Stumbling up the staircase my hip twinges. In my belt is a knife, on my back a knapsack. My sister begged Mother to let me stay, but to no avail. Once again I'm the brazen child, she the mannered one. As it's been our whole life.
When we were children, many would think I was the younger sister. Lucrecia's hair is the grey of House Ost, mine the straw common folk bear atop their brows. At a tender age of seven Lucrecia bore herself with the serene, powerful grace of a Matron while a nine-year old me scuttled around with a creased robe and tangled hair
Yet by birth I was heir to Ost, greatest noble house of the Patrons' Seat. My sister was just a pawn in a vast political game, there to bring another household under the fold of our coalition through marriage. I was to rule and direct Ost whether the times brought strife or famine, sorrow or joy.
During lesson hours the difference was equally pronounced. Lucrecia studied the genealogies of other houses while I learnt of various military campaigns. Maybe if we could share the title of Matron we would have completed each other: she could navigate the tangled political landscape, I would handle blunter aspects of leadership. But in the peace and prosperity of our time Lucrecia seemed wise and I deluded.
Throughout these early days of my life mother was not abusive as she was in later life, merely apathetic towards us. She was the thirty-third Matron of House Ost, and had concerns larger than her family. Our father moved to an estate in the outer settlements after Lucrecia was born, overburdened and overwhelmed. He died when I was eight.
Then mother's neglect ended. Though at father's funeral she seemed relieved, it triggered a change. No longer were we left alone with our servants in House Ost, instead travelling with her to social gatherings. We learnt who our friends were as well as our enemies.
At that point mother's attention seemed more of a blessing than anything else.

The throbbing of my hip becomes so strong I rest, staring out a window. Before me lies the Patrons' Seat, my home and the home of countless millions. Surrounding me is the upper city of graceful spires, verdant parks, and beautiful mansions. Farther out are banal, ugly grey apartment blocks. In these grid streets live the millions of illegitimate poor distant and inapproachable. Where I would have to go tomorrow, I remind myself.
I know my adamant refusal to meet these people is hypocritical. In conversations with Karnet I professed caring for those beneath me and desire to aid them. Yet the thought of bringing my daughter among them seems so alien, so inexplicably sickening that I'm taking the most drastic of measures, the most ultimate of sins.
I'm going to kill mother.
It's unnatural for daughter to hate mother. Even in ancient sagas replete with perfidy, sickening greed and terrible deeds the crime of matricide is never written of. I wonder if Lucrecia despises mother with the same passion, or if I'm just an oddity again.
My hate was neither abrupt nor quick in coming. No single event haunted our relationship. Instead, abuse upon abuse piled upon me led me to think differently. It's a true testimony to the bond a mother and daughter should share that it took me so long to change.

Charting when the pleasure of being with my mother dulled is difficult. I've often wondered whether in maturity I realized her flaws, or if they only manifested themselves later. Eventually I became acutely aware of her arrogance towards everyone, servant, family and friends alike, how often she resorted to corporal punishment for petty infractions, and her fetid breath, reeking of alcohol and vomit.
One morning when I was fourteen, hate finally set in. Mother was wearing the regalia of House Ost: a red robe embroidered with a kneeling man and two lead scabbards. Though most Matrons would wear more comfortable clothes at times, mother always reminded us that Ost was supreme and we should never let others forget that.
One of mother's unusual traits is that after drinking excessively she was irascible, not morose. Poking savagely at her food with a fork, mother muttered, "Tonight we are invited to House Grantol for a dinner."
Lucrecia's face grew troubled, but I didn't know why. "Why are we going to our enemies?" she inquired.
"Lady Grantol clearly wants to make an ally of me." Mother poked at her food for a second, then spat out, "As if I'm foolish enough to consent to alliance!" Her fist banged on the table. "We've been enemies for a hundred-fifty years!"
"Why?" I asked, curious. I knew of the animosity between our houses, but didn't understand it.
Mother almost made some remark, but Lucrecia began to talk first. "House Grantol was the largest, most liberal house," Lucrecia explained. "They supported granting legitimacy to the poor as well as erasing the laws of Matriarchy. Their house was divided into two branches, one with huge amounts of power and the other living in a small house somewhere on the outskirts of the upper city."
"Our Matron discovered that the main branch of House Grantol was descended from a woman raised by a single father, thus illegitimate. After a court case, most of Grantol was left evicted, stripped of nobility and possessions. Only a small group remained the same group that is challenging mother today."
Mother lashed out with one of the lead scabbards, catching me across the face. "Such ignorance is not befitting of the heir of Ost!" she shouted. Mother's words attracted the stares of servants, but she appeared not to notice. My cheek stung as I hung my head. "Do not let them lead you astray! Your interactions with Karnet, the heir to Grantol, are to be purely formal!"

That night we rode on a carriage though the paved streets of our upper city. An angry red welt had formed on my cheek, which I covered under a hood. Mother normally wouldn't permit me to wear such clothes, but she offered no resistance that night.
House Grantol was dwarfed by Ost: its grounds consisted of several trees and the building itself was only two stories high. A table was laid out for dinner on the grass, with two already seated. There was Lady Grantol, a tall woman with orange hair that danced like fire in the cool breeze. Beside her was a boy, with a short stature and his mother's hair.
Lady Grantol rose and approached me. "Good day," she greeted. "You must be Nien, heir to Ost."
Custom went that a visitor would kneel to a host, but mother told me I shouldn't tonight. Maintaining eye contact with Lady Grantol, I disobeyed. I could feel my mother's eyes blazing into my back, but I didn't care. For once my sister wasn't mistaken for me.
"You may rise." Lady Grantol beckoned the boy. "Here is my heir, Karnet." The boy nodded, though he didn't rise.
After greetings were over I sat next to Karnet. As mother and Lady Grantol exchanged pleasantries, I turned to Karnet. "Why are you heir?" I asked. "Law forbids male heirs."
"I haven't heard that asked so bluntly before," Karnet admitted. His deep voice seemed to carry wisdom despite his young age. I blushed, realizing how rude I must have sounded. "Don't worry," he laughed. "Most people don't bother kneeling to my mother. Well, Grantol is liberal." Karnet shrugged. "Explains everything we do."
Despite mother's insistence that I keep all interactions formal I laughed. The nonchalance with which Karnet defied everything society stood for was so amusing, so endearing I couldn't help myself. Mother's hate for this quaint little house seemed so bizarre.
"Oh? What else is odd about your house?"
"Where to start…" As Karnet launched into the ridiculous practices of his family, I snuck a glance at mother. Her expression was a distasteful sneer trying to be a smile, and she seemed detached from her conversation with Lady Grantol. I noticed Lucrecia staring at me, making a jerking motion with her head telling me to stop. But I didn't care. I was having too good a time talking with Karnet.
That night Mother gave me a vicious beating that left me sore for weeks.

Still brooding on my miasma of suffering, I begin to ascend the staircase again. Now the dull throbbing of my hip is overcome by a yearning for the impossible, wanting nothing more than a life with Karnet, free from mother. Yet tonight I will smash all hope entirely, hands stained with rivulets of mother's blood.

After my meeting with Karnet, mother became even more active in punishing us. Even Lucrecia, the obedient child was affected. One morning I noticed her sitting in a brooding silence, normally high head slumped over. I approached her and demanded, "What happened?"
"Nothing," Lucrecia answered despondently.
I pushed her head up and as her grey hair parted I saw an angry red mark on her forehead. "What happened?" I repeated, meeting my sister's gaze
"I was caught reading some 'bad' book," Lucrecia muttered.
"Let me talk to mother. I'll get her to stop," I promised.
"No!" Lucrecia insisted, clenching my hand. "She's our mother! I'll just be a good girl and it won't happen again!"
Understanding the futility of arguing with mother, I took a more passive approach. Whenever I could, when Lucrecia was on the verge of being beaten I would find some way to take ownership of my sister's deed and the consequences. Mother's ire grew ever larger, and as hard as we tried we were never good enough for her. My body became a tapestry of cuts and bruises.

The only person keeping me afloat was Karnet. Despite antagonism between our houses, it seemed natural to see him, and he invited me secretly, without consulting my mother. Every week I would enter House Grantol, outside of mother's scrutiny. Lady Grantol seemed both bemused and saddened by our friendship, but was kind enough to keep quiet. Mother never found out. We were fast friends, then somewhat more.
One day we were sitting in Karnet's bedroom, fingers interlocked. I had noticed that he and his mother treated servants as equals, and was curious. "All nobles view the lower class as inferior. Why are you different?"
Karnet paused, thinking hard about my question. "I haven't thought much about it," he admitted, laughing. "It just seems illogical to judge someone by their birth."
"Explain."
"Well… we can't control who our parents are," he argued. "If you could have chosen you wouldn't be born to your mother."
And that triggered something within me. Tears spilled from my eyes and Karnet pulled me into his tender embrace.

At some point I became pregnant. Signs manifested themselves at every turn, but I ignored them. As my creeping suspicion mounted, I retreated from life, and eventually Karnet. I haven't heard from him since - he couldn't exactly inquire after me, though he surely knows now.
One day as I neared the breakfast table, mother was already seated (a rare occasion, she arose sluggishly and late.)Her gaze turned, centering on my stomach. "I would like to know," mother began, spitting out each word with pure vehemence. "Who gave you that child?"
"No one!" I insisted. "I'm not pregnant!"
"Oh? Just getting fat?" Mother snorted with derision.
"I'm not-"
"Silence!" mother commanded. She rose, drawing a lead scabbard from her belt. I steeled myself, knowing what would come. Giving an angry cry, mother brought the scabbard crashing down on my hip with a sickening crack. I collapsed, vision swimming.
"I won't yield Ost to a failure whose promiscuity knows no bounds!" mother bellowed. "Lucrecia is heir to Ost, and if that child draws breath you are disowned entirely!" I dragged myself to my room, receiving no aid from fearful servants who raised and nurtured me.

My hip was broken, but I couldn't leave Ost until it healed. Fleeing to Karnet would be impossible- if mother knew I bore his child the consequences for both me and House Grantol would be massive. Instead I would leave the Patrons' Seat, headed to one of the outer settlements.
Lucrecia entered my room soon after I clawed my way onto my bed. "Mother has consulted several doctors expert in killing unborn children. You can get that child killed."
"No," I refused.
"Might explain why mother hates you," Lucrecia speculated, narrowing her eyes. "Oh well. Guess that's why I'm heir to Ost!" she gloated.
"Wonderful. Tell mother to let me stay until my child is born."
"No," Lucrecia sneered. "You brought dishonor upon our house!"
"Oh?" I demanded. "How so?"
Lucrecia burst into laughter. She leaned against a wall shaking her head patronizingly. "By holding that illegitimate child in your womb, obviously!"
I glared at Lucrecia, visceral hate swelling. What happened to my sweet sister? What did mother do to her? "The child I carry is nobler than mother."
"No he's not," Lucrecia scoffed. "Its bastard born, half dog."
"Then let me stay so you can mock me longer."
Lucrecia shook her head. "You've brought dishonor upon our house. Be gone!"
"I've done so much for you…" I reminded Lucrecia. "Is that really fair?"
My sister's leer broke, replaced by a conflicted expression. "She'll beat me if I defend you."
"You're heir of Ost now. She won't refuse you."
"Al… alright…" Lucrecia stuttered. "Sister… I love you and… and when mother's dead I'll welcome you back." Her voice was choked, and as she left I wondered which face she had shown was the real Lucrecia.

And so I stayed five more months as the swelling in my stomach grew larger. Each time the sun set I contemplated the same terrifying choice. Should I kill mother? Was Lucrecia merely meek in the face of abuse, or was she a caricature of that woman? She said that when mother died I would have a place in Ost. Would that hold even for murder? In the end I knew one thing: no matter what, Lucrecia would never lay a hand on my daughter. Even if I went my daughter would have a place in Ost.
Personal repercussions were secondary.

Nearing mother's room the injustice of the situation overwhelms me. Karnet is now entrapped in some political marriage and my daughter is already wronged by this sick world.
Drawing my knife I stare at the door in front of me. It leads to the quarters of the Matron of House Ost.
Ost.
A name that brings both loathing and painful yearning for something I never had. It's an unsafe home, but I can't imagine being elsewhere.
I swing open the door, knife clenched in my fist. I hope that mother is in some drunken stupor.
That way I'll never have to hear her voice agasin.