The lit braziers on either side of him radiated heat, causing sweat to bead on his forehead as he stood before the dias. Grey eyes stared down at him from its heights. Grim stared back, his bastardized green eyes meeting the Earl’s. A feat more easily said than done with Earl Rodger Thorne. Everything about the man spoke of control, from his highbacked wooden throne with neither cushion or adornment to his crisp and simple black attire. The single concession to luxury was the golden signet ring he wore on his right hand, but even that served a functional purpose.

The hall was quiet as they waited for either Grim or the Earl to break the tense silence. Grim could almost feel the dozens of eyes locked onto him from either side of the audience chamber. Nobles from the southern countryside seeking to curry favor or claim influence. The Earl often referred to them as vultures picking at the carcass of a dead kingdom. Grim found the description apt. After the war, newly minted southern nobles carved petty baronies out of the old kingdom, tearing at its flesh and turning it into something unrecognizable.

Grim ignored their stares and maintained eye contact with the Earl. The man seemed to revel in silence and over the years Grim had grown to understand why. Silence made men uncomfortable and when men were uncomfortable, they make mistakes.

The Earl finally broke the quiet. “Grim,” he greeted.

Grim bowed. “Father.”

“I called for you last night.”.

Grim fought the urge to wince, keeping his face calm. “And now I am here.”

“And now you are here,” The Earl repeated, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “Careful with your tongue boy. Fast words often lead to a swifter end.”

Grim swallowed, averting his eyes. Nervousness and fear always warred within him when he was in his father’s presence. The memories of the brand always came back. They were scalded into his memory. The ultimate rejection. The man was his father, but Grim could never be his son.

The Earl waited for a response. When he realized none was forthcoming, his nostrils flared. The only sign of his anger. Grim knew it well. Where most men were fiery and impulsive in their rage, the Earl burned cold. Grim’s skin began to prickle beneath his scrutiny. The Earl leaned forward in his chair. “Have you nothing to say?”

Grim controlled his breathing and answered levelly. “Nothing slow.”

The slightest hint of a smirk appeared on the Earl’s face though it could also be a scowl. It was hard to tell with him. “Leave us.” the Earl commanded.

Together they waited as the nobles were ushered out of the room by the Briar Guard, the Earl’s elite soldiers. Each was freshly bedecked in a new fashion of armor. Steel plates covered their bodies from head to toe, creating an almost impenetrable barrier of metal. It looked heavy, but the men moved with graceful ease. Each set cost a small fortune, a testament to the Earl’s faith in each man. Within moments, the hall was cleared of everyone but Grim and his Father.

The Earl rose to his feet, towering over Grim from atop the raised dais. Rodger Thorne was nearly as large a man as Grim, though his frame had somewhat withered with age as grey invaded his jet-black hair and time softened the muscles of a hardened soldier. Old as the man may be, Grim still didn’t fancy the idea of a fight with him.

The Earl walked down the dais to the floor of the long hall, his steps echoing in the emptiness of the vast room. The lit braziers on either side of Grim were beginning to make sweat drip from his brow. It was another of the Earl’s many tactics. Uncomfortable men made mistakes. Fearful men slipped secrets. Weak men were often both in this hall. Weakness breeds contempt and Grim could feel the scorn dripping from his father as the man came to a stop before him. “You’re drunk.”

Grim had no answer to that, only averting his eyes, no longer able to meet the Earl’s gaze. His father grabbed him by the chin and forced his eyes up. “Do not look away. You are not a sheep, you are not a scared child. You are a member of my house, no matter how flawed.” he said, releasing Grim’s chin. “Do not mistake my leniency for mercy. Speak to me flippantly in front of the court again and I will have to make an example of you.”

Grim nodded. “Yes father, I understand.”

The Earl stared hard into his eyes, seeming to find something interesting. “What did you do Grim?”

Grim kept his face impassive, maintaining the carefully crafted facade his father had hammered into him over the years. The jolt of fear that lanced his heart nearly gave him away, but he knew the man was blindly fishing. There was no way he could have known what had happened. Not so soon. “I got pissed drunk and fell asleep in a gutter.”

The Earl snorted, shaking his head. “At least you’re honest,” he said, the scrutiny disappearing from his gaze along with the interest in whatever he thought he saw.

Relief flooded Grim, but he didn’t let it show. He slumped his shoulders as if abashed. “Why did you call for me?” he asked.

“I have news concerning you, but it can wait. I’ll not have a serious conversation with you in this state. Sober yourself up and we’ll talk in my chambers tonight. You will spend extra time in the practice ring today to make up for your absence.”

Grim frowned, remembering Edgar’s promise of retribution. It was going to be a shitty day indeed. “Yes sir.”

The Earl nodded at his acquiescence, expecting nothing less. He waved his hand and turned back to his throne. “You may go.” Grim turned to leave through the main doors. “Grim,” the Earl called, “Go through the servant’s entrance. I’d like a moments peace before the vultures circle again.”

Grim walked around the dais as his father climbed its steps. The Earl eased into his chair. As Grim put his hand on the door he looked up at the man. The Earl was staring back at him with eyes that almost hinted of sadness. Grim blinked and it was gone. Rodger Thorne turned his gaze away, sitting straight backed in his chair and enjoying the rare moment of peace. Grim opened the door and let him be.

***

Waves crashed against the cliffs below the castle in a soothing rhythm as Grim laid out his equipment. It was standard fare for an average soldier: An iron set of mail and matching helmet, accompanying an axe of the same metal with a four-inch spike adorning its top. The metal was good wrought iron. Not like that cast-iron crap they made cheap tools and kitchen ware from. This iron was forged to take a beating and last. Grim had put it to the test over the past decade. Even now several of the iron ringlets on the armor were burst open. He needed to get it mended sometime soon, but he somehow kept finding a reason to be in a tavern instead.

He sighed and pulled the heavy coat of iron over the thick padding of his gambeson. They used blunted weapons in practice but getting hit with an iron club still felt like getting hit with an iron club no matter what you wore. Normally Grim didn’t mind and rather enjoyed sparring. Today however, he knew Edgar was going to go out of his way to give him a lesson in the meaning of pain. Grim left the axe where it lay and pulled the helmet on over his head, keeping the visor open for the moment.

With a feeling of nervous excitement, Grim turned to the large practice area. It was little more than a large field of hard packed dirt along the seaward side of the castle. It directly abutted the cliff face, looking out over the Meridian bay in the distance. All about the yard, dozens of soldiers were sparring. Their weapons clashed in the chaotic sound of battle. To the side of the field were several tables and benches where spectators could watch and make bets on the fights. They were often more filled than the yard itself and today was no exception. Men and women from the castle staff were cheering on their chosen combatants in various duels. Money switched hands as one soldier or another ate dirt.

Grim hoped to get out there and find a sparring partner early before Edgar caught sight of him. He had no sooner turned to fetch a practice weapon, when a blunted axe thumped into his chest. Grim fumbled with it, yelling out in surprise. A heavy shield followed the axe, almost knocking Grim on his ass as he fumbled with it. “What the Hell?”

Grim sighed as he caught sight of Edgar marching by him. “Come on bastard, we’re burning daylight, you little shit.”

“Asshole,” Grim muttered quietly. Very quietly. He followed Edgar over the hard-packed dirt as they weaved through the fighting men. He could already see the crowd on the side lines pointing at them and whispering. Grim wondered what they thought his odds were. He doubted they were optimistic. Grim was no slouch in a fight, but Edgar was quicker than a mongoose and twice as nasty.

Edgar stopped at the far end of the field next to the parapet overlooking the sea. The waves were a beautiful sight as they shined in the afternoon light. It was one of those rare days when the sky was completely clear, and the sun shined brilliantly, warming the chill of the air. A perfect day to spend with a beautiful girl and a bottle of wine along the cliffs. Or to get your face pounded into the ground a few dozen times. One or the other.

Grim sighed and lowered his visor as Edgar backed a few steps away. The captain favored the same armament as Grim. The tried and true axe and shield combination. Perfect for both hacking through your enemy and preventing the same from befalling yourself.

Edgar closed his visor and readied his weapons. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

“A ‘please’ would be nice,” Grim said, readying his own arms.

“Please eat shit and die?” Edgar ventured.

Grim shrugged. “Never could say no to you.”

Edgar snorted, banged his shield and slowly approached Grim, coming in at a slight angle toward Grim’s right. Grim waited for his approach, legs bent and ready to spring. When he was almost in range, Grim rushed forward. He slammed his shield into Edgar, but the man was ready. Edgar pivoted, pushing Grim off course with his own shield. Grim turned in time to catch the follow up strike. The force of the blow knocked him back a step and he leapt back another as Edgar punched out with his shield

The two men circled each other before beginning the next exchange of blows. Edgar rushed Grim shield first, plowing into him. Grim held his ground and swung his axe downward. Edgar ducked and forced their locked shields upward, deflecting Grim’s swing. Grim felt the underside of an axe wrap around his ankle.

Shit.

Grim slammed to the ground as Edgar yanked his leg and bowled him over. Grim rolled to the side, narrowly missing a stomping boot. He struck out with his axe as he scrambled away. A swing and a miss. Grim’s head rang like a gong as Edgar’s axe slammed into the side of his helmet.

A moment later he found himself on his back staring up at the cloudless sky. “Am I dead?” he asked nobody in particular.

“Nah, we’re just getting started you and I.”

Grim sighed, disappointed. A hand appeared in his vision and Grim reached out to grasp it. Edgar pulled him to his feet. Grim opened his helmet and spit some blood on the ground. “God’s balls man, watch the face. It’d be pretty tragic if I ended up with one only a mother could love.”

“Tragic. Amusing. Suppose it’s a matter of perspective.”

“What crawled up your ass this morning?” Grim asked.

“You! You little- wait shit. I mean- Ah fuck it,” Edgar said, slamming his visor down as Grim chuckled. It was almost worth the possible concussion. Almost.

Grim mentally counted his bruises as the hours passed. His whole body was beginning to ache as the sun started to fall beneath the horizon.

The ground cooled his back through his sweat stained armor while he held the back of his thigh. He grimaced at the shoots of pain running through his leg. Edgar ignored him, leaning against the battlements overlooking the sea. The Captain also breathed heavily after their final bout. Grim took the brunt of the beating. He failed to win a single match, but he landed few solid hits on the Captain. His pained grimace turned into a crude smile of satisfaction as Edgar rolled one of his shoulders, wincing in pain.

Grim groaned as he forced himself to his feet. He staggered over to the parapets next to the captain. “We even?” Grim asked.

Edgar shrugged with wince. “Close enough. Just don’t go wandering off like that again. You think the Earl doesn’t notice but he does.”

Grim scowled. “He can notice whatever he damn well pleases.”

Edgar shook his head. “It’s your funeral.”

Grim flexed his leg and was rewarded with fresh pain. “Divines man, you hit like bear.”

“And you hit like my mother,” Edgar answered.

“Gee thanks.”

“That was high praise.”

Grim rolled his eyes. “Sorry you had to go looking for me. I can be a ripe asshole some days.”

“No need to state the obvious. If you’d said that earlier, I might’ve been a bit easier on you.”

Grim sighed, leave it to him to make his life harder than it needed to be but what was done was done. Grim gave Edgar a heavy pat on his wounded shoulder, making the man wince. “It’s been a real pleasure.”

“Positively peachy,” The man growled.

Grim turned towards the sea, slumping against the stone parapet and looking down at the cliffs far below as waves crashed against the stony edifice. A gentle breeze drifted through the air, cooling his body as it steamed in the chill air. Grim pulled off his helmet, enjoying relief from the constant pressure on his skull. Edgar leaned against the stone next to him, looking over the bay.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

They watched the glittering waves and dozens of passing ships for a long moment in silence. The sun was nearing the horizon, marking the end of port services for the day. Dozens of fishing boats were pulling in the day’s haul while foreign merchants rushed to make it to the city before sunset. It couldn’t be fun to anchor in the bay, only a few minutes sailing from a warm bed.

The port itself buzzed with activity. From these heights, Grim could see the thousands of people passing through the city like ants crawling through a maze. Even at this late hour, ships were vomiting out their cargo onto the piers. Crates from Tara, filled with silks, spices, wine, honey, jewels and a thousand other things most people in Bleakridge could only dream of. The city was the heart that pumped the lifeblood of trade between the two empires, it’s port cutting the travel time between the two capitals nearly in half.

“Ever wonder what it’d look like on fire?” Edgar asked.

Grim blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You don’t think we’re headed in that direction?” Edgar asked. “The writings on the walls. Literally. You need only walk around the Outwalls to see it. Greencloaks disappearing while more and more Sons get their wings.”

Grim frowned at the phrase ‘get their wings’ thinking of the men nailed to the cross, their shattered shoulders twisting them into a mockery of a bird. “I think both are getting their just desserts. I’d rather they not use my city as a pyre though.”

“Fire burns whoever touches it.”

“Including women and children,” Grim retorted.

Edgar didn’t answer for a long moment as he pulled a flask from a pocket. Grim listened with interest as the captain unlatched the lid and took a long draw. “To hell with that,” he said, “Want a drink?”

Grim nodded without thinking, grabbing the offered flask and taking a long draw of the burning liquid. Whiskey. Good stuff too. Grim exhaled after swallowing, feeling the alcoholic burn warm his breath and belly. He passed it back to Edgar who took another drink. “What made you join the guard?”

“Shit, lots of reasons,” Edgar said. He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts for a moment. “You can only stand by and watch for so long. I'm sure you've seen a lot of death."

“Yeah, I live in Bleakridge.”

Edgar snorted humorlessly and spat over the ramparts into the sea below. “Ever had somebody you love taken from you?” he asked, passing the flask.

Grim paused, the metal rim almost touching his lips. “Not for a long time,” he whispered.

Edgar nodded. “The way I see it, when you do, you have two options. You either lose yourself to hatred for whoever did the killing. Or, you take a step back and try to stop the same from happening to others. That’s why I joined the guard.” Edgar let out a slow sigh. “What we’ve got down there is a self-feeding cluster-fuck of death and retribution. And me, I just do my best.”

“Being the Earl’s man is the best there is?” Grim asked. “That’s hardly hope inspiring.”

“The best the likes of us got, bastard.”

Grim could hardly argue with that. They stood that way for a long moment as the sun continued to fall, turning the blue sky a brilliant shade of orange. They were no longer the only people along the walls. Visiting nobles began to appear, as they often did after the work was done and the reward arrived. Grim shook his head, taking another drink from the flask and passing it back to Edgar. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Forget it. You earned it. I’m going to turn in and call it a day soon. You might remember I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Grim smirked. “Aye, good night captain.”

Edgar gave him a mocking salute. “Later bastard.”

Grim watched the city as lights begin to illuminate the thousands of windows. The luminescent glow reminded Grim of Edgar’s earlier comment. He was shaken from thoughts of fire as a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from the parapet. Grim was so surprised he nearly fell on his ass.

Grim cursed under his breath as he found his balance and looked up, expecting to see his father, Edgar or some other figure of authority in his life. Instead, he saw a pair of nobles dressed in black and yellow, taking his place on the balcony, not giving him so much as a second look. Grim repressed his anger, knowing it would do him no good. He turned away, wincing as laughter sounded behind him. “Whore son,” he heard one mutter.

Grim halted in his tracks and turned around. One of the two men was leaning against the stonework, a smug grin on his face. Grim took a step forward. A hundred-foot fall into the sea should wipe that grin off his face.

“Grim!” a voice called. Grim turned his head to see his younger sister Ilyena. At the age of sixteen, she was ten years his junior. Black curls ringed her angular face which was furrowed in annoyance as she grabbed his arm.

“What on earth were you planning on doing?” she asked. “Breaking his knees in front of half the court?”

Grim muttered under his breath. “I was going to throw him over the wall, but your idea has its merits.”

Ilyena released him and crossed her arms. "Well, don’t let me stop you."

Grim hesitated, eyeing the nobles. Ilyena rolled her eyes. "All bark and no bite. That's what I thought." Grim glared at her as she continued. "Also, I heard you spent the night in the Outwalls, came back stinking drunk, interrupted Father’s audience after being late for your own and told him off in front of the nobles. Have you gone mad?”

Grim furrowed his brows thinking back to the audience. Now that she mentioned it, the Earl had seemed surprised to see him enter the hall. Some older man dressed in black and yellow was in his way as he walked in and needed to be pushed out of the way. Then the herald announced Grim as the Baron Barrington…

Grim chuckled and. Ilyena sighed. “I was hoping you had. And as usual, you let me down.”

“Why on earth didn’t he skin me alive?” Grim asked once he got his breathing under control.

Ilyena shrugged. “I think you actually managed to amuse him.”

Grim balked. “Our father? A sense of humor? Must be a cold day in hell."

Ilyena shrugged while Grim removed his armor and bundled his equipment. “Besides, we’re not exactly on the best terms with the Barringtons. Your utterly egregious slight may have been convenient.” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking? Again? Already?”

“Raising morale with the men,” Grim answered.

Ilyena shook her head and glanced toward the sunset. “Father told me to bring you to his chambers to speak. You need to pull yourself together.” She snapped her fingers in front of Grim’s face as his eyes began to follow a pretty serving girl. “Can you focus a moment and take something seriously for once?” Grim frowned. “Now get yourself to the kitchens and ask Mara for some food. Think garlic and onions. Not OR. Garlic AND Onions.” Grim nodded, very amenable to the idea of food. The drink was clouding his mind, making it hard to remember when he last ate. “Got that?” Ilyena asked, with a look of- worry?

Grim nodded. “You got it sis.”

“Good. I’ll stall for you. Eat quick and keep your head attached,” she said, “or don't." She shrugged and walked away.

***

Grim navigated his way to the kitchen through the halls, following his nose as much as his memory. Tantalizing aromas of baked sweets and slow cooking meat made his mouth water. Grim passed many servants but none paid him any heed as he ghosted past. Soon he arrived at his destination and pressed open the oaken door to step into the kitchen. A billowing wave of heat assaulted him as he entered. The many ovens were all lit and the heat indicated they had seen much use this afternoon. The kitchens teemed with servants tending to the cooking while others gathered food to deliver to nobles and officers. Others sat at nearby tables, scarfing down a small meal before they began the night’s work. Few gave Grim any notice. He had been a common sight in the kitchens since he was a boy stealing pie from under the cook’s nose. The only person who ever paid him any heed was the head cook, Mara.

Mara was a plump middle-aged woman with the bearing of a field commander. She currently marched around the kitchen, waving her ladle like a sword and yelling at her serving girls to hurry the blazes up. Grim walked inside and took a seat at a nearby table. Upon noticing him, Mara’s face lit up into a wide smile and she leaned against the table next to him, making the wood groan in protest.

“Well hullo young master, what can old Mara do for you this fine evening?” she asked. Without waiting for his response, she walked away and continued speaking as she moved around the kitchen, gathering a variety of food onto a plate. “Well let’s see here. They say some steak is good for a growing boy- Oh and some salted ham, they say it’s good for the soul. Ah yes there’s some Caldean sausage. Supposed to make a man more virile or at least that’s what the pig farmer tells me,” she said with a wink at Grim. He flushed with embarrassment. Without pause, she continued her collection of food, always commenting on what they say about it. She rarely mentioned who they were, but the woman seemed to know everything about food so Grim just took her word for it. She finally ended her chatter with “And a lovely little peach. They say those make a man more handsome but if you ever seen a peach farmer you know that ain’t true.”

With a flourish, she laid the feast before Grim and he grinned up at her. “Mind if I request some garlic and onions?”

Mara narrowed her eyes but sauntered over to a nearby counter, grabbing a clove of garlic and an onion. She tossed them to Grim. Grim caught them, grabbed a knife and liberally scattered garlic across his meal before taking a huge bite of the onion as if it were an apple. Without any further ado, he dug into the meal with gusto. Eating was always the best part of the day.

Mara winced as he bit the onion. “Never understood how you could stand to do that, boy,” she said as she sat back down next to him. she gave him a warm smile as he devoured the steak at record speed. “I heard Edgar gave you hell today.”

Grim shrugged, speaking between bites. “Edgar. Asshole. Get’em next time.” Suddenly the steak was gone and Grim had a moment of panic before he realized the sausages were even more delicious.

Mara giggled as he bit into a sausage and somehow managed to get grease squirted into his eye. “Is that why you have that pile o’metal with you then?” she asked looking at his armor and the axe strapped to his hip.

Grim nodded in response, mouth too full of sausagey goodness to verbalize a response.

Mara gave him a sight frown and Grim stopped eating. Something was wrong. Mara leaned towards him, seeming to examine the air. She shook her head, eyes downcast. “Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble Grim, people care about you here you know.”

Grim stopped his eating, the seriousness of her tone making him pay attention. She took his hand and turned it palm up. She pressed another clove of garlic into his hand. “I care about you. And that’s why it hurts to see you don’t.”

Without another word, she rose to her feet and returned to her duties, leaving Grim starting at the clove of garlic in his palm. He could feel tears coming to his eyes as the familiar self-loathing began to set in. For one of the few times in his life he found he wasn’t hungry. Grim rose to his feet, forcing back his emotions and leaving the kitchen with the garlic clutched tight in his palm.

***

The door to the Earl’s personal chambers was a thick wooden barrier, almost so dark it was black. Intricately carved designs detailing the history of house Thorne were engraved into its surface. It went back hundreds of years from the founding of the clan to the establishment of the house after the war. Grim knew every contour of that door by heart, from the smallest flourish to the greatest sweeping curve. He ought to know it well, considering he had been staring at it for the past five minutes as he built up the courage to knock.

The patrolling guardsman on the fifth floor gave Grim a strange look as he walked by for the ninth time. Grim sighed and knocked on the hard wood.

A voice sounded from inside. “Come.”

Grim opened the door. The room was spacious and decorated with tapestries and paintings hung thick along the stone walls. Hardwood replaced the castle stone and the boards creaked under his feet as Grim came to a stop inside. On the far side of the room the fireplace flickered, giving the walls a warm glow. Beside the hearth were a pair of plush sitting chairs. The Earl’s arm was visible around the back of one, as he swirled the wine in his glass.

“Over here boy,” his father said, without so much as a glance in his direction.

Grim obeyed, crossing the threshold and walking around the chairs. A man Grim didn’t recognize sat in the other chair. He appeared as old as the Earl and bore a similar martial bearing, but Grim had eyes only for the long green cloak on his shoulders. He froze mid-step, forcing down the rising panic. “Good Evening my lord,” he managed.

The man wrinkled his nose in a way that was intimately familiar to Grim. “So, this is him.”

The Earl nodded, his grey eyes examining Grim with an intensity he found uncomfortable. Grim held his hand out to the man. “Grim Thorne, sir.”

The man ignored the proffered hand. “Marshal Longreen, but to you it’s your eminence.”

Grim lowered his hand, fighting down a sour expression. A haughty southerner was the worst kind. But calling a southerner haughty was like calling a dog furry. It went without saying. “May I ask what this is about, your eminence?”

The Marshall waved his hand at the Earl as if granting him permission to speak. Grim caught the barely perceptible crease in his father’s forehead. The sight almost made the condescension worth it. Almost. Rodger Thorne cleared his throat. “What is said in this room, will not leave it. Understand boy?” Grim nodded and the Earl took a sip of his wine. “Good. You can take it from here Randal,” he said, mimicking the Marshal’s wave.

Longreen glared at the Earl for a moment before turning the heat of his eyes over to Grim. “It’s not common knowledge yet. But last night, half my officer corps was ambushed and executed in a tavern within the confines of the inner city. The civilian casualties-” he trailed off, “were not insignificant.”

The Marshal paused as he poured himself a glass of wine. “With the rising attacks and the unrest this news will cause, I can’t afford to be short staffed.”

He rose to his feet and put a hand on Grim’s shoulder. “Those godless heathens even had the audacity to light a church on fire this very morning.” He walked closer to the hearth and looked into its flames as if contemplating what kind of monster could do such a thing.

“To be frank son, I need men who can lead and those only come from noble blood. Your father won’t lend me soldiers unless they remain under his purview.

His lips curled in distaste. "So, I need you.”

Grim stared wide eyed at the man. He had to be joking. “Your eminence, I thank you for your offer-”

He cut Grim off. “There was no offer. You’ve been officially conscripted into the Venaran Regulars. Congratulations.” The marshal finished his glass of wine in a series of quick gulps. He looked to the Earl. “Do you have anything to add Thorne?”

“Only that he better treat any order from you as if it came from my own mouth,” he said with a slight twist of the lips Grim recognized as a smirk. Grim sighed. Asshole.

Longreen nodded. “He better. Now if you have nothing more to say, I need to get back to my men.” He turned to Grim. “I’ll see you at the barracks at dawn.” Without another word, he marched from the room, leaving Grim staring after him in disbelief as the door slammed shut.

Grim turned to his father. “You fucking threw me to the wolves,” Grim said. “I knew you hated me, but this? What the hell did I do to you?”

The Earl showed no reaction to his outburst, only swirling his glass of wine. “Sit,” he said.

Grim clenched his fists, eyes burning into his father. “Why?” he demanded.

Rodger Thorne lowered his voice with nostrils flared. “I told you to sit.”

Grim grudgingly lowered himself into the cushioned sitting chair, too distracted to enjoy its comfort. “Why?” he repeated.

The Earl took his time, taking a drink from his wine. “If you used that brain of yours for a single moment, you would realize what an opportunity this is. Let me ask you Grim, are you happy with the way the Greencloaks operate in our city?”

Grim scowled at his father. “No, of course not. But what the hell do you expect me to-” Grim cut off as the gears in his mind finally settled into place. “You want me close to the Marshall.”

“Yes,” he said, “And the Marshal knows this so don’t expect a pleasant reception. He’s desperate not stupid. I’m loaning him two of my captains and a handful of sergeants. These men will be under your command. Remember that. Do not let him exercise direct authority over my men but follow his orders yourself. Or at least the spirit of his orders.”

He looked away from Grim and watched the flames. “If I have instructions for you, then they will come from my lips personally. Don’t let him entrap you and most of all remember where your loyalties lie.”

“To the family.”

His father nodded. “You are not my first choice for this. You’re not even in the top ten but he demanded a member of my house and you were the only option.”

The Earl stared at Grim a long moment, his face impassive. “Make me proud.”

Grim felt an unfamiliar emotion run through him at that order. One which he didn’t want to contemplate. “Yes, Father.”

The Earl nodded as if he expected nothing less. “You may go then. I understand you have an important day ahead of you.”

Grim rose to his feet, bowed and turned to leave. He hesitated, then pulled the letter James had given him out of his jacket pocket. “While I was passed out, this letter was put in one of my pockets,” he said, passing the parchment to the Earl.

The Earl took the letter and examined it “The seal is broken.”

Grim shrugged while his father pulled the letter out and passed it back to Grim. “Read.”

Grim sighed and read it aloud. “The Forest Stirs.”

The Earl snatched the parchment from his hands, rose to his feet and tossed it into the fire. Grim blinked in surprise. “What the hell?”

“Say not a word of this. Go. Now,” His father said.

Part of him wanted to say something snide. Another part wanted to demand an answer. In the end, he left without a word.