Stalemate

Chapter 21

Ashtin stood in front of the mirror that jutted slightly from the sideboard. It was the only mirror in the servants' quarters, tucked away behind the crates and brooms and buckets in the spandrel. She'd washed her face, used dozens of pins to achieve the most regal hairstyle she could think to conjure, scrubbed her work shoes. She stared at the dress she was wearing. The orange candlelight flickered against the pink bodice, the gold patterns silvering and glistening. It was everything she could have imagined, even with the small tear in the skirt. And Gwen was right—the pink somehow lightened her skin.

For a moment she stared into her own eyes, searching for reassurance that what she was doing was, in fact, a good idea. She straightened her spine and nodded with resolve.

When she turned and opened the door, she held her breath for a moment, worried that a servant might have come back down for a new tray of clean glasses or napkins. It was only when she was met only with a cool draft of air and the creaking of the floorboards that she allowed herself to breathe again. The kitchen was dark, and she could only make out the silhouettes of the dishes and trays set out on the counters. Trays of cheeses and fruits, of assorted chocolates and candies. And above her, the rumbling of footsteps and a muffled melodic cadence. The occasional excerpt of a conversation carried down the steps.

Ashtin waited at the foot of the staircase for a moment, her hand grazing the railing. She stared up at the thin door and the flickering lamp swaying gently from the ceiling. A distant peel of laughter echoed down the stairwell.

She climbed the staircase as if it was her first time again. The grand ballroom would not be left vacant and drafty. The marble floor would be swathed in gowns and dancing shoes. Ashtin would find herself among Dordan aristocrats; people who would probably hate her. Immediately alert the intruder to Mistress. Have her beaten right there on the terrace.

Ashtin balked at the door. Hundreds of voices blurred together in a hum behind the wooden frame, joined with a melodic mirage of sound. Remembering the man in the church, she imagined the slanted table. Only this collection of sounds was different.

Then, the click of footsteps approaching the door. Ashtin stepped back from the door, heat rushing to her face.

The door opened cautiously, and there stood Gwen, just as they'd planned.

Ashtin relaxed and allowed herself to smile. Gwen looked beautiful, as she'd expected. Unlike Ashtin's, her dress was not made up of layers, but of only a soft white fabric that flowed regally around her figure. The bodice was ruffled and lined with golden thread, and the sleeves stopped just below her shoulders. Her hair was curled and pulled back, garnished with a headband decorated with white and gold flowers. Her porcelain cheeks wore a subtle pink rouge.

Gwen took a moment to study Ashtin as well. She smiled warmly, seemingly delighted with how she'd prepared herself. For a moment, her smile faltered as her eyes traveled down the dress.

She must've noticed the tear. Her shoulders drooped. "What happened?" she asked, and Ashtin could barely hear her over the cacophony behind them.

Ashtin merely shrugged. "I'm not sure. I must've snagged it." She smiled innocently. "I'm sorry."

"No matter," she said, and took Ashtin's hand. "You still look lovely."

She started to lead her out of the stairwell, but Ashtin couldn't bring herself to move forward. She peered to see behind Gwen. She glimpsed blips of blue and white, lavender and yellow. Tophats and sleek black tuxedo jackets. Light from the candelabras danced on the ceiling and made shapes of couples on the walls. Servants stood like statues against the walls, holding trays steadily.