The uncertainties and excitement of the first day in the fields were quickly killed by the monotony of Katharina's new routine; time at the manor didn't seem to flow forward, rather it circled like a poor zoo animal trapped in an inhuman enclosure.

  Each day passed just as the previous.

  Wake.

  Queue. Mush. Weed.

  Mush and bread.

  Weed. Queue. Mush.

  Sleep.

  Repeat.

  Even in the unending repetition, there were some moments of joy. With every passing day, Katharina was learning a few more words. Lian had taken it upon herself to name the world around them, pointing to things between bites of breakfast or during short water breaks. “Rock,” “tree,” “horse,” “shoe”, then lifting the item or reenacting its use and repeating the sentence slowly, again and again, until Katharina could form it too. It became ritualistic, like saying grace, not to a god, but to the strange, stern world that demanded her fluency.

  They also didn't work in the vegetable field each day; some days her feet would carry her to the orchard, and on the fifth or sixth day, their feet had carried both Katharina and Lian in a completely different direction, joining a new group.

  That day, they had worked in a field that bordered the main road leading to the manor. Katharina had found that day more interesting as she got to witness people coming and going from the manor. In the early hours, it had been wagons with deliveries and a handful of people on foot. Around midday, a young man on horseback had arrived at high speed and left shortly after, probably a messenger of some kind. And a few hours later, a lavish horse-drawn carriage rolled past. Katharina could have sworn she saw two beautifully adorned women peeking out from behind the window curtain.

  She had wanted to ask Lian about it during their meal, but her vocabulary was still too sparse. She didn’t know how to form a proper question, especially about something she couldn't directly point at.

  On days when Marek handed out their lunch, he would always say something, followed by a chuckle or a wink. Before handing her a very full bowl with the largest piece of bread he could find. She never really understood what he was saying; it seemed like he was teasing her or giving her words of encouragement. His kindness felt strange, and she didn't know how she had earned it; maybe he felt sorry for her. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, she liked the days when he was there.

  The days were long. Not just tiring, they felt endless. Stretched like the silence before a storm, dragging from dawn until the light finally gave out. But even the length wasn’t the worst of it.

  No, the worst was the punishments.

  The guard seemed to appear the moment anyone lagged behind. He would shout first. If he dismounted, a slap was coming. If he rolled up his sleeves before getting down, you knew it would be worse. Katharina had already been yelled at more times than she could count. Slapped twice in one day, once, when the guard’s mood had turned particularly sour.

  That night, she had gone to bed with two swollen cheeks and woken up with a black eye that would haunt her for the next week.

  To avoid a second black eye, she learned to move just quickly enough. And to keep her thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory.

  She wasn't sure how they did it, but the guards always seemed to know when someone had misstepped, even if they were nowhere nearby. Sometimes it seemed they could even hear your thoughts. It made her wonder: if she could feel which plants to uproot simply by the pull of her brand, maybe they could feel who to punish.

  There is some serious Big Brother surveillance going on in this place. I just have to figure out how to avoid the cameras.

  Today was her fourteenth day at the manor. And they were working the field along the main road again.

  The morning had already dragged on for a few hours by the time the riders came into view. Katharina was bent low, fingers sore and caked with dirt, when the sound of hooves shifted the rhythm of the day.

  Two men on horseback passed beneath the shade of the trees lining the road. They rode in at a casual trot. Their pace had a certainty to it, like men who expected to be welcomed wherever they arrived. One had fiery red hair, while the other had long, flowing, platinum-bright hair, catching the rays of the morning sun between the leaves.

  Katharina didn’t stop working, but her gaze lingered beneath the shadow of her brow. She had seen these men before, not at the manor, but on that terrible day when her freedom had been ripped from her.

  She knew now from the portrait that hung in the foyer that the red-haired one was her master. She hadn’t known his name then, but now she knew him as 'Master Ravnsund', at least that's what Lian called him. And the blond man beside him… he was the one she had locked eyes with, who had stood there staring at her with beautiful blue eyes, not doing a single thing to help her.

  And now, she realized something else.

  Nearly everyone else she’d met here had brown hair. Dark, thick, sun-dulled. But these men stood out; not only did they have status, but they also physically looked different from the rest. It was all quite strange.

  They reached the manor just past mid-morning. The sun had begun to cast sharp angles through the trees, and the horses were slick with sweat, but Leopold wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. He always enjoyed these little escapes from the capital. They gave him space from his duties and all the obnoxious nobles, but also to have a little bit of fun without consequences.

  He’d joined Asbj?rn on trips like this many times before. Sometimes to gamble, sometimes to drink, occasionally to flirt with the staff when Asbj?rn wasn't looking.

  Today was no different, though he wouldn’t mind if he caught a second glimpse at that strange blond girl, whom Asbj?rn had bought recently.

  He’d only glimpsed her once, but it had bothered him ever since, the way her mind had flickered with images and language that were all incomprehensible and jarring. Not that it really mattered. He just didn’t like not understanding something fully.

  They were greeted in the foyer by R?fna, a tall, graceful woman, always dressed in black, who ran the manor day to day, while Asbj?rn would visit monthly to inspect that business was flowing as expected.

  She bowed first at the prince, then at her master, before offering to lead them to Asbj?rns office for a moment of refreshment after the long ride. She was a master of formalities and etiquette, exactly why Asbj?rn employed her.

  She led them through the manor and waited for the expected number of minutes before starting her usual update on the state of affairs. Leopold had gotten good at tuning out all the talk of business; even R?fna's commanding voice couldn't pierce his sublime quiet as they walked through the corridors.

  The office smelled of the usual oiled wood and paper. Asbj?rn’s desk was a clutter of correspondence and ledger books, a stack of tasks he would have to look thoroughly through before they could return to the capital. Leopold sank into one of the cushioned chairs opposite it, stretching his legs while Asbj?rn settled in beside him. R?fna remained standing, spine straight, arm held tightly before her chest, not letting a single fold of her Slokel, the long, embroidered wrap draped from shoulder to wrist, fall out of place.

  Soon after, refreshments were brought in by a pair of pretty boys dressed in fine linen, their eyes demure; these were both well-trained and ready to be sold to nobility. One of them looked up shyly at Leopold, and Leopold couldn't help but overhear the hopeful thoughts directed at him.

  I hope a beautiful man like him buys me.

  A chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it.

  I’m sorry, he thought dryly, but slave boys aren’t really my thing.

  Asbj?rn took a sip of his drink and leaned back. “How’s the latest batch faring?”

  “The four of them are doing splendidly, Master Ravnsund,” R?fna replied in her deep velvet voice. But it didn't trick Asbj?rn, as he raised an eyebrow. “Four? Who didn’t you like?”

  “Well,” she said, “the old man. And the adolescent boy, he looked rather frail, but I’m hoping some time in the fields will build some muscle, then I may bring him in.” She paused. “Oh, and the foreigner.”

  The mention of a foreigner caught Leopold's attention. He didn’t have to look at Asbj?rn to feel the sudden shift in his mood. He knew how excited his friend had been to get such a rare specimen; who else could boast about having a slave with hair like the imperial family, even if that was not how he would phrase it.

  “The foreigner?” Asbj?rn’s voice cooled. “Are you referring to the blond girl? The one I specifically instructed you to make something spectacular out of?” His voice was stern, more disappointed than angry, appalled at her disobedience.

  R?fna stood stiffly next to the desk, jaw tightening, her expression calm and calculating. Leopold could feel her choosing the next words to say. “I placed her with the literate one,” she said. “In hopes she might learn something.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Asbj?rn scoffed. “Then just bring them both in.”

  “The other girl is still under punishment, Master Ravnsund. The period isn’t over.”

  Asbj?rn took another sip of his drink with an uncaring expression, as R?fna's argument fell on deaf ears. “Does it matter? What even was her offense, sneaking a few books? We both know she’ll keep doing that. And I can’t have a blond girl, whom I paid six Mark for, running around pulling weeds. She’s too exotic and valuable for that. Sorry, Leo.”

  Leopold didn’t look up from the platter before him filled with an assortment of cheeses, cold grapes, and a few salty breadsticks. “Pay me no mind,” he said dryly. “As long as it isn’t my blond locks you’re debating the sale of.”

  Silence followed; it was R?fna's turn to state her case, but her mind was busy brewing a way out of her predicament. R?fna’s eyes moved from one man to the other, then back again. Leopold already knew what was coming. She was going to ask if he recognized the girl’s language. And he already knew the answer was no.

  Still, if I pretend I don't already know. I may just get another look at her.

  “Master Ravnsund,” R?fna said, lowering her head slightly. “If I may be so bold, perhaps the prince might grace us with his knowledge of the languages. There may be a chance he could identify the girl’s tongue, and then a proper tutor could be arranged.”

  Asbj?rn turned toward his friend. “You came with me there the day they branded her, right? Do you recall if you understood anything she said?”

  Leopold halted his moving hand, casting a longing glance at the juicy grape that had been on its way to his taste buds.

  He lifted one eyebrow and glanced at his friend, making sure his little lie would go unnoticed. “I mostly remember her screaming,” he said. “Not exactly a linguistic moment. But… perhaps, if the girl were brought before me.” Asbj?rn didn't answer, just nodded, and looked expectantly up at R?fna.

  "Right, I shall have them both bathed and brought before you."

  R?fna bowed in courtesy and stepped out of the room to fetch the girls, who, in her opinion, had stumbled into far more luck than they deserved.

  Leopold couldn't help but agree with R?fna's thoughts, but sometimes luck was the best driver of a good mystery.

  Katharina noticed Marek as he jogged along the main road from the manor, which was weird, as she only ever saw him in the fields behind the manor. But as far as she knew, he didn't actually work in the fields most of the time, so maybe this was just one of his tasks she didn't know of.

  Strangely enough, he seemed to be looking in the direction of her and Lian, and even as if he were jogging toward them. That's when he signaled something to the guard and started waving at Katharina and Lian. Are we being summoned or something?

  Katharina and Lian were indeed fetched by Marek and brought back into the manor. This was the first time since the night of her arrival that Katharina set foot in the extravagant manor.

  Inside, a different woman took over. She was older, built like a fridge, but dressed far more finely than any of the people outside. First, a tall woman, now a broad woman. We're a whole collection. Without a word, the woman led them down a tiled hallway and paused outside a storage room. From inside, she pulled out two stacks of neatly folded clothes and handed one to each of them.

  Katharina stared at the fabric in her arms. It was a luxurious satin fabric; clearly, something special was going on, but looking at Lian's expression, Katharina knew that this was probably not something to be thrilled about.

  They were led deeper into the manor. The floors gleamed beneath their feet, sunlight spilling through tall windows onto polished stone. Moving through the endless splendor of the manor, Katharina didn’t feel awe. She felt something sour curling behind her ribs.

  What era is this even supposed to be? It's not any particular style I recognise.

  Some of the architecture resembled Renaissance cathedrals she’d seen in textbooks, but then came a wall-mounted torch that felt straight out of a medieval castle. Mouldings, tapestries, carved wood panels, it was like walking through a Pinterest board of history, with no clear consensus. Or maybe there was some meaning behind it, and Katharina just couldn't see it.

  They passed people moving through the halls, each one silent. They wore linen and satin, tailored to a purpose. Most seemed to be in uniform, though more than one type, with different cuts, colors, and details. Are they slaves? Servants? Guards? She wasn’t sure. No one met her gaze.

  Eventually, they were brought to a bath chamber.

  On one wall hung a large mirror above a table lined with small baskets; the rest of the room was lined with a long stone basin, and little stools made it clear you weren't supposed to soak in it.

  The woman stopped, turned, and commanded something, gesturing with a clipped nod toward the baskets.

  Lian moved immediately, unbothered. She placed her clean bundle in one basket and began undressing, folding her worn clothes into another with practiced ease.

  Katharina didn't feel compelled to undress in front of this strange woman, even if her brand gnawed at her. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin pale and blotchy from sun exposure and too little rest. Her eyes had become gray, glassy, and tired. She looked like a ghost of herself.

  The woman let out an impatient breath, stepped forward, and tapped the edge of the basket with the back of her hand, hard. Then she pointed to Lian’s bare form with a sharp jab of her finger.

  Damn it. I guess privacy isn’t offered to the likes of us.

  Katharina undressed slowly, her movements stiff, reluctant.

  As she stripped away each layer, she couldn't help but watch her reflection, and recoiled slightly. She was filthy. Dirt clung to her like a second skin. Her hair was dull, matted in places. She hadn’t bathed properly in two weeks. The only water she’d known was the cold spray of the irrigation system, muddy and fleeting in the heat of the fields.

  Once they were both completely bare, the woman stepped forward, scooped up the baskets of dirty clothing, and turned on her heel.

  Hey, those are my pants. My underwear. Those are the only things I have left.

  But before any objection could be made, the door slammed shut behind the woman, leaving them alone.

  Katharina stood in silence. Then, slowly, she turned to look over her shoulder, lifting her hair aside. Letting the mirror unveil the horror that lived on her shoulder.

  Placed on her left shoulder blade - a raised, red ring of flesh, roughly the size of her palm, burned deep into the skin like a seal pressed in wax. It was a perfect circle, and inside it sat a smaller one, placed neatly toward the top.

  Within that, a symbol: symmetrical, but not like any script Katharina recognized. It was divided into two - the upper half a crescent line, with three short spikes extending straight out from it like clock hands at even intervals. Below it, a warped cross, the horizontal bar curved upward like a bowl cradling the crescent above.

  Filling the outer space, between the small circle and the large, were five angular runes that twisted like they had been carved into her.

  It pulsed subtly, with her heartbeat.

  A wound like that should have festered. By now, it should have gone black, oozed pus, spread infection into her spine, maybe killed her outright. But instead, it sat there on her back like a cursed tattoo, commanding her every move.

  She stared for a long time, the pulse in her back syncing with the silence around them, until movement caught her eye.

  Lian had turned. Without a word, she raised one hand and tapped just beneath her right breast, where a much smaller mark sat curled along her ribs.

  It was the same shape, or at least part of it. The symbol without the circles or runes. But it looked different. Faded. Older. The edges had sunk into the skin, no longer raised and angry like Katharina’s.

  Lian just shrugged, turned again, and stepped over to a wooden stool placed before the basin. She sat, dipped a sponge from the ledge into the water, and began to scrub.

  Katharina followed Lian's lead, her mind elsewhere, settling beside her and reaching for another sponge.

  The water was icy cold.

  She started at her arms, dragging away sweat, grime, weeks of fieldwork, as if she could scrub away the pain, the fear, the voice in her head that still screamed when she thought of the people she loved and her home.

  More than an hour had passed since R?fna had left to fetch the girls. Asbj?rn was slowly working his way through the first stack of papers, while they shared a bottle of a splendid new fruity mixture that was boringly non-alcoholic.

  Leopold leaned back in his chair, fingers idly circling the stem of his glass. “What are you planning to do with them, if I can’t place her tongue?”

  Asbj?rn didn’t look up from his papers. “I’ll bring them in either way. I’m sure having her in the house will speed things along. And if she never learns Empirian…” He swirled the liquid in his cup thoughtfully. “With that hair, I could always start a rumor in the underground that she’s your long-lost bastard sister. I bet that’d get her sold.”

  Leopold scowled, but the corner of his mouth curled upward. “Careful there. You wouldn’t want to upset my mother.”

  Asbj?rn grinned, pleased with himself. “Why do you seem so interested anyway? You never care about my business dealings.” He paused, brow raised. “It’s not like she could actually be of imperial blood.”

  But before Leopold could form a reply, a knock sounded at the door, followed by R?fna’s smooth voice.

  “Master Ravnsund, I’ve brought the girls you requested.”

  “Enter,” Asbj?rn called, letting the paper in his hand fall back in the stack.

  The door opened, and two girls stepped inside.

  They wore simple satin garments, their hair still damp and clinging faintly to their necks. The darker-haired one looked skeptical, guarded. The blonde, though she didn’t look scared or defiant. Just… tired. Like she wanted to be done with whatever this was.

  R?fna guided them forward with a measured step and spoke in a soft tone, the kind she reserved only for moments when her master was watching closely.

  "Raise your chin, girl."

  The girl lifted her head uncertainly, and her eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal.

  For a brief moment, they met Leopold's gaze, and their eyes held each other in equal scrutiny, both analyzing the other. Then the girl let her stare settle on an empty spot of carpet.

  He could hear her mind racing, thoughts, and images in a whirlpool of foreign sounds and impressions. Fascinated by his own inability to decipher her thoughts, he tried to bore deeper, but was met with immense resistance.

  The merchant’s reading of three had clearly been correct, if not an underestimate.

  He stepped forward and approached the girl with gentle steps, activating as much allure in his aura as he could command without affecting the other people in the room.

  As he stood before her, she didn't cower; she just looked up at him with her tired eyes.

  "Tell me where you are from."

  Leopold's voice was laced with aura, a technique used to command those unwilling or ununderstanding, to perform the task you wanted.

  It had certain perks, like inhibiting the person from lying and crossing any language barrier, as it was not the words that counted, but the intent. Of course, it was very straining and generally frowned upon if done in public, and subjecting any free person to it could land you a heavy fine.

  But this girl no longer owned her freedom.

  Yet she stood there looking back at him, framed in her blond hair, as if they were equals. She took a surprising time to answer, managing to resist the urge to blurt out the first thing that came to her mind. He felt her weighing different answers in her mind, none of which he recognised or understood. Finally, she spoke.

  "Jeg er fra et land mod nord."

  Her answer was crisp and clear, yet it felt like it wasn't the whole truth. But it didn't matter. What mattered was the sound itself. It was like nothing he'd ever heard. Not a dialect. Not a regional slant.

  And certainly not anything spoken on the continent of Auropia.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint," Leopold said, letting just a trace of amusement curl his lip, "but that's not a language I've ever come across. And it's certainly not from Auropia."

  Also, I wanted to share this illustration I made for the scene where Katharina sees her brand for the first time.

  To me, this was the scene that stood the clearest in my imagination so I wanted to share what my interpretation looks like:

  Or if another part of the chapter stood more clearly in your mind?