Goldblood | updates Friday ✎

FIVE

I've never given it a second thought, even in my previous assignments. Being a tutor or maid or lady-in-waiting for a day is hardly the same as doing it day in and day out for weeks, nevermind months.

I wonder if the servants in the Rozi house are also forcibly mute. It seems like the sort of thing the Mistress would take delight in doing. I've never paid them enough care to notice.

I glide through the servants' hallway into the main hallway. Square in shape, it loops around the center of the house — the courtyard — and has numerous exits and entrances and doorways into other parts of the house.

I ghost down a hallway that seems to appear suddenly to the right, with no indication or sign. I found it accidentally earlier today, and added it to my mental map of the mansion. It leads into an even narrower hallway, which I have found leads into a small room that might have once been a food pantry or hideaway for kids.

It's a good place to hide and plot a murder. Or hide the accessories for one.

I nudge some dirt covering the far wall, which reveals the bottom edge to a piece of peeling wallpaper. There is no light in the room, but I know there is a crevice behind the wallpaper, and in that crevice is one of my daggers.

The other is on my body.

Tonight, I will need both.

I close the door to the room, taking a left instead of a right. This takes me to what seems like a forgotten servants' entrance or fire exit on the far side of the mansion. The door is covered with ivy, and mold has started weakening the wood.

The moon shines gently, approvingly, as I make my way into the crisp night air.

On nights like these, I understand why wolves howl.

It is a perfect night to tell tall tales and do the unspeakable.

Energy pulses through my veins, and I grip my two daggers tightly. I am the best for a reason. For others, each and every assignment is merely that -- an assignment.

For me, it is practice. A hunt. A change to whittle my skills and whet my appetite for vengeance.

It's about time to begin the assignment properly.

I take a few more deep breaths of musty pine and mountain fog, then slip back into the house.

My late night explorations the last couple of days reveal that the first floor seems to hold the parlor, sitting rooms, living rooms, a formal dining room, the kitchen, the servants quarters, and the courtyard.

The west side of the second floor holds the master suite, a smaller dining space, a kitchenette, and a parlor. The piano in the parlor had a fine layer of dust of the over, which I dutifully brushed away on the third day.

I plan to scout the east side tonight. Fine silver rays from the full moon spill onto the long blue carpets that line the hallways. Tall windows to my left look into the courtyard, still well-lit with bright lanterns, despite the hour.

Another private suite seems to occupy most of the east side. Probably the room of the so-called esteemed young master. A set of large French doors stands off the side of the room, as if guarding it. I open the doors to find a large balcony. Large enough to fit the entirety of our seven-person servants' room.

I also find the young master himself.

He stands with his back to me, but when the door creaks as it opens, he turns around to face me.

I curse inwardly, though I school my features into that of contrite apology. I had thought everyone would be asleep at this hour.

I curtsy and back away, making to leave, acting as if it was completely natural for me to come to the second floor balcony in the first place.