by Kate L. Mary
“I started the wash,” I told the head housemaid, Siri, when I stopped in front of her.
“Good.” The older woman made a face when she hefted a pot up off the counter and passed it to me.
Nearing her fiftieth year, she was the oldest Outlier working in the house. She had taken the position when my mother retired three years earlier, and I knew that Siri was not far from retirement herself. The work was taking a toll on her and I could see it in the lines of her face, interwoven with her many passage markings, and the gray streaked through her dark hair. She had put in good time, but I knew that before long she would be forced to pass the position to her own daughter.
I carried the pot over to the sink where Mira was already busy washing one and set it on the counter. “I have another one for you.”
She looked my way for only a second before her gaze moved to Isa. “You need to let her make her own mistakes.”
I exhaled and took the clean pot to dry while Mira dipped the dirty one into the soapy water.
“How can I do that? If I see her making a mistake, I will do what I can to correct her. To save her from some of the pain of life.”
“At your own peril?” Mira kept her eyes on the pot when she said it.
I shrugged, but said nothing in response.
We washed and dried in silence for a moment, Mira focusing on getting every spot off the pot and me staring at the water as I dried. The steam rising off of it never failed to amaze me.
“Indra.”
My back stiffened at the sound of Saffron’s voice, and next to me Mira froze, allowing the pot to slip from her hands and sink into the soapy water. I refused to look my friend’s way when I set the pot in my own hands down, or when I turned to face the mistress.
Saffron was standing just inside the door to the kitchen, the frown on her face pulling her waxy skin tight until it appeared as if the tendons in her neck would break through.
“Mistress.” I curtsied, ducking my head down in the process.
“My office. Now.”
Saffron spun on her heel and her skirts swished around her as she headed back through the door. I followed obediently, feeling Mira and Isa’s gazes on my back as I went. The punishment would not be fun, but it would be worth it knowing that Isa had listened to me.
Saffron had already taken her place behind the ancient mahogany desk by the time I reached her office. I only knew the thing was mahogany because she emphasized it so often. As if any of us knew what mahogany even was, or the difference between how it and oak needed to be cleaned. Not that we dared show our ignorance to the mistress of the house. In situations like these, it was best to keep your mouth shut and nod.
The desk shone under the electric lights, just like the wood floors beneath my feet did. The house was hundreds of years old but wore its age with dignity, as did the furniture and pictures and other random décor, all things that I had never seen before coming to work here. Mirrors imprisoned by intricate frames, pictures that displayed bodies of water that seemed to go on forever, and lights that turned on with the flick of a switch. Everything inside the city was foreign to an Outlier like myself, from the electricity that ran through the city to the clothes the Sovereign wore.
“You were talking during dinner,” Saffron said before I had even had a chance to shut the door.
I turned to face her, my head down and my hands clasped in front of me: a perfect picture of submission. “Yes, Mistress.”
“I haven’t had to chastise you since the first few weeks of your service. That was, what, three years ago?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I repeated.
“I expect more from you, Indra. Your mother was head housemaid, and I expected that you would take the position when Siri retires. Have I not treated you well? Have I not put all of my trust in you by allowing you to pick a Hand for Lysander?”
I dug my nails into my palms as I often did when faced with a ridiculous question. As if anyone in the city had ever attempted to treat the Outliers fairly.
“You have done well by me, Mistress,” I lied, the words coming out smoothly despite how difficult I found it to push them past my lips.
“Then what, may I ask, was so important that you felt the need to talk during my dinner?”
“Isa,” I explained, my eyes still on the ground, “the new girl who took Emori’s place.”
I ventured a look up at the mention of the maid who had left, curious if Saffron had any clue that the baby growing in her stomach was of her blood. Her grandchild. Wondering if the woman in front of me knew or cared what her son was really like. There was no acknowledgement on the Mistress’s face though, and the cold eyes fixed on me were as emotionless as ever.
“Isa needed some more direction and I felt that it could not wait,” I continued. “She is young and naïve, and I wanted to be sure she understood the rules so she would not get in trouble.” I shook my head slightly when the words came out, then corrected myself by saying, “So she would not break your trust.”
Saffron may have been a cold woman, but she was a woman of her word, something she prided herself in. We were all told the same thing upon arriving in her house: if we kept her trust, we would be treated fairly. She was true to that promise. As much as a Sovereign could be, anyway. It made her better to work for than many of the other people living inside these walls, a fact I knew well since I had been loaned out to other houses on multiple occasions to help with celebrations. Saffron had little concern for the people working in her house, but she did care about appearances.
“I know you feel protective of your people and that’s an honorable thing, but you must know that by talking during my dinner, you have betrayed my trust. You don’t speak unless spoken to, especially when we have company in the house.” Saffron let out a long sigh that could have come across as regret were it not for the lack of feeling in her eyes. “You know you’ll need to be punished.”
“I do, Mistress,” I replied.
“It will be as much of an example to Isa as the guidance you gave her earlier was.” Saffron’s chair scraped against the floor when she stood, and despite my best efforts, my body jerked in response. “Kneel.”
I did as I was told, keeping my head down as I sank to my knees in the middle of the office. The wood floor was hard and cold against my knees, even through the thick skirt of my uniform.
“Arms out in front of you,” Saffron said as she moved closer, her skirts swishing around her with every step.
I did as I was told, putting my arms out in front of me, palms up, but I kept my eyes down.
“Five.”
I closed my eyes even though I knew I would not be able to keep them that way.
“Eyes open, Indra. Head up.”
I lifted my chin and forced my lids open. Saffron was right in front of me now, so close that the folds of her skirt almost touched my fingertips. The tendrils of the small whip she used for punishment dangled between us, and the scent of leather tickled my nostrils. The smell was different than the hide we used in our village, and would forever be associated with this woman and this room, with pain and humiliation. The smallest whiff of it made my skin sting, just as it was now.
“Count,” Saffron commanded as she raised the whip.
It came down before I had a chance to respond, and the strips stung against my palms, forcing a gasp out of me.
I had to swallow before I could whisper, “One.”
The second lash brought tears to my eyes and welts to the palms of my ivory skin. The number “two” came out of my mouth automatically, and the third blow came only a beat later. I gasped out the next number, my voice shaking as much as my arms were. My palms were crisscrossed with red welts, the skin not broken but swollen where the leather had struck me. I cried out with the next strike, the number “four” being forced past my lips with the yelp, and then Saffron brought the whip down for the fifth and final time.
“Five!” It felt as if the glass in the windowpanes shook with the force
of my scream, and my cheeks were streaked with tears. Underneath me, my legs wobbled, but somehow I managed to stay on my knees.
I kept my arms out in front of me, knowing that Saffron would want to inspect the welts lining my hands. She would do it under the pretense that she wanted to be certain no medical attention was needed, but I had long suspected that she secretly enjoyed seeing the pain she inflicted on others. Even though she did not beat her servants the way some of the other Sovereign did, I believed there was a part of her that craved the dishing out of pain. I even wondered if she used that whip on Bastian when they were alone in their room at night. It seemed like something she would do.
Saffron bent down so she could get a closer look at my palms. “No skin was broken. You should be fine to return to work.”
I kept my arms up when I nodded.
Saffron stared at my hands for a few beats longer, and I ventured a glance up. Her icy gaze was focused on my palms, but for once her eyes were not devoid of emotion. Excitement flickered in them.
I averted my gaze before she noticed me staring, but I knew the expression would stay with me until the day I died.
Saffron turned away and I was finally allowed to lower my arms. I rested them on my knees, palms up. They throbbed, pulsing like every welt had a heartbeat of its own. I wanted to curl my fingers into fists and beat them against the back of Saffron’s head, but I could do neither. My palms hurt too much to even consider making a fist, and if I struck a Sovereign I would be put to death. If something happened to me, Anja would have to take my place in Sovereign City and no one would be around to take care of our mother. She was too sick to spend her days alone anymore.
Saffron didn’t even glance my way when she said, “You may go.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” I said.
Getting to my feet without using my hands was difficult, but I managed. I had been in this position before, although it had been nearly three years since my last punishment. Saffron had been right about that, which to me was another sign of how much she savored these moments. Outliers kneeling on the floor of her office, bending to her will more than ever before. It was the only way to explain how she remembered exactly when my last punishment had been. With all the people in her employment and all the punishments she dished out—several a week—it seemed unlikely that she would remember who had been punished and when. Especially when so much time had passed.
Mira rushed to my side the second I set foot in the kitchen. “How many?” Her heart shaped face contorted into an ugly version of itself and her forehead wrinkled, pulling her passage markings together until they formed one continuous line above each eyebrow instead of four dashes.
“Five,” I said, allowing my friend to take my hands in hers.
Her palms, like mine, were decorated with callouses, and her knuckles and joints were dry and cracked from washing too many dishes. It was soothing though, having hands that were so familiar on mine. Mira and I had been through a lot together over the years, and she had come to work at Saffron’s house only a couple months after I did. Unlike me, however, Mira had earned more than her fair share of punishments. So many, in fact, that if I looked hard enough I could detect the faint lines of the last lashes still decorating the pale skin of her palms.
“Five?” My friend shook her head in disbelief.
“You know that is the minimum.”
“I thought she might be merciful with you,” Mira murmured. “You are her favorite.”
“Favorite?”
She kept her gaze on my palms. Our skin was the same shade, pale but freckled from years of being exposed to the harsh sun. Once summer returned, though, that would change. Mine would tan to a nice golden color while hers would refuse to comply. It had two shades, ivory and pink, and Mira always said she spent the entire summer fighting a battle with the sun, knowing that she would lose no matter what she did.
“You must know that Saffron likes you the best,” she said, finally pulling her gaze away from the welts. Her eyes met mine; they were as pale blue as the sky on a clear day, and as pretty as the rest of her was.
“Saffron does not like anyone.”
“You are too modest, Indra.” Mira released my hands. “We should put ice on these.”
“You know we cannot. The freezer is off limits to us.” My gaze moved to the small window above the sink. I could see a sliver of sky from where I stood, and it seemed to me that the gray clouds were thicker now than they had been this morning. “Maybe it will snow.”
“If we are lucky,” Mira replied, and when I looked back, her head was bent.
We both knew that snow would not be a lucky thing for anyone in the village but us.
“I will be fine,” I assured her. “But if Saffron catches us standing around instead of working, I will not and neither will you. We need to get back to work.”
Mira nodded her assent, and together we retreated to the sink where the dirty dishes sat waiting.
3
The throb in my hands was incessant by the time Mira and I left Saffron’s house to head home, but I tried my best to hide it from my friend. She knew I was only putting on a brave face—she had been here more often and more recently than I had—but she too pretended that the welts lining my palms were nothing.
Outside, the air had a chilly bite to it despite the sun shining down on Sovereign City, telling me it would be nearly impossible to stay warm tonight. Anja, our mother, and I would be forced to huddle together in one bed if we wanted to get any sleep at all, not that I expected to unless the throb in my hands lessened.
Mira wrapped her arms around herself as we walked. “It is going to snow in the wilds.”
“It is,” I replied.
The skirts of our uniform dresses had been pulled up around our knees and pinned so they would not drag on the ground as we walked, and every time a chilly gust of wind made it into the city, bumps popped up on my legs, making me wish I could leave the skirt down. It was impossible, though. We did not have the resources in our village to wash the dresses, and since Saffron only had it done for us once a week, we did everything in our power to make sure the uniforms stayed clean in between. It was a difficult task, especially once snow fell on the wilds.
“Who are you going to pick to fill the spot?” Mira asked only a short time after we had left the house.
It was a question I had been expecting, and one I knew Mira hated to ask almost as much as I hated to give her my answer.
When Saffron first offered to let me choose someone to work in her house, it had felt like she was handing me a key that would open the gates of prosperity to a family in our village. But as the day wore on, the weight of the decision had begun to settle over me. The responsibility was much bigger than I had first realized. Yes, I was going to be able to give one family a life altering opportunity, but only one. It was not enough, not by far, and I knew that no matter who I chose, someone was going to hate me for the decision.
“You know I cannot pick Kye.” I glanced my friend’s way out of the corner of my eye, unable to meet her gaze as I waited for her response.
Mira nodded as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Her cheeks were pink from the cool air, as was the tip of her nose, and the added color made her look twice as pretty as usual.
“I know.”
I stopped and turned to face Mira, forcing her to do the same. All around us people passed, most of them Fortis and other Outliers, but a few Sovereign as well. They were bundled under robes that had thick hoods to protect their skin from the sun, but I was still able to catch the looks they shot us as they walked by. Looks that said we needed to keep moving. I knew they were right, but I wanted to say this one thing while I had the courage. I wanted to make sure Mira understood.
“I wish I could, I really do,” I said, looking up at my friend. Like everyone else I knew, she was taller than me. “But you already have a job in the city, and it would be unfair. This would open the gates for a whole family for generations to com
e, and I feel like I have to pick someone else.”
“Indra—” Mira put her hand on my arm, and even through the stiff fabric of my uniform I could feel the chill from her skin. “I know. I understand and so will Kye. I am not going to lie; I wish you could choose him. I wish he could have a job inside the walls too, but I know it would be unfair.”
I let out a deep breath and the tension that had begun to gather between my shoulder blades throughout the day eased. It was only a little, but it was still a relief. “Thank you.”
Mira smiled. “You are too kind, Indra.”
She had just nodded to the road in front of us when a Sovereign woman paused at our side. She was short, like me, and the robe she wore seemed to swallow her whole. Through the shadows the hood cast over her face, the woman’s eyes seemed to crackle with fire when she looked Mira and me over.
“Move on,” the woman snapped.
The Fortis guard who accompanied her everywhere she went stood at her back, large and imposing even among the swell of the crowd, but even more imposing was the electroprod clutched in the woman’s hand. She pushed a button and the end of it buzzed to life as it glowed blue, growing brighter with each passing second, and at the sound even the Fortis man took a step away from her. The electroprod only needed to be on for a moment for it to work, but the longer it was on, the more intense the shock would be if the woman chose to use it. I had never experienced the pain of the shock personally, but I had seen men who were built as solidly as the walls surrounding this city fall to the ground from only a touch of the electroprod. That was all the motivation I needed.
I nodded once, careful to avoid the Sovereign woman’s gaze. “Yes. Sorry.”