Emela reached for the crystal door handle and pulled. The door opened, gliding smoothly past as she stepped by, tightening her towel with one hand. She stepped into her room, feeling the soft carpet embrace her feet.

By her bed, Nyx stood, leaning over as she laid out Emela’s clothes for the night. A loose white nightgown and white undergarments—the usual for this time of year. Noticing her arrival, the maid looked up and smiled. “Are you feeling better, Mistress?” she asked, turning to face her.

Raising a hand, Emela rubbed her forehead, feeling the dull pang of pain from her bruise. She nodded, her gaze passing over Nyx, moving to the girl’s side. The wound from yesterday was no doubt still there, covered by her uniform, but her friend did well to mask her pain.

“I’m doing well. Nothing a bath couldn’t fix,” Emela said, making her way across the carpet and to her bed. The moonlight filtered across the room, dappling her sheets with light as it passed through the clouds. Emela turned her head, looking out of the large glass window—very much the centrepiece of her room. “I can’t believe it. She actually had us fight a beast for a punishment.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow and gave a small nod. “It was much more than the both of us could handle, but I believe that was the point, Mistress.” Nyx bent back over and smoothed out a crease she’d found in the nightgown. “It was meant to be impossible.”

Emela loosened her towel regarding Nyx as it dropped to the soft carpet. “And what does an impossible situation even teach me? Teach us?” she said, reaching forward and plucking her undergarments from the bed.

Nyx brought a finger to her lips and looked out of the window, moonlight dancing across her cheeks. “I don’t know, but knowing the Lady, she was hoping we would fight to the end.”

I don’t doubt that in the slightest; she probably enjoyed watching us struggle.

Emela pulled the undergarments over her head, smiling as the sweet smell of roses hit her—Nyx had picked a good perfume today. She felt a tug on her shirt as Nyx moved to assist her. The maid helped slide it on, making sure not to be too rough.

Emela popped her head out of her undergarments, puffing her hair out of her face. “We did fight to the end though—well, I at least tried to. But all it taught me was not to fight giant fish underwater.”

Nyx, kneeling on the carpet, straightened out the frills on Emela’s undergarments before looking up. Her blue eyes were as calm as ever. “That is true, but you at least got some inspiration. What you did with the Ice disk at the end was quite smart. Much better than using it to avoid sewage.”

Emela grunted as Nyx moved over to the bed and carefully scooped up the nightgown. “It was a bit of a lucky shot,” Emela said. “But I’m glad it worked. If I had been stronger, I could have done more. Drion would have never been in that position.”

“You give him too much credit.”

“Maybe,” Emela said, raising her arms. Nyx positioned the nightgown over her and then slid it down. The smooth silk caressed Emela’s skin, sending a tingle running down her spine. “Either way, that didn’t go to plan at all—not that there really was one.”

Nyx patted down her nightgown. She then took a step back and regarded Emela—she loved looking over her work to make sure everything was as it should be. “No, there wasn’t a plan, yet we still did a good job.”

“I hope so.” Emela stepped away from her bed, making her way over to her window—to the soft-furred seat beneath it. She looked out the window as she climbed onto the chair and got comfortable. Nyx trailed behind, coming to a stop at the window seat’s edge. She wouldn’t be sitting.

“I never thought that I would step foot in those slums,” Emela said, looking out at the distant cityscape. Various pristine buildings lined the view, with the large and imposing Great House mansions being noticeable even from where she sat—after all, the Great Families wanted to be as far apart from each other as they possibly could.

The slums, in comparison, were a distant haze out in the darkness. Torch lights looked like stars dotted amongst the night sky. It would be beautiful if she didn’t already know what the slums were like—the stink of it all, and the suffering.

But still. It has a certain charm that I can’t quite ignore. The freedom of responsibility the people have there. With enough strength, you can do whatever you want. Not like here.

“Do you think we could live there?” Emela said, turning her head to Nyx. “Do you think that we could survive there if we left the family?”

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“You wish to run away?”

Shaking her head, Emela let out a sigh and looked down. A moment later, she looked back, right into Nyx’s eyes. “And if I were looking to run away to the slums, do you think I could... Do you think we could survive there?”

“It’s hard to say,” Nyx’s shoulders slackened, but her face remained the picture of calm—it was as if they weren’t talking about upending her entire life. “I think if we did go, it would be hard. Do you know what they eat in the slums? Do you know how they sleep? I do, and it’s nothing like this.”

“You don’t think I could handle it?” Emela asked. She raised an eyebrow and reclined into the seat’s fur. “I think I could. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could carve out a life for myself. My strength actually amounts to something down there.”

“You misunderstand me, Mistress.” Nyx looked away, her eye briefly catching the moonlight in a twinkle of blue. “Life would be different down there. Things that you take for granted up here would be gone down there. Forget a life of luxury—every day would be a struggle.”

“Our friends can do it. You once lived there yourself,” Emela said.

“I did. But that was a long time ago. I was an orphan back then. If I hadn’t been taken in by...” Nyx trailed off. “You are right, though. Your strength in the slums is quite significant. If you discount the larger groups.”

Esmerelda’s death still haunts her, even after all these years.

Emela turned her head, looking back out at Middlec, and sighed. She eyed the distant light of the slum as she thought about the possibilities. “With my strength, I could form my own group. I’m sure our friends would be willing to join us. We could carve out a chunk of the slum for ourselves. Think of it. From Frostkeep to Frostqueen.”

Nyx coughed.

“It’s a working title,” Emela said, scratching her reddening cheeks. “But my point still stands. I could actually be valued down there, instead of being used as a bargaining tool, sold off to a lesser house like some slave.”

“That is true. You would be valued, and who knows? We wouldn’t have to stay in the slums.” Nyx shifted on her feet, her maid uniform shuffling as she readjusted herself. “You could perhaps join a mercenary group, venture outside Middlec and see the wilds.”

“Hmmm... I guess I could do that. But that would just put me under someone else’s rules. No, I would have to just start my own mercenary group. That way, I would be in control.”

“Build a group, take on quests and do more than you thought possible within these walls,” Nyx said. “That sounds great. And I would support you through all of it. But I fear that you are underestimating your family, Mistress.”

“I know,” Emela said, thinking back to the time in the grand hall when her father had announced she would be marrying that pig, Ulric. It was clear her family would abandon her if she didn’t agree—in many ways, they already had. But abandoning and fleeing were two separate things.

Were she to flee the family, she would immediately put herself at risk, as well as anyone that helped her. No, it was a nice idea, but if she were to flee her family, it would have to be a last resort.

“Furthermore, Mistress,” Nyx said, “it’s easy to idealize this. But what do you think the average day for you would be like in the slum? How would you get yourself off the ground?”

Emela shifted, looking down at her hands resting on her leg. The silk of her nightgown fluttered gently as it was caught by a breeze. What would her day-to-day be like? Perhaps she could do what she always did—it was already normal to meet Hector by the fountain. And he worked at the city’s dumping grounds, so she could do the same for a short time.

“You could never be who you are now, Mistress. You would have to be someone else. Let’s not forget that the slum dwellers don’t exactly like nobles either.”

Bringing her hand to her chest, Emela’s finger glided across her collarbone as the cold night air tickled her cheek. The slum dwellers didn’t like nobles—in all honesty, it was more apt to say they hated them. And not without reason. Emela wasn’t blind to what the nobles had done to those below them—the Nightcroft Incident was a good example. But still.

In the slums, Emela felt a freedom she’d never felt. It was as if for the first time in her life she was her true self. Her mind went back. Back to when she’d first stumbled onto Hector in the city dump. She wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. But he’d seemed so different, so interesting.

So, even though she should have been looking for something, something she had stupidly thrown out, she became distracted. With a slum dweller, no less. “I know, Nyx. I would have to tell him. I’d have to tell all of them.”

“And I don’t think they would take it too well, do you?” Nyx asked.

Emela raised a hand, placing it on the cool glass of the window. She’d have to tell them eventually, so what difference did it make? “You know, the only people that would really care would probably be Jodie and Hector. Lincoln and Marcus don’t strike me as the type to seem too bothered. Especially Marcus.”

“That may be true, but still.” Nyx combed her fingers through her black hair as the moonlight reflected off her cheek. Turning to Emela, she smiled. “Besides, if we were to leave, who would look after Claymore?” Nyx said, resting her gaze on her.

Emela sighed as Nyx continued. “Your younger brother is the only one of your siblings that’s shown some promise of actually being normal. Could you leave him to be warped by the others?”

“Claymore,” Emela said, her voice barely a whisper. What would he do without her? He was still so young, so impressionable. He was a bright child; his spirit root hadn’t developed yet, but Emela had no doubt that he would be impressive. Her ninth brother was the only one she actually cared for, aside from her mother—even though the woman strived to make that difficult.

“In all honesty, Mistress, if you do run, it would be difficult, and I think the family would hunt you down. But I do feel we would be able to trust our friends.”

“And if they catch us?” Emela said, locking eyes with Nyx. “What then, what will you do?”

“If they catch us, Mistress, then I will die knowing I served you well.”