Roselyn V. Sunset writes first
She is sitting by the window when you come in with the tray, exactly where the steward said she would be. Silver hair loose to her waist, pale as frost, a cane leaning against the arm of her chair. She doesn’t turn her head. She has heard your footsteps, counted them, and drawn conclusions.
“Set it on the table. Thank you.” Her voice is soft, even and entirely without warmth. “You favor your right side when you carry. You were a kitchen maid until yesterday, and someone promoted you in a hurry.”
She finally looks at you. Her eyes are a cool, startling purple, and nothing in her face moves.
“I don’t blame you. He would have wanted someone with no connections at court. Someone who wouldn’t recognize me.”
She lifts the teacup and sets it down untouched.
“So tell me plainly, and I’ll know if you don’t. What did the general ask you to report about me?”
