“Mistress Emma?” Lyriel stared down at the girl as she sat at the table in her room, looking out over the moors toward a distant jumble of ruined buildings along the banks of a mostly frozen river winding through the distant lowlands.

Though the snow still fell from the heavy sky, the winds had died down considerably, and patches of bright gray streaked the clouds. The storm’s rage was subsiding at last. Emma seemed deep in her thoughts and Lyriel waited for an appropriate time before trying again. “Mistress Emma?” Lyriel repeated, louder this time and with a gentle nudge of her boot on the leg of the chair for further emphasis.

“Ah!” Emma jumped slightly at the intrusion and her head snapped up, eyes focusing on Lyriel. “O-Oh! I am so sorry! I was just…thinking.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Lyriel’s head bowed slightly in response. “I have procured some cakes and tea and was wondering if you’d like to partake.” Lyriel swept her arm toward the table to indicate the silver platter of elaborately decorated cakes and intricately crafted tea pot with matching cups she’d placed there.

“They do look good…” Emma murmured. Unable to resist the lure of sweet cakes and tea she relented and placed one of the confections on a plate and brought it up to her nose to sniff. “Mmm…it smells delicious…though a bit strange. And why is it shaped like that?”

“Ah, yes, you may not have seen those before,” Lyriel replied, pouring the warm dark liquid into a cup from the pot. “Those are carrot cakes. A type of spice cake made with shaved carrot. They’re shaped like rabbits as rabbits are fond of eating carrots.”

“Ah,” Emma murmured, not ever having actually seen a rabbit before she would have to take Lyriel’s word for it. She picked one of the cakes up and sniffed it tentatively before taking a nibble. “Mmm!” She enthused, taking a bigger bite. “Thish ish good!”

“You really shouldn’t talk with your mouth full, Mistress,” Lyriel admonished.

“Oh!” Emma giggled sheepishly, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry!”

“Quite all right, Mistress,” Lyriel bowed slightly in deference.

“It really is good,” Emma set the cake down with a sigh and stared at it for a moment.

“Is something the matter, Mistress?”

“No…yes…I don’t know. I guess maybe it would be simpler to ask what isn’t wrong at this point,” Emma sighed again and swept some of the icing from the cake with her finger before popping it into her mouth absently.

“Please don’t use your finger to remove frosting from the bunny, Mistress,” Lyriel said. “People will think you uncouth.”

“Right, sorry,” Emma put her hands between her knees obediently.

“Perhaps you should tell me what the issue is so I might better be able to assist you, Mistress,” Lyriel prompted.

“It’s…I don’t know, I feel…fake,” Emma sighed, trying to work through everything in her head.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mistress,” Lyriel sat across the table opposite her patiently as Emma tried to put her thoughts into order.

“Three days ago I was in an alley in rags, and no one wanted anything from me except for me to go away,” Emma scowled at the room around her. “Now I have nice dresses and fancy shoes and delicious bunny cakes, and everyone seems to want something from me…none of this is right.”

“You seem to be suffering from a bit of culture shock among other things,” Lyriel nodded. “I know how you feel. Well, at least a bit, anyway.”

“Really?” Emma leaned forward slightly.

“Of course, Mistress,” Lyriel shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t born as a maid, you know.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“After my village in the Mistlands was sacked by the Legion I hid in the trees for weeks,” Lyriel sighed. “I finally had t- “

“Your village was sacked? Why?” Emma put her hand on Lyriel’s worriedly.

“Well, this was a long time ago, the Elven Court and Empire were still in open war at the time,” Lyriel shrugged. “We’d hit a human settlement, they’d sack one of ours, it was a vicious cycle of tit for tat. My village just happened to be the one the Legion razed that day.

“That’s…horrible,” Emma mumbled.

“Unfortunately horrible things happen at even the best of times, more so during war,” Lyriel nodded. “But I remember when I finally had to leave the forest to look for food and happened upon a human town for the first time,” The elf sighed at the memory. “I suddenly realized how big the world is and how very small I was. I think your issue is similar, am I correct?”

“I…suppose you’re right,” Emma shrugged.

“Well, I’ve always viewed things as linear.”

“How so?” Emma took a dainty bite of the bunny cake.

“Had I been a bit older, I could have gone to the home cities inside the Silvaeyn Forest, but since I was so young I had only one path in front of me, to seek what I could find with humans. Even if I had been older and could go to the Elves, that path would also have been linear,” Lyriel explained. “You can’t ever go back. I couldn’t make my village whole again, I couldn’t regain what I’d lost, so I had no choice but to move forward.”

“I-I guess…” Emma admitted. “Why couldn’t you go back to the Elves, though?”

“There is only one path leading to the Elven home cities in the Mistlands and I wasn’t old enough for them to teach me where it was,” Lyriel shrugged. “I could have gone to another village along the paths to where the Wind Elves used to be, but it would have put a burden on them and, most likely, the humans would have simply burned that one to the ground eventually as well.

“I’ve not had a bad life, though!” Lyriel perked up, trying to be enthusiastic and stem the flow of tears building up in Emma’s eyes. “I’ve learned quite a bit and seen more than I ever would have otherwise. It’s like I said, our path is linear, so we have to make the best of it. I’m sure you will make the most of yours as well!”

“I…I suppose…” Emma trailed off absently. Lyriel sighed, her pep talk plainly not having the desired effect.

“So, which family are you marrying in to?” Lyriel asked after a moment.

“Huh?” Emma cocked her head to the side quizzically.

“You said yourself you were on the streets a few days ago, so you must be marrying into a noble family, then. The Stewarts?”

“I’m n- “Emma began.

“Montcroix? Langston? Oh, please say it’s not the Exeters. Poor Lady Exeter’s been trying to find any taker for her son Ellis or daughter Bernice for years. There’s…something not right with those kids,” Lyriel shook her head sadly.

“I’m not marrying into anything!” Emma insisted.

“It’s obviously not my business as I am simply your maid, but perhaps it might help me better help you if I knew why you were here?”

“Evidently, I’m the ‘Soul Render’,” Emma sighed. “They brought me here to…I guess keep me safe. At least that’s what they say.” Lyriel stared at the girl across the small round table from her in a mix of fear, disbelief, horror, awe, and excitement. All of the conflicting emotions caused her throat to suddenly dry up and her voice to fade into a series of impotent gasps and whimpers.

“You’re…serious?” Lyriel finally squeaked.

“Mmm,” Emma nodded, finishing with a shrug. “Evidently.” There was a sudden knocking at the large chamber door.

Only Lyriel’s years of training enabled her to walk woodenly to the door to open it. Her mind was awash with questions to which she had no answers. Could it be true? If it was true, how was it possible? If she was the Soul Render, shouldn’t she look more ominous? Had she, honestly, told the Soul Render to not lick the frosting off a carrot cake? And, perhaps more important of all; what had she gotten herself into by volunteering to serve as the personal maid of one of the most feared and revered beings to be born since the dawn of the human race?

“My name is Barrister, dear elf!” The big man at the door bowed slightly, still towering over Lyriel. “Cuir dua leth ein’neir nu taesha?”

“Apologies, sir,” Lyriel replied absently, her mind nowhere near whatever the man was saying. “I don’t speak whatever language that was.”

“I-I think it was Elvish,” Barrister stammered, slightly taken aback.

“Ah,” Lyriel nodded, not sure who he was trying to fool, her or himself because while the words were Elvish there was no rhyme or reason behind them. Asking her why a tortoise was licking milk hardly counted as speaking Elvish in her book. “As you will. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I might have a word with our dear Emma for a moment,” Barrister recovered quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly for Lyriel’s liking, if she was honest. This man was definitely smooth as fine cream, which immediately made her suspicious. Cream, in her experience, spoiled far too fast.

“I’m- “Lyriel began before the big man caught sight of Emma near the window and stepped past the elf and into the chamber with a dexterity that belied his size.

“Miss Emma!” Barrister greeted her. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me around the manor for a tour?” Yes, Lyriel decided with a scowl, very smooth indeed.