Page 1 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

The scent of copper wrinkled my nose as I peeled the sheets from the four-poster bed. Relieved to find that the mattress beneath was unstained, I dropped the linens with a splat into the tin bucket at my feet. Rocking back on my heels, I scrubbed my hands down my apron, the once-white fabric now stained with streaks of red.

A couple lounged on a settee at the other end of the chamber, their limbs tangled together. What little moonlight that was not obscured by clouds seeped through the windows, its muddled glow gilding them in silver. The woman giggled, nestled against her companion’s chest. Twin puncture wounds stained the skin of his throat, but he was otherwise unharmed. His gaze flicked to me as he ran his fingers through the vampiress’s hair, a dark curl coiled like a serpent around his finger.

I ducked my head, wary of the nobles and the trouble that their attention could bring. Stretching fresh linens over the mattress, I glanced at the woman standing squarely before the open door. The skin around her beady eyes creased as she tracked my every move. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, just below the silver brooch that denoted her station.

Gathering my things, I joined her at the threshold. “I’ll take these to the laundry, Mrs. Cathers,” I announced, gesturing at the soiled sheets. “The rest is done.”

The housekeeper sniffed, scratching the ruddy tip of her nose. “Far too cheerful for a chambermaid,” she grumbled. I fought the urge to recoil from the whiskey vapors that wafted off her breath. She scanned the chamber, searching for mistakes I knew she wouldn’t find.

I flexed my fingers, my nails brittle from scraping grime from between the flagstones tracked in on silken slippers.

I breathed a sigh of relief as she turned on her heel, disappearing from sight without a word. Slipping into the corridor in her wake, I stole a final glance at the couple before pulling the door closed. They didn’t notice me, instead lost in each other’s eyes. I swallowed, heat searing my cheeks.

The cold seeped through my shoes as I descended the servants’ stairs, the soles flimsy and frayed after years of daily wear. The staircase wound its way through the castle like a worm, the invention of the long-dead architect of Valnar Castle. The dim and narrow passages were designed to keep the staff out of sight, just as Mrs. Cathers preferred it.

My eyes watered as I entered the laundry in the bowels of the castle. I nodded at the laundress, a stout woman with liver-spotted skin and several missing teeth. Wisps of gray hair had escaped her cap, curling around her hairline in the humid air as she leaned over one of the massive vats of churning water.

“Evening, Sigrid,” I said.

“Letlas save us,” she groaned, invoking the king of gods as she laid her eyes on the bundle in my hands. “The lot of them are driving me mad.”

I chuckled, shifting the sheets into one hand and dabbing my brow with my sleeve.

The days leading up to the winter solstice were always like this. The staff had been readying the castle for the celebration for weeks. It was an extravagant, days-long affair, culminating in a ball that would last from sundown to sunup on the shortest day of the year. The king’s guests had been trickling in for days, inundating the staff with requests for fluffier pillows, warmer fires, and solutions to red wine stains on their finest gowns.

“If they’re going to be biting each other, I wish they would do it in the washroom rather than in the godsdamn bed,” she said, her hands on her hips.

I gritted my teeth as I drowned the sheets in a vat of water and vinegar. The laundrymaids kept the solution cold enough to draw out stains, and blood immediately leached out of the fabric in a cloud of crimson.

Sigrid waved over one of the laundrymaids, a mousy girl with long brown braids. “Don’t bother, Finn. One of mine will do it.”

“Who was it?” asked the girl with a whisper, as she dipped a wooden paddle into the vat. “Lady Kerr? I heard that she has quite the thing for young humans. And that they have quite a thing for her.”

A nervous laugh escaped me as my mind drifted back to the couple on the settee. The dark-haired, sultry vampiress and her human companion, who had appeared entirely at ease despite the fang-marks in his throat. “I’m afraid I didn’t recognize them.”

“Supposedly it’s an incredible sensation,” the girl continued, undeterred.

“What is?”

“The bite. I’ve got a friend from back home who married a vampire. She says it’s like having an—”

“Enough of your drivel, Ruby,” barked Sigrid, shooing her away. “I swear that girl will get herself into trouble one of these days, spreading rumors about the nobles right under their noses.”

“She seems harmless enough.” I smiled.

She grunted. “Are you finished for the evening?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I have one more room to attend to.”

“Take this, then.” She thrust a fresh apron into my hands. “Even vampires don’t want their staff walking around in bloodied garments.”

“Thanks,” I replied, loosening the strings of my own and tossing it into the churning water.

Climbing back up the stairs, I set off toward the northern end of the castle, my steps slowing as I passed a tapestry depicting the first ruler of Valen, King Daemon the Realmmaker. He stood atop the ruins of an ancient city on the eve of battle over two thousand years ago; a battle that would wipe out the old kingdom. The king’s troops stared up at him in awe and admiration as he claimed the land as his new capital.

Two wyverns were silhouetted against the stormy sky above him. They were winged, lizard-like creatures that were extraordinarily rare in Valen. I had only caught glimpses of them a handful of times since I arrived three years ago, and I preferred it that way. One was as black as a raven’s feathers, the other the color of spilled blood. I knew them well from the royal crest that adorned the castle banners, which depicted them intertwined at the tail.

My fingers danced down the brocade, twisting off a loose thread poking out from beneath the king’s sabatons.