“Hello!” I said.
She looked startled for a second, then dropped her gaze to the floor and curtsied. “You are… Lord Oberon?”
“Yes.” From her demeanor, she had to be a servant. I felt a pang of disappointment. “And you?”
“Rhalla, my lord.”
“Do you know what that bell was about?” I asked.
“Bell?”
“Didn't you hear it?” I said.
“No, my lord.”
“It sounded not long ago—maybe fifteen minutes.”
“I did not hear it, my lord. Perhaps it happened when I was in the wine cellar.”
“So you were just downstairs?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Are there any… problems down there?”
She looked at me strangely. “Problems, my lord?”
“Yes—I heard some odd noises.”
She shook her head. “No, my lord. Everything is fine.”
That was good news. I allowed myself to relax a bit and glanced over my shoulder. Still no sign of Aber, though… probably stuck playing the genial host. For once, I welcomed his absence. Something about Rhalla fascinated me. I could have spent the rest of the day looking at her.
She went on, “You are wet, my lord. Do you need dry clothing? I am sure something can be found—”
“That's all right,” I said with a chuckle and a half shrug. “I'll dry soon enough. Right now, I'm having trouble finding my way around—” A sudden wave of giddiness washed over me. Against my will, I staggered half a step, startling her. I caught myself against the wall, thinking I must look like a clumsy idiot.
“Are you ill, my lord?” she asked.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to hide my weakness. I wanted her to see me as I saw myself—tall, strong, brave. Not a cripple who couldn't walk ten paces without falling down.
“A bit dizzy, is all,” I said. “I was sick, but I'm over the worse of it.”
“Here. Let me help you.”
She leaned forward to assist me, hand poised, and I caught her scent—a light, sweet musk. The hallway began to spin slowly around me. I breathed her in, deeply, my heart racing. I tried to stay calm.
“Which way,” I said in as smooth a voice as I could manage, “are my father's rooms?”
“Lord Dworkin's?” Her gaze flicked up to my face for a second, and I saw mild surprise there. “Two floors above us, my lord.”
“Show me the way.”
“It is forbidden—”
The floor shifted unexpectedly under my feet, and I staggered again in the other direction, catching my balance on her shoulder.
Her muscles tensed and quivered beneath me, shifting like liquid beneath her skin. It was a very strange sensation, unlike anything I had felt before. It made me regard her more carefully. She looked human—but something made me hesitate. Human bones and muscles do not move that way.
“Is something wrong, Lord?” she asked.
“No.” I shook my head and smiled. It had to be my screwed-up senses playing tricks on me. She was a beautiful woman—nothing more.
The floor tilted. I staggered to the left.
“Lord Oberon?” she cried, seizing my arm and holding me upright. “What's wrong?”
“I am… still a little dizzy. Help me. I need to lean on someone or I'll fall.”
“Shall I take you back to your bedroom—”
“It's not necessary.” I hesitated, polishing the lie. “I just need someone beside me so I won't fall. If you don't want to help—”
“No, my lord,” she said quickly. “Lean on me. I will help you. Where are you going?”
“Up to my father's rooms.”
I leaned on her shoulder as lightly as I could. Again I felt her muscles jump and quiver under my hand. It seemed readily apparent to me that she didn't like my touch, but she put up with it.
Slowly and carefully, she turned around and helped me walk toward the dead end. Just before it, we came to a narrow, spiraling set of wooden steps deep in a shadowed alcove. I had taken it for a doorway. The steps led to upper and lower floors.
“This was the closest way to the upper floors,” she said half apologetically.
“It's fine, Rhalla.”
I paused. From below I heard a distant murmur, like half a dozen voices talking, and a faint clink-clink-clink of pottery being stacked or moved about. “The kitchens?” I asked.
“Yes, Lord Oberon. They are just below us.”
I sniffed, but only caught Rhalla's musky scent. Odd—shouldn't dinner preparations have been well under way? Perhaps smells worked differently here, too. I tried to imagine them pooling on the floor or ceiling, like the light.
That sound of breaking glass must have come from the kitchens, I decided. Some servant dropped a platter… of course the cook's angry voice would have followed, berating him for his clumsiness. There was a simple explanation for everything I had heard.
Turning slightly, I gazed up the stairway into darkness, toward my father's rooms. Only one person at a time could go up or down— if I had to leave fast, this was the way I'd go.
Grasping the hand rail firmly, I began to climb. Rhalla followed.