The Secret Slipper

by Amanda Tero

  Lia straightened. She smiled as Noel’s hair fell over his eyes. He brushed the brownish-blond strands back impatiently then clasped his spade with both hands.

  “My tasks are complete, may I help you, m’lady?” He gave a low bow, flourishing his hand.

  A giggle escaped Lia, though she could feel her cheeks flaming. Why were Dumphey and Noel trying so hard? Their extra efforts as much as said she was more of a hindrance than a help. She thrust the spade into the mixture of hay and dung. If mucking the stalls could be done in one position, she wouldn’t be so slow. Perhaps she could talk with Dumphey about reassigning her tasks. She shook her head. She was going to prove her worth, not ask for more help.

  She tried to match Noel’s pace, which only increased the heat in her face and the pain in her leg. The younger lad was almost twice as fast as she.

  When Noel left to find Dumphey to empty the barrow, Lia leaned against the spade, glaring at the stall in front of her. Why did everything in life have to be so difficult?

  “Lia!”

  Lia winced at the high-pitched squeal of Geva’s voice and turned. “I am busy.”

  “I think not.” Geva lifted her nose into the air. “I saw you resting.”

  “Waiting for Dumphey to come empty the barrow.”

  “Empty it yourself, you idle lass.” Geva stamped her foot to add emphasis to her words.

  Lia glared at the girl, several years younger than her. “I am not idle—”

  “Mother says you are and I believe Mother—not you.”

  Of course she did. She was just like Bioti. Lia turned to the next stall, even though she could do nothing more than fill her spade while waiting for the lads. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mother insists you come see her.”

  Lia threw up one of her hands. “I am to work here to pay off her debts so she can stay in her lovely cottage.” She let sarcasm drip off her tongue before hardening her voice. “I cannot leave or we will be removed from our home.”

  Geva sniffed in disdain. “Mayhap Mother has gotten you another job.”

  “So soon?” The spade dropped from her grasp.

  Geva skipped forward and grabbed Lia’s hand. “Come now, lest I drag you through this muck. I doubt Lady Yzebel would take kindly to a mucked-up servant girl.” She cackled as if she had made a jest.

  Lady Yzebel? Servant girl? What happened to Bioti waiting until she was near sixteen? Lia glanced behind her as she stumbled to keep up with Geva. Dumphey and Noel were not in sight. Would they think that she had fled her task? They were the only friends she had—she couldn’t afford to lose them over a whim of Bioti’s.

  Kiralyn Castle

  We found him,” Jolin said as he entered the study. He shut the door behind Galien.

  “You found him,” Raoul repeated, his tone flat and dull. “That was your goal.” He bolted from his chair, bringing him eye-to-eye with the men. “What did he say?”

  “He was…reluctant,” Galien said, taking a step back and shifting his gaze from Raoul’s.

  Raoul glared at Jolin. “I thought you said he would speak for money?” Nes had to speak for money.

  “M’lord, just listen.”

  Raoul clenched his jaw as he crossed his arms and touched his back to the bookcase behind him. The external feign of relaxation did nothing to calm his nerves. Ellia wasn’t in the grave, like he had been led to believe these ten years. Where was she?

  “I gave him the money.” Galien hesitated and fidgeted with his shirt, still not bringing his eyes to meet Raoul’s gaze. “He said to look in Matheny.”

  Raoul threw his hands up. “Look in Matheny? Does he know how vast the city is? How much did you pay him? We need direct answers, Galien. Not leads. And I thought you were to bring him to me?”

  “He refused to come.” Galien shifted. “He didn’t give the information until after I handed him the sack.”

  Raoul stood up. “Order three horses saddled. We’re going together.”

  “M’lord.” Jolin gestured to the window. “Nighttime is falling.”

  “Aye,” Raoul said. Insufferable man. Next, he would remind Raoul that the two had already made the rounds to and from Fordyce today, that they were tired and needed a full night’s rest. Raoul pushed the consideration aside. “The carriage, then. You may sleep as we ride.”

  Galien stood and left, leaving the door to slam behind him.

  Jolin walked to the bookcase and leaned his arm against it, staring at Raoul until he looked at him. One glance at his serious blue eyes, and Raoul looked away, his gaze falling on the silk slipper he had placed on his desk. He had meant to move it before the men returned.

  “What is the likelihood of childhood deformities healing themselves?” Raoul’s thoughts came out in a low murmur. He cleared his throat and shifted positions, away from Jolin. It was too late to retrieve the question.

  “I know not, m’lord.”

  Another pause. Raoul tried to bring his thoughts into a prayer, just like he had all day. Instead of prayers, he only had questions. Questions without answers.

  “Raoul…”

  If it were any of his other servants, Raoul could reprimand him for impertinence. But not Jolin. He had been like a brother to Raoul all these years, when his own brother, the king, refused to see him. When Jolin didn’t continue, Raoul grunted. “Say it.”

  “I believe you should reconsider tonight’s journey.”

  Raoul’s back stiffened.

  “Have you even discussed this with Lady—”

  “I see that as none of your concern.”

  “Have you remembered tomorrow’s—”

  “They can wait.”

  “What of highwaymen?”

  Here, Raoul couldn’t find an answer. He swallowed and sucked in a lungful of air. It wasn’t enough oxygen. He inhaled again.

  “Postpone the trip less than twelve hours, m’lord.”

  Raoul clenched his teeth and balled his fingers into fists.

  “With all consideration, it has already been so long. A few more hours—”

  Raoul’s fist rammed the shelf, the bang making Jolin jump. “It was ten years without our knowledge of her. She wasn’t buried, Jolin. Her grave is empty.” There, the words were out. He turned away from Jolin. He didn’t want to see his reaction. “What has Nes done besides telling us she’s alive? Or Bioti? What has she done to Ellia?” He clenched his fist tighter to mask that his limbs were shaking. What if Nes was holding something back?

  “M’lord, we must trust God in this. He has kept her these ten years. Cannot He keep her another night?” Jolin’s voice was low and solid.

  Raoul turned to look beyond Jolin. The slipper came into focus again. He licked his lips then choked out, “No later than dawn.”

  Abtshire

  Bioti walked in front of Lia, as if purposefully blocking her stilted gait from Lady Yzebel’s view as they approached. Lia’s feet sank into the rich depth of the plush carpet. She forced herself to keep from wiggling her toes and burying her feet further into the soothing embrace as she waited for the sheriff’s wife.

  “Is this the daughter of whom you spoke?”

  The gentle words slipped like ice through Lia’s veins. She bit her tongue before she contradicted the lady. Bioti found no qualms in claiming Lia as her own in public, though she treated her as nothing when in private.

  “She is a hard worker, a gentle lass. I know that you shall find her suited to all of your needs.” How did Bioti manage to sound like an endearing, partial mother in front of Lady Yzebel? Lia kept her eyes glued on the deep red tones of the carpet to keep from glaring at Bioti. “Come here, Lia.” Bioti stepped aside and pushed Lia forward to let Lady Yzebel look her over.

  Lia buried her hands in the folds of Geva’s gown, the soft linen not calming her at all. She made sure her steps were slow and even, making her appear the careful lass Bioti claimed her to be. Had she not spent the last hour transitioning from filthy rags to this pale green gown
, she would have doubted that she was the same lass mucking the stalls this morn. She lifted her eyes, taking in every embroidered flower that decorated the deep gray silk of Lady Yzebel’s gown. The beauty of elegance stopped as she looked at the lady’s face.

  Lady Yzebel’s brows furrowed, enough to show a touch of disapproval, yet not enough to cast away her façade of grace. “Haven’t you sensible attire?”

  Lia blushed and crossed her hands behind her. “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Good. I am in need of a kitchen maid. ‘Twouldn’t do to have you strutting in the kitchen with fancier attire than the other maids.”

  Bioti’s eyes flashed. “I thought she was to be your personal maid?” She kept her voice cool, but Lia could see that beneath the polite retort, she was holding back her rage.

  “Madame, you asked for an opening, and this is where I have one.” Lady Yzebel pulled out her embroidery. “You may return to the kitchen door. Within the hour, or the opening will be given to another maid.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Lia held her breath as she lowered into a steady curtsy. Beneath the length of the dress, she had to plant her feet solidly on the floor and bend her knees to make the appearance of an elegant curtsy. Nothing like what she was told real ladies were trained to do. But then, she was not a real lady, nor would she ever be one.

  Bioti huffed as she grabbed hold of Lia’s hand. “We shall get her into suitable clothes at once and she shall return to assist your staff. At the price we agree upon.”

  Lady Yzebele didn’t return so much as a glance in their direction.

  Bioti walked slowly until they left the room. Then, she dragged Lia along.

  “You already agreed upon a price for—for me?”

  Bioti turned enough for Lia to see her lips turned into a harsh frown. “Don’t question my methods, Lia.”

  “You do realize that this could likely break your deal with the sheriff.” She limped as she spoke. If only Bioti would keep her pace considerate.

  “Nay. You shall do both.”

  “Both?” Lia stopped and pulled her hand away from Bioti. “Have you gone mad? If I die I am of no use to anyone!”

  “Do not talk to me in that manner! You shall do as I say. And if you do not do well at what I say, you shall regret it.”

  “You have two daughters who are fully able to—”

  A sharp sting interrupted Lia. She clenched her fists to keep from bringing them up to sooth her smarting face. One day, she would make Bioti regret the many times she slapped her.

  “They are my daughters. You are not. It is your fault I have need of extra money. Not theirs. Now hurry or we shall lose this opportunity.” Bioti charged toward her cottage.

  Lia pressed her tongue on the roof of her mouth to force back tears as she followed, not even trying to keep up with Bioti’s angry stride. When Bioti was several paces away, Lia stopped and massaged her foot. Why did Mama have to die, leaving Papa lonely enough to marry someone like Bioti? And then, why had Papa died before she could even remember his loving face? She was sure that he had been loving, not like Bioti’s second husband who was kind only when something would benefit his selfish heart. Still, nothing good had come from his death. In the days when Bioti’s husband was alive, Lia remembered living almost as fine as the sheriff himself. That had faded quickly once he died, leaving Bioti even more bitter, now that she had three lasses relying on her alone.

  Lia entered the house without a word and changed into her own cotton garments, well-suited for kitchen work. Or any work, for that case. Not much could stain them more than they had been stained already. Any profit that Lia had gleaned in working for Bioti went for things for Geva and Helda, unless Lia′s garb was too threadbare to be of use. I do not see how it’s my fault Bioti needs more money. She never uses the extra money for me anyway.

  “Hurry, child. You will be back there within the half hour or no dinner for you.”

  Lia left the house without a word, her brain boiling. If it weren’t for me, there would be no dinner. She turned onto the next street, her body plunging into someone. She reached for the air as she lost her balance and fell to the ground, her crippled foot pinned underneath her. She let out a cry.

  “Forgive me, lass. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  Strong arms grasped her wrists before she could respond. Pushing them away would only mean falling back, helpless to the ground, so Lia accepted. She kept her eyes averted, hiding the tears that she knew were visible, as she was helped back to her feet.

  “Can you walk?”

  Lia swallowed and blinked to push the tears back. She glanced at the man before her, enough to acknowledge him, but not enough to reveal the pain she was in. He wasn’t from around these areas. Given his posture and manner, she doubted he was her class either.

  “Aye.” She pulled her hands from his grasp and took a few steps away, her ankle twisting. She winced as she felt her body show evidence of her limp.

  “Did you hurt your foot?”

  If that was all he thought, she was safe. “Mayhap a little. I beg pardon…sir.” Lia wished she knew the proper way to address this man. “I mayn’t be late. The ankle will heal.” She held her breath as she stepped forward at a steady pace. Every step hurt worse than usual.

  Where were her manners? She turned around after a few steps. “I thank you…sir.” She didn’t wait for his response. A flash of pity had gone through his face—pity that she had seen often in others’ eyes and hated. At least he thought her pain was temporary.

  Lia shook the thoughts from her mind. She had work before her, and after she was released from the kitchen, she had to return to the stables and explain some things to Dumphey.

  Abtshire

  Raoul looked after the lass, still limping from her recent fall. Guilt filled him.

  “Should I offer her assistance?” He had to focus on where he was, who was around him, to avoid another collision.

  “The villagers are proud and do not need help from their superiors.” Jolin laid a hand on Raoul′s arm. “If we wish to arrive at Matheny before nightfall, we mustn’t tarry.”

  Raoul sighed as he looked around at the cottages, the guilt still not easing from his chest. “One would think a lord would see better to the needs of his vassals. How many of these villages are in Lord Trey’s domain?”

  “I know not. They seem satisfied enough, aye?”

  Raoul glanced back at the lass, now a distance away. Her limp was still visible. It would take days for it to heal, considering the way she favored it while walking. He had read pain in her face—of course, that may have been due to him causing her injury. But beneath that was fear. Worry. Turmoil. Not satisfaction.

  “She’s just one lass, Raoul.” It was as if Jolin had read his mind. “Look at the others around here. You are not to judge another lord’s land.” His voice was gentle as he led the way back to the carriage.

  “Aye.” Raoul ran his fingers through his hair as he followed Jolin. He had enough of his own concerns without adding Lord Trey’s domain to it. He followed Jolin to the carriage.

  “I thought we had left Galien here.” Jolin looked around with a frown before he jumped into the carriage and landed into a seat.

  Raoul waited for the carriage to stop shaking before climbing in. He leaned back against the cushions and shut his eyes. Mayhap they should not have stopped in Abtshire. It would have spared them ten minutes—or longer, if Galien didn’t hurry—as well as the young lass’s pain because of his carelessness. He reached inside his pockets, letting his fingers rest against Ellia’s silk slipper. They were still two cities away from where he would find her. Or, where he hoped he would find her.

  The carriage shook again.

  “Sorry for the delay, m’lord.” Galien’s voice filled the carriage as he shut the door.

  Raoul opened one eye as the carriage jerked forward. Jolin was eyeing Galien. Raoul shook his head. He knew that look—the one that meant things were not going exactly how Jolin though
t they should.

  “What were you doing?” Now for Jolin’s interrogation.

  “Refilling the water.” Galien looked out the window as they left the town. He sounded weary. “It was dirty.”

  “Did you see anything of interest?”

  Galien never moved his focus from the scenery outside the window. “Nay. Just commoners.”

  “But a commoner is who we are looking for!” Raoul leaned forward and winced as his head pounded. He shut his eyes again and leaned into the sway of the carriage.

  When Galien didn’t reply, Raoul peeked at him. He was still staring at Abtshire. He shrugged as he looked back at Raoul. “ʻTis a nice village.”

  Raoul groaned and closed his eyes. So Galien hadn’t noticed anything that led him to Ellia. “Don’t wake me ‘til Matheny.” He doubted he would get any sleep—he hadn’t the night before—but trying would at least pass the time easier.

  Abtshire

  Lia placed another mushroom in her basket. The cook had said to fill it as full as possible without the mushrooms toppling to the ground or bruising. Given that the wicker basket was deep and wide, it would have a good weight by the time Lia brought it back.

  She glanced up at the sunlight flickering through the trees. There was no Noel or Dumphey here to help speed up her labor so that she could take a slow, less-painful walk back—especially since her foot was throbbing from running into the man earlier.

  She put both hands to work, breaking off a mushroom with each hand, but her clumsy fingers poked through the tender meat of the fungus. She tossed the damaged mushroom aside. No one needed to tell her that Sheriff Feroci expected nothing but the best served at his table.

  She couldn’t stop to think. She had to work, and carefully at that.

  The heat of the day had lifted by the time she was walking out of the forest. Still, she had draped a light cloth over the mushrooms to keep the sun from kissing their cheeks. Her fingers clenched the basket until they ached, but she couldn’t drop it.

  “From stables to woods, I see.”