The Emerald Storm by Michael J. Sullivan

whipped. She never understood how they could be so capricious and cruel.
    Amilia watched the girl set about her work. The maid was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a brush, the skirt of her uniform soaked with soapy water. Amilia had a stack of inquiries to attend to, but the maid distracted her. She felt guilty not acknowledging the girl’s presence. It felt rude. I should talk to her. Even as Amilia thought this, she knew it would be a mistake. This new girl saw her as a noble, the Secretary to the Empress and would be terrified if Amilia so much as offered a “good morning.”
    Perhaps a few years older than herself, the girl was slender and pretty, although little could be determined given her attire. She wore a loose fitting dress with a canvas apron, her figure hidden, a mystery lost beneath the folds. All serving girls adopted the style except the foolish or ambitious. While working in the halls of those who took what they wanted, it was best to avoid notice.
    Amilia wondered if the girl was married. Might she have a family in the city that she went home to each night, or like herself, had she left everything, and everyone, to live in the castle? Despite her youth, she likely had several children by now. Pretty peasant girls married young.
    Amilia chided herself for watching the maid instead of working, but something kept her attention. The way she moved and how she held her head looked out of place. She watched her dab the brush in the water and stroke the floor, moving it from side to side like a painter. She spread water around, but did little to free the dirt from the surface. Edith Mon would whip her for that. The headmistress was a cruel taskmaster. Amilia had found herself on the wrong end of her belt on a number of occasions for lesser infractions. For that reason alone Amilia felt sorry for the poor girl. She knew all too well what she faced.
    “Are they treating you well here?” Amilia found herself asking despite her determination to remain silent.
    The girl looked up and glanced around the room.
    “Yes, you,” Amilia assured her.
    “Yes, milady,” the maid replied, looking up.
    She is looking right at me, Amilia thought, stunned. Even with her title, and a rank equivalent to a baroness, Amilia still had a hard time returning the stare of even the lowest nobles, but this girl was looking right at her.
    “You can tell me if you aren’t, I know what it is like to—” she stopped, realizing the maid would not believe her. “I understand new servants can be picked on and belittled by the others.”
    “I am getting along fine, milady,” she said.
    Amilia smiled, trying to set her at ease. “I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t. I am very pleased with you. I just know it can be hard sometimes when you start out in a new place. I want you to know that I can help you if you are having trouble.”
    “Thank you,” she said, but Amilia heard the suspicion in her voice.
    Having a noble offering to help with bullying peers was probably a shock to the girl. If it had been her, Amilia would think it a trap of some kind, a test perhaps to see if she would speak ill of others. If she admitted to problems, the noble might have her removed from the palace. Under no circumstances would Amilia have admitted anything to a noble no matter how kindly the woman might have presented herself.
    Amilia felt instantly foolish. There was a division between nobles and commoners and for good or ill, she was now on the other side. The conditioning that separated the two was far too entrenched for her to wipe away. She decided to stop tormenting the poor girl and return to her work. Just then however, the maid put down the scrub brush and stood.
    “You’re, Lady Amilia, is that right?”
    “Yes,” she replied, surprised at the sudden forwardness.
    “You’re the Secretary to the Empress?”
    “How well informed you are. It’s good that you are learning your way around. It took me quite some time to