inside, and a night of sleep has revived my fortitude. Once again, I am willing to do whatever it takes. “I have plenty of time.”
The castle’s great hall is a marvel, paneled with gleaming mahogany and hung with massive chandeliers of such intricately wrought iron that I cannot imagine how something so delicate could have been worked from a material as obstinate as metal. The ironwork comes to viciously speared points, and they creak a little, swaying subtly in the castle’s crosswise draft. I make sure not to stand directly beneath one, shuddering at the thought of what would happen should the chains suspending it snap without warning. Above the fireplace hangs a colossal stag’s head with an upper lip curled into a half sneer, presiding blindly over the hall. Huge tapestries portraying woodlands, entwined lovers, and warriors in the thick of battle adorn the walls, so vibrant and well-crafted they seem to tremble with barely contained life. Absurd as it sounds, it feels almost as though they can see me just as I see them; when I turn away, my neck prickles with the sensation of being observed by watchful eyes.
Despite the grandeur, the space feels ineffably sinister, as though its trappings only flimsily conceal an altogether different aspect. As though one need only scratch at the room’s veneer to expose the teeming rot beneath.
When the steward finally arrives more than three hours later, I’m ready to leap out of my skin. I’ve resorted to playing cat’s cradle to distract myself, adjusting the string with my teeth.
I rise hurriedly while he puckers his mouth, watching me disapprovingly. He has a face like a stewed bone, and threads of hair combed over his liver-spotted scalp. I dislike him instantly. He reminds me of the baby buzzards, clumsily feasting on carrion, that I sometimes stumble upon in the woods.
“Oh,” he intones with pronounced displeasure and surprise. “You’re still here.”
“Of course I am, Master Aurel,” I say, taken aback. “I was told to wait here for you. Where would I have gone?”
“Mistress Magda informs me that you’ve been here some hours.” He arches a tufted eyebrow meaningfully. “One might hope you’d have gotten the hint by now.”
My heart plunges down, landing in my stomach. It’s conceivable, if not likely, that a housekeeper would not know that her lady had set her sights on a new chambermaid. But the steward is the lady’s right hand, and if there were still a place here for me, this man would be sure to know.
Unless this too is intended as a test. But how many more hurdles can I leap, if she won’t even let me see her?
“The lady does not wish me to be her maidservant, then?” I try, struggling to contain my despair. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Of course I am sure, you impertinent chit!” he hisses, flappy cheeks mottling. “I am paid to know my lady’s wishes! How dare you question me?”
“But she sent for me only a few days ago!” I argue again. “Perhaps there has been some confusion, some mistake! Her man Janos—”
“Is in my direct employ,” he finishes, grasping me by the upper arm so hard I’m startled into a gasp. He begins marching me toward the doors, sharp fingernails digging into my flesh. “I know very well that he was sent for you. But her ladyship has changed her mind, and you are no longer wanted here!”
“No,” I half shriek, wrenching myself out of his grip. My voice is so shrill that he draws up short, his weak chin withdrawing into his gangly neck. “I—I’m sorry, master, but I will not go. I cannot. Not until I’ve had an audience with the lady, to be sure she does not want me.”
The steward regards me narrowly, still flushed with outrage, his pendulous jowls aquiver. I draw myself up to my full height, slight as it is, bolstered by sudden resolve. My family needs me; I will not fail them when I’ve come this far, no matter how many obstacles she places in my path. “I will not leave without seeing her,” I repeat, quiet but firm. “And if you try to remove me, I will scream bloody murder until I bring the castle down around your ears.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he mutters sourly. “But I’ve no wish to hear your squealing. Come then, you impudent trull. And may the lady give you exactly what you deserve.”
He barges ahead of me, not bothering to see if I will follow. I trot to catch up, hope swelling inside me as we pass through the corridors glowering with darkness, lit by the faintest flicker of candle sconces. I can make her change her mind, I know it. I can make her want me again.
I have to make her want me.
The steward leads me up two circular flights of stairs, then draws in front of an ornately carved door with bronze hinges, swinging it open and sardonically ushering me in. I enter what must be the countess’s solar, though strangely, the curtains are firmly drawn over the expansive windows. Perhaps the countess isn’t partial to the glare of midday sun. Surrounded instead by a retinue of candles, she reclines in a crimson velvet armchair, needlepoint spread over her lap. Three chambermaids sit on the floor near her feet, perched on large plush cushions like spoiled kittens.
The weight of their regard makes me twitchy, and I wobble a bit as I curtsy, tipping my head. Someone titters at my clumsiness, but not the countess, I think; the sound isn’t husky enough. When I rise, the steward is still carping about my stubbornness. “And she refused to leave until you granted her an audience, your grace,” he finishes, with a peevish glare flicked in my direction. “Threatened to scream bloody murder.”
“Did she,” the lady remarks mildly, shifting her indolent gaze to me. “How very alarming.”
“I told her you did not wish to see her, but—”
She silences him with an elegant sweep of her hand, glittering with rings. “Understood, Aurel. My thanks. You may go.”
Once he’s gone, the countess beckons me forward. I come reluctantly, struck almost shy by the chambermaids’ baleful scrutiny. “My lady,” I begin, swallowing against the rasp in my throat. “Thank you for seeing me. I—”
She cuts me off, leaning forward in her seat. “You’re filthy,” she observes, her lip curling minutely. There isn’t a shred of warmth to her, no leftover intimacy from our vigil over her son. I may as well be a stranger to her. “Dirt on your face, straw in your hair. Altogether slovenly.”