The next morning the stomach flu struck.

Though they say illnesses are indiscriminate, this one certainly wasn't. With the vial stashed away in my pocket, I'd put myself into the breakfast rotation as a server and slipped through the Servants' Hall full of good cheer. I greeted my colleagues and poured teas and coffees, ladling porridge and sprinkling cornflakes and muesli into bowls with, "My pleasure," and "You're welcome." With a few drops here and a few drops there, the Howell sisters became ill, along with some other nasty-tongued folk I worked with, like Mr. Kilkenny who had a permanent sneer and disrespectful tone whenever he spoke to Josie and her parents.

I might have gone a teensy bit overboard covering for Dolcie. As they fell ill over the day, we became short-staffed. I spent most of my day flustered and scurrying from one job to another to fill in for those who'd succumbed to illness.

Still, it was worth it.

"Lavender or orange?" Beckah asked. Her high heels clattered on wood as she hurried to keep up with my quick pace. I had no idea how she could work in them all day long. "Burnt orange...No wait," she said, flinging out her arms and spreading them wide. "What about teal or a lemony yellow?"

"Blue makes your eyes pop," I replied, heading toward the parlour to attend to the last of my duties for the night. I brushed my prune-wrinkled hands over my black uniform, freeing the front and skirt from white flakes of laundry powder. I'd been elbow-deep in soapy water, removing stains from delicate clothing for the past hour. The white cuffs of my long sleeves were a bit damp but no one would notice.

"It does," Beckah gasped and lifted a hand to touch her temple beside a brown eye gone round in wonderment. A few frizzy curls that had come loose from her bun curled around her fingers. "Navy, peacock blue, or how about sky blue?" She slowed her pace, thinking about it, and I strode on hearing her speak in a thrilled tone behind me. "Yes, sky blue with gold strappy heels. No...gold platform shoes!"

After the shock of discovering Tomas wasn't the baby's father, Beckah, despite saying—I don't know what the hells Oswin sees in my sister—was relieved there was a happy ending to the nightmare of her sister's unplanned pregnancy. While I'd worked alongside Beckah, scrubbing away in frothy water, she'd spent the entire time excitedly chatting about the upcoming wedding and being Dolcie's bridesmaid.

"Beckah," I warned in a low tone. She really needed to go home and I needed to get this last duty over with so I could too. But most of me just didn't want to continue listening to the wedding talk. It left a bitter taste in my mouth knowing that Dolcie didn't love Oswin the way he deserved. I harbored an awful despairing feeling that she'd continue to see Romain while married to my friend.

"Alright, alright, I'm off home." She nudged me with an elbow and wiggled her eyebrows. "To check on the ill-duo, Oswin and Dolcie."

I rolled my eyes and glided the flat of a hand across my hair to smooth back any flyways and check the state of my ponytail.

Last night, I'd gone straight to Oswin, still reeling from Romain's threat. My friend was awake and ruminating on Dolcie and her yes to his proposal. It had taken me five times, urgently repeating myself, to get him to understand what I needed him to do—feign illness. It finally sunk in when I'd slapped him across the cheek to get his full attention because that godsdamned dreamy smile wasn't coming off his face any time soon.

"A bridesmaid," Beckah swooned. Then she suddenly bunched her fingers into fists, bouncing up and down and practically squealing, "There's just so much to organize in such a short time!"

While I had a day of leave tomorrow, she didn't. Since I was going to Ascendria, Beckah had an ever-growing list of all the things she wanted me to pick up for her because there was no way she could wait until her day off to begin wedding planning with Dolcie.

"Leave the list under my bedroom door." I wanted an early night and not to have my sleep disturbed. After serving the Deniauds their drinks, I was heading straight to bed.

I had all my fingers and toes crossed that the Purveyor of Rarities had miraculously found a vial of wyrmblood. On a day of leave my usual routine was to get up early, empty the snares and feed the krekenns, and then find my favorite spot in a clearing within the Hemmlok Forest. I'd sit on a tartan rug, sip away at hot black coffee from my thermos, and nibble on a muesli bar for breakfast as the sun rose while reading one of the more daring books that I had tucked away in my trunk. The kind of book that was Jackie Collins and Jilly Cooper on steroids.

These were the kind of books that were passed around with white gloves and reverent whispers. We couldn't get our hands on these stories very often and we certainly couldn't ever be found with one in our possession. I had a special bookmark too, on which I scribbled points of interest.

"I'll phone around first thing tomorrow morning and make sure the stores have everything organized for you, so when you go in to collect them you won't be waylaid," Beckah reassured me.

I resisted rolling my eyes. Because that's what everyone said, but it rarely happened. Already quite a few people had asked if I could pick up bits and pieces for them. Beckah wanted a ton of wedding magazines, fabric swatches, ideas for wedding cakes, and table decorations. All the shops were spread across the city. I wasn't going to have a very relaxing day off work. Then again, I rarely did.

As I approached the parlour down the other end of the hallway, with a servant standing outside in attendance, Beckah dropped away with a quick goodbye before turning back for home.

A moment later, a rapid clipping sound of claws on wood had my pace slowing and my hand reaching for my wooden spoon, a new one since I lost the other in the antique-smashing spree because I knew just who it was.

Sure enough, Fluffy The Destroyer of Cushions trotted around the corner at the other end of the hallway. The little Lhasa Apso wagged his tail, sniffing at the skirting board and around the legs of the running table supporting oversized vases with late-blooming flowers, as his mistress Rosa Battagli came into view.

Rosa walked backward in towering stilettos in front of Marissa. "It was crazy," she whisper-hissed. A black sequined dress clung to her voluptuous curves with a frill around the waist that flared wide as she swung back around to walk beside Marissa, heading toward the parlour. Rosa glowed and radiated excitement with an enormous smile and sparkling eyes.

"I can't believe you actually did it," Marissa said, admiration and awe lacing her voice.

"I know, me either. I've only ever done it once before." She dropped her voice to a low rumble and leaned her upper body sideways. "Practically a virgin, Baby Battagli."

Baby Battagli?

And the voice she was mimicking along with those words instantly reminded me of Varen.

"When he came knocking at my bedroom door..." Rosa held out shaking hands out for Marissa to inspect. "I'm still trembling from the experience. It was intense," she said breathlessly. "There's nothing that can prepare you for being with Varen Crowther."

The servant opened the door for them, and both Rosa and Marissa disappeared inside, followed by Fluffy.

I came to a slow stop.

My entire body disconnected from the ground. It felt as if the floor had slipped away beneath me and I was free-falling into a deep abyss.

How quickly Varen Crowther had moved on.

I'd been the one who demanded this. I'd told him to forget my existence, just as I'd forget his. So why should I hold it against him if he wanted to tangle with Rosa in bed?

Yet I did.

Misery leadened my limbs. I stood there, I don't know how long, in an almost-empty hallway with my nose tingling and the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes. Tears I managed to blink back before they fell. My sigh was as heavy as my footsteps when I finally forced myself into motion. But as I walked, I made my stride purposeful, lifting my chin and shimmying my shoulders, bolstering myself with a confidence I didn't feel. I whipped my wooden spoon from my belt and twirled it.

I was Tabitha Catt, godsdammit, and I was going to be just fine.

The parlour door was opened for me, and I tucked away my spoon, silently slipping inside to pad across Persian rugs and white marble shot through with black veins.

Crackling embers sparked with a flurry of flames around burning logs that permeated the air with a lovely smoky-chestnut smell. The hearth was set into the wall with sea-side oil paintings and elaborate mirrors hanging in front of the mantle.

This was one of the more intimate rooms, with intricate crown molding and ceiling roses that encircled low-hanging chandeliers that scattered light over the twin maroon couches that faced one another.

Marissa's younger brothers sat around a small round table playing checkers, while Sanela was arranged regally on a high-backed chair, the lamé dress flowing around her body like liquid silk.

Romain had a narrow-eyed gaze fixed on a gentleman sitting on the couch across from him. "I'm somewhat eased that whatever this is has nothing to do with our House," he said with a casual wave of his smooth fingers between them.

My attention pricked as I wondered what that meant.

I carried on toward the wet bar with its mirrored surface, also curious about Romain's guest because I hadn't been informed by Mr. Volkov or the Butler that the Deniauds were expecting someone tonight. Perhaps this was simply an impromptu visit from an emissary of another House.

Romain smoothed two fingers across his thin-winged mustache, dropping his hand to the leather armrest, tapping it absentmindedly twice before he addressed Sanela. "I have a few hours of work I need to do."

"Always busy Romain. Always so difficult to find," Sanela snipped, glancing toward Marissa who sat down on an armchair, crossing her ankles and tucking her feet on an angle.

Romain rose, ignoring his wife's gibe, and inclined his head to his guest with a tight smile. "If you'll excuse me."

My gaze darted to Romain's unbidden and tension entered my body. I hadn't seen him since last night and the sinister threat he'd departed on. His frosty eyes met mine briefly as he strode past, and my throat felt like sandpaper when I swallowed back the unease because I suspected what he was up to—an illicit rendezvous with Dolcie.

I busied myself with pouring the remaining Deniauds their preferred drinks. The younger boys were allowed a shandy each; Sanela always had sherry before retiring to her bedroom; Marissa and Rosa were experimenting with different cocktails. This time I pulled out the vermouth and maraschino to begin mixing a Martinez. But for the other guest, I wasn't sure what he wanted. I could only see broad shoulders and the back of his head—dark hair with neat back and sides with longer locks on his crown.

Rosa plopped herself down beside him on the couch. With a sharp snap of her fingers, Fluffy trotted over and lay down on the rug beside her feet, loosening a high-pitched whine.

I could see Rosa was interested in this gentleman, whoever he was. In fact, both of the girls were leaning forward and giving him their full attention. Marissa flicked a flirty hand through her tawny hair with a coy smile.

It was nearly impossible to bite back the grin that threatened to bloom.

Marissa was a terrible flirt and part of me was glad that this new man had captured her attention. Anyone was better than Aldert Pelan as far as I was concerned.

My hopes were pinned on Forrestor Lyon. Marissa could be incredibly oblivious at times and she hadn't noticed the reason why Forrestor had spent an exorbitant amount of time at the Deniauds' the past few days.

"Marvellous," Marissa breathed to Rosa. Both of them stared at the man as if he were a rare and strange new creature they'd never seen before.

"Thank you," Rosa replied, preening under the compliment, but I had no idea what Marissa was referring to.

I served the two boys their tall glasses of beer mixed with ginger ale, and brought Sanela her small glass of sherry, while Rosa began explaining to Marissa something she'd done, trimming the fur from Fluffy. I wasn't sure, but the little dog sitting at her feet could now see properly. All the long hair in front of his eyes had been teased up into a cute little quiff.

As I stepped up to the coffee table I got to see a snippet of the man's profile, just a quick glance of an angular jawline so sharp it could cut your finger, and a broad sweeping cheekbone with a slight hollow below.

I placed the Martinez on the table in front of Marissa and was taken aback to see her blushing. She seemed flustered as she quickly reached for the wide-rimmed glass as if needing to do something with her hands.

Oh my gods...who is this man?

I straightened and turned, taking a step closer. He had his head ducked as he pulled out a fob watch, of all things, from the pocket of his waistcoat, checking the time. He was a large, brawny man in a tailored three-piece suit, a navy so dark it was almost black. He sat comfortably and casually, one leg crossed over the other, with an arm slung along the back of the couch.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" I asked in a soft and professional manner as I started to head toward Rosa.

When the gentleman lifted his head, piercing eyes clashed with mine.

My footing tripped and I came to a stumbling halt. Rosa's cocktail slid dangerously along the tray and I fumbled to right it.

I couldn't quite grasp who I was looking at.

Yet, there he was.

Familiar and a stranger.