Lament for My First Life

The Servant Girl III

As she moved, she thought, just for a moment, about what she would do if she could step outside the rules. If she could go to the garden when she wished. If she could read in the parlor chair under the sunny window. If she could stand at the gate and look up at the sky without a cap. She let herself hold the picture for the length of a breath. Then she folded it away. She would not lose herself in longing. Longing was a trap. It made the hours heavy.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. The lamps threw warm circles of light across the runner. The scent of wax and lilies and clean linen mingled in the air. From somewhere below came the soft clink of glass being set to rest.

"Xylenne!" Lady Varra called, not sharply now but with a cool expectation. "Where are you?"

"Here," Xylenne said.

"Good," Lady Varra replied. "We will receive another delivery in the morning. Be ready early. And for the last time—keep to the back when guests are near. I will not have rumors. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Xylenne said, her voice steady.

"Then go and make yourself useful," Lady Varra said, and her footsteps moved away, quick and sure.

Xylenne stood alone for a heartbeat longer. She let the quiet hold her up. She smoothed her apron. She straightened her shoulders, just a little, enough to feel it.

She took one step forward, then another, and began to walk down the lavish hallway, the light pooling at her feet, the house watching, the night beginning.