The Forsaken Hero

Aurle was right, somehow. I did enjoy being a maid, well, as much as I could enjoy anything at this point. The maid outfits were thin and revealing, but with some effort, I settled it over the Sunpurge without igniting it. At the very least, it was infinitely better than the hell I’d been living.

The Foxkin showed me around the entire day, kindly teaching and demonstrating the various tasks we were required to perform. They ranged from dusting the walls to serving food at mealtimes. Guests, guards, and aristocrats gave us orders, like fetching tea from the kitchen or taking their coats. Occasionally, a wandering hand grabbed at Aurle, groping her ample curves, but she’d just squeak a bit, or simply roll her eyes.

”You get used to it,” she whispered after one particularly frisky guard held us up for almost a minute. ”It happens to all the girls.”

Despite her words, I remained unmolested for the entire day. Instead of leers, I was greeted with subtle scowls and slight grimaces. I was starved and frail, with hardly a curve worth mentioning, but it wasn’t my scrawniness keeping them away, but my bloodline. Even among the other slaves, I was the only demonkin. The others were all beastkin of various races, mixed with the occasional elf.

By the time night fell, I was sore and exhausted. My fingers ached from scrubbing everything in sight, and my feet hurt from standing for so long. Aurle kindly allowed me to lean on her as we the Butler directed us to the servant quarters, her warm hands holding mine.

”The maid rotation lasts for a week. Do you know what that means?” she asked excitedly.

I shook my head.

”We get to sleep in a real bed!” she exclaimed.

She threw open the door and leaped into the small, servants’ room, landing on the bed. The old wooden frame creaked in protest, but she laid on her back, a wide smile on her face, kicking her feet lightly in the air.

”Ahhh,” she sighed contentedly, ”It’s been three days!”

Three days? I shuffled after her, resting my hand on the wooden knob of the bedpost. Technically, I’d slept on a bed in Alex’s room, but that hardly counted. The hard ground beneath my bedroll or the grainy planks of a cage were all I had known for months. I frowned, looking around the small room. There was only one bed.

Aurle sat up, scratching her cheek. ”It’s two to a room,” she explained. ”But that’s alright. It’ll be like we’re sisters!”

I nodded slowly, mulling the thought over. Sisters. If it were Aurle, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

She rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin up on her hands and kicking her legs lazily. ”You don’t talk much, do you.”

I shook off her gaze, my tail twitching uncomfortably, and sat on the bed. The straw mattress was hard and stiff, but beckoned to me like an old friend, and my eyes grew heavy, slowly sliding shut. I jolted awake, panting, as she poked my side.

”Hey, at least get changed before you fall asleep on me. We only get this one uniform, so try your best not to get it wrinkled. Maybe then one of those men will pay you some attention.”

I nodded dully and obediently stripped, finding a sheer nightdress in the small pine wardrobe. Before I could put it on, I felt eyes on me and turned to find Aurle’s eyes fastened on the Sunpurge. It must have escaped her notice this morning when she found my other scars.

”Y-you’re glowing!” she whispered, torn between morbid curiosity and horror.

I self-consciously touch the skin near the scar, wincing as the mere whisper of my fingers sends a thrill of pain through my body. It had become a part of me, every bit as much as my tail or horns. That didn’t make it any less painful, or inconvenient, of course.

”Does it hurt?”

I nodded, quickly pulling the nightdress on. Unfortunately, it did little to hide the Sunpurge, whose glow penetrated the thin fabric. Suppressing a yawn, I ignored her questioning gaze and crawled beneath the sheets, drawing them carefully over my shoulder and closing my eyes.

Aurle held her breath, on the verge of saying something, but thought better of it. She sighed and quickly changed before slipping into bed beside me. But by that time, I was already asleep.

The following day continued the same as the first, and then the next and the next. We rose, dressed, and served the mansion and its inhabitants for the entire day. Aurle’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself opening up a little. That is, until the last day of the rotation, when I dropped a porcelain dish.

It wasn’t my fault, not entirely. We were serving an important merchant in the waiting room before his audience with Lord Byron. Aurle carried the tea, and I followed with a pastry refreshment. The merchant smiled as the Foxkin served him, reaching out to grope her chest, but froze the moment he laid eyes on me.

”Demon!” he cried, leaping to his feet.

I stumbled back, caught off guard by his shouts and waving arms. Aurle leaped forward, reaching out to steady me, but her hand caught my shoulder, closing in on the Sunpurge. Black dots spat across my vision, and I vaguely heard someone screaming. It took me a moment to realize it was my voice.

”Starlight!” Aurle cried, staring at her hand in horror.

Starlight was the nickname the slaves gave me on my third day. They were a surprisingly tight-knit group, knowing each other by names and voices, and always willing to lend a helping hand. When they failed to learn my name, they put their heads together and came up with ”Starlight,” presumably for the stars inexplicably drifting through my eyes. Aurle asked about it once, but even if I found myself able to muster a response, how could I answer that which I didn’t know? I didn’t even know when they appeared for certain, though it was after leaving the Divine Throne for the first time.

Slowly, the pain faded, and I weakly raised my head, peering around. The merchant was nowhere to be seen, a hulking, mean-faced guardsman taking his place. He gripped Aurle’s arm in a meaty fist, holding her back from me.

”Starlight,” she said, eyes wide. ”W-what happened?”

”Silence,” the guard snapped, not taking his glare off of me.

The door flew open and the Butler stormed in. He swept over the room, settling on my form, still lying where my throes left me. ”What happened?” he demanded.

”This slave startled Lord Githroe and dropped a platter. One of the expensive ones.”

I had no idea what that meant, but judging by the Butler’s stormy expression, it wasn’t good.

”Is that so?” he muttered, huffing irritably. He thought for a moment and then turned to Aurle. ”Finish your duties. As for you,” he said, glancing at me, ”It was your first offense, but this can’t go unpunished. Report to the Slave Chamber for punishment. Oh, and leave your maid dress in the laundry. We can’t afford to damage another uniform right now.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and hurried off, muttering something about horses. He was a busy man, clearly frustrated by having to deal with so clumsy a mistake. Aurle broke free of the guard and ran to my side, helping me up.

”I’m so sorry,” she cried with tears in her eyes. ”It’s all my fault. I didn’t know that would happen!”

I weakly pushed her away, groaning as the motion strained my aching shoulder.

”Please, don’t hate me,” Aurle whispered, half-raising a hand after me. Her next words were ever softer, almost beyond my heard. ”Please...you were just starting to look at me, too.”

I stumbled away, finding my way through the now familiar halls of the mansion. The Slave Chamber was where the cages were kept, which held the slaves who were unlucky enough to be left out of any rotation involving beds. Over the week, I’d learned it was also where slaves were punished. Publicly.

For some reason, Lord Byron had yet to make an appearance, leaving the punishment to his underlings like the Butler. I’d heard whispers from the older slaves he only showed up to handpick his nightly escort or personally administer severe punishments. There was a rumored chamber beneath the basement where those he took never returned.

Dressed in my slave dress, I sat on the floor in the middle of the chamber, conscious of the other slaves’ stares. The Butler came down an hour later, just before dinner was served. Nearly a dozen slaves had returned from their daily chores by then, providing a small audience.

”You’re new, so I’ll be gentle,” the Butler sighed, ”But you will find pain a powerful teacher. I pray you learn this lesson quickly.”

He selected a leather whip from one of the many tables and raised it, before bringing it down with a crack. I groaned as a blazing line drew across my back, tears welling up in my eyes. A second later, the air split again, and another line bisected the first.

The Butler took no pleasure in the discipline, but continued with grim determination even as I began to scream with every lash. The other slaves watched, flinching with each blow, but otherwise indifferent. It was a spectacle they’d grown used to, perhaps experiencing it themselves occasionally. If anything, they were grateful, grateful it was I and not them.

When the torturous punishment ended, I was a sobbing heap on the ground. A few of the lashes had crossed the Sunpurge, which proved a blessing and a curse. The pain with those lashes was extraordinary, transcending everything save the worst level of slave crest punishment. The blessing was that the other stripes were tame in comparison, barely even getting a reaction from me.

”I’ll leave it at this for now. But understand that such a grievous failure normally merits fifty stripes, not the thirty you received today. Now be gone. You’ll receive a salve to prevent any further scarring with your dinner in an hour.”

After he left, one of the other female slaves helped me to the changing room, where she slipped off my torn dress and dabbed at the bloody stripes lacing my back with a wet cloth. She hesitated around the Sunpurge, and after some quivering sobs, left it alone.

Aurle refused to look at me that night, crawling into her cage and staring at her hands, which trembled gently. Some other slaves spoke with her in hushed tones, casting glances over their shoulders at me. I felt no condemnation in the slightest. Pain was a part of my life, and the lashings paled in comparison to the agony inflicted by the Sunpurge, or even the perpetual suffering of the fractured state of my soul.

An herbal salve came as promised, passed to me by the Butler himself. As he turned to go, he muttered softly for my ears alone, saying, ”The Master desires you tomorrow. Prepare yourself.”

And then he was gone, leaving me to wonder what that meant. Did Lord Byron even remember me? He’d offered to buy me from Soltair, but that was many months ago. Surely he’d found other slaves and interests to distract himself by now.

This hope, like so many of my others, proved to be in vain.