Melderblood (The Melderblood Chronicles Book 1) by E.A. Winters

Author:E.A. Winters [Winters, E.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DragonLeaf Press
Published: 2023-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

24

Silence reigned in the depths of the laundry cart, in the mystery room where Sai had left her. For a moment, Aviama wondered how likely it was that Sai had pushed the cart to the queen’s throne room to be torn apart by Satya’s hyena, but she dismissed the thought. The queen wouldn’t wait around for her to emerge. She’d rip her from the cart and gloat about her victory before having her ripped to shreds.

Aviama straightened in the cart, tripped, fell, and tried again—this time gripping the edges to stabilize herself. This is it. Now or never.

It was too late to go back, so now would have to do. The option for never was way back inside her room, by the steaming bath that would by now be growing cold. Aviama clambered out of the cart and found herself in a long room with vats of laundry, a row of clean gowns and tunics hung up on one side and a row of servants’ attire on the other. Aviama snatched a servant’s tunic dress and its paired trousers, ripped her gown over her head, and hung it neatly among the other gowns. Who’s to say it hadn’t been among the last load of laundry done?

Shrugging into the servant clothes, Aviama couldn’t help but grin. This felt like spy work. Her skin was paler than Radhan skin, an unfortunate variable she could do nothing about, but she might escape a casual glance if she covered her hair. After all, she’d seen the occasional non-native serving in the palace, so perhaps she might pass as one of them. She snatched a long cloth off a shelf and wrapped her wavy blonde tresses tight in its folds, careful to pull it tight around her face to hide her gash.

By now it was nearly midday. Sai would be back any minute, and she could hear clanging as servants bustled about in what might have been kitchens down the hall. Aviama steeled herself with a deep breath in and stole out of the laundry and away from the kitchens.

Two servant women passed, one giggling to the other over some gossip morsel or other, each balancing a large ceramic vase on one hip. Aviama kept her eyes fixed on the floor just beyond them, hardly daring to breathe as they passed—but they showed no interest in her at all.

Face unpainted, hair wrapped, body dressed in the uniform servants’ garb rather than royal silks and satins, she was as good as invisible. A man carrying four trays of abandoned food platters stared at her, hard, on his way to the kitchens, and something in her stomach soured.

Okay, so maybe not invisible. But if she kept moving and stayed out of sight until night, she could return to her room without issue. Murin would be back by dinner, bringing Aviama’s supper tray when she got back, and remove it at the proper time, after emptying it into the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. It would have been

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