Dancing with the Devil

Kasta

Kalista asked, "After I help you steal the key, if the Count finds out and blames me, will you offer me protection?"

"Of course," the woman said briskly, "I'll prepare you for a new identity and enough money to start your new life."

Kalista is prepared to believe her.

"I'll be moving in a week, so I'd like you to start preparing my new identity as soon as possible," she said, holding her chin and staring at the woman's cuff. "And I need the medicine in your hand."

“Medicine?” It was a tone of feigned ignorance.

“Just knocking them out is too reckless. You’re not sure when they will wake up, so I need to prepare something to keep them asleep, right?” Kalista reached out to the woman. “Give it to me. Before stealing the key, I need this to keep the count asleep a little longer.”

"The medicine will not affect the count," the woman said, her lips pressed tightly together. "He seems to be immune to numerous drugs."

Kalista's eyes narrowed. "Give it to me. If the knights guarding the gate learn of this, I must be able to defend myself."

The woman hesitated, then handed over the vial. "It's potent. Use it sparingly."

Kalista accepted the vial and quickly concealed it within the folds of her undergarments. The woman then rummaged through her belongings and produced two more pages, which appeared to have been torn from a personal journal. "If you need to send word, simply dip these in ink and write your message. A friend of mine has a basic understanding of communication spell."

Kalista's brow furrowed as she pondered the mention of magic, a concept that seemed to belong only to the realm of myths and legends. She tucked the fragile sheets of kraft paper away with care, her mind racing to decipher the woman's motives and the identity of the "we" she spoke of.

"Then, Miss Thief," Kalista said, her voice firm, "our agreement is sealed. I bear a personal grudge against the housekeeper." She rummaged through the disarray, finally locating a clean cloth, which she clenched between her teeth.

"Now, hand me a knife," she demanded.

The woman chuckled, reached out, and pulled the cloth from Kalista's mouth, wiping her face with a flourish. "No need for that," she said, her tone confident.

Without warning, the woman's fingers grasped the fabric of Kalista's shoulder and tore it, the sound of the rip echoing in the tense atmosphere.

Kalista, anticipating this move, pinched herself sharply, forcing out two streams of tears. She burst out of the room, her scream cutting through the air as she ran, "Help! Please, help me! There's a burglar in the housekeeper's room!" Her voice carried a note of genuine terror, a performance that could not be faulted for its urgency.

The second floor was sparsely populated, and Kalista's cries echoed as she raced towards the stairs, her tears flowing freely. She barely collided with a group of attendants, one of whom was a knight. Grabbing his hand, she fell to her knees, her shoulders exposed, and sobbed, "Sir Knight, please help me! There's a thief in the butler's room! When I entered, I saw the butler unconscious on the floor, and he... he even attempted to..."

The knight she was clinging to sidestepped her, causing her to stumble and nearly fall, revealing the skin on her shoulders to the sunlight. As she did, she caught a glimpse of a tiny antler pendant hanging from the knight's wrist.

Is this knight an accomplice to Miss Thief?

Before Kalista could ponder the implications, a voice she had never heard before called out to her. She looked up, drawn by the sound.

"Please don't be alarmed, Miss," the voice said.

A man in fine attire emerged from a separate lane, first gesturing for a group of knights to ascend to the second floor to investigate, then bending down to offer his hand to Kalista.

The man's arms and shoulder blades were swathed in a matte satin cloth, and a white linen bow tie was neatly tied at his neckline.

Kalista had never seen such a suit before, and it was the first time she had encountered a man in such proximity. With his dark hair and handsome features, he appeared to be no more than thirty years old, a stark contrast to the rumors that he was "an old monster who had lived for hundreds of years."

When Kalista hesitated, he inquired, "Miss, can you stand up?"

A handmaiden, of course, had no right to touch the earl's noble body. Kalista stood up from the ground, pulling herself back slightly, and bowed her head in a salute. "I am so sorry, Count, if I have offended you."

The skirt of the maid's dress brushed against the boots of the attendant standing next to her, and Kalista caught a faint scent of blood. She noticed someone among the attendants holding a silver tray, upon which a half-sphere lid was placed in the center, with a cloth stacked beside it, stained with deep, shallow blood.

The group had just emerged from the underground palace, and the servant was holding "that thing" in his hands.

Something tells Kalista that the Count of Vladimir's obsession with "that thing" may have something to do with the devil in his dungeon.

She had smelled the smell of dried blood and rotting flesh in the room where the devil was kept, and had thought that the Count was feeding the devil in order to use his power, and that he would enter the dungeon regularly to feed him. But now it looks like the Count is taking something from the devil. And the devil, restricted by the contract, could not do anything to the count himself, so he would ask her to kill the count.

Kalista maintained a saluting posture, her eyebrows bowed respectfully and meekly.

The count gave a soft chuckle, his clean silk gloves gliding around Kalista's temples, gently touching her jaw, and lifting her face upward. He gazed down at her with an air of superiority and a false sense of compassion, but his eyes betrayed a raw, unhidden desire. 'There's no need to apologize, my dear. You must have been frightened. Rest well, and I will instruct my servant to bring you a light blanket and some hot tea.'

It appeared that the Count's attention to her was merely a result of his enjoyment in observing her, rather than any discovery of her nighttime intrusion into the underground palace.

Kalista fought to keep the nausea at bay and feigned gratitude for his concern: 'Thank you for your kindness, Count. May the knights apprehend the cunning thief. But I have cleaning duties to attend to, so I must take my leave.'

The count seemed oblivious to her discomfort, leaning closer to her cheek and whispering into her ear, 'I have never seen you before; are you new here? Tell me your name, and meet me in my room this evening.'

Kalista's heart pounded with gratitude for the narrow escape that had prevented the Count from capturing her likeness, a fate that would have turned her face into a pig's head. She leaned in, her voice a mere whisper, yet clear enough to be heard, "My name is Kasta, Count."

Satisfied, the Count released her and signaled for the servants to carry the tray to the third floor. Kalista had no intention of appearing before him again. She knew that soon, the Count of Vladimir would be searching frantically for a handmaiden named "Kasta" who did not exist.

Kalista's gaze followed the retreating figures of the attendants as they led the count away, her fingers still clutched around the broken piece of porcelain hidden in her cuff, pressing against the sharp fracture. It wasn't until the sound of their footsteps had faded, swallowed by the grand staircase's curve, that she dared to turn her head towards the utility room.