Smoke and Shadow: The Fireweaver, Book 1

Chapter 27. LOOSE ENDS

CHAPTER 27. LOOSE ENDS

Fiona left the Festival like some unseen terror nipped at her heels. The blue-black shadows of the Great Hall's corridors leading outside felt sinister, emptied as they now were, the sounds of festivities now just a murmur. 

She touched the inside of her dress sleeve, the ridiculous swishes and holoswirls disappearing, snuffed out like a flame. She'd thought them absurd in the Great Hall ballroom, even more so on a late-night walk back to the Stayhouse. 

She took a different route that would avoid the Market. The streets were eerily empty. She should have gone out the main way. Should have taken a carriage. But somehow she felt she must leave in secret.

She'd known the Empress long enough. A woman with no scruples. So long as she got what she wanted.

Fiona found herself picking up the pace, the gunshot click of her heels making her want to fling those off too.

She should feel so much lighter. Like she'd thrown off chains. Savehl was Empress now. She could damn well find another soul to bankrupt.

Fiona turned down the street that would lead to the Stayhouse and back to Lehran, who avoided the Festival like the Plague.

Her heart flipped. She loved him. And he loved her. He took care of her, and she would take care of him. She didn't need Savehl anymore. She was top Beneiah in the most coveted Stayhouse in all of Tapiri.

She should feel on top of the world.

That crawling feeling of dread, of being watched prodded at her. The streets seemed darker. 

Something clawed at the back of her mind. Something in the Empress' gaze...

And then she heard it, just the rustle of sound, a whisper of a shadow. A normal human would never have heard it. She heard the slice through air that the dagger made, even before the crunch that sounded, the blade lodged between her shoulder blades, slicing into her windpipe before she could let out a scream.

* * * *

The woman who called herself "Denai Renault" was not who she said she was. Mehlie had already kind of guessed it, but this....

"Pull it up again," she asked Santoine, before they slipped into the Great Hall, through the kitchens. There it was again, the little girl's face. The defiant lift to the pointed chin. The dark hair and large, brown eyes. It had to be her.

"We should keep moving." Santoine led the way through a small pantry area. Mehlie reached out to swipe a box of crackers, but he stopped her. "There's way better stuff up here."

The kitchens were enormous, tiled in gleaming white with chrome ovens and refrigerators and piled-high prep stations. Food was steaming on platters; elegant dishes with garnishes sat in rows waiting to be taken. Chefs barked orders, servers ran breathless. 

No one paid any attention to either of them. Mehlie's mouth flooded. All the savory scents. Garlic and thyme and rosemary. The sweetness of the breads and cakes being pulled from the ovens. One woman was bent over the top of a cake, piping frosting to the top. 

Santoine made his way over to the woman, boldly. He'd obviously been through the kitchens before, so Mehlie followed. 

The woman paused for a moment, then seeing Santoine eyeing a plate of goodies, gave a begrudging nod. 

"Then you two brats get out of here." She gave a wink at them over her piping tube and then got back to work. 

Santoine grinned, thanking the woman, whom he called Narvehlah, and swiped a few flaky pastries. All of which were gone in about ten seconds, as they walked down a small corridor. The clattering, shouts and smells of the kitchen melted away.