Sami awoke in a jail cell. The bars, shimmering on this side with raw energy, spoke the tale of what had happened, that she had been abducted by some entity—the Wraiths or the Thorns, that someone within the military hierarchy had seen fit to seize her.

  Panic welled up inside her, a flurry of thoughts for what she might have done. Who she might have offended. What law or rule she had broken so baldly she they had seen fit to take her.

  She had heard of other servants disappearing, those who in their hubris or with a flippant disregard for the iron law had chosen to teach others what magic they knew, or solicited them to teach what they should never learn. She had heard the whispers when a servant simply ceased to be seen in the halls, the quiet truth spoken with derision at the character flaw which had landed those servants in hot water. Which had seen them whisked away.

  If she was here, then she would be dead soon. Once they had satisfied themselves that they knew every detail of how she had come by whatever forbidden knowledge they believed she had, they would kill her. The law was absolute, every servant with a command of magic, every servant who had chosen a path that would never see them learn, knew what lay at the end of violating the rule. Heads of department told their charges never to step out of line, never to invite the attention of the Thorns, and she had listened.

  What could I have done? What do they think I did?

  She had gone up to the Teacher’s Tower on many occasions throughout the years. It had almost become a routine. But so many other servants did and never faced any repercussions for their small indiscretions. Sure, it wasn’t strictly in bounds, but with so many venturing that way, using abandoned classrooms for all sorts of extracurriculars activities, how could it be that just one of them was pulled down and the rest left alone?

  There was some injustice in that.

  Maybe it’s not that I was there at all. Maybe it’s something else. But I can’t do magic. They’ll see that if they question me.

  She winced.

  Questioning. A euphemistic torture that belied its true nature in the means by which it was done, what it avoided saying about the process. She would be tortured. She might tell lies in the hope they sounded like the truth just to get it to stop. Even knowing death lurked at the end of the tunnel, she would be helplessly at their mercy, the understanding burned into her mind with every passing moment, every terror inflicted upon her, that it would not end until they were satisfied there was nothing left to tell, that if what she told did not fit with their narrative, she would remain alive, but not whole, until it did.

  But there was nothing to tell. No hidden truths lurking behind the veil. She had gone up to meet a woman. To anyone looking at her in those final moments, her intent should have been obvious. She had worked under close supervision, had enjoyed an amenable, even casual relationship with Halan. Surely, he would not have sold her into this…this….

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She stuffed the thought down, and began to cry.

  “There is nothing to fear for you.” Came a reedy voice from the cell next door. “Nothing for you to worry about just now.”

  “I…I don’t…you don’t understand. I didn’t do anything. They’re going to kill me.”

  “Oh, now, they would not have placed you here if they intended to do so. There is the matter of pretense, certainly. They will use that to whatever effect they see fit to, but you need only comply with their demands. These Thorns…some are reasonable. Not all, but some.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “In fact, I know a great deal more than you.” He said.

  She scoffed. “You’re in prison. What could you know.”

  “My name is Aldeirel, child.” He said. “I’ve been with this city since Queen Tania rose to replace her predecessor. I was a child then. Her rule was…different, I suppose. For one, your kind were not present in those days.”

  “W-what?”

  “It was not the way back then. I suppose the elder servants remember. A time when they were not bound to serve, but chose to. They came from many places then. Some even lived in the city.

  “Of course, those days are behind us now. I would not be upset to discover some of them were dissatisfied with this latest regime.”

  She sat in silence, tears streaming down her face, a hard block supporting her as she curled her legs up, hugged her knees to her chest.

  “Not all is as it seems, miss?”

  “S-Sami. My name…is Sami.”

  “Not all is as it seems, Sami.” He said. “There is rebellion in the city always. The rebels will rest, I think, with the arrival of the Emperor. They will not want to invite violence while he is here. And with me here, it does not serve them to engage in such violence. They will not have my mind behind them, you see. Nor my other gifts.

  “But there is resistance in its many forms. There is the active resistance you see in hard charges at the gates, in riots when our governors have gone too far. Then there is the quieter resistance. Stealing foodstuffs from the fields, hiding it away in secret cellars where it can be used to feed our hungry. Providing them with the care they need in whatever way we can. Our people mend clothing, provide healing where they can. They tend to each other when the crown will not provide.

  “I fear this winter will be a hard one with the demands of the palace so much more pressing. They glut themselves in the best of times, but there will be more mouths for them to feed with the coming of mirrhvale’s elite.”

  “What do I care what happens outside. I’m a servant. I’m loyal.”

  “And your loyalty has seen you framed for a crime you did not commit, the nature of it unknown to you. You are not the first to suffer this fate.”

  “But…but….”

  “No, child. It is not fair. But I suspect I know what they want from you, and though it will be unpleasant, it will see you through to a brighter future, I think. If successful, your kind may become more whole, and in that wholeness, angered. Think for what you can accomplish from within the palace, the resistance you might provide. You may be forged into something we have never had before, and then, perhaps, our collective suffering can end.

  “But know, too, we are more alike than we are different. We common men and women, and you servants of the crown. We are both, I think, treated with contempt by our betters, who choose to handle us, but do not love us. If there is one thing I can say, it is that I do not hold your relative state of wellbeing in contempt. My suffering and yours are not so different, and the hand who carries the cane is the same for us. It is a hand who’s touch I know well.

  “But rest. They will come for you when they choose, but it will not be just now. When they do, comply with them. Do not resist. Do not lie to them either. They will know.”

  She buried her face in her knees, tried to drown out the sound of his voice. As her thoughts returned to all those critical uncertainties, she could only lay there, and let his words wash over her. They brought her no comfort.