The High Priestess by Katie Cross

Author:Katie Cross [Cross, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: KC Writing

Vittoria eased into the throng of witches.

Don’t walk alone, Zuri had said. A landowner wife should never leave the ballroom without their husband. It’s a recipe for scandal and disapproval.

She couldn’t fathom why. Vittoria had roamed darkened streets in the middle of the night as a lavanda maid, armed with only a metal pipe.

Slowly, she circled the edge of the ballroom and tried to find another passing waiter, but they seemed to have disappeared. Even alone, she practically didn’t exist. Among the glittering gems and dresses, she sought out a familiar uniform. Green and gold. The workers. Not an easy task, considering most workers were trained to be unobtrusive. Her best bet would be to wait near the food.

Even there, the dishes seemed to refill by magic, somehow.

Finally, she found a worker. A butler, she imagined. He wore an emerald uniform with gold edging and a white shirt underneath. He had to be middle-aged, which was almost ancient for a worker. Then again, castle workers lived in a bubble. They were mostly born and raised here. Never allowed to leave the grounds. Constantly assessed and tested to be sure the nobles in the castle would be safe from them. They lived in quarters behind the castle, not in leaky hovels in the street. While they might not eat a lot, they did eat more.

This butler had thinning hair, a trimmed goatee, and hazel eyes. He roamed just along the edge of the ballroom and seemed to be looking for something. Whenever his eyes swung her way, he gazed beyond her, as he would any other landowner. She winced. Would they all see her as another landowner now? That felt unacceptable, but inevitable. Of course, the landowners would always see her as a worker.

Balta’s assessment had been spot-on.

With her shoulders straight, she approached the butler with a warm smile. “Allo. I’m Vittoria.”

A brief second of confusion registered on his face, then gave way to understanding. His gaze darted to the magnolias in her hair and back to her face. His mouth rounded into an O.

“Might I ask your name?” she asked.

“Ah . . . Zaldar.”

“An honor to meet you, Zaldar.” She curtsied to him, the same curtsy Zuri had taught her to use when meeting a landowner. Behind her, someone gasped.

Alarm filled Zaldar’s gaze. “Is there some way I may serve you, La Pr—Lady?” he asked with a little bow.

“Oh, no. Nothing I couldn’t do for myself, thank you. Actually, I just wanted to meet you. How long have you worked here?”

He blinked. “Meet me?”

“I’ve never known a worker from the castle. I’ve been a lavanda maid for the last several years. Before then, I came from the farms. You?”

Zaldar struggled to respond at first, so she gave him the space to wrestle his shock.

“Ah . . . I’ve been here my whole life,” he finally managed. “My mere was a maid when she had me, and they conscripted me at the age of three. My wife was also conscripted here as a child, and so were our daughters.

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