The house looked just like every other in the Outwalls. Its walls looked deceptively thin. The wood on the outside, brittle and chipped. Whatever paint was once on it had long since flaked away. The only remarkable feature was the thick oaken door, slightly larger than the others along the road, a closed eye slot marring its smooth surface.

Hilda looked over her shoulder at Billy. The man was scanning the streets. His eyes locked on every passerby before moving on. His hand had never once left his axe since they started walking. His bug eyes were the first of their kind she would have ever called dangerous. She’d led him in circles all over the Outwalls, trying to make him loose his sense of direction. The lack of worry on his face made her nervous. Hilda pulled Billy’s coat tighter about her as a chill wind blew down the street. Could she really bring this man inside? What if he was here to hurt Marc?

Hilda scowled. Fuck Marc.

She stepped forward and rapped on the door twice, once, then twice again. The eye slot clacked open. Two brown eyes stared out at her, taking in her and her companion. “Why isn’t Lord Thorne popular at parties?”

Hilda closed her eyes in irritation. “Because he’s a real prick.”

Billy snorted behind her while the latch clicked open. The door swung wide, revealing a large man wearing a bear mask. “Welcome comrade,” he greeted Hilda. His eyes shifted to Billy. “I don’t recognize him.

Hilda followed his gaze. “I’ll vouch for him.”

The bear stared a moment longer then nodded. “Alright.”

He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. Hilda walked inside the safe house with Billy in tow. A single torch lit the dark space dominated by a long, dark hole in the ground. Hilda waited while the Son fetched a torch and lit it for her. Billy was standing near the edge, looking down into the darkness. He swallowed. “How far down is it?”

“Jump and find out.”

A small smile cracked through the man’s dour expression. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Hilda began to climb down the ladder. Billy clambered down the rungs after her. She watched in the torchlight as the wall beside her slowly shifted from dirt to stone. Her feet touched the cold rock at the bottom and she held the torch high, considering the darkness beyond. It had been a while since she entered this tunnel.

Billy plopped to the ground beside her and followed her gaze. “God’s balls, how deep does this go?”

Hilda shrugged. “I don’t know the engineering behind it. But we’ve been working on these systems for the past twenty years with the best miners in the world." She looked over her shoulder at him. So, deep.” She started walking down the tunnel.

Billy ran a hand over his patchy beard as he followed her. “Shite. How’d the hell ye keep this a secret?”

“Nobody watches the Outwalls. It’s easier than you’d imagine to dump the dirt in the bay.”

“Along with the talkative miners?”

She didn’t answer.

They walked in silence through the downward sloping tunnel for hundreds of paces. The tunnel branched at several points and Hilda kept to the right each time. Left turns tended to end in pits of spikes or were made to cave in. as the tunnel curved to the left she started to see torchlight in the distance.

“We almost there?”

Hilda nodded.

The light grew closer and she could see the door looming larger. She stopped a few paces from it. Billy Reached his hand toward the handle. Hilda slapped his hand away.

The man cursed. “What’s that for?”

Hilda looked up. Billy followed her eyes to the net above their heads, bulging with the weight of the rocks it held above their heads.

“Oh.”

Hilda shook her head. “Don’t touch anything unless I say so.”

Billy nodded.

Hilda turned toward the wall on the left. She felt along it until she saw the crack. She put her shoulder against it and pressed hard. A click sounded from within the stone and she heard the ropes above her head tighten. The sound sent a nervous tingle down her spine. She walked to the door and pushed it open. She and Billy walked through, and she shut the door behind them. It closed with a sharp click as the trap reset itself.

“I thought I was paranoid,” Billy muttered.

They were in the complex now and the unworked stone walls soon gave way to wooden paneling, illuminated by torches hung in sconces. Hilda tossed her torch into a trough of water, extinguishing the flame. People began to appear ahead of them. They passed a Bear and two Goats gambling at a table. The pair of sentries barely glanced at them as they passed a wine skein between themselves.

The pair continued down the hall, the men’s laughter following them. “Are all yer men so well disciplined?” Billy asked.

“The word man and discipline rarely go together in my experience. I’ve always thought of the Sons as the best of the worst. You wouldn’t want to be caught in an alley with any of these boys but at least they have the guts to fight for what they believe. Your people might want to take notes.”

Billy stared at a trio of Sons they passed in the hall. The distinctive tinge of rust along ran the rings of their mail. Their eyes bloodshot, and movement sluggish from having partook of too much spice. “Aye, plenty of guts for the Southerners to spill.”

Hilda ignored him and together they turned down a side hallway. More Sons began to appear, hauling crates of supplies, and patrolling the halls. Billy seemed to grow more disgusted with each man he saw. “Is there a single man among ye old enough to have fought in the war? These lil shites look as green as the grass I used to wipe me ass back then.”

Hilda looked over her shoulder at Billy. “Most of them are dead.”

“Well, fuck.”

They passed several open doors revealing women scribbling on pieces of parchment. Divines. She wished James would let her take Lissa here to learn how to read. The thought of her family hit her like a physical blow. She already missed them.

Billy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You alright lass?”

Hilda walked faster. “Yes. I’m fine.

Billy shot her a doubtful look but didn’t press the point.

They walked down two more halls until Hilda stopped in front of the door to Marc's rooms. Muffled voices sounded from inside. Hilda tried the latch. It opened with a click and she barged inside.

The room was bare and unfurnished save for a table, cabinet, two wooden chairs and the pile of silk sheets resting on the pallet tucked into the corner.

“God, damn it,” Marc muttered as he paced the room. The man he was talking to sat in one of the chairs. The poor bastard looked about to melt into the floor as he watched Marc fume with anger.

Marc didn’t even glance at Hilda as she entered the room. “Who did it?” he demanded.

The man at the table shrugged. “You been outside today? I can barely see my own ass in the fog. I just saw him take the arrow.”

Hilda walked into the room with Billy. She stood by the door and leaned against the wall. Marc stopped pacing and looked the man at the table in the eyes. “Take as many men as you need and make a perimeter around him. If you catch any of ours stalking him who aren’t supposed to be, kill them.”

The man nodded and rose to his feet. He saluted Marc fist over heart, turned on his heel and walked past Hilda out the door. “Good luck,” he whispered as he passed.

Marc cursed and kicked one of the chairs over. Hilda winced as the wood snapped against the stone floor. “Bad time?” she asked.

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“Somebody tried to kill the Bastard.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “He okay?”

Marc glanced at Billy and nodded.

“Who did it?” Hilda asked.

Marc scowled as he shrugged. Then he looked to her. The anger disappeared from his face. “Divines, Hild what happened to you?”

She ignored his concern. “You’re losing control.”

“This was an isolated incident.”

Hilda took a step toward him and fought the urge to wince. “Then why did four of your men just try to rape me in an alleyway?”

Marc froze. It was the first time she had ever seen him speechless. His mouth worked but no words came out. “Hild, I-”

“Spare me your condolences.”

Marc swallowed and nodded. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You can thank him for that,” she said, gesturing to Billy.

Marc walked up to Billy and offered his hand. Billy stared at the proffered limb for a long moment before reaching out and clasping arms with Marc.

“Marc Haverson.”

“Bill Billson, But ye can call me Billy.”

“Thank you for intervening, is there anything I can give you in return?”

Billy shrugged. “I’ll take a drink if ye got one.”

Marc grinned and walked to the cabinet. He pulled out three glasses and a clear bottle of liquor. He set the glasses on the table, uncorked the bottle and filled each halfway. “Taran vodka from the red fields. You can taste the iron in it.”

Billy grabbed his glass and drained it in two long gulps. He looked ill as he swallowed but he released a satisfied sigh afterward. “Ye Can almost taste the blood.” He looked into the bottom of his glass.

Marc grinned. “Aye, It’s a damned fine drink. I-”

Billy cut him off. “Ye can stow it. Thanks for the drink but that’s not why I’m here.”

The grin slipped from Marc’s face and he raised an eyebrow. “Then why are yee here?”

Billy glared at him. “I’m here to join you. Ye prick.”

“And why do I want some old man who looks like he’s about to kick the bucket at any minute?”

“Because I was killing southerners with the late Thane of Bleakridge while ye were still suckling yer mother’s teat.” He looked Marc up and down. “Ye look old enough to have served in the war but how long were ye there? A year? Two? How many of these boys ye’ve got dying for ye have any actual military training?”

Marc scowled. Hilda knew the answer to that. None.

Billy didn’t wait for a response. Marc’s face was answer enough. “Just walking the halls here, I could see half your men are drunk or spiced. How do ye think they’d fare if the Greencloaks came down here right now?”

Marc’s face hardened. “We’d collapse some tunnels and adapt. It’s what we do best.”

Billy nodded. “Lookin at this place I can tell yer a resourceful bastard but I couldn’t with a straight face call yer soldiers worthy of the title. Half them don’t even know how to care for the damn armor ye give them.”

“Did you just come down here to insult me, or do you have a point you’re trying to find?”

Hilda cleared her throat. “His point is that our people are incompetent in anything even resembling a fair fight.”

Billy nodded and looked to Hilda. “The lass has the right of it.” He turned back to Marc. “I trained half the garrison up at the castle. I could convince a few of those boys to cross the line over to your side and then we could work on turning your people into proper soldiers.”

Marc’s eyes widened with sudden interest. “And why should I trust you? For all I know, the Earl sent you here himself.”

Hilda set her jaw. “Marc.”

Marc looked to her, taking in the blood and the bruises. She could almost see the gears turning in his head, the cold calculating stare of a man who weighs every decision with the knowledge that lives depend on it. Then his gaze softened, a slight frown creasing his lips. “Welcome aboard Billy.”

***

He fingered the dent over his heart, it's round indentation smooth except for the razor thin edge in the depths of the crater where the steel had almost split. The skin beneath it prickled uneasily. Of the shooter, there had been no sign, only fog and the faceless crowd.

The tailor had finished sizing his clothes soon after, her hands doubtless hastened by fear and a desire to see them leave. He had been nervous as they walked the streets to the castle, but it amounted to nothing. The city was quiet.

Grim looked over the sprawl of buildings from the heights of Bleakridge. The fog that had blanketed it all day was dissipating, golden rays of sunlight finally beginning to shine through. Grim turned his back on the city and let his men through the portcullis to the castle. As they walked, he glanced at Ilyena out of the corner of his eye. Today was one of the few times he had seen her shaken. She had refused to ride her mare on the return trip and stuck close to the group of armored soldiers. Even this close to the castle, she nervously eyed their surroundings.

"You holding up okay?" Grim asked her.

Ilyena glanced at him out the corner of her eye as they passed the teeth of the portcullis. "People want you dead. And by extension, me. You could say I'm quite well."

"Since you're feeling so fine I suppose you won't mind telling father what happened."

Ilyena narrowed her eyes. "You could show the slightest ounce of gratitude and see him yourself."

Grim frowned, running a gauntleted finger over the dent in his breastplate. He came to a halt before the castle barracks. The soldiers behind him were waiting expectantly.

Grim set his eyes on Edgar. "Put the men through drills for the next few hours. All they've done today is stare at my ass."

Edgar let out a low sigh. "Yes sir." He turned to the soldiers, signaled for them to follow and led them toward the practice yard.

Grim watched them go, disappointment evident on their faces. He turned his attention back to Ilyena. "You're right." He scraped his boot against the cobblestones. "I'll see you this evening."

He felt her eyes on his back as he walked away. The doors to the keep swung open noiselessly as he walked through. The murder hall passed in a blur. The vault door ahead was wide open and the entry chamber was filled with a half-dozen Briar Guards.

Grim walked into the room. He could feel their eyes on him. Grim nodded toward the closed doors of the audience hall. "Earl in there?"

Captain Roland, one of his father's oldest retainers answered. "Yeah."

Grim tried to walk past the men into the hall but Roland put his hand against Grim's chest and pushed him back. "You're not allowed in bastard."

Grim narrowed his eyes. "And why not?"

"Nobody in. Earl's orders."

Grim looked around the room. "Where are the usual guards?"

"They were relieved. Earl's orders."

"My father seems to be giving a lot of orders today."

Roland shrugged. "Mine is to obey, not to question." He glanced down at Grim's armor. "Yours too now."

Roland glanced at the other Briar Guards. "Damned embarrassment." Murmurs of agreement sounded from the room.

Grim's nostrils flared. "Do you have a problem with me?"

Roland met his stare. "My only problem is that some of us earned our place in this brotherhood."

Roland nodded to a man on Grim's right. "Jax over there led an outrider patrol past the town of Emorhill while raiders were in the midst of putting it through the Sorrow of rain. He and his five men singlehandedly pushed them back into the sea. Jax was the only one who made it home."

He turned his gaze to a man on Grim's right. "Calvar was there with me the day the last king died. Your father pressed his soldiers on like a madman to try and reach the spot he was overwhelmed."

Roland shook his head. "We never made it and for every inch of ground we pressed forward, we paid in blood." He took a step toward Grim. "Calvar and I dragged your father out of that battle and fucking carried him to Bleakridge while the rest of the army scattered."

Roland looked to Calvar and gave the man a nod. He turned back to Grim. "And what the fuck have you done boy? Kill some women and children while being spawned from the right set of loins?"

Grim's hand clenched along the haft of his axe. "I'm not your fucking boy." Grim bathed his eyes in ice. "Just you wait and see what I can do."

Roland snorted but before he could respond, the huge double doors of the audience chamber opened.

A man dressed in a robe of blue as bright as a cloudless sky stepped through the doors. A gryfalcon, spun in thread of gold sat above his right breast. At a glance, Grim recognized the man as from Tara. Between the sky-blue colors, the sigil, and his dark brown skin it was obvious.

Roland immediately handed the man a thick wool cloak. The Taran pulled the woolen cloak about his shoulders and hid his features within the shadowed recesses of its hood. The white of his smile caught the light and shined through the darkness. Grim could feel the man's gaze upon him. His scar itched.

"Ah, so you're the bastard."

The man's accent put a great deal of stress on the last word. Or it may have just been an insult. Grim nodded warily. The Briar guards in the room began to encircle the man in a tight guard formation.

"That's what my friends call me. You can call me Grim."

The man's smile didn't fall an inch. "Grim Thorne. Rather morbid for a name don't you think?"

Grim forced the scowl from his face. "I think it matched my father's mood when I was born. Rather apt for a child who killed his mother at birth, don't you think?"

Roland put a hand on the Taran's shoulder. "Mr. Gazril, the Earl wanted us to move quickly and discreetly. I don't think-"

Gazril raised his hand and Grim was surprised when Roland shut up. Grim raised an eyebrow at the Taran. "Mr? No title for you?"

"In Tara a man doesn't hide his name behind a title. A man either respects my name or he doesn't." Gazril shrugged. "My family owns eight Spears, of which I command three. I let this speak for me." He paused. "My lord."

The man's grin inched wider as Grim glared at him. "Never heard of you. What do you want from my father?"

Gazril brushed passed him. "Pleasure to meet you young Thorne."

Grim turned to grab the man but the look Roland shot him made him hesitate. Then it was too late. Grim watched the cloaked man fade into the shadows of the murder hall, surrounded by half a dozen Briar Guard.

Grim chewed on one corner of his lip as he turned towards the doors of the audience chamber. It was time to face his father. He pushed the heavy double doors open, wincing as hot air billowed past him.

His father sat upon his dias at the far end of the hall. The Earl leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as if bearing a great weight. As Grim entered he looked up, grey eyes boring into his son.

Grim immediately began to sweat within the thick padding of his armor as the braziers flickered on either side of him. Their flames cast deep shadows across the wall, making the Thorne banners seem even darker than usual.

Grim stopped at the foot of the dais and waited to be addressed. His father let him stew in silence, never taking his eyes from Grim. Grim met his gaze as sweat began to drip down the back of his neck. The heat and quiet made Grim nervous despite himself. Aside from them, the hall was empty.

The Earl spoke. "Does it fit?"

Grim swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes," he lied. Another silence. "It saved my life today. Thank you."

The Earl nodded, his eyes shifting toward the dent in Grim's chest. "I didn't expect you to test it so soon. Did you catch the man responsible?"

Grim shook his head. "Probably a Son. Greencloak bows can't pierce chain. They'd be useless against plate." He ran a finger over the dent and grimaced.

"Learn to set a perimeter boy, it could well save your life one day." Grim forced his sigh to remain internal. "Your sister is safe?"

Grim nodded. "Yes." He ran a hand along the head of his axe. "Are we going to do anything about this?"

"And what would you do if you were in my position?"

Grim knew the right answer. He said nothing.

The Earl nodded. "Wait and see Grim. That's all you and I have the power to do."

"What was the Taran doing here?"

"Wait and see Grim."