Ester stood on the high stone balcony, her fingers white as she gripped the cold marble railing. From here the Governor’s courtyard was little more than a ruined tapestry of what it once was. The grass, usually so meticulously manicured that not a single blade dared grow out of turn, was almost entirely obscured by a sea of grey cloth. At a distance, one might have mistaken it for a strange, localized fog that had settled low against the earth, but the shapes beneath the fabric were far too real and disturbingly still.

They were bodies. Countless dead foreigners lay strewn across her family’s front courtyard like discarded husks.

Below her, the Royal guards moved with the frantic, jerky energy of ants disturbed in their hill. They paced between the rows of the dead, flipping over a limb here or inspecting a face there with a clinical, detached haste. The lanterns they carried cast long, flickering shadows that danced grotesquely against the grey shrouds, making it seem for a fleeting, sickening second that the dead were twitching. Ester felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her head began to throb, a rhythmic pulsing behind her eyes as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. She told herself it was merely the height; despite having lived in a palace her whole life the sheer verticality of the stone walls always had a way of making her feel small. It couldn't possibly be the massacre. She had been trained by the best tutors in the Empire to be above such common, base feelings as pity or fear. To feel was to fail.

"Tell me, Ester, what do you see?"

The voice slid down Ester’s spine, cold, commanding and terrifying all at once. She didn't need to turn to know who stood there. Heidi, her stepmother, the woman the city whispered about as the "Governess" with more reverence and terror than they ever afforded the Governor himself, had joined her on the balcony.

Ester took a slow, measured breath and turned to face the woman who had spent the last decade sculpting her. Heidi stood tall and thin, possessing a long, narrow face that seemed structurally incapable of holding a smile. There certainly was none to be found on her face today, only an expression calculation. But Ester knew better; she knew what went on behind those calculating eyes, and she hated it.

Today Heidi was dressed for a royal ball rather than a slaughter. She wore a deep green dress, studded with emeralds that refracted the moonlight and turned it into something poisonous. Atop her head of greying hair sat a rose-gold crown shaped like a twisting vine, a single diamond rose blooming at its center. Ester felt a sharp, familiar prickle of envy; she desperately wanted to be that regal, that untouchable. But beneath the envy was a deep, boiling hatred, and today she could not be bothered to fully smother it, even to preserve her father’s sanity.

"I see a mess. Nothing but blood and wasted lives, and wasted potential," Ester said, her voice betraying the barest hint of disdain, as if she were speaking to someone beneath her. She had, after all, learned from the best.

Heidi’s eyes snapped to her face, cold, hard, and disapproving. Before Ester could utter another word, Heidi stepped forward. She didn't strike Ester; she never used her hands for such crude displays. Instead, the very air around her grew heavy, a frosty mixture of expectation and disappointment.

"Mother," Heidi corrected. Her voice wasn't a shout; it was a low hiss that carried further than a scream. "You will refer to me as Mother, Ester. We have discussed this. Your father’s blood may run in your veins, but I have been the one to shape your mind, I who have prepared you for the weight of the crown that you will wear. I will not tolerate this infantile rebellion of yours. Not today, not when the world is watching. Not ever."

Ester clenched her teeth together until her jaw ached, the irritation radiating down her neck. She hated the woman, and she knew that she always would. Even still she found herself cooling. She had seen something in Heidi’s eyes then, a flicker of something she didn't want to recognize, not hatred, but a desperate insistence, a hunger for a bond that they would never share. Heidi didn't just want the title; she wanted the bond, or at least the appearance of it. Ester knew there was no point in arguing, and a small part of her loathed herself for it.

"Yes... Mother," Ester said, inclining her head slightly, the word catching in her throat.

Heidi turned back to the courtyard, her hands clenched tightly behind her back, posture straight as a spear. "Better. Now, answer the question. Look past the blood. Use the brain I gave you. I did not ask for the observations of a low born peasant - give me the analysis of a proper ruler."

Ester turned her gaze back to the courtyard and forced herself to really look at the corpses, to strip away the humanity and see them for their utility. "They are not our people," she began, her voice slipping, as she tried to look past the frozen, accusing faces. "Their clothes... they are heavy wools and thick furs. Mountain attire. They look like people from the high passes, or perhaps the Northern tribes. Their skin is pale, hair long and dark, and several have odd tattoos. These people are not from our lands. Marchand is a closed city at night, the gates are barred and inaccessible. So I wonder; how did hundreds of them get past the outer watch, through the Garden District, and into our private courtyard without a single alarm being raised? Without a single dog barking?"

She paused, her eyes lingering on the jagged, broken section of the wall where the stone had been reduced to rubble. "And then to be murdered here, right under our windows. It feels staged - a display of power, though from who I'm not sure. Though I am convinced it is an elaborate attempt to discredit Father. To make him look weak, or worse, incompetent, in the eyes of the Emperor."

Heidi didn't look impressed; she didn't even blink. "I expected more. You have not been a child for some time, I do not expect a child's answer. Think it through again Ester, and tell me. Who would gain from staging such a stunt? Who benefits from a lawn full of dead savages?"

Ester thought for a moment, her mind racing through the shifting alliances of the Empire. "The nobility in Klejnot? They have always hungered for more direct control over the grain supply. If Father is removed or executed they could install one of their own, a puppet from the capital." She shook her head, dismissing it even as she spoke the words. "No, it’s too messy. The coordination required to move this many people in secret through the heart of the city would be nearly impossible for the local lords, and the nobility in Klejnot does not have the weight here. The risk of exposure is too high. And besides, these are foreigners. Their deaths have no long-term impact on the city’s stability. Even Lord Brock has been silent lately, and he’s usually the first to strike when he smells blood in the water."

Heidi let out a sharp hiss.

"You think their deaths don't matter because they were foreigners?" Heidi asked. She turned to Ester, her long shadow stretching across the marble floor to swallow the girl’s feet. "Listen to me closely. This massacre will ripple across the whole face of the continent. Not just Marchand and the surrounding cities, but Klejnot as well. Someone has made a play for not only your fathers throne, but for the Empire at large. They know the Emperor is weak and cares only for perception, and whatever he perceives is his reality. If we do not contain this, or spin this, he will perceive Risha as an incompetent Governor at best.”

She paused and turned to Ester now, eyes hard beads.

“You are being groomed to be a Governor’s wife, Ester, perhaps even the Empress of a new age. You cannot afford to be so narrow-minded. There are schemes moving against us that involve the entire empire. This isn't just about a few dead bodies. It's about what those bodies represent to the people who are hungry."

Heidi leaned over the railing, pointing a thin, pale finger at the sprawling, soot-stained city beyond the walls. "Think, Ester. What purpose does Marchand serve the empire at large?"

Ester recited the words, her voice bored. This was not the time for geography lessons. "Marchand is the breadbasket. We export nearly sixty percent of the empire's crops and livestock. We meet the food demand of the capital, Klejnot. We provide access to the waterways and the mountain trade routes through the Danson pass. We have the largest serf population in the North, and the surrounding towns rely on us for protection and for seasonal work."

"Exactly," Heidi said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum. "We are the stomach of the empire. And when the stomach is cut open, the rest of the body starves. Many desire our overthrow, Ester. Some for power, some for money, and some simply for the thrill of watching an Empire fall. The cost of a few hundred dead foreigners is a price many would pay to see us fail. Members of the Imperial Council would trade a thousand lives if it meant they could get their hands on our silos and dictate who eats and who withers."

Heidi stepped closer, the emeralds on her bodice clicking against the stone railing sharply. "Your father has ordered the deaths of many men. Countrymen, rival Lords, even troublesome serfs who thought they could bargain for more grain. Their lives had value, yet he took them to maintain the order that keeps you in silk. These people down there?" She gestured dismissively at the courtyard, her hand a pale blur in the moonlight. "They were next to worthless in life. Yet in death they hold power. In death they are a message, written in blood, and we must decide how to answer it before the Emperor decides for us."

Ester looked down again. She felt a strange, fluttering sensation in her chest. It wasn't exactly pity, but it was something uncomfortably close. She looked at a pile of bodies near the fountain, where the water was currently glistened red. Near the base of the fountain she could see a small, pale hand sticking out from under a grey sheet. It looked so fragile against the dark earth.

"How many were there?" Ester asked, the words slipping out before she could catch them. "Children, I mean."

As soon as the question left her lips, Ester felt a prickle of regret. She quickly molded her face into a mask of indifference, hoping Heidi hadn't noticed the crack in her armor.

Heidi, however, seemed oblivious to Ester, at least for the moment. She was distracted, staring at the horizon, her mind likely conjuring up a thousand different treasons. "The number doesn't matter," Heidi snapped, her eyes fixed on the distant spires of the city. "We need to find what matters most. The intent."

Ester looked away, her eyes stinging from the smoke rising from the torches below. With a clinical clarity Ester considered her stepmother, and with that same detached acceptance knew that she would never see her as anything other than an obstacle. There would be no kinship, she did not share Heidi’s grand ambitions, and feverish plans; she had no desiree for the crown Heidi wore. At that moment she desperately wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it was far from Marchand and the smell of death.

Heidi continued as if Ester hadn't spoken at all, her voice betraying the barest hint agitation. "This is clearly a result of the Northern border dispute," she ranted, her fingers drumming restlessly on the railing. "Those ungrateful savages cant stand the success of a true empire, undoubtedly jealous of our wealth and industrious cities. They are always up in arms about something or other, as if we desire anything they could make. What do they have up in that frigid wasteland? A few petty towns, and few worthless kingdoms inhabited by superstitious savages. I hope the Emperor sees through this transparent ploy. Or better yet, I hope he thanks us for giving him a reason to finally eliminate their entire species. They are a blight on the map, a waste of good soil."

Ester watched her stepmother and noticed a slight, almost imperceptible trembling in Heidi’s tone. It was subtle; more in the false words, as if she was trying to convince herself of their truth. What else did Heidi know that she wasn’t sharing? The Northern border theory felt too simple, something that Heidi would never settle on except as a convenient lie to wrap around a much darker truth.

Ester’s attention returned to the scene below. The questions were ceaseless, but their were no answers to be found. Where did these people come from? How did they arrive in secret, hundreds of them, moving like ghosts? Who were they, really? And most importantly, how did the killers escape without leaving a single clue, leaving only a field of the dead?

From this height, there were no answers. There was only the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke. Ester’s stomach twisted rebelliously. She knew she couldn't stay here much longer. The lies were over for now, and if she stayed, she would lose her dignity along with her dinner.

She turned away from the railing, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Down in the courtyard, the soldiers were beginning to move the bodies into large, efficient piles. They threw heavy canvas sheets over the mounds, hiding the grey cloth and the scarlet stains from the morning sun. Beyond the walls, in the Garden District, she could see the flickering lights of lanterns as groups of citizens were rounded up. They were being marched toward the dungeons in long, miserable lines, their heads bowed.

"They are setting up checkpoints," Ester noted, her voice flat and hollow. "Quarantining the blocks around the mansion. Locking the stable door after the horse has bolted."

"Lord Hoff is scrambling, it is a futile attempt at containment," Heidi said, joining her in turning away from the carnage. "You cannot contain a story like this. Every beggar in the Garden District has seen the corpses by now, or heard a rumor that will grow into a legend by noon. We are simply buying time. Time to find someone to blame. Time to present the Emperor with a culprit, whether they are the real one or not. Lord Hoff knows as well as I that truth is a luxury we cannot afford today."

Heidi turned to Ester, her expression returning to its usual state of cold command. She reached out, her long fingers adjusting the collar of Ester’s dress.

"Ester."

"Yes?"

"You will not disturb the Governor with this matter," Heidi said firmly, her eyes boring into Ester’s. "Your father is... occupied. He is in a state of high emotion, and even if he weren’t, he has no answers for you. Your questioning will only distract him from the stabilization of the city. If you have concerns, if you feel the need to 'help,' you will bring them to me. Or, if I am busy with the Council, you may speak with Captain Arella."

Heidi gestured toward the balcony door. Standing there in the shadows, almost invisible against the dark wood, was Captain Arella, the head of Heidi’s personal guard. He was a brutish and ugly man, face twisted and scarred from years of necessary violence. His hand rested perpetually on the hilt of his sword. He didn't move or speak; he simply watched Ester with the flat, predatory gaze of a jungle cat.

Ester felt that familiar rush of heat in her chest, the one that she had inherited from her father. She was being shut out, Heidi was treating her like a child again, someone to be placed in a drawer until it was time to play at politics. Ester was being prevented from speaking with the one person who might actually offer her a shred of genuine affection, or at least a truth that wasn't wrapped in deceit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to spit on the immaculate marble floor.

But she didn't. She had learned too well from the woman standing before her. You didn't win by screaming. You won by waiting. You won by using the very underhanded tricks your enemies taught you.

"Of course, Mother," Ester said. She managed to pack the words with so much fake sweetness they practically dripped with venom.

She didn't wait for a formal dismissal. Ester flounced past Heidi, her heavy silk skirts rustling loudly in the chill morning air. She marched through the open glass doors, making sure to grab the handles and slam them shut behind her. The glass rattled violently in the frames, a satisfying, sharp sound that echoed through the opulent room like a thunder clap.

She caught a quick glimpse of Heidi through the glass as the doors bounced in their frames. The woman hadn't moved. She stood like a statue, a vulture framed by the moonlight and the carnage of the courtyard.

Ester stormed down the hallway, her heart beating an angry tune. She was so blinded by her rage that she nearly missed the turn toward the east wing. She forced herself to slow, to navigate the familiar path past her father's study-the door firmly shut, a guard posted outside-and then past the gallery of old monarchs, glaring down in judgment from painted eyes. The palace felt different tonight, the shadows longer, the silence heavier.

She turned the corner toward her private quarters, her mind churning with plans to circumvent Heidi's blockade, to find a way to her father's ear. She was so consumed by her schemes that she didn't see the servant until the collision was inevitable.

"Oh! My lady, I'm so sorry!"

Ester collided with Beatriz, a young maid who was carrying a heavy wooden pail of soapy water. The impact sent the smaller girl stumbling backward, her eyes wide with dismay. The pail hit the floor with a heavy thud, and cold, grey water splashed across the hallway, soaking Ester's expensive leather shoes and the hem of her emerald-trimmed dress.

Beatriz scrambled to her knees, her face pale with terror as she saw who she had struck. "I'm sorry, my lady! I didn't see you coming around the corner! Please, I'll clean it up right away! I'll-"

Ester looked down at her ruined shoes, the water seeping through the fine leather. The anger that had been simmering in her chest, the frustration at being Heidi's puppet, suddenly found a target. She felt a sharp urge to strike the girl, to scream until her throat was raw. But the practical side of her, the side of her of Heidi’s creation, won out.

"Get out," Ester hissed, her voice trembling with the effort of not shouting.

"My lady?" Beatriz stammered, frozen in place.

"Leave the pail. Get out of my sight before I have the guards throw you into the courtyard with the rest of the corpses!"

Beatriz didn't need to be told twice. She scrambled to her feet and bolted down the hall, her sodden footsteps slapping as she retreated down the corridor.

Ester stood alone in the puddle of soapy water, the silence of the mansion pressing in on her. The satisfaction of bullying the maid was short-lived and hollow. It didn't change the fact that Heidi was the one holding the strings. It didn't change the fact that there were hundreds of dead on her doorstep, and that the world was changing into something much more dangerous.

She watched as the soapy water spread across the floor, reflecting the dim light. An idea began to form in her mind. Heidi thought she could keep Ester in the dark.

A slow smile spread across Ester's face. She would find a way to get back at her mother. She would find a way to see her father, usurp Heidi, and reclaim her place at his side. And she would do it using every dirty, underhanded trick Heidi had ever drilled into her.

As she reached her door, she kicked off her wet shoes, leaving them abandoned in the hallway. She didn't care who cleaned them up. She had work to do.