Rage filled her, and left again. For a time she even believed she deserved it, that it was her own fault for spying on the Guardsmen in the wine cellar. In the end, that didn’t matter, either. It was a thing that happened, and the world wasn’t fair. When she closed her eyes she could still hear Jon Bassett’s voice.

“This is what happens to nosy young ladies.”

He meant it as a threat, to scare her. And yes, Arable was scared of him now, but his words had taken another meaning. It was simply a lesson to be learned, an inarguable truth about the damned world she lived in.

This is what happens to nosy young ladies.

AFTER COMPOSING HERSELF, ARABLE hurried down the hallway to the keep’s master solar, which was now only used for housing prominent guests. Roger de Lacy preferred more modest quarters himself, which availed the sheriff’s traditional bedroom for notable visitors. She was already late for her afternoon’s task, which was to wait upon the Earl of Warwick and his wife, who had arrived unexpectedly.

Though the hallway never changed, it seemed to slant up today. Her every footstep took effort—she retracted from herself as she climbed it. Her servant’s mantle no longer felt like a disguise, it was now her actual life. She tugged her hair farther forward to crop out her cheeks. Not because she didn’t want anyone to ask, but so she wouldn’t have to feel it when they didn’t.

The unmistakable rumbling of an argument carried all the way down the hall, and Arable opened the door of the solar to an absolute frenzy. She barely found room to curtsy to the two guests between the bustling of personal assistants busying themselves at ignoring the spat between the earl and his wife. The earl himself, Waleran de Beaumont, was a wild-eyed man with spotted skin and white wisps of hair that seemed eager to escape their captivity. His wife, Lady Margery d’Oily, might have been his polar opposite. She remained stoic and composed in the middle of the room, her every blink executed with precision.

“Ah, be a dear girl,” the Lady Margery said upon seeing Arable, “and point me in the direction of a jewelry box, would you?” Arable only had time to open her mouth and glance about before Lady Margery waved her hand in glib dismissal. “Oh, never mind, I forgot that I have no jewelry left to put in it.”

“You’re going to take this out on this poor girl?” the earl asked with some derision. “Is that where we are now?”

“I would never presume to tell you where we are.” Her face shrugged off any blame. “I trust entirely in your leadership. I can’t recall the last time you steered us poorly.”