The heat of the pyre made Peter’s skin pull taught. The roaring flame had initially stunk of burnt hair, but now the scented perfumes they had used masked the scent.

A few of the scant remains of Nine Fingers stood with eyes locked on the mound. Others Ignored it as they gathered equipment.

Cremation was the most proper send-off they could afford. Previously, burial was the standard Nosmerian ritual for the dead; now, they had to do their best to prevent Rahashel from repurposing bodies.

Director Van Den Hoek wept openly, clutching a ring on a chain. Everyone gave him the proper space to mourn.

Even Benedict Smulders, whose face usually held an absolute indifference, and the rude Skye Brink seemed almost reverent before the roaring flames.

A small boy, who managed to hide during the attack, cried in Isabella’s arms as they bid farewell to his mother and sister. His father had already died earlier that day in Stalpia.

Peter pulled away from the funeral pyre and moved into Norah’s training tomb. There was still blood on the floor where she had been killed.

After staring at the stain momentarily, Peter left to find some water and a rag. Norah would have been furious if he had left her floor dirty.

Peter found a brush and a water pail in the storage tomb. He wandered around those who frantically packed gear. He couldn’t even help without getting in the way. Going to a water barrel, he filled the bucket and returned to his trainer’s tomb.

The young court knelt on the cold stone floor of the tomb and cleaned the blood in the hot pyre light blazing from the doorway. The puddle and smear were illuminated by the light from the door, so he didn’t bother with sparking the gaslights installed in the walls.

It was his fault. Peter tightened his hands as he scrubbed the thick, syrupy remains of Norah’s wounds. He led the kings back to the base.

You were tricked, Peter told himself. You didn’t know the tracking tile was there. You didn’t even know that tracking tiles existed.

Peter shook his head. He knew he couldn’t deny it. The pyre of burning remains wouldn’t have happened had Peter followed orders like he was told to. His first step to find Iris had killed them all. Anubis wouldn’t have her, Norah and everyone else would still be alive.

Peter scrubbed furiously and tore his fore-knuckles on the stone. He didn’t care; the sting of wet, raw skin felt good. It had a grounding effect and cut through the numbness. It was funny how different pain was after experiencing so much of it.

What was Peter supposed to do? Leave Iris? She was family; he had a duty to her before anyone else.

What about Director Van Den Hoek’s family? His wife is dead outside because you dictated whose family was more important; a dark corner hissed in the back of his mind.

Of course, Peter didn’t decide whose family was more important. He didn’t choose any of this, and the accusation that he killed those who burned outside would simply be unfair.

Peter wrung out his rag, and the sting in his knuckles vanished.

What was he to do now? He couldn’t leave Iris, but he also couldn’t leave the people of Julleck to fend for themselves. He needed the court band, and so did the commandant. Peter finished mopping up the thick blood and scrubbing the more crusty edges.

He didn’t have time; the invasion was supposed to happen tomorrow.

A shadow cast from the doorway caused Peter to look and see the hired gun, Morris Dewolf, looking after him with worry in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Peter asked politely, his voice husky.

“Are you okay?” Morris asked.

Peter nodded, but Morris held his gaze.

“Are you sure? Because you look …”

“Old?”

“Broken.”

That surprised Peter. The way the other soldiers had spoken of the hired guns made them out to be legendary and expensive fighters whose only interest extended as far as their pocket.

“Are you staying to fight at Julleck tomorrow?” Peter asked.

Morris shook his head, “I’m leaving now, but I wanted to check and see how you were doing.”

Peter took that as another surprise. Morris had been kind to him and seemed friendly. No doubt they would have been friends if they had the time to get acquainted.

“May I?” Morris asked, gesturing to the floor near the door.

Peter nodded. “Don’t get too close.”

Morris sank to the ground, squatting on his haunches and putting his back against the wall. “Today was … Not how it was supposed to turn out.” Morris groaned with fatigue.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh dryly at the statement.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I thought I was signing onto a simple robbery. Well, maybe not simple — robbing a court, a death god — but, you know.”

Peter nodded again as he turned to face Morris.

“And now, the Nine Fingers are all but gone. Who would have guessed.”

Peter flinched. “It’s my fault,” he said.

“That’s ridiculous,” Morris countered.

“It is! I made a choice, and the kings found us because of it.”

Morris nodded slowly as he listened, his face partially obscured in shadow.

“I stayed in Stalpia to save someone, and the kings followed me here.”

“You carried a large burden,” Morris said, nodding to Peter’s Court band.

Does he know what it is? Peter wondered in surprise. “That was also my choice,” Peter said. “I’m starting to realize it may have been wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I insisted on being the one to use this. It could have been anyone. But I insisted it should be me. How selfish of me. Why not Doctor Aarts or Captain Visser? The Commandant probably could have succeeded if he were in my place today. What right did I have to insist that I keep it? Julian said I was perhaps the worst person to use it. He’s right.”

“Don’t be stupid, Van Seur,” Morris countered.

“I’m not,” Peter interrupted. “ It’s just logic, Morris. I kept it and refused to give it up because I wanted to save someone. What about the others? They all had people they wanted to save. They’re dead now because of me.”

The weathered mercenary nodded slowly. He looked towards the bloodied rags on the floor. “Van Seur. I may not be the best man to tell you what to fight for. I fight for money. You fight to take care of your own; I can’t think of anything more noble to defend.”

That gave Peter pause. “That may be true, but I tried to do it alone; maybe I should have given this to more capable hands.”

“But how could you?” Morris asked. “You’re a fighter.”

Peter scoffed. “I’m a seventeen-year-old student. I am not a warrior.”

“I’ve seen commissioned soldiers flee from the things you walk towards.”

“I can’t die!”

Peter stopped short. That was not something he was supposed to tell anyone. He was revealing far too much about the band's capabilities.

Morris waved a dismissive hand at Peter’s recoil. “I saw you. I know you can’t die. I watched as you took the brunt of Rahashel’s defense. It looked painful.”

“It was,” Peter whispered. “Very much so.”

“So what kept you moving forward?” Morris asked. “Why do you shoulder what so many men would shirk?”

Peter thought for a moment. “Iris, he said, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

"A girlfriend?" Morris asked.

"Just a friend," Peter said. "Well, something other than just a friend. I don't know the right word. When I was young, I did something stupid, and she got hurt because of it." Peter waved dismissively, realizing Morris probably didn't care, but the gunman listened intently. On that cue, he continued.

"We were eleven. We went to the same academy. I lived at home with my Ma, but Iris boarded at the dorm. She used to live with her grandmother in Macbare, so she didn't have anybody when she was in Stalpia. She always seemed to have something to prove, so she always teased me."

"You know what that means among children, right?" Morris asked with a chuckle. “She likes you, kid.”

Peter felt his face warm up. “I would get so worked up. That's why she did it. Anyway, there was this townhome with a wild dog. She bet I wouldn't cross the yard and jump over the fence. No one was even watching. I had no reason to say yes. I could have walked away.”

"But it was important to you she didn't see you as a coward?" Morris reasoned.

Peter had never realized it, but he found himself nodding. "I opened the gate." Peter's throat felt heavy. "The dog came for me, but I hid behind the door."

"Smart," Morris affirmed. "I'm not betting on an eleven-year-old kid in that fight."

"Iris threw a rock," Peter whispered, his voice husky. "She tried to save me."

Morris nodded knowingly.

"It tore her ankle. I just watched from behind the door." Peter's throat pinched uncomfortably as her screams mixed with the dog's snarl in his head. "It took two bystanders to separate them. After the surgery, and to this day, she walks with a limp. Not only that, the procedure put her grandmother into horrible debt. Ma and I did what we could to help, but we didn't have much." Peter jerked his sleeve across his eyes and let out a pained laugh. "Ma practically adopted Iris after that. You know what's really strange about all of this?"

Morris didn't speak but listened intently.

"Iris doesn't blame me," Peter sniffed. "After that, she became my best friend, and you know what? When others were around, I had the audacity to be ashamed that my best friend was a cripple."

Peter smiled bitterly, blinking back tears. "So you see, I have to save Iris," Peter said. “I tried before. When we received our crop rings, I put mine on first—as if that would protect her. But I didn't protect her. I surrendered and let it happen."

“And now you are trying to atone for your failure?” Morris asked.

Peter nodded. “But it doesn’t matter now.”

“She’s dead?” Morris asked cautiously.

Peter shook his head. “Anubis has her.”

Morris’ eyes grew wide. “What are you going to do?” He leaned in and mirrored Peter’s posture.

“I don’t know. Save her, leave her to die? I just don’t know.”

“Anubis is using her as leverage?”

Peter nodded.

“You’re not going to give it to him?”

“Of course not. That last time I faced Anubis, things didn’t turn out well for me. Maybe I’ll ask the others to help.”

Morris shook his head. “There’s no way they will. With Rahashel’s ghouls on the move, they’ll be on the front lines of Julleck tomorrow. Nine Fingers is an honorable organization. They will put the needs of Nosmeria before yours.”

Peter slumped. He knew that was true but didn’t see any other way to get her back.

“Did Anubis already schedule a meeting?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “That’s what the attack here was all about.”

“Then she’ll be in the dungeons,” Morris said.

“No, she’s at a printer shop in eastern Stalpia.”

Morris sat up. “Frin’s press?”

Peter scrunched his brow. “I don’t know the shop's name; it’s on Black Tile Junction.”

“I know that shop!” Morris cried. “Frin’s press; I used to go there all the time!”

Peter squinted at the man. Despite himself, he grinned. “Really? The one with the wide bay window?”

“That’s the one.”

“Window’s gone now,” Peter said with a smirk. “I kinda jumped through it.”

“I used to run supplies for a sheet metal plant as a boy, and we printed manuals for our products through Frin’s press.”

“Small world, huh?” Peter asked.

Morris smiled. “Indeed. Well, Van Seur, what next? I imagine you’ll be joining the front lines tomorrow? Or will you go for Iris?”

Peter frowned. “I just don’t know.”

Morris stood with a sigh. “Take heart. I don’t think Anubis will kill Iris so long as you have the armlet.” He headed for the door. “If he learns you’ve given it to someone else, what reason would he have to keep her alive?”

Peter twitched.

“So long, Van Seur. I hope to meet you again.”

Morris left Peter in the dark tomb with his thoughts. Peter liked Morris a lot. He seemed like a good man with his world pulled out from under him like all the others. Peter appreciated Morris' confidence, but it sent his head spinning with more questions. Maybe he could fight at Julleck with the band himself. Perhaps he would be competent enough that the commandant wouldn’t need to wield it?

Peter growled, more frustrated with himself now than before. That was a lot of maybes.

Captain Tobias Visser knocked on the door.

Peter looked up. The captain spoke sharply. “This place is compromised. Help pack up; we’re leaving for Julleck.”

“Now?” Peter asked in surprise.

“Now.”