Heart of Flame

I. The Beast

The walls of Mauléon were scarred by fire, the marks of a rebellion that had been snuffed as easily as a candle's flame. Sorne's first memory was seeing them extinguished, their bodies drawn and quartered before being given over to the blaze. Even as a little girl, she was pushed close enough to smell the blood, bile, and smoke. This is what happens to those with ideas above their caste. Duke Aldana and his hounds were firm in the message. It stung like salt in a wounded pride as she scrubbed the keep's floors in the small hours of the morning. A servant had to be awake well before dawn to make certain everything in the castle was going smoothly. The higher castes preferred not to even see their retainers where it could be avoided, and certainly didn't like them bustling about the place making noise or generally offending with their presence.

Sorne scrubbed the brush over the next flagstone in the kitchen floor, sweeping blonde hair back out of her face. Her reflection looked back at her as she bent over the bucket to wet the scrub-brush again, grey eyes already faintly irritated. She had fairer skin than the other servants here in Genev, courtesy of the Talinese mother that she had never known. It was almost enough to make her look like she belonged in a higher caste, but her hands, rough from work, readily revealed her true nature. She was more handsome than pretty, with a strong jaw and a nose slightly crooked at the bridge from a hard beating. She was certainly not some castle beauty sheltered from sun and hard labor.

There was only the barest hint of false dawn visible out the windows and already her knees ached from being pressed into bare stone. Her arms and shoulders were strong enough from this kind of work that she didn't feel it yet, but by the end of the day, she would be so tired she couldn't think. Her life was constant motion, a ceaseless parade of dirty and meaningless work. Luken pontificated endlessly on the value of a servant, how appreciated the work was, and what pride they could take at doing their various chores well.

It was utter nonsense to Sorne's mind, coming from a particularly pompous, cruel twit. The nobles only cared when something went wrong, and even then punished almost arbitrarily. Whoever was closest felt the lash or was turned out, whether or not they were responsible. They were...lesser. They shined the silver, cooked the food, and carried out the countless tasks necessary to keep life at the top comfortable. None of that, however, meant that they would ever really benefit themselves. A servant could eat leftovers, make their own clothes, sleep beneath the stairs, and generally exist in the cracks—all for the privilege of being treated as parasites by the upper castes. It was a better life than out in the villages, farming in the dirt beneath the hot sun and the constant fear of attack by orcish raiders or Talinese cutthroats, but not by much.

She looked up when she heard the patter of panicked feet. It was Danel, one of the younger pages. He was about eight years old, just slightly more than half her age. "There's an orc!" he blurted out as he skidded to a halt, nearly slipping and landing on his behind on the sudsy floor.

Sorne raised an eyebrow. "An orc?"

"His Grace and his men caught it when they beat back the raid on Ziriano. It's in the dungeons." He went a little pale and gulped slightly. "They want me to feed it."

Sorne frowned. "Feed it? Why aren't they killing it?" She didn't necessarily wish the beast ill, but it was a surprise that Aldana had anything else in mind for it. Then again, the Duke seemed to take a certain amount of pleasure in breaking animals to his will. His riding horses were once wild rather than raised from foals, though the warhorses were brought up properly. Perhaps he wanted a tamed orc to impress the southern nobles with. It was something not even the King could claim to have.

"I don't know." Danel looked intensely worried still. "Do you think it'll try to eat me?"

The servant girl smiled a little despite herself. As tempting as it was to mess with him, she knew full well that antagonizing or terrifying a member of a higher caste could get her a vicious punishment. A little fun wasn't worth it. If she was going to get a serious beating, it would be over something she was willing to bite and claw for. "You wouldn't even be a mouthful, Danel. Be brave."