Page 30 of The Elven Spymaster's Thief

When I woke the next morning, my stomach immediately announced it was empty. The bone-deep exhaustion had abated. Rolling to my feet, I discovered a new outfit draped across the bench at the foot of my bed. A long, delicately floaty tunic in a heather blue and another pair of soft moleskin leggings. This pair had been dyed a velvety taupe. I dressed and prepared to head to the kitchen for breakfast, but I caught a glance of myself in the mirror as I walked past.

Wait!

I backtracked a few steps. I hadn’t noticed as I dressed, but this ensemble fit me perfectly. I hadn’t grown in the night. I slid my hand through the slit in the softly draping layers to touch the hilt of my knife, where it hung from a belt at my waist. The colors, the cut, the secret slit, it was almost as though the clothing had been made specifically for me. I frowned at myself in the mirror. When had I been measured?

On a whim, I crossed to the wardrobe that dominated the corner of my bedchamber and opened the door. An array of options immediately presented themselves. Tunics, shirts, gowns, leggings, pants, skirts, the contents were enough to dress a royal woman for a year. I caught the sleeve of a deep green gown and confirmed my suspicion. The fabric quality alone made each of these worth a fortune.

I frowned. When did Whispier think I would ever be wearing a ball gown? I never wore dresses or skirts because they tended to hamper my motions and create excessive noise. They created two potentially deadly flaws when one was trying to go unnoticed. Still, my fingers lingered. I couldn’t help appreciating the softness and the beauty. I dropped the skirt and closed the door. No matter how pretty it was, I couldn’t accept it. Spymaster or not, Whispier would not be spoiling me.

I stalked off toward the kitchen.

The corridors were unusually still, even for the typical quiet. No shadow elves stepped from shade to shadow, inclining their heads in my direction as they passed. No whispers or shuffling of servants, which I had come to expect on my walk from my bedchamber to fetch my breakfast every morning.

I glanced at the nearest window. Perhaps it was late in the morning, and I had overslept.

When I reached the kitchen, I found Waldorf perched on a stool and reading a recipe book. “Ah, you are awake.” He flashed me a grin before hopping off the seat and pulling out a cutting board and knife. “Do you prefer a sandwich or some hearty stew? I served Master Whispier his lunch an hour ago.”

“Whichever is less preparation.” I glanced at the window again. Afternoon? I had slept a very long time. My stomach growled.

“Hmm?” Waldorf waved a hand toward my stomach. “I suspect you will need both, considering the volume of your stomach and the fact that you slept through three meals.”

“My apologies for not waking for dinner.”

He shook his head as he dug out a bowl. “Nonsense! You needed your sleep. Besides, Whispier left orders for you to rest undisturbed for as long as you needed.” The brownie flashed me another smile. “The house has been abuzz.”

“Why?” I rested my elbows on the counter to watch him work.

“Maintenance of the wards was moved forward after the incidence with the harpies. Also, Whispier called for a debriefing of the staff in anticipation of an increase of security.”

“Is that why the corridors are strangely quiet this afternoon?”

Waldorf nodded. “He has all the shadow elves strengthening the wards, and the staff should be finishing up their meeting with him any minute.”

It was a great deal of fuss for a single attack. Grimore’s stronghold was regularly attacked by other warlords and herds of unicorns, harpies, goblins, and occasionally lone chimeras. The attacks were inevitable and rarely required such a massive effort to increase security.

I stole a piece of cheese. “Why all the effort?”

Waldorf paused in cutting the bread for my sandwich to frown at me in concern. “We have never had an attack of this nature make it past the perimeter of the grounds, let alone reach the palace.” The brownie shivered. “Whispier is determined it won’t happen again.”

“The benefits of magic, I suppose.”

Waldorf considered me gravely. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “The warlords have to rely on physical means to hold off attacks. Obstacles like thick stone walls, thick beam lattices, constant vigilance, and ready warriors were our only defenses. Most attacks reached our walls, and only occasionally they were breached.” I gestured in the direction of the window behind me. “Windows are a dangerous luxury, and foregoing heavy fortifications outside the walls would be an invitation to death.”

Waldorf gravely nodded. “I have never been more thankful for Master Whispier’s and the elves’ efforts. I have never lived outside this residence. After hearing that, I have no wish to stray.” He shivered slightly. “The warlord’s region sounds barbaric.”

“It is.” There was no shame in admitting the truth. As he prepared my meal, I gave him an extended summary of my observations of the world beyond the elven borders.

He listened with rapt attention, asking insightful questions. How did we grow food? Where did we get our weapons? How had I trained to be a thief?

I explained the drilling and practice I had been taught to keep my steps light, movements fluid, and fingers nimble. He was fascinated.

When I finished eating, he sent me off in the direction of the library. Apparently, the significant repairs had already been completed. Whispier had moved his work area back in there.

However, as I approached the library, a commotion broke out in the entrance hall. Raised voices and a thump that could only be someone hitting a wall demanded I investigate. I hurried past the library door and ran for the foyer. Skidding to a halt just inside the doorway, I was stunned to see my brother wrestling with a shadow elf.

“I demand to see Whispier!” He growled as he gripped the elf’s wrist, which was how the elf was pinning him to the wall. His feet dangled a solid foot above the floor, feet flailing in his effort to escape the elf’s hand splayed across his chest.

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