Chapter 25 | Servant

"We wish you luck, Seeker."

Hands passed over my shoulders, fierce and tired faces staring back at me. The hope, the expectation in their faces humbled me and I could only dip my chin in response, knowing that my words would mean very little to these people. I could only wonder how Kohen's influence had slipped through the cracks of the palace to where these souls would lend their support, their safety to a distant figure.

I wondered then, in a half-moment of panic, what they had expected of me. Was I a distant thought to them, a dream or a silly fancy; a Half-Blood with power when they were required to cover their mouths to even walk the halls of the palace? Did they think me brave or silly to march up to the throne of the Emperor, or to spar verbally with Englin when such a thing must have been dangerous for them?

The Half-Bloods left me and the iced-tea servant in the cellar, responding to a distant, sharp shout. They had scattered as I changed quickly, sliding on the soft clothes of the upper palace maids. The girl who had escorted me here had to be a few years younger than me, a soft childish curve to her jaw. She told me her name as she watched the door, waiting for me to slid on a simple pair of leggings to cover my legs under the serving dress.

"I am called Croia."

"Well met, Croia."

She glanced back at me, a smile creasing her eyes. "I think it is I who should be saying that to you, Seeker Birchwood."

"I think it is best that we don't use any titles down here?" I returned her soft smile.

"I could call you, Tora? My sister has the same name. She works in the kitchens, but she wants to move up to working upstairs."

My heart clenched. "Tora is a beautiful name, but – I cannot take it. Just call me Ana."

Whatever the serving girl saw on my face was enough to stem any arguments. She dipped her chin and stepped around me, moving my sopping clothes and stuffing them into a large, empty barrel. I carefully switched all the blades to under the skirt of my dress and slipped on the thin pair of gloves that Croia handed me.

"The gloves won't cause suspicion?"

"The twins used to burn the hands of Half-Bloods who were sloppy with an iron-poker, before the Lady Naira strictly forbade it. They fought her viciously on it, but ... relented. Anyone whose hands are now burned must wear gloves to avoid upsetting the delicate sensibilities of those upstairs." Croia flashed her palm. There was a wicked burn across it. A burn placed as if the iron wasn't simply laid across the skin – as if she had been made to hold the iron as it scorched her. "Or so they say. We know they try and avoid the wrath of the princess."

"Evil," I breathed.

Croia shrugged a strong shoulder and cracked open the door, peering outside. "Nothing compared to what evil you have faced, Seek...Ana."

"Everyone knew the evil I faced was evil." My voice was soft. "And I was cheered for fighting against it."

Here was different. They faced evil everyday and to fight against it? Would that mean losing their jobs, their livelihoods or something far worse?

Croia just hummed and motioned me to move. I stepped out into the hall with her. It was nothing like the splendour above. The walls were large, with a smooth curving roof made of dark blocks of stone. Noise and chatter echoed as if from a great distance and the hallway branched in three different directions ahead.

"Quickly," Croia began walking crisply. "Neither of us have much time."

Asha'da must have been laughing at the impossible task she had given me. I could imagine her laughing in the halls with the rest of the Dratlan Elves, telling them the task that lay before me. I hoped they were laughing at it – I hoped they weren't fearful that I would fail. Failure meant death for me, but for them it was an afterlife of rot. A second death, an unending torture. I didn't doubt that the Insurgent would find a way to punish my living friends aswell, for they had stood against them just as I had.

I couldn't fail for Dratlan, nor could I fail for Adotlan. So I would have to somehow find this tablet in the palace that was determined to watch my every move.

We turned down the path the forked sharply to the left. There was a distinct smell of sea-salt in the halls and I resisted the urge to reach out and touch the walls, to check if they were wet. The cuffs around my ears itched, the soft cloth fluttering against my mouth. Croia turned in time to catch me reaching to fix it, her brows tightening. "Try not to touch it. Only the newcomers are bothered by the cuffs."

"I do not want to come across as new."

Two servants cut through the hallway ahead, carrying loads of towels. Though they were mere metres from us, one stopped and cast us a withering look. Neither wore face-cuffs. "Why are you two dawdling?"

Croia bowed her head slightly. "We were sent to check the cellar for Seeker Birchwood's welcoming ball. The Emperor wants to impress the Legion with what the palace and the Empire has to offer."

One girl scoffed, her gaze wandering to me. "You speak as if you know what the Emperor wishes, mutt. I do not know if the twins would trust you with something so important."

Anger bristled under my skin and I clenched my jaw tight, willing myself to calm. Any fight here, would be won by me. I know that, and yet, that was not what was needed here. Anger would bring an overburden of emotion, which would bring a rush of silver and then the servants would know that Seeker Birchwood was sneaking along their corridors. That would pass along to the emperor. And to Englin.

No.

The two girls moved on, carrying their bundles of towels. Croia just waited until they passed before continuing. I fell into step beside her, bending down to whisper in her ear. "How do you deal with that daily?"

She arched a brow. Her hair, dark as a raven's feather, was tucked behind her ears. "Surely you endured such manners before you became who you were."

A wry smile curled at my mouth, the old memories flicking like firelight. I had endured taunting and jeering as a girl, but I had felt their mouths under my fists. I had warmed my skin with their blood. I had rarely won, but I had fought. "I remember."

"Fighting here rarely leads to winning," Croia touched her docked ear absently. "The stations of Naredan can be rigid, immoveable. If one tries to rise, those above are quick to humble you."

There were more questions I wanted to ask. Curiosity burned inside of me even as I heard the babble of voices ahead of me. Croia appeared humble and meek, yet how did she come into Kohen's service? Even on that, did I truly understand how far Kohen's influence extended? He had eyes in the palace, employing the unseen workers who moved throughout. He had taken Half-Bloods into his service and from what I could see, had picked ones whose hearts burned with quiet rebellion.

Croia continued, "That is why the Half-Bloods in the palace waited so eagerly for Seeker Birchwood's arrival. She is a beacon that there is more for us beyond. That we are not just the children of wrongful relationships. The people of Naredan hate the Elves of the North-East because they do not understand them. They cannot understand why the Elves cling so fiercely to their traditions, why they haven't broken and conformed to the customs and rules of humans. They hate us even more because we could be them. We are Elven, but human enough to move amongst them if our ears were covered. They believe Elves to be strong and fierce, but we are weaker. So, we can be an element they control."

"There are Elves in the north who hate the Half-Bloods just as much," I would have told her, but a cool voice hissed ahead of us. Two shadows appeared, both familiar. Both eerily similar. My stomach hollowed as I recognised them. The twins.

I dropped my gaze, playing the demure servant. I stared at the bottom of their dresses – both a soft beige. The tips of their boots stuck out from under their skirts, soaked with water.

"You talk too openly about what you cannot possibly understand, mutt." One spoke achingly soft.

The other said, "Do not bother trying to understand the delicate machinations of the Empire's politics."

The first again. "The Elves are an ancient race but through hard work, they will be cowed. They will eventually realize that this land doesn't belong to them. Not any longer."

"They are lazy creatures," the second twin cooed. "Lazy and ungrateful for the advancements that we have brought to Cadelith through the centuries."

The twins surveyed them. Anxiousness prickled down my spine. I could only imagine what would happen if I was found out. Not only would it bring shame to the Legion but also alert the Insurgent to the fact that I was looking for something here.

"Move along, mutts." The first broke first, waving us on. "Do not dawdle and allow your brains to rot."

Unwillingly, I dipped my chin. Croia and I walked in silence with the weight of their stares on the back of my neck. We reached the kitchen, a room of red stone and blazing fires. A cook stood at the centre of it all, with the calm and stoutness of a sea-captain facing that inevitable storm. She was an older woman, a smattering of flour against the dark ebony of her cheeks. Her ears were long and pointed, with glittering hoops lining the slender length.

As we entered, she met my gaze. Her eyes, dark and warm, regarded me. Instantly, I knew that she knew. In the madness and heat of the kitchen, she was the centre focus. Her voice rang out, cracking like a whip. "Do you two not need to be upstairs already? I do not have time to monitor the both of you."

Some in the kitchen snickered. Others did not -all Half-bloods casting furtive glances towards me. Amusement glimmered in the cook's eyes and she dismissed them quickly. We moved on again after Croia ladened us with buckets, cloths and strange vials that I didn't recognise.

"I am not usually to serve breakfast," Croia whispered. "I tend to the fires in the grand bedrooms, but Christine was too nervous to dare and spill something on your lap. She was reassured that you would not mind, but she and I threw knuckles for it, and I lost."

"I did not mind." I paused. "Well, not much."

"Then I hope you do not mind cleaning out fireplaces, Ana." We ascended from the belly of the palace and the difference was well marked. The corridors brightened and widened, the air sharp with the brine of the sea. The windows were open and long gossamer curtains snapped and twisted in the wind, like the skirts of dancing ladies.

"I've cleaned a grand few fireplaces in my lifetime." Another lesson from Dratlan. The great fires that burned in our halls and in our bedrooms to battle the winter's chill had to be maintained and cleaned without magic. My Mentors would have several scolding words for how I've discarded that lesson and used magic to ease my long days on the road throughout my time with the Legion. In Adotlan, I never cleaned my own fireplace.

"Where would you like to start?" Croia raised a brow. "It can take some time to get around to all the rooms and I should have begun as breakfast started."

"The emperor's bedroom."

"I cannot bring you there. The guards who monitor his wing would never allow a new face in to clean his room."

I pursed my lips, thinking. If not his room, there would have to be a study or a library where the tablet could have been stored. "Does he have a study?"

"Yes," She hesitated. "But that is also in his private wing."

Asha'da. A wicked gleam brightened her eyes. "But it is accessible. If, you are not afraid of heights."

"Even if I was, I feel that I would have to get over it very quickly."

Croia and I headed up through the palace. Instead of the grand, marble gilded staircases which were being dusted by servants with haggard brows, we used staircases that were hidden behind heavy tapestries. These narrow corridors were warm and well-worn, scuff marks lining the rickety steeps, stone steps. Up we went until we in a quiet corridor, empty of people. The only figures there were ancient suits of Elven armour, crafted from an almost silvered metal that I had never seen before. It couldn't be silver, but the way it shimmered in the sunlight reminded me of the dawn's light glimmering on the surface of a still sea.

Great arching windows overlooked the gentle sea, the scent of brine heavy in the air. I could see the grey-ash bark of alder trees bordering a smaller garden under the shadow of the palace far below.

"Through here, See – Ana."

She pushed her way into a small room. It looked to be a cubby-hole of sorts, with shelves packed with pressed linen. Small bowls sat on each shelf, with the freshly cut peels of lemons floating amongst sprigs of rosemary.

"They're changed everyday," Croia explained. "Citrus is a luxury very few can afford in the slums of Naredan, but the peels are used here to scent the linen."

"A strange place to have a linen cupboard, no?" I sniffed at the bowls, my nose wrinkling. It was a pleasant smell, but the power of it made my nose itch.

"It is a long journey everyday to bring them up from the servant's quarters. Having some stored here saves us time and that journey."

"Everyday?" I questioned.

"The emperor is particular about his cleanliness."

"I see."

My destination was a tiny window at the end of the linen room. I peered outside, leaning out to catch a glimpse of the rising tower above. There was a balcony protruding from the wall to the right, nearly ten lengths of myself up. The path was marked by large stones, carefully set but rough and relatively unworn.

Croia handed me a length of rope. "Here Seeker."

I hefted the loop onto my shoulders, then down to my waist to secure it. I watched as she secured the rope to one of the shelves and then held onto it firmly with both hands. It didn't give me much comfort.

I kicked off my shoes. It would be easier to feel the stone beneath my bare feet. The window was barely that; just a gape in the wall to allow fresh, briny air into the small linen room. Croia's breath was quick with growing panic.

As if she was possibly climbing to her death.

Asha'da, I had chosen to break into the emperor's office. Not her. Easing out, I felt the stone pinch on either side of me. On the other side, there was a small lip of windowsill. I stood on the other side, a hand curling around the inner stone frame of the window. I imagined myself to be tiny, a mere brush of colour up high amongst the seagulls and clouds.

A rush of exhilaration thundered through me as I felt the wind in my hair, cold against my cheeks. It filled my lungs and though fear thundered in my veins, I felt wildly alive.

"You should see the lip of the balcony above."

I leaned back, peering up. I could see the balcony, perhaps only ten lengths of myself above. Wonderful. It would have to be the tower that perched right on the edge of a cliff, with only weather-beaten stone and the crashing waves to catch me.

At least it was not raining.

"You have to be back for archery."

"If I break my bones on the stones below, at least I will be saved from dry conversation." I muttered.

"What was that, Seeker?" Croia called.

"Don't mind me," I replied, focusing ahead. I had to climb. I had to get into the office. Were there easier ways to get inside? Probably. Would I be reprimanded for my bullish approach. Definitely. The last thing I needed to do was rouse suspicion that I was looking for something here. I needed to get in and out. So, I needed to climb, or I would fall to my death or the rope would and I wouldn't let the Insurgent or Vanya be rid of me that easily.

I eased up, fingers catching the first fringe of the small slate roof that hung over this window sliver. I hung for a moment, shoulders burning. Hauling myself up, I took a second to map my ascent. It was easier than Dratlan it seemed – less ice, rougher stone. The only difference was the height. The tower at a distance was a great spear that shattered the skies, but up close, it was rough. Perfect.

I used those tiny nodules, my bare feet perfect for feeling the stone beneath me. My ascent was slow. I second-guessed every nook that I reached for, using my legs to propel myself up. The wind pulled at me, an incessant snarl. In some places, the rock was smoother. As if worn like a pearl by the wind and the rain.

I reached the balcony. My arms burned. My hair was wild from the wind and as I eased over the stone lip. My hips scraped around the rough edges, my dress a knot between my legs. Breathing quick and short, I crept over so that I could huddle in the corner out of view of the great stained-glass doors that led into the Emperor's office.

I counted to ten, then threw the rope over my head and tied it to one of the thick stone pillars. I tugged on it once, and Croia gave an answering tug.

The door was unlocked, a simple latch keeping it closed that I was able to open by sliding the blade up between the seam of the door. It opened on oiled hinges, and I slipped inside. The emperor's study was grand and wide, the floor covered in the thick, warm pelt of a great brown bear. I was stunned by the splendor of the room. It must have sat nearly two stories high, an echoing space that seemed too large just for one man.  Pillars of gleaming marble held a balcony on the first floor that overlooked the office. Bookshelves laden with books sat on bookshelves that curved along with the wall.

The stained-glass windows from the balcony cast dancing lights across the floor. There were portraits lining the wall, both of Elven and human heroes. There was one of Asha'da, her sword raised in defiance to the sky. Her hair streamed behind her like flickering fire, chasing away the darkness that encroached from the corners of the frame. I studied it, seeing shapes that looked so much like Nirani. Clawed hands reaching for her, hidden amongst the oiled swirls of navy and crimson.

"We will finish this fight," I told her likeness. "I made that promise."

The emperor's desk of dark cherrywood was sat on a dais. Behind it, towering over it, was a dragon carved from jade, with rubies set into it's eyes. It was so large that I could have crawled into the carved, snarling maw and curled myself tight into a ball. I brushed my hands over the coolness of the statue, feeling nothing. I glimpsed behind the enormous portraits, but there was only solid stone behind it.

I circled his desk, touching off of his pot of ink. A quill protruded from it, an eagle's feather oiled and gleaming. I felt nothing.

I eased open the presses. Just notes on trade, letters from nobles. Probably things that would be of value to the Legion, so I scanned over them. Trade deals with lands far beyond the borders of our seas? Had I ever considered the lands beyond the vast empire of Cadelith? No. A great binder with information on the advance of the Legion. I rifled through it, glancing at the door at the other end of the room, occasionally. It marked the destruction of Dratlan, hastily scribbled letters. 'A minor skirmish deep in the Elven wilds,' they had written. The pain inside my chest was familiar; a small skirmish to the perhaps, but it had torn so many lives apart. There were even sketches of us – charcoal lined images.

"Hmmph." Did they have to make me look so angry?

And Mahon so serene. Liars. All of them.

'The Legion has forged an alliance with the Elves of Aldwynn. The one they call Seeker has found a second tablet of Asha'da. As of now, we are doubtful your Eminence, of it's believed power.'

'The Legion has an outpost in every major town in Central Cadelith.'

'A High-Elf of Veusthyal has been spotted in the company of the Legion.'

'There are rumours that Seeker Birchwood has perished during a small skirmish in the far east. The Legion continues to expand and denies any claim of her demise.'

My lip curled, the further I read. The emperor and his lackies had long been following the expansion of the Legion and yet it had been many months since they even bothered to contact us. I set the binder back to sift through letters. Most were from lords who I had not yet encountered. Some I had.

'Your grace,

Long has it been since I have visited the halls of your home. You and I once had a long discussion about the mettle needed to make it as a trader and the struggle of being a second son. Your generosity in granting me a small fleet of ships and a docking pass for the major ports along the south coast of Cadelith to grow my trading business has allowed my fortune to flourish far from the Aintoch name. For that, I am grateful.' I skimmed through a frankly simpering and flowery letter, my attention fixing on the name written at the bottom. 'Your faithful servant, Rolland Ainthoch.'

"Curious..." I said. I set that back where I found it.

There was an armchair by the fireplace, the most worn piece of furniture in the room. It was a clean, bright room. I combed through the room, examining every inch. Checking again. I looked for hidden spots and secrets. Nothing.

No flicker of awareness, no sense that there was something here that shouldn't be. Asha'da's last tablet wasn't in here. Perhaps his bedroom? I padded forward, stopping at the door. I pressed my ear to the wood, but I couldn't hear anything. Sliding down, I peeked through the keyhole. Nothing.

Frustration welled inside of me. I willed myself to be patient. If the tablet had not been found in the centuries since Asha'da had hidden it, then it wasn't going to be found by me, in one errant trip up the side of a tower.

I looked back to the image of Asha'da, scowling. "You are making it very difficult to end this fight Asha'da."

Voices echoed outside the door. My scowl melted away, panic flaring inside of me. The doorknob turned as I swing myself over the balcony wall, scrambling to hook the rope around my waist once again. It tugged once. Croia knew I was coming. Footsteps echoed inside the office but I'm already scaling the wall, my descent far quicker than my ascent. I slipped through the window with voices echoing jovially from above, caught on the wind.

"Did you find anything?"

"No." I slipped back into my shoes. "I may search his bedroom tomorrow. When I find time. But now, lets clean some fireplaces. I need to at least look the part when I return downstairs."

"As you wish. Follow me Ana."

>< >< >< >< >< ><

Welcome back to Aviana's world! 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies! 

Where do you think this last tablet is hiding? 

Would you climb a tower wall to find it? 

Until next time - Saoimarie.