* * *
A frigid wind seemed to have destroyed every bit of the roof over Soryn’s head. Though it seemed solid enough upon waking, he felt sure there was a draft blowing in from above. It was barbarically cold in his room and all he wanted to do was stay in bed. He knew Jori would arrive with his breakfast soon, but he didn’t care. All he thought about was burying further beneath his ample blankets.
“Blast it all,” he spat. “If only I could have a fire in here, perhaps I could sleep without getting frostbite every night.”
A thought nudged his consciousness. He was a noble, was he not? Nobles should be allowed to have a few demands every now and then. Soryn decided to tell Jori that he refused to work on anything whatsoever until they provided him with a fire. He could throw a small tantrum if he wanted. In fact, he would refuse to get dressed if Jori would not allow him some means of warmth in this icy cage. While he had his brain going, Soryn devised a plan for retaining Arna as his personal servant. It was certain he could use one with all the work they brought in for him each day. More than that, he was almost a young man and he was tired of being alone all the time.
By the time Jori ascended the steps later in the morning, Soryn had cocooned himself under the covers. When he sat up, it all looked like a great mountain of bed sheets.
Slightly confused, Jori mumbled, “Morning, sir.”
Soryn gave no reply and continued to sit in as resolved a manner as he could.
“Breakfast, sir,” Jori said without much enthusiasm, starting for the bed.
When Jori turned down the covers, he was a little shocked to see Lord Maslyn wide awake and staring at him. “Good heavens, Lord Maslyn. I thought you might’ve been asleep still. What do you mean by staring at me like that?”
“I want a fire, Jori. I am frozen from head to toe. I have no idea why you all won’t let me have a fire, but I want one and I want it within the next half hour.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged, but, you see…well…we don’t want you to be...”
“Alone with it. Yes, I know. That is why I request you to assign Arna to me as a personal assistant each day. She could perform all her usual duties in here as well as make sure the fire is going, along with helping me with the paperwork you send each day. I don’t want to be alone for upwards of sixteen hours a day and I no longer want to freeze to death while I go about my business.”
Jori was quite taken aback by his master’s comments. The man had never heard Lord Maslyn make such a request in the six years he had served the boy. He did not mind his job and, in fact, rather liked the quiet and simple demands. Still, Jori was impressed by the outburst. Lord Maslyn was usually rather boring. It was almost nice to have a spirited order of this sort.
“Your terms are acceptable. I don’t know any ‘Arna’, though. You shall retain Jordis as your personal assistant from this moment forward.”
The boy forgot Arna went by “Jordis” in front of everyone else. It was nice that they called each other special names. Soryn was a little disappointed that it had been so easy to have his demands met. Jori was far too easygoing.
“Won’t anyone be upset about me having fire?” he protested.
“It will be alright, I should think. The steward didn’t want you to have a fire when you were young, because he felt you might be tempted to play with it or some other such nonsense. I always said it was a silly presumption. The reason Asmund does not think of it for you now, is he supposed it would upset you; give you bad memories,” Jori said, while he stripped the sheets and rushed the young master out of bed.
“It snows ninety-five percent of the year! It never occurred to anyone that a twelve year old boy might freeze to death in a drafty old tower? So what if it gives me bad memories!” Soryn had been bothered by the cold before, but today he had had enough.
“My apologies, Lord Maslyn. Now, since you have requested Jordis as your assistant from this point on, I will have her come retrieve your midday and evening meal. Is that sufficient? She’ll have her meal in the kitchen, of course, while you have your meal in the tower.”
“That’s ridiculous! How can we have friendly conversation if she is somewhere else? No, I’m afraid that will not do, Jori. She must dine with me. I’ll not be an elitist noble who acts better than those who work with him.”
“As you wish, sir. I’ll send her up as soon as I explain her change in station.”
“Change in station? What do you mean?” Soryn asked, perplexed.
“As your personal assistant, she will need a new uniform, as well as certain keys and other such items. It might take an hour or so to arrange everything.”
“Ah, very good.” Soryn had not remembered all of the things servants had to do each day or that the clothes they wore were actually uniforms.
He sat quietly and thought about this as Jori helped him dress. Jori left without another word, while Lord Maslyn ate his breakfast. Down the corridor, Jori smiled to himself—again delighted that Lord Maslyn had finally spoken up about something he wanted. The manservant always remembered Soryn as the Maslyn’s most subservient and introverted child. It was a good change of pace to hear him act like a Maslyn for once; demanding and somewhat pretentious. Jori still knew the master was a kind and intelligent child, and that he really just wanted some company.
“I don’t blame the lad,” Jori thought to himself, “I would have gone crazy long ago if I were shut up in that tower.”