An unexpected benefit of living as a guest in Malvorn's palace was near-unlimited access to all its chambers and corridors, except for their ruler's private quarters. As such, Senya spent a significant amount of time roaming and exploring the maze that was Malvorn's residence, letting herself drift through the many hallways like a leaf in a stream. The upper floors were the most luxurious ones, with every room presenting itself in fabulous splendor. Malvorn and his entourage spent most of their time up here, scheming and plotting over strong drinks that had been smuggled to Morathen from the surface. They wore the finest silk gowns and moved their hands in theatrical ways, all in an effort to appear cultivated.

Below these ostentatious halls lay the servants' quarters, housing storage rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms with rows of uncomfortable-looking bunk beds. The palace employed hundreds of workers, most of whom were poor folk like Senya, who scurried through the many secret passageways like ants in an anthill. They distributed food and drinks, kept fires going, and took care of beddings and laundry, all while staying out of sight. Like fairies, Senya thought.

The lower levels eventually turned into dungeons, but most of the cells were empty these days — Malvorn had decided it was easier to execute his adversaries rather than to feed them for no apparent reason.

#

Without asking for it, Senya had been given a new set of clothes. Nothing fancy, like what Malvorn and his associates wore, but still nicer than any garment she'd ever owned. As she stood in front of a tall mirror in her bathroom, she inspected her new look. The dark blue robe she was wearing gracefully exposed her neck and parts of her chest, and a thick leather belt around her hips kept it in place, emphasizing her features. The dress just about covered her knees, making it less impractical than some of the longer robes, and the loose sleeves barely reached her elbows, allowing for a good range of motion. The seams were embroidered with gold thread and showed depictions of animals Senya assumed could be found on the surface.

For the first time in a while, she had been able to thoroughly wash and comb her hair. The matted parts she couldn't save, she'd cut off, shortening her orange hair until about shoulder-length. With all the grime and dirt washed out, it looked smooth and shiny in the light of the candles, like a curtain made from silky satin.

She didn't look like someone who'd left all decency behind, Senya thought. But maybe that was a good thing. Putting on a mask of innocence, she was surprised at how well she wore it, with her soft blue eyes and smooth skin appearing as fragile as the untouched surface of an underground lake. Unlike Nyu, she'd never seen any fighting, and didn't have any scars to show for it. Her life had been rough, but rarely in the physical sense. Now, without the layer of dirt covering her body, she could've passed for a noblewoman.

Of course, that was a disguise she was more than willing to assume.

#

Malvorn had asked her to join him later that day, but since she still had some time until then, she decided to make a trip through the servants' quarters. People bowed to her as she walked by, quickly stepping off to the side to make room. They avoided eye contact wherever possible, gazing at their feet with low-hanging heads as if she were royalty. Senya played her part, striding gracefully through the hallways with purposeful steps, her chin high and carrying a resting frown.

Eventually, she reached the entrance to one of the large kitchens, where five different meals were being prepared at any given time of the day. Bubbling and sizzling filled the steamy air, mixed with the heavy aroma of goat meat, mushrooms, kale, and beetroot — anything they could cultivate in the darkness of Morathen's cave system.

A dozen cooks and servants were hastily moving in between the large pots and stove tops, carrying stacks of ingredients and plates with both hands at a time. Their faces were covered in sweat, making their red cheeks glisten in the hazy light of the many fireplaces.

Senya observed the jumble for a while before spotting what she was looking for. A middle-aged woman was carrying a tray of plates down one of the aisles, her mouse gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face red and puffy. She set down the tray next to a stove top and started filling a pair of bowl plates with creamy soup, one ladle at a time.

Senya slowly walked over to her, elegantly holding her hands behind her back.

"Greetings," she said coldly.

The woman flinched and looked around, then immediately lowered her head submissively.

"My Lady," she said, and bowed awkwardly.

Sweat was dripping from her nose and onto the tiled floor.

"I'm sorry," she continued, "I didn't see My Lady come in."

Senya took her time to respond, watching as the short lady's neck muscles tensed.

"What's in that pot?" Senya asked casually.

"It's leek soup, My Lady," the woman said with a thin voice, keeping her gaze on the floor.

"Is it good?"

The woman hesitated. "Yes, My Lady. Do you want to try it?"

Senya cracked an amused smile. "No, I don't think so," she said slowly. "But you should try it."

"My Lady?"

Finally, the woman looked up, and her confusion was palpable. Senya noted with satisfaction that she did not recognize her, not even with her unique hair color — the change in style and outfit had done wonders.

"Go on," Senya insisted, pointing at the boiling pot of soup. "Try it."

The woman's eyes darted helplessly through the room, but no one else was taking note of them.

"Go ahead," Senya repeated, this time with a biting chill to her voice.

When the servant picked up a spoon, Senya chuckled.

"Oh no, not with that. Just use the ladle."

The woman's horrified eyes looked at the iron ladle that was submerged in the bubbling soup.

"But …" the woman stammered, "It's too hot."

Senya enjoyed the perplexed expression on the servant's face, as the pathetic woman tried to understand the situation she was in. The bittersweet taste of revenge started filling Senya's mouth, her skin burning like cinder, but not from the heat around her.

"Do it," Senya rasped, taking a step towards the woman.

With shaking hands, the servant reached for the ladle, and when she lifted it up, it was steaming and bubbling. Her eyes started to water, tears rolling down her wrinkly cheeks.

"I don't understand," she winced, her voice brittle as old porcelain.

Senya scoffed. "No, you don't," she hissed, then motioned the woman to proceed.

The servant gulped, but eventually did as she was told. When the thick soup started sluggishly dripping into her mouth like searing lava, she viciously gagged and choked, letting go of the ladle and grabbing her throat with both hands. The ladle and the woman hit the floor at the same time, both making an awful lot of noise, both bouncing around in agitation. The servant's eyes were filled with sheer horror as she lay on the floor retching, tossing and turning her limbs like a wounded animal. The color of her face went from red to purple, and her snot mixed with tears that were streaming down her face. As her movement slowed down, Senya gave her one last disapproving look and turned around, leaving the servant and the kitchen behind. She wondered if the woman would live, but she didn't care one way or the other.

#

A few hours later, Senya was sitting across from Malvorn at a mahogany table with carved flowers on its bulging rim, in the middle of one of the decorative parlors in the upper levels. The scent of lavender hung in the air, and a crystal chandelier drew intricate reflections on the blue and green walls.

In between them sat a haggard man who didn't quite fit in with the splendor of the ambience. His brown curls were greasy, his patchy skin covered in pimples and blemishes, like he'd been suffering from a sickness early on in his life. Underneath a nose as crooked as an iron hook gaped a wide mouth with flaky lips that framed his pointy yellow teeth.

"Are you sure about that?" Malvorn asked after a while, his voice low and gravely.

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The man nodded and intensified his ugly smile.

"Yes, Sire!" he whispered conspiratorially. "I saw them sneaking around in the western part of town."

He spoke with a lisp and with the guile of someone used to spying on people.

"How many were there?" Malvorn asked and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table like stone pillars.

"At least five," the man said, "following a woman who appeared to be their leader."

"Pathetic," Malvorn rasped with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Senya figured he took it personally that the Fateweavers had sent such a small force to deal with him.

The man shrugged in his black rags. "They looked capable," he said in a low voice. "And they were carrying … something."

Malvorn raised an eyebrow.

"Carrying what? Speak!" he snarled, and the sly expression vanished from the man's face.

"They were carrying leather-clad barrels."

Malvorn raised his silvery eyebrows. Senya could tell his face was not used to expressing surprise.

"They did what?"

"I didn't get a good look at the containers, so I can't say what purpose they could serve."

"What am I paying you for if not information?" Malvorn growled without expecting a response.

The haggard man looked offended for a moment, but then seemed to realize he couldn't afford these kinds of emotions in the presence of a ruler as volatile as Malvorn.

"My deepest apologies, Sire," he fawned in a voice too smooth for his battered face, "I will check if my contacts know more and report back."

Malvorn dismissed him with an annoyed wave of his hand, then waited for the scrawny man to leave the room. He did so with a submissive bow and a quick glance at Senya, who had been quiet this whole time. His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, exposing deep-founded suspicion and distrust at a woman he'd never seen before, who was now sitting in on his secret meetings with their ruler.

"You have questions," Malvorn stated when it was only the two of them.

He leaned back until the chair creaked under the weight of his muscular back, then examined her with his dark eyes.

Seyna did have questions — more than she was willing to ask.

"How could they slip into Morathen undetected?" was the most pressing inconsistency she wanted to get straight.

A sinister smile split Malvorn's lips.

"I let them," he said quietly, then added: "I dismissed the guards at the main entrance."

Senya considered the statement for a moment. She tried to understand his motives, tried to consider his actions from different viewpoints, but in the end, only found two possible explanations: madness or stupidity.

"You think I'm crazy," Malvorn breathed with satisfaction in his voice.

Apparently, her facial expression had betrayed her.

"If they are here to kill you," Senya said carefully, "it doesn't seem wise to let them into our midst."

Malvorn nodded. "Sounds like something only a fool would do."

"You don't strike me as a fool."

A brief but menacing chuckle escaped the depths of Malvorn's chest.

"So? Why did I do it then?" he asked, challenging her reasoning.

Senya interlaced her fingers and tried to read his expression. It was one of fierce determination and power, carried by a cruel yet charming face.

"You want them to try. Have them come close, but ultimately fail."

"Apparently so," he said, reminding her that she was just stating known facts without exploring his reasons.

"You want to use their failed attempt for your own agenda," she whispered.

Malvorn nodded approvingly, but didn't speak.

"You want to show, no, remind our people of the cruelty of the enemy, to rally them against the Fateweavers."

"And they will be furious," Malvorn added, a grim smile on his pale lips. "Them coming here, into where we felt most protected, will be the match that lights the fire."

He clenched his fists until his bulging knuckles turned white.

"And they won't know that you started the fight, nor will they know that you let them get this close."

"Even if they did, it wouldn't matter much. Once you attack people in their home, they get emotional. Our cause will be the beacon of righteousness they will flock to, and our campaign against the surface world will begin."

"I take it back," Senya said quietly. "That does sound like a good plan."

"Follow my lead, and I will sharpen your mind and turn it into a weapon of destruction," Malvorn rasped, looking her directly in the eyes.

She didn't flinch, didn't even blink, but held his raging gaze until he seemed satisfied.

"But enough of my revenge. Tell me about yours."

The question caught Senya off guard.

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

Malvorn smiled knowingly. "I heard there was an accident in the servants' quarters earlier today."

She lowered her gaze, but not in remorse over what she'd done — she only felt embarrassed for getting caught.

When Senya didn't respond, Malvorn continued, and his eyes were beaming with fierce intent.

"How did it feel?" he asked, his voice but a whisper.

Senya recalled the excitement she'd felt when her vengeance had burned through the woman's body from the inside, just like her own pain had consumed her from within. It had been so fitting, poetic even, and it had left her with a feeling of cruel satisfaction. But the anger was still there, consuming her soul like a poison, and every drop of blood spilled in the name of revenge only left her hungry for more.

"It felt invigorating," she hissed, looking up at Malvorn's pale face. "But it was not enough."

He nodded and closed his eyes, as if trying to soak in the biting rage emanating from her in palpable waves.

"Will the woman live?" Senya asked indifferently.

Malvorn shrugged. "Who knows? It matters not."

"So there won't be a punishment?"

A roaring laughter filled the small room.

"Punishment?" Malvorn sneered. "No, there won't be a punishment. If her weakness can serve to make you stronger, I'd be a true fool to stand in the way of that."

"What happened to not killing innocent Fateless?" Senya asked, recalling his words from when she'd first been brought in front of him.

Malvorn's face took on a sly expression.

"Innocence is like a mirror surface. What you see depends on your perspective."

Senya nodded. The woman had been anything but innocent, at least in her book. She had ratted out her sister, leading to her mother's execution and her own descent into darkness. Whatever her fate, she deserved it.

Malvorn leaned back and studied her for a long moment.

"There is something you can do for me," he finally said, his voice low and ominous.

Senya cocked an eyebrow.

"Seek out my chamberlain and tell him to prepare a great feast, and not to spare any expense. Then, I need you to inform the attachés of my closest allies that their masters are being summoned for tomorrow. They are to come and be rewarded with a most splendid banquet, and a truly … memorable … experience. Should they fail to make an appearance, they will suffer my wrath."

A sinister smile tugged at Senya's lips.

"The more witnesses the better?" she asked, and was met with an approving nod.

"You learn fast, good. It will be a great spectacle, and word of the Fateweavers' failed attempt at my life will spread like wildfire."

He showed his yellow teeth like an animal ready to hunt.

"Finally," Malvorn continued with a vengeful glow in his eyes, "I need you to seek out the captain of the guard and tell him to make the necessary preparations." He frowned as if remembering something, then added with a wink: "Try not to kill him. Not yet."

Senya appreciated both the trust in her abilities and the open permission to further enact her revenge.

"Do that for me," he concluded, "and you will have further proven your worth."

"I will do as you ask," she could hear herself say, and was surprised at her own words.

Was she Malvorn's minion now? Carrying out his orders like an avid follower? She still detested the man, but he had treated her well so far, and deep down, she was grateful for it. Besides, his vision of leaving this wretched place behind was finally starting to seep through her scarred mind, instilling her with a burning desire to take down the Fateweavers and claim what was theirs.

She was ready to see them die — here, and in their own home. But there was one thought that kept tugging at her mind.

"Why do you trust me with this?"

Malvorn smiled as if he'd been waiting for this question. He leaned back and pointed at a sculpture next to the door, depicting some animal Senya didn't recognize. It was great craftsmanship, that much she could tell, and the marble the sculptor had used was pure white and almost translucent in places.

"You see that statue over there?" Malvorn asked, gazing at the petrified creature. "It's invaluable, you see. One of a kind, imported from the surface."

Senya nodded politely as she waited to see where this was going.

"It was gifted to me by a man who did everything he could to gain my trust. Many times did he dine in these halls, did he share drinks and stories with me. I thought him a true ally, albeit one with limited influence. Now, he lies dead in a lake deep below us, after we dragged the sorry remains of his scattered body out of that resistance hideout you uncovered."

He turned his head and glanced at Senya, his long hair swirling through the air.

"You never asked to be trusted. On the contrary, you threw your hatred at me, willing to give your life to prove your point. I can respect that. And yet, in just one day, you did more for me and my cause than many of these bloodsuckers who think me their friend have done in their entire lives."

Senya held his gaze, but she could feel a peculiar warmth flow through her body.

"Trust is for fools," Malvorn continued, "I value results and potential. You have both to show for yourself."

Senya didn't know what to say, so she just inclined her head.

"When we reshape the order of power, there will be plenty of room to grow. I'm curious to see where your path will take you."

And with that, he stood up, his chair aching in relief.

"Tomorrow, our salvation will begin. And you will have done your part in it."

He gave Senya a last fierce look, then left the room with heavy steps.

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