Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(12)

“I agree,” Kellyn says.

I’m outvoted, and I’m glad for it. I do not want to be alone in this place. And if any one of the palace’s occupants were to find me, I couldn’t lie my way out. I’m terrible with people.

The corridor seems to go on forever. The lack of light doesn’t help things, either. Only occasional windows let enough moonlight through to brighten the shadows. I’m convinced every single one is a person lying in wait to pounce.

We finally reach a staircase. My steps are louder than my breathing, but only just.

Temra. You’re doing this for Temra. It doesn’t matter if you’re caught. The most important thing is giving your all to keep her safe.

Voices drift up to us, and we stop right where we are. Petrik has one foot up in the air, preparing to descend on the next step down. He holds the position.

I can’t make out individual words; everything is too muffled, but they talk for what feels like hours before moving on.

Our eyesight improves as we continue our descent. Candlelight—faint but present—exposes the last steps of the staircase before showing us to yet another corridor. Windows on the left. Doors on the right. I register more voices but only briefly before they disappear behind the gentle closing of a door.

Sweat beads on my brow. I feel overheated, overextended, overwrought.

I’m scared, and I’m so desperate.

Kellyn reaches out and takes my hand. It’s only when he does so that I realize I’m shaking, but I don’t pull away. It’s wrong to accept his comfort, yet I’m too greedy for it. I need something tangible to focus on so my thoughts don’t spiral out of control.

A door just a few feet ahead begins to open, and the three of us dart behind the drapery around the windows to our left. Because our hands are still joined, Kellyn and I land behind the same drape, while Petrik is one down from us.

It’s a poor hiding place. If anyone looks too closely, they’ll see our feet peeking out beneath the fabric, the outline of our bodies behind the material.

I’m gripping Kellyn’s hand tight enough to hurt. He returns the pressure, his thumb running over the back of my knuckles.

The footsteps fade, ending in the closing of yet another door.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

“Servants’ wing,” Petrik whispers when we step away from the windows. “The high-ranking servants are kept close to the nobles’ rooms in case they’re needed. We should go down another level.”

We continue our slow trek.

“What are you doing?” a voice asks from behind us, and I go still as stone. Only Kellyn’s hand in mine is what allows me to turn.

It’s an older woman with russet-brown skin, her hair held up in a messy bun atop her head, wisps hanging about her cheeks. Her clothes are very plain, like ours. A tan knee-length dress with a white apron, the stitching coming undone at one of the sleeve’s hems. Her eyes are mostly in shadow due to the scant light.

I cannot determine her expression.

“We’re lost,” Petrik ventures.

The woman gives us the side-eye. “I’ll say. You think you can sneak off to the attic for a tryst in the dust? Where are you supposed to be?”

My mouth opens and closes like a fish. Feelings flash through me in rapid succession. Embarrassment. Fear. Urgency.

Kellyn and Petrik both turn their faces to the ground, as though ashamed.

Oh, oh!

I quickly do the same, realizing I need to play along.

“Kitchens,” Petrik mumbles.

“Then get there!” the woman says. She shoos us with her hands.

The boys shuffle off, and I’m jerked along because my hand still rests in Kellyn’s. At that realization, I take it back, having collected myself after the confrontation.

Petrik brushes dust off his skirt while Kellyn runs his fingers through his hair, trying to put the strands back in place. I scratch at my exposed shoulder.

“Apparently we didn’t think about how our run-in with the wardrobe would make us look,” I say, my cheeks heating. No one’s ever thought I was having a tryst before.

“Gave us a good cover story, though,” Petrik says.

At that, Kellyn purses his lips. “She thought the three of us—”

“Who cares?” I ask to hide my own embarrassment. “Just be glad we didn’t get caught. Where to now, Petrik?”

“I see the stairs ahead. We’ll be on the higher nobles’ wing once we descend. Everyone look docile.”

Docile? I don’t know how to look anything. Temra is the talented actress.

And for some reason, I want to take Kellyn’s hand again.

I shake that urge and follow Petrik down the stairs.

The halls are lit up brightly enough to make me miss the darkness. There, I didn’t feel put on display, like people are staring at me. And I know that nobility don’t pay close attention to their servants. I know no one really is looking at me, but my body goes hot all over.

We only pass by the occasional courtier, nobles turning in for the night. They’re dressed finely. Men in short-sleeved tunics that reach their ankles. The women wear sleeveless dresses made from light fabrics. No one in sight wears pants or cloaks. It’s so much more skin than I’m used to seeing, but if I lived here, I’m sure I would follow suit. I loathe being too warm.