The citizens of Arkland had a debt to pay.

The Glorious Revolution was three months dead, its leaders put to the sword and the capital reclaimed from the vicious mobs who followed the Lord Protector’s banner, yet the shockwaves from the rebellion had been felt across the entire nation. From the Eastern Sea to Far Reach to the Shield Mountains, the nobility who’d once thought themselves utterly untouchable looked towards their peasants with fearful, suspicious eyes, unlike to forget how close they’d come to losing their many vaunted privileges. Likewise, the commoners were no less anxious and uncertain about the future, and even those who privately supported Sandsmark’s uprising could not help but be worried about the consequences of his failure.

And for the ordinary folk of Arkland, those consequences were dire. Despite the pleas of General Robert Julian du Lac, the hero who’d broken the Glorious Revolution, and his wife, the beautiful Duchess Miranda, the King had responded to the threat against his rightful rule in a vengeful fashion, too enraged to heed any pleas for restraint or mercy. The few of the Revolution’s upper ranks who survived the fighting against the Third Army endured traitor’s deaths, their heads mounted on pikes above the gates of each major city as a promise to those who would defy the King’s will, while the common rebels were packed into Blackstone Prison until it was full to bursting, never to see the light again. Worst still, the millions of loyal citizens who had played no part in the uprising were not spared from the King’s wrath. Heavy punitive taxes were raised, many of their traditional rights were stripped away, and across the kingdom, many of the nobles took the opportunity to subject them to further indignities, all with the sanction of the Crown. They would not forget who their masters were, ever again.

It was an awful situation, to say the least, and Wren felt the unfairness of it all gnaw away at her, grey eyes hard and unwelcoming as flint, her pale, lean features drawn tight with tension as she went about her chores. Iron Peak was as far from the capital as you could get, and no one in either the village, mines or the manor had even so much as heard of the Glorious Revolution, let alone participated in it. Yet according to Lord Pulman, it was only right that they be punished for disobedience, and like the rest of the indentured servants on the staff, Wren’s debt to her liege lord was doubled overnight, leaving the nineteen-year-old no closer to freedom then when she began five years ago.

And that was just the start. Treasonous speech had been the cause of the Revolution, after all, so Wren and the rest of the staff at the Iron Hall were forced to wear muzzles of stout shaped leather that covered the lower half of their faces and reduced any attempt at speech to meaningless grunts. Leather collars were likewise mandatory, keeping their heads up and ensuring they did not forget who they owed their loyalty too. And for those who disobeyed, faltered or otherwise displeased Lord Pulman, there were plenty of stocks in the dungeon they could languish in, not to mention riding crops and whips to see they learned discipline. Hugo, the lord’s son, had been quite eager to employ the latter, and Wren could not forget her revulsion when she was forced to watch him flog one of the chambermaids for the crime of letting the cream spoil, the memory of his piggish face contorted in delight as he inflicted pain etched into her memory. All the more reason the Lord Protector was right to stand up to such creatures! she reflected, tying up her long black hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. By the gods, if she could only manage to escape from this horrid place, then she’d teach all these high-born, stuck-up, selfish bastards a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget!

Then fat soft hands possessively encircled her waist, making her freeze up in shock, and it took all her self-control not to retch as she felt Hugo’s breath on the back of her bare neck, rank with lust and alcohol in equal measure. “Hey, you’re that serving girl, right? The pretty one?” he drawled, giving her hips a squeeze. “Way I remember it, you’ve got some debts to pay off because your Pa’s a cripple. Feel like earning a bit of extra gold?”

“Mmmmpggghhh!” Wren shouted in disgust, face red with anger at the suggestion. Clad in the basic black tunic and stockings of Iron Hall’s household staff, there was no mistaking the wiry strength in her bare arms, and with a grunt, she squirmed out of the nobleman’s grasp. “Nnnggghh, mmppggghh!”

“What? You think a stupid peasant like yourself is too good for me?” the lord’s son snarled, brown eyes bright with rage. “You belong to this household, girl, and that means you belong to me. So unless you want that debt of yours to grow by another hundred gold coins, you behave and do what I tell you!”

Not on your life, you fat scumbag! “MMMPGGGHHH!” Wren answered with a scream, backing away from Hugo and glancing about for anything she could use as a weapon. She wasn’t a soldier, not like those brave men who’d fought against the King’s tyranny at the capital, but she’d make a good account of herself before she’d ever let herself be used like that.

Fortunately for her, Hugo was too much of a coward to press the issue. “Whatever. I have better things to do with my time than waste it on you,” he declared in a haughty tone, glancing over her slender figure one last time. “Like you’re anything special anyways!”

Heavy boots stomping along the floorboards, Hugo retreated towards the stables, and it took a few moments before Wren felt the fear pass, replaced with cold clarity. No, she would not forget this terrible moment, nor any of the others she’d experienced slaving for Arkland’s nobility. She would remember and plan and devote herself to bringing down every last one of them.

And when the time was right, they’d pay their debts in blood…