The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(75)
“Thank you, but I already have.” Aya strutted away, allowing a smirk to creep over her face. I’ve put my faith in me.
*
Aya spent most of the day waiting: waiting for Dellwyn to wake up, waiting to hear back from Lord Varick, waiting for Charlie to make up his mind and jump. Now that the villagers were awake—she heard their heavy footsteps and long dresses sweeping across the dirt streets—she couldn’t go outside. She did not want to deal with explaining her absence to her neighbors, not that they would ask, and she couldn’t risk being seen by anyone who might have reason to visit the palace. Therefore, she passed her day wiping down the common room and beating out rag after rag full of dust out the window.
Around the middle of the afternoon, Dellwyn finally woke, only to leave shortly after to fetch water. Dellwyn’s departure left Aya by herself again, so she continued her cleaning in her room. About an hour after Dellwyn left, Aya heard a knock at the door. She grabbed one of her father’s tools, a sharp metal chisel he had used to engrave the softer metals, and clutched it behind her in case it was the strange man with more than questions this time.
“Who is it?” Aya called, attempting to keep her voice level and pleasant.
“I am a guard of the palace.”
“And what is your purpose here?”
“To deliver a message from Lord Varick.”
Aya opened the door a crack. Once her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, she saw that the visitor truly was the guard she’d spoken to this morning. “And what is your message?”
The guard bowed. “Lord Varick responds that he understands your message and that he will anxiously await further news and send it to you the moment it passes his ears. He also would like me to inform you that Miss Collingwood’s butler stopped by on her behalf to invite you to have tea with her and some other ladies tomorrow morning. While Lord Varick understands your feelings about such matters, he encourages you to attend to keep up appearances.”
Aya cocked her head. “Is that all?”
“Yes, miss.”
Aya raised her eyebrow. “How much do you know?”
The guard grinned, running his hand through his thinning, gray hair. “More than Lord Varick thinks, less than is dangerous, but still more than I’d like.”
“I thought so.” Aya squinted. “I’m sorry you’ve ended up in the middle of all of this secrecy. It will be over soon.”
The guard shook his head. “Miss, as much as you think that, trust me, it won’t be. It never is in the palace.”
Aya smiled. Knowing the nobles’ lives as she did now, she figured he was right. “Thank you. You may tell Lord Varick that I will consider going to tea if a more enticing invitation does not present itself.”
The guard nodded. “Will do, miss.”
Aya thanked him again and closed the door. She rested her back against it and let out a long breath. The message from Lord Varick seemed civil enough, respectful of her newly claimed independence, but still as scheming as ever. He would always play the game.
Straightening up, Aya looked around the hovel. Once she cleaned Dellwyn’s room this evening, she would officially be out of dusting unless, of course, she opened the door a crack and let some more dust filter in for her to clean tomorrow. She could try making some curtains again, see if her seamstress skills had somehow improved. Or she could try to patch some of the slivers in the ceiling, in case it ever rained more than a few drops.
Aya tossed her head back in defeat. She stomped over to her trunk to see if she had anything other than Willem’s mother’s dress to wear to tea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next morning, Aya arrived outside of the tearoom right as it opened. She was one of a few ladies there, but Miss Collingwood had not yet arrived. Aya wondered if any of the other women were a part of Miss Collingwood’s party, but she did not care to ask. The ladies had been talking amongst themselves ever since they reached the tearoom, and given their carefully non-synchronized glances in her direction, Aya suspected they were either talking about her connection to the king, her shabby dress, or both.
A waiter walked up to the inside of the door, pulling a large bronze key out of his apron. He unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Good morning, ladies. Step right in. We have a brilliant brew waiting for you today.”
The other women didn’t move. Rather, they looked everywhere but at Aya and the door. Rolling her eyes, Aya entered the tearoom first and seated herself at the table where Miss Collingwood had perched the other day. Her compatriots chose the table furthest from hers. Aya’s table proved to be quite strategically located—close enough to the window to see out but not always be seen and close enough to the counter to have the servers within earshot. Aya understood why Miss Collingwood had chosen it.
“Good day, Miss Wellman. What can I get for you?” A server stood over her with bright, expectant eyes. Aya blushed, suddenly realizing that she had forgotten to fish a few coins from her father’s urn to pay for her tea. “Oh, I’m sorry. I did not bring any coins. I am simply here to meet Miss Collingwood.”
The server touched her shoulder with one hand and twirled the end of his mustache with the other. “Miss Wellman, you must know by now that palace ladies do not carry money. We will put your purchase on tab, of course.”