Emberlynn awoke in a coughing fit. She clutched at her shift while her heart hammered against her chest, and her lungs fought desperately for air. A high-pitched whine escaped her throat, and a handmaiden opened the door to her room moments later, eyes wide and mouth agape.

  “Mistress Emberlynn!” the handmaiden cried. She rushed to Emberlynn’s side and snatched the glass of water and a handkerchief from the bedside table. With one gentle arm, she hefted Emberlynn’s frail body and helped her sit up.

  “W-water,” Emberlynn wheezed, reaching for the glass.

  The handmaiden tipped the glass to Emberlynn’s lips. With trembling hands, Emberlynn received the cup and cradled it as she lapped at the rim like a dog. How unbecoming of a woman of her stature. How could she have fallen so far as to require the care of a newborn? It was beyond disgraceful.

  The handmaiden plucked two small tablets from the table and held them in her palm, offering them to Emberlynn. Emberlynn examined the tiny reminders of her fast-approaching death. Her upper lip twitched.

  “Mistress Emberlynn?” the handmaiden said with a hint of confusion in her tone.

  Emberlynn licked her lips, savoring every drop of water, then took the pills and tossed them into her mouth, sending them down with another swallow.

  Emberlynn cleared her throat, and her attendant waited patiently. Emberlynn couldn’t speak. Not yet. She was still calming down, and any attempt to speak, if not purely for necessity, risked rousing her symptoms anew. So she steadied her breathing, as best as a woman in her condition could, and curled her hands around the glass, feeding off the condensation that had accumulated around it.

  Twelve rounds. Twelve rounds of slow and deep breathing were what it usually took to calm her down. Some days, she could return to a state barely resembling normalcy through fewer, but such days were becoming fewer. She’d learned not to expect them.

  “It has passed,” Emberlynn said.

  The handmaiden sighed with relief. “Goodness, you had me worried.”

  “Misha. How is my daughter?”

  Misha’s eyes widened so very slightly that only people like Emberlynn, who knew how best to read the minute ticks of one’s body language, could detect the hint of fear within them. “Which…which one?”

  “Ravyn,” Emberlynn hissed.

  Misha drew a deep breath and clasped her hands in her lap. “Physically, she is well.” She licked her lips. “She has cursed your name more times than I can count.”

  Emberlynn hummed. Nothing short of predictable, that daughter of hers. “Good. Have Dana bring her a proper breakfast. I want her cared for.”

  “... Yes, Mistress Emberlynn. What of Sophia? Should I wake her?”

  “No,” Emberlynn said, shaking her head. “Let her sleep. She has her lessons later, and I want her fully rested.”

  “Very well. Will you be needing anything else?”

  “No. I’ll be downstairs soon.”

  The black-haired woman nodded, then exited the room, and the door clicked firmly behind her.

  Emberlynn sighed and brushed her thumb and forefinger together as she thought. She replayed the prior night’s events over and over again in her head, wondering if there was a better solution than imprisoning her own daughter. A fear that had surfaced moments after Ravyn’s capture, lingered while she waited for the girl to wake, and remained during the evening when she went to bed. There wasn’t a moment since the event that she didn’t wonder if she had misplayed.

  But logic concluded the same way each time. There was no getting through to Ravyn. No speaking with her or convincing her that this was the only way forward. If there were, she would have come home a long time ago.

  Ravyn would have told everyone, Emberlynn reasoned for the dozenth time. They would have wondered why I have a book filled with [Necromancer] Spells. She would sooner sully our name and wreak chaos than allow Zhuli to live in blissful ignorance. I made the right choice.

  Emberlynn placed the cup of water on the table. She slipped out of the sheets and blankets and hung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her eye twitched at the sight of her own feet. Wrinkled and spotted. Dry as the sands of Ichi. The thin layer of flesh that covered her bones could barely constitute skin. The nail of her left pinky toe had been torn and showed no sign of growing back, leaving behind an unsightly brown-and-black blemish.

  What would it feel like to be young again? To have vigor in her veins? To run and feel the wind in her hair? To be able to play with her daughter and come up with silly games when the house fell quiet? To sit beneath a garnet and tell stories to one another…

  Emberlynn wiped away the tear that fell from her eye. It would do her no good to reminisce. Maimed or not, she was still the mistress of this household, and with Saoirse as her witness, she would not allow it or Zhuli to fall. Not while she still drew breath. She grabbed her cane by the crook and took two quick breaths before straining and making her way to her feet. It was somewhat easier today, but it was never easy.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She straightened her back as much as a sickly old woman could, then hobbled her way to the door, her cane clicking ahead of her with each step. She shut the door behind her on her exit, then carefully walked down the stairs. Cecily, another of her servants, saw her and rushed to her side, cradling her free forearm like it was moments away from shattering.

  “Mistress Emberlynn! Where is Misha? Dana? One of us should be with you—”

  “I do not need to be waited on hand and foot at all hours of the day,” Emberlynn spat. The servants were meant to assist, not to carry the burden in its entirety. She was still her own woman, and damn it, she was going to be respected. She ripped her arm away from Cecily’s grasp. “If you wish to make yourself useful, then prepare my breakfast and some tea.”

  “Y-yes, Mistress Emberlynn. Right away.” The woman tucked her tail between her legs, and her ears fell flat on her head as she shuffled away to the kitchen on her right.

  No spine on that one at all. Emberlynn stood in the doorway of the guest room that was across from the kitchen. One servant, who was still waking up from the looks of it, yawned and shot to her feet at Emberlynn’s presence.

  “Sorry!” The girl bowed profusely.

  “Sit, Brandy,” Emberlynn said firmly. “Nowhere does it say you are not entitled to a break. You are a servant, not a slave.”

  “Yes, Mistress Emberlynn.” Brandy gently sat back down, though her stature was more rigid. After a few seconds of tense silence, she asked, “What are you doing down here? Do you not want to eat breakfast in the dining room upstairs?”

  Emberlynn shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself. “Cecily is preparing my food. I merely wished to see how my servants were faring.” She rubbed the dry skin—what little there was—between her pointer finger and thumb, and briefly thought of what it would feel like to swim again. Most days were spent in bed or a chair or clumsily wobbling from one room to the next, terrified that if she fell the wrong way, it would spell the end.

  “Oh, well, uh, we’re doing just fine back here, Mistress Emberlynn.” The woman nervously curled a lock of her hair around her finger.

  “Good. I will leave you to your tasks, then.” Seeing that she was making Brandy uncomfortable, she turned around and left. Brandy’s call of gratitude followed her on her way out, and she wandered down the hallway, stopping at the threshold between the vestibule and the central hall.

  The carpet was pocked with tiny holes and in desperate need of repair. However, considering how rare it was to receive visitors now, she had a hard time validating the expense. The need to flaunt her power and influence had vanished with her prime.

  The soft clinks of a tray sounded behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see a dour-faced Dana carrying a bowl of soup, three fish fillets, a bowl of rice, and a cup of tea. Dana’s attention kept darting from the floor to Emberlynn, and not a single word was shared between them as she passed her by.

  Only three other people in the house knew what had happened to Ravyn. Misha, Dana, and Chi. Of those three, Dana was the most dangerous. Emberlynn had not planned on telling her, but Dana had found them while they moved Ravyn to her holding cell.

  Dana was new and insightful, bore her heart to strangers, and had a way of lighting up a room when she spoke. Such traits were admired in other households, perhaps. But not here. Not in the house of Emberlynn.

  It was for this reason that she sent a veritable sum of Bells to Dana’s family as long as she swore to secrecy. Leaving the estate or sharing what had happened would risk putting her family on the streets, and she knew Dana could not afford to let that happen. Emberlynn had played with the idea of Enchanting an object to ensure Dana’s secrecy, but when she considered the risk associated with such a magical item, she had decided against it.

  That was fine. As volatile as catgirls like Dana were, they were also exceptionally easy to control.

  Another servant placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Emberlynn looked over her shoulder to see Brandy. “Mistress Emberlynn, may I take you to the dining room? Your breakfast is ready.”

  “That would be fine.”

  Emberlynn allowed Brandy to escort her up the stairs. She had a mixed relationship with stairs. The motion of descending felt good on her muscles and stretched her joints. Going up was a trial, and the muscles around her shoulder blades burned the entire way through. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she reached the top, and Brandy jogged to the dining room doors and threw one open, standing to the side to welcome her in.

  “Thank you,” Emberlynn strained to say. The dehydration was returning. She licked her lips at the thought of ice-cold water, then shuffled wearily into the room and took her seat at one end of the long table. Brandy followed behind her. She leaned her cane against the table and adjusted. Her bones popped, and she winced.

  “Mistress Emberlynn, are you alright?” Brandy asked.

  “I’m fine,” Emberlynn lied.

  “Very well. Allow me to fetch your meal.”

  Emberlynn nodded, and Brandy exited the room. She leaned forward and perched her chin atop her palm. She tried not to think about Ravyn and how terrible she must be feeling right now, and failed. She rubbed her finger against the back of her knife and tried to think instead about the blade’s construction. She imagined the miner picking the ores and selling them to the blacksmith. The blacksmith would melt and hammer it into a shape over and over again, until—

  “Mistress Emberlynn, your food has arrived.” Brandy returned with a tray and set two bowls down on her plate, one filled with soup and the other with rice. She placed a small plate of thinly sliced fillets covered in breading, then put a cup of tea beside her plate. It smelled wonderful. “Also, there was a letter for you.” Brandy held up an envelope, then set it beside the tray. “The messenger said it was for your eyes only.”

  Emberlynn lifted the letter and turned it around. A purple seal of wax with an eye at its center held the letter shut. “You may leave, Brandy. Thank you.”

  “Certainly. I will be outside if you require anything.”

  Emberlynn nodded and broke the seal just as Brandy was leaving. Her fingers shook as she retrieved the letter from within and unfolded it.

  ‘To the esteemed Emberlynn of Zhuli.

  Preparations are nearly complete. Seven days from now, you will be visited by one of our associates. They will knock on the back entrance three times, with one-second pauses in between, just as we previously discussed. They will visit you during the evening. Please be sure to answer the door immediately. There will not be a second chance.

  We look forward to your cooperation.’

  Emberlynn removed the cutlery from her plate and replaced it with the letter. She held her first two fingers together and brought them to a corner of the message. A small flame burst to life and hungrily devoured the sheet until nothing but a pile of soot and ash remained.

  I hope one day that you will forgive me, Ravyn.

  One week. Just one week until this was all over.

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