Brian McCLELLAN: The Crimson Campaign

Everyone feared Dourford except, of course, for Vetas.

As far as Nila could tell, Lord Vetas feared nothing.

“Jakob,” Nila said, speaking to the six-year-old boy sitting beside her on the kitchen floor, “hand me the lye.”

Jakob got to his feet and paused, frowning at her. “Where?” he asked.

“Under the washbasin,” Nila said. “The glass jar.”

Jakob rummaged around beneath the washbasin before finding the jar. He grabbed it by the lid and pulled.

“Careful!” Nila said. She was on her feet and beside him in a moment, and caught him by the shoulders as the jar came loose and he stumbled backward. She put a hand beneath the jar. “Got you,” she said, and took the jar. It wasn’t very heavy, but Jakob had never been the strongest child.

She unscrewed the lid and doled out a measure for the laundry with a spoon.

“No,” she said when Jakob reached for the open jar. “You don’t want to touch that. It’s very poisonous. It’ll eat right through your pink fingers.” She snatched him by the hand and playfully bit at his fingers. “Like an angry dog!”

Jakob giggled and retreated across the room. Nila put the lye away on a high shelf. They shouldn’t keep materials like this within reach of children. Even if Jakob was the only child in the house.

Nila wondered what life would be like if she was still in the Eldaminse manor. There would have been a party for Jakob’s sixth birthday two weeks ago. The house staff would have been given a stipend and an extra afternoon off. Duke Eldaminse would have likely made another pass at Nila – or two, or three – and Lady Eldaminse would have considered putting her out on the street.

Nila missed the quiet of the nights doing laundry for the Eldaminse house. She didn’t miss backbiting and jealousy among the serving staff, or Lord Eldaminse’s groping hands. But she’d exchanged it for something worse.

Lord Vetas’s manor.

There was a scream from somewhere in the basement, where Lord Vetas kept his… room.

“Pit,” Nila said softly to herself, eyes back on the flame of the kitchen fire.

“A lady doesn’t curse.”

Nila felt her spine stiffen. The voice was quiet, calm. Deceptively placid, like the surface of the ocean undisturbed by the sharks circling beneath.

“Lord Vetas.” She turned and curtsied to the man standing in the kitchen door.

Vetas was a Rosvelean with dusty-yellow skin. His back was straight, one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding his evening glass of red wine with casual familiarity. Seen on the street, he might be mistaken for a well-dressed clerk or merchant with his white shirt, dark-blue vest, and black pants that she’d neatly pressed herself.

Nila knew that to assume anything about Vetas was a deadly mistake. He was a killer. She’d felt his hands on her throat. She’d looked into his eyes – eyes that seemed to see everything at once – and seen the dispassion with which he regarded living things.

“I’m not a lady, my lord,” Nila said.

Vetas’s eyes examined her clinically. Nila felt stripped beneath that gaze. She felt like a piece of meat on the butcher’s block. It frightened her.

And it made her angry. She wondered for a moment if Lord Vetas would look that calm and collected in his casket.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Vetas said.

“To watch over Jakob.” She cast a glance at the boy. Jakob watched Vetas curiously.

“That’s right.” A smile suddenly split Vetas’s face, warmth flooding his expression without touching his eyes. “Come here, boy,” Vetas said, kneeling. “It’s all right, Jakob. Don’t be afraid.”

Jakob’s training as a noble’s son left him no choice but to obey. He started toward Vetas, looking back to Nila for direction.

Nila felt her chest go cold. She wanted to throw herself between them, to take a hot iron from the fire and beat Vetas back. The false smile on his face was far more frightening to her than his customary stoic gaze.

“Go ahead,” she heard herself say in a small voice.

“I brought you a candy.” Vetas handed Jakob a treat wrapped in colored paper.

“Jakob, don’t…” Nila started.

Vetas fixed her with his eyes. There was no threat behind them, no emotion. Just a cold glance.

“You can have it,” Nila said, “but you should save it for tomorrow, after breakfast.”

Vetas gave Jakob the candy and tousled his hair.

Don’t touch him , Nila screamed inside. She forced herself to smile at Vetas.

“Why is Jakob here, my lord?” Nila said, pushing the question through her fear.

Vetas got to his feet. “That’s no concern of yours. Do you know how to behave like a lady, Nila?” he asked.

“I… I suppose. I’m just a laundress.”

“I think you’re more than that,” Vetas said. “Everyone has the ability to rise above their station. You survived the royalist barricades, then infiltrated Field Marshal Tamas’s headquarters with the aim of rescuing young Jakob here. And you’re pretty. No one ever looks past beauty, if it’s dressed right.”

Nila wondered how Vetas could possibly have known about the royalist barricades. She’d told him about Tamas’s headquarters, but… what exactly did he mean about beauty?

“I may have further use for you than just” – he made a gesture toward Jakob and the laundry – “this.”

Jakob was too busy trying to nibble at his candy as discreetly as possible to notice the disdain in Vetas’s voice. Nila wasn’t. And she feared what he meant by “further use.”

“My lord.” She curtsied again, and tried not to let her hatred show on her face. She might be able to kill him in the bath. Like she’d read in those mystery novels she’d borrowed from the butler’s son at the Eldaminse house.

“In the meantime,” Vetas said. He stepped into the hall outside the kitchen, keeping the door open with one foot. “Bring her in here,” he called.

Someone cursed. A woman screamed in anger – an angry-wildcat yell. There was a struggle in the hall and two of Vetas’s bodyguards dragged a woman into the kitchen. She was in her forties perhaps, her body sagging in all the wrong places from having had too many children, her skin wrinkled from work but unweathered by the sun. Her curly black hair was tucked back behind her head in a bun and the bags beneath her eyes spoke of little sleep.

The woman stopped when she caught sight of Nila and Jakob.

“Where is my son?” she spat at Vetas.

“In the basement,” Vetas said, “and he won’t be harmed as long as you cooperate.”

“Liar!”

A patronizing smile touched Vetas’s lips. “Nila, Jakob. This is Faye. She is unwell and must be watched at all times, lest she hurt herself. She’s going to share your room, Jakob. Can you help watch her, my boy?”

Jakob nodded solemnly.

“Good lad.”

“I’ll kill you,” Faye said to Vetas.

Vetas stepped to Faye and whispered something in her ear. She stiffened, the color draining from her face.

“Now,” Vetas said, “Faye is going to take over your responsibilities, Nila. She’ll do the laundry, and help with Jakob.”

Nila exchanged a glance with the woman. She felt the knot of fear in her belly reflected on Faye’s face.

“And me?” Nila knew what Vetas would do with someone who didn’t have a use. She still remembered Jakob’s dead nurse – the one who’d refused to go along with Vetas’s schemes.

Vetas suddenly crossed the room. He took Nila by the chin, turning her face one way and then another. He forced his thumb into her mouth and she had to keep herself from biting down as he examined her teeth. He stepped away suddenly, and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel as if he’d just handled an animal.