Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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Hours later, after running around helping out the other servants, sent at the will of Mr. Volkov and his ire, even ordered on my hands and knees to clean out the cinders from the fireplace in the Great Room, he finally gave me permission to leave my duties.
I was exhausted, yet wired with adrenaline. Because there was one last thing to attend to.
The mansion's hallways were devoid of servants. It was eerily quiet with everyone back at the servants' quarters getting ready for the dance, as I should have been too. Except I was walking down the western wing's hallways carrying a tea tray.
This part of the mansion had buttery oakwood floors and low running tables with curved legs supporting Japanese sculptures mixed with bisque porcelain figurines of Derby shepherds and aristocratic boys with golden curls and ruddy cheeks.
The smell of chamomile, earthy with floral notes, permeated the air as I strode toward the guest bedroom of Laurena Wychthorn. If there was one thing in our world that could be relied upon, it was that the higher ranks drank endless cups of tea. I'd offered to take the Wychthorn Princess another pot before the last of the staff disbanded and left the upper classes to their own devices. My offer was easily accepted by the Purcell sisters, both of them hugging me before they ran off, bubbling over with excitement to be released from their duties early, and neither of them any wiser as to why I'd offered.
My grip on the tray was slippery with the light film of sweat coating my palms, and my wild heartbeat was the crashing of cymbals in my ears. This was the first part of my plan and supposedly the easiest. There was a reason why I'd purposely inserted myself into this task, and it rested in the pocket of my skirt in a slender silver vial. A potion that cost a pretty penny to purchase from my friend.
To say I was freaking the hells out was an understatement. The teacup and teapot I was carrying on the silver tray were rattling because my hands were shaking with nerves. My heart fluttered like a sparrow caught in a cage trying to break free.
My overall plan for stealing the Wychthorn Princess's crown was riddled with holes, but it was the best I could do. I needed to slip Laurena something that had a slow release and would cause her to be ill enough that she sought refuge in her bedroom, but wasn't so bad that it would create alarm. It would also need to send her into a deep sleep so that when I stole into her room later tonight like a thief, she wouldn't awaken.
I turned the corner and drifted slowly to a halt, my eyes rounding.
Holy Hells-gate!
Down the other end of the hallway, outside the guest bedrooms of the Wychthorns were Valarie Crowther and Byron Wychthorn. A bodyguard stood a polite distance away with the picnic basket I'd been asked earlier to deliver to Byron at his feet. He was professionally stoic and blank-eyed and had the decency to allow the pair a private moment.
What was I supposed to do?
To get to Laurena, I would have to move past them and disturb their moment, and Valarie Crowther deserved a shot at happiness, especially after the nastiness that she'd withstood from the Wychthorn Princess this morning.
