A Fistful of Water: Chronicles of Marsdenfel #3

Year 533, New Calendar - II - part 1

THE KINGDOM OF SALLES
Winter, approaching Solstice

“Geddis Feyim!” Head Matron Morgana nearly shrieks from the next room. “What is this—this…” She starts sputtering, her sensibilities so offended that she loses her ability to speak coherently.

Efficient tactics, like bringing two buckets of wash water up at once and only dumping them once you’re done with both, tend to have that effect on her.

I take a deep breath to brace myself before I haul myself to my feet. My back aches, my hands burn, and I need some feverfew or vervain before this headache develops into a migraine, but at least this guest room’s floor has been scrubbed properly. Rees left some mess on it that I didn’t care to investigate too closely.

Morgana recovers herself enough to come find me before I can go to her. “Of all the irresponsible—”

“Rees was assigned to this room, not me,” I interrupt, though it’ll set her off about how disrespectful I am. I don’t even care, anymore. I’m so tired of covering for the lazy servants so my uncle doesn’t lose face, tired of being held responsible when they screw up…

Tired.

I hoist the bucket of wash water. “Excuse me.”

Morgana stays blocking the door.

Yet again, I wonder how this woman keeps her job. She’s incompetent as she is boorish. “Excuse me,” I repeat, in case she didn’t hear me. “I’d like to get through and break my fast sometime before noon.”

Esseressa Calendula was supposed to serve breakfast to my wing, this morning, but she took advantage of her status as a noble’s daughter to ‘forget’. Uncle Aldrik won’t abide it—he sentenced her to a week of serving us breakfast because he caught her kicking a servant. Calendula’s snub will only increase her punishment and the fine her father has to pay. Nonetheless, I didn’t get breakfast, and thanks to the giant in my heritage, if I tried getting some from the kitchens, I would’ve had to abide a bunch of snide comments about the size of my stomach, since I was supposed to have already had it.

Morgana waggles a forefinger in my face. I don’t bother listening to what she’s saying. It’ll be the usual nonsense about how I need to respect my elders, my betters, my uncle—because disrespecting her obviously disrespects my uncle, who lets her be head matron over the maids—and I sigh heavily. I still have to fetch Lallie’s things from her old room, before she and her husband get here.

I’m not sure why, but Uncle Aldrik’s hosting quite the party. I’ve caught more than one noble griping about the guest list, and more than one servant primping and chattering about how surely she will catch the king’s eye and get on the list, with all the lowlifes he’s inviting.

Even my aunt is coming, and she’s just the clothier for the royal family.

I got an invitation too, but that won’t do me much good if I can’t get my work done, first. At least my aunt made me a dress, so I don’t have to worry about that. Though I’m sure I’ll end up humiliating myself, as I did the last time anybody bothered to invite me to a royal function. Evonalé knows more about proper decorum than I do. “Please get out of my way.”

Morgana gawks at me.

I sigh again, too tired to explain. I push her out of my way—not roughly, but firmly.

She slaps me.

“What in the rain?!” Startled, I lose my grip on the bucket. Filthy water splashes me, her, the nearby table, the queen consort’s gauzy clothes—