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Briar swept his arm around the hall, when they finally emerged. He pulled her to one side, so they didn’t cause a blockage as others made their way out of the kitchens with hot food. Quinn had seen the Great Hall enough times; she was familiar with its layout. Rows and rows of benches on the ground level seated the common folk; staff and soldiers, and the like. Near the main doors, it didn’t matter where you were seated, but the closer you came to the dais, the higher in general rank or stature you were. It wasn’t unknown for people to be frozen out of those seats, sent with an empty platter and the bawling of laughter in their ears, to find a seat again with the commoners, your transgression unknown, but your shame secured in front of most of Everfell’s gossiping populace. Up at the dais, the long table that usually seated the royal family, along with the highest-ranking household members and visiting nobles, was mostly empty. Ross, the Chamberlain of Everfell for as long as Quinn had ever known, was taking his meal, and a few seats down the Baron Sammah, her adoptive father and the emissary for the Council of the City-states of Sha’sek, was sitting sipping from a wooden cup. He was making a point, she thought, of not looking at her. Quinn returned the gesture, moving her gaze quickly back to Briar, who was looking up at her with a cocked brow.

“Are you from Sha’sek?”

Quinn shook her head. Sammah had found her, he said, in the care of some beggars in Oster, a poor fishing port in the northern province of Yender. She was an orphan and, like many of Sammah’s other “children,” he had brought her back to the city, given her shelter and a job, and the protection of his name as she grew up. “Sammah adopted me.” She kept her response to Briar simple. She didn’t like talking about her private life, and she didn’t like the sense of curiosity she was getting from this boy. “Why?”

“Does this have anything to do with the service?” she responded, trying not to sound irritated.

* * *

Briar reddened a little, and moved the conversation on. Curious as he might be, any lollygagging could be reported to Brenner, and that would undoubtedly make its way back to his father. Briar would prefer to avoid that kind of complication.

“No.” Briar decided that he didn’t like this girl. He had heard of Quinn. She was the daughter of a noble, but she wasn’t of noble blood. He didn’t have to treat her with any kindness, and she was in no way his equal—her father was from Sha’sek, after all. He scouted around, looking for the rowdiest table he could find. Down at the front, he saw what he wanted. A bench, covered with empty mugs and red, raucous faces. He’d already seen one serving girl leave the table in tears. Perfect. He pointed Quinn in their direction. “Go to that table. Clear their mugs, and ask them if they want any more ale.” He pointed to another table, the other side of the entrance to the kitchen corridor. It was already covered with empty kitchenware. “Put them there. Then go over there,” he pointed to another corner, where a boy was frantically filling mugs from barrels, handing them to waiting servers. “And get the drinks they want. When you’ve done that, come back here, and I’ll give you a different area to serve. Is that okay?”

* * *

Quinn nodded. She was starting to sweat again, but this time it was from the concentration. There were a lot of people in this hall—far more than she was used to in her quiet life upstairs—and it was all she could do to keep their merriment and mirth out of her head. She fixed her eyes on the table Briar had sent her too. The sight of it made her balk, but she couldn’t back out now. There were people all around her, and Quinn had to keep telling herself that none of them—well, perhaps Sammah excepted—were paying any attention to her. None of them were a threat to her.
Just collect some mugs. Get some more ale. You can do this.

By the time she reached the bench in question, she felt ready to faint. There were eleven men sitting around the bench. Thankfully none of them were paying any attention to her, though that wasn’t guaranteed to last. Quinn tried to edge in, keeping out of sight. As her thin, pale arm snaked across the edge of the table, her trembling hand closing on the first empty mug, a huge hand, the back of it covered in black hair, clamped onto her wrist. She wasn’t pulled anyway, but she was kept in place as a soldier turned to her, his leering grin revealing yellowing teeth and his breath rank, stinking of meat and ale. “Hello there. You’re new. Have you come to sit with us?”

She tried to pull her arm back, but the hand around her wrist closed tighter, the force of it stinging her. Quinn cried out in pain, but this only made the man smile wider. Another soldier next to him had turned to her now. Quinn could feel it; her control was slipping, now she was more focused on what they were doing to her, rather than what she was meant to be doing herself. The air around her became suddenly hot; the humidity in the kitchen was nothing by comparison. There, the atmosphere had been loose; there was still room for air. Here, what she was feeling now, she had learned the men were feeling lust. She didn’t really need to be an empath to figure that out, with the glinting look in the eye of the man that had her held fast. Desperately, she looked up to the dais, but her father wasn’t there anymore, and the chamberlain was looking another way. Quinn didn’t pull her arm away again. She was too distracted trying to breathe, as the air around her became so thick she felt she would barely be able to move. More of the mens’ eyes had turned towards her, and she knew she wasn’t just feeling the lust of one man. It was overwhelming; stars began to spin in front of her eyes, the colours dancing as a wave of nausea rose in her stomach. If the man hadn’t been holding her, she would have fallen already.

“What are you doing to my daughter?”

The voice came thick through the haze around her, but Quinn still recognised the inflection, the danger of the careful intonation clear. The soldier released her wrist, darting back from Quinn as if she were on fire. She felt like it. The stars solidified and her vision went back. The last thing she remembered was how the heat rushed back to be replaced with the cold ice of fear, before she fainted into her father’s arms.

* * *

It was still dark when she woke. She didn’t rise with a start. Quinn knew what had happened, and she knew that Sammah would have taken her straight back to her rooms. The air was soft again, and Quinn took in a deep breath, glad to be safe once more, almost alone. The scents of lavender and rosewood drifted through the air. Without opening her eyes, she tested her voice. It came out softly, but she didn’t croak. At least she hadn’t screamed, this time.

“Maertn?”

“I’m right here, Quinn.”

She opened her eyes then, letting them adjust to the flickering light of the candles, one by her bed on her plain wooden stand, and another, thick, the length of her arm, in a tall sconce in the corner. Maertn, her closest, and only real friend, was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed. His arms rested in his lap and he seemed poised, ready to react if she’d taken a turn for the worse, she supposed. Maertn was one of Everfell’s most talented—and youngest—healers. They had a good reason to be friends, too: he was also one of Sammah’s orphans. They were, their father told them, mere months apart in age.

Quinn didn’t need to let go of control, to reach out and find Maertn’s thoughts, to know that he was concerned for her. She made it a point to never read his emotions, not when she could help it. It wasn’t fair to him. She and Maertn might be close, but he had no idea what she was. An empath.

Only Sammah knew the truth. Only Sammah knew, which was why he encouraged her to keep away from others. Only Sammah had the knowledge of the pain she bore; of how crowds petrified her, and how enough concentrated anger could give her headaches that would nearly send her blind. All Maertn knew, was that she had fainted again. She didn’t make a habit of it, especially not in front of others, not when she was already thought of as peculiar. It didn’t matter to Maertn though, what others thought of her. She was his friend, and she was not well. He was a healer, and he knew how to make her feel better. He would have lit her burner with a small candle. It would be a long enough wick, and the pot filled with enough water, for the calming aromas of lavender and sandalwood to scent through the room for the whole of the night, if needed. Her temples pulsed. Quinn wouldn’t be surprised if there was a little lavender oil in her hair, too. That always made her sleep better.

“How long have you been here?”

“I helped carry you from the hall.” Maertn answered softly. Quinn cringed, burying her face in the pillow. How embarrassing. Yes, she was aware of her reputation, and no, where possible she did not let it bother her. But she was only human, and tonight she had dealt her own wellbeing a humiliating blow. Maertn wouldn’t understand, no matter how hard he tried. Everyone liked Maertn. The sadness inside her wide and echoing, she let a small part of herself creep towards her friend. What she felt from him couldn’t be further than the taunting and lascivious things she had felt in the Great Hall before she had collapsed. Maertn felt solid, like oak, the air around him smooth. Trustworthiness, Sammah had told her, was represented this way. Her temple tingled. Maertn was concerned, too.

Quinn didn’t know how Sammah was able to tell her what the emotions she encountered were meant to feel like. There was a great deal about their father she didn’t know, she supposed. With his important role in the court of the King; he held the fate of the relationship between two warring kingdoms on the whisper of his every word. If Sammah told Everfell that Sha’sek were readying for war, tens of thousands of men would be called to arms in an instant. Sammah was in no danger. Dignitaries such as him were granted immunity from the passion and violence of war. Quinn knew she’d wither under that kind of scrutiny. Not Sammah. He thrived, and leveraged a great deal of influence, despite being a youngest son and effectively exiled to the Everfell court.

All of her life, Sammah had been able to explain to her what the senses meant; that dehydration was somebody lying; that close, humid heat meant lust; that headaches cleaving her skull in two meant anger. There were fine lines between it all that she could only learn with age and by using her gift.
Gift
. She had used that word once, and Sammah had scoffed at her.
Do not think you are blessed, Quinn. No one has what you have. You are unique. There are many people in this world that will hate you for what you are. There are even more that would steal you, abuse you for your empathic skills. I am the only thing in this world protecting you from them. You can never let anyone else know what you are. You can never trust anyone but me.

Her eyes stung with tears. Maertn misunderstood why they were there, and rushed to the head of the bed to sit next to her. She tried to sit up, and he pushed her back down gently, placing a cool palm on her forehead. His hands were smooth, not like the calloused palm of the soldier that had grabbed onto her earlier. They were gentle, adding to the calm he gave her even without knowing or trying. “You haven’t rested enough. You need some rest.”

“You know he’s right, Quinn. Why are you up already? Did you disturb her, Maertn?”

“No sir.”

Maertn stood away from the bed, shifting so he was only slightly away from Quinn, keeping her well within his reach. He straightened his posture, inclining his head towards their father. Maertn was tall, built straight from shoulder to hip, with a mass of curly brown hair that he was never able to tame. His pale skin was in contrast to Quinn’s olive tone, offset by her green eyes and jet black hair, sleek and straight, like a lance of darkness through a shaft of light. Neither of them resembled Sammah in the slightest, though it was never something that was commented on in court, or anywhere else. It was common knowledge that Sammah supported dozens of orphans across the kingdom. What it didn’t bring any of them was favour. Sammah did not support them, for them to lead out lives of idle privilege, like some of the court youngster that came through Everfell’s halls. Like Briar’s father, Sammah expected them to work; to learn skills and gain a trade. She and Maertn were his only two charges in Everfell. Everyone assumed that Quinn was hard to place because of her…difficulties, hence her night duties and careful relationship with both Sammah and Ross, the Chamberlain. He had three orphans in Broadwater, two of whom were joining the household guard. The other was a healer, like Maertn, but not as skilled. There was also a tailor, a very silver-tongued young merchant, and a young man who was going to become a professional messenger, because of his skill with horses. Sammah didn’t talk to them about his others, though. When he was at court, it seemed like he wanted to give you all of his focus, and he spent most of his time these days in Everfell.

His constant demands were was starting to become a source of irritation to Quinn, who was not used to being summoned so often. She wasn’t getting to spend much time with Maertn. But she did have so much to be thankful for, and it was so clear that Sammah had her best interests at heart, that she shoved those feelings to one side.

“She doesn’t look like she’s been resting, Maertn.”

Maertn opened his mouth to respond, but Quinn filled the space for him. “I just woke, sir. Maertn has done plenty for me. As always.” She added, wanting to make sure that Sammah knew Maertn was
always
there looking after her, even if he didn’t always know
what
he was looking after. Sammah fixed a bland smile on his face, sitting down next to Quinn, denting the mattress somewhat more than Maertn’s lean frame had, and scooping up one of her hands in both of his. They were smooth and slick, and sometimes Quinn felt like she wanted to recoil back. She didn’t; she knew better than that. She also knew there was no point reaching out to Sammah, like she did with Maertn. She couldn’t accidentally find out what Sammah was thinking, either. This was the other reason she felt like she owed Sammah; he was able to understand her more than anyone else. He was the only person in her world who, to her, was blank. She thought about it objectively sometimes. Sammah was to her, like everyone was to someone like Maertn. Sometimes she ached for that; to know what normal felt like. Then Sammah told her that he had a task for her, and that only she could help him. Then, she felt special. With the way Sammah had his back to Maertn now, and with how concerned he was for her wellbeing, she sensed now was one of those times.