Author's Note: Warning, this story contains violence and some dark concepts. Neither are part of the sex or romance, but paint the background which drives the heroism bringing the characters together. If violence is a specific turn off for you, this may not be the story for you.
Special thanks to livingforfun for editing and improving this story.
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A bit of mystery, a drop of magic, a flurry of violence, and a breath of romance bring Emma and Sarah together to save the Bloodlands.
Scene 1
Emma twisted the piping bag slowly, letting the red dye seep ever so slightly into the surrounding frosting. The master had been very specific about how the tarts were to look and she didn't have time to remake them. There were still ten different kinds of pie to make in addition to all of the pastries. She counted herself lucky though, none of her items had to reach the table hot.
The kitchen was abuzz with servants rushing to prepare for the gala, an event their master would do anything to make perfect. There was something special about this one. Emma wasn't sure what and it definitely wasn't her place to ask. Her place was here by the stoves, preparing the evening's confectionaries and generally staying out of everyone else's way.
Staying out of the way was something Emma was very good at. At just over five foot, she was skinny and small. She could fit into small spaces, blend in with a wall or piece of furniture, or simply scurry underfoot. That and her subservient, giving nature made her a good servant. Servitude had been her lot in life since she turned fourteen and left her parents' farm to seek an income eight years ago. She had five younger siblings and the last thing the family needed was another mouth to feed. Instead, she sent money home every few months.
She'd just finished frosting the last tart when the master burst into the kitchen, eyes flaring behind a guise of stoic command. The tall, sophisticated man hardly ever graced the servants' areas with his presence unless it was to deal punishment. The room fell silent in trepidation.
"Everything must be perfect tonight," The master announced for what must have been the dozenth time. "Hors d'oeuvres at six. The food is to be on the tables hot two minutes before seven. By the time the doors open at exactly seven, there should not be a servant in sight. You will integrate the other servants into your routine as necessary to achieve efficiency and accuracy. At exactly eight, you are to switch the main courses for the desserts. The blast of the first firework will be your cue. By the time the last has burst, you are to be gone again, the tables changed and ready. Then you are to report to the kitchens, taking the other servants with you. No one is to leave or go anywhere else in the manor." They'd heard this all before. It wasn't until he reached the end of his speech that anything changed. Here, he locked eyes with each servant in the room for what was the first time for all of them in each of their tenures at the Belmont manor. "If any servant is found anywhere in the manor outside the kitchens and servant quarters after eight-ten, they will be dragged behind my carriage across the Bloodlands until dead. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, master." The room said as one. They were silent a moment longer as the master gave a small threatening smile. His eyes dragged over them once more, slowly, like a rancher assessing his herd for the last time, before he turned and left.
"Something is happening tonight," the butcher's assistant breathed, breaking the stunned silence. "Something we need to know about."
There was a general grunt of disapproval. It wasn't just the master's obsession. Having all of his guests bring their servants to assist had been confusing at best. The master could be a perfectionist on regular days, but the strict time table and continuous threats were more than concerning.
"What? You want to go ask him, boy?" The butcher challenged, turning back to his chopping block and picking up his cleaver.
"Ben's right. Master Belmont has never acted like this before," the scullery maid took a small step forward into the center of the kitchen to be heard better despite her tiny voice. "I'm scared."
Emboldened, the assistant spoke again. "We need to know. No one threatens death unless what they are hiding is worth killing for." The statement seemed fairly simple, but the room came to a complete halt to consider the idea.
"Is knowing worth dying for?" the bread baker asked, making it clear she had no interest in that trade.
"I think not knowing may be what kills us surely as finding out." The head waiter was known for his quick wit and charming smile, but there was none of it in his expression.
"And how do you propose we find out?" It was the head cook who spoke this time. She was a portly older woman with wispy grey hair, pulled back in a tight bun. She ran a tight kitchen and seemed to care for little besides efficiency, practicality, and butter.
"Someone could stay when we switch over the dinner to the desserts," the maid suggested, purposefully not drawing attention to herself lest she imply she was volunteering.
"Hide under the table," the assistant provided.
The butcher scoffed. "They would be found and killed. They will check every time we enter to make sure we have all left. If someone wants to be there, they will have to have been there from the beginning."
"Right, and where would they hide? The grand hall may be large but it's open. There's nowhere to hide, no closets, no curtains. There's not even a bloody tapestry." The bread baker countered.
"A guest," the scullery maid interjected drawing the group's stares. "We disguise a servant as a guest. They will be coming from all across the Bloodlands. There are bound to be people no one knows. Wear the right clothes. Say the right things. No one will know."
The kitchen servants didn't stop staring. It was madness.
