Memoirs of a Fallen God

Chapter 13

Safely sheltered within the calm center of my anger, I left my room and closed the door behind me. Gently. Now was not the time to attract notice.

I walked across the hall and came to Briar’s door. Locked, of course. But I was a trusted slave. I had a key. As quietly as I could, I unlocked the door and eased it open. A low groan from the hinges made we wince. My eyes darted to Briar’s sleeping form, sure he would bolt upright at the sound, and I rapidly called to mind a few excuses I might use for creeping into his room late at night. Just fetching some clothes that need mending, sir. Just seeing if you might not want a late night bite to eat, sir.

Hollow, weak excuses. But he would believe me. He had no reason not to.

What I was really after was the silver handled hunting knife he kept beside his bed. It was a gift from his father the Count, and worth a pretty penny, but I had no interest in its monetary value. Briar had let me hold it more than once; its grip was firm and its edge was sharp. It would serve very well for what I had in mind.

It would pain me to lie to Briar, but that wouldn’t stop me from doing it. It was for his own good. Besides, a little white lie would be a small weight on my conscience if things went to plan tonight.

To my relief, though, he didn’t stir. His lay nestled snugly in his overlarge bed, sleeping undisturbed and deep, and I set about my business as quickly and quietly as I could, hoping to keep him that way.

It was dark, but I knew the room well and had no problem navigating in the faint flicker the hallway torch provided. A gleam of silver reflected in the low light, and I found the knife just where it always was on the bedside table. A moment later it was tucked behind my belt.

Then, after a short internal debate, I gently lifted the wooden tray resting on the table as well, deciding my master required a late night snack after all. He just didn’t know it yet. A slave with empty hands was more apt to be noticed and ordered off on some other errand, and that was the last thing I wanted tonight.

There was a slight clatter as the wooden tray parted from the nightstand. I froze at the sound, the tray hovering in midair. Briar stirred, mumbled wordlessly and rolled over on his side, then lay still again. A few seconds of silence passed. My breathing resumed. Time to go.

As I crept back to the door and made my exit, I cast one final glance back at my friend and master. He looked peaceful, content. I did not expect to see him again. I swallowed hard and turned away. No time for regrets now. The door closed with the faintest of clicks behind me.

I made my way down the hallway, the torchlight bright to my eyes after the near darkness of Briar’s room. Though it was still relatively early, it was a quiet night, far more subdued than usual, with most of the household tucked away early to keep them out from underfoot.

My focus remained strangely sharp. I noticed small things: the sound of low voices far off down the hall, the clatter of cutlery from the kitchens. The way my shadow played across the far wall; a shrunken, hunched silhouette, serving tray stretched out in front. Though dim and flickering, it was the perfect outline of a servant busy about a task. Such a tiny, inconsequential form could be a threat to no one.

The cool, unfamiliar touch of the silver knife handle against the small of my back was a constant reminder of the true task at a hand. A slave caught with a knife concealed about their person in such a way would be whipped, no questions asked. At the very least. The thought should have scared me, or set a thrill of excitement running down my spine. It should have made me feel…something. Instead it was just a thing I noted, as I continued on towards the kitchen. A possible problem. If I was caught, I’d waste time being beaten and might upset the plan. Don’t get caught.