Lord Amplevine's Revenge Pt. 02

"I have been thinking about it for years." She downed them milk, all of it, in a single swig. It tasted... Heavenly. It felt strange to admit it even to herself, but it was quite possibly one of the most delicious things to ever cross her lips. "Do it."

She did it.

It took moments, just as she had said. Tula placed her hands on Synnøva's shoulders, closed her eyes whispered a few words in Shalian... And then they simply shrank. It was the strangest sensation, skin tightening, her breasts compressing, down, down, until they were big, but not huge. A bit more than a handful each, albeit for someone with exceptionally large hands.

And that was it. It was done. Synnøva found herself shocked that it had actually worked. So many years of wishing for this, and she finally had it.

"May you always feel comfortable in your own body," said Tula.

The shell cracked. It was Synnøva's turn to cry. Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself embracing her. Tula hugged her back without the slightest bit of hesitation. "Thank you," she said into her shoulder. She smelled lovely, like chamomile, and though Synnøva was glad that she would never have to carry the great weight of an enormous chest around ever again, Tula's felt really very nice pressed up against her.

Hmm...

"It was my pleasure. Blessings of the Eight upon you, Synnøva Silvercreek."

With that, Tula and Naala gathered their things (really, this was just the incense, its holder, and the cup), said goodbye, and went on their way. Synnøva offered to have them stay for dinner, or to stay the night, but they very politely and gracefully declined.

And that was it.

—

Epilogue:

Weeks passed. Halvar went to trial. Synnøva, Astrið, Captain Eadwig, Bjarna, Ulv, and a few of the servants who had heard the commotion all testified against him, and to nobody's surprise, he was sentenced to fifty years in prison for the crimes of assaulting a noble, twice, assaulting a Master of the University, twice, and attempted murder of a free citizen of Branturhem. Why were assaults on nobility and Masters considered separate crimes from assaults on free citizens, Synnøva wondered? She had never really considered it before, but once the thought came into her head she couldn't quite shake it.

As it turned out, it was Magistrate Sigrun who was presiding over the case. Rumors around the house were that she was planning on sentencing Halvar to death, so Synnøva had taken it upon herself to speak to her and ask her to take pity on him. She wasn't sure why she did that, even as she sat in Sigrun's office speaking to her.

Halvar had been oddly complacent during the trial. He admitted to his crimes without any compulsion at all, and when the magistrate announced his sentence he was smiling. At Synnøva. It made her shiver. Had he somehow discovered that she had gotten his sentence reduced? How? The thought made her very nervous indeed, but then Astrið, sitting next to her at the time, had placed a gentle hand on her arm. That made her shiver too, but in an entirely different way.

Why? Synnøva was starting to have an idea...

After the trial, things settled down at Silvercreek Manor. Amplevine Manor was now without a master, but Synnøva had forfeited her right to the property when she had severed her betrothal to him. That was fine. She wanted nothing to do with the place. Though now, without an upcoming marriage and without her chest to worry about, Synnøva found herself idling. She considered learning Shalian properly, instead of just sounding out the letters, for no particular reason other than it seemed like it could be useful and she was bored, but she had nobody to teach her. She could have hired a tutor, but...

She settled for talking to her servants instead. Why had she never done that before? The girl who had washed the doll for her (it sat now on the headboard of her bed) was named Freja, as it turned out, and she was in the employ of the Silvercreeks because she had stolen an apple from a merchant's stall on Market Row, three years ago. This, apparently, carried a sentence of five years of servitude. That seemed absurd to Synnøva, and she wondered at why she was unaware of all of these laws that she was, apparently, receiving unpaid labor from. Her father had paid money to the city in order to buy Freja's contract, and he was bound to feed and clothe her, but other than that he did not have to pay her anything at all, and he didn't. It... Didn't seem right.

Bjarna, on the other hand, was not in servitude. He was paid, although Synnøva had, for the first time in her life, bothered to take a look at his contract. Three øre per week. She had purchased candy from shops Uptown that cost more than three øre. She ordered her father's Master of Coin to give him a raise, as thanks for his help back in Amplevine Manor. It turned out to be fortuitously timed, for when she called him into her chambers to tell him, he came in sulking.

"Astrið and I are no longer seeing each other," he said when she asked him why. "She said that, although the sex was wonderful, she just didn't feel much of a connection to me."

Poor Bjarna. She gave him a bonus of a crown on top of his raise, just because it made her feel good to see his face light up. He was very thankful, almost as much as the matron of that first orphanage had been. Odd. It was only a crown...

—

She found herself standing in the summer rain outside of Siegmund Hall. This was where the University housed its Masters- in small but well-appointed apartments right on the edge of the city, where the sprawl of stone and wood buildings began to give way to forests and farmland. An attendant let her in and directed her through the halls to Apartment 531, residence of Master Astrið Issansdotir, and she was made to wait outside yet another door.

Astrið's eyebrows raised when she saw Synnøva there. "Oh, Lady Silvercreek! This is a pleasant surprise. I was just about to start writing a letter to you. Please, come in."

Her apartment was cluttered, filled with books and scrolls and all sorts of little trinkets that Synnøva couldn't identify. Astrið herself was wearing a robe much like the one that she'd been in when they'd met, only this one was absolutely strained by her chest. She found herself very, very glad that she did not have to deal with that sort of thing anymore. And yet, at the same time... It was rather interesting to look at. They were absolutely ridiculous, it was true, but they did look quite soft.

"What can I do for you, Lady Silvercreek?"

"Oh, um. You can call me Synnøva, if you'd like. Or Synne."

Astrið grinned. "Sure, Synne. What can I do for you?"

"Well..." Now that she was here, she realized that she wasn't entirely sure why. She'd just... wanted to see her again. "I was thinking about learning a bit of Shalian. I know that it's not your native language, but-"

"Say no more! I'd be delighted to teach you Shalian, Synne."

It had always rankled her when Halvar had called her that, but coming from Astrið it was nice.

"Of course, one can't learn a language in a single day. You'd have to come visit me at least once a week, maybe more than that if you really want to get good at it."

Synne smiled. "You know what? I think I'd like that."