Since Hadrian has dismissed us in the morning, the day has been a never-ending chain of tasks. While Syra has been helping the cooks, I received order after order, most of them related to carrying things, such as sacks of flour and dishes to and from the kitchen.

I welcomed the work. Nobody bothered me when I was busy, which allowed me to think, look around, make plans.

I could check the Northern Tower tonight. Sneak in during the night and see if there's a secret passage as it appeared on the map. In fact, if I'm careful and methodical, I could search this castle in and out. Day after day, I could learn the inner workings of this organism and hand them to Oliver on a silver plate. The more I think of it, the more I see how right he was in asking me to stay.

We have Justice's map, but don’t know who the man is. Someone who has planted the map in Oliver's pocket when he was freed from his detainment after the bread prices riots. Someone who has signed it with one word: Justice. To what extent could we trust this unknown person? By contrast, all information I could gather would be completely trustworthy. I'm lucky to have landed in this position.

I keep telling myself that as my back begins to hurt and my muscles begin to cramp.

As the evening descends, the weather changes. Dark clouds come from the sea, chased by strong gusts of wind. The banners on the walls flutter and flap. As I make my way through the yard, carrying wood for the kitchen, a couple of knights take their horses to the stables, and servants hastily remove the drying laundry. From above come the sounds of windows being shut and locked.

I enter the kitchen for what feels like the hundredth time today and place the wood in the corner. After the chill outside, I let myself pause and enjoy the warmth from the fires.

"Let's go," whispers Syra, appearing by my side. "He's having supper in the small hall."

I follow her. I need to find a moment to talk to her, but it seems there is no time in the day when two slaves could be completely alone. There's always people around, Cassio giving orders, endless tasks to be done. She seems to realize this as well, for even though I did catch her glance at me curiously a few times today, she hadn’t tried to ask any questions.

Despite its name, the small hall is a large room, with a burning fireplace at the end of it. Before we kneel by the door, I see Hadrian and Ferox sitting at the long table by the fire. A servant circles around them, pouring more wine.

"Enough for you," says Ferox.

"Look who's talking," says Hadrian, "you've drank twice as much as I have."

He does sound a bit slurred. I glance up to see him looking longingly at the retreating servant.

"Yes, but you could never hold it as well as I could."

"You keep believing that. Hey, you!" Hadrian waves at the servant but he has already left the room. "What the hell." He reaches for the flagon and pours some wine by himself. Ferox gives him a long look, then shakes his head, picks up what looks like a roasted pork leg and sinks his teeth into it.

Hadrian empties his goblet. "It's just this weather," he says. "Another goddamn storm. I hate these storms, you know?"

"Not a reason to drink yourself silly each time."

"Why not?" Hadrian circles the goblet's rim with one finger. "As good a reason as any, I'd say."

"So you're drinking because of the weather? Not because father paid you a visit this morning?"

Hadrian's smile falters. He shrugs and pushes the empty goblet away. It falls and rolls on the table.

"I don’t know what I expected," he says. "I got him the ships, didn't I? There's just no pleasing him."

"Pleasing whom?" says a new voice.

Aurelia walks into the hall, followed by a stout, middle aged woman. The princess is wearing a floating dress of green and blue, its long sleeves almost brushing the floor. As she reaches the table, Ferox gets up and pulls out the chair next to him. She nods and sits down gracefully.

"Evening, sister," he says, taking his place again. "We've been discussing how Hadrian could possibly impress father."

"Well," she says, "for starters, he сould stop fucking our guests."

"What?" Ferox all but jumps in his seat, turning to Hadrian. "No way! You didn't! Did you? That fat pig? I refuse to believe that."

Hadrian doesn't as much as glance at him. He plays with his fork, gathering whatever food he has in his plate. Then he drops it and reaches for the flagon.

"No, no," Ferox tries to take it from him, but Hadrian dodges his hand, then shakes the flagon.

"It's empty," he says, and shouts: "Servants!"

"Drinking again?" says the woman who has entered with the princess and is now standing behind her chair.

I glance at her curiously. Judging by her simple grey clothing, she's no highborn, yet she speaks to Hadrian as if they were equals.

"How could such a sweet child have grown into such a spoiled adult?"

"Please, Clementa," Hadrian says. "Not again."

"Who else will tell you the truth if not I?" She sticks her hands on her hips. "Such a sweet child you were! I can remember you suckling at my breast as if it was yesterday."

Hadrian winces. "Do you have to talk about it when we eat?"

"Nothing is disgusting about your nurse's milk - and you were very eager for it, trust me. My nipples were all cracked! And now you drink all this wine, and your wicked ways have earned you such a reputation –"

Ferox's grin gets wider as he watches his brother's reactions. Hadrian rubs his face, then gestures at the servant who has just entered with a new flagon.

"Sit down, Clementa," says Aurelia softly. "Dine with us."

The woman readily takes place next to the princess and reaches for the loaf of bread.

"I remember how sweet he was at the age of two," she says, chewing. "Those big green eyes, running everywhere after me, clinging to my skirts. He was so charming, like an angel! Even you haven't been that pretty, Aurelia. You were way too serious even then."

"Being pretty was never my priority," says Aurelia. "I live for acquiring knowledge. The more I know, the better I could advise my father, and later my brother."

"Right," says Ferox cheerfully. "My ability to rule combined with your knowledge will make us all but undefeatable."

"Do I have a place in that happy picture?" says Hadrian.

"Of course! You will be my little brother who can do whatever he wants. And if we get attacked by enemies, you can either charm or fuck them to death!" Ferox reaches with both hands and grabs his sister and his brother by their necks, pulling them unceremoniously into a hug. "We'll be like a three-headed dragon that no enemy could defeat!"

The two attempt to free themselves, but eventually, they succumb to his bear hug and join his laughter. I gaze at them, forgetting myself. They look like normal people. Two brothers and a sister sharing a laugh. They don't seem evil. Why don't they protest the evil that is being done in their name? Why don't they make their father abolish the firstborn law, lower the taxes, stop picking up fights with neighbors ending in pointless wars?

How dare they be happy when their rule causes so much misery?

"Enough," says Hadrian, finally freeing himself from his brother's grip. He pushes his chair away and gets up, then sways a little and grabs the table for support. "Damn, my head..."

"Come on." Ferox wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets to his feet. "You're unbelievable. I told you to stop drinking, but do you ever listen? I'll help you up the stairs."

I peer at the floor. It's good they're leaving. The less they see of me, the less likely they are to notice that I'm different from other slaves. Also, Hadrian is so drunk he probably won't demand anything else of us today, and I could try and act on my plans.

"No, no, you're not taking this," Ferox says. "Come on, you can barely carry yourself. Slave! Carry this flagon after us."

"He means you," whispers Syra, and my heart sinks.

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