Commander pushed his chair away from the desk and gestured to Mia to come around. Now eye level with her, he asked, “What’s your side of the story?”
With a thin quavering voice, she answered, “I’m good with numbers, Sir.” She hesitated as if expecting to be corrected for making a bold statement, but, when none came, she continued, “I was bored solving mathematical problems Tutor Beevan’s way, so I invented new and faster ways. He’s not good with numbers, Sir.” Again she stopped, flinching as though she was anticipating a blow. “I made the mistake of pointing out his errors. I’m sorry, Sir. Please don’t whip me, Sir. I’ll never do it again, Sir. I’ll follow Tutor Beevan’s every command.” Tears flowed down her bright pink cheeks.
“No, you won’t,” the Commander replied.
Terror gripped the girl’s face.
“Relax, child. Yelena?”
Startled, I spilled some of his tea. I had been holding his tray. “Yes, Sir.”
“Fetch Adviser Watts.”
“Yes, Sir.” I put the tray on the desk and hurried through the door. I had met Watts once. He was the Commander’s accountant, who had given me the money I had earned playing fugitive. He was working at his desk, but immediately followed me back to the office.
“Watts, do you still need an assistant?” the Commander asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Watts replied.
“Mia, you have one day to prove yourself. If you don’t dazzle Adviser Watts with your mathematical skills, then you’ll have to return to Beevan’s class. If you do, then you can have the job. Agreed?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Mia’s pretty face was radiant as she trailed behind Watts.
I marveled at the Commander. Being compassionate, hearing Mia’s side of the story, and giving her a chance, were the exact opposite of how I imagined the encounter would play out. Why would a man with such power take the time to go that extra step? He risked upsetting Beevan and the coordinator. Why would he bother to encourage a student?
His stack of reports reclaimed the Commander’s attention, so I slipped out the door, heading toward the library to continue my research.
After a while, the sun began to set. I picked out a promising botany book to take with me as I was reluctant to have a lantern light betray my presence in the library.
The candlelight cast a dismal glow in the corridors. I watched my shadow glide along the walls as I headed for Valek’s suite, wondering if I should move back to my old room in the servants’ wing. Now that Brazell was gone, there was no logical reason for me to remain with Valek. But the thought of living in that small room, where I wouldn’t have anyone to argue with or to discuss poisoning methods with, left a hollow feeling inside me. That same empty pang I’d been having on and off these last four days.
Only the cold darkness greeted me when I entered Valek’s suite. My disappointment surprised me, and I realized I had been missing him. I shook my head at the foreign concept. Me? Miss Valek? No. I couldn’t allow myself to think that way.
Instead, I focused on my survival. If I wanted to discover an antidote to Butterfly’s Dust, paging through books on counteracting poisons while sitting in Valek’s living room wouldn’t be the smartest idea. Of course, the decision might not be mine to make. Once Valek found out Brazell had gone, he’d probably order me to move back anyway.
After I had lit the lanterns in Valek’s suite, I relaxed on the couch with the botany book. Biology had never been a favorite subject of mine, and I soon found my mind wandering. My weak efforts to remain focused were lost to my daydreams.
A muffled slam brought my attention back to the present. It sounded like a book hitting the floor. I glanced down, but my volume remained in my lap, opened to a particularly boring passage about fruit trees. I scanned the living room to see if one of Valek’s untidy piles of books had fallen over. Sighing at his mess, I couldn’t tell if something had toppled or not.
A frightening thought crept into my mind. Maybe the noise had come from upstairs. Maybe it hadn’t been a book but a person. Someone sneaking in to wait until I fell asleep to kill me. Unable to sit still, I grabbed a lantern and dashed into my room.
My backpack rested on the bureau. Rand hadn’t asked for his knife yet, so I hadn’t returned it. Pulling the blade from the pack, Ari’s words about misusing a weapon flew through my mind. It was probably foolish to take the knife, but I felt more confident with it in my hand. Armed, I returned to the living room and considered my next move. Sleep would be impossible tonight until I investigated the upstairs rooms.
Blackness from above pressed down on my meager light as I ascended the staircase. Curving to the right, the stairs ended in a sitting room. Piles of boxes, books and furniture were scattered throughout the room in a haphazard fashion, casting odd-shaped shadows on the walls. I maneuvered with caution around the heaps. My blood slammed in my heart as I shone my lantern into dark corners, searching for an ambush.
A flash of light caused a yip to escape my lips. I spun, only to discover it was my own lantern reflecting in the tall thin windows that striped the far wall.
Three rooms were located to the right of the sitting chamber. A quick heart-pumping check of the box-filled rooms revealed they were empty of ambushers and identical to the three off the downstairs living area.
To the left of the upstairs sitting area was a long hallway. Doorways lined the right side of the corridor opposite a smooth stone wall. The hall ended in a set of locked double wooden doors. Carved into the ebony wood was an elaborate hunting scene. By the thin coating of white powder on the floor beneath the doors, I guessed this was the entrance to Valek’s bedroom. The powder would show footprints, alerting Valek to an intruder. I breathed easier seeing the powder undisturbed.
As I systematically checked the remaining rooms along the corridor, the growing realization that Valek was a true pack rat struck me. I had always imagined assassins as creatures of the dark, traveling light and never staying in one place for too long. Valek’s suite resembled the house of an old married couple who had filled their rooms with all the things they had collected over the years.
Distracted by these thoughts, I opened the last doorway. It took me some time to properly register what I saw. Compared to the others, the room was barren. One long table lined the back wall, centered under a large, teardrop-shaped window. Gray rocks streaked with white—the same stones I had been tripping over in Valek’s living room and office for the past month and a half—were arranged by size on the floor.
A thick layer of dust scrunched under my boots when I walked into the room. On the table, carving chisels, metal sanding files and a grinding wheel occupied the only dust-free spots. Small statues in various stages of creation were interspersed among the tools. To my delight, I realized that the gray rocks, when carved and polished, metamorphosed into a beautiful, lustrous black, and the white streaks transformed into brilliant silver.
Setting the lantern on the table, I picked up a finished butterfly with silver spots sparkling from its wings. It fit into the palm of my hand. The detail was so exquisite that it appeared the butterfly might beat its wings and lift into the air at any moment. I admired the other statues. The same devoted care had been applied to each. Lifelike animals, insects and flowers lined the table; apparently, nature provided the artist’s favorite subjects.
Stunned,
