Chapter Text
Rashta does not know what her purpose is in this little court her majesty has made in Master Lotteshu’s solar, but she is content to watch as her majesty and her ladies go about rearranging the Rimwells’ estate.
Master Lotteshu and Master Alan were led away a while ago, escorted by six soldiers to some jail or another to spend the rest of their lives. Master Lebetti stayed. Her Majesty told her of the plan to free all of the slaves and receive the money the crown would give her in doing so. Her Majesty then explained that while most of that sum would cover the money owed to Rashta and many others hurt by Master Lotteshu’s crimes, Master Lebetti would still have to pay back all the money owed to the crown. And from there, her majesty and the others search the mountains of papers to figure out exactly how much Master Lebetti would have to pay.
Rashta just sits and watches, watching her son sleep in her lap and never letting him go for a moment. Rashta is worried that she is simply dreaming. That at any moment, she’ll wake in that filthy sty Master Alan kept her in throughout her pregnancy, freedom and child yanked away.
Or maybe Rashta’s not dreaming at all. Maybe she died in that forest, and everything since has been the heaven the gods have given her out of pity.
Rashta isn’t sure.
But she hopes it's reality or heaven, for those are never-ending. It’s the dream possibility that scares Rashta to death. Because wonderful dreams (her dream of Master Alan loving her enough to free her, her dream of her child being free, her dream of marrying Master Alan and becoming the lady of the estate, her dream of all the Rimwells dying and leaving her a chance to slip away from their grasp, her dream of living to an old enough age to be free in her own right) always end. They all end with Rashta bolting awake and mourning the little pocket heavens that could have been.
But Rashta hasn’t woken yet, so Rashta is hoping that that is a good sign. Maybe this time, Rashta won’t wake up.
“Miss Rashta,” came a voice from behind her, and Rashta nearly jumped at the sudden noise, “You seem a bit nervous. Would you perhaps like to take a walk with me around the grounds and enjoy the night air?”
“Rashta is fine, Sir Artina,” Rashta said, flashing the smile she knows could get her almost anything from Master Alan, “There is no need for you to worry about Rashta.”
“In truth, Miss Rashta,” the knight bowed her head and whispered, “I am becoming a bit fidgety and I know some fresh air would do me some good. But I am unfamiliar with the estate. So if you could show me out to the grounds and walk with me so I do not lose my way, I would be very grateful.”
Rashta smiled again and allowed Sir Artina whatever little victory she thought she won by making Rashta step away from the solar. “In that case, Sir Artina, Rashta will be happy to show you the grounds.”
The knight offered Rashta her arm, and Rashta shifted her son out of her lap and onto a plush cushion on the sofa. After ensuring that he was situated safely, she took Sir Artina’s offered hand and rose from her seat with a bit of difficulty. Rashta then ushered Sir Artina out of the solar, down the hall, and to the grand staircase that usually took half a dozen slaves hours to scrub.
Descending the stairs was an ordeal, for lack of better words. Rashta’s ankle made anything more complex than limping a great task, and she had to lean heavily on the railing to move.
“I apologize, Miss Rashta,” said Sir Artina, catching Rashta’s free hand and helping her find her balance after she almost tripped on the fifth step down, “I didn’t even think of your injuries. Let us return to the solar and we can forget about this.”
“No,” said Rashta, “Sir Artina wanted to get some fresh air, so some fresh air we shall get.”
“Please, do not aggravate your injuries for my sake.”
“It is no trouble, Sir Artina. Rashta has had worse.”
Sir Artina’s brow furrowed at the words and her mouth grew pinched. “Just because you have had to push through more distressing injuries in the past does not mean you should continue to aggravate your current pains now. If anything, it means you should be even kinder to yourself and allow yourself the rest your body needs.”
“But Sir Artina,” Rashta said with a smile, taking the last step and catching herself on the banister of the stairs, “We are already at the bottom of the stairs, and it would just hurt Rashta even more if she were to walk up them now.”
Sir Artina eyed the stairs before sighing and offering her arm to Rashta again. “Be that as it may, if a suggestion of mine inconveniences you in the future, I encourage you to refuse me. No idle fancy of mine would ever be worth your discomfort.”
“Rashta does not think she has or knows the words to refuse you, or anyone else like you, Sir Artina.”
“Why, the words for such a refusal are very simple. ‘No,’ should be sufficient enough. And if it isn’t, then a ‘leave me be,’ ‘stop bothering me,’ or if the occasion calls for it, a nice, sharp ‘fuck off’ should get the meaning across rather plainly.”
Rashta smiled at the knight’s words. They were kind words, and not at all pretty; Rashta thinks she likes them all the more for it. Master Alan had liked to shower her with pretty words, and Rashta has found that such things are rather useless.
They stepped out of the hall and onto the gravel path leading out to the grounds. Rashta guided Sir Artina towards a garden on the far left side of the estate hidden behind rows and rows of hedges.
“Your son is very beautiful, Miss Rashta,” Sir Artina said, trying to make conversation “He looks much like you.”
“Many thanks.” Rashta contemplated the knight’s blank face and thought silently of what she could possibly want from Rashta.
“What is his name, if you don’t mind me asking.”
That made Rashta pause. “Rashta doesn’t know yet. Rashta has not yet felt his name in her heart.”
“Felt his name?”
All at once Rashta realized that she had shared too much. Spoken unspeakable things to one who does not understand them. Now, she could either steer her words away from the idea of Naming and its importance, or she could explain to Sir Artina and hope that she would not look down on Rashta for keeping a slave custom.
Rashta slowed her step and sat down on a stone bench in the garden. Rashta looked away from Sir Artina and towards the estate. Rashta could see the glow of light coming from the master’s solar, and her majesty sitting with her back to the open window. Up, high in a tree, sat a blue bird roosting amongst the turning fall leaves.
“Forget my question, Miss Rashta, and forgive me if I have offended you--”
“The only thing a slave owns is their name.”
Sir Artina froze in her bow. “What?”
“Rashta’s mother used to tell Rashta that a slave owns nothing but their name, so Rashta must name Rashta’s children very carefully. Rashta must wait until Rashta hears her heart speak their name, and then Rashta must name them for all the Gods and the world to see. A master can take many things from a slave: their husband, their wife, their parents, their siblings, their children, their home, their food, their clothes, their life, their dignity. Their virginity. But they can never take their name. And so a slave’s child may not be named until the mother’s heart speaks it. Some mothers hear their child’s name while they are still in the womb. Others do not hear it until they are holding them in their arms. Others still do not hear it until almost a year after their child was born. It comes in time. And when Rashta finally hears her heart speak her son’s name, then Rashta will name her son.”
“Is that why you talk so? I have never heard any other speak of themselves as you have, Miss Rashta.” Sir Artina sat beside Rashta and looked on in curiosity.
“It is… hard, sometimes, Sir Artina, to remember that Rashta is still a person even though she is a slave. Master Lotteshu never calls Rashta by name, only ‘girl’ or ‘slave’ or ‘you’. Master Alan didn’t either, and only called Rashta things like ‘sweetling’ and ‘my love.’ If he is mad, he calls Rashta ‘slut’ and ‘woman.’ Master Lebetti doesn’t talk to Rashta at all, and only speaks to order Rashta to do things. So if Rashta doesn’t want to forget the only thing that is hers, Rashta must speak her name herself, for no one else will.”
“What of the other servants and slaves? Do you not have friends on the estate to turn to?”
At that, Rashta could not help herself and burst out laughing. “Friends? The others call Rashta ‘Master Alan’s Whore.’ The overreaching slut that would spread her legs for special treatment and who would run to the master the moment something does not go her way. No, Sir Artina, Rashta has no friends here.”
“What about your parents? You spoke of your mother and father before--”
“Rashta’s mother is long dead from winter sickness, and Rashta’s father was sold many years ago. Rashta is alone in the world, save for Rashta’s son. And Rashta is ever grateful to have him returned to her.”
Something flashed across Sir Artina’s eyes. “Your father-- he was sold?”
“Yes. It is a common thing amongst slaves.”
“No, I mean yes, that may be true but-- Miss Rashta. Your father, the man who was tricked by the Rimwells into thinking he was still a slave despite having earned his freedom years ago, was sold to another party?”
“Yes?” Rashta asked, smile freezing harshly on her face.
“Miss Rashta, you are free. Your son is free. Your father is free.”
“Rashta’s father is free,” Rashta whispered.
“Rashta’s father is free. And he’s still out there, unlawfully living as a slave.” Sir Artina offered her arm again and rose from the bench. “We must tell her majesty.”
“Yes, we must.” Rashta was barely aware of her movements as Sir Artina escorted Rashta away.
Rashta’s father is free. Rashta’s father is free. Rashta’s father--
“Rashta’s father is free,” Rashta shouted, throwing open the door of the solar. She blinked at the height, feeling as if she was suddenly taller, and then looked down, just now realizing that Sir Artina had at one point swept Rashta into her arms, and carried Rashta to the solar. The lady knight delicately returned Rashta to the ground, mindful of her injured ankle, and Rashta repeated her words. "Rashta's father is free."
The empress and her ladies startled, but quickly nodded at Rashta.
“According to the contract, yes,” her majesty said, looking up from her place at the desk, “Is he still working somewhere on the estate, or would he be in your quarters by now? Regardless, we can send someone to fetch him, and you may tell him the good news.”
“Your Majesty--” Sir Artina began, but Rashta cut her off.
“Rashta’s father is free,” she said, stepping fully into the room, “But Rashta’s father was sold years ago.”
The empress’s face went pale and the papers fluttered out of her hands and onto the floor. Her Majesty opened and closed her mouth, trying to find the will to speak, before throwing herself at the documents and intently searching them.
“Sales records, sales records, sales records. Where are the damned sales records?”
“I’ve got the records of slaves bought within the past ten years, but no record of slaves sold,” said the younger red-haired lady, who had hastily begun searching through her stack of papers as well.
“Were sales records even requested when we asked the relevant papers to be brought up?” the older lady asked Master Lebetti.
“Ugh, uhm, I-- I don’t--” Master Lebetti stuttered.
“Well go get them,” her majesty bellowed, “Now!”
Master Lebetti squeaked and fled the solar, one of the soldiers quickly rushing in pursuit. Her majesty reached towards the floor and grabbed the papers she had dropped, scanning them with her eyes and willing the relevant information to manifest itself. Then, suddenly, the empress turned towards Rashta and beckoned her closer.
“Miss Rashta, can you remember much of the visitors that bought your father’s slave contract?”
“Rashta can’t tell her majesty any names, but Rashta remembers the foreman that dragged Rashta’s father away. He wasn’t much taller than Rashta is now, but he was very large in the shoulders. And Rashta remembers him smelling of too much lavender oil. At first, Rashta thought that whoever did the man’s laundry used too much soap, but then Rashta realized that the foreman was covering up the stench of the slave ship the foreman ran.”
“And the foreman. Did he wear any particular symbol or sigil to distinguish himself?”
Rashta shook her head. “No. But there was something strange drawn on the sails of the slave ship. Rashta remembers being frightened of it.”
“Can you draw it?” The empress gave Rashta a quill and slid a blank piece of paper.
“Rashta can try.”
Rashta bent down and drew the ship as she remembered it: big, terrifying, and the doom of many slaves forced onto its deck. Rashta thought back to the menacing sails and the beast sewn onto them. Sure to count with her fingers, Rashta drew one, two, five, nine heads on a dragon-like body, and then slid the drawing across the desk to her majesty.
The empress took in a deep breath in shock, and then said, “The Hydarrions?”
“Why would a marquess family on the far coast of the empire look to a viscount family near the capitol to do business with?” the elder lady asked.
“Did the Rimwells swindle the Hydarrions out of legitimate workers?” the younger asked.
“The real question is did they know? How far does the corruption run? How many noble families are exploiting the slave trade to force free citizens to serve a criminal sentence?” Sir Artina glanced around at the others meaningfully.
Rashta was sure that if she were to drop the feathered quill onto the soft carpet below, Rashta would still hear the echoes as it hit the ground. The silence was frightening, and her majesty’s face reminded Rashta of the tales some of the recently bought slaves told of the sea. Fierce. Vicious. A slow receding before it released its fury and drowned full galleys in a single blow.
“Sir Artina,” her majesty said, and Rashta could feel the winter frost in her voice, “Dismiss your guards and lock the doors. Instruct your men that if they hear a word of the coming conversation, I will personally see them transferred under my brother’s command on the borderlands.”
The lady knight commanded the other guards out of the room and instructed them to stand at attention five paces away from the doors. They were to inform everyone that not a soul was to enter the solar until her majesty unlocked the doors. And with that, every door to the solar was closed tight and locked, leaving Rashta alone in the solar with the empress, her knight, her ladies, and Rashta’s son.
“Miss Rashta,” her majesty began once Sir Artina double-checked the locks on the doors, “Have you spoken to any others of this discovery? Your father, his sale, the slave ship, the foreman, the symbol, anything?”
“No,” began Rashta, quickly growing fearful, “And Rashta swears she wouldn’t. Rashta will be a good girl and not say anything just please, your majesty, don’t hurt Rashta’s son or--”
“Stop.” The empress raised her hand and Rashta bit her tongue to ensure no words sneaked past her lips. “I seem to have frightened you greatly, and for that, I once more apologize. Let me make it very clear. I am not mad at you, Miss Rashta. Not in the slightest. I will not take out any of my anger on you, or your son. I will not inform or order others to harm you or your son. I will not withhold anything rightfully yours to keep your silence. And I especially will not force you or your son back into slavery. Do you understand?”
Rashta nodded, and the empress nodded back. “Good. Miss Rashta, there is no easy way to say this, and so I will not stall or spare your feelings. You have just opened our eyes to a most dangerous plot, and as of right now, I am unsure of whom I can trust outside the walls of this room. Countless noble families could potentially be involved in this horrible practice of illegal slavery. And every last one of them will have no qualms about killing you and your child to protect their secrets and their trade. And so I must ask again, for your safety and that of your son, did you ever tell anyone any of this information?”
Rashta swallowed. “No, your majesty. While many will know about the sale of Rashta’s father, none will know about Rashta’s father being free. That fact Rashta herself did not learn until tonight. Rashta has never told any of the other information, but if someone else saw the foreman and the sails, they too could have pieced it together.”
“But if that’s the case, then it can’t be traced back to you. Good.” Her majesty let out a sigh of relief and brought a hand to her chin to deeply think. “With any luck, it will only be the Rimwells who have partaken in this horrendous deed, but I doubt that they could have swindled the other noble houses so completely. No, others must be aware. That means that any who own slaves are currently suspect.”
“Well that doesn’t narrow anything down,” the lady in green snarked, “That’s practically all of the nobility! Hells, that means my parents and my siblings could be involved!”
“As could my husband,” the lady in blue whimpered, “But… but Harmand wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Could he?”
“Despair about that later. Your Majesty, who can we trust? We’ll need allies if there’s any hope to combat this.”
“Lady Laura, Countess Eliza, and my other ladies-in-waiting do not own slaves, as it is not permitted while they are under my service. You, Sir Artina, own no slaves either, as you were not born into nobility and therefore cannot own any by law. My parents do not own slaves, as they have always believed that forcing their tenants to turn to crime to sustain themselves is the hallmark of horrible leaders. They have installed public services on the Trovi duchy to assist their people and ensure that they would have no reason to commit a slavery-worthy offense. My brother, as he is in the military and on the frontlines, has no household and owns no slaves as well. And while I am sure that there are hundreds of other innocent nobles in similar situations, those are the only people I know for sure aren’t involved.”
“That’s not a lot of people, your majesty,” Rashta said a bit hopelessly.
“No, it’s not. And that’s a problem.” The empress rose from her seat and began to pace. “Miss Rashta, your safety and that of your son’s is our greatest priority. Not only are you the proof we need to force the Rimwells’ hand, but you are also the tie between the Rimwells and the Hydarrions. If you were to suddenly die or disappear, who knows how many innocent citizens will continue to live in agony.”
“But you said that the evil nobles would kill Rashta or her son!”
“And they would. Which is why we need to sit down and determine where you will stay for the time being until we can uncover the plot and ensure your safety.”
“None of the ladies will be able to take her,” the lady in green said, “Once more, your majesty, even if we are above suspicion, our families are not. And as much as I hate to cast doubt on my own blood, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
The lady in blue nodded along. “Aye. We cannot risk it. Not when so much is at stake.”
“Miss Rashta cannot stay with me in the barracks, either,” said Sir Artina, “There would be no room for her, and the others would question her presence.”
“That leaves Kosair and my parents, then,” said her Majesty thoughtfully, “Kosair’s still on patrol, and calling him back to the capital now is only asking for rumors and unwanted attention. And my parents are similarly situated. If they suddenly take in a young mother and her child, undoubtedly there will be rumors about the child being Kosair’s. And just as many nobles would slaughter the son of Kosair Trovi, the demon heir of Trovi, as they would the son of Rashta, the lynchpin behind taking down the illegal slave trade. We could place her in a safe house, but that would be too easily found and destroyed.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“The only option we know for sure is safe right now… is me.” The empress bowed her head and took a deep breath. “We have no choice. Rashta and her son must return to the palace with us.”
“But your majesty!” Rashta protested, “Won’t that just put me in the thick of all the evil nobles who want me dead?”
“And so would any other choice we have available. This is a matter of corrupt nobility, and so the nobles will be involved no matter where we send you.”
“If her majesty takes Miss Rashta as a lady-in-waiting,” the girl in green began, “We can ensure that she and her son are with one of us at all times. That would deter others from sending assassins and kidnappers.”
“If we release a small enough amount of the truth-- Miss Rashta’s past as a slave, her escape and finding of her majesty, her expired contract --and the like, we can keep the rumor mill distracted long enough for us to investigate,” the woman in blue agreed.
“This is crazy! Rashta can’t be a lady-in-waiting to her majesty! Rashta doesn’t know the first thing about the royal court! Rashta doesn’t even know how to read!” Rashta protested, head going dizzy at all of the ladies’ rapid words.
“Evalie,” Sir Artina piped up, “We could claim that Miss Rashta is a trial run for Miss Evalie. After all, if an ex-slave can learn how to read, write, do household math, and negotiate, comport herself, and navigate society like a trueborn noblewoman, why can’t a young orphan girl learn magic from the Academy?”
“This is-- this is crazy. Insane. Rashta can’t-- she can’t--”
“She can. Miss Rashta, you have escaped slavery, earned your freedom, and uncovered a great conspiracy. Learning the life of court will be easy compared to that.” The empress took Rashta’s hands and squeezed them. “Miss Rashta, this is ultimately your choice. None of us will force you to come to court. If you want to live under the protection of my parents or my brother, you can. If you want a safe house somewhere in the city guarded by those Sir Artina trusts, we will give it to you. If you want to leave this place and forget ever meeting any of us, then you can go and never look back. We won’t stop you. But I believe that bringing you to court under my protection is the best option available to us. I implore you, think about your options, and make the decision that you believe is best.”
Rashta dropped her majesty’s hands and similarly began to pace the floors of the solar.
The whole idea was crazy. Rashta, her, a lady-in-waiting to the empress? Absurd.
And yet…
And yet what other choice did she have? Rashta’s son was in danger, and the nobles’ reach spread too far. If Rashta didn’t do all she could to protect herself, then she would be slaughtered.
And her son along with her.
“You will continue to work to find the other free slaves?” Rashta asked.
“It will be our utmost priority.”
“And you will make sure this never happens to anyone again?”
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if it did.”
“And you will punish those who have done this?”
“As greatly as the law allows.”
Rashta met her majesty’s determined eyes, and nodded. “Rashta doesn’t know how to read.”
“You’ve mentioned. It’s alright, we can help you learn.”
“Rashta doesn’t know a thing about the court.”
“We will try to keep you out of the public eye as much as possible. With any luck, none will know about you or the secrets you keep, and so will be blindsided when we reveal the results of the investigation. And if you do need to make an appearance for propriety's sake, we will help prepare you ahead of time.”
“Rashta will likely try to kill any guilty noble she sees.”
“It’s okay to be furious at the criminals who have wronged you. We shall assist you in avoiding them and encourage you to seek out merchants and other prominent members of society that are not of nobility. That way, we can ensure that you are safe from them and they do not egg you into attacking them.”
Rashta nodded. “Then I accept, your majesty.”
“Good.” The empress sat down again and wrote a quick missive on a piece of parchment. “Find a messenger bird and send this to Countess Joubert. It tells her to prepare an extra bath and a new room in the empress’s wing of the palace. She must ensure that the room has either an attached nursery or a crib for Miss Rashta’s child.”
“It will be done,” Sir Artina bowed, passing Rashta’s son back to her and finally opening up the solar once more.
“Miss Rashta?”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“What is your father’s name?”
“Jurian, your majesty. Jurian Ishka.”
“Then, Miss Rashta Ishka, we will make sure that of all the citizens we have to find, Mr. Jurian Ishka will be at the top of the list.”
Just then, Sir Artina returned with a crow from the rookery. Her majesty passed over the note, and the knight tied it to the crow’s leg. She leaned out the open window, and set the bird free.
And as Rashta watched the crow fly away, playfully chased by the previously roosting blue bird as it danced across the sky, she wondered if that is what it was like to be free.