I ran into Sylvie as I was making my way through the corridors of the servants’ wing, towards the mess hall.

“There you are!” she exclaimed when she saw me. “Where have you been? It’s late and I couldn’t find you anywhere, I’ve been worried.” Then she saw the bruises on my face, and frowned. “Erica, what happened to you?”

“I ran into Tomàs in the noble wing, and we had a bit of a scrap,” I replied.

Sylvie’s frown deepened. “Tomàs did this to you? We’d told you not to let him find you alone…”

I shook my head. “Not Tomàs, no,” I said. “I was handling him fine, when his master, Baron Eigeis, came along, and he beat me up to ‘teach me a lesson about disrespecting his servants,’ as he put it.”

I briefly recounted the events after that, how the baron had taken me and Tomàs to the royal dining room, and how he’d been sentenced to be whipped and thrown in the dungeons as a result of what he did to me; and also how I’d been examined by Gallowan, and the words he’d exchanged with Izaak and Verdun.

Sylvie looked at me without speaking for a while, her eyebrows furrowed, her face screwed as if she was deep in thought, considering everything.

“I don’t like this,” she said, after a while.

“The beating? Yeah, I didn’t like it, either, but it looks worse than it is.”

“No, not that,” Sylvie replied, shaking her head. “I don’t like that the Prince Regent apparently stood up for you, to the point of harshly punishing a noble for hitting you. I don’t like that, right afterwards, his first immediate worry was you being able to go through another one of Verdun’s treatments. I don’t like that he seems to believe he can own you. I don’t like any of this. In fact…”

She stopped talking, and her gaze moved from me, to look over my shoulder at something that was behind me. She swore under his breath.

I turned around, and saw Tomàs, walking down the corridor towards us; he stopped a short distance away.

My eyes narrowed, and I stared daggers at him. “What the hell do you want, Tomàs?” I asked, taking a stance, ready to fend off an attack from him.

“Whoa, hold on a second,” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I just wanna talk, that’s all.”

“Talk?” Sylvie said. “You’ve never been one to talk much, you prefer to insult, berate and bully other people.”

“Guilty as charged,” Tomàs replied. “I know what I’m like, thank you. Now, however, I just wanna ask Erica something.”

I tilted my head to the side, looking at him carefully; that was the first time he’d used my name without sarcasm, that I knew of anyway. And he said it without any hint of irony. He was piquing my curiosity. “You want to ask me something,” I said, deadpan.

“That’s right,” he nodded, “just one question.”

I nodded back: “Alright. What is it?”

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, looking at me. “Why?” he asked.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Why is an awfully generic question. Why what?”

“Why did you do it? Why did you take the blame?” Tomàs explained. “You owe me nothing; and I was the one who picked a fight with you. You could have let me take the fall for it, let me be punished by Baron Eigeis. Why didn’t you?”

That was an excellent question. Why did I do it? I’d been wondering the same thing since I’d spoken up on impulse, and in the end I’d found the answer. Probably. Maybe.

“Because you did nothing wrong. No, hold on, let me try again,” I corrected myself. “You did do something wrong in trying to attack me, but that was between us; it wasn’t anything the baron should have gotten involved with. What he said about you, you bringing dishonour on him? Absolute nonsense.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Every person is responsible for their own actions, and him trying to punish you was out of line. I greatly dislike people who think they’re better than others just by being born into a noble family.”

Tomàs’ eyes narrowed, and he looked at me carefully. “But you’re a noble. Nobles do think they’re better than us commoners.”

“I assure you, Erica does not,” Sylvie interjected. “I’ve known her personally for a while, even before her change, and she always made a point of treating everyone with respect. She always went out of her way to help us servants out. She even helped me pick up some laundry I’d dropped a while back; how many nobles do you know who’d do something like that?”

“I see,” Tomàs said.

We were quiet for a while, then I spoke up. “Now, let me ask you a question,” I said. When he looked at me in puzzlement, I continued, “You asked me something, it’s only fair you get to answer a question of mine in return.”

“Alright,” he nodded.

“Clearly you hate nobles. Sylvie had told me as much, too. Why do you work as a page for the baron if you dislike nobles that much?” I asked.

Tomàs shrugged. “It’s a living. Gotta put food under my teeth somehow, and this beats being a highway robber or cut-purse, doesn’t it? I’m not hurting anyone, except my own pride.”

“Hm,” I said. “And when the baron gets released from the dungeons? In two weeks, unless the Prince Regent lets him out earlier. What if he takes it out on you? What if he fires you?”

“Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Tomàs replied, shrugging again.

“Okay,” I answered. Then, when he didn’t speak further, I asked: “So, are we done here? I’m really hungry, if there’s nothing else we’re going to grab some food from the mess hall.”

“Yeah, we’re done, for now,” he replied. “You gave me lots of stuff to think about.” He paused, then finished: “Thank you.”

That startled me a bit: I hadn’t expected to hear those words from him. “You’re welcome,” I answered. Then I turned around, and Sylvie and I walked away.

“That was… Weird,” she said as we made our way to the mess hall. “I’ve never seen Tomàs discuss things so calmly with anyone. And he has lots of reasons to dislike you, too.”

“Speaking of which,” I replied, “A few days ago, when we were discussing how he doesn’t like nobles, you said something like… ‘Not that I can blame him,’ if I recall.”

Sylvie hesitated for a moment. “I’ve had… Bad experiences. With nobles.”

I understood from her tone of voice that that was as much as she was willing to say on the subject, at least for the moment. “Alright,” I replied, nodding.

“But like I said,” she continued, turning to me and smiling, “you’re one of the good ones.”

I shrugged. “My parents’ influence, maybe? My father died when I was three, and my mother three years after that. But I’ve heard that how someone is raised early in their lives has a great influence on what kind of person they will be later on.” I paused, then muttered under my breath, “Doesn’t explain Izaak, though.”

Sylvie heard what I said, and she asked, “What do you mean by that?”

I sighed; I’d never told anyone what I was about to say, but… It wasn’t that big of a secret, really. “King Dominik is a really good person, and his wife, Queen Anne, was even more so; I would know, they took me and my mother in when my father died, and they basically raised me after she passed away too,” I explained. “They were warm and kind, always encouraged me and Izaak in pursuing whatever we wished, always took an interest in our well-being. I would call them… Nurturing, if you get what I mean.”

Sylvie nodded. “Yeah, I get it. How and why Izaak turned out the way he did is a mystery.”

“Precisely,” I nodded back. “But it’s best if we continue this conversation later, we don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

By then we’d reached the mess hall; there were a few people inside, much less than I was used to seeing – which made sense, considering it was mid-afternoon: it was way past the usual time for lunch.

“Let’s go grab some grub from the cook,” Sylvie said. “Something quick, we need to get back to work as soon as possible.

I followed her to the back of the mess hall, where a small, arched door opened into the kitchens; she knocked on the wooden door before entering. “Hello, Georg?” she called.

One of the cooks turned away from the big pot he was stirring to face her. “Yeah?” he replied. “Oh, Sylvie. Hello!” he boomed in a cheerful voice. “Yer late, thought ya wouldn’t show today!”

“Yeah, we had some… Issues,” Sylvie explained. “Do you have something left over from lunch? For me and Erica, we need to put something under our teeth before getting back to work.”

“Erica?” the cook queried. He bent forward to look at me closely, and I involuntarily shrank back a little bit.

Georg was huge. Tall, much taller than I’d been before my change (and I assure you, I was not a small man), with a large, rotund belly and a big, friendly face, which sported a wild beard and was framed by a mane of unkempt hair. He towered over me, making me feel like an ant before a giant; I’d rarely felt so intimidated.

He regarded me for a few seconds, then his face lit up. “Oh yah, Erica!” he exclaimed, straightening up – and nearly banging his head against the ceiling. (I briefly wondered how he could manage to work comfortably in a tiny space such as the servants’ kitchen.) “Yah, right, yer the new girl, the one who was a Knight! What was it… Jerk? Herk? Herkle…?” he continued, snapping his fingers while trying to recall my former name.

“…Herik,” I said, flatly. “Though I’ve been forbidden to call myself that, so I’d be grateful if you could use my new name instead.”

“Alright!” he said, with a wide smile. “Erica, then! Was surprised to hear about the prince saying ye betrayed ‘im tho, I thought you Knights were loyal to ‘im. By the way, what’s happened to yer face? What’s with the bruises?”

“I had a run in with a noble,” I explained, and Georg’s happy face darkened slightly. “And I was loyal to the prince, but could we not talk about this? I don’t want to get you or Sylvie in trouble by saying something I shouldn’t.”

Georg shrugged his huge shoulders. “Suit yerself,” he answered. “So, y’all wanted food? I don’t have nearly enough leftovers from lunch I’m afraid, and it’s a shame because we’d made cabbage soup! Ya like cabbage soup, don’t ya?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sylvie make a face.

“Yah, I get it,” Georg said. “Cabbages, day in, day out. Sorry, but that’s all that grew in the royal fields, and while in previous years we could buy stuff from the market, lately that’s been reserved for the royal kitchens.” He sighed. “Shame, Adrian has good stuff.”

I blinked. “You know Adrian?”

“Oh yah! Ol’ friend, grew up livin’ next to each other, were in the army together,” Georg replied. “Why, ya know him too?”

I nodded. “Saw him today, actually, we went out to the market to buy some stuff… For the royal kitchens. And also, I’d talked with him a lot before… Before.”

Georg understood. “Oh. And… He recognise ya?”

It was my turn to sigh. “Yeah, he did. And I let him down today – I let a whole lot of people down – so while I still consider him a friend, it’s probably not mutual.”

The cook shrugged again. “Ya never know. He’s a cool guy, he’ll understand.”

There was a poignant pause; then, before either of us could say something, Sylvie interjected. “So, about that food?”

“Right!” Georg said. “Comin’ right up! Got some salted meat, and some bread, and some pickled veggies for ya.” He turned away, probably to go fetch the food.

“What kind of veggies?” I asked.

He paused. “Uh… Cabbage, actually. Sorry,” he replied, turning back and smiling sheepishly.

Sylvie and I both barely stifled a laugh.

In short order we each holding a wooden plate piled with meat and bread and pickled cabbage, and a tankard of weak ale (which Georg told us had been brewed by Marcus, another of my friends in the marketplace) in our other hand. We excused ourselves from the cook – who nodded and smiled and waved goodbye – and left the kitchen, to go sit in the mess hall; finding a place wasn’t difficult, there were few people eating at that time in the afternoon, but we still got a few stares. That is to say, I still got a few stares.

I sighed as I sat down. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Used to what?” Sylvie queried, before shoving a piece of pickled cabbage into her mouth.

“To be… Looked at. Everywhere I go. I feel like an exhibit in a freak show,” I replied.

Sylvie shrugged. “It’s been just a few days. Give it time, soon everyone will get used to you, and they’ll stop staring.”

“I hope so,” I said, and took a bite of bread.

“I know it. Most people who have to deal with the whims of nobles, most servants, are cool when it comes to folks who suffer the same indignities as them.” She reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, after what the Prince Regent put you through, you’ll fit right in.”

I nodded in response. “Let’s just eat,” I said. “We still have to work this afternoon, don’t we?”

Sylvie made a face. “Yeah, we do. Sorry, I know those bruises probably hurt quite a bit--”

“No they don’t,” I replied in a quiet voice, looking around to see if anyone was in earshot; no one except Sylvie seemed to have heard me.

“They don’t?” Sylvie asked, surprise evident on her face. “Didn’t you say Baron Eigeis beat you severely?”

“He did, but I’m a Knight, remember?” I explained. “My body is tougher than most people’s, and I have… Skills.” I shrugged. “I oversold each blow as it came my way. They stung a bit, of course, but I’m not hurt that bad, and there’s no lasting damage.”

Sylvie nodded slowly. “Okay. So when Gallowan said you would need time to recover before being able to be changed further…”

“He probably just took pity on me,” I said. Then I pretended to frown, and continued: “Wait, should I be telling you this? I mean, if words gets around, the prince might hear of it…”

Sylvie frowned at me in turn. “Erica, do you really think…” she began, but stopped when I started chuckling.

“Oh, you should’ve seen your face,” I said. “Don’t worry, after all you’ve done for me, I trust you not to go around snitching on me.”

Her frown cleared, and she smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

We were quiet for a few minutes as we finished our meal, and then we got up and left the mess hall.

“Alright, this afternoon we’re replacing the candles in the chandeliers,” Sylvie said, as we made our way towards the noble wing. “Not all of them, just the ones in the western corridor on the second floor.”

“Will we need a ladder?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No need to, there’s a hidden system of winches and pulleys,” she explained. “It lowers all the chandeliers close to the floor, so we can replace the candles without having to climb up to them.”

“Huh,” I replied. Before I’d been changed, I’d never given any thought about the finer points of what servants did: candles were replaced, beds made, rooms cleaned, and so on, but it was just a thing that happened. I had no idea everything was so involved, I had no idea that it took that much of an effort; and I wanted to kick myself for taking their duties for granted.

Sylvie seemed to know exactly where to go by heart: she led me to a small door which I’d never noticed before in all my years spent in the palace, half-hidden behind a curtain in the western corridor on the second floor. Inside was a closet with several shelves, which held cleaning supplies and other things, including piles of arm-thick white tallow candles; also in the room was the winch she’d mentioned: the thick rope wound around it disappeared into a hole in the wall, no doubt leading to the system of pulleys Sylvie had metioned.

“Give me a hand here, this thing needs some muscle: we don’t want to lower the chandeliers too quickly, or they could get damaged,” she said. “It’s happened before, and who did it was punished for it, it’s best if we avoid that.”

While I held the handle firmly she removed a pin which had held the whole contraption in place; I was surprised by how strong the pull was, but I managed to keep it under control, and together we carefully brought down the chandeliers almost to the floor.

Then it was just a matter of replacing the burnt-out candles (and those that were close to burning out) with fresh ones. It wasn’t a difficult job, but it was time-consuming – the candles, surprisingly, were screwed into place onto bronze corkscrews fastened to the iron chandeliers, so it took a bit of an effort to pry them free, and then to screw the new ones back in. All in all, it took us until dinnertime to finish the job.

The hardest part came at the end, when we had to raise the chandeliers back up to the ceiling; it took all of our strength to pull on the winch handle, but luckily we managed to do it without having to call for help (in part due to the fact that I still had a lot of my strength as a man left over – my change hadn’t affected that yet, it seemed).

“What should we do with the old candles?” I asked Sylvie. “Some of these look like they still have a good hour or two of burning time left in them.”

“We’ll bring them to dinner with us in a sack, leave them next to the door; this way, whoever needs some can get them,” she replied. “It’s one of the perks of being a servant in the palace: you never have to buy your own candles.”

I nodded, and together with her we gathered all the candles that were nearly spent in an old, worn cloth sack; then we went to dinner.

As we sat down at the table I could still feel lots of eyes on me; I really hoped what Sylvie had said about people getting used to me would become true, and soon.

Cecily and Therese were very concerned when they noticed the bruises on my face; after Sylvie explained what had happened between me, Tomàs, and Baron Eigeis, they had choice words to say about the baron, and about nobles in general.

During dinner, however, something unexpected happened: as we were eating, Tomàs approached our table, and stopped a short distance away, looking at me. He had a weird expression on his face, one I’d never seen before; he looked almost repentant.

“What do you want?” I asked, perhaps a bit more harshly than I should have. The whole dining hall had stopped, and everyone was looking at the scene, waiting to see what we would do.

Tomàs hesitated for a few moments, then said simply, “Here,” and placed a small wooden jar on the table.

I looked at the jar, and then up at him. “What’s this?”

“It’s… Ointment,” Tomàs replied. “For you. It’s good for bruises, helps them heal faster.”

I gave him a blank stare. “Seriously?” I said. I grabbed the jar, unscrewed the top, and gave it a sniff: it smelled of rosewater, and cloves, and mint – it was a scent I knew very well.

“Did you get this at Mig Bac’s apothecary?” I asked. “The one in the riverside district, near the bridge, just off Fish Lane?”

Tomàs seemed surprised. “You know him?”

“I do,” I nodded. “We… The Royal Knights use tons of this stuff,” I explained. “Bruises are a common occurrence during sparring, and the healers get testy if they keep getting bothered for small stuff like that. How about you?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I get into fights a lot.”

“Okay,” I said. “And you’re giving this to me because…?”

“As… A peace offering. Of sorts,” he replied. He seemed embarrassed, he was looking away and not meeting my eyes. “I’ve misjudged you, and caused you a lot of trouble. I was wondering…” He gulped. “I was wondering if we could start over. On the right foot, this time.”

I just stared at him for a few moments; I could almost feel everyone in the room holding their collective breath, waiting for my answer.

I nodded, slowly. “Alright, I can do that,” I answered.

Tomàs let out a sigh of… Relief? I could not tell. At the same time, I heard the hubbub of conversation start again – everybody was whispering to their neighbours, discussing what had just transpired.

“Good, that’s good,” Tomàs said, lifting his eyes to look at me. There was an awkward pause, then he continued: “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, Erica.” But unlike the first time he’d said it, his tone wasn’t hostile or menacing. Then he turned around and walked away.

“Gods, Erica, what did you do to him?” Cecily asked. “I’d never seen that idiot be so… Conciliating.”

“I actually have no idea what I did,” I replied.

And it was true: I really had no idea. But from that day on, Tomàs didn’t try to bother me even once.