Wracking sobs tore from her lungs as she huddled in the den of the Dancing Bear, where she had lived, worked, and slept most of her life. She sat against the wall of the common room, tightly holding one of her mother’s shifts in her hands. Her fists trembled with pain, sorrow, and rage. She wanted to scream, but the only person to hear it was Kid, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. He did exactly what he should have. Her eyes clenched and Kryll nuzzled into her cheek with the fleshy part of his snout.

A sob escaped her lips, and Kryll keened in a mirror of her pain. The beast settled by her side, curling into a ball and peeking out between its plates with beady eyes. She hadn’t known Melna long, but it was obvious to anyone she was a good woman- brave, kind, and as wise a person as she’d ever met. She’d given the last of her life to Kryll, and he was likely the only reason they’d been able to make it here. It felt like the city was collapsing around them. A quarter of the Outwalls was just- gone. All to save her. She felt wretched. People were going to die. People had died.

At the sound of footsteps, she opened her eyes, vison blurred with tears. Kid was walking toward her with a steaming bowl of… something. He knelt before her, offering her the bowl. The thought of eating turned her stomach, but she knew he was trying to be nice. She forced a weak smile to her lips and accepted the bowl.

He smiled weakly in return. “I’m not much of a cook,” he paused, “well, actually this may be the first thing I have cooked. But I hope it’s okay.”

She grasped the spoon and raised a bite of the- stew? She blew on it to cool it off then took a bite. By her estimation it was half-cooked oats mixed with flour and no salt to speak of. She forced herself to swallow.

“It’s good,” she said.

Kid grinned. “Good to see you’re feeling well enough to lie. I did taste it.”

She snorted against her will, the pain momentarily fleeing only to rush back in all at once. She put the spoon back into the slop and absently stirred the mixture. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“When this all dies down, we need to find Marc,” Kid said, taking a seat by her against the wooden wall. “He’ll know what to do.”

“I want my dad,” she whispered.

“He’ll be where Marc is,” Kid said.

Her eyes drifted back to the shift in her lap. The thin dress was a tarnished white, stained by a decade of work in the tavern. She’d pulled it from her mother’s rooms when they arrived. It smelled like her. “Why do they do this to us?” she whispered, more to herself than to Kid.

She was a little surprised when he answered. “Because we let them,” he whispered as he pulled the knife from his belt, eyes drifting across the blood-stained edge.

Lissa wasn’t sure she liked the look in his eyes. She reached out and grasped his free hand in hers. “Are you okay?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

Kid was quiet a moment, his grip tightening around her hand. The knife fell from his fingers to the floor, his hand shaking. He turned to face her, tears in his eyes. She reached over and wrapped him in a tight hug as the tears took her once more. He cried with her, holding her tight. The world could be cruel and hard but there was still good. She needed to tell herself that.

Kid was good.

She didn’t know how long they held each other, before Kid released her, wiping at his eyes with a blood crusted sleeve. He laughed with a tinge of mania, perhaps embarrassed to have cried in front of her. He still held her hand and it was comforting, steady and strong. She could see the gears turning in his head already as he considered their next move.

“What keeps you going, Kid?” she asked.

His mouth worked for a moment, seeming to struggle with the words. “Your dad-”

“My dad keeps you going?” she interrupted.

His annoyed expression mingled a small measure of mirth into her sorrow, lessening the pain just a bit.

Kid smiled ruefully. “He told me to look to what I love and protect that. That’s what keeps me going,” he said. His hand tightened just a little around hers and fresh tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes.

Lissa laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to the beating of his heart. At her side Kryll shifted closer to her, releasing a gentle trilling sound. The beast was curled into a ball, peering at her between his bristling chitinous plates. The first hint of a smile she’d felt since they’d left Melna’s crossed her lips.

She lost track of the passing time, afraid that moving or speaking would break the spell of comfort that had fallen over them, each lost in their own thoughts. Melna was gone, but she had to believe her mother was alive. The alternative was unconscionable.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The door to the tavern creaked, and her eyes shot open to see armed men wearing the masks of Sons walk through the door. Kid leapt to his feet, interposing himself between her and them. She rose to her feet as Kryll uncurled, claws digging into the dirt floor. The pair of men held their hands up as if in an attempt to indicate they meant no harm.

“By all the hells, girl,” one of them said, eyes wide and clearly recognizing her, “Marc is tearing the city apart looking for you.”

“Is it over?” she asked.

The man nodded. “The Southerners pulled back when the fires grew hot.” He shook his head and sighed. “Will you come with me? He’ll raise hell until he sees you safe with his own eyes.”

Lissa hesitated a moment before nodding her agreement. She doubted they meant her harm, but if they did- she had no doubt that Kryll would make short work of them. She grabbed Kid by the hand once more and led him forward to the Sons as the men held the door open for her. Together, they walked into the afternoon light.

***

Kid watched awkwardly as Marc wrapped Lissa into a suffocating hug, lifting her from her feet and swinging her around. They’d been taken into the undercity and into Marc’s war room. A long table lined with chairs dominated the rectangular room, and it had been filled near to bursting with men seeking orders and requisitioning supplies for the refugees. On seeing Lissa, Marc had thrown everyone out, saying the city could wait.

Kid wasn’t so sure about that from the smoke he’d seen earlier, but he was hardly going to be the one to raise that opinion.

“By the bloody Reaper am I glad to see you,” he said into her hair as he stopped spinning her and lowered her to the ground. He took her face in both his hands. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She shook her head, and Marc breathed a sigh of relief and looked to where Kid stood. “Where are the others?” he asked.

A deep frown creased Kid’s lips. “Melna didn’t make it,” he said, “Hilda was wounded and started the fire to cover our escape.”

Marc’s mouth hung open a moment before he took a deep breath. “And should you be asked who started the blaze?”

Kid hesitated as Marc’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. “Actually, I believe the Venarans started the fire trying to smoke us out of house.”

Marc nodded in approval and looked to Lissa. “Keep that information close to your chest. Best not let the hungry, angry masses know your mother did that.”

Lissa nodded, eyes wide and afraid. “Do you think she’s alive?”

Kid winced at the question. Marc was quiet a moment, and Kid could tell he was weighing the advantage of his answer. “No,” Marc said, “I don’t. I’m sorry Lissa. I haven’t heard any word of her.”

Kid’s heart ached to see her fall to pieces again, the hope fading from her eyes. Kryll uncurled himself and waddled closer to her, his long tongue licking at her hand. “Where’s my dad?” she whispered.

“He was in the thick of the fighting today. His company hasn’t reported in as of yet, but I’m sure he’s fine,” Marc said.

She rushed into Marc’s arms, and he held his niece close, gently stroking her hair as his eyes took in Kid’s measure. Kid fought the urge to squirm beneath his scrutiny, wondering whether he had succeeded or failed in Marc’s estimation. The thought hadn’t occurred to him until now but, of the three people he’d been charged to rescue, two had died. Kid averted his eyes, unable to hold Marc’s gaze any longer.

The man pushed his niece away, looking down into her eyes. “I’m sorry Lissa, but I need to speak with Kid, and If I keep everyone at bay for too long, they’ll tear down the door.”

She nodded, tears still falling down her face. “I understand,” she managed.

Marc called a guard into the room, asking the man to escort Lissa to a room and keep her under guard. The guard pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around Lissa as they walked from the room. Kryll trotted after her, leaving him alone in the room with Marc as the heavy wooden door closed.

Marc’s eyes settled on Kid and Kid swallowed. The man looked like hell, face and clothes spattered with blood and ash. A dark look fell over him the moment Lissa left the room. “Sit with me,” Marc commanded as he pulled a chair from the table and fell into it.

Kid walked toward Marc, his nervousness increasing with every step. As Kid pulled the chair from the table, Marc leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. “Thank you for saving her,” he said, “But we all needed Melna more than anything.”

Kid was quiet as Marc lifted his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’re young, born after the occupation started, so I don’t expect you to understand what she meant to the Outwalls. The last Priestess of the Reaper- gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Kid whispered.

Marc shook his head. “I’m not mad, boy. It’s a damned miracle you got Lissa out.” He sighed. “Did Melna say anything to you before she passed?”

“She said that Lissa was everything she’d hoped,” Kid said.

Marc’s eyes flashed and he met Kid’s gaze. “Exactly those words?”

Kid nodded, and a weary grin spread across Marc’s lips. “By the Reaper’s blade,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you know what that means Kid?”

Kid shook his head.

“It means that Lissa is the greatest weapon in all the Rills, and she’s safe in my hands,” he said, gaze growing distant. “A lot of good men died today.”

Marc’s words filled Kid with unease, but he was relieved the man’s ire wasn’t focused on him.

“Can I trust you, Kid?” Marc asked.

Kid nodded.

“Lissa is in an emotional state right now, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that she cares for you. I’d appreciate it if between your other duties, you could visit her and ensure she is well,” he said.

“Of course,” Kid said. He’d have done that anyways.

Marc’s gaze hardened. “And, should she tell you anything that you think I should know, you will of course tell me immediately,” Marc said.

The uneasy feeling Kid felt earlier returned. “Of course, sir.”

Marc looked down at Kid’s filthy, stained clothing. “Were you blooded today?”

Kid frowned, a sick feeling rising in his gut along with conflicting feelings. “Yes,” he whispered.

Marc reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “That makes you a man, and don’t you forget it.”

Kid’s hand drifted to the bronze dagger he’d killed the Venaran with, and Marc’s eyes followed the motion. “Keep that close, boy. We’ll need every blade we can get in the coming days.”

Kid bit his lip. “What happens next?”

“An ending and a beginning,” Marc answered, “But first will come your formal initiation ritual. You’ve more than earned the honor.” Marc smiled at him.

Kid’s spirits lifted at that. It meant he’d get his mask. “I won’t let you down.”

Marc patted his shoulder. “Good man.”