Day in and day out, Lodira struggled to learn her new tasks, the tittering and mockery of the maids and other servants about the house, from the houseman to the boot boy and the hall boy and the footman… gradually began to lessen. ‘I wonder if Albaer had anything to do with that?’ Lodira pondered sometimes, but did not ask. She was grateful enough when they at least stopped looking at her with scorn for losing her place, and at least left her alone.
Days turned into weeks, and every day she put off sending the letters to the Prince and to the Duchessa. Every night she resolved to do it again, and every day she neglected to even write them.
It wasn’t until morning of the second week when she understood why. ‘As long as I haven’t done it, they can’t say no, and hope won’t be gone… the moment I try, the moment they refuse, I have nothing left.’ It was a cruel self realization that left her staring at the ceiling far longer than she should have been.
She managed to get herself ready in time with a little bit of effort, and even did her long hair in a short curled under braid to keep it out of the way. No sooner had she ascended the stairs however than she found Albaer waiting for her.
Her bright eyes widened when she saw his expression of pride. “My child…” He whispered to her and put his hands on hers, “The master of the house is asking for you to attend to him today.”
“Fath- I, ah, I mean the master of the house… b-but why?” Lodira felt her hands tremble.
“I have spoken of how well you’re doing, how hard you’ve worked, and… and I suppose he wants to see for himself. If you work well today, it may be that one of the lords or ladies due to visit today will take you on. Then you’ll be free of his authority, you’ll be safe. I know…” He patted her hands gently, “it isn’t the life you wanted, very few get that, but you’re capable of more than you know, you proved that to me these last few weeks. I know you can do this.”
“Who… who is coming?” Lodira asked, finding herself staring across the wide hall to the front door. The memory of the slaps and being dragged through it came back like they were yesterday.
“I don’t know, but people of importance if your father wants a servant to attend him during the meeting.” Albaer’s gray face all but glowed.
Lodira broke the grip and went up to cup his face, she looked up at him, “When I was little, I always thought you were a mean, sour faced man. But looking back on it now… you were always the one there for me. Your sour face dried my tears when my siblings threw those stupid acorns. You were a stern tutor, but now I know you just wanted me to learn. You were harsh with my whimsy and my flagrant disregard for propriety… but here this whole time you were the only one to understand… and it’s no wonder you suggested someone from Pas’en would be a good match for me. You wanted me to be happy… and I didn’t know it. You wanted me to be safe, and I didn’t see it. You loved me… and I never said back with words what you said in actions…”
Lodira drew out her dusting rag and dabbed her eyes. “I didn’t get to choose the man who created me in my mother, but since I don’t have a father, that means I get to pick one, and I pick you. So thank you… father.” She said, “For everything, I’ll do my best for you today.” She then rose up on the tips of her toes, and kissed Albaer’s cheek, then dabbed away a tear from his eye. “I love you, and I’ll make you proud.”
“May the stars be kind to you today, Lodira…” Albaer whispered as she retreated and made her way to the parlour.
It was a large, open place full of bright light from the sun coming in through the windows overhead, books lined the walls, and the stone all but shone, a hint of pride glowed within, ‘I made them that way.’ She said to herself.
A set of chairs set around a small rectangular table took up the center of the room, and the cruel faced old man who ruled the house, sat himself at the head.
Lodira didn’t skip a beat. “My Lord.” She curtseyed, “I understand you require my services. I will do my best to attend to your every need.”
She felt his eyes move up and down over her, checking for any flaw or failure in her, she held posture, defying any shame to rise up within, and proud when he nodded after finding nothing out of place.
“Good. My guests should be here any moment, Albaer has said you’ve worked hard, but I barely believe it. You can start to prove it by preparing some tea, make it now and bring it promptly, you can manage that much, can’t you?” Anton demanded more than asked, but Lodira brushed off the sour voice and curtsied. “Of course, my lord.” She replied, and departed for the kitchen. At her back she heard the distant door open and the butler make his greetings, take coats, and other minor tasks. She paid it no mind and hurried about making tea.
The water was already boiling, so it was easy to scoop a few shredded tea leaves into cups, set them on a tray, and pour. As an added sign of thoughtfulness, she included a few biscuits, a little pitcher of cream, and some cubed sugar in a small bowl next to a pot for refills.
She scurried quickly but carefully back to the parlour, remaining silent until she entered, and briefly lost control of her mouth.
‘Sister… brothers… and… and their spouses…’ She swallowed her misery and contained all but the tiniest eep. None of them noticed it, being occupied with seating themselves. ‘These are the guests… this… this is why father wanted me to attend?! This is why?! It’s not a test! It’s a taunt to me and a warning to them!’ The depth of his cruelty cut like a saw into a dry tree.
She, however, held her posture. She could feel eyes behind her, ‘I’ll do this right, Albaer… you watch me.’ She swore, and plastered a smile on her face.
She lowered the tray onto the table. “My lords, my ladies… may I offer you tea?”
Their faces, she granted, were as stunned as hers.
“Father, you were serious…?” Her eldest brother Cosio gasped and ran his hands through his thick auburn hair.
Anton nodded. “I am, you heard what happened the same as I did. But in case you didn’t believe what I wrote in the letters I sent to you…” He pointed to Lodira who remained at a curtsy in her maid clothing, complete with duster, and other small tools, “that is not my daughter. I have no daughter named Lodira. She is no heir to this house, she is no sister to you.” He drew a document from his pocket, slapped it on the table, and affixed a seal to it in front of them all.
“Helena, read it!” he said, handing it to Cosio’s wife.
The slender woman held it in delicate hands, and a thin, snake like smile formed on her face. Lodira could see it reflected in the glass of the window. “Count Anton Valoisin, in his seventy second year, disinherits now and forever, Lodira Valoisin, for reasons of disgrace to her house, suspicion of multiple murders, and conduct unbecoming of her station. She is deprived of the rank of Contessa and any right to reclaim the same. She is deprived of all shares of her estate, and will be stricken from the city’s roles.”
Helena laid the letter down on the table with an almost religious reverence as the heritable estate increased by a third almost in an instant.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Stricken from the roles…? Father… it’s one thing to take her rank but… can’t we…?” Lodira looked at her sister Madeline, her chestnut hair was being twirled in one finger at her waist, a moment of gratitude swelling in the fallen Contessa’s breast, only for the plea on her behalf to be cut off.
Count Anton Valoisin stood up from the table, “I recently received word from Pas’en. If we support them in the event of war next year, they will pay the temples to exempt us for three years. That means we have no reason to worry about a levy.”
Lodira felt the weight of the statement lift a dread fear of being levied for tribute fall away, like a weight she no longer had to carry, only for the memory to stir of what else her former father had suggested for her.
“In addition, she has been refused courtesan training because of the murder accusations against her. As they put it,” he cleared his throat, “to even have on our grounds a mass murderess who slept in her husband’s blood, would ruin us.”
Lodira felt that sink in.
But the Count was not finished. “No one will marry her, she can’t be trusted to breed, she can’t stay faithful, there is no levy for her, and the courtesans won’t touch her. I could keep her as a maid, or you could… but do you trust her?”
For a wild moment, Lodira stood there, still holding her curtsy, and she hoped her siblings would speak up for her. “I didn’t do it…” She said in a tiny voice.
“I for one… wouldn’t.” Helena said haughtily, turning up her nose in disgust. “I mean, keeping her as a maid, it’s just a reminder that the house produced something unworthy, even if you don’t acknowledge it anymore. We can’t have that wandering the halls, no matter how well she scoops out the latrine or scrubs the grout of our floors.”
Lodira hung her head. “May I… may I get you masters or mistresses anything… what would please you…” She held the curtsy still, though her fingers shook where they pinched at the fabric of her dress.
Helena’s words brought the other spouses to agreement quickly enough.
“Are there sweet biscuits prepared, girl?” Her brother-in-law inquired.
“Yes, master.” Lodira said keeping the choking pain bottled up within.
“Then that, and be quick about it.” Her brother-in-law snapped, and hearing no other wishes, Lodira dashed from the room.
“While we wait’, we may as well begin dividing up her part of the estate.” Helena said as Lodira retreated. The words were not unheard, she held her forearm over her face to hide her expression when she saw Albaer standing a mere pace or two away from the entry to the door.
It was all she could do to reach the kitchens and begin slapping together snacks to give to the rest. She barely heard Albaer’s words. ‘Surely not… surely not… he couldn’t… he wouldn’t…’
She was lost in her own thoughts and barely registered the words, only moved with mechanical swiftness through the order and returned as fast as she could to the parlor. She began laying out small round plates with two or three small finger width sandwiches of bread and bear meat with a thick glaze and some strong smelling cheese.
She was listening whether she wanted to or not, at that point. “Of course to the eldest, I will pass what would have been her cattle, to the middle, the sheep, to the youngest, her goats and chickens. But there was the question of land.” The Count Valoisin. “I don’t want to split it up, so you can negotiate on who wants it and how much you’ll buy her inheritance for. I remind you that she would have also had three small homes within the city as rentals to the worker district, and there were several slaves, some of them specialists. You will settle on who gets what, or I will simply order it all sold on my death and divide the money equally among you.”
Helena spoke up, “What of her dowry.” She brought up a fan to hide the lower half of her face as she glanced over it with indifferent and opportunistic eyes to the hang faced Lodira.
“She spent it. As she is now stricken from the roles of the city, and I have no other use for her. Everything she owned before is going to be sold over the course of the next few weeks. After that, she will be sold for as much as can be managed, and that should recoup the cost she incurred on this house for the years she spent wasting my time and money here.”
“Tea.” Helena ordered after draining her cup.
“Yes, my Lady.” Lodira whispered, and taking up the small pot on the tray, she poured it for her sister-in-law.
“The recouped funds will be divided among you all, and that will be the end of it. However… there is one condition on all that you negotiate today.” The count said with a steel hard voice.
“Father?” The three couples said in unison.
“Never… ever speak of that again as a living person. When you leave this house, if you speak of her again, your sister is dead. I was going to give her a year… but as she was thrown out faster than I could have imagined from even trying as a courtesan, nobody wants to marry her, and we now know we have years without sacrifices?” He shrugged, “Why bother waiting that long? One of the larger traveling bazaars will come this way soon, I’ll get rid of the failure then. Past that day I had best never hear her name from any of you. No letters, no writing, strike her name and even the memory of her face from your hearts. Lodira… is… dead. Am I understood?”
Lodira listened to her siblings and their spouses utter an obedient, “Yes, father.” With their fortunes on the line, it somehow didn’t surprise her, which did not make the betrayal lessen. Though a pitying look from them came her way from her siblings, from their husband and wives, dressed in their finery, drab as it was compared to that of Pas’en, she felt only greedy, pleased eyes as her loss became their gain.
Still, Lodira said nothing, she served them tea and cakes and milk and biscuits until they’d negotiated who would get what part of what was going to belong to her, and never once did they look at her or use her name when they gave their orders.
It felt like eternity was passing when it was in fact only hours, but despite it all, Lodira did her best, until they stood up, bowed to their father, and walked out.
When she was alone with the master of the house, Lodira curtsied again, “Did I serve well, sir?” She asked, speaking loudly enough that she hoped Albaer could hear from outside the door.
Her…’No, not my father… just the master of the house…’ she reminded herself, looked at her with worse than loathing, absolute indifference. “You did, actually. It’s the first thing you ever did right, but it is also too little, too late. You were an expensive mistake, and it is time to make up for it.” The Count replied, “Now get back to work. Once you’re out of this house, you are not just no daughter of mine, you are dead in my eyes.”
“Master.” She said with calm she did not know she could muster, and exited the room.
The door shut behind her and she was immediately snatched and pulled into Albaer’s embrace. She clung to him and whispered, “I’m sorry… I tried, I tried… I worked as hard as I could to make you proud… it wasn’t enough though…”
He kept his arm around her and shuffled her away, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek, he said quietly when he was sure they were alone, “You can do everything right, and still lose. There is nothing to apologize for… I’ve known your father… ah… master Valoisin, for all his life. I should have seen this coming.”
“He was my father so… I should have also. There is… there is just one small thing, my only hope… if I can ask you, Albaer… father?” She bit her lip and he looked down at her with doubt on his face.
“What is it?” He asked, only for his doubts to be instantly dispelled.
“I want to write two letters, one to the Prince, one to the Duchessa Aiwenor, explain to them what is happening, and beg for help. Maybe it will not do any good but… it can’t make things worse for me than they already are.” Lodira swallowed, and took deep, slow breaths, “Please…?”
“Yes, of course, go ahead and write them, I will make sure they go out today with the next wagon to Pas’en.” He made the bold promise, and Lodira let out a sigh and fell back into his arms. “Thank you… thank you. Thank you.” She repeated, until she forced herself to disengage, to go and write her last hope on paper.
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For days they pressed the horse, riding over the open grounds along the grand highway of the Tlalmok Empire. Occasionally they began to see travelers, but to Nua’s relief, Sobella seemed to have learned to pay them no mind. As they rode, Nua took to singing more, and Sobella joined her as she learned the lyrics, eventually Nua began learning the songs of Da’nak and the demon-elves, as well as the songs of the other cities Sobella had visited.
The demon-elf’s voice was not stellar, but it was passable, and clinging to Nua as she did, the two bouncing high in the saddle, it was easy to forget that it was not simply a pleasant trip with the dearest of friends. Sobella proved to be able to excel at making camp, and Nua even taught her some simple hunting traps.
“The trick is… get it before the fear ruins the meat. It’s one of the differences between us and the beastmen. They love the flavor of fear, but we don’t, at least nobody I’ve ever met.” Nua whispered where they crouched away from the faint wind that would give them away.
Sobella crouched patiently as well, and watched the rabbit step into the trap. The crude spring tripped, the branch snapped up, and the rabbit dangled, flailing for only a moment before Nua approached and slit its throat, draining the blood onto the grass below.
“Is being an assassin, kind of like being a hunter?” Sobella asked while Nua showed her how to prepare the rabbit.
“Somewhat, although some common animals are smarter than some of my targets have been.” Nua chortled, “And so you know, since I can just feel that question bubbling within you, no. I never took contracts, I killed for a cause, nothing more. Everything I learned, I learned for a higher purpose.” Nua carefully wrapped the meat when it was ready, cast off the remnants for the wildlife to devour, and on they rode for days more. They fell into a comfortable habit of resting with their backs against one another when the ground was damp, and beside one another when it was not. They passed through towns and small cities, and each time she came to a wall, Nua brought Yersin’s touch to what she could.
So it went… until they crested the rise of a massive hill and it seemed the whole world was laid out before them. The shining sun of the midday caught the black stone of the city’s high walls, the polish caught the light and made the dark city shine on the hill it had been built upon. “So that is Tlaltopek…. source of our misery and pain.”
“Are you ready, Sobella?” Nua asked, and felt the dark hands of her companion come around to squeeze over her own.
“You remember how we talked about the way they believed our terror flavored our meat better?” Sobella asked, pressing herself close enough to whisper into Nua’s ear.
“Yes.” Nua hissed and stared at the city she hated before she could even enter its walls.
“Well, I’m going to be the worst meal the royal family has ever had, as well as giving them the worst case of indigestion ever, because… thanks to you, I’m not afraid anymore, after all, they’re only people. Now let’s go, I’m ready for this.” Sobella said with iron resolve, and she kicked her heels into the sides of the horse, spurring it onward by her own choice, and leaving the hill at their back.