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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I DON'T HAVE TIME TO LOOK AT THE CONTENTS OF THE PAPER UNTIL LATER.
Much later.
By the time I hide the paper in my little room and go back to my room, the sun has already broken the horizon. The other women in the room are getting ready for the day.
They give me a curious look when I hurry back in, but I make sure I am the picture of composed.
It helps that my hair is already in a tight braid and I am wearing my kitchen uniform. Hopefully they don't realize it is because I never changed out of it yesterday.
The day feels like it is long and lasts forever. But I manage to keep myself focused. I cannot appear distracted to the people around me. I continue to poison Bran in the morning, and I meet Milos' furtive glances, but I do not encourage him today. I cannot play research assistant tonight. I need to know the contents of that paper.
I do not see Rowena all day.
When we are all back in our rooms that night, the day's duty done, I can barely keep myself still as I lie under my thin covers, waiting for everyone to fall asleep. I can't remember the last time I felt this kind of nervous energy thrumming through me. Even assignments and the thrill of the kill have lost its excitement for me over the years.
But I breathe in and out and remind myself to stay calm. I cannot get emotion and get caught up in my thoughts. The reason I am so good at what I do is because I am cold and rational. That would not change now, just because I had received a scrap of parchment from the Mistress' spy.
Perhaps it is even encouragement, telling me that I am doing well. Or perhaps it is telling me I can accelerate the kill.
I almost exhale a snort. As if the Mistress would ever be so warm and kind.
But then, that didn't explain Rowena's blood. I frown as I remember the cut, her golden blood, glimmering under the moonlight last night.
When everyone's breath is heavy and even, I make my way to my little room. I am a ghost, flitting through the halls, my anticipation to see what the paper contains tempered only by my prudence and secrecy.
By the dim moonlight, I see thin, shaky handwriting.
I know what you are.
You smell like one of us.
But do not fear. Your secret is safe with me. And I hope, mine with you.
But there is so much more you do not know.
If you are curious, come find me.
I burn the missive after I read it. My hands are shaking.
Someone else, like me?
I had guessed that, after last night. But I hadn't known what to make of it then. And I don't know if I do now.
