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As far as the world was concerned, Estera had no last name and no parents.
It had been drilled into her since she was old enough to go to school that she didn’t talk about Mama and Dad to people who weren’t family. Her mother always would smile at her and ruffle her hair when she asked, but never answer, and her father didn’t even entertain the question, so before long she gave up even asking.
Her many friends always asked why, asked why neither of her parents picked her up from school, why she always went over to their house, but she knew as much as they did. Her teachers, unbeknownst to her, gossiped about the lack of her parents, whispering unsavoury things they would never dare to even mouth if they knew the truth.
She bore no family name, as far as she knew. She understood that she likely legally bore one of her parent’s last names, but she couldn’t guess as to what it is, and her school had been, in secret, paid out to not require her surname.
It would be in her ninth summer, on a beautiful and miraculously clear day that she learned why. Darkness was falling, and she sat on the bench under the bay window in her father’s book room, playing with her dolls and watching the street lights be turned on. She, with no heightened sense of danger, felt no pull in her gut that warned of the coming storm. For all she knew, it would be just like any other night.
There was a loud crash from downstairs and her head snapped up, her dolls falling onto the bench as she slid off, her bare feet touching down softly on the hardwood flooring. There was another crash as she peeked her head out the door, looking down the hall to the stairs.
Another crash then— footsteps . She stood motionless in the doorway. There was a moment, she blinked, then an unfamiliar man was rushing down the hall, straight to where she was. She froze in fear. He had seen her, his wild eyes were honed on her, a strange and unsettling smile on his face.
There was another set of footsteps right behind him, but she barely registered it as the man reached her, grabbing her off the floor. She shrieked, trying to scramble out of his grasp. This wasn’t like when Matty picked her up and made her a bird, this was harsh and scary. There was a bang, and she was dropped to the floor.
She landed on her wrist and wailed as she heard a crack. Strong, familiar hands grabbed her by the shoulders, and she found herself looking into her father’s eyes. He looked...strange. His hair was mussed, his face was red, and his eyes held the same sheen that had been in the other man’s eyes. She looked behind her to try and see the man, slumped on the floor, he was hurt too—
“Estera,” Her father said roughly, forcing her eyes back to him. He spoke quickly and quietly. “ Estera , listen to me. Go to my study. Under the rug, there is a ladder that leads to a tunnel. Behind the third door on the left, there is a room, that locks from the inside. Wait there. Do not come out for anyone but me. I’ll knock like this,” he tapped her shoulder in a specific pattern, “You’ll be safe there.”
She sobbed, “Daddy, what’s going on?”
“No time now,” he told her, standing up and helping her up. “Go!”
Estera did as she was told.
She ran.
She had no jacket, and even under the blanket on the cot, she found herself to be freezing cold. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking and her wrist really really hurt. She wanted her dad. Her white dress was red, and her young brain could barely comprehend that it was blood that had stained it.
She had lit the room with a candle and a set of matches she had found, burning her small fingers in the process. Her tiny body hurt all over, and she just wanted her dad! So she curled up tighter under the blanket, too scared to even cry. She didn’t understand.
She thought of the dolls she had abandoned in the book room. Saints , she prayed, don’t let them get hurt too! The room was too dark, too cold, too small, even a young girl like her. She wanted to go home!
Eventually, she fell into an uneasy sleep. She was woken up by heavy knocking. It took her a second to recognise the pattern but when she did, she bolted up and through the darkness that had fallen as the candle died in her sleep, unlocking the door as quick as she can. She barely had time to see her father as she threw the door open before she was throwing herself into his arms, wailing.
He picked her up easily, handing her over to another familiar set of arms. Matty held her tightly as they walked back up the tunnel into the house, Matty’s wife Nina helping her up at the top. She was shrieking between her wails, confused, scared, and hurt.
“Shhh, baby, what’s wrong?” Nina asked, her pretty and concerned face focused solely on her. She could hear her father and Matty talking, as she pointed to her wrist. Nina grabbed it gently, running her fingers over it lightly. It was agonising.
“It hurts!” She whimpered.
“Oh, my poor baby. It’s okay, we’ll get this fixed in no time. You were very brave, your Daddy tells me.” She brushed a stray hair away from her face. “Let’s get you upstairs. The medik will be here soon. Don’t look, sweetie.”
She found herself confused by the last part for only a moment as she was again picked up, this time by Nina, and brought out into the main hall and up the stairs. Her father and Matty stayed behind in the study, talking in low tones. Outside, many men lay slumped on the floor, faces red, their bodies broken. She hid her face in the silk of Nina’s dress, crying. The woman rubbed circles into her back.
She was set gently onto her bed, but she cried harder as she saw the state her dress was in now. The fabric was a deep crimson, the embroidery that lined it permanently ruined. This had been a gift from Mama’s pretty friend Alina, and it was one of her favourite dresses. Nina kissed her brow, holding her good hand tightly.
Within minutes the family medik bustled into the room, immediately seeing to her. She wiped a cut on her brow clean, the stinging causing Estera to cry once more. She set her hand, which cause Estera to shriek, holding Nina’s hand tightly, who whispered praise and comfort softly into her ears. The medic splinted the hand, gave Nina some medicine for her, and left to see to her other duties.
Nina helped her bathe, washing her long, dark, hair and braiding the wet strands down her back. She sniffled, wrapped up in a comfy nightgown and Fjerdan fur blanket. The sun was rising outside as Nina tucked her into her bed and its fluffy, purple, comforter, her bad wrist resting above the blankets. The woman read her a story, closed her windows, and left as Estera fell into her sleep.
She woke up to see her father, sitting by her bedside. She barely had time to register the strange look on his face, before he registered that she was awake. He reached out gently, his face smoothing over as he brushed her hair out her face for her. “How are you?” He asked, his tone strange. It was as soft and quiet as feather fall.
“My arm hurts,” She told him.
“I know,” was his reply, as he rose, only to sit on the space between her and the edge of the bed. His weight drew the blanket down, but his hand never left her face. They were bare, and she stared. Even as young as she was, she knew her fathers seldom went without them.
“Dada?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you wear gloves?” His hand stilled, and she thought she made a mistake as he looked away, an expression that she would one day realise to be pain fell upon his face. He shook his head, pursing his lips, blinking away the shine in his eyes. He looked at her, and she found herself lost under her father’s heavy gaze.
“You don’t want to know, little one.”
“I do want to know!”
He looked away, “I will tell you the full story one day,” His tone was dead serious, “When you are old enough. But I can’t now, not when I look upon you and remember you are the same age I was when it happened and realise how much I lost. Oh, how I wish I could protect you from everything that befell me, the pain I’ve felt. And by your mother’s Saints, I try. But I can’t.” He glanced down at her broken wrist.
“Dad?” Her father was crying, and she made herself sit up, crawling closer to him.
He took her head in his hands, kissing her brow. “You are my greatest treasure, Estera. I am proud of you for yesterday. You were so, so brave. You are stronger than I was.”
“What happened yesterday?”
He paused once more, cupping her face all the while he spoke, looking out the windows with a drawn expression. “There are many people upon this earth, and in this city who want me to answer for my sins. And if that means hurting you, they will do that. Estera, you must understand this is why you have no public family name. You cannot carry my name or your mothers. You cannot carry their sins, the burden. I will not paint a target on your back.”
“Why do they hate you, dada?”
He sighed, “You’ll understand one day. One day, you will have to face who I am, my child. What I have done, what you do not yet know. And you may choose to turn away from me in that hour, but for now, all I can do is be your father.”
She opened her mouth to ask questions, but he quieted her, “No questions. Wait till it is time.” He drew her closer. “However, I suppose I can answer one question.”
“What is your family name? You’ve never told me.”
He paused, and she feared he would turn back. But her father was a man of his word. “I do not carry my family name. I carry a name I made for myself, Brekker. I tried to cut my family name away, like a bad limb, many years ago...but I could never leave it. That is the name you legally carry.”
“What is it?” She asked before she could remember his one-question rule.
“By the saints, you are just like me,” He laughed, looking away. “I was born with the name of Rietveld. You carry that name, now. You honour all my forefathers with it, and the ones I left behind. You carry a good name, my daughter.”
“Estera Rietveld,” she tried, not noticing the slight stiffening of her fathers body. “I like it!”
“Now don’t go around telling all your friends that. It is a secret, Estera. The most coveted one,” he said as he pushed a finger to her lips, shushing her. “Do you understand?”
“I do.”