Prologue

Lucidity comes less and less often. My mind is not what it was. But I remember clearly that Sam has abandoned us, thrown us out onto the open streets from the safety of a tavern that I gave him, against his own sworn oath. I do not truly blame him, for I know that this is the work of the whore Mardis. I know it is the plight of a man desperate to steady his marriage, but this is not a thing that can be saved. I warned him the day that I first saw her that there was no love in her eyes. An accidental child was no reason to rush into wedlock. And now he has forced away his oldest friend to share his bed with a viper that drips poison in his ear.

Brolli has taken us in. Brolli has taken us in. Brolli has taken us in. Why did I right that three times? Write. My mind is not what it was. I must try to remember what is important. I have been cast aside from a man who swore an oath to protect me and my son, but my old friend Brolli has taken us in. I have been given my own room. It is cold. Hjorvarth is here with me, working for Brolli. That worries me. I know what kind of man Brolli has become, the work that he deals in, but for now he only has my son sweeping floors and helping that jovial cook. Cook. Why does that word strike such a fear in me? Why am I asking answers of parchment?

I must try to remember. In case I forget it all. In case Hjorvarth needs to read this. Brolli has taken us in. I have a room, with my things in it. It is cold, but it is full of my things. I have had to hide them, because Brolli is in a foul mood and he is selling most his things. Gone is the fine furniture. Gone is the fine bedding. Gone are the fine

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My mind is not what it was, but I have hidden my things. My wardrobe is not empty. Say the name three times and all appears. What name?

I must try to remember. I have remembered the name. I thought it was Sibbe, but it was another woman’s. Which one?

I watch my son become more and more like Brolli. To write the words and mean them with hate makes me sick of myself. Brolli is my greatest friend, he would not betray me. Yet I see in him a hunger for a son, and I remember a feeling. Did he love Sibbe? Or is that part of my mad imaginings?

They look at me with crows eyes waiting to peck at my corpse. Snap. Snap. Snap. I won’t die for them, not yet. Sometimes I wake from a dream to find a big red-haired man forcing a spoon towards my face. He has Hjorvarth’s eyes. I don’t understand what he wants, but I am hungry, and

My mind is not what it was, but I have hidden things. I must try to remember.

Sibbe, if you are reading this, please send for help.

Isn’t Sibbe dead? She is. Hello? Hello. Is this a talking parchment? I suppose it must be. Miraculous.

Try not to forget. I’ll do my best.