The idea of doing something for herself, of being useful, got her going. She was actually excited as her feet hit the cold stone and she looked around for her slippers. The robe glowed brighter, as if sensing her need. When she entered the dark hall, it remained bright until she descended the stairs. As she entered into torchlight, the robe dimmed until it only reflected the firelight.
She was disappointed to find several people already at work in the kitchen. Cora, the stocky dairymaid with the bushy eyebrows and rosy cheeks, was at work churning butter near the door, pumping the plunger in a steady rhythm, trading one hand for another. The young boy Nipper, with his shoulders powdered in snow, stomped his feet as he entered from the dark courtyard, carrying an armload of wood, pausing to shake his head like a dog. He threw a spray that garnered a curse from Cora. Leif and Ibis stoked the stoves, grumbling to each other about damp tinder. Lila stood on a ladder like a circus performer, pulling down the teetering bowls stacked on the top shelf. Edith Mon had always insisted on having them dusted at the start of each month. While the ogre herself was gone, her tyranny lived on.
Arista had looked forward to rustling around in the darkened scullery, searching for a meal like a mouse. Now her adventure was ruined and she considered returning upstairs to avoid an awkward encounter. Arista knew all the scullery servants from her days posing as Ella the chambermaid. She might be a princess, but she was also a liar, a spy, and, of course, a witch.
Do they hate me? Fear me?
There was a time when the thought of servants had not bothered her, a time when she had hardly noticed them at all. Standing at the bottom of the steps, watching them scurry around the chilly kitchen, she could not determine if she had gained wisdom or lost innocence.
Arista pivoted, hoping to escape unnoticed back up the stairs to the sheltered sanctuary of her chamber, when she spotted the monk. He sat on the floor near the washbasins, where the stone was wet from a leaky plug. His back rested against the lye barrel. He was small, thin, and dressed in the traditional russet frock of the order of the Monks of Maribor. Delighted by rubbing the shaggy sides of Red, the big elkhound who sat before him, he had a great smile on his face. The dog was a fixture in the kitchen, where he routinely cleared scraps. The dog’s eyes were closed, his long tongue hung dripping, and his body rocked as the monk scratched him.
Arista had not seen much of Myron since the day he had arrived at the castle. So much had happened since then that she forgot he was still there.
Walking forward, she adjusted her robe, straightening it and fixing the collar. Heads looked up. Cora was the first to see her. The pace of her plunging slowed. Her eyes tracked Arista’s movements with interest. Nipper, having dropped his load, stood up and was in the process of brushing the snow off when he stopped in mid-stroke.
“Ella—ah, forgive me, Your Highness.” Ibis Thinly was the first to speak.
“Actually, I’d prefer Arista,” she replied. “I couldn’t sleep. I was hoping to maybe get a little soup?”
Ibis grinned knowingly. “It can get cold up in them towers, can’t it? As it happens, I saved a pot of last night’s venison stew, froze it out in the snow. If that’s all right, I’ll have Nipper fetch it. I can heat it up in two shakes. It’ll warm you nicely, and how about some hot cider and cinnamon to go with it? Still got some that ain’t quite turned yet. It will have a bit of a bite, but it’s still good.”
“Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful.”
“I’ll have someone run it up to your chambers. You’re on the third floor, right?”
“Ah, no. Actually, I was thinking of eating down here—if that’s okay?”
Ibis chuckled. “Of course it is. Folks been doing that a good deal these days, and I’m sure you can eat anywhere that pleases you, ’cepting maybe the empress’s bedroom—course rumor has it you did that already.” He chuckled.
“It’s just that”—she looked at the others, all of whom were watching and listening—“I thought I might not be welcome after… after lying to all of you.”
The cook made a dismissive pfft sound. “You forget, we worked for Saldur and Ethelred. All they ever did was lie and they sure never scrubbed floors or emptied no chamber pots along with us. You take a seat at the table, Your Highness. I’ll get you that stew. Nipper, fetch the pot and get me the jug of cider too!”
She took a seat as instructed and whether they agreed with Ibis’s sentiments or not, none of them said a word. They returned to work and only occasionally glanced at her. Lila even ventured a tiny smile and a modest wave before returning to her struggle with the bowls.
“You’re Myron Lanaklin, aren’t you?” Arista asked, turning on her stool to face the monk and the dog.
He looked up, surprised. “Yes, yes, I am.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Arista. I believe you know my brother, Alric?”
“Of course! How is he?”
“He’s fine. Haven’t you seen him? He’s just upstairs.”
The monk shook his head.