Evening draped itself over the Vorlachev Manor, soft shadows stretching across the walls of my room.
The portrait from earlier. the one that had stopped me mid-spin—loomed in my mind like a silent question. Its eyes seemed almost alive, sharp as a blade, and the resemblance… it was impossible.
I pressed my palms against the edge of the table, gripping it tightly as if grounding myself would keep the world from tilting.
Something was wrong.
Whoever this woman was, she mattered and I needed to know why. I had only glimpsed the surface before, cleaning the room hastily earlier today. But now… now I would search properly. Documents, ledgers, anything that could explain her presence here, her connection to me, the manor.
Tomorrow would bring Liora's friend, a rare event that summoned chaos and meticulous preparation. I had to be chosen by Ma'am Natalya. If not, I would have to find my own way. I pursed my lips, trying not to let anxiety or doubt creep in. I had to prepare, and I had to stay sharp.
---
The following morning arrived with the usual symphony of polished floors and whispered instructions. Dozens of maids lined the grand hall, standing like soldiers at attention, their veils softening their features, their eyes bright with either hope or apprehension. I stood among them, silent, heart tightening.
Ma'am Natalya entered, a streak of red and black, commanding even the air around her. She carried a stick, straight and deadly in its elegance, and her presence silenced the room. "Today," she announced, "I shall select ten among you to procure supplies for Liora's guest. You will follow my instructions precisely. There is no room for error."
I watched the line of maids, noting the subtle tics in their movements, their nervous glances, the rigid tension in their shoulders. Only a few would be chosen. My stomach knotted, hope and dread mingling.
Natalya's gaze swept across the room, sharp, unconcerned with rows or order. One… two… seven selected. Only three spots remained. My pulse raced. I needed to act.
As she approached the eighth selection, I feigned a stumble, letting my hand brush against the edge of a bench
Her eyes snapped to me. Irritation flickered in her sharp features, fleeting, but unmistakable. And then… she pointed. I waschosen. relief mixed with determination.
The remaining two spots went to Ilina and Mara. Together with Seiva and Tara, we headed back to our rooms briefly to prepare.
One of the maids approached, a girl I recognized from my first day - Amelja.
She handed Ilina a sheet of paper. "These are the supplies you must purchase," she said softly before disappearing like a wisp of smoke.
...
I sat in front of the mirror, carefully donning my mask and cloak. The portrait weighed heavily on my mind. I could not allow anyone to see me without protection—not now, not ever. Whoever she was, I could not afford vulnerability.
A knock at the door made me tense. Mara entered. "Come, we'll eat first," she said. "Better to face the day with some strength."
The kitchen was alive with warmth and laughter. Seiva practically bounced, her veil brushing her shoulders as she spun in excitement. "Finally! I get to go outside!" she exclaimed, and her joy was contagious.
Ilina sighed, glancing at the list. "I don't understand… why do we need to buy so many things? It doesn't seem necessary, even just for one visit"
A maid I hadn't seen much before leaned closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. " Speaking of, Liora's fourth brother… he's arriving next week. Four days, at least. He's striking—everyone says so." Her eyes glittered with mischief, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.
A ripple of murmurs spread across the room. The maids shifted in their veils, heads turning, glances darting around as though the news itself were alive, moving among them. Some covered their mouths to stifle excited whispers, while others exchanged hurried theories, each trying to be the first to share their speculation.
Seiva's eyes sparkled, her grin widening. "Since we're going outside anyway… why not indulge a little? Makeup, new gloves, maybe even something bright to wear!" She twirled lightly, her veil brushing her shoulders, radiating a joy that made the rigid lines of the others soften, if only for a moment.
Another maid leaned over conspiratorially. "I've heard he spends hours in the gardens. Listens to music, reads quietly, and sometimes he wanders alone through the courtyard at sunset." Her words drew whispers of admiration and envy alike. Some imagined the grace with which he might move, the quiet authority he carried even in leisure.
Seiva's excitement was infectious. "Can you imagine seeing him? Up close? Maybe he notices details… clever tricks… someone who isn't ordinary." She clasped her hands, bouncing slightly on her feet. "Oh, the wonders beyond these walls!" Her laughter was soft but sparkled in the room, a bright thread weaving through the tense, ordered air.
I watched silently, noting every expression, every twitch of a hand or flicker of the eye. Some maids leaned in, eager for more, while others seemed afraid to believe such news, as if acknowledging it might somehow summon it into reality. Even in moments of levity, the manor's strict rules cast long shadows.
A breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of roses from the gardens and the distant clatter of carriages on cobblestones. The room quieted, but Seiva's voice broke the silence. "It feels like the world outside is calling us," she whispered, almost to herself. A few others nodded in agreement, their thoughts wandering beyond the walls they knew so well.
I allowed my mind to settle briefly on the image she had conjured. Striking. There was no mistaking it—handsome, yes, but the thought did not sway me. Curiosity, observation, and caution guided my focus. What would his presence mean for the manor?
As the chatter waned, the list in our hands seemed heavier, a reminder that our task was more than mere shopping. Every choice, every movement, carried weight. And yet, despite the tension, the spark of excitement among the maids created a fragile energy, like a flickering candle in the otherwise controlled world of the manor.
---
Back in my room, I slipped into my cloak and fastened my mask, each movement practiced and precise. My bag was packed with spare clothing, neatly folded for later, each piece chosen with care. The room smelled faintly of candle wax and polished wood, but I barely noticed, my mind focused on what lay ahead.
Outside, the other maids moved freely, their veils discarded, laughter and chatter spilling into the corridors. They carried themselves with ease, unburdened by caution. I, however, remained a shadow among them, my form wrapped in black from head to toe, every step silent, every motion deliberate. I moved as though I were a part of the darkness itself, unseen, unnoticed, and untouchable.
Ilina's voice cut through the quiet hum of the corridor. "Are you sure about this?" Her eyes searched mine, hesitation and concern layered in the simple question.
I met her gaze steadily, calm and unwavering. "I am," I said. No hint of doubt, no hesitation. Only certainty.
We moved through the streets with careful purpose, following the list to the letter. Every purchase was deliberate, every gesture measured. We navigated the crowded stalls and bustling shops with quiet efficiency, avoiding unnecessary attention. Each item we placed in our baskets felt like a small victory, a step toward completing the task perfectly.
When the last package was secured, Seiva could no longer contain herself. Her voice rang out, bright and eager. "Finally! The mall! Let's go explore!" She practically bounced on her feet, her excitement infecting a few of the more reluctant maids.
I gently squeezed Ilina's hand to catch her attention. "I'll go on my own," I said quietly, my tone calm but firm. "I have… other errands to take care of."
Ilina's eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face. "Just… be careful. And don't let Ma'am catch you wandering off."
"I'll be fine," I replied, the words steady, carrying no room for argument. Then, without another word, I slipped away from the group, moving like a shadow through the crowd, unseen and unnoticed.
---
Night fell, as Amelia began her real work. Cloak pulled tight, assassin's garb beneath, she moved through the streets like a shadow. The air smelled of smoke and damp stone.
People whispered, staggered, and Drank.
A drunken man waved a bottle wildly. "Who dares fight me?" he bellowed.
Amelia pressed the stone between her two fingers and flicked it sharply toward the man. It struck him with a precise, stinging impact, and he let out a startled shout, "Whooo!" His balance wavered for a moment, surprise flashing across his face.
Without hesitation, Amelia sprang into motion. Her body lifted gracefully, twisting through the air, and she landed softly on the balls of her feet, barely making a sound. The motion was fluid, almost like a dance, and yet every movement carried the quiet power of control and intent.
In her hand, the stone bounced lightly, up and down, as if it were alive in her fingers. She caught it effortlessly, the rhythm steady and mesmerizing. Her eyes never left him, sharp and calculating, every tilt of her wrist and flick of the stone deliberate, testing, measuring, waiting for the next moment to strike.
Even the subtle sound of the stone's gentle tap against her palm seemed charged, echoing in the tense air between them, a warning and a demonstration of skill.
Amelia's presence was small, controlled, but the danger she radiated was unmistakable,
every motion, every calculated flick of the stone, a silent message that she was not to be underestimated.
Amelia's voice cut through the chaos, low and steady. She claimed responsibility. "I am."
She crouched slightly, keeping her grip on the stone, eyes cold and calculating. "I have a question," she added, voice low but firm. "Do you know someone who could give information about the Vorlachev family?"
The drunk man's eyes flickered with confusion and fear. Before he could respond, she struck again, swift and precise. His nose split under the force, and blood dribbled down as he staggered backward.
"Please… please! I'll answer! Just… don't hit me anymore!" he cried, trembling, clutching his face.
His body shook, and after a moment, he gasped out, "No… no one I know personally… but… you might find someone… somewhere…"
She arched an eyebrow, eyes narrowing with quiet intensity. "Where?"
He swallowed hard, fear overtaking pride. "Rusted Quill… that's where… someone there might know…"
...
The Rusted Quill was a hidden tavern tucked away in a crooked alley. Smoke curled through its windows, mixing with the scent of spilled alcohol and roasted meat.
Patrons gossiped, laughed, and played cards, oblivious to the world beyond its walls.
I entered, unnoticed, the worn floorboards creaking faintly under my boots. A young man at the bar approached. "Drink?" he asked, eyes curious.
"Cheapest," I replied, voice clipped, with a faint smirk. "I'm not here for taste.
He chuckled. "Sure, cheapest it is. You sure you don't want a fancy one?"
I ignored him, seating myself strategically.
The tavern buzzed with its usual noise dice hitting wood, boots scraping against the floor, the slurred laughter of men trying to forget their miseries. I pretended not to listen, but the whisper from the next table snagged my attention like a hook beneath my ribs.
"—he didn't even mean it," one man muttered, voice trembling beneath his breath. "A tiny slip… barely a mistake…"
His companion shushed him, glancing around as though someone might materialize from the shadows.
I leaned slightly closer, pretending to adjust the cup before me.
"What mistake?" the other man asked in a thin whisper.
The first man lowered his head, speaking so quietly I almost missed it.
"He questioned the wrong shipment. Just asked why the papers were late - nothing more. And the next morning… the entire city pretended he'd never existed."
A cold ripple crawled down my back.
So that was the truth behind the businessman's death.
Not treason.
Not scandal.
Just a small question asked at the wrong moment.
I pressed my fingertip against the coin I'd left on the table, the metal warming beneath my skin. "Speak," I said quietly, not even looking at them.
They stiffened. I didn't have to show my face my tone alone was enough to warn them I wasn't someone to ignore.
The older man swallowed, throat bobbing. "People say," he whispered, "there's someone… above all of it. Someone who doesn't tolerate doubt, or delay, or insult. Even the smallest spark - he crushes."
The other man rubbed his palms together nervously. "He's not seen often. Barely spoken of. But when his name drifts by, everyone goes silent. Even officials. Even crime lords."
Their fear seeped into the air, thick and metallic.
I leaned back, absorbing every flicker of tension around me.
"So this… shadow," I murmured, "he ordered it?"
The two exchanged a helpless glance.
"No one knows what he orders," the older one said. "Only what happens after. People vanish. Records vanish. Houses go dark. You step one inch out of line, and "
He snapped his fingers.
"Gone. Like smoke."
My pulse slowed, heavy and calm.
"And that's all?" I asked.
"That's all anyone is brave enough to repeat," he whispered. "More than this… gets you noticed."
And no one here wanted to be noticed.
Their whispers faded into a tense silence. I thought the conversation was over - until I asked the question that tightened every muscle at the table.
"What about the Vorlachev family?" I said quietly.
Both men froze.
The younger one paled instantly, gripping his cup so hard it nearly cracked. The older man's eyes flicked toward the door as though expecting someone to burst in that very moment.
"You—" the younger one stammered. "You shouldn't say that name carelessly."
Their fear only sharpened my interest.
"I'm not saying it carelessly," I replied. "I'm asking."
They didn't answer. They just stared, wide-eyed, like I'd stepped onto a line people weren't supposed to cross.
Finally, the older man wet his lips.
"If you want answers… we can't give them."
"Then who can?" I pressed.
He hesitated, then said a word I didn't expect.
"Beggars."
I blinked. "Beggars?"
He nodded slowly. "Aye. Don't let the rags fool you. They see everything. They hear everything. People walk past them as if they're invisible, and that's exactly why they know more secrets than nobles and guards combined."
The younger man whispered, "Most lives pass right in front of them… and no one notices they're listening."
The older one leaned in.
"If anyone knows something about the Vorlachevs - their past, their enemies, their shadows - it would be the street rats who watch the world from the ground."
I absorbed that.
It made sense. Dangerous sense.
"Where can I find them?" I asked.
"Old Market ruins," he said. "Before dawn. They gather there for scraps and warmth."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he studied me.
"But go as you are, and they'll scatter like birds. You want their truth? Become one of them."