Ever since Asher could remember, he had lived in the house of Lord Bastien and the Lady Helena.  Ever since he could remember, it had also been made obvious that he did not belong there.  The estate was large, but not so big that he could escape the whispers of the serving folk who scathingly referred to him as the Lord’s little charity case.  Nor were they subtle in expressing their opinion that he was ungrateful for the little hospitality shown him.  Raised in such a place, he had learned early how to move through the manor like a shadow, invisible to all and out of reach from their bullying.

One night he reached a breaking point.  The cook, a giant of a man with a brutish disposition, had been lying in wait, knowing that Asher would need to make a raid on the kitchens at some point during the day.  The hungry thirteen-year old had barely stepped foot over the threshold before he felt his back hit the dirt.  The huge man stood over him, growling something about how Asher was just like every other thieving Feidi.  Asher had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but cursed himself for being predictable enough to be caught.  The cook advanced on him and lashed him across the face with a switch, leaving an angry red line across Asher’s cheek.  The boy scrambled up and sprinted away into the darkness, resigning himself to another hungry night.

Alone and unable to sleep from the tight emptiness in his belly, he wandered through the corridors like an aimless spirit.  Before he knew it, his feet had brought him to the door of Lord Bastien’s study. This room had always been forbidden to him, with no explanation.  He hesitated before the door, thinking over his frustration living here, feeling the unbearable curiosity to discover what was in the study, and came to the decision that he was owed an answer.  Bits of salvaged wire found their way from Asher’s pocket to his hands, which he used to charm the simple three-tumbler lock.  The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and he slipped inside and clicked the lock shut behind him.

Once inside, he was surprised to find that the study was quite a humble room compared to the rest of the house.  Low ceilinged, with bookshelves built in to two of the four walls, a desk positioned in the corner which would be illuminated by window light during the day.  He headed to the desk immediately.  

Asher knew that any of the Lord’s important documents would be kept here, so he deftly opened the remaining locked draws and began rifling through paperwork.  Secret letters, tax records, legers documenting trade, and finally, an old letter from the army.  With a jolt, Asher saw his own name inscribed in the body of the letter. He swiftly pocketed it and reached for a glint in the back of the drawer that had caught his eye.  

He pulled out a small, silver key.  His eyes glittered as he realized what this could mean.  The key seemed to be whispering clues into his ear, promising that further wealth could not be far off.  Asher gripped the key and turned his attention to the bookshelves. Carefully, he began moving over the tomes, pulling out stacks of books and piling them on the floor.  He had a very good idea what this key unlocked, and it wasn’t long before he found it.  A small iron door, hidden in the wall of the bookshelf.  Asher grinned.  He inserted the key and turned, and it unlocked without a hitch.  Inside the safe, mounds of gems glittered and gleamed. He exhaled a shaky breath, thinking about all the things these gems could buy him.  Freedom from the estate.  His own home. Maybe even an answer to where he had come from?  

He found a small satchel in another of the desk drawers, and hurried back to the safe to begin shoveling gems into the bag.  He didn’t spare a moment to feel guilty about the theft.  After all, he felt he should be compensated for the thirteen years he had spent under Lord Bastien’s thumb.