Sam

She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen that mix of emotions on Will’s face before.

Sadness. Fear. Shame. Vulnerability. His one eye, normally so steady, was darting up and down, alternating between studying her and staring at the ground.

He looked like a cornered animal.

It broke her heart, seeing him that way.

She moved the same instant he did. He took half a step back, and she cut the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him so tight he couldn’t possibly escape, ignoring his groans of protest and the fact that the knife wound in her forearm sprung a leak, warm wetness soaking into the bandage.

“It’s all right,” Sam whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. Will tried to wriggle away, but she held onto him, clasped her hands behind his back. “Like a tumor, remember? You’re not getting rid of me.”

He stopped struggling with a shallow sigh. “You disapprove of the things I do,” he said, sounding defeated.

“Killing people? Of course I do, Will. You’re not a murderer.”

“I am a murderer. That’s literally my job description.”

“In your heart, you’re not a murderer. It bothers you, the things you’ve done. I can tell that it does. You do it because you have to, not because you like it.”

Will did not reply.

“Am I right?”

There was a long pause. Then: “Yes.”

“It weighs on you, doesn’t it?”

“Terribly.”

“Did you think I would be angry with you?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I’m not.”

She broke the hug, but caught Will by his collar before he could step away, stole the words out of his mouth by kissing him. He was stiff at first, unresponsive, but slowly softened up.

“All right, but—” Will mumbled between kisses.

“Shh!” Sam hissed.

It was a minute or more before she let him off the hook, wiping her lips with a knuckle and giving his chest a playful punch. “You’ve gotten better,” she said. “You sure you haven’t been practicing on your pillows in secret?”

Will snorted, not dignifying her accusation with an answer.

“Look,” Sam went on, getting more serious. “You’ve always been the type to try and carry everything on your own, to hide the pain you’re in. You did it when people used to pick on you, you did it when you got sick, and you’re doing it now.”

“I’m just—”

“That’s not fair on me, Will! You’re supposed to tell your tumor everything!”

“I think you mean—”

“I want to help carry your burdens, Will. I’ve seen what the Frontier can be like now. I’ve seen how much death and betrayal and tragedy are part of everyday life here. I’d never change the way I am for anything, but I know I’m not perfect. I’m naive. I'm stubborn. I’m idealistic. Sometimes, that leaves other people cleaning up my messes.

“Since forever, that person has always been you. Nothing has taught me that more than having to live without you the last five years. My life has been a mess, Will—an absolute disaster.”

“Okay, but I don’t know what that—”

“I’m saying we need each other. I can’t even imagine the kind of sacrifices you’ve made to get us to this point, the kind of choices you’ve had to make.”

Will sighed and gave up on getting a word in edgewise, pursing his lips as though to seal them shut.

“I can’t make those choices—that’s just not the kind of person I am," Sam continued. "But I would never fault you for making them, either, and I have complete faith that your decision to kill people, or whatever it is you’ve had to do, has come from a desire to help people, and to make a better world. I’m here for you. Whatever weight you’re carrying, I’ll carry it with you. I’m metastasizing, motherfucker.”

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When it became clear that she had finished, breathing hard after that unbroken stream of words, Will gave a slow, considering nod.

“I understand,” he said. “I’m not sure you’d feel the same way if you knew all the bloody details, but… I get your point.”

“Then tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Everything. Every detail. Everything that’s bothering you.”

“I’m not sure we have the time for…”

“Will.” She hit him with a hard look, arms crossed. “You’re shelling up. Don’t do that. I hate it when you do that.”

“I just…”

“Why not try to have some faith in me, for once?”

He wore a grave expression as he regarded her, his one eye searching her face. Then, after a while, he said: “All right. I’ll talk.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me what you were really doing when the lord called you away? What you were doing on the night of the tournament.”

“I’ll try.”

They sat down on the stone ring of the old well at the center of town, and Will leaned back on his hands, gazing long at the cloud-streaked sky without saying anything. Sam didn’t push. She knew he was the kind of guy who liked to get his words all in order before he started talking.

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” he began. “I always try to do the right thing, but usually it feels like that’s just the least bad thing.

“I’ve told you about Brimstone before—how paranoid he is. Well, he got it in his head that the ruler of this city called Stormfront wants him dead, and he sicced me on the diplomatic envoy she sent to Sheerhome.

“It’s a mess all around. Lady Winter, the ruler of Stormfront, is not the kind of woman you want to get on the bad side of, and Brimstone is courting open war with her. I don’t know how many casualties we’re talking about exactly, but it could be hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions—especially if Winter is forced off her post as protector of the interior long enough that Stormfront itself is overrun and monsters start spilling over to attack the coastal cities.

“There were few things I’d rather do less than kill the mark Brimstone gave me—Philly Upnorth was his name—but of course, I couldn’t say no to the lord and walk out alive, so I did exactly as I was told.

“He asked me to make it messy, to make it clear to Lady Winter that he’s not to be trifled with, so I did. I butchered Philly Upnorth and half his household, left them in pieces. I let his wife live, but I’m not so sure that was a mercy. Without guards, she’ll never make it back to Stormfront, and it’s doubtful at best that she’ll retain access to her late husband’s funds, considering Brimstone’s opinion of him. More than likely, she’ll be selling herself on the streets before the summer is up.”

“That’s awful,” Sam said, voice soft, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

Will shook his head, grimacing bitterly. “I didn’t go through anything. What I did to those people…” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry. I don’t exactly know what I’m saying.”

“Don’t worry. Take your time, Will.”

He was silent a while longer before he continued. “Well, to be honest, the Philly Upnorth gig was the easy part. When I returned to the keep to report my success, I found out that Brimstone had decided that his wife was trying to kill him now. He was burning her alive, Sam. He was going to kill her then and there, so I did the only thing I could think of, and…” He put his head in his hands, rubbing at his eye sockets with the heels of his hands. “I offered to torture her for him. Not just to keep her alive, but also to secretly pump her for information on her husband. He’s extremely dangerous, Sam, and a complete mystery—if we’re going to stand a chance of killing him, I need to learn enough about his build so that we can effectively counter him.”

Sam licked dry lips, found her throat tightening painfully. “So, his wife…?”

Will laughed; a tired, joyless sound. He raised his head, but kept his gaze trained firmly away from her, sad eye twitching. “I did exactly what I promised. I cut her up—cut her up bad. I made sure she was awake for it, too, so the guards would hear her screaming—so they wouldn’t suspect I was going easy on her.

“Even if we kill Brimstone now and manage to set her free, she’ll never be the same. After her husband’s flames, and my knife…” He sucked his teeth. “She could get an Ideal Self restoration, get worked over by a team of top Physicians, and I reckon she’d still be in pain for the rest of her life.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.” He laughed, and glanced at her for a moment before looking away again. “That’s the job, Sam. That’s a sucky day at the office for me. So before you take my hand again, you should remember all the blood smeared on it.”

Sam wasn’t sure what to say, so she just put her arms around him, hugging him from the side and squeezing him tight. He looked like he wanted to protest, but eventually just let out a sharp breath, deflating, and let his head fall against hers.

“There’ll be more killing before this mess is all over,” he continued. “A lot more.”

“You’re planning on taking out this Brimstone guy, then?”

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to do that. But I’m going to make sure he dies, yes. Preferably before he lights the whole octant on fire.”

“I understand. In that case, once he’s dead, Sheerhome will be a better place and there’ll be no one forcing you to kill people anymore, right? You’ll be able to put it behind you.”

Will stiffened at that. “Sam, I… that’s not how this works. Liberating Sheerhome is just the first step toward saving the Frontier. It'll give us a platform to work off of, but that's it. It’s not an end to anything. Even in some kind of best-case dreamland scenario, there are still hordes of monsters infesting the interior that need exterminating, along with the Devil Queen popping them out.”

“Monsters are different, Will. They’re evil.”

“I guess.”

“So you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop killing? Hang up your sword?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I’ll believe it for both of us.” She snuggled tighter up against him, taking comfort in his warmth, rubbing her nose across his shoulder.

“You’re a weird girl, Sam,” he said, and began stroking her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“In that case, thanks for complimenting me on accident.”