Chapter 6 : I Need That Map
2186 Words
“I asked you," he growled, taking a heavy step toward me, “a question."
“Your laundry," I replied casually, waving my hand toward the basket on the couch. “You never mentioned you were a historian–"
“This room is off limits," he said, cutting me off.
Well, this wouldn't do. I wasn't even close to finished looking through his treasure trove. He stopped short of me, crossing his arms over his chest. I did the same, mimicking his stance, even though my heart was thundering.
“If you didn't want anyone in here, you should have locked the door," I said tartly.
His steely expression didn't change, but I saw the flash behind his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth twitched with some unsaid, cutting remark.
'Try me,' I thought. 'I've dealt with worse than you.'
He said nothing further, but I held his gaze.
“I have no idea where anything is in this house, let alone your room," I continued. “It's a maze. Whoever built it should be ashamed of themselves."
“You have quite a mouth on you for someone allowed to stay in my house by the graciousness–"
“Like I have a choice? You brought me here against my will." I was suddenly seething, every moment of pain, fear, and fury bursting to the surface as I stared up at Jared. “By the graciousness of your heart? Oh, please–"
“Would you have rather been a breeder? Or left behind to be tossed into a brothel?"
I bit down on the inside of my lip. Okay, he was right about that. However—
“What right do you have to go snooping around in my private quarters? Do you not realize how fragile–"
“Of course I do," I snapped, shifting my weight as I extended a finger to point at one of the glass cases. “I've never seen the Dias of Orian before. But, that's a model, I'm sure. Likely cast in granite. Oh, and–" I stepped past him, my shoulder brushing against his arm. “This author's theories have been debunked repeatedly. But him–" I pointed to a large, dust-covered book on a shelf above my head, the title barely visible because of wear and age. “His theories about the movement of the packs through the northwestern hemisphere of Findali are legend, still to this day. No one has been able to prove him wrong. But you only have volume one in your collection. Volume two covers...."
I trailed off, meeting his gaze. His mouth was slightly ajar, his eyes narrowed into slits as I let my arms drop to my sides. He was shocked, that was clear, and I'd stupidly given too much of myself away.
I didn't know what to do, so I curtsied and started for the door.
“Wait a f*****g minute," he rasped, and I halted. “Who are you?"
“Eliza–"
“I know your name," he said with obvious annoyance. I knitted my fingers together, turning to face him. He took a step toward me, his head tilting as he looked down at me. “What are you? A spy?"
“If I were a spy," I said on a breath laced with impatience, “I wouldn't willingly tell you, now would I?"
He arched his brows at me, and I realized he was not used to being talked to in such a way, but I was beyond caring.
“I like to read," I said, hoping this was enough. “And you have books."
“Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."
“Neither does being in the laundry, but you told Miriam I was a skilled seamstress."
He pursed his lips. I waited for his response, but none came. I eyed him, then turned on my heel and walked toward the door.
“If you want something to read," he said sharply, “find something in the library. I keep it stocked for the servants to use as much as they like."
I reached the door and opened it, my hand gripping the knob so tightly my knuckles were white.
“And," he said, his tone of voice giving me pause. “If I catch you in here again, you will be punished."
“Is that a promise?" I said, my chest tightening around the words as I looked at him over my shoulder. I had no idea why I'd said it. But I had, and I had to admit I was looking forward to his answer.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, but a spark of a challenge flashed behind his eyes.
“Get out of my study, Eliza," he said firmly, but he lingered on my name a little too long.
My blood heated, and not from anger.
***
“I know nothing about him," Giselle said as she twirled a lock of her ink-black hair around her finger. “I just know he's the boss, you know?"
I chewed my lower lip as I settled my weight on my stool at the worktable, the air already thick with steam from the washing tubs as the water began to heat for today's laundry. I'd spent the entire night laying awake, reeling from my run-in with Jared in his precious study. I needed that map, and I was going to get it, one way or another.
“He chided me like a child," I gruffed, sticking my fingers through a gaping hole in the sleeve of one of the shirts I was supposed to mend today. “How exactly does their clothing get so tarnished? This is madness!"
Scarlett, who was sitting across from me at the work table, said nothing in response to my question. Giselle, who was currently hiding from her responsibilities in the kitchen, was happy to oblige.
“Fighting," she said, matter-of-factly. “There's a sparring ring at the edge of the village. It's a rule that all members of the crew who are not on duty as a guard must practice in the ring for at least three hours a day."
“And what do they do in the ring, exactly? Other than rip their clothing to shreds?" I laughed, slipping a thread through a needle with now practiced grace.
Scarlett noticed my improvement and gave me a soft smile, which warmed my heart tremendously. I grinned back, flushing with pride. I'd take the little wins, I supposed.
“Well," Giselle started, settling herself on a stool. “They fight with their fists most of all I believe, then daggers and swords and the like–"
“Swords and daggers?" I exclaimed.
Giselle nodded, her eyes flashing with excitement.
“Why not as wolves?"
“Oh, they do that too. But there's much more than other wolves to worry about in these parts, you know. Sometimes wolves are at a disadvantage, and battling with blades is more… effective."
“What do you mean by… much more than other wolves?" The hair on the back of my neck prickled to attention as a rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. Giselle gave me a look of surprise.
“Well, you know, witches," she said plainly, “and then their hounds. But I've heard of elves and fairies being prevalent in the Dark Forest to the south. I've never seen them–"
I hadn't realized my mouth was hanging open in shock before I tried to stutter a response.
“Where did you say you were from again, Eliza?" Giselle asks with a laugh, giving Scarlett a look.
Scarlett straightened up, waiting for my answer.
“Oh, I'm from… up north," I replied, unsure of how to answer the question without giving everything away. It would take me days to explain my connections and pack, anyway.
Thankfully, I found that most if not all of the female servants employed by Jared kept their mouths tightly shut when it came to their origin stories, rather than air their past traumas out in the open. Giselle and Scarlett seemed to accept my incredibly vague answer, much to my relief, and they moved on with the conversation without missing a beat.
I was silent for a few minutes as I pulled the needle and thread through the shirt, my mind wandering. My mom taught me how to sew when I was a little girl. I'd gotten a needlepoint kit for my sixth birthday, a little plastic board in the shape of a duck. I got bored of it within a few hours and gave up, chasing my brother down to the rocky beach outside the village in Winter Forest instead.
I should have taken it more seriously, I thought. My needle snagged on the existing seam of the sleeve and the thread snapped. I cursed under my breath.
“Jared keeps the library stocked," Giselle said over my frustrated muttering. “He always brings new books back from his trips… romance, fantasy, you name it."
“I don't like reading fiction," I admitted, and Giselle and Scarlett both gasped, looking both shocked and slightly offended.
“What do you mean?" Giselle pressed. “What do you read, then?"
“Oh, I-uh, well–" I stuttered, unsure what to say. I thought of the Architects Digest that was sitting on my desk back in New Dianny, untouched and still in the paper wrapping it had been sent in before my ill-fated journey to the Dark Realm. “I like non-fiction, things related to, well, lore and history and geography–"
“Why?" Giselle said, looking thoroughly confused.
“Because I don't believe in happily ever afters," I said, a little too firmly. My cheeks prickled with heat as Giselle's face fell a bit, her shoulders slouching.
“I'm sorry, Eliza, I didn't mean to pry–"
“You didn't," I quickly replied, giving her a soft smile. “I'm rather boring, I'm afraid." I was rather traumatized, more like it. Again, I was thankful for the unspoken oath of silence between the servants of the house when it came to our pasts.
I'd lived a privileged, easy life with two loving parents and a childhood filled with freedom and care. Two years ago everything changed, and my world was thrown into chaos and bloodshed.
And my cousin Lena had been right in the middle of it, fighting an otherworldly enemy alongside her mate, Xander.
The thought of them caused my chest to tighten with unease and guilt. They were here in the Dark Realm. They were the Luna and Alpha King.
But they had no idea I was here. No one did, in fact. I'd made sure of that before setting off on this journey.
So no one was coming to rescue me. It was up to me to get out of this situation, which brought me back to the map in Jared's study.
“What time do they train in the sparring ring everyday?" I asked.
Giselle thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, her eyes settling on the fog-covered window at the far end of the room.
“Oh, mid morning to mid afternoon most days. Jared and the men who live within the main house come inside for dinner around six every night."
Finally, some information I could use.
“Giselle! You fiend. Why are you not in the kitchen?" Miriam exclaimed from the doorway, making all three of us jump.
Giselle sighed audibly before giving Miriam her best smile as she shuffled through the doorway.
“Get back to work with ya–"
“I was just telling Eliza about the sparring ring," Giselle grinned, then waved goodbye.
I smiled up at her in farewell as Miriam came by to inspect my work.
“Much better," Mirim said softly as one of her pudgy fingers traced a somewhat jagged line of uneven stitches. “But, maybe we leave the mending to Scarlett for a moment. I have an errand for you."
She patted my shoulder and I rose from my stool, stretching my arms and back as Miriam reached into her apron and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
She handed me the paper and the basket, then led me out of the laundry and into the hallway.
“There's a healer at the edge of the village, due south. I need a few things for the kitchen if you don't mind the walk," she said softly.
I could have screamed in relief. I hadn't been outside in days, let alone able to explore the village.
“Of course," I beamed, turning toward the door leading out into the kitchen garden. “Thank you!"
“Don't distract the men while they're sparring now, my girl," she winked, and I noticed an odd look in her eyes that I couldn't decipher.
But it didn't matter. I was getting out of the house, which was one step closer to leaving it for good.
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- Writer
