Rhea wants nothing more than to kill her father. But not just because he's any run-of-the-mill scumbag. No, he's a god. And he's the one who cursed her with being a goldblood -- half human, half godling. Good for her, she's willing to do anything to...
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I FALL INTO A RHYTHM EASILY OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS.
I wake up early in the morning, exchanging polite nods and greetings with the others in the room. I gossip when appropriate and ask questions when I can.
I quickly learn that the mute servants are also Mainlanders. There are twelve of them total; six males, six females. None of them look a day past sixteen.
It still puzzles me how the Mistress has a spy among their rank, but it's not something I spend too much time on. The Mistress has connections everywhere, and it is best not to ask questions I do not want answers to.
One night, after a particularly long day in the kitchen, in which I make no progress in my assignment, but have earned many sores on my feet from running the length of house delivering food, six of us settle down in a circle around one lone lantern.
Shiva, the seventh, always comes back late. Rumor has it that she rendezvous with a lover in town.
The crickets chirp an easy melody, and dim silver light from the moon trickles in from the one window we have. An errant cloud crosses the moon's path every now and then, casting strange shadows into the room.
It's the perfect night to tell tall tales and speak of the unspeakable.
"What happened to them?" I ask Twi, voice hushed. "Why are they like that?"
Twi looks around furtively, her dark curls bobbing as she does. I've discovered that she is the resident gossip on this corner of the hal and provides useful information. I don't even have to pretend to be a busybody; Twi spills everything she knows to anyone who will listen.
"The master hates when the servants speak," Twi says, voice hushed. With the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks flush, it's as if she's telling a bawdy love story, not a morbid truth. "They say he has shady business on the mainland, and paranoid that his servants would leak details, he cut out all their tongues."
The color drains out of several faces. "Will he do that t' us?" one of the ladies ask. Her name is June. She's the mother of four, though she rarely talks about her children. There's always a pinched look on her face anytime anyone brings it up.
Twi doesn't have an answer.
"I'm gon' warn you young'ns now, but be careful. All of them are young," June says as she heaves herself up to her feet.
She gets ready to go to bed, and the rest of us follow.
But when everyone is breathing evenly and heavily, I get up, slipping out of the room silently. It is more out of habit than real need. Working in the mansion is tiring, and many of the servants sleep like they are past death the moment they lie down.
I don't blame them. Even I am feeling the toll. The Rozi house may be all that it is, dirty secrets and all, but it is a well kept dungeon of secrets. An efficient staff of servants keeps the place orderly and clean while providing us with all our meals and clothes.
