contact Sora's uncle, the only remaining relative who could navigate the estate. The burial would be a stressful affair. They would need to hire a local Priestess to perform the necessary embalming and death rites. There would be no public ceremony, no eulogy, no tears.
In the meantime, the body of Lord Fallcrest lay stiff and silent behind closed oak doors, his glassy eyes wide open. The thin gash across his throat was hidden by an expensive scarf. Three small brass bells hung above the closed doors to his study, blessings for the spirit.
Lily was lost in thought when the smart tap of boots approached her. She recognized the steps before she raised her eyes. She sighed. Housekeeper Grem walked towards her, her face as rigid as a dead buzzard. The woman was tall, crane-like and suffocatingly proper.
She looked up into the matron's eyes.
"There is someone else asking questions," Grem snapped. "He requested to speak to you." She pointed an accusing finger at the ballroom. "Be quick about it. They need more help in the stables."
Lily curtsied politely. Housekeeper Grem gave her a discouraging look as though insulted, then stalked away. Lily rolled her eyes at the old woman's back. Perhaps losing her job wasn't such a bad thing.
Then her gaze traveled curiously to the ballroom doors. She hadn't seen anyone unusual enter...and yet, the manor was full of guests. Perhaps she had missed this new visitor.
Sick with anxiety, she turned and headed back to the ballroom, where Lord Gracen had paced just moments before. Was it a reporter from the local newspaper? A curious Lord from a neighboring estate? Certainly not anyone offering to help. She couldn't believe how quickly word had spread of the disaster. It would be the gossip of the county within another day.
She spotted the man immediately. The first thing she saw was his long silvery hair. Yet he didn't seem old. He stood several dozen yards away from the ballroom doors, inspecting an area of smudged white tiles where Lord Fallcrest's body had fallen the previous night. The servants had tried to clean up the blood, but there was so much, some had sunk into the cracks between the tiles, almost impossible to scrape out.
She approached him quickly, trying to hold herself a bit straighter. Thanks to Lord Gracen's attention, she had garnered some sort of authority. Since, as Lady Sora's handmaid, she had the most contact with the noble family, the lower servants regarded her with mild awe—second only to Housekeeper Grem.
"Excuse me," she said formally, and made another quick bow. The man didn't turn around immediately, but when he did, Lily felt like she had swallowed a walnut.
He was unlike any man she had ever seen before. He held himself with a regal air, yet she knew he wasn't royalty. He might have been a Lord of noble birth, a rich peasant, or something in- between. His clothes were certainly well-made, but stained by the road. He wore no gold, gemstones or medals.
Perhaps another woman might have found his exotic appearance attractive, but Lily found him chilling. His skin was noticeably pale, his hair woven strands of silver, and his eyes a piercingly cold blue. That wasn't what startled her, however. Lily found herself staring at the man's sloping ears, which drew back into pointed tips.
He smiled at her, as though enjoying her surprise, and then Lily got a second shock—fangs! Fangs? Truly, there was no other explanation. His canines were long, sharp and wicked.
The man—if it was a man—stepped forward and nodded to her. She could see a nervous tic begin around his mouth. He kept himself turned slightly away from her, one hand hidden beneath his cloak, but she caught a glimpse of what lay inside: warped fingers, bent inward like claws.
A cripple. Bad luck. It almost made her pull away, suddenly sick to her stomach. There were some who cared for cripples, who embraced them as victims to be pitied—yet she was country-raised. She believed in curses. In signs
In the meantime, the body of Lord Fallcrest lay stiff and silent behind closed oak doors, his glassy eyes wide open. The thin gash across his throat was hidden by an expensive scarf. Three small brass bells hung above the closed doors to his study, blessings for the spirit.
Lily was lost in thought when the smart tap of boots approached her. She recognized the steps before she raised her eyes. She sighed. Housekeeper Grem walked towards her, her face as rigid as a dead buzzard. The woman was tall, crane-like and suffocatingly proper.
She looked up into the matron's eyes.
"There is someone else asking questions," Grem snapped. "He requested to speak to you." She pointed an accusing finger at the ballroom. "Be quick about it. They need more help in the stables."
Lily curtsied politely. Housekeeper Grem gave her a discouraging look as though insulted, then stalked away. Lily rolled her eyes at the old woman's back. Perhaps losing her job wasn't such a bad thing.
Then her gaze traveled curiously to the ballroom doors. She hadn't seen anyone unusual enter...and yet, the manor was full of guests. Perhaps she had missed this new visitor.
Sick with anxiety, she turned and headed back to the ballroom, where Lord Gracen had paced just moments before. Was it a reporter from the local newspaper? A curious Lord from a neighboring estate? Certainly not anyone offering to help. She couldn't believe how quickly word had spread of the disaster. It would be the gossip of the county within another day.
She spotted the man immediately. The first thing she saw was his long silvery hair. Yet he didn't seem old. He stood several dozen yards away from the ballroom doors, inspecting an area of smudged white tiles where Lord Fallcrest's body had fallen the previous night. The servants had tried to clean up the blood, but there was so much, some had sunk into the cracks between the tiles, almost impossible to scrape out.
She approached him quickly, trying to hold herself a bit straighter. Thanks to Lord Gracen's attention, she had garnered some sort of authority. Since, as Lady Sora's handmaid, she had the most contact with the noble family, the lower servants regarded her with mild awe—second only to Housekeeper Grem.
"Excuse me," she said formally, and made another quick bow. The man didn't turn around immediately, but when he did, Lily felt like she had swallowed a walnut.
He was unlike any man she had ever seen before. He held himself with a regal air, yet she knew he wasn't royalty. He might have been a Lord of noble birth, a rich peasant, or something in- between. His clothes were certainly well-made, but stained by the road. He wore no gold, gemstones or medals.
Perhaps another woman might have found his exotic appearance attractive, but Lily found him chilling. His skin was noticeably pale, his hair woven strands of silver, and his eyes a piercingly cold blue. That wasn't what startled her, however. Lily found herself staring at the man's sloping ears, which drew back into pointed tips.
He smiled at her, as though enjoying her surprise, and then Lily got a second shock—fangs! Fangs? Truly, there was no other explanation. His canines were long, sharp and wicked.
The man—if it was a man—stepped forward and nodded to her. She could see a nervous tic begin around his mouth. He kept himself turned slightly away from her, one hand hidden beneath his cloak, but she caught a glimpse of what lay inside: warped fingers, bent inward like claws.
A cripple. Bad luck. It almost made her pull away, suddenly sick to her stomach. There were some who cared for cripples, who embraced them as victims to be pitied—yet she was country-raised. She believed in curses. In signs
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