Page 62 of The Noble Servant

“Mallin is a beautiful place, with rocky hills and trees. My friends—I mean, Lady Magdalen’s friends, the Margrave of Thornbeck and his lady—sent us some sheep and goats so the people of Mallin would have a new way of earning money and feeding themselves, but many of the sheep contracted some kind of sickness and died. Our people used to work in the mines, but the copper ran out and the mines are standing empty now.”

“I see.”

“What about you, Katrin? Have you always lived in Wolfberg?”

“No, I came here from Arnsbaden. Lord Hazen cannot do without my family.”

“Lord Hazen?”

“Oh, look at this. I’m not sure I’m sewing this right.”

Magdalen examined the dress. “Oh yes, that is right. Your stitches are very even.”

“Thank you. I am good at mending. My mother used to make me do all my little brothers’ mending, and they were always putting rips in their clothes. I mended them until their clothes were nothing but rags sewed together. I didn’t have a father, as he died before my last brother was born.”

They sewed for quite some time, both talking about their childhoods and sharing memories. It was nearly time for the evening meal when Agnes rushed in the door and went straightto the wash basin to splash water on her face and wash her hands and neck.

When she dried her face and hands, Agnes stared at Katrin as if she had never seen her before, which was strange since Katrin said she had sent her.

“I am going down to the Great Hall for the evening meal with the duke and Lord Hazen.” Agnes pointed her nose in the air. “You may finish those dresses in the morning.”

Agnes left and Magdalen and Katrin put away the dresses, with Katrin telling her a tale from when she had played a trick on her brothers. Then they went down to the servants’ dining hall. She wanted to say something to Katrin about how strange it was that the cooks and Frau Clara had allowed her to spend all afternoon with Magdalen, helping her mend Agnes’s dresses, but she didn’t want to interrupt Katrin’s story.

The next morning Steffan sneaked up to Lord Hazen’s chamber. His uncle was at breakfast, so he needed to search fast.

A thought had come to him last night when he was half asleep in his bed. His uncle once hid something on the back of a framed portrait on the wall. Steffan had seen him retrieve it when he didn’t know Steffan was looking. And now he remembered a few paintings and wall hangings in Hazen’s bedchamber.

He once again made his way down the corridor on bare feet and slipped into the room—and found himself face-to-face with Magdalen.

Their eyes met, but they did not speak. She turned away from him and opened a trunk on the floor and started looking throughit. Steffan strode to the first painting—a portrait of Lord Hazen—and lifted it from the bottom. He felt along the back of it and all around the frame, looking for anything that might be attached or hidden inside. He found nothing unusual. Next he went to a large tapestry hanging on the wall next to his uncle’s bed. He lifted it, getting under it, feeling all around, but there did not seem to be anything there either.

There was one last portrait on the wall, a portrait of Steffan’s grandfather. He lifted it, but it came off its hook into his hands. Steffan turned it over, feeling all around the inside of the frame. Still he found nothing.

He bent to set the painting on the floor when he heard footsteps.

Steffan froze. The steps were firm and steady, getting louder.

His blood raced through his limbs. He lifted the painting, his hands shaking. He aimed to place the painting back onto the little hook as he plastered his cheek against the wall. The portrait slipped off. He tried again, willing his hands not to shake. On this second try it slipped back on and held.

Magdalen stood on the other side of Lord Hazen’s large curtained bed frantically motioning at him. Then she sank down and disappeared.

He dashed toward the bed, falling to his hands and knees, then onto his belly as his momentum sent him sliding underneath it.

He suddenly felt as if he’d fallen into a tight hole. It was dark and cold, and he could barely breathe. Something closed in above him, with the hard stone beneath him. He was trapped. His heart beat painfully in his throat, cutting off his air.

Calm down, calm down, calm down. He was not in a hole. Hewas under his uncle’s bed. He focused his eyes on the light to his right, where he had just slid under the bed. He could slide out just as easily, whenever his uncle left.Just breathe.

Sweat beaded at his temple and between his shoulder blades.

Magdalen. He had to think about Magdalen. She was in danger too. His uncle already suspected that the servant girl pretending to be Lady Magdalen was an imposter. If he found them in his room, hiding under his bed, he would kill them both.

Her shoulder was pressed against his. She must have been there the whole time, but he’d been too panicked to notice. He reached out and took her hand. She held on tight.

His uncle went to one side of the room, then the other. Was he looking for something? Was he looking forthem? Under the bed was a rather obvious place for a person to hide. He’d surely find them if he was searching for them.

His footsteps moved toward the bed and stopped.

Steffan kept his eyes wide open, straining to see as he concentrated on remaining motionless. Suddenly his uncle’s feet moved again, this time toward the door and then down the hall, growing fainter.