When she opened her eyes again, the Bloodmist Forest was already shrouded in the embrace of the deep night. In just a few short hours, Ilsa's fate had taken a drastic turn—she had gone from being the master of the forest to a mere prisoner. Her warm cave had been replaced by this tiny wooden cage, so cramped that she could only kneel, with no space to turn. Shackles and oiled hemp ropes bound her tightly, without a single flaw for her to exploit. The iron bit gagging her mouth caused sharp pain.

With difficulty, she turned her head to survey her surroundings. The cage was mounted on wheels, two wooden poles connecting it to Sir Thrinn's black horse, which seemed on the verge of collapse. Not far away, Sir Thrinn, Bun, and Tom sat around a campfire, their drunken conversation carried by the evening wind. Ilsa, concentrating, tried to catch the faint traces of their words.

"I never would've thought," Sir Thrinn took a swig of watered-down wine, "that it'd be a vampire. I didn't even believe in such creatures before today."

"I didn't either, my lord," Tom shook his head, accepting the piece of jerky Sir Thrinn passed him. "Luckily, she didn't take me seriously. If I hadn't agreed to be her slave and supply her with blood, you'd be gathering up pieces of my corpse right now."

"She took an arrow..." Bun glanced at the cage, "but she doesn't seem injured at all. A normal person would've been dead long ago..."

"That's because you haven't seen what she's capable of, Bun," Tom struggled to chew on the leathery beef jerky. "She just needs to say her name, and she transforms into a vampire, with leathery wings and a stench that fills the air. The fact I didn't faint from fear is nothing short of a miracle."

"I can't even imagine it," Sir Thrinn sighed. "A girl who looks so beautiful... turning into something that foul." He gazed up at the sky, vile thoughts beginning to grow in his mind. If only she weren't a vampire... such a pretty face, a soft body... what a waste, such a waste!

He couldn't stop himself from laughing, a lecherous chuckle that echoed through the camp, infecting Tom. After looking at Sir Thrinn for a moment, Tom broke into a grin and joined in. The knight's laughter grew wilder, his bony shoulders shaking rapidly as if they were thin ice atop a swirling current. Bun, unsure of what they were laughing about, hesitated, but when their eyes landed on him, he laughed too—an innocent, confused laugh. The three of them chuckled for a while.

"But in the end, a monster's still a monster." Sir Thrinn sighed, lifting the fox-skin wine pouch to his lips. His tone was filled with such deep disappointment, as if he had just lost a bag of gold. "Are you sure she won't cause trouble if we keep her from speaking? No need to cut out her tongue?"

"I'm sure." Tom vowed. "She didn't see me as a threat at all and fully showed me her transformation process. Saying her name is the key to it all. Afterward, she drank my blood and was drunk on it. I took my chance and escaped to find you." Every word of Tom's hinted at his suffering, his cleverness in escaping.

"Cutting out her tongue wouldn't help with the interrogation anyway."

Sir Thrinn smirked, yellowed teeth flashing. Tom returned the smile.

"So it seems," Sir Thrinn said, "even vampires can be careless?"

Tom's smile faltered. "Yes," he realized there was more to the knight's words, "vampires can be careless. Just like humans. Or more precisely," Tom said, pointedly, "just like us."

Bun continued shoveling chunks of black bread into his mouth. Though he no longer had to carry the cage, assembling it had drained his energy. He didn't fully grasp what Tom was implying, so he raised his bread-filled cheeks and looked at them.

"Ha!" Sir Thrinn clapped. "The lad's teasing us for chasing the wrong person from the start!" He pointed at Tom. "You must understand, boy, it was the baron's investigator who told us to go after you, because at the time, you were the prime suspect. After all, who'd believe a vampire had come to Eaststone? And that orphan kept accusing you, saying no one else had entered the house. It put the investigator in a tough spot. Bun and I had no choice. You must understand that. We were puzzled too—how could someone like you, treated so well by that family, commit such an act?" He tossed Bun a glance, and the chubby man quickly nodded in agreement. "We wanted to get to the bottom of it—and in the end, well, we stumbled upon the real culprit. Now we've caught her. A great accomplishment!"

He patted Tom's shoulder. "And you, lad, are the hero! The baron will reward you handsomely!"

Tom smiled shyly. "I don't care about that. What I'm happiest about is that the case is solved, and that orphan will know the truth... I only hope the baron will give my foster parents a proper burial. They treated me as their own, were so kind to me... I just hope," his eyes reddened, "that their bodies will be buried separately, undisturbed. That's all I ask."

"What a noble soul!" Even Sir Thrinn's cunning heart was touched by Tom's plea.

"I'm not noble, my lord. I made a mistake."

Bun was curious. "What mistake?"

"If I hadn't slept so deeply that night, I'd have heard the vampire enter the house. I'd have heard her call out her name!" His sadness turned to fury. "I let her slit my foster parents' throats and drink their blood!"

"You were in the cellar," Sir Thrinn said solemnly. "You were powerless. It wasn't your fault."

Tom's rage gave way to sobs. "If only I'd slept a little lighter, they... they wouldn't..."

He covered his face with his hands.

"There, there, Tom. A man's tears don't fall lightly." Sir Thrinn comforted him. "We still have a long way to go. We need to bring the vampire to the baron for trial. Get some rest tonight. We'll continue at dawn."

Sir Thrinn gestured to Bun to fetch a small, ornate flask from their luggage. "Here, take a sip. It'll help you sleep."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Tom took the flask, unscrewed the cap, and wrinkled his nose at the strong, pungent scent. "This is top-quality liquor! One sip, and you'll feel revived!" Sir Thrinn urged him. Tom drank a small amount, nearly choking. "Thank you..." He returned the flask with a muttered, "I need to... relieve myself... my stomach doesn't feel right..." Without waiting for a reply, he dashed into the bushes.

"Hmph, what a clumsy lad."

"Are you alright, Sir?" Bun asked, concerned.

"Me? Of course. I didn't eat the jerky."

Bun glanced at the mold-covered jerky Tom had left behind. Even in the firelight, its greenish hue was obvious. "Oh, it's moldy!"

"That fool was probably so hungry he didn't notice."

"Will he die?"

"Don't worry," Sir Thrinn sneered, "at most, he'll be throwing up and running for the privy all night. He'll be fine. But he won't be back for quite a while. A bit of mold will keep him busy."

Bun hadn't forgotten that it was Sir Thrinn who handed Tom the jerky. "Should I go check on him?"

"Check on him? Stay here!" Sir Thrinn barked. "We haven't finished eating yet."

Bun obediently stayed put. "Sir," he began hesitantly, "do you really think that vampire committed the murder in Eaststone? I just don't feel she could do something so cruel..."

"A vampire is cruelty itself."

Bun lowered his head. "I suppose..."

"You're too soft, Bun," Sir Thrinn smirked. "Whether or not she did it doesn't matter."

Bun's eyes widened in shock, bits of black bread spilling from his lips. "Doesn't matter? But that's a murder accusation!"

Sir Thrinn rolled his eyes. "Haven't you figured it out yet?" He lowered his voice. "Who the real culprit is doesn't matter. What matters is that someone is judged, the baron has someone to answer to the queen. And we," he sneered, "get more coin."

Bun hunched his shoulders. "More money? I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to," Sir Thrinn dusted the crumbs from his knee. "But I'll explain it a little. What's the difference between catching Tom or a vampire? The difference is," he held up a finger, "if it's Tom, people will throw rotten eggs, calling him an ungrateful monster. But a vampire? The entire village, even the whole town of Eaststone, will be paralyzed with fear.. Which one do you think the baron prefers?"

Bun blinked his wide, innocent eyes, as though he understood something but couldn't quite articulate it.

"The answer is simple, Bun. The baron prefers the vampire. The more terrifying the monster, the more the people will need his army's protection. They'll support him more, and that'll win him favor with Queen Shirley Farland of Mego. This vampire is worth far more than that useless wretch Tom."

Bun thought for a moment. "I get it, but it still feels wrong..." he bravely voiced his thoughts. "Aren't we supposed to catch the real culprit and bring justice?"

"Justice doesn't fill your belly, Bun," Sir Thrinn scoffed. "By the way," he suddenly remembered, "have you ever had white bread?"

"Never." Bun had just finished his last bite of black bread and smiled sheepishly.

"Open that green leather pouch. There's something good inside."

Following Sir Thrinn's instruction, Bun opened the pouch Sir Thrinn had strictly forbidden him from touching before, catching a whiff of fresh flour.

"White... white bread!" He carefully opened one of the paper-wrapped loaves, more gently than he'd ever handled anything in his life. It was a little dry and hard, but in these chaotic times, the finely baked bread gleamed in the firelight, an unimaginable luxury. "So soft, smells amazing!"

"Eat up, boy." Despite a hint of reluctance, Sir Thrinn let it go. "It was meant for a celebration, but I'm full. There are two more in the bag. You can take your time. They're all yours. You've been brave, Bun."

"Really? I can eat it?" Even with it in his hand, Bun could hardly believe it. "Yes, go on." Sir Thrinn permitted.

For the first time, Bun experienced the soft texture of white bread. Though it didn't melt in his mouth, the rich fragrance of the flour made his heart swell with joy. He quickly devoured the first loaf, licking his fingers clean, not letting a single crumb go to waste. Sir Thrinn tilted his chin, signaling for him to eat the remaining two. Overjoyed, Bun picked up the second loaf, seeking Sir Thrinn's approval with his eyes. Sir Thrinn, smiling sadly, nodded.

"By the way," Sir Thrinn asked as Bun savored the second loaf, "do you remember how much the baron promised us if we caught the culprit?"

"Thirty Megonits," Bun replied with his mouth full.

"Yes, thirty nitts, which means thirty silver coins." Sir Thrinn weighed the air with his hands. "We're splitting it three ways, so each of us gets ten coins." He looked at Bun for confirmation.

"Mmm... mmm!" Bun nodded, his mouth now full of the third loaf.

"And if it's just two people, how much does each get?"

Bun had never been to school and wasn't good with numbers. He tilted his head, pondering for a moment, then stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth. "I... don't know."

"Hmm." Sir Thrinn chuckled coldly. "Never mind. Are you full?"

Bun nodded enthusiastically, gulping down the bread. "Thank you, Sir Thrinn." The knight nodded in acknowledgment and turned to retrieve something from his pack. After wolfing down the bread, Bun nearly choked. He took a deep breath and continued chewing to make it easier to swallow. "I'm not good at math... but what do you mean, two people? How do three become two—"

It happened in an instant. Bun didn't even realize what was going on. He only felt a cold sensation in his throat, and the bread stuck in his gullet wouldn't go down. As the pain from the stabbing wound began to register, he glanced down, catching sight of the dagger lodged in his neck.

"I... ah... urgh..." Bun tried to speak, but no words came out.

Crumbs rolled from the corner of his mouth, finally landing on the ground.

"That's how three become two." Sir Thrinn's hand left the dagger hilt. "Don't blame me, Bun..." The knight pulled Bun close, their heads nearly touching, as if they were close friends sharing a quiet conversation. "It's thirty silver coins. Thirty silver coins, Bun! Enough to buy a few lambs, or let me visit the tavern and spend a few nights with some young girls... that's real money!" He pressed their shoulders together, as though trying to make Bun understand. Tears filled Bun's eyes, full of pain and fear, as he raised his trembling hands to touch the dagger, but couldn't pull it out. He could only look at Sir Thrinn with pleading eyes. I didn't do anything wrong!

That look seemed to pierce Sir Thrinn's foul soul, making him squirm. "You were always meant to die. You're an orphan, Bun. You were born to die... it's not my fault..." He didn't shy away, holding the boy closer, pressing their foreheads together, trying to convince both Bun and himself. "I even gave you white bread!" Sir Thrinn began to lose control. "Three loaves! That's worth a whole silver coin! That was my bread, but I gave it to you because you said you'd never had any in your whole life. I gave you three! Three whole loaves!" Tears streamed down Sir Thrinn's face as he mourned those loaves of bread. "So I'm a good person! I treated you well! Right? Tell me, right?"

Bun, slipping away, his mind blurred, nodded weakly, shedding a few more tears. "Ah, you understand me!" Sir Thrinn pressed Bun's lips and nose to his shoulder, hugging him tightly. He couldn't hold back his sobs any longer. "Do people go to the elves' heaven or Ollys' hell when they die?" he wondered aloud through his tears. "You'll go to heaven, Bun. You're a good kid, sweet and plump. As for me, what about me..." He wiped his nose on Bun's shoulder. "I'll go to heaven too because I'm a good person... a good person who gave white bread to Bun..."

Bun's clear eyes slowly lost their focus. Sir Thrinn pulled away, patted the boy's shoulder, and said, "Farewell, Bun. If there's a next life... find a good family." With that, he gripped the dagger and yanked it free.

A stream of blood, long held back, burst forth. Sir Thrinn pressed on Bun's shoulders, bending him forward to keep the blood from spraying too far. Bun, the orphan, let out his last breath as his blood soaked into the ground.

The crumbs on his lips, like pure white snowflakes, slowly fell and settled into the blood.

Sir Thrinn released his grip, letting Bun's body fall beside the pool of blood.

His glassy eyes reflected the river of blood and the tiny snowflakes drifting into it.

Bun had fallen into an eternal slumber.