But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?-Mark Twain
It was the third day after The Event when the head maid finally relented and gave Taryn library duty. "Now don't be ge'in above your station, girl. You're awfully new, and I'm giving it to you as a favor-you be'er be grateful , 'cause I swear, if the mistress finds one lick of dust in there, you'll be cleaning out chamber pots for the rest of your stay." With a stern glance and an emphatic snort, she pushed a feather duster into Taryn's limp hands.
"Well, go on, I don't have all day," she said, heaving a second, threatening snort. Taryn chanced a nervous glance around the spartan servant's quarter before escaping out into the hallway.
Miserable old bat, Taryn almost thought to herself before remembering that she was a good, obedient servant who would never think poorly of her employer. She was very lucky that Serah Crell had decided to hire another maid; she was even luckier that Serah Crell had decided to hire her, untested, with smudged cheeks and an old, grey, twice-owned dress. Still, Taryn couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that the old hag—no, wait—respected superior, could read minds; only last week, two of the other maids had been soundly rebuked for whispering cruelties about the Master's son.
Taryn walked swiftly through the corridor, passing a few servants, who gave her perfunctory nods before continuing their cleaning, or polishing, or general house-keeping. She eventually found a staircase in the second wing, and, praying for luck, descended slowly. At the foot of the stairs she looked around, and sighed in relief; this was the library.
High, domed arches filtered light through colored glass, letting beams of red and blue light scatter gracefully onto rich, mahogany tables. Rows of bookshelves lined the room, and the gentle susseruss of the wind through the trees sounded distantly through the thick stone walls. Opulant, divans, spaced agreeably throughout the room complimented the lush, burgundy carpets. The room, isolated from the general bustle of estate, exuded tranquility.
Taryn let herself breathe in the thick scent of ancient parchment, then, shaking her head, began to tidy-up.
She had only dusted her second shelf when she spotted the book lying partially exposed beneath a massive, maroon couch. Carefully, she made her way behind the couch and pulled the book out from the shadows. What's this? Who would hide a book? she wondered, carrying it over to one of the tables.
The book was thick and heavy, with a strong, leather cover embossed with intricate, delicate patterns. Taryn scanned the room hastily before opening to the first page.
She squinted at the words, sounding them out just like she'd been taught, "The Enchanter's Guide to Elementry Mag-"
The book crashed to the table with a loud whump.
"Maker's, saggy white beard," Taryn breathed, bringing trembling fingers to her mouth. She had to put this back. Right now. She couldn't be seen with this, this—
"What are you doing here!" a shrill voice demanded.
She spun around, nearly tripping. There, not six feet away, stood the master's seven-year-old son, Thomas. His face crumpled into a twisted scowl, brows furrowing furiously over irate, piercing eyes. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here." he repeated, each word rising in pitch and volume.
"N-nothing, just cleaning," she said, grasping desperately behind her for the book. Had he seen it? She found the book and promptly held it behind her back, praying he had seen nothing. "Normal chores, dusting, cleaning, tidying."
Thomas squinted at her suspiciously and opened his mouth, about to say something, then, seemingly changed his mind. "You better not be doing anything bad," he said, after a moment, "or else, I'll tell my dad to fire you, and you'll never, ever get another job."
"Of course, young master," she agreed, then backed out of the room as quickly as she could, leaving the boy in the library, glaring after her.
She fled to her room, nearly knocking over a suit of armor in her haste. Thoughts swarmed her head relentlessly. What was that? Why was Thomas there? And, Maker, who had been reading that blighted book?
As she entered her room, a final, icy thought hurtled through her mind. Someone, here at the estate, has a horrible, terrible secret.
Taryn shoved the book under her pillow.