I left as soon as Miss Tran was finished. As always, she offered me work before I left, however I had already fallen for that scam once years ago. An entire day had been wasted mixing random concoctions, for which she had given me a single potion as payment – the one I quaffed and then immediately yakked. Ten-year-old Orvi would’ve rather just gotten money.

I took a slight detour on the way home to a derelict house nearby, uninhabited for a very good reason. We used it as a garden – mostly growing tomatoes and mushrooms – Ma having smashed a hole in the roof and us children having to cake the ground in fertiliser regularly: the kind made from scraps mixed with emptied toilets. To say it was a shitty place would be an understatement.

However, that made it the best possible hiding place for ill-gotten goods. I gingerly stepped around the field of dung, careful not to get any on my bare feet, and headed towards where the roof had collapsed. The rubble blocked a corner of the building, however it could be wiggled through by anyone with a somewhat-average frame. That made it the perfect place to hide things from Ma.

The squeeze was much tighter than I remembered. So much so I became worried I would be trapped. The solution ended up being to push the bundled sword through first, then roll onto my back, propelling myself forward by heaving at the gaps between the collapsed rubble above me. I was almost surprised there was no popping sound when I pulled myself into the alcove. I leaned against the wall, finally able to stand upright and stretch my legs.

Lit by the occasional sunbeam shining through the rubble’s cracks were all the things I had once thought impressive; pretty stones and pebbles, cutlery, some pilfered silverware, a hoe I had once believed was some legendary weapon, the spokes of a cartwheel, and other various knick-knacks. Two years ago, I had stolen the horde’s crown jewel: a hand-mirror that shone with a gold and silver inlay. The heist, performed on a rich customer who constantly belittled a teary Sash, was done by myself and an overly nervous Blake. We came very close to being caught, so close that we had to retreat by jumping out of a two-storey high window. Stopping seemed the wisest decision.

The temptation to keep it in my bedroom was almost too much bear, but anyone who saw it would know it was stolen. Still, even covered with months’ worth of dust, the other items paled in comparison.

Except the sword.

I gently unwrapped the object in question, revealing its onyx scabbard. There wasn’t much light to see by, so instead I ran my hands over it. The material itself was smooth and cool, like stone, yet slight engravings filigreed it. I held it to an errant beam of light, revealing that the carvings were of a giant fighting a raven, the inscriptions shining radiantly. Were they lined with silver? I hummed. It was obviously a depiction of the battle eight years ago, probably made to flatter Jackson. He had fought, though unblooded at the time.

I heaved it upward with both hands and drew the sword out of its sheath, the cramped space forcing me to tilt my arms awkwardly, finally revealing the blade itself. It was long, heavy and black. I tested my finger against the edge, drawing blood. Sharp too. I had no idea whether it was a good or bad weapon, but it was certainly beautiful. It absorbed every fraction of light that touched it.

I sheathed it, then left it leaning against the wall. With any luck, no one would find it.

----------------------------------------

The sun had long passed its zenith by the time I got home. Only one couple remained – a young man and woman, long since finished their meals. I nodded at them and carried the sacks into the kitchen, where Ma juggled various pots and pans, preparing dinner for this evening’s customers. Dumping them in a cupboard filled with similar items, I began washing the leftover dishes.

“Where are the twins?” I asked. Usually, the two of them would be cleaning the eating area at this time.

“I have sent them to collect the rest of our ingredients.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Will they be able to carry it all home?”

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“There are two of them.” She rumbled. “It is time they began taking on more responsibilities.”

“Huh.” A thought occurred to me. “Could’ve just sent them with me.”

“Sash was too distraught.” Ma sighed, using one hand to massage her opposite shoulder. I smiled at the sight – she wouldn’t have been able to do that a year ago. “There was another reason, as well.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Sighing, I turned to her. These conversations were always so awkward.

“Listen,” I tried to stave off the inevitable as long as possible. “Something happened in the market today.”

“Oh?” She raised two bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows.

“Jackson was with two other Blooded. There was this one making a speech. He said something about gifts, then everyone was excited, like they’d suddenly forgiven the Houses for ditching them.”

She frowned. “You weren’t?”

“Who do you think I am?” I snapped.

“Did you not feel the urge to?”

“No, I did. It was… scary.”

She nodded slowly. “I’m impressed you noticed.”

My eyes widened. I had been half-convinced I was imagining things. “So I was right? What in the Blood was happening?”

“It sounds like a Dolphinblood’s work.” She stirred a pot of broth thoughtfully. “They stoke certain emotions. Useful for raising morale.”

“What?” I was shocked. Most only spoke of their charm. I had suspected the Owlblood, despite his slothful appearance. “Why doesn’t everyone know this?”

“It would make them less effective.” Her voice was unusually bitter. “All of the Houses agree.”

“What absolute bastards.”

Ma smacked me on the back of the head without looking. “None of that talk here. Aggravating them is the height of stupidity.”

I scowled for a bit, still furious at what I had just learned. To think they could defile the Foot so thoroughly, and no one would even realise. I was definitely telling everyone I knew. Maybe that would make people realise the Houses were rats.

“Orvi?”

I schooled my face. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, chuckling slightly, “however I speak of something different.”

“You’ve finally found a lovely gentleman to settle with? Or perhaps an elegant lady, to melt that stony façade of yours?”

“No.” Her thick lips thinned. Ma rubbed her eyes, and faced me. “I was thinking of transferring my remaining Oxblood to Dash.”

I blinked. That was not how I thought this talk would go.

“Why’s that?”

“If he ends up joining the Old Guard, being a Blooded is a definite advantage. And the amount I have remaining is too little to give him any overt signs of being an Oxblood; if he decides to leave, no one will know.”

I was still trying to comprehend her words. “What about Sash?”

“Her talents lie elsewhere. Dash is calmer, his fighting more straightforward – I have always thought controlling Enn’s rage would be simple for him.”

“Why… do you decide this now?”

Her face crinkled sadly. “I would rather him not. I would rather none of you become Blooded. But it might keep them safe.”

I thought for a moment. A god’s blood changes people. I didn’t want Dash to transform into someone else. Ma was right, though.

“Jackson won’t mind?”

“He might. However, he owes me, and an Oxblood always fulfils their debts.”

“Right.” I was still slightly shocked. It never occurred to me that Ma might choose Dash as a successor; it was always going to be just Jackson. “Why tell me this?”

“I wanted to know if you have any objections.”

I frowned. “Would that stop you?”

“Maybe. You were his guardian before I was.”

“For a few days.”

“Three days, in one of the worst battlefields man and god has ever created.”

I wanted to protest. This decision shouldn’t be mine. Dash would agree; he would be ecstatic. I got the feeling Ma wasn't just paying lip-service either; she really meant what she said. I was the only one who could protect him. The only one who could stop this. The responsibility was too much.

“I don’t…” my voice cracked, so I started again. “I don’t want Dash to change.”

Ma’s voice was gentle. “He will still be the same person.”

Shaking my head, I continued. “No. General Maja and my Ma are two different people. You’re different. Nicer. Softer.”

“I…” my mother let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “He won’t be like me. He will have less of the blood. I will train him better.”

I stared at her intensely. “You promise?”

“I give you my word.” She said solemnly.

“Alright. Okay.” I paused, and rubbed my eyes. “When are you planning on starting?”

“When he is fifteen, perhaps sixteen years of age. I will train him beforehand. When he hits his growth-spurt - emotions then are more intense. It will make better training.”

I thought, idly washing dishes. I had watched most of Ma and Jackson's training. I hoped she was gentler with him. I began to voice that thought, then paused. Something smelled. “Ma! The food’s burning!”

Ma looked shocked for a moment, then peeled her lips back, revealing a ferocious scowl. She spun back and began stirring pots and pans rapidly, shuffling some of them off the stove.

Taking the opportunity to leave, I retreated up to the attic. I didn’t come down until the next morning.