She is awakened just before dawn to the sounds of a hearth being filled. She carefully peaks out of the curtains of her bed; two servants are shoving logs into the fireplace and sweeping away the soot and ash from the night. Both are Mihon, the only two she’s seen here so far. All the other servants she was introduced to the night before were Umile, like Lady Elyri.

She wonders if she should get up and help them. The few times she did have enough coins to spend a single night at an inn, she had been responsible for attending to her own hearth. And the containment cells at the Consortium used flarium to heat the cells, infusing the very walls with it.

Watching someone else tend to the fire with rote movements and a sort of detached efficiency is strange and curious. She is enjoying not have to do it herself, but guilt gnaws at her chest. Even at the Consortium, she felt guilty every time someone would do something for her, but at the Consortium she at least understood it was because they wanted to protect an investment, not because they actually cared about her.

But Lady Elyri seems different. To the Dusksong Arcanist, Raely s somehow both a prized possession and a person. The contradiction is hard to fit into her head; especially when so much of her head is filled with a song that never seems to end, only ever fades into the background.

“Is the lady awake?” The shorter Mihon turns over her shoulder and beams at Raely, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Your breakfast will be ready shortly. Another servant will have it brough to you as soon as it is. In the meantime, would you like me to have someone draw a bath for you?”

“Oh, won’t that take a long time?” She asks. “It’s fine.”

“It will not take long at all. The castle sits on top of a natural hot spring, we have a system set to draw water directly from there and stoves in the basement to keep water hot.”

Her jaw drops. Of course, a wealthy arcanist could use arcanum for all of this if they wanted, drawing from a whole team of channelers to keep it going. But Lady Elyri seems more inclined to spend her wealth on non-arcane solutions. A whole system to draw water from a hot spring and keep it warm!

The servant smiles mischievously and leaps to her feet, flying towards Raely and grabbing her hand. Her energy and enthusiasm are not an act; not the performance that the poor of society have to do to make the wealthy feel more comfortable.

Raely staggers out of bed and allows herself to be dragged out of the bedchamber and into an adjoining room. “It’s not as grand as Lady Dusksong’s bathroom, but…” The servant gestures Raely inside.

Half of the room itself seems to be a bathtub, with the marble flooring giving way to a deep basin at the center of the room; a basin sunk so low into the floor that Raely could fill it with enough water to fully submerse herself.

The servant explains the basic mechanics of filling and draining the tub to Raely before fluttering off to fetch her towels. Left alone, Raely spies something far more interesting in the back of the room.

Curtains flutter almost imperceptibly and Raely is drawn to them, slowly crossing the large bathroom in a haze until she is pulling open the curtains to reveal large glass doors leading out to a balcony.

The mountains are far more beautiful in daylight; the sun rising over a peak in the distance, fog clinging to the ancient slopes. The clear sky stretches without end. A singular bird slices through the fog, careening towards the clouds and disappearing out of sight.

“I wonder what lays beyond them…” Her hand lifts to touch the glass as she presses her face closer to it. She has never seen a map and only those with wealth and status could afford an education; until yesterday, she could have only imagined what mountains look like. She never would have guessed they were so magnificent.

“My lady?” The servant calls to her, breaking Raely out of her awe. “I do not suggest going out unless you have proper clothing on.”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “I was just looking. Do you know what is on the other side? They seem to go on forever.”

“On the other side? That would be the Kingdom of Aerdrake.”

“We’re that close to the border? Will I see any of the Draeyn?” Her excitement at the thought is almost overwhelming. She’s always wanted to meet a Draeyn. There are rumors that the Sylln and Draeyn descend from a common ancestor, and she’s always wanted… The song in her head slows down, slowing her mind until it’s too hard to even put together the rest of her thought.

“I doubt it, my lady. The border might be on the other side of the mountains, but most of their population lives even further north in their capital, much like in Imryl. Here, get into the basin. I have your clothing for the day ready, too.”

Her thoughts are so sluggish she can do nothing but follow the instructions of her servant and she steps into the bath, the water the perfect temperature. She takes a cloth from the servant and begins to wash herself, scrubbing away the rest of her musings about the winged neighbors to the north.

The servants help her though the rest of her morning, and by the time the sun fully crests the mountains, they are gone again and she has no idea what she is supposed to do with her time.

She peers out the door into the corridor, half expecting to see her owner waiting for her—to inspect her, to look her over, to give her orders. But she is alone as she steps into the hall, and alone as she descends the stairs from her tower and into the main castle.

She lingers in the main entryway, staring at the large doors that would lead her outside again. They look impenetrable. Thick wood, heavy iron hinges, reinforced metal beams cutting across them. She can’t help but wonder if the doors were made to keep something out or trap something inside.

“My lady,” another servant says as he approaches. “You are free to explore the castle as you wish. Lady Dusksong will be busy in her office all day with pressing matters. She wishes she could give you a tour herself, but she has asked me to accompany you.”

A jailor. A guard assigned to make sure she does not go anywhere. I guess I should have expected this. I agreed to exchange security for my freedom; well, what little freedom the poor have—the freedom to starve, the freedom to suffer, the freedom to die alone in the cold. But it makes sense that Lady Elyri would want to make sure I do not try to go back on my end of the bargain. The music swells in her mind and her thoughts reorganize themselves, smoothed out and free of conflict. She cannot protect me herself right now, she has kindly assigned someone else to do so. Her body hums with some strange sort of pleasure as she allows the new thoughts to take root, allows it to settle in her mind until it becomes her thought.

The sort of pleasure that is especially strong between her legs. She shifts uncomfortably and nods to the servant. “I would like that, thank you.”

He chuckles and leads her through the kitchens, the dining rooms of various formality levels, sitting rooms and drawing rooms and ballrooms. So many rooms designed for one function, for one event, for one kind of visitors.

He opens another door to reveal a room with thousands of books, more books than she could hope to read in a lifetime. Except, she can’t read. She was never taught how. Someone else had read the Consortium contracts out loud to her, and someone had even been assigned to teach her how to sign her own name. But that was all they taught her. It would be up to her arcanist to decide if she needed to know more than that.

“Grand, is it not?” He beams with pride, breathing deep and clearly savoring the smell of parchment and leather.

“I suppose so,” she says, forcing herself to look impressed, not wanting to disappoint this kind servant.

“Do you want to take a closer look? There is no need to fear; Lady Dusksong keeps the dangerous books locked in her private vault in the basement. Everything here is safe for you to read.”

“I…Dangerous… Books?” Her stomach rolls over. Now she really does not believe she needs to learn how to read. It’s easier to be mindless.

She freezes at the thought—whispered over and over again inside of the song. It frightens her; it—Is nothing to worry about.

“Remember,” he says, pulling her inside. “She does want you to learn on your own, too.”

Her heartbeat is loud, thumping against her chest, so persistent she feels like it will burst. “But I—”

The servant halts. “Ah. I see.” His expression softens into sympathy and he guides her to a table, pulling out a chair. She takes a seat and tries to steady her breathing, not quite sure why she is so frightened. “Do not worry. I, too, was low-born. But Lady Dusksong had other servants tutor me until I could read, too. I am sure she will do the same for you.”

“Thank you, uhh…” She realizes she never even asked the Umile man his name. She wonders if she’s already acclimating to be waited on, already taking for granted the luxuries her status as property of an arcanist affords her.

“You may call me Micarsh.” He bows, one hand behind his back, the other on his chest.

“Thank you, Micarsh. I cannot read but I do not know if I even want to learn. It has never been an issue for me before.” She shrugs. Maybe she had once envied the wealthy for their access to education, but that seemed so unimportant now. “I am sure Lady Dusksong will just tell me whatever I need to know.”

“Well, yes, she is very wise. She will know what to do. Come then, there are other places you should see.”

The next room is filled with musical instruments; she recognizes some of them, but can only guess at the names of the others. She’s seen them so rarely, and only ever through the windows to a tavern.

Despite her best attempts, she was never able to get enough silver or copper to stay at a tavern when they hosted songstress or bard. All she could do was listen to them through the windows and peak over the sill.

But the song in her head is demanding a harmony and she leaves Micarsh behind to sit on the stool in front of a large piano. Her fingers have no idea what to do, but they itch all the same to strike the keys. She presses one at random, her ears easily identifying it as the third note in the opening of the strongest melody. She strikes more keys, hoping to find the first note. Maybe if she can recreate the song stuck in her head, she can banish it from her mind.

Obey.

Obey.

Obey.

“Would you like to learn to play?”Micarsh asks, a note of amusement in his voice.

“I think so,” she replies, striking another key. Obey. “I would like that very much.”

He laughs. “I shall inform Lady Dusksong. She will be delighted and I am sure she will find you an accomplished tutor.”

She glances up from the keys to Micarsh, her head tilting in confusion. “Why will she be delighted?” Part of her is thrilled that she gravitated towards something that will please her owner, but another part is still curious as to why it would be so pleasing. It should be enough that her owner is pleased, she shouldn’t have to concern herself with questions like why and how. And yet, the song cannot drown out these doubts.

“She is a musician herself, how do you think she got her title?” He says it like it is the most obvious thing, and perhaps it would be if Raely had any prior experience with arcanists. “Shall we continue with the tour?”

She wants to keep striking the keys but she knows there is still much more she must see, so she accepts Micarsh’s offered hand and follows him out the door.