The busy sounds of a kitchen in motion hummed around Grim as he sat at one of the few tables set up along the perimeter. No noble would be seen dead consorting with the kitchen staff, and the household guard generally preferred to have their meals delivered. It was one of the perks of the job after all.

It was one of his favorite places in the manse for those very reasons. Not a single Venaran in sight. The kitchen staff were entirely composed of Rillish women, from the lowliest serving girl to the head cook herself. It was the closest thing there was to being at home.

The staff usually ignored him after realizing he wasn’t looking for a meal, but today they shot him furtive looks. Grim supposed that probably had something to do with the bloodstains along his still damp clothing. He really should’ve gone to change, but simply couldn’t find the energy. He helped haul Harren all the way to the fort where surgeons and healers saw to the wounded. The fortress was in an uproar as news of the pitched battle spread and Grim went largely unnoticed as he made his way back to the manse. It wasn’t till he entered the premises that the guards even thought to confiscate the axe he’d acquired in the Outwalls.

He sighed, remembering walking through the doors, and seeing the stairs he’d need to climb to reach his room. The summit had seemed insurmountable and instead he turned off to the Kitchen. And here he sat, wishing only for the day to end.

He blinked as a serving girl with auburn hair and a slim, shapeless figure walked up to him. Her brown eyes had a question in them. “My lord, are you okay?”

At the question, he could only think of the feel of the water rushing down his throat as he fought for air. “Wine. Now.” He grunted.

She curtsied and turned from him, a nervous look on her face. A moment later an earthenware pitcher of wine and matching cup sat before him. He poured a glass and downed it in a single gulp before pouring a second.

His eyes drifted to the organized chaos of the kitchen. The head cook, Mara, was a plump middle-aged woman with the bearing of a field commander. She marched around the kitchen, waving her ladle like a sword and yelling at her serving girls to hurry the blazes up. At her command, bowls were filled, pots were simmered, and produce was chopped. It was mesmerizing in a way. Work never stopped here. Between feeding staff, catering for the court, and delivering very particular meals to the visiting nobility, the kitchen never slept.

Grim blinked as Mara turned and her eyes found him. Her eyes narrowed and she marched toward him, taking a seat on the bench opposite him. She plucked the wine cup form his hands and downed the bitter liquid before smacking the empty container on the table.

Grim raised an eyebrow at her. She met his eyes with a glare. “Now where do you get off coming into my kitchen, frightening my girls, and ogling their behinds?”

Grim’s eyes widened. “I- I didn’t mean-”

She cut him off with a dismissive waive. “Save the sweet lies for the lasses, boy. And save them for when they’re off duty. I’ll not have you distracting my girls or laying a hand on them they didn’t ask for.”

Grim was mortified as he realized what this must look like. Rich nobleman regularly hanging around the serving quarters and watching the kitchen staff. The all-female kitchen staff. And today he came in fresh from battle, and the first thing he asked for was a flagon of wine. His cheeks burned and he fought the urge to bury his head in his hands as he realized why the entire kitchen was periodically glancing at him askance. They were terrified.

Mara must have seen something of his horror in his expression as her visage softened. “Or mayhaps your just a big, dumb oaf.”

“More like the biggest, dumbest oaf,” Grim muttered.

Mara narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him. “Jeanne,” she called.

A moment later the girl who’d brought him the wine appeared. “Mistress?” she asked.

Mara kept her eyes on Grim as she spoke. “Master Thorne has something he wishes to say to you.”

Grim cleared his throat before meeting Jeanne’s wide eyes. ”I’m sorry I spoke harshly,” he paused, “Today’s been hard.”

She nodded in what seemed an uneasy understanding. “Thank you, lord.”

“Don’t lord him,” Mara said, “He was sprouted from a Rill woman’s thighs like all the rest of us. For all the Marshal cares, you can piss in his porridge.”

Grim sighed. “Girm is fine,” he agreed, “Though I’d prefer piss-free porridge if possible.” He chuckled. “If not, I’ll make do.”

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A weak smile creased Jeanne’s lips. Mara raised her ladle at Jeanne. “Back to work with you.” As Jeanne scurried away, Mara looked back to Grim. “You eaten today? You look shite.”

Grim shook his head. The thought of food turned his stomach. “Feel like it too,” he muttered.

“Well, that won’t do. Many of these lasses are looking forward to hearing about you walloping some of those Venaran younglings tomorrow,” she said.

Grim sighed. Divines. Was the competition tomorrow?

Mara rose to her feet as Grim raised a hand to stop her, but it was too late. She was in motion, walking and talking 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 man’s demeanor- 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.

Grim watched her circle the length of the kitchen, girls scurrying out of her way as she went. 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.”

A moment later she was before him and, with a flourish, she laid the feast before Grim. As he looked down at it and took in the tantalizing smells, his stomach rumbled. The sight of food before him seemed to awaken his appetite, and he found himself ravenously hungry. He dug into the food with gusto, washing bites down with sips of wine. Suddenly the steak was gone and Grim had a moment of panic before he realized the sausages were even more delicious.

Mara quietly watched him from across the table and Grim met her gaze, loudly swallowing his last bite of sausage. “Will you marry me?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him, belying the smirk across her lips. “I thought I told you no sweet lies?”

Grim took another bite and talked through it. “Heard you loud and clear.”

Mara looked over her shoulder. “Jeanne,” she called, “Take master Thorne’s wine away. He’s clearly had more than enough.”

Grim grinned at her with red-stained teeth. “Thank you for the hospitality mistress.”

Mara hmphed at him. “Next time you come to my kitchen, you’ll do so not reeking of sweat and blood.”

Grim nodded in acquiescence as he shoveled baked potatoes into his mouth.

Mara looked about to say something more, but her eyes drifted over Grim’s shoulder. The clink of metal betrayed the approaching soldier a moment later. Grim sighed and laid down his fork, turning to regard the man. He was one of the household guards Grim recognized. Grim let go of his dinner knife.

The man came to a halt before Grim and looked about the room as if confused as to why Grim would be here. “Marshal requested your presence for a debrief. Been looking for you for nearly half an hour. Best hurry.”

Grim grumbled as he rose to his feet, damp clothes clinging to his flesh. He flashed Mara a final smile before following the soldier down the hall back to the grand entrance and up the stairs. He soon found himself deposited outside the Marshall’s study. Upon Grim’s approach, the guard posted outside opened the door. Muffled voices were speaking inside.

Grim entered the doorway to see the Marshal behind his desk, a glass of whiskey close at hand. A man near his age with a sharp face and thin, grey stubble sat across from him, likely a high ranking officer if Grim were to guess. Ash and blood covered the man’s face, but he appeared completely unharmed.

Their conversation ceased as Grim entered the room. The Marshal narrowed his eyes at him. “I called for you some time ago.”

Grim bowed half-heartedly, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. “Was grabbing a bite in the kitchens. Been a long day,” Grim said.

The Marshal nodded in acknowledgement, seeming to begrudge that point. “General Peltar was briefing me on the outcome, though any fool with eyes can see we burned half the damn city down.”

The other old man- Peltar sighed, leaning back in his chair. “We lost near a thousand men today.”

“A loss we can afford, and they can’t,” Longreen answered. His attention drifted back to Grim. “Your report on the fifth cohort?” he prompted.

Grim took a deep breath. It was clear that some deal had been struck with the Sons in the tunnel, or had at least been attempted. But Harren had saved his life. He wouldn’t have made it out of there without the man.

Grim met the Marshal’s gaze. “In my time with the Fifth, I saw nothing amiss. Their Prefecuts even saved my life at one point. He accounted himself as nobly as one could expect of a Venaran officer.”

The Marshal was quiet a moment. “That’s not what your man said.”

Grim’s breath caught. They’d questioned Edgar as well. Of course, they did. Divines, he was a fool.

The Marshall was quiet, and his silence hung heavy in the air. Grim had to fight the urge to swallow. At last, Longreen spoke, “I’ve been lenient enough with you, Thorne. I’ll be taking one of you man’s hands this evening. His choice.”

Grim’s hands shook. He wanted to scream and yell or throttle the man where he sat. Instead, he took a calming breath. “Please forgive me, your grace. I spoke from loyalty.”

“But not loyalty to me,” Longreen said.

Grim grit his teeth.

Longreen leaned back in his chair and took a slow drink form his glass. He released a sigh. “My decision stands.”

Grim gritted his teeth, feeling his outrage slowly giving way to guilt. “What will happen to Harren?” he asked.

Longreen rolled his eyes. “I was planning to give the traitor his wings, but for Peltar’s objections,” he said with a wave toward the general. “He seems to believe young Barrington can be brought to the light.”

Longreen snorted, shifting his gaze to Peltar. “You always had a soft heart.”

Peltar shrugged. “I admire courage in an officer. You can’t train that,” he said, taking a drink from his glass.

“And I value loyalty, Peltar, which is why I’m giving him a final chance at your request. Once he wakes, test his resolve. Should he pass, he’s your responsibility,” Longreen answered.

Grim looked between the two men as Peltar nodded in acquiescence. Longreen’s attention drifted back to Grim. “You may go. Ready yourself for tomorrow’s exhibition.”

Grim nodded stiffly before turning and walking from the room, hand questing for the axe missing from his hip.