Page 39 of Wings of Destruction

I consider giving her something false but finally squeak out, “Morgan Whyte.”

She bristles.

“Well, Miss Whyte, we’ve got you on the bottom bunk here.” She points a fat thumb at the creaky mattress and paper-thin sheets. “You’ll be expected to pull your weight and complete all assigned tasks without incident. The moment you step out of line, punishment will be swift. There is no getting around the consequences. Know your place.”

From top student to bottom rung. I keep the thought to myself while Mrs. Milkin talks me through the expectations for the tenure of my employment. I’d be here until my body failed me.

The expectations are great, the meals ample, and the work constant. I’ll be fed, with a roof overhead, and a blanket for the colder months, but little else.

Nothing else.

Four days later, slender knuckles rap against the side of my head when I’m too slow to avoid them.

“Hello? Anyone home? Get your head out of the clouds, Morgan! You’re no better than anyone else here and certainly not too good to actually scrub.”

The hiss belongs to my partner for the day, a maid by the name of Daisy who grabs for any opportunity to steal a bit of power for herself like a frog’s tongue plucking a fly.

“You’re all but useless, more useless than a one-headed hydra.” Those hands she happily uses to swipe the insides of toilets or knock against my face now rest on her hips. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

I sit back on my heels until the skin stretches at the bottom of my foot. My muscles are tight and cramped from a combination of stress and no sleep. The cot is a marked difference from my bed at home with fresh sheets and a window open to the fields. The night breeze always brought with it the scent of warm grass and fresh flowers.

Here, there is nothing but stale air.

Whatever we get down in the basement of the castle.

“As I’ve said before, I’m doing my best,” I tell Daisy through gritted teeth.

She is the least appropriately named person I’ve ever met. She taps her foot against the stone floor in an anxious rhythm and barely understands a word.

“You can’t even properly scrub a floor.” Her tone goes screech high. “How is that your best?”

I was supposed to be settling into my dormitory, getting ready for classes, meeting new friends. I was supposed to be making Mother proud.

Instead, I’m on my knees scrubbing floors in the same castle where I should have been a student.

I shake my head and face the leaky mop bucket. Every inch I manage to scrub in the hallway leading to the rear courtyard is marred by a trail of brown water pulsing from the crack in the bucket’s seal.

The smear stands out starkly against the polished black marble floor. The walls are made of equally seamless stone in a color like the breast of a mourning dove and the stone arches are perpetually lit with long tapers of beeswax candles.

“My entire family were warriors of the highest order,” I reply, forcing my hand back into the murky water.

Lye burns every abrasion in my skin.

“They taught me how to fight, how to lead, and how to protect people.” My voice cracks. “They didn’t teach me how to survive this.”

The weight of the admission settles in my chest. Mother prepared me for battle, not servitude. She prepared me for honor, not humiliation.

“You might not have lived in a palace, but it doesn’t take much to understand how to clean it. You swipe the mud, you rinse the rag, you repeat.” Daisy mimes the motion, mocking me. “There. How many more times do I need to explain it before it penetrates the thickness of your skull?”

“Once will do, you horrible hag.”

She catches the last bit of my whispered curse and her brows, already thin, draw down into a nearly invisible V. “What was that?”

This is what they wanted—to break me down until there’s nothing left of who I used to be. To turn the daughter of Illonia Whyte into nothing more than another nameless servant. I’m failing at even this simple task, and the shame burns worse than the lye.

I slowly rise and turn to face Daisy. “Give me a proper bucket and I’ll clean the floor. What would you have me do with a leak and filthy water?”

“You take it to the pump and you get fresh.” She rolls her eyes. “I swear, you make more work for me daily.”