The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

Edith had threatened to cane her on three occasions, but was interrupted each time—twice by the head cook. Arista was not sure what she would do if it came to that. Scrubbing floors was one thing, but allowing herself to be whipped by an old hag was something else. If it came to that, Edith might discover there was more to her new chambermaid than she thought. Arista often amused herself by contemplating which curse might be best for old Edith. At that moment, she was considering the virtues of skin worms, but all she said was, “Is there anything else today?”


The older woman glared. “Oh! You think yer sumptin’, don’t ya? You think yer better than the rest ’o us, that yer arse shines ’o silver. Well it don’t! Ya don’t even have a family. I know you live in that alley with the rest ’o them runners. Yer one dodgy smile away from makin’ yer meals whorin’, so I’d be careful sweetie!”

There were several snickers from the other kitchen workers. Some risked Edith’s wrath by pausing in their work to watch. The scullery maids, charwomen, and chambermaids all reported to Edith. The others, like the cook, butcher, baker, and cupbearer reported to Ibis Thinly, but sided with Edith—after all Ella was the new girl and in the lives of those who lived in the scullery this was what passed for entertainment.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Arista asked calmly.

Edith’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “No, but tomorrow ya start by cleanin’ every chamber pot in the palace. Not just emptin’ them mind ya, I want them scrubbed clean.”

Arista nodded and started to walk past her. As she did, cold water rained down as Edith emptied the remaining bucket on her.

The room burst into an uproar of laughter. “A shame it wasn’t clean water, ya could use a bath.” Edith cackled.

The uproar died abruptly as Ibis appeared from out of the cellar.

“What’s going on here?” The chief cook’s booming voice drew everyone’s attention.

“Nothing, Ibis,” Edith answered. “Just training one o’ my girls is all.”

The cook spotted Arista standg in a puddle, drenched from head to foot. Her hair hung down her face, dripping filthy water. Her entire smock soaked through, the thin material clung indecently to her skin causing her to fold her arms across her breasts.

Ibis scowled at Edith.

“What is it, Ibis?” Edith grinned at him. “Don’t like my training methods?”

“No, I can’t say I do. Why do you always have to treat them like this?”

“What are you gonna do? You gonna take Ella under your wing like that tramp Amilia? Maybe this one will become archbishop!”

There was another round of laughter.

“Cora!” Ibis barked. “Get Ella a table cloth to wrap around her.”

“Careful, Ibis. If she ruins it the chamberlain will have at you.”

“And if Amilia hears you called her a tramp, you might lose your head.”

“That little pretender doesn’t have the piss to do anything against me.”

“Maybe,” the chief cook said, “but she’s one of them now, and I’ll bet that any noble who heard that you insulted one of their own—well, they might take it personally.”

Edith’s grin disappeared and the laughter vanished with it.

Cora returned with a tablecloth, which Ibis folded twice before wrapping around Arista’s shoulders. “I hope you have another tunic at home, Ella, it’s gonna be cold tonight.”

Arista thanked him before heading out the scullery door. It was already dark and, just as Ibis had predicted, cold. Autumn was in full swing and the night air shocked her wet body. The castle courtyard was nearly empty with only a few late carters dragging their wagons out through the main gate. A page raced between the stables and the keep hauling armloads of wood, but most of the daily throng of activity that usually defined the yard was absent. She passed through the great gates where the guards ignored her. The moment she reached the bridge, and stepped beyond the protection of the keep’s walls, the full force of the wind struck her. She clenched her jaw to stifle a cry, hugged her body with fingers turning red, and shivered so badly it was hard to walk.

Not skin worms. No. Not nearly bad enough.

“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Barker exclaimed, and rushed over as Arista entered Brisbane Alley. “What happened child? Not that Edith Mon again?”

Arista nodded.

“What was it this time?”

“I spilled some wash water.”

Mrs. Barker shook her head and sighed. “Well, come over to the fire and try and dry off before you catch your death.”

She coaxed Arista to the communal fire pit. Brisbane Alley was literally the end of the road in Aquesta, a wretched little dirt patch behind Brickton’s Tannery where the stench from the curing hides kept away any except the most desperate. Newcomers without money, relatives, or connections settled here. The lucky ones lived huddled under canvas sheets, carts, and the wagons they arrived in. The rest, like Arista, simply huddled against the tannery wall trying to block the wind as they slept. That is, until the Barkers adopted her.

Brice Barker worked shouting advertisements through the city streets for seven coppers a day. All of that went to buy food to feed six children and his wife. Lynnette Barker took in what sewing work she could find. When the weather turned colder, they offered Arista a place under their wagon. She had only known them for a few weeks, but already she loved them like her own family.

“Here, Ella,” Lynnette said, bringing an old kirtle for her to put on. The dress was little more than a rag, worn thin and frayed along the hem. Lynette also brought Esrahaddon’s robe. Arista went around the corner and slipped out of her wet things. Lynnette’s dress did nothing to keep out the cold, but the robe vanquished the wet chill instantly in uncompromising warmth.

“That’s really a wonderful robe, Ella,” Lynnette told her, marveling at how the firelight made it shimmer and reflect colors. “Where did you get it?”

“A…friend left it to me when he died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, sadly. Her expression changed then from sadness to concern. “That reminds me, a man was looking for you.”

“A man?” Arista asked as she folded the tablecloth. If anything happened to it, Edith would make Ibis pay.

“Yes, earlier today. He spoke to Brice while he was working on the street and mentioned he was looking for a young woman. He described you perfectly, although oddly enough, he didn’t know your name.”

“What did he look like?” Arista hoped her concern was not reflected in her voice.

“Well,” Lynnette faltered, “that’s the thing. He wore a dark hood and a scarf wrapped about his face so Brice didn’t get a good look at him.”

Immediately seized with fear, Arista pulled the robe tightly about her. Was he here? Had the assassin managed to track her down? Lynnette noticed the change in her and asked, “Are you in trouble, Ella?”

“Did Brice say I lived here?”

“No, of course not. Brice is many things, but he’s no fool.”

“Did he give a name?”

Lynnette shook her head. “You can ask Brice about him when he returns. He and Wery went to buy flour. They should be back soon.”

“Speaking of that,” Arista said, fishing coins out of her wet dress, “here’s three copper tenents. They paid me this morning.”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t—”