I’m late !
Clara whistled a low tune as she walked, hands neatly clasped behind her back holding onto her papers.
“A good mood today, I see?”
Kaedon stepped out from behind one of the pillars, and Clara jolted slightly before relaxing.
“I guess I am,” she said with a chuckle. “What are you doing down here? Don’t you and Ludvia usually watch the north?”
Kaedon leaned in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Skiving, obviously.”
“Oh my,” Clara replied, exaggerating her surprise.
Kaedon shrugged, throwing his hands up. “They’re probably all wondering where little old me is right now.”
Clara felt her eyebrow twitch.She glanced around, then leaned in with a wicked grin of her own.
“You’d better hope the captain catches you…”
Kaedon scrunched his face, but before he could respond, Clara leaned in closer, her voice dropping.
“What do you think will happen if Ludvia finds you first?”
She let the words purr.
Kaedon’s face drained of colour. He looked around frantically, then grabbed Clara by the arms.
“You never saw me. You never heard me!”
Before she could answer, he was already gone, racing down the hall toward the north, no doubt scrambling for some wild excuse.
Clara chuckled to herself and turned to continue on her way—
—and froze.
A bell chime echoed down the halls.
Her gaze snapped to the far end of the hall.
“Oh no”
“I can’t believe I’m late.That demon bastard is going to have a field day with me,” Clara groaned as she ran down the great hall, clutching her bundle of documents that grew more crumpled with every step.
Who cares, as long as he gets them? She tried to assure herself before suddenly crashing toward the floor, tripped by a foot stuck out in her path.
Flushed scarlet from the sting of the cold stone floor and the humiliation, she didn’t need to look up to know the culprit to these pathetic actions had been the same since she arrived years ago. Mousy-brown hair framing a rodent-like face… Alicia, queen bitch of the sorry lot.
“Alicia…” Clara hissed, brushing off her skirt. “Don’t you or your little dogs ever get bored of pestering me?”
Alicia only clicked her tongue, unfazed. “Clara, don’t you ever get sick of wasting good air on yourself?”
Her minions scoffed, feeding Alicia’s grin and ego. Crossing her arms with smug victory, Alicia tilted her nose skyward as Clara crouched to gather her scattered papers, glaring murderously. Clara’s lips twitched, about to spit a retort when Phitzro came running clumsily down the hall.
“Clara!” he called, waving frantically.
“Seems your master is calling. Go on, run along with the lame,” Alicia whispered smugly as she turned her back returning to sweeping.
But Clara snapped. Grabbing the girls shoulder, she yanked her face close, inches away. Alicias friends stepped forward, but Alicia didn’t flinch her smug smile never leaving as she leaned injust as close.
“Isn’t that why you got one of us killed? So you could run to their beck and call?” She stated coldly.
“He’s not lame…” Clara mumbled weakly.
“Yes, thank you for being so diligent!” Alicia suddenly chirped in a bright, false voice, clasping Clara’s hand affectionately. Clara blinked in shock as Phitrzo arrived, now standing beside them with an awkward throat clear.
“Well, we’d better head off.” Alicia smiled sweetly, bowing to him. Her girls fell in line, giggling as their queen rubbed her hand with a rag, as though to wipe away Clara’s touch.
Defeated, Clara hung her head and trudged in the opposite direction, clutching her papers tighter to her chest. She wished to be truly as unbothered about Alicia’s venom as she acted, but the words still clung painfully inside.
I didn’t get anyone killed to better my position. And I’m not on our enemies’ side. They know that. They were there, she tried to convince herself, quickening her steps.
“Clara,” Phitzro called, catching up with her. His brows furrowed at her and then at the sorry state of the papers.
“I know what you’re going to say, but it couldn’t be helped! I really did try to keep them in order,” she rushed out with a sheepish grin.
He only sighed, tutted, and rolled his eyes, choosing silence instead of scolding. At least I won’t have to hear the lecture twice, she thought.
At the end of the great hall, a grand clock towered, ornately decorated. Few ever noticed the slim gap behind it that led to a cold, narrow staircase, precisely why the General had chosen it for his true office.
As they climbed, Clara counted silently to ten, leaving space for Phitzro’s cane to swing without striking her ankles.
A painful lesson from her first month.
In the dim light, she shuffled the papers nervously, her confidence in their condition fading. At the top, Phitzro paused, placing a calm, steady hand on her shoulder. In the flicker of the torchlight, his faint smile was enough to draw her eyes from the papers.
Of everyone she had met since being brought here perhaps even before, Phitzro alone could make her feel at ease. Perhaps that was why he was always chosen as the escort into the lions den.
“Don’t worry too much. As long as they’re all here,” he whispered. Then, more softly: “And thank you for defending me earlier. But don’t fret your kind’s opinions, or even mine, calling me lame? They don’t bother me.”
Her mouth dropped slightly before she snapped it shut. He had heard. Damn it. If Alicia’s pack thought she was tattling, life would be hell. Phitzro caught the panic in her eyes, chuckling softly with a reassuring wink. You’re alright, it seemed to say.
“Phitzro, bring in the girl,” a deep voice bellowed from beyond the heavy door. Over three years she’d been here, and still never once had he called her by name.
The girl, Clara muttered under her breath.
The office was modest, stripped of any personal touches just a desk, a chair, two bookshelves, and a perpetually lit fireplace. Phitzro hurriedly took the papers from her and placed them before the looming figure. Muttering in Dragonian, he bowed his head.
The General rifled through the crumpled stack with a sigh, his sharp crimson eyes finally lifting to Clara’s small, cowering frame only to return to the papers without a word. The silence pressed in, broken only by the fire’s crackle and the turning of pages. Sweat trickled down Clara’s neck as minutes stretched.
Have they forgotten I’m here? Surely not… She cleared her throat, testing the thought. The sudden shock in Phitzro’s eyes confirmed it… she really had been forgotten. These dragon bastards, she nearly muttered aloud.
Phitzro bent quickly, whispering in the General’s ear. At last, the man flicked his hand indismissal. Clara didn’t wait for a second chance. She spun on her heel and left; thankful he hadn’t even bothered to see her expression.
Bounding down the spiralled stairwell with a touch too much relief, Clara slipped from behind the clock, arms stretched high, jaw cracking open in an exaggerated yawn as if to spill out smoke and soot.
For once, all her official duties were complete. She considered dinner, then grimaced running into the others meant risking wearing it. With a sigh, she wandered to the garden square instead.
Phitzro Pov
From a small window above, Phitzro sighed, watching her flail her arms about.
“When will that girl learn a shred of dignity? I can’t even blame her kind. It’s just… her.”
“The girl is odd,” Arion drawled with a wry smile. “But more interesting than the ones who only shake with fear or glare with hate, don’t you agree?”
Phitzro ignored him, still staring after Clara. “I only wish she’d stop being so damn clumsy with documents. They always look like they’ve fought more battles than me by the time she delivers them. Frankly the others behaviour towards her is hardly a help.”
Arion chuckled, then settled back into his usual cold tone. “Excuses don’t concern me. Her life, her standing it’s none of my interest, as long as she gets the job done.”
“Then… may I ask if she could be lent to Madam Lafayette for errands? In exchange for some refinement?”Phitzro asked, voice betraying desperation.
“Stragon’s wife?”
“Yes, master. She’s known for her manners, and unlike her husband, she’s rumoured to show sympathy to humans. Even Stragon wouldn’t dare defy her.”
Arion sneered. “So, our bald thorn would fume, knowing a filthy human was near his precious wife, powerless to stop it. I like it. Fine. I’ll speak with her.”
He actually chuckled a sound that made Phitzro squirm.
“Master, do you think you’ll ever call Clara by her name?” Phitzro asked suddenly, head cocked in sly teasing.
Arion glared. “You’re too attached. Anything alive, unless you plan to take responsibility for its life, should remain nameless.”
Cold, but true, Phitzro thought. Still, he couldn’t help the soft spot he carried for the odd girl clumsy, conflicted, yet strangely bright against this dull place.
“Her kind usually crawl and scheme like rats,” Arion scowled.
“Yes, master. Even now they’re plotting to overrun this place, cloaking it as reclaiming what was stolen. Self-proclaimed victims, the worst of all.”
Arion’s lip curled. “I wonder how she would react, knowing she’s the very centre of this scheme. Would she cry? Collapse in fear, begging for innocence? Or would she stand arrogant, as always?”
Phitzro caught the sudden fury in his master’s clenched gloved hand and quickly interjected: “My lord,shall we discuss strategies for the upcoming meetings?”
With a click of his tongue, Arion pulled a worn leather book from his desk. The two men bent to their work,leaving Clara’s shadow hanging in the air between them.
