The manor house looks very much like it wants to grow up to be a castle one day. It’s a squat dwelling of gray stone, with a drawbridge over a narrow moat, and it even has little crenellations on its roof. Cute.

Bram, Arcadia and I have been strolling through the manor’s farmland for nearly an hour when it finally comes into view, perched on a low hilltop to survey the demense around it. The sun is higher now than when we set out, and it paints a pretty picture. Golden wheat fields blanket the hills, swaying in a gentle breeze under clearer skies than yesterday, a vivid blue dotted here and there by puffy white clouds. Beyond the fields, and behind the manor house, brown cattle wander about in a pasture of green grass.

Our journey, though short, has been light on conversation. I can practically feel the tension rippling off Bran like heat waves. He’s walking with his jaw set, eyes downcast, clenching and unclenching his hands every few moments. Arcadia, by contrast, looks like she’s having a lovely morning. There’s a spring in her step, a smile on her face, a kind of calm radiance about her. She looks very much like she’s ready to do a good deed today.

I’d find it strange that she isn’t picking up on our companion’s anxiety, and I’d point it out if she weren’t in such a fine mood. Perhaps Bram is fretting over nothing. Perhaps.

“So what’s this Lord’s name?” I ask, to see if it’ll get him talking.

“Snollis,” says Bram.

“And what is Lord Snollis like? Does he treat you well?”

Bram looks off at the fields, and I get the feeling he’s trying to work out what’s safe to tell us and what isn’t. Which tells me something all by itself.

But the time to question him further has passed. We’re in front of the manor house now, Bram leading the way across its short drawbridge to take the big iron knocker on the door and hit it a few times. For a few moments we stand there waiting, then I hear footsteps approaching from the other side. The heavy oaken door cracks open, revealing the face of a sharply dressed house servant who quite literally has his nose in the air.

The servant’s eyes scan over the three of us briefly, the corner of his lip curling derisively.

“May I help you,” he says to Arcadia. Most likely because she’s the best dressed.

Arcadia puts on her politician smile, and this morning it looks extra genuine. “Ah, yes, we’re here to have a word with Lord Snollis this morning, concerning a feudal relief payment for my friend here.”

She gestures at Bram, and the servant’s eyebrow arches slowly as his gaze shifts from her to him. For a moment I wonder if he’ll deign to let us in, but eventually he steps aside from the door to open it the rest of the way.

“Lord Snollis is partaking of his breakfast presently,” he says, gesturing for us to come in. “You will await him here.”

He gestures at the sitting room just on the other side of the door. It isn’t much of a room, but then again it isn’t much of a house. Four dark wooden chairs sit facing the fireplace, a tall bookcase bracketing the wall on the right, a staircase on the left. We file in and the servant closes the door behind us, and he waits until we’re seated before turning to climb the stairs.

And we wait. And wait. And wait. I begin to wonder if that servant even bothered to tell Lord Snollis we were here. Or if he did, if he’s making us wait extra long on purpose to make himself seem more important than he is. Whatever the reason, it’s not doing wonders for my mood. Lucky for Lord Snollis, I’m not likely to be the one doing the talking. I reach out and tap Arcadia on the knee with my knuckle, give her a questioning look, and all she can do is frown and shrug her shoulders.

At long last I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Bram hears them too, and he stands up quickly to turn and face his Lord as he comes into view. This man gives me a bad impression immediately. It’s his face. The haughty smirk on it, specifically. As well as the pasty complexion, the oily black hair and goatee, the hands that haven’t seen a day’s labor in their life. Lord Snollis wears a dull green doublet with gold trim, under a velvet cloak which, frankly, isn’t nearly as nice as mine.

Arcadia rises from her seat, and I do so as well even though I don’t really want to. Bram bows to his Lord, Arcadia curtsies gracefully. I just stand there, trying not to glare.

“My Lord,” says Bram. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“Ah. Brindon’s boy,” says Lord Snollis.

Bran nods, tension in his eyes. “Yes milord.”

Lord Snollis reaches the end of the staircase, turning with a swish of his cloak to join us in the sitting room. Like his servant did, his gaze settles on each of us for a moment, obvious disdain in his expression.

“I was told you came here to speak about the issue we previously discussed,” says the Lord. “But I don’t know what else there is to be said. You cannot pay, and so I shall claim what I must as recompense.”

Bram winces when Snollis says that, but then Arcadia steps forward, a polite smile on her face. Bless her. All I feel like doing is knocking this fool’s teeth out, just for wearing that stupid goatee.

“Actually, I heard about Bram’s situation yesterday when my party and I came into town, and I’d like to pay his relief in full.”

Lord Snollis’s eyebrows rise. He takes a moment to give Arcadia another appraising look, a skeptical expression on his face. “And why would a passing traveler feel the need to be so charitable?”

“Simple kindness, milord,” says Arcadia. “A courtesy to a family in need.”

Lord Snollis’s answering frown is a little too close to a scowl for me. My right hand closes into a fist. Luckily it’s hidden under my cloak at the moment.

“Bram and his siblings will get along just fine in serfdom,” he says. “Or hasn’t he told you of the most generous arrangement I’ve made for them?”

That makes Arcadia blink, and shoot a quizzical look in Bram’s direction. I do so as well, and we both find him standing there, red-faced, his hands balled into fists. He’s staring at the floor as hard as he can.

“I didn’t want to say,” he says.

Lord Snollis’s haughty smirk returns. “Then perhaps you should do so, before your acquaintances here make fools of themselves any further.”

Give me a reason, you pasty-faced little fuck. Come on. That face was made to be punched.

Bram closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out of his mouth. He’s shaking a little. “It was agreed that I would work in the Lord’s fields. Detton in the manor house scullery. Lannie would learn to be a housemaid. And Lyselle…”

He can’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Bram is doing his best to contain the embarrassed fury bubbling up inside him, which is to say, he isn’t doing very well. It’s written all over his face. But Lord Snollis appears to be enjoying the show, watching him seethe with an arrogant smile.

Arcadia doesn’t miss it either. Her eyes grow wide with shock, and for a moment I see her begin to glare at Snollis before she remembers her manners.

“That sounds like it would have been a fine arrangement milord,” she says. “But it’s hardly necessary now that—”

Snollis gestures dismissively. “I have no need of your money. Even if I did, I would still refuse. I’m satisfied with the arrangement as it stands, and I’m well within my rights to execute it.”

Bram bites down on his lip, in a desperate attempt to hold his tongue. Lord Snollis notices and laughs with scorn.

“What concern he has for his family! Or is it that he thinks I will abuse his dear sister? You have no need to fear for that. On the contrary, Lyselle will be treated far more lavishly than any peasant farmer could ever hope to,” Lord Snollis grins lewdly, reaches up to play with his goatee. “Mm, such pleasures await her…”

Bram meets Snollis’s gaze, his eyes glittering with rage. “My sister is not your whore.”

“How dare you!”

Lord Snollis’s cloak swooshes open as he strikes Bram across the face with the back of his hand. The blow turns Bram’s face to the side, and Snollis steps right in close to yell in his ear.

“You should grovel before me, that I would be so generous to your kin! I’ll have you flogged in public, so all will know the price of disrespect!”

A sudden gust of wind catches Snollis full on the side, picks him right up off the ground and slams him hard into the bookcase behind him. He bounces off it, falls face-first onto the polished floor with his hair and cloak splayed out, a pile of books tumbling onto his back. The bookcase teeters dangerously for a moment, as if it were going to fall, but it doesn’t.

I turn to see Arcadia, her arm outstretched, breathing heavily. Her eyes are alight with anger, as much if not moreso than Bram’s. Lord Snollis lies perfectly still on the floor, a little pool of blood edging out from under his mouth.

Well. So much for feudal relief.