Page 77 of Spark of the Everflame

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I tiptoed into the office and tugged in the door until it was barely ajar—closed enough to block me from view, open enough that I would hear anyone approach.

I crept to the desk and rifled through the stacks of documents, where ledgers of unfamiliar words and confusing numbers were scrawled in an elegant script, precious little of it making any sense. A corner of what looked to be a sketch lay visible at the base of one pile, and I carefully edged it free.

A map—the blueprints of a building, marked with various rooms. Many had labels I didn’t recognize, but a few I knew all too well.

Blades. Armor. Crossbows.

An armory, I suspected—and a large one, judging from the floorplan’s sprawling scale. I folded the paper and slipped it into my satchel along with a handful of the other documents.

My eye wandered to a red velvet ribbon tucked between the pages of a leather journal teetering on the edge of the desk. I pulled it closer and cracked it open, finding tea-stained pages lined with names, dates, and amounts—a customer ledger, perhaps.

I grabbed a mostly blank paper from the desk and copied the names as quickly as I could. I cringed at my blocky, inelegant lettering, once again reminded how deeply I did not belong in this world of wealth and etiquette.

I’d only copied a handful of pages when the thump of heavy footsteps grew louder in the corridor, and my heart plummeted to my feet. The only place hidden from view was under the desk, but if someone came around to sit... there would be no explaining that away.

A figure stopped outside the office door, the outline of their shadow just visible through the slim opening—I was out of time.

I collapsed to the ground, then cowered as far as I could into the dark shadow of the desk’s cove. My hand clamped across my lips to muffle my ragged breathing.

Boots clicked along the marble floor, then softened to the rustle of shoes over a thick, lavish rug. A glug of liquid—refilling a drink, perhaps—then the crackle of a dying fire being prodded back to life. Then more footsteps—closer this time.

A panicked sound strangled in my throat. In a matter of seconds, I’d be found out. They’d arrest me. Execute me. If they didn’t kill me on the spot, I’d be lucky if I even got a chance to say goodbye to my family.

Fuck—I’d be lucky if they didn’t kill my family, too.

The footsteps came so close I saw the tip of glossy ebony boots as they rounded the side of the desk. I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared for the worst.

“Father?”

Lorris.

Sweet, miserable Lorris. I took back every awful thought I’d had about the boy.

“What is it now?”

“The healer... I, um... I can’t seem to find her.”

“What do you mean, you can’tfindher?”

“I told her to wait in the parlor when she was finished, but she’s not there, and she’s not in Evanie’s room, either.”

“You left a stranger unattended?Inmyhome?”

A long, excruciatingly heavy pause passed. Though he was hidden from my sight, I could picture Lorris shrinking under the scorch of his father’s harsh judgment.

“You stupid, worthless child. Have I taught you nothing about protecting our House?”

“Yes, of course, Father. I only thought—”

A loud smack of skin on skin cut through the air, then a shaky whimper.

“Don’t think. Obey. Do you understand me?”

A whispered, “Yes, Father.”

Two pairs of footsteps exited the room and faded down the hall. I scrambled out from my hiding spot, finally allowing myself to heave in several gulps of air. Any interest I’d had in exploring more of the items on the desk had fled the room with Lorris and his father.

I ran to the door and checked that the hallway was clear before bolting for the home’s entrance. At the last minute, instead of turning toward the parlor, I continued straight, following the noise of the busy kitchen.

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