From the neck down, I can feel my entire body pulse with the numbed pain. Were it not for the capsule medicine Helga gave me, I doubt I would be able to even stand. The housekeeper had first given it to me in the tea, before leaving a small vial of pills by my bedside to take every six hours.

By the time Bela had come to my rooms this morning, I had already been working out for an hour. And though I hated how weak my body had become, to feel that form of control again, to feel my muscles and nerves and tissue all hum with the same soreness and achievement is enough for me to want to sprint through the trees.

I had been in fair shape with my father's teachings and trainings, but after his passing, I neglected myself to ensure Lacy would live for another day.

But once I started, the routines and muscle memory clicked like a light. Even if it sent waves of a searing headache coiling around my brain.

Now perched in the same tree overlooking the same meadow, I massage my thighs. My bow tucked underneath my arm, and the quiver of arrows pressed into my spine. Bela sits to my right, closest to the trunk, with her arms folded.

She's wearing the same dress as yesterday; her hair left loose around her shoulders. I don't know if it's the lighting, but her hair almost blended in with her skin, and I could see the blue of some thing veins stretching from her temple. A scar? It would explain why she preferred a hood.

Her face shows indifference – perhaps even bored – and she hasn't said much since yesterday. When she smiled at me this morning, it provided the briefest glimpse of the person beneath that pale exterior. That there actually is some kind of person in there at all. It was genuine, and unhinged.

It fluttered my heart more than I'd like to admit.

But since then, she's been relatively quiet. I made the mistake of asking her if she was okay, and she merely answered with a stern, "Fine."

I resist the urge to touch my eye. I had caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I was able to bring myself to the bathroom without collapsing from the pain. The smattering of bruises spread about my torso like a plague: like wilting blossoms they branch up from my hips, forking between my breasts until one reaches the tip of my left shoulder. Opaque spots curve along my ribs and dotting across my arms and thighs. It feels as if my eye had barely healed before it got blackened again – it had to have swelled shut before Helga's miracle healing. Their teal color feels duller than normal, which I didn't even think was possible. Of course, I can't remember the last time they've ever looked vibrant.

My fingers brush against my neck, the skin uneven and bumpy like flattened breadcrumbs. It had healed tremendously; I had forgotten about it in the days following my promotion that I'd barely given it a second thought. Now it's merely another piece of my pain.

I take a deep breath, slowly stretching out my ribs as I hear a woodpecker to my right. My legs quiver at the relief, and as I release, I find Bela staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"You look horrible."

I curl my lip at her. "I apologize if I do not up to Her Lady's expectations."

Bela's eyes narrow. "You should be; it was your fault."

"But the good news is that I can recover from this."

She shakes her head and turns her attention back to the vacant meadow.

She's still salty about my going to her mother for an appropriate and respectful apology; but I know I did the right thing. Who knows what kind of torment she and Cassandra could've conjured together.

I nibble at my fingernails as I say, "I don't get why you're so upset. It happened, it's over, and I'll recover."

"Who says it's you I'm thinking about?"

I adjust myself on my section of branch and rest my back against the trunk of another tree. "Well, you've been distant and quiet from me this whole morning. I thought we had made some progress."

"We have one good hunt together and you think that makes us friends?"

I grind my teeth, feathering a muscle in my jaw. "Considering all the trouble you went through to get me as your servant, I would've thought there was something about me that you liked. Or at least respected; besides my singing."

Bela just shakes her head. "I just don't get you humans."

"Oh, spare me the dramatics." I snarl. "We both have five fingers and toes; as far as I'm concerned, we're the same thing."

She levels those golden eyes at me. Her voice is low, nearing a snarl. "You and I, are nothing alike."

I don't drop my gaze. Even if it's the most truthful statement I'll probably ever hear from her. I had originally thought it was just my intimidation of her and her family, but . . . there is something alien about her. most obvious being her too-pale skin; a color I've only ever seen on corpses. I wouldn't call it ethereal, but a tickle of something primal in myself – a tug on my rib, a caress at the back of my mind.

Carefully, I whisper, "You said that there was only darkness before you became . . . you. You really don't have any memories prior?"

She gives an annoyed sigh through her nose. A slight shake of her head. "No."

A moment of quiet. Birds continue to chirp all around us, having grown used to out presence.

Then I ask, "Have you bothered to ask?"

"No."

"Why?"

A lift of her shoulder. "It didn't seem to matter much."

I cast a glance out towards the meadow. Still vacant, still quiet. A few patches of grass move here and there, but it's likely a squirrel or a field mouse.

"Did you die?"

She blinks once. Twice. "Maybe."

"I'd think you deserved to know what happened to you. Especially from your own mother."

Bela snorts. "You know, since you're being so chatty this morning. Why not talk about you?"

I laugh. "There's nothing else to know."

"Everyone has a story." Bela says coyly.

I narrow my eyes. "I once had a happy family, my father dies, my mother spirals into abusive depression, I provide for my sister, and now I'm here. That's it."

Bela's eyes dip to my lap, and I try not to squirm. I had chosen a loose tunic of periwinkle and some grey pants tucked into the new black boots I'd been given. The plait of my braid sits down my spine, occasionally tangling in my fletching.

"How did you get that scar on your left hand?" Bela asks.

I look down at the tinted, jagged line crossing the back of my hand like a river. I lift my hand and wiggly my fingers, rippling the skin and seeing the imprint of my bones. "Well, shortly after my father had passed, my family was a mess, as we were all grieving. My mother had just finished a bottle of wine and was about to shut herself in her bedroom, when I went after her. I can't remember if I wanted a hug from her or if I wanted to console her, but I remember her yelling and screaming at me to go away; and when I had placed my hand in the doorframe . . . she slammed the door shut on it. Split my hand open and broke my last two fingers."

I bend my fingers for emphasis, spotting the slight bend in the knuckles where the bones had been shattered. That took months to heal, and I couldn't have been more relieved that I'm right-handed.

It was also the moment that shattered everything that ever was between my mother and I. Even if it was minuscule from the beginning. I remember Lacy crying after hearing my screams, and I had poorly wrapped my hand in a rag before going to console her.

I didn't have much time, and only then did I dare to leave her alone with our mother so I could run to Luiza's for help. I didn't know where else to go. The doctor did miracle work with the bones and stitched up my hand. The fact I still have any mobility I owe to him.

Bela is staring at my hand, her breaths a little shallow.

My grin is nothing short of malice. "I bet your mother never did that to you, did she?"

Those golden eyes flick up to me – her face hardened into something I cannot place. But I can still see her eyes widening slightly. "No," she whispers, "she didn't."

I snort. Even a murderous serial killer is a more responsible mother than mine. That feels even lower than our poverty.

A twig snaps below us and I have my bow up and drawn in a second. Aiming down the shaft of the arrow, I look and find a lone fox meandering through the brush. I lower my bow. It's not really worth hunting for.

"Should we move on?" Bela asks.

"Probably for the best," I say more to myself.

We haven't seen much that's worth taking back to the castle, but hopefully the snares will have caught something we can use.

"Let's try looking for a pond. Maybe we can catch some ducks there."

Bela is already climbing down from the tree. I follow close behind, but before we leave, I wander towards the edge of the meadow, picking up a small rock and handing it to Bela.

"Here."

"What do I do with this?"

I jerk my chin towards the meadow, the swaying grass that ripples like metal in the morning light. "Throw it."

Despite her questioning expression, I gather a handful of arrows between my fingers in addition to the one already nocked in my bow. Bela seems to catch on, one corner of her mouth twitching – as if trying to hold back a smile. She turns towards the meadow and hauls the rock with all her strength.

It lands in the meadow and scares a flock of pheasants. I waste no time picking them off one by one, until there's seven lying dead in the grass. Bela leaves me to retrieve the arrows and the birds. Thankfully all of the bodies are useable. After dealing with the local butcher and food sellers in the village, some wouldn't accept a bird with a hole in its breast, so I had to be careful with my shots.

I rejoin Bela with the seven birds, and she ties them together by the neck. My goal is to shoot down at least three ducks before out time is up, and I can try my hand at some more bow fishing.

To my surprise, Bela offers to carry the birds while we make our way over to the pond. I gaze up at the green canopy, smiling at the rays of light trickling through the leaves. A wind quietly whispers along the trees, the birds continuing their chirping, having grown used to our presence. I reach out and tow the tips of my fingers along the trunks of several trees, catching the occasional leaf or moss.

Despite the blood I've spilled, the forest never ceased to feel like a place of peace. Of serenity. In some rare moments while on fruitless hunts, I allowed myself a moment of quiet. To just sink into the sounds of the inhabitants and the shelter of the trees; to just take a moment to leave my body behind and let my mind wander to places I could only dream about.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile before." Bela mumbles softly, as if hesitant to break me from my ribbon of thought.

My eyes flutter open – I didn't even realize I'd closed them – and I look to her. Her features have softened, her eyes twinkling slightly. I process her comment, and say, "Not like I've had much to smile about, lately."

"If you try hard enough, you could win a man with that smile." She says as she hops over a log.

I snort. "Please, like anyone would be interested in me."

"You're a far cry from ugly."

"It's not that; and we've had this discussions before. I don't want to have it again. Why not tell me something about yourself?"

Bela raises a brow. "We too, have already had that conversation."

I shake my head and wave her off, skipping a couple of paces down a hill towards the trickling sounds of water.

"I will say, however, that we are hosting a party soon."

"And?"

"And you're going to come."

I whirl to her, the plait of my braid nearly smacking me in the nose. "What do you mean I have to come?"

"You're my personal servant. You're supposed to serve me," she grins with a flutter of her lashes.

"Someone else can't take my place?"

"If I wanted someone to take your place, I never would've asked you to be my handmaiden to begin with." She paces past me, talking ahead. "It won't be a big deal; I'm not looking forward to it myself. But mother is hosting a gathering in the opera hall and we're going to have some guests over, so you have to look good."

My stomach drops. I swallow tightly. "I don't have anything to wear."

I curse the waver in my voice, the sentence tossed out like a lifeline, as if it would somehow excuse me from such a gathering.

Bela looks to me, standing a few feet from the water's edge. I follow her down and briefly divert my attention to the glittering surface of the water.

"Then find something. I'm sure Duke has more than plenty of dresses for you." Her eyes trail up and down my body, lingering in some places. I could rake my fingernails down her face for such a proprietary stare. "Though, we might need to add some padding if you don't fill out before then."

Normally I would be excited at the chance to go dress shopping. The number of times I've wanted to buy such lovely ensembles from the shops is endless. But my want to not see anyone outweighs such feminine desires.

"I really don't want to go."

"I really don't care. It's your job. You won't even be talking to anyone. You just follow me, stick by me, if not stay close to the walls, and it'll be over before you know it."

"Am I going to have to obey anyone else?" God, if I have to fetch some wooden-headed ninny a glass of wine and an antipasto, I'm going to lose my mind.

"Not if I can help it." Bela carefully places the birds on a leveled stump. "Look, I don't want to be there any less than you do. But as part of the family, I have to. And as my servant, so do you. Least you don't have to talk to anyone."

I roll my eyes and groan in annoyance. I stroll over to a different spot by the water's edge and step up onto a protruding rock. I can see the shadows moving in the water, and I load an arrow and slowly aim.

My arrow sinks into the side of a fish with a wet plunk as Bela chimes, "There will be music, at least. Give us both something to listen to."

I ignore the prickling in my nerves as I ask, "Am I expected to dance?"

Her pause doesn't help. "That, I'm not so sure of." I load another arrow and she asks, "How would you rate your dancing skills?"

My grip loosens slightly as I recall how I danced in the bathroom to my father's song; all those miserable nights alone – twirling around my tiny yard, weaving in and out of the moon's shadows – with the rigid skirt of my homespun dress barely able to bloom at any twirl . . .

"I've been taught the basics. Whether or not it surmounts to you, or your mother's liking is to be decided."

Plunk. Another fish. Its body wiggles back and forth, stirring up sediment and fractured into many forms by the ripples.

Bela gives a rather dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to decide for ourselves. We'll have to gather with mother and go over your steps."

I nearly slip off the rock. My next arrow misses its target, burying into the clouded bottom of the pond. Shadows and forms of fish scatter, the blinking ends of the arrows as bright as an evening star.

I whirl to her. "I barely survived a fraction of your mother's wrath by the skin of my teeth. You really want to put me back in front of her so she can humiliate me in ways that'll make me want to kill myself? If she doesn't?"

"Even if that's true, what does it matter to you? You're never going to see these people again – at least not for a while – and you've barely attempted at making friends among the staff. Who cares what they say or think? Not like they're bold enough to say it to your face."

"Because it's about my character." I nock another arrow and pierce another fish.

Bela rolls her eyes and begins a stroll along the edge of the water. "Ah yes, your character. Because before you've shown such care about what people think of you. This back and forth with you is exhausting."

"Look," I snarl as I hop down from the rock and begin to trail after her, "for the past two years all I've ever been judged for is the shit my mother had done. Coming to this castle wasn't just to help provide for my sister, it was about starting a new name for myself. It was to get away from all those judgmental stares and whispered assumptions." Bela pauses and turns, and I stop a foot away from her. "I wanted to prove to everyone – and maybe even myself – that I am not my mother's daughter. I want them to see who I am as a person, not by what brand my mother stamped on my character. I want them to see that I'm a nice person, that I can hold my own, that I care about other things in life. Even if they don't like me, even if I try to act like I don't care, I still want them to see me. Not who my mother made them think I am."

Bela shakes her head. "I just don't get you."

"What –?"

"When you first came into this castle, you were as rigid as steel and as quiet as a mouse." She takes a step towards me. I hold me ground. "You said all you wanted to do was just earn money for you sister, but after what happened in the dining room, suddenly you care about these people?"

"Maybe because they're one of the few people that have bothered to be decent to me since my father's passing. They don't look at me like I'm some second-rate whore." I snarl. My rage burrowing deep, cracking open a door I had sealed shut. "Maybe it's because it feels like I've been alone for so long, that it's nice to have someone care about me. Not like you would know when you kill women as easily as flies. But maybe that's just me and my "mortal heart.""

I don't wait for her to respond before turning to retrieve the arrows. I can hear her come after me, and I brace myself for an attack. But she lets me wade through the water to fetch the fish and the arrows.

When I turn around, I'm surprised to find her with a burlap sack open and ready. I'm cautious as I drop the fish inside, cleaning the arrowheads before putting them back in my quiver. I make a disgusted face, my nose crinkling.

Once the three fish are in the bag and my arrows retrieved, I glance up at the sun. The afternoon sky is slightly pale, but still lovely. We should be getting back soon.

"You don't care for salmon?" Bela asks quietly.

"I hate fish. I'd rather die than eat it."

"That's surprising," she says.

"Why?"

"Because you smell like one. And I didn't think you could be picky when in your situation." After a pause, she asks, "How are you enjoying your temporary freedom?"

"Is that a snide remark or an honest question?"

"Whichever you like."

I give her a leering stare. "I'm enjoying it, for the most part. Especially now that I have books to read whenever you lock me in there. I don't suppose you'd understand."

I had pulled a book from one of the shelves after nearly collapsing on the bed from dancing for an hour and a half. I feel asleep before I could finish the first chapter.

Given there wasn't much to do in the village, reading became a column of my family's life. My dad would read the typical bedtime stories, my mother would lecture us with books on etiquette, and as I got older, I delved into the more intense romances. I ended up selling most of the books one winter for some warm bread and soup.

"On the contrary." Bela chirps. "I might not have as much time to read as you, but that doesn't mean I love books any less."

I don't take my eyes off of the water. "Oh? And what books do you love?" She names a few, and I blink. "Well, those are good choices—for the most part." Slowly she blinks at me. I blink back. "We should get moving." I say, though it comes out more like an order.

Bela secures a knot and still shakes her head, not looking at me as she mumbles, "I just don't get you."

"Yeah, well, I don't either." I admit. "Having a heart sucks, sometimes."

I can feel her pointed stare boring into the side of my head, but prowl along the edge for any more signs of fish. With the day dwindling on, most had migrated towards the grassy patches or towards the center of the water.

We decide to head to the strawberry patch to put up some wire fencing to protect it from other animals, and on our way back to the horses, we checked the snares and found two more rabbits.

Bela didn't say anything to me during that time, and certainly doesn't say anything now as we trot back towards the castle. She wasn't wrong in her observations, and I don't know if that's what's bothering me, or at my own hypocrisy. Maybe I'd made a mistake telling her something to personal. Even I couldn't very much explain things until now.

For some time, I've felt so alone. After my father's passing and my mother's neglect, I felt abandoned. And with her shameless drinking and bedding, she carved an image for me before I could even save our family's reputation.

I had been cast out like a leper, and I had been foolish to think the village would at least try to defend me and little Lacy. I'd been lucky enough to find a few.

Now that I have a chance to make a name for myself, now that I'm in an environment where I'm not the center of everyone's gossip, it's been a freedom I hadn't felt in two years. I have a chance to make friends – decent friends – even at the cost of my heart getting ripped out of its chest.

I'll accept it.

I want it. Because maybe it'll make me feel . . . something.

My focus had been so narrowed; I tuned out the world and it's searing because I knew if I'd let such rumors and gossip get to me, I'd crumple into a useless pile of shit, like my mother. And I couldn't abandon Lacy to that.

But it affected me in more ways than I care to admit. I had grown numb – cold and calculating. I looked for benefits to my own survival than the feelings of others.

It was my father's words, and his songs, that made the difference between bending and breaking. And I'll be damned if I left my mother to take care of her.

The ride back to the castle was tense, but it was obvious neither of us felt like talking to one another after what was exchanged in the woods.

However, when we dropped our horses off at the stables, and our bounty at the kitchen, Bela and I are walking up the curving staircase in the main hall when she gently grasps at my elbow. I wait until we were at the top to turn to her.

"September." Bela says.

"What?"

"Before everything was black, before I became . . . me, I think my birthday was in September."

I adjust my feet. "W-What made you think that?"

A nonchalant shrug of a single shoulder. "I know you said you were eighteen, and I was wondering how old I would be. And I just remembered my birthday is in September."

My chest flutters like a frantic butterfly. I don't dare to look around at potential prying eyes and ears. "What day?"

She purses her lips. Then after a couple of seconds, she closes her eyes. "Twenty . . . twenty-one?"

"Do you know how old you are?"

Bela's eyes narrow on a vacant spot of space over my shoulder, then towards the carpet. "I just keep thinking twenty-one."

A corner of my mouth turns up. With practiced quiet, I say, "My birthday is the fifth of November."

Suddenly, the clock chimes one, and Bela gives a deep exhale before walking past me.

"The afternoon is yours to spend in any way that you like." She calls.

"Where are you going?"

"To rest my limbs and my lungs."

"Oh, well, hopefully you'll read something of quality before I see you again."

She stops and turns and sniffs the air. "Hopefully you'll take a bath before I see you again."

She leaves without another word.

Sighing, I head back to my rooms where I discard the bow and arrows, but opt for a couple of hunting knives, and a chance to redo my braid.

Once satisfied as I can be, I make my way down to the castle gardens.