Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

mingle with the nobility any longer, although no one in Arganis gave it much heed. On official papers, documenting the expenses and servants living in Arganis, Grace was listed merely as “Grayson Miller, Guard.” Her life back at home started anew and her family took her back despite the disgrace she brought on them. Living in the room off the kitchen was a mercy compared to the life that waited for a fallen noblewoman elsewhere in the realm.
                  Someone knocked at her door. “Grace, you better not still be abed!” Grace’s old handmaiden, Cassandra, shouted through the door.
                  In the months since returning, it had taken the woman some time to drop decorum and titles when speaking to her former mistress, but now Cassandra treated Grace the same as she treated her friends in town. Grace enjoyed the equality now awarded to her. She’d always viewed Cassandra as a friend and was blind to the class gap between them. Now that one did not exist, Cassandra joked freely and vented her frustrations in a way she never had before.
                  “Come in, Cassandra,” Grace called. She swung her legs onto the floor and the freezing stone tiles sent chills up her body. She gritted her teeth and got out of bed, though climbing under the warmth of the sheets was preferable.
                  Cassandra ambled in. She was a plump woman with auburn hair and kind, hazel eyes. Although only a few years older than Grace, she still acted like a mother hen. She came to the castle from town every morning before first light to get her day started. She still liked to help Grace do her hair, which was a blessing because Grace needed all the help she could get some days.
                  “You’re barely awake!” Cassandra moved around with practiced efficiency, opening the shutters first. The gray morning light helped brighten the little room. Next, she poured water into Grace’s basin while Grace retrieved her uniform. Then she picked up a brush from the nightstand, holding it like a weapon. She sat on the bed and waited.
                  “How can you just be waking?”
                  “I had the dream again.”
                  “Oh,” Cassandra said, any snarky remark she had falling from her lips unspoken. “You know the priests teach us that such dreams are prophetic gifts from the gods, and to be chosen is an honor, indeed.”
                  “Then they might take the honor from me. I would like uninterrupted sleep for a change,” Grace replied sulkily, pulling on her gray trousers.
                  “Such blasphemy. It is an honor to be chosen, whether you see it or not.”
                  Grace turned her back to Cassandra as she removed her nightgown and rolled her eyes so her friend wouldn’t see her annoyance. She slipped on a white shirt and put a knee-length, sleeveless navy blue tunic with silver trim on top. Embroidered in silver thread on the chest was the hawk of Arganis. In one talon it held a sword, and in the other a scroll. It served as the official uniform of the Arganis guard.
                  “I do not like the dream, Cassandra,” Grace said. She turned back toward Cassandra. “I did not ask Diggery to elect me as her mortal vessel.”
                  “I don’t think anyone asks the gods such things, Grace.” She reached a hand under the bed and grabbed Grace’s boots. “Sit down.”
                  Grace took her spot on the floor in front of Cassandra. She pulled on the boots as Cassandra set to work on her hair.
                  Grace kept her hair long, despite constant warnings to cut it. Her uncle reminded her that it served as a liability in combat. Grace had Cassandra do her hair because the two devised a little trap for anyone who grabbed it. Cassandra combed out Grace’s hair, her hands