Breckliwetter Crudwell sat on a rock outside his house—his parent’s house. It was becoming more and more clear that they had no intention of passing along the family title. In a world where those who seek ascension can live to obscene ages, a hereditary title meant absolutely nothing. Breck had been trained throughout his childhood to take over their modest territory. Everything from business to accounting to trade and mathematics, Breck knew it all. The strict schedules and excessive study felt like a chore at times, but never was it a responsibility he shirked.

Until now.

Breck sat, carving a chunk of redwood into the shape of an oil stag. He could hear the panicked shouting from his sister as she frantically raced about on her horse, rounding up all the stray torpeps Breck watched escape.

It wasn’t until sunset and all of the flightless, human-sized birds were nestled back in the coop that his sister, Brendiwezzick, came to confront him.

Her hair, like his, was neon pink. Her hair, unlike his, was cut to hang in an impenetrable sheet over her eyes.

Had she been using enchanted mousse? Her bangs stayed perfectly placed while the rest fluttered behind her in the wind. It was this thought that came to mind as her fist collided with his face at full force. It laid him flat on his back behind the rock.

“What the hell are you doing, Breck?” She demanded in a howl. “You good for nothing sack of—“

Another fist hit him directly in the eye socket. She sat on his chest, pinning his unresisting arms to his side.

“You’re mad at dad? Mad at mom? Well leave me out of it! I spent the last four hours cleaning up after you when I did nothing wrong! I know you saw! I watched you sit here!”

She looked down at him, rage turning to disgust when she saw nothing on his face. Perfect apathy.

“You idiot. Do you have any idea why our father is seeking ascension?” She held him by the hair until he looked her in the eyes. “You don’t. Do you? Let me rephrase that. Why would our father be frantically looking to extend his lifespan?”

Breck felt a stab of fear. “Is dad dying?”

“No! We’re up to our eyes in debt, you moron!” She shoved him into the dirt, hard. “You want to be Count but you can’t even read a room. Mom and dad are trying to bail out the family before it goes under. If they die before then, it becomes that much harder for their children to survive. Do you think we’ll make it through another attack from the Unmade cult? If they come back for their ‘grinding’, Crudwell County would be massacred.”

“You know there’s nothing we can do if the cult chooses to invade. We need something to protect the land. Soldiers, traps—hell, even wild monsters deployed strategically would be preferred to this!”

His eyes were growing misty. Curse her. Brendiwezzick was never a candidate to succeed the family, she couldn’t know the feeling of having that opportunity taken away from her.

She snorted. “‘This’ being our parents living to very-old-age and becoming Gods or High Spirits?” Brendiwezzick poorly imitated Breck’s voice. “My name is Breck and I think my parents are being selfish by holding on to their vast debt and refusing to pass it on to me. Grow up, Breck!”

“I don’t need this.” He climbed to his knees, sending his sister reeling backward. “At least I can see that there might be other options to our parents taking the arrow headed for me.” His older sister offered him a hand to get up, hauling him up by the belt when he slapped her hand away.

She gestured at his relatively slight person. “What are you going to do? Sell your body to some perverted old man? I don’t think you’re worth enough to cover the debt but I commend your fealty to the County. I’ll make you a commemorative plaque or something equally sentimental and useless.”

His sister did not wait for his answer. Instead, she removed her muddy hat and threw it at him then turned to head inside the manor.

Breckliwetter had an idea. It wasn’t a good idea, per se but there were no ideal solutions available.

“I’ll re—recruit my own Unmade.” He announced to his sister. “Just… just give me some time to find one.”

Her only response was a solitary finger over her shoulder.

***

Breck sat on a rock. It had been four months since he set out on his quest to find an Unmade willing to work for his family. It hadn’t been easy… or rewarding… or even enjoyable, really. What kept him from going home was the hope that he’d die before Brendwezzick could find him and tear strips off his hide. He’d left in the middle of the night. A bag of coins in one hand and a family crest in the other to prove his identity.

He shook the tin cup to clank his coin about and remind passersby of his pitiful condition. This earned him a copper marq from an ancient woman and an appropriately pittying look. Breck rolled his eyes after she’d moved on. He wanted their money, not their sympathy.

Yes. It would be best if he died before his sister found him. He would receive no pity from her… and no title from his parents.

Gods! Even if he had run into an Unmade, he had long-since burnt through the money he brought to pay the man. He couldn’t have known things would be so expensive. One day, Breck awoke to find only a few coins left in his pouch. If he was being honest with himself, something he was unwilling to do, he couldn’t tell if he had been pick-pocketed or overly frivolous.

Both possibilities made him feel sick. So he didn’t think about it.

“Spare a silver?” He asked a middle-aged woman passing by. “Just one silver.”

“Cheeky bastard. All the others are begging for copper coins.” She kicked his cup over with a snoot of her nose, sending his two copper pieces rolling in opposite directions. With the sticky eyes of the other beggars he knew he had to act quickly to go after one marq or else he’d lose them both to grubby, lightning fast fingers.

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He stomped the coin inches from an old man’s hand. They shared a look. Breck’s twitchy fingers promised to claw the man’s eyes out if he even dared sneeze, much less fight him for the marq. One copper wasn’t enough to buy hot food, but it would get him one quarter of a raw squash he could roast. It might even be enough to buy the stale bread destined for the hogs.

After sundown, Breck trudged back to the charity house he was staying at.

How was he supposed to know where an Unmade would be hiding? Unmade were freakishly strong and mentally unstable. Every last one. That wasn’t a cocktail known to spur others to seek out their company. The only way to find them reliably would be to attend an official gathering like The Reaping. They and a large minority of Kitons would flock to the host city in an attempt to enjoy the festivities or, as an Unmade, possibly win the Reaping. Unreliably, job listings on the adventure board were the only thing he could do. Now he just had to wait… to keep waiting.

“Broccoliwater?” A voice asked from behind him.

Breckliwetter wasn’t in the mood. “What?”

He wheeled around, ready to give them a piece of his mind.

The man caught his haymaker with an easy hand, not looking up from the paper in his other hand.

“I’m here on behalf of Lu Mei.” He tossed the fist away and looked at Breck for the first time. “Are you Broccoliwater? Eh… sorry, Broccoliwetter. I’m bad with Kiton names.” He gave Breck a look of casual disinterest.

“Breckliwetter Crudwell. Thank you.” He sniffed at the man. “And you are?”

“…here on behalf of Lu Mei. You don’t listen well do you? I will say that you listen better than you punch, though. Is this listing correct? You’re soon to be Count Crudwell?” He waited for Breck to answer.

“Yes. I will inherit the title as soon as the threat is handled.”

The other man merely hummed a note of indifference.

“I’m very busy.” Breck reminded him when he stood there looking over the listing.

Another hum.

Breck was fuming. This commoner was overtly disregarding him. Whether he had recently fallen on hard times or not, he deserved the respect owed him for his birth. A noble was a noble, no matter how filthy.

Breck was about to teach him a thing about etiquette when he was cut off.

“She’ll do it.” The man said.

Breck stood in place, stunned. “She… will?”

“Yeah! She loves taking these kinds of jobs. She has a soft spot in her heart for kids. Well… a less calloused spot. This whole ‘I’ll lose my entire family without your help’ angle was a perfect approach. Kudos.” The man said with an appreciative appraisal of Breck. “It had better be true, though. Or else she’ll mount your hide on her wall. …That sounds like a joke.”

Breck’s heart started racing. He did it! He’d secured the help of an Unmade! Now he’d return home and inherit his family lands. Brendi would be forced to apologize. She might even be allowed to stay on the Crudwell grounds after he took over—if she apologized hard enough.

“Tell her that I will accept her as one of my people. She will report to Crudwell County by the end of—“

The man held up a hand. “We will be abiding by the contract. It’s very favorable.”

“Excuse me? Part of the contract is that they answer to me. I am their employer.” He gave the man a pitying look. He was just an intermediary who couldn’t understand legal-ese. “I can read you through the contract of you like.”

“I’m good.” He said flatly. “It says here that she will be employed by Crudwell County. Since you are not the Count yet, we’re forced to seek our compensation from your father. Seeing as she’ll be paid in advance, I imagine she’ll head right over.”

“What?” Breck asked. He shook his head. “It says that payment is promised in advance. As in, I promise in advance that you’ll be paid at a later date. You can rely on a promise from a Crudwell. That’s a fact.” He slapped his chest proudly.

“Luckily, the law doesn’t require me to trust you. It only requires that you fulfill your end of the agreement. In exchange, Lu Mei looks over the estate and chases off any Unmade she finds. That will conclude our business.”

An uneasy feeling was beginning to take root in Breck’s mind. “It is a static position at the County. She’ll need to be nearby if something happens to it. Do you intend to shirk your end of the deal?”

The man, a full head taller than Breck, looked down through a mess of curly hair the same reddish brown of his freckles.

“When I said that we would stick to the contract, I meant it. Could it be…” the man’s face curled into a predatory smile that seemed much more natural than it should have. “Do you need me to read through the contract for you? Seriously, who wrote this? It’s bad, bad. Well— it’s great for us. Pretty ugly for you. I didn’t even think this offer was real, to be honest. I thought it was a trap from the Destadian government.”

“That’s impossible!” He stomped his foot to underline the point. “I wrote that myself. I may not have had an aristocratic notary to compose it, but I’ve had lessons my entire life from the finest tutors!”

“Then I suggest you fire them. However… there’s really no need now, I’ll handle that myself. Lu Mei won’t be happy with a gaggle of incompetents.” He folded the paper up and it disappeared from his palm.

Breck’s nausea was growing, it was clear in his expression.

The other man faltered.

“…I was wondering if this sad-boi act was a ploy, but no. I don’t think so. It looks like you sincerely messed up.” The man gave an uncomfortable face. “Gods… So, what happens now is that the three of us head to your home and complete the single sweep of the property specified in the contract. Then we accept the very generous payment also specified in the contract. Then, since I assume you can’t provide this money, you will be evicted from the land and all your property seized and awarded to my mentor. Ok?”

Breck said nothing, shellshocked. His knees began to wobble.

“Oh, this is perfect. She’ll love this. Keep up the trembling—see if you can muster some tears, too. That’ll help.”

The man whistled for him to follow and, after a moment, Breck did.