Tales of Arilland by Alethea Kontis Page A

that betrayed me. Palm firmly clamped over mouth, I skirted around the magician and threw myself down at the hearth. The fire was naught but embers now, but it had burned hot and high and left the ash white. It was also slightly greasy and smelled faintly of brimstone.
    Dear, dear Jeudon , I thought, as I shoveled him into my bin. The lard in the mix would undoubtedly make a finer soap. I was too busy wondering how to sneak a batch aside for myself to notice that the room behind me had gone silent. No whispers, no movement, nothing...which could only mean that I was suddenly the center of their attention. I stood tall and dusted my clothes off the best I could before turning to face the two men, both standing now.
    The baron was looking at me.
    Prelati’s gaze slipped to the spot where he’d been scrubbing, and my eyes followed. No doubt they had finally discovered the lengths to which their artistic talent did not go, and chosen to erase the chalk and charcoal and start afresh. True, the lines had been erased, but beneath remained a large, pale pink stain on the perfect white marble.
    There was only one thing that stain could be: blood. What would they do with me now that I’d seen it? The baron stared with those intensely hard eyes, sizing me up. I raised my chin and stared right back.
    “Do you ever wash floors?” he asked.
    “I make the soap,” I boasted.
    “Have this floor clean by sundown, and we will never speak of this again.”
    “Yes, my lord.” I bent my knees again, collected both ash bins, and went belowstairs to retrieve the soap I’d been stockpiling for this very occasion. I’d considered pocketing some in my apron in preparation for this summons, but I didn’t want to play my hand too soon.
    Charming, how completely predictable the baron was. But like Maman said, so many men are.
    I returned with soap, gloves, and a pot to warm water over the fresh fire I’d built up. I crumbled the lye into powder and set hard to the brush, careful not to get anything on my skin or clothes. It was no easy task, and not quickly done, but before sunset I’d removed every trace of blood from that stone. I stopped on the way back to my rooms only long enough to ask a scrawny young thing to replenish the wood in the baron’s study. I didn’t bother asking his name.
    It was several more days before I was shoveling his ashes out of the fireplace and scrubbing the study floor again. I worked privately and efficiently. As promised, the baron said nothing of the matter.
    The third time the baron sent for me, I brazenly spoke without being addressed. “I will clean this floor for you, but I want something.”
    “We let you keep your life,” prattled Prelati. “What more could you possibly desire?”
    “In order to properly remove a stain, it’s best to catch it right away.” My eyes never left the baron’s. He knew what I meant.
    Or did he? His eyes left mine long enough to gauge Prelati’s reaction to my comment.
    “Your services are no longer required, girl.” Prelati put a hand on the small of my back to lead me to the door and I slapped it away.
    I turned to the baron and bowed deeply, in the manner of a chevalier and not a scullery maid. My heart beat like a battle drum. “As you wish, Lord Polecat. You may fetch your own errand boys from now on.”
    I straightened, expecting to see a sly grin upon his countenance with the realization that it was I who’d sent the fitch. What met me instead was a drawn mouth and furrowed brow. I admit I was a little disappointed that such an admirable man like the baron could be so stupid. But like Maman said, so many men are.
    Heart in my feet now, I moved to walk away. The bin felt twice as heavy, its scorched refuse now burdened with the leaden weight of my shattered dreams.
    “I will do anything.”
    The baron’s voice was low enough to almost be unheard above the crackling of the fresh blaze in the hearth. “I will stop at nothing to regain my fortune, my