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"Magistrate, the Heiress orders your presence," a girl bearing the Heiress's emblem on a band around the arm said as Kymalin stepped out of the dining hall.
Kymalin's stomach twisted. Did the Heiress find out about Malve already? Was Kymalin going to be executed now? A sigh blew out of her nose. Whatever. She followed the girl as they wove through tents and day patrols, aiming for the huge, brightly-colored tent in the middle of the camp. The Heiress's tent. The silence around the tent was welcome—expected, even. Nobody was allowed to go in without being summoned. A light snort rumbled in Kymalin's throat. Who would want to go in, anyway? The last person who did that ended up as a mutilated corpse that Kymalin had to dispose of in the sea.
What a hassle it was.
Kymalin inhaled. Her heart decided it was time for another drumming session. Calm down. The Heiress granted Kymalin an audience just to ask her if she felt like taking a mission or two. The last time the Heiress sent her out on a mission was...
Kymalin shook her head again, dismissing the memory that surfaced along with her recent thoughts. What happened in that graveyard in Gulstead was something no one should know. If they did, everyone would lose their respect for her. In fact, Kymalin might lose more than respect if the Heiress heard about it.
Spared by the Virtakios. Kymalin refused to accept that she was indebted to the Virtakios for letting her live during their fight. Why would Xanthy spare her? Kymalin was so close to getting the Virtakios that day. Why must Xanthy make it harder?
A sigh escaped her lips. Why was the Heiress fixated on that girl anyway? Xanthy was unremarkable in every sense.
Still, Kymalin, like the Heiress, hated it that she was now indebted to the Virtakios for sparing her life. Being indebted was a weakness. People could manipulate her to give them what they wanted. The Heiress had been right in keeping people indebted to her instead so she could play with their moral judgement later on.
The Heiress certainly didn't want any of her people to be indebted to anyone.
The servant girl stopped in front of the Heiress's tent and gave Kymalin a brief bow. She watched the girl skip past the haze of tents back to where they came. Her heart wrenched. Let the child enjoy her free days. They were numbered.
Kymalin turned back to the tent and lifted the flap, revealing an orderly room with grass for a floor and a dome of colorful cloth for a ceiling. A short but stout shelf brimmed with books and other...strange gadgets. She strode towards the single-seater couch directly opposite it. Past the couch was a wooden desk littered with sheaves of parchments stacked on top of each other as well as a strange contraption that reminded Kymalin of a brewing press.
Seated on an ornamented chair behind that desk was the Heiress, herself.
The Heiress looked the same from where Kymalin had seen her last. Her brown hair was still stuck in a bland, strict bun, with some shorter locks framing her high forehead and delicate, round face. She wore no paint on her face, showing off her pale lips and freckled cheeks.
