Cassandra had apparently received another beating from Lady Dimitrescu – but I didn't ask Bela for what. I just assumed for starting a fight; for touching me – since I'm technically Bela's property, or for wasting everyone's time on something that's none of her business. I wouldn't be surprised if it was for all of them, or something completely different. Lady Dimitrescu is unpredictable like that.

I had no idea how I was going to face Bela that night after the brief kiss we shared – especially since she didn't lop my head off after. To my relief, Bela didn't return that night. But I had been more disappointed than even I anticipated. After what she had done for me, a lullaby to sleep was the least that I owed her.

My two weeks of tranquility passed faster than I would've liked, but I'm still able to develop somewhat of a routine once more. Bela and I hunt in the early mornings, and when we return to the castle, she leaves me the afternoons to do my exercises. Without much supervision, I constantly overworked myself, often making quick dashes to the bathroom to vomit the contents of my meager breakfast. Only to devour a pound of food for lunch and half a pound of dessert.

No other incident happened with Cassandra or Daniela, enough so that I was actually able to get a full night's sleep two days in a row. But I still lock the doors to my room each night. Still, when I looked in the mirror each morning to braid my hair, the face that stared back had started to lose its gauntness, the shadows beneath my eyes. Even though some sounds still made me twitch for the dagger on my nightstand, the exhaustion, the purple bruises under my eyes, had started to vanish.

The cut near my eye had definitely begun to scar, and Helga checked the one slicing across my shoulders every afternoon when I had finished my exercises.

Bela would occasionally call for my aid just to avoid suspicion, and it would be for meager tasks: cleaning her sickle – of which I tried not to think about who or what blood stained the blade, reorganizing her four meager dresses. And the one odd, semi-serious occasion where she called for me to kill a spider in her room. Of all the things I thought she would be afraid of, that wasn't one of them.

I practiced the dances with Alcina and Bela in the opera hall two more times during the second week, barely swapping more than a few words with Alcina as I learned waltz after waltz, some particular to House Dimitrescu, others to the village, and some to the upper class in general.

None of the other daughters showed up to watch us. If Alcina approved of my progress, she never let on.

The autumn chill started to creep over the castle and village, making the air crisp and dry. Bela and I had to start bundling up with some scarves and heavier jackets; but even still she seemed irritated – almost in pain. One morning before we left, I had asked her if she needed a pamprin, only to be met with a sneering decline. If she hated the cold that much, she was more than welcome to stay at the castle, and though I said as much, she just gave me another sneer.

The tailor soon arrived with my barrage of new dresses, and I couldn't stop smiling when the bodices actually clung to me and the still-developing curvature of my hips. It's a tremendous improvement. The blonde, green-eyed assistant took the liberty of hanging them in my wardrobe, filling it just enough that it was full, but allowed the wide skirts some breathing room.

Gods, they all looked so beautiful I would've worn any of them to the party. But there was a difference between formal and casual . . . I just didn't know what it was, exactly. Something about the design or the patterns – I figured the ones with layers upon layers of skirts were more formal, while the thinner ones were probably more for a late-afternoon brunch out on the balcony.

Either way, I tried on one of the dresses late one night and spent so much time dancing that my feet tingled when I finally settled into bed.

Now with the party only three days away, Bela is wrapping up a bundle of rabbits to her horse's saddle as orange and yellow leaves drift past us. She asks me suddenly, "What are you wearing to the party, anyway?"

As I knot the string of my burlap sack filled with four squirrels, securing it to my own saddle, I shrug. "I figured the forest-green one."

It was one of my favorite dresses out of the bunch, so far. With its silver embroidery and elegant whorls of pearls, it reminded me of snow-covered pines. I figured the trailing lace down the bodice into the skirt made it seem fancy enough.

"Oh, no." Bela's cheeks are flushed with pink from the cold, her golden hair spilling from her hood and over the cherry red scarf wrapped around her neck. "We'll have to have someone pick it out for you. Mother cares highly about appearances. You have to wear the right thing."

I looked at Bela's near protruding breasts from the low collar of her own attire, the black lace stark against her porcelain skin. The tip of one of her sword charms on her necklace lies sheathed between her thick cleavage. Beautiful, in its own way.

Still, I frown. "I don't want to wear anything too, revealing." I doubt they would dress me in something that would actually rival the Dimitrescu family. Just enough to show everyone my place, and what little pride I'd managed to cling to.

"I'll look at what you have. Worst comes to worst we can have them make you something from scratch." Bela places her foot in the stirrup and mounts her horse in one smooth motion.

I try not to think about the potential stress put upon the tailor by the time constraint, or Bela's threats. "Thank you." I say.

We start the trek back towards the castle, and I look up at the cloud-speckled sky, taking a deep, refreshing breath. I hadn't felt like this since . . . well, since my father's passing. It did help, too, that my bruises and black eye have healed over the course of these two weeks. I had been applying and reapplying that salve Helga had first gotten me – finally finishing the tin this morning – and making sure to take the pain medicine before my exercises. I'm sure that with a little makeup, no one would even know.

Even if anyone did know, not like they would do anything about it. I try to ignore the pinch in my chest at the thought.

I turn my head towards the direction of the village, wondering how Lacy has been these past few months. With the peaceful nights I had been granted, it also allowed me to think of her. To miss her.

I was wide awake before dawn, but I remained staring at the filigreed ceiling, watching the growing light creep between the drapes, savoring the softness of the down mattress. I was usually out of the house by first light. If I were home, I'd already be entering the woods, not wasting a moment of precious sunlight, listening to the drowsy chatter of the few early birds. Instead, the bedroom and the castle beyond were silent, the enormous bed foreign and empty.

I missed the warmth of my sister's body cuddling with mine. While we were still living with our mother, she would often sneak into my bed whenever she had bad dreams. I never had the courage to ask her what they were about, and she never told me. Just content to be in my arms, secured and safe.

Usually during the holidays, she would climb into my bed the day before Christmas just to be with me; and to drag me from bed in the earliest hours of the day so we could open presents together. It was the only day I put off hunting – only to gather extra game the day prior.

Within a short time of our living with Luiza, Lacy soon chose between me or Luiza to sleep with during one of her nightmares. A part of me was relieved – because it meant there was finally a mother-like figure in her life; but it would also be a lie if I said it didn't upset me a little. Despite its circumstances, it was something that we had shared between each other. But for Luiza to take on that role for her, and for Lacy to accept her, I couldn't be more grateful.

The castle's silhouette soon appears, Bela straightening at the anticipation of the brewing warmth. I loop a section of rein around my fingers, running my thumb along the smooth leather. "Hey Bela," I say, tugging my horse to a stop. The eldest daughter looks over her shoulder, stopping her horse as well. "I know your original reason for hiring me was to sing to you. But we haven't really had a moment together – or even if we did, we just didn't take advantage of it."

Bela turns her horse towards me. "Don't think a song will get you out of debt to me."

"I wasn't planning on it." I say as the corners of my mouth turn up. "I was merely suggesting that, while we're here, in the privacy of the woods, I could sing you a quick song."

Bela blinks, her only sign of surprise. She seems inclined to accept, until a gentle breeze stirs up and rattles her entire being. She hisses and huddles further into her scarf and gloves. I was worried if her own injuries sustained from her fight with Cassandra had affected her somehow, but during the past couple of weeks, I hadn't seen even the slightest bruise on her. She must be one hell of a healer. "You want to do this now? Out here?"

I shrug, feeling myself shrinking at the snip in her tone. "It was just a suggestion."

"Let's just get inside, and then we can talk." She says with a wave of one hand, and near yanking the horse with the other.

I'm already starting to regret my offer. Had I'd known she'd be in a bad mood, I would've just let her be. I tuck a couple of loose pieces of my hair behind my ear, following behind her as we approach the castle. We drop off the horses at the stables, one of the stablegirls actually sparing me a nod of acknowledgement as opposed to just avoiding me in Bela's presence.

We walk side by side in comfortable silence, Bela near ripping the scarf from her neck when we entered the main hall. She tosses it unceremoniously onto the couch posted in front of the roaring fire, standing before it and rubbing her hands together.

"I'll take the game to the kitchen, if you want to warm up."

Without a word, she holds them out to me. I take them and head to the kitchen. I hadn't given the kitchen staff much thought since I spotted Nadine watching me in the castle gardens. Nothing seemed to have come of it; and I intentionally have been staying away from Gretta and Bianca ever since my beating in the dining room. I don't even know if they'll have the want or courage to talk to me after that – after seeing where friendship with me could lead.

Honestly, it probably would be better. Helps in sticking with my original goal to keep to myself of just getting money in my pocket. I've only seen Duke once or twice a week ever since Bela told me about their secret arrangement. A shame, since I did enjoy his company and wares, but the seasonal change may be bringing on some new stock, so I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt. If I don't see him by Samhain, I'll ask Bela.

Taking a deep breath, I shove my way through the dining room and into the kitchen. The sounds are still familiar, clinking silverware and tapping plates followed by the clanging of pots and pans. The aroma lures me with delicate fingers, Kathryn's alfredo pasta dish; I can practically hear the burping bubbles.

A few heads of the closest maids turn to me, but only one sparing a ghost of a smile before returning to her work. I spot Bianca at the center table chopping at some vegetables, her onyx eyes slightly red-rimmed due to the large onion left in pieces before her. Her midnight black hair is pulled back into a tail falling down her back, a few loose strands framing her lovely face.

Sensing my gaze, her head lifts towards me. Her smile is timid, but genuine, and it helps remind me that I'm carrying several dead animals. I spare her a nod as I make my way over towards the back corner, no sign of Kathryn anywhere. I don't question it, but I will take advantage. Unfortunately, there's no sign of Gretta either.

I hang the game against the wall, washing my hands at the single sink just outside the threshold. Bianca is just starting on a red pepper when I approach.

"Hey." I say.

A pathetic attempt, but she reciprocates; pausing her cutting to look at me. "Hi." Her eyes slightly widen at the scarring cut beside my eye. Its phantom pain makes me blink. "You've looked better."

I lean my hip against the table edge. In a tentative whisper, I ask, "How are you holding up? Are you okay?"

Without looking at me, she shakes her head. "I've been fine. I would almost argue things have almost been normal."

I try not to let that sting. "Look, about what had happened, I didn't think they would involve you three, and I just want to apologize."

This time, she does look to me once the pepper is a pile of mince. Gods, her skin is flawless. Had I'd been someone else, I would've thought she'd been plucked from a fairytale.

"An apology like that makes it sound like you knew what was going to happen." She starts, but her tone quickly softens. "And I know you didn't. Kathryn might think otherwise, but, I know you're not a malicious person."

I quickly blink back the silver lining my eyes. "Thank you. I really appreciate that. So, are we okay?"

A soft, gentle smile – like a flower blooming in spring. "Of course."

"What about Gretta and Nadine? Are they okay?"

"Yeah," Bianca says brightly. She points the knife towards the windows behind the sink. "Gretta's actually picking some vegetables from the garden, and Nadine had to fetch some clean towels."

"How were they after everything?" I ask, still keeping my voice soft. "I remember Gretta being pretty upset."

Bianca hums with slight amusement, resuming her attention on the vegetables as another servant scoops up the onion and pepper. "That's a bit of an understatement. She was a mess when Dimitrescu and her daughters released us back into the kitchen. Kathryn spent almost fifteen minutes trying to calm them down. Because you know Lady Dimitrescu, or even Helga, wouldn't relieve them of their duties."

I bite my tongue at the mention of Helga. Apparently, I've seen a side of her she doesn't show often. I'd rather not ruin her image, or lose my favoritism with either party. "What about you?"

A shrug of her shoulders. "I was confused, felt sick, and overall just silently stunned at what had happened. When we came back in, Gretta practically collapsed to the floor, and Nadine threw up in the garbage. We were all so worried about you – Cassandra beat you pretty bad."

I could feel her vision narrow on my nose – having been broken and bent and readjusted, forever slightly crooked if one looked close enough. I did sometimes spot the trio of girls when I dropped off the morning bounties, and I knew they saw my bruises and blackened eye. But it would seem either of us had been too hesitant to speak to the other. I don't blame them, and I hope they don't blame me.

"What did happen? Why did Lady Dimitrescu call us in and assault you like that?"

"Because I had made the piss-poor decision to lie to her."

Bianca's eyes widen. "Why?"

"I was trying to send money to my family through Duke." I sigh. "It was the whole reason I took this job: to send them a portion of my earnings to help pay for expenses for my little sister. I didn't really trust Dimitrescu to do it without some kind of compensation, so I went to Duke. I'm hoping he's okay too. I hadn't seen him in a while."

Bianca's features soften with understanding, and pity. "I don't know if you're incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid."

I grin. "I feel like I've heard that before."

"So what happened?"

"Dimitrescu ended up arranging things; and now my family has a bit of money coming to them every time we get paid."

"Your little sister is the one with the blonde hair, right? About five years old?"

"Yeah . . ." I drawl.

"I've seen you two around the village, before I came here. She's beautiful."

My heart skips a beat. "Thanks. So, you knew who I was before this?"

"I knew of you. Never thought I'd get the chance to know you." Another smile. "But I am happy for it."

"Most would say otherwise."

Bianca makes quick work of a few garlic cloves. "I don't regret it, Erika. Not one bit."

I could fall to my knees and kiss her feet with relief. She might've been the first person to officially say something like that. Elena had always been a friend of mine – both of us born of defiance and impulse. Her compliments were as expected as Luiza's.

But for a complete third-party person to say that . . . I hadn't realized how badly I needed to hear it. To confirm that not everyone thinks that I'm my mother's daughter –

"Thank you." I choke, embarrassment making me turn my head as my cheeks grow warm.

Bianca reaches out her arm, wrapping it around my neck while her head leans on my shoulder. She smells of smoke and coconut, and a hint of lemon. I pat her arm and settle in the few seconds she holds me. I have to hold my flinch when she presses a delicate kiss to my cheek, as light as flower petals. She resumes her work without another word, or second thought.

"So, can I ask what happened here?" She floats her finger around her own eye. My fingers flick to mine, immediately bumping over the raised skin.

"Oh, um, I was caught in the middle of a fight with the sisters."

Bianca hisses through her teeth. "Oh, about what?"

I tuck my hands in my pockets. "Me, in a way. Cassandra seemed, frazzled, that I was promoted to Bela's lady-in-waiting."

Bianca pauses, her mouth popping open when she looks to me. Her knife clacks against the wooden board. "No wonder. That's what she came to the kitchen that day."

I adjust my stance and cross my arms. "I guess they're still sisters after all. Sibling rivalry, or something."

"But why did Bela appoint you to be her Lady's Maid?"

"Do the Dimitrescu family really need a reason to do anything?" I feign ignorance, and Bianca takes the bait, shrugging her shoulder in agreement. "I'm just blessed I'm not dead."

"Makes you look like a badass." She giggles. Those onyx eyes scan my face, and then my body, as if she can see the faded bruises beneath my shirt. "I can't imagine what you looked like before."

I huff a laugh. "Well, on the bright side it wasn't the ugliest I've ever seen myself."

A smile slowly stretches across Bianca's face. "Oh? And when was that?"

"When I cry."

Bianca snorts and shoves my shoulder, prompting me to move as another maid walks over and sets down a steaming bowl of seasoned potatoes. Their buttery smell makes my mouth water.

I look around the kitchen for Kathryn, ready to book it out of there, but I still don't see her. Nor do I see the familiar faces of the girls who bring my food to my room. Guess they don't work in the kitchen. They must know of my room change, since I don't sleep in the castle catacombs anymore, and I'm grateful Bianca doesn't seem to be harboring jealously for it. Helga did say that being a personal servant to the Dimitrescu family had been more of a nightmare for some women.

"Erika?" a voice calls.

Both Bianca and I look to find Gretta – cheeks flushed red from the autumn chill – holding a full basket of cabbages, carrots, cauliflower, and onions. Her hair is bound at the crown of her head, leaving her curls to fall to her shoulders, a few loose strands tickling her collarbones. A scarf is placed over her shoulders, pinned and tucked into her corset.

I heave a sigh of relief at the sight of her – unharmed and alive. And still willing to acknowledge my existence.

"Hey," I quietly say.

Something that sounds like a combination of a laugh and a sob escapes her as she hurries over to me, plopping the wide basket onto the table before her arms wrap around me in a bone-crushing hug. I bite back my wince of pain sparking from my ribs. Bianca manages to save an onion that spilled from the basket.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" she whimpers, on the verge of sobbing.

"As okay as I can be, but I am still in pain." I strain as I try to wriggle myself free of her vise-like grip. She catches on and release me immediately. I can't stop myself from rubbing the right side of my ribcage. Cassandra must've figured out I'm right-handed, because she constantly aimed for my right side – making sure I'd be at a disadvantage with near everything. Even when pulling back the string of my bow, I still wince at the sudden stab of pain.

"Oh sorry, sorry." Gretta winces, "I'm just so happy to see you're okay. Or well, better. Y-You know what I mean." Her eyes widen when she sees the cut next to my eye. "Oh my gods, what happened now?"

"It's a bit of a story, but look, I just wanted to take the chance to apologize to you. I was apologizing for my ignorance, and they got you involved."

"Oh please, don't worry about that!" Gretta dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I was more worried about you. I thought Cassandra had beaten you dead. Kathryn kept telling me she wouldn't, given you're Bela's personal servant, but I couldn't believe her with the state I saw you in."

I wince. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah, your nose was definitely broken."

"I'm sorry. I don't even really know why they brought you in – but I'm sure it has something to do with fear or intimidation."

Gretta shrugs her shoulders, returning to the half-spilt basket. "Well, it did work, to a degree."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'll be fine. Question is: will you be okay?"

I shrug. "As best as I can be."

"I can see." She says, pointing to her eye mirroring my own. "What happened there?"

I give her the same story I did with Bianca, because I feel like she deserved that. And shortly after finishing with her, Nadine walked in with a stack of fresh towels. So, I retell it to her too, answering her question about my eye before she had the chance to ask it.

Once everything had been said, and Nadine accepted my apology too, she then asks, "So, what were you doing in the gardens that made you sick?"

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask you about that." Bianca says, having finished her chopping and since moved on to seasoning a delicious-looking cut of pork.

I look to Nadine, "You told them?"

As she's in the middle of putting peas in a bowl, Nadine pauses, those crystal-blue eyes flicking to me. Her cheeks flush pink. "Well, yeah, because I was worried. I didn't know what to think."

"I just overworked myself. It's been a while since I went for a run."

"Must be nice to have so much spare time," a voice croaks from across the room, "compared to us who work all day into night."

The four of us share a collective roll of our eyes as Kathryn finally waddles in. Immediately the air thickens, some maids paying extra attention to their work, or making themselves smaller to avoid the old woman's gaze.

Those bitter chestnut eyes narrow on me, now leaning against the sink since the worktable got too crowded. "I thought I told you to stay the hell out of my kitchen."

"I just came to drop off the game." I say flatly, carefully reminding her that Bela is only a few steps away. I jerk my chin towards the three women surrounding the center table. "And I wanted to apologize to them."

"Well I assume you have, now you can get out."

"Kathryn, how long are you planning to keep this up?" Gretta suddenly blurts as she turns to the head chef. To her credit, she doesn't shrink under Kathryn's glare.

"That is none of your damned business, girl."

"Then how is it yours to kick her out?"

Kathryn takes one, hobbled step forward. "This is my damn kitchen, you little bitch! And I can have whoever the hell I want in this place!"

"Watch it, Kathryn." I snarl, placing my hand on the pommel of my dagger. She looks ready to spit at me. I look to Gretta, "I don't want any trouble, and I have distracted you enough from your work."

"We're working just fine. This isn't fair to you."

"Not fair to her?! After everything she's done to us?" Kathryn opens her arms wide, gesturing to the whole room.

"Oh, so now it's about us?" Gretta sneers. "Kathryn, she had nothing to do with what happened to those two women, and you know that."

"What I know, is that things were tolerable before she came along, and now we're treading the knife's edge more than we ever have before."

"And you're more uptight than you have ever been before." Bianca says with a curl of her nose. I almost pity the hurt that flashes across the chef's face.

"We haven't even really had things happen to us, and it's calmed since then." Gretta says.

"Calmed, because she got moved somewhere else." Kathryn points a knobby finger at me. "Bad things follow your kind, girl."

"Kathryn –" Bianca starts.

"The crusted apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Kathryn!"

I stop hearing her.

I just — stop.

It's like being underwater.

I stand deathly still, watching the flickering fire of the hearth. Waiting for her to finish the words I can't hear, waiting for a blow I am fairly certain I won't feel. She does spit at my feet then, muttering a prayer of protection under her breath.

Slowly I blink, feeling myself drifting away from my body, barely tethered by the beat of my heart.

With unnerving calm, I slowly shake my head. I say in a voice I don't recognize, "You really are so wicked."

It must've shown in my face, or my voice, because Gretta, Bianca, Nadine, and the closest maids all take a collective step away from me. My fingers twitch, and I remember my hand is on my dagger. I can practically see the memory of my shooting drift into all of their minds.

Even when the old crone takes a step back herself, she snarls, "Go rot in hell."

"I vacation there, darling."

Somehow, my feet are able to start moving; somehow they manage to retain such control that I walk with a feline grace. Looking over my shoulder, I smile to the trio of women, "I'll see you tomorrow, ladies."

Despite their fear etched on their lovely faces, despite the pride that pounds through my chest at that fear, I still feel the sharp prick of Kathryn's words. I leave the kitchen without another word, turning right out of the dining room and into the main hall.

I manage to notice that Bela was gone, and the thought forms in my head of wondering where she might've gone, but it's smothered by others that attempt to cushion Kathryn's words.

I take the stairs up, running my hand along the polished banister. I try to imagine trapping the old crone's words in a thick ball of jagged ice, crushing it harder, and harder, and harder until it descends into that abyss of silence. The endless black that cracked its way into my heart when my father had died; pried open further when my mother gave up on me and Lacy.

I try to let that silenced swallow the pain whole, leaving nothing but cold in its empty wake. Still, tears line my eyes as I feel the silence settling. Nothing I couldn't blink away.

At the top of the stairs, I turn and overlook the main hall and its grandeur. What does Lady Dimitrescu feel when she stands here, above everyone else; surrounded by luxury and warmth?

I place my hands on the railing, curling my fingers like claws. I take deep breaths as I lean over, peering down at the tiles wondering if a fall from this height would be enough to kill me.

But I lean back, taking another deep breath. I settle my elbows onto the wood and hide my hands in my face. To distract even myself, I begin to wonder where Bela went. Even when it doesn't really matter. The afternoon is mine – so perhaps a quick sob in my room wouldn't be such a bad idea. Better than letting myself slowly deteriorate in a place where they can see that the words affected me.

Suddenly from behind, Bela asks, "What happened?"

I whirl around and find her standing a foot behind me. Gods, she so damn quiet. I don't bother wiping my eyes. "Another pleasant visit to the kitchen, as usual."

"Why do you even still go there? Other than to drop off our game?"

"I just wanted to see if Gretta and the others were okay from that night."

"I could've told you that."

"I needed to see it for myself."

Bela places her hands on her hips. "What, you'd think I'd lie to you?"

I flop my head towards her with an annoyed snarl, "I'm not doing this." I shake my head and peer down again. "It's amazing how she went from complimenting me, to completely casting me out like a leper."

Bela comes to stand next to me, resting her leather-gloved hand on the railing. "Fear and paranoia will do that to people."

There's a moment of silence, safe for the crackling of the fire. Then I say, "I want to ask you something, and of course, be honest with me."

I look towards her, and Bela nods.

"Am I responsible for what happened to that girl, and the laundress?"

Bela blinks, her only sign of contemplation. And then she says, "No. Dani and I may have our differences, but we are still sisters. We still share some . . . traits. It was all just poor timing."

I give a cold snort, knowing she's only telling me half of the truth. Or at least a majority of it. "It's just awfully coincidental that they both got attacked, one even dying, after being in the same room with me."

My voice hitches on the last word. That familiar, terrible feeling creeping up on me. I smother it in that hovering silence.

"I acted impulsively, and it was wrong. But I won't apologize for it." Bela says, staring out across the room.

"I never expected you to."

"Daniela . . . she's as unpredictable as they come. Even if you hadn't been there, she would've died anyway."

In my heart, with this place, in know that to be true. And her words do make me feel lighter, puts things into perspective. Helga did say that Bela may be the safest of the daughters, she's still a Dimitrescu in her blood.

Bela then taps her hand on the banister, "Well, no use in moping around here. You promised me a song, and I intend to collect."

This manages to pull a small smile from me. "Where do you want to do?"

"Come on, I know the perfect place."