“DOESN’T that look a bit too obvious?” Ray frowned.
“He wants us to go this way.” Zara smiled, pleased he’d noticed. They stood before a break in the wall. A line of shrubs ran the considerable distance from the fence to the stable. From the stable to the corner of the house was only a short distance. No protection from visual detection, but someone quick on their feet could cross that distance in a few seconds.
“Then is this truly the best route?” Trace evaluated the situation. “I can already see a good deal of magic.”
“He won’t be watching this area.” She kneeled to study the muddy ground as far as she could easily see. At least three trip wires. “This is the most vulnerable point. It’s the most likely route for someone to take because of the lack of obstructions, so it’ll be well-protected.”
“Stay close.” Trace’s voice was soft and intense.
She nodded even though he was no longer looking at her.
He stepped up to the break, staying clear of the fence itself, and concentrated on doing his part.
Zara watched him, waiting for the signal to move forward. Perspiration appeared on his forehead despite the cold air. He wiped it away with a touch of his fingers. Hopefully he was powerful enough to counter Marcon’s spells. From what Oktehm had said, Marcon was highly skilled with magic.
Trace closed his eyes and concentrated. A hand reached into one of the pouches hanging at his waist and drew out a powdery substance. He chanted words Zara ignored. She wouldn’t understand them anyway. He tossed it at Ray with a flip of his wrist. The soldier shimmered and disappeared. Trace repeated the same words and action on himself. He vanished as well.
Jerrod looked around questioningly, his gaze searching. His nose twitched, and he settled.
Darkness closed when they reached the stable. It had taken longer than Zara had intended. She’d backtracked a couple of times to reset traps so they’d be warned if anyone tried to follow. As she disabled the final trap, she hoped the soldiers hadn’t already been there and left. A sudden commotion at the front of the house reached her ears, assuring her that wasn’t the case.
She squatted at the corner of the stable and studied the distance to the house. Due to growing darkness, most of the area was concealed in shadow. She smiled, confidence rising a notch. Brown wool would help conceal her. She just had to make sure the white silk underneath didn’t peek out and flash a warning to anyone who might look outside.
Listening intently, Zara cocked her head to catch the faintest sound that might betray a presence. Only the gentle crunch of hay as horses consumed their meals broke the stillness of the night. Jerrod was relaxed at her side.
“Anything?” she whispered. Hopefully Trace was paying attention and understood.
“It’s clear until you get to one of the doors or windows.” He’d taken her cue and lowered his voice, which sounded strained and tired. “I can’t be sure of those from this distance.”
Zara nodded. “Wait until I get there to follow, and watch your footing.” She bolted across the yard, her gaze skimming the surface of the ground for any sign of a trap. Chances were slim of finding one at that speed, but there was always that slim chance. She stopped in the shadows near the back door and waited, holding her breath. Hopefully she hadn’t missed something.
“We’re here,” came a whisper.
She breathed again.
“The steps are clear.”
She was almost certain that the door was the servants’ entrance, but “almost” wasn’t good enough. She kneeled by the first step and checked each one as well as the handrails and the porch itself. A coat of ice covered each step, but there were no man-made traps. She crawled up the icy steps on her hands and knees, distributing her weight as evenly as possible in case she triggered something she’d missed. Nothing happened.
“Door’s clear,” Trace whispered.
Zara checked the bottom of the door first then gradually climbed to her feet and checked the entire length and breadth of it. She stopped a couple of times to flex cold fingers and blow warmth back into them. Content the door was safe, she checked the doorframe as well. The worn handle was her next stop. Easing the door open, she waited.
“Clear,” Trace assured her.
No servants were about, so they moved in quickly and closed the door.
Zara’s ears were alert for any sound indicating they might be discovered. Her eyes scanned the dim interior of the house. Some sort of workroom. Tables lined one wall. Shelves lined another. All was quiet.
A woman servant appeared in a doorway leading deeper into the house. Zara dropped into the shadows under a table in the workroom and waited, scarcely breathing. The woman continued on, leaving through another door. She moved about in the adjoining room then reappeared and left again the way she had come.
One peek in the door—suspicion confirmed. A pantry with no other entrances or exits. With a dismissive shrug, Zara turned to where the woman had gone.
The second door opened into a large kitchen. Several servants moved busily about, preparing the evening meal. Three doors. One on the opposite wall would require passing every servant in the room. Another looked to lead further into the house, but still presented a strategic problem. Getting to it would take them directly past two servants. The third doorway led outside.
“What now?” Trace whispered.
Zara backed into the workroom and puzzled over how to skirt the servants unnoticed. She glanced around. A series of shabby gray-tone clothes hung on a line near the pantry. Laundry. Almost, but not quite, dry. Perfect. In moments, she had slipped the dingy cotton servants’ clothing over her own attire, making certain to hide the white silk. Brown wool would most likely go unnoticed, but white silk would give her away. The borrowed clothes were ill-fitted. Definitely perfect.
She slipped into the kitchen, eyes downcast as any young servant girl would do, and made her way around the worktable in the center of the room toward the nearest door. Jerrod concealed himself within the folds of her clothing as best he could. She stepped carefully, making certain she didn’t accidentally step on or trip over him. Someone behind her stumbled over a log laying on the floor and fell into her. She, in turn, stumbled into one of the servants she was attempting to sneak past.
“Be more careful!” The old woman back-handed her across the face.
Shoulders slumped and chin ducked to her chest, Zara nodded and skittered away.
The woman continued cooking, muttering. “I don’t know where the master finds these clumsy simpletons.” She shoved wood into the stove to build up the fire.
Zara shot her a hostile glance, feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and raised a hand to her cheek. It stung. That woman had no right to hit her. The collision hadn’t been her fault.
A bucket of water sat on a shelf above the stove. Just below the bucket, the stove was open to the fire inside. In her mind, Zara saw it topple and dump its contents into the fire. She concentrated on the image, replaying it in her mind as she slowly looped orange strands of light around the bucket. Her hands rose briefly from her side, the motion concealed by table and shelves. With a flick of her wrist, the strands grew taunt.
Water cascaded from above. The bucket followed. Flames sputtered and died. The old woman screeched. Other servants ran to help. The passage to both doors into the house cleared.
Zara smirked, dropped her gaze to the floor, and quietly sought her objective. The door swung open easily under her hand. She held the door for her companions. Both brushed past like a light breeze. As she eased the door closed, the servants continued fussing over the dead stove.
“Was that necessary?” Trace whispered.
Jerrod cast her a disapproving look, echoing Trace’s sentiments.
Zara ignored both of them.
Ray said nothing, though she could only assume he was still with them.
A long table covered by a longer white silk runner graced the center of a room lit overhead by two magnificent chandeliers. Chairs ran down both sides, with a larger, more ornate one at each end. The table seated thirty people. Silver candelabra sat its entire length. Two places were set at the table, one at each end, with the finest porcelain and silver place settings.
Zara frowned at the oddity but quickly dismissed it, moving around the length of the table toward an open archway. The arch led directly into a large ballroom. Polished white marble floors reflected candlelight and the colors and designs of tapestries and various sculptures. Every item in the room was outrageously expensive by Zara’s estimation.
“Have you ever seen such a room?” Trace’s voice drifted from somewhere close by.
Her searching gaze quickly found a narrow doorway leading into a large hall. A wide, sweeping staircase was central and the only real attraction. Paintings lined the walls as far as Zara could see up the steps, but they were merely wall-coverings and not meant to catch the eye. Gold, silver and gemstones inlaid the staircase. The handrails sparkled in the candlelight of a giant chandelier hanging overhead, tempting her. She clenched her teeth and held firm to her mission.
“Magic?” she whispered.
“No,” came the softly spoken reply.
With a deep breath, she slowly approached the stairs, easing her weight forward onto each step and listening for the slightest indication that floorboards might betray her presence. None did. In minutes, she reached the top of the steps.
Ornamental rugs of all sizes and patterns lined the hallway, both floor and walls. Easing along the wall, she peeked in the first open doorway. No one was inside. The only window looked out over the back of the estate. Zara ducked into the next room just as a servant stepped around a bend in the hallway carrying a tray of dirty tableware. She watched until he disappeared down the staircase.
It was then she realized where she was. The nursery. Painfully obvious due to the presence of a bassinet and the lace and frills associated with infants. Dolls and stuffed animals lined shelves and lay discarded across the empty bed. Double glass doors and four windows graced the back wall of the room, heavy drapes drawn back to flood the room with light from the rising moons.
Sadness falling over her, Zara picked up a small stuffed animal.
Jerrod gently nuzzled her thigh.
“Zara?” Trace’s voice held concern.
She dropped the toy. It missed the bed, bouncing onto the floor. She turned away.
“Zara?”
Zara shook her head, moving intently for the door. An invisible barrier brought her up short. By the size, she guessed it to be Ray. His hands gently grasped her shoulders to steady her. With a brief touch of one hand to gauge his position, she moved around him, peered cautiously out the door, passed another door, and headed for the bend in the hallway. No one came into view when she peeked around the corner. Four doors. Marcon cowered behind one of them. The vision had revealed front facing windows on the room. That eliminated the first two doors. Neither could have windows facing the front gate.
She yanked at the collar of the servants’ clothes to remove them, hiding them in a deep planter sitting in the hall, using the plant’s natural foliage to conceal the addition. Straightening her clothes, she edged slowly down the hall, giving Trace time to check ahead of her as they went.
“Wait.”
Zara froze at the hiss of sound. She frowned, listening for signs they had been discovered.
“The two of you can handle this,” Ray whispered. The air pulsed as he shifted closer. His voice dropped even more. “I must get my men inside.”
Zara nodded.
“Remember,” Trace said, “you’ll be invisible until you act aggressively toward another.”
“I know.” A brief shuffle of faint, muffled footsteps announced his departure.