The day began like any other. She rose in the early hours of the morning when darkness still graced the land and went about her morning routine. While freshening herself up in the washroom, she made sure to thoroughly clean her mouth using the herbal charcoal at hand. That boy would no longer be given the opportunity to embarrass her, even if he was doing it out of care. ‘He will smell my breath and like it if it’s the last thing I do!!!’ she promised while furiously scrubbing her teeth with a linen cloth.

Once finished, she returned to her quarters and changed into the standard outfit all maids wore in the Illugi household. A grey underdress over which she wore a brown apron-skirt fastened with simple brooches. The simple colours were to remind them of their status as servants, and compared to the bright and varied colours Illugi women wore, it only reinforced the fact. However, she didn’t mind her place in the status quo. This job was a godsend for her and her family, allowing them to gain an additional source of income and, hopefully, a lasting connection to the ruling family.

Servants who manage to gain work in wealthy households are especially well cared for, sometimes even being taken in as external members. The city’s political structure is a precarious but well-balanced one, and though disputes did occur, they were relatively rare, foul play being near non-existent. Most of the power and influence was held tightly in the grasp of war houses through marriages and employment; their warrior descendants used to form connections with other war houses or particularly wealthy non-warrior families. In contrast, those that weren’t warriors were given more freedom but were still expected to marry into families with some status.

Getting married to someone from a war house would allow a family’s business to gain their support and funding, the tradeoff being that they were then expected to donate a portion of the profits back as a tribute. Despite that, the benefits still outweighed the cost, and for many, it was their ticket to the good life.

However, this only applied to families with status, the karls and didn’t include the general population. It was one of the reasons why the union between Sǫlmundr’s parents was so controversial; a prestigious warrior marrying someone from a minor blacksmithing family? It was essentially spitting in the face of one’s family and ancestors, choosing personal satisfaction over familial prosperity.

Naturally, prestigious houses would not waste their precious descendants on commoners, lowly thralls, so they devised a new strategy. The servants they employed would only come from the common populace, and for those that caught their eye for one reason or another, a permanent place in their house would be offered. This was how the various war houses spread their influence over the city and competed for supremacy. The Illugis had the most power, with many influential and wealthy families under them, including some vassal warrior houses.

Looking at herself in a mirror and seeing that nothing was out of place, she reaffirmed her motivation and left the room to fulfil her maidly duties. Once the sun reared its head, Esja went to wake Sǫl up, opening the door with ease which was odd as usually, the boy would jam the thing shut with his chair. At a glance, there was no sign of the mischievous dark-haired boy she had grown fond of anywhere. “Where is that little guy?” she muttered while looking around the room in case he was playing a prank on her and was hiding somewhere.

Green eyes soon caught hold of something which piqued her curiosity. Gliding across the room with minimal noise, she came upon the wooden desk, a fine piece of craftsmanship, black stains outlining the spots where ink bottles once rested. A sheet of paper lay in the centre, writing she recognised as the boys littering its entirety. Hesitating for a moment, she grabbed it against better judgement and began reading the finely written words.

Its been a few days since my first bending lesson. I was so excited to finally make some friends and no longer be made fun of, but it was my mistake. Everything was the same. They all stared at me with those same eyes filled with disgust. They hate me.

Is it because I’m different? Is there something really wrong with me? I don’t know how long I can keep going like this. Acting like everything is fine.

I wish mother were here. Even though I’ve never met her and never will, she would know what to do. Every time the sun shines down on me, I imagine myself in her embrace, and for a moment, it works, like all my worries don’t exist.

I don’t want to disappoint her, but I’m afraid I already have. Even though I trained harder than anyone, it was not enough. The others caught up to me without much difficulty. I have no talent in bending. I’m near the bottom of the class. It’s only a matter of time before I’m kicked out of the group, letting father down.

Why is everything so hard? Why do I have to put in so much effort to gain little to no reward? Maybe there is something wrong with me? why? why? why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Why me!!! What did I do to deserve this!!! Why do I have to suffer!!!

I hate it!!! I hate it!!! I hate it!!! I hate it!!! I hate it!!!

I hate the kids who make fun of me because of my brown skin!!!

I hate the people that stare at me with those disgusting eyes!!!

I hate the Illugis who treat me worse than a dog!!!

I hate my life!!!

I hate everything!!!

I hate!!!

I hate…

I…

I hate myself…

The writing morphed into an unintelligible mess of overlapping words and scratches as Esja continued down the page. Esja didn’t know what to do, the shock of the revelation incapacitating her for a while. The determined, hard-working boy she had come to know and had grown fond of was silently suffering and bearing all the pressure alone.

She wiped the tears that were threatening to burst with the back of her hand and took a deep breath, trying to calm her surging emotions. Her thoughts spiralled as she connected the dots and came to the only explanation that made sense. The guilt of not realising the suffering Sǫl was going through all alone paired with the anger at herself for not being someone he could rely on ate her up.

“How could I have not suspected anything. No child would be okay after experiencing even a tiny amount of what Sǫl has. Yet, he managed to put up such a strong front that no one suspects a thing… he’s been bearing it all by himself to not trouble those he cares about,” she murmured, chastising herself for her incompetence.

Erratic breaths escaped her lips as she clutched her chest, the flame of agony setting her heart ablaze. Sǫl was around the same age as her siblings, so she couldn’t help but see him in a similar light. That, paired with the devastating note, caused a torrent of emotions to surge forth. It was a desperate call for help that Esja couldn’t ignore. Youthful naivety nodded in approval as she promised to do everything possible to help ease his burden and torment. After all, it was her duty as his personal maid.

The paper crunched and crackled as she clenched her fists till the whites of her knuckles were exposed. “Sǫl... I have always been there for you… now is no different,” Esja muttered, her face bathing in the rays of dawn radiating a subtle gold.

A tear landed on the paper as she placed it back down. The ink around the stain gradually warped into something foreign, almost like it were emulating the writer’s state of mind.

The door creaked on its hinges as it swung close while my eyes roved over the room, searching for anything amiss. Even though all my valuables were hidden away, I still made it a habit to put in hidden markers that would tell me if anyone had been in my room while I was gone. Turning back to the door, I saw a thin layer of sand scattered over the stone floor, barely noticeable if one wasn’t explicitly looking for it. Before leaving, I would always place a slightly heaped line of sand behind the door, scattering on occasion it was opened. I felt no change as I entered, which meant someone had been here while I was gone.

My eyes narrowed as I stalked the room like a half-starved wolf. ‘Nothing seems to be in place. Hmm… there’s really only one person who would even bother coming to my room. Did she find my little present?’ pausing my thoughts, I walked over to the desk and saw the note, albeit with some differences. The page was crumpled beyond belief, crudely pressed flat to restore its former state as a black blotch marred the neat writings.

‘Seems like someone was particularly upset about my scribblings. This will be easier than I initially thought,’ a low knock ran through the room at that moment, interrupting my thoughts. Stuffing the paper into my pocket, I put on a slight smile and chirped a response, “Come in, Esja.”

She slowly opened the door and stepped through, hands clasped, and head lowered a show of subservience. “It always surprises me how you know who is knocking at the door,” she said while stealthily eyeing my desk, hesitant to say more.

Noticing the awkward silence that had descended, I stood at akimbo before declaring in a playful tone, “Ah, so you’ve finally discovered my strange and mysterious powers.”

My attempt to lighten up the mood seemed to work as she giggled slightly. “Those aren’t real powers, you silly boy. Real powers would be something like speaking to animals or seeing the future.”

“What? You’re just making things up now,” I joked, finger pointed at her. We had both gotten comfortable, so I steered the conversation towards the matter at hand.

“Esja… were you in my room while I was away? I’m not mad, but if it wasn’t you, then…” my words trailed off at the end, seeming apprehensive. She stuttered, trying to form a proper response, affirming my conjecture. I pressed for an answer, “Esja, I trust you; there’s no need to lie to me.”

My words seemed to give her the courage to reply, and she meekly bobbed her head. “I-I’m sorry, I came into your room to wake you up, but you were nowhere to be seen… there was a note on the table.”

The sound of crinkling paper reached my ears as it was pulled out of my pocket. “You read what I wrote, didn’t you,” I asked, staring into her eyes while squeezing it in my hand.

Tears flowed down reddened cheeks as she closed the distance between us, pouncing on me. The swiftness of her actions caught me off guard, and I failed to react as she pulled me into a hug. She sobbed while holding me tightly in her embrace, this wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting after she read the note, but the more guilty she felt, the easier it would be for me to twist her to my needs. A gentle hand stroked my hair as whispers tickled my ear, “it’s okay” and “I’m here for you”, being some of the phrases she repeated, which oddly put me at ease, the paper slipping out of my grasp.

The embrace was eventually broken, and she cupped my face with a saddened expression. Her hands were course as expected of someone who did manual labour, an unavoidable consequence in this line of work. It was a testament to the hardships she had already withstood while only so young, a few years older than me. “I won’t apologise for what I did because it allowed me to see the truth. It allowed me to realise your pain and suffering and my failure as your personal maid,” she then kneeled in front of me, continuing her declaration, “I sincerely beg you to forgive my incompetence. Please tell me what I can do to ease your burden, my Lord.”

‘The truth, huh… I’m sorry, the only truth you will see is one carefully constructed to fulfil my desires.’ Bending over, I softly lifted her chin, using my other hand to wipe the tears away. “You did nothing wrong, Esja. I’m sorry for troubling you by displaying my ugly side. It won’t happen again. Also, can you please stop acting like an actual maid? It’s creeping me out.”

“Haha, I know what you’re doing. Don’t try to hide and push me away, Sǫl. Hic—I’m sorry you had to go through this all by yourself. Hic—But please let me bear the burden alongside you,” she cried while I did my best to console her.

“I’m sorry, Esja, there is nothing you can do to help me. You’re a maid to the lowliest member of the Illugi family. I’m nothing, and by association, so are you.”

The truth behind my words gradually dawned on her as the determination she had leaked away. It was like watching a flower wilt in the sun. Crush someone’s convictions, and you can cripple them without lifting a finger, but that would do me no good. I wanted to shape the girl to my need, and to do that, I needed to cut off all her options, and when she was at her lowest, I would give her a way out, which only led to the outcome I desired.

Thralls are the commoners. They own no land or lucrative businesses, mostly working under the umbrella of someone greater.

Karls generally refers to families that own land and businesses, most of the time having a long and/or prestigious history. Though war houses are also in this category, they have a higher status than other Karls.

Jarls refer to the leading house, so in this case, the Illugis.