The clang of a dropped pot resounded through the kitchen, making me jump and nearly drop the load of dirty dishes I was carrying. I grimaced as I tightened my grip on the tub, the metal handles digging into my fingers and palms painfully. It was bad enough that I had to clean disgusting dishes, but if I broke them, I would get a fierce scolding from the Kitchen Steward and likely even a punishment. The one time I’d been assigned lavatory duty had convinced me to never allow that to ever happen again.

While Shubert was typically fair, he was strict, and not breaking the royal frippery was inviolable, especially since this particular set had been a gift from a neighboring Pack several centuries ago.

I sighed in relief that I hadn’t dropped the precious cargo and adjusted my grip on the tub handles before heading toward the back door, quickening my steps as best I could under the heavy load and hoping I’d get out to the drudgery before the hullabaloo of Shubert yelling at whichever poor soul had dropped that pot began.

I didn’t make it in time.

Shubert came bustling out of the tiny nook that served as his office, his eyebrows drawn down in irritation, a red flush blooming on his wrinkled cheeks. He homed in on the slave who had dropped the pot, the evidence clearly splattered all over the floor and the slave’s apron. The bellowing began immediately, echoing throughout the hot and humid kitchen, drowning out all of the clanging and clinking of pottery, iron pots and utensils.

You wouldn’t think such a small, wizened old man could have such an enormously loud voice, but Shubert could outshout a thunderstorm. As he berated the slave, a brawny fellow by the name of Jerrek, Shubert wagged a finger in the taller man’s face. Jerrek towered over the Kitchen Steward and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds, but seemed to wilt before the old man.

Jerrek’s size was intimidating, especially to me since I hailed from a land where the people were much shorter than those of Zanska. But that didn’t seem to matter to Shubert. As the Kitchen Steward, though he too was Clanless like the rest of us who worked in the kitchen, Shubert had full authority over this domain and had done so for nearly thirty years. In here, he was as mighty as the king himself and he knew it.

He stood inches away from the stew-drenched slave, his head tilted far back so he could shout up into the bigger man’s face. “How many times must I tell you to be more careful, Jerrek? That is the fourth pot you’ve dropped this month alone. Do you know how much it costs to repair such a pot? Not to mention the cost of the meat! More than you’ll ever see in your lifetime, to be sure. And here you are, clumsy oaf, flinging them about like they aren’t nothin’ to you! Is it carelessness or are you just that plain dull-witted?”

A little snort came out of me before I could stop myself. Shubert wasn’t normally the type to get mean, so it was more of surprise than humor. But judging from the venomous look Jerrek shot my way with his small, muddy brown eyes, I knew he thought that I was laughing at him. Just what I needed - a new enemy who could probably snap me in two like a brittle, dried twig.

Being from a different country, I was already shunned by most of the other slaves for being a foreigner. Those few that didn’t shun me sometimes outright hated me for no other reason than that I was too different from them with my white hair and red eyes that couldn’t be any more different from the typical Zanskan’s dark features. We fear what we don’t know or understand.

I’d been taught that lesson six years ago almost immediately upon entering the palace as a slave. It had been a painful lesson, but I had learned to tolerate it since I didn’t really have any choice. I had no family here in this strange country, no allies aside from Emmi, my one and only friend. If I made a ruckus or caused the other slaves to get into trouble, that would only engender more ill will toward me. So, for the most part, I endured the gibes and pinches and cruel words and tried to stay out of everyone else’s way and kept myself to myself.

I was usually smarter than accidentally offending someone like Jerrek, but we all have our off days. So while a new bully was the last thing I needed, I would have to deal with that later. Right now, I had dishes to wash and failing in my duties would only get me on Shubert’s bad side, which was already in plain sight. I hurried on to the kitchen’s back door and out to the drudgery, kicking the door closed behind me, cutting off the cacophony of sound from the kitchen.

I took a moment to stand in the morning sunshine and inhaled deeply, taking in the various scents carried in on the breeze before setting the dish tub down next to the water pump. While the smells in the kitchen were invariably good, they could be overwhelming and stifling after a while. Out here, though the drudgery itself was naught but plain dirt with a few weeds and patches of scraggly grass and a slew of wash basins, it was at least away from the heat and smells and sounds of the kitchen.

I tilted my face up to the sky, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin and the fresh scent of the surrounding woods. There was also, as it happened occasionally when the wind blew just right, a hint of the ocean that was farther to the east.

My homeland had been in the mountains, far from any oceans, though I had read about them before becoming enslaved. But reading about something and knowing them weren’t necessarily the same thing.

Having heard other slaves talk of it was the only reason I knew what the briney scent was. They claimed it stretched as far as the eyes could see and held vast quantities of fish and other life, some larger than anything on land. I had trouble envisioning what such an immense body of water looked like, nor how anything could be larger than a bear.

Someday, I told myself, when I got away from this wretched place, I would go see if the marvelous stories were true.

In the meantime, daydreaming wasn’t getting me anywhere. There were breakfast dishes to wash, then lunch, then dinner, not to mention the reverencing teacups and teapots.

I started humming tunelessly to myself as I pumped water and began scrubbing dishes for all I was worth, the quiet of the drudgery only interrupted as various slaves came and went with their own tasks.

A short while later, after I’d already made several trips back and forth from the kitchen to put away the clean dishes and fetch more of the dirty ones, Shubert came out of the kitchen door and stood a few feet away from where I knelt over one of the dish tubs, up to my elbows in dirty water. I tossed the rag I had been scrubbing with into the tub and stood, bowing my head low and clasping my hands in front of my waist. Though he was also a slave, he was the Kitchen Steward and failure to show proper etiquette to him could earn me a punishment.

I felt a trickle of sweat run down my face as I waited for him to speak. Though it wasn’t really all that hot, summer not having fully arrived, I often sweated when working in the drudgery. Coming from a land where spring and summer combined were only a few months out of the year and where even the hottest summer day didn’t come close to being as warm as a Zanskan spring afternoon, I had never fully acclimated to the weather here and I often felt too warm when doing even the slightest physical labor.

Shubert bent and picked a blade of grass from the ground and began chewing it as he gazed off into the distance, his wispy white hair blowing around his head in the light breeze. I fought the urge to break the silence and ask him what he wanted, since that would also be seen as a breach of etiquette. A slave as low as myself should never speak until spoken to first, so I stifled the question and kept my head down, flicking my eyes toward Shubert now and again as I waited for him to speak, only risking it because he was facing away from me.

After several long moments, he took the grass out of his mouth, flicked it down to the ground and then clasped his hands behind his back. “Keep an eye out for that Jerrek fellow. He likely will take his ire at me out on you.”

Without lifting my head and keeping my eyes aimed to the ground, I could think of no other reply than, “Yes, Shubert.”

He had never before intervened between me and another slave, though there had often been disputes or disagreements between myself and others; some petty, some not so much. I found it odd that after more than six years, he would suddenly intercede on my behalf. Shubert had always been the type to let people deal with issues on their own so long as it didn’t interfere with running his kitchen.

As if sensing my confusion, Shubert explained, “He’s a nasty one. He was sent here after he raped and beat a lass in his village. Near killed her from what I hear. If it hadn’t been for the slave shortage, he would have been executed for his crimes.”

The news didn’t surprise me somehow. Jerrek had a violent air about him, like a volcano on the edge of eruption, which is why most everyone steered clear of him, myself included. Now I could see why Shubert had gone out of his way to warn me.

What was concerning however was that the powers that be would send such a person to work in the Silver Citadel. The majority of slaves, those that weren’t born into slavery, were mostly petty offenders; people who couldn’t pay their taxes, prostitutes, thieves or the like. I had never before heard of a would-be-murderer working in the palace and it was sure to cause problems, exactly like I was experiencing now.

Eerily echoing my own thoughts, Shubert shook his head and said in a concerned voice, “Not sure what the seneschal is thinking, sending such a one as Jerrek to work here, but there you have it. Nobles will do what they will, sensible or not, without a care for what that means for us little folk.”

I didn’t really have a reply to that, so kept quiet, even as a drop of sweat ran into my eye, causing it to sting.

After a moment, Shubert sighed. “You’re a good lass and I wouldn’t like to see you get hurt by that wondering oaf.”

That surprised me. I couldn’t think of a single time Shubert had ever complimented me, let alone shown concern for my welfare. He was swift to point out problems, but rarely gave out praise of any kind.

I couldn’t think of a response except to just be polite. “Thank you, Shubert. I appreciate your concern.”

He snorted. “No need to thank me, lass, just be careful.”

And with that, he turned and started back toward the kitchen door. As he touched the handle, he paused, partially turning back toward me.

“I submitted a request to the seneschal to promote you, but once again, he rejected it. Not sure why as you’ve been a good worker, but again, nobles do what they will. Did you do something to piss him off?”

The second compliment, as well as the strange question, made me frown in confusion. “No, Shubert, I’ve never even spoken to the seneschal.”

He sighed again. “Well, naught can be done about it. My hands are tied, lass.”

Abruptly, Shubert opened the door and returned to the kitchen, leaving me alone again in the drudgery. I lifted my head and finally wiped the sweat away from my eyes, still frowning. It had been a strange conversation; Shubert had displayed both concern and appreciation toward me, neither of which he’d done before and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

I started pumping a fresh batch of water, the muscles of my arms and back used to the effort after the countless times I’d done this task over the years. I no longer hummed as I worked, instead trying to focus on the task at hand, but thoughts of Shubert’s words bounced around my head from time to time, causing my concentration to waver. At one point, I even noticed that a dish I’d just finished rinsing still had a smear of grease on it. I put it back with the other dirty dishes to wash again and chided myself. I had enough to do without making even more work for myself.

I forcibly pushed further thoughts of Shubert away and set my mind to finishing the batch of dishes so I could get on to the next one.