The dusk’s light shined on Grim as he stood before the Fort’s gate with Edgar at his side. He had hardly believed his ears when the Marshal told him that he could leave the confines of the fortress so long as he returned to attend court in the morning. He’d thought the man would be furious with the day’s events, but he’d seemed almost- pleased?
Part of Grim wondered if he’d find a knife in an alley wedged into his spine down the road. He shrugged. There was only one way to find out. Behind them, the festivities were still in full swing as the drinks began to pour faster with the setting sun. No doubt Rafe was having a grand old time, being the center of attention this afternoon as well as a deeply controversial subject of discussion.
Grim shook his head, wincing as the motion elicited a lance of pain from his shoulder. The Marshal’s healers had done some impressive work in impressive time but the hole in his shoulder still ached like a bitch in heat and no doubt would for weeks and weeks to come. He looked down at the sling holding his left arm across his chest and glanced to the bandaged stump where Edgar’s left hand had been. He sighed.
A tense silence hung in the air between them. It was the first time he’d seen the man since they’d been beyond the wall and the first time he’d seen him since he’d lost his hand for Grim’s lie.
“I’m sorry,” Grim whispered.
Edgar grimaced, not acknowledging his woefully inadequate apology. “I lost my hand to protect a man I wouldn’t piss on if he were on fire. Don’t you fucking apologize to me.”
Grim frowned, swallowing and knowing there was nothing to say.
Edgar spoke again, “I have family I need to check on in the Outwalls.”
Grim met his gaze. There was a question in there. “And if we let you go, will you come back?”
Edgar didn’t answer.
Grim sighed. He owed the man this and more. If he vanished in the night, Grim would bear the consequences. “So be it,” he whispered.
Edgar said nothing, his eyes drifting to the waning cloud of smoke still drifting over the horizon. The worst was over, but the ruins no doubt still smoldered. Edgar spoke in a low voice, “I hate them, Grim. Even the ones even the ones helping you are careless children playing games while the city burns around them.”
Grim didn’t entirely agree, but he understood the man’s sentiment. “We’ll be done with them soon enough. Only one challenge left to complete Longreen’s trifecta.”
It was one he was decidedly not looking forward to. A test of horsemanship and hunting prowess. The contestants were to ride to the town of Calumn on the edge of the Bleakwood and return with a bear pelt. Grim expected there to be a ready supply of the things for purchase in town around this time of year for anyone with enough coin. Coin he decidedly lacked at present. He wondered if the Marshal had a way of telling whether it’d been freshly caught.
Grim shook the thoughts from his mind as the sound of a carriage clattering over the cobblestone road drew his attention. It seemed his Father and Ilyena had finally arrived. The driver, Smithy, waved at Grim with a one-fingered salute. Grim returned the gesture with a grin. Seemed some things never changed.
Smithy pulled the carriage alongside Grim and Edgar and drew it to a halt as the Venaran gate guards eyed them. Smithy tied off the reins and clambered from the driver’s seat onto the cobblestone, approaching Grim with an outstretched arm. “Good to see you, young master.”
Grim reached out and clasped the man’s arm, giving it a firm shake. “You as well, Smithy.”
Smithy released him with a smile and walked to the carriage door, opening it to reveal Ilyena and the Earl lounging inside. Smithy’s eyes settled on Edgar. “You’re invited in as well, soldier.”
Edgar waved the suggestion away. “I’m bound to see my family, but you have my word I’ll return on the morrow.”
A slight frown creased Smithy’s lips, but at Grim’s nod he shrugged and turned to the Venaran gate guard. “Ay, Fuckers. Open the gate in the name of the Earl of Bleakridge. Marshal gave orders these two are allowed to leave the confines.”
The guards glanced at one another.
Smithy pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the carriage. “Earl is in there. I can ask him to come out and tell you himself,” he said.
The guards’ hesitation faded, and they set to opening the huge, wooden gate. Grim patted Edgar on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he said before walking to the carriage door and stepping inside, falling onto the bench beside Ilyena.
Smithy closed the door behind him and climbed back into the driver’s seat overhead.
Ilyena was the first to speak. “You’re an idiot,” she said.
“People keep telling me that for some reason,” he commented.
“Is your man coming?” The Earl asked.
Grim shook his head. “Family to check on.”
Rodger Thorne hesitated a moment before nodding in understanding and thumping his fist against the wooden ceiling. A moment later, the reins snapped, and the carriage lurched into motion. The Earl’s eyes found Grim then drifted out the shuttered window. Grim followed his gaze as they crossed the threshold of the fort’s gate.
Soot-stained faces lined the road, hands outstretched toward the carriage. Pleading cries rose at the sight of the Thorne crest, calling for aid and begging the Earl to save them. Women held children outstretched above their heads as if hoping Smithy would pluck them from their grasp. Grim’s mouth fell open as he looked across the pleading faces.
His father watched them impassively. “The castle is filled to capacity. I have a family of six presently housed in your room.”
Grim could only stare for a long moment. “Won’t curfew be in effect soon?”
“Where would you have them go?” Ilyena asked.
“Surely we could set up camps beyond the walls,” Grim said.
“Filled beyond capacity,” The Earl answered, “The Sons have also taken many able-bodied men and their families in. A mixed blessing.”
Grim flinched as a man’s fist banged against the shutter by his face. Smithy snapped the reins and their pace increased, the desperate faces passing in a blur as people scattered before the horses. The shouts and cries faded into the darkening streets behind them.
Grim found his fists were clenched. “I assume Longreen refused to take anybody in.”
“Why do you think I was there today when the city is in crisis?” The Earl answered.
Grim sighed. He’d thought his father had been there to see him, but he had to admit that Longreen’s games paled into comparison to this. “Why do we let them do this?” Grim asked.
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The Earl lowered his gaze, looking to his golden ring as he twisted it on his finger. “What would you have me do about it?” he asked, meeting Grim’s gaze, “Drown the Rills in blood once more to ensure the shelter of a few thousand?”
Grim scowled.
The Earl’s gaze hardened, grey eyes boring into Grim. “Tell me Grim- where do you think the bread, you eat comes from? The wheat to make the beer you’re so fond of? The grapes for wine? The grains for porridge?”
Grim blinked in surprise. That wasn’t a line of questioning he was expecting. He shrugged.
The Earl closed his eyes. “You’ve probably never seen a farm in your life have you, Grim?”
Grim shook his head. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“If you listened for a moment or paid attention to something other than what’s right in front of you for more than a second then maybe you would.” He turned to Grim’s sister. “Ilyena?”
Ilyena stiffened, clearly not wanting to be brought into this conversation. “A hundred fifty tons of grain passes through the city gates each year. At least ninety percent of that is grown in the Venaran Heartlands,” she said.
The Earl nodded his approval, turning his attention back to Grim. “Do you know why we used to raid the southlands?”
Grim shook his head.
“Because we were starving,” The Earl said, “Our land is harsh. Desolate. Nothing grows here. Only so many people can live off the sea and from herding. I’m sure you’ve heard how many men died in the war. But, when the rest came home, our population exploded and grain from the south came pouring in to support it.”
The Earl ran a hand across the stubble lining his jaw. “Do you know what would happen if that trade dried up?”
Grim swallowed. “Famine.”
“It’d be an unmitigated disaster and make our losses in the war look like a petty border skirmish. There are hundreds of thousands of young men spread across the Rills. More than there ever has been. We could start the bloodiest war the world has ever seen, but we’d all be dead by next winter.”
Grim was quiet, letting that sink in. He’d always thought his father to be afraid of another conflict and rightly so. He had no idea that they’d also grown so dependent. “So, this is our course? We align with the Marshal and thank him for the boot upon our throat?”
“Until such a time as I tell you otherwise,” His father answered.
Grim met his gaze and saw a smoldering rage burning there, deep beyond the calm façade. Hidden, just as Grim had been learning to hide his anger. He’d always thought his father burned cold, but perhaps Grim misunderstood. “And what would make you tell otherwise?” Grim asked, pressing the subject.
His father was quiet a moment. “Ilyena, take him to the Forgers Guild in the morning and show him. I’ll make excuses to the Marshal for the delay.”
Grim’s eyes drifted to his sister’s. It seemed she’d been keeping far more secrets that he’d assumed. He didn’t push his luck, letting that line of conversation die there. “Why did the Marshal release me?”
“I had no hand in that,” The Earl said, “But, I suspect you pleased him.”
Grim snorted. “Pleased him? The man hates me.”
The Earl shook his head. “He doesn’t hate you. He hates me. And, if he thinks he can use you, then you have value to him. Do you know why he holds these games the way he does?”
Grim shrugged. “Entertainment?”
“It’s to give him a measure of each young nobleman in the Rills. Should war break out in earnest, every man in court would be pressed into service as an officer. This is his way of filtering out the cowards and cheats from men he would trust in a battle. The spectacle of it all is just to mask the true purpose to the court,” Rodger Thorne said.
Grim considered that. It made a twisted kind of sense. “I lied to him about what happened yesterday. I figured that would make him hate me more than he already did.”
“You lied to defend the honor of a man who saved your life,” The Earl said, “Whether the man deserved it is up for debate, but Longreen understands loyalty forged in battle.”
Grim quieted as he mulled that over, releasing a slow breath. He looked through the shutters of the window. Daylight was quickly fading beyond the horizon and, high above the streets, he could see Bleakridge Castle towering over the city. Torches flickered along the walls, making it glow against the darkening sky. He couldn’t wait to be home.
His wish was soon granted as the carriage wound its path up the switchbacks of the castle and passed through the portcullis into the castle’s courtyard. Grim felt relieved to be here. Part of him never thought he’d see it again, forever trapped in the clutches of Longreen.
The carriage came to a halt near the Keep and, a moment later, Smithy opened the carriage doors. Grim followed as the Earl and Ilyena exited the carriage. The sun had set, and foot traffic was light, the night shifts having already changed. He still caught sight of a few familiar faces amongst the guardsmen and servants. He couldn’t help grinning like an idiot.
The Earl turned to meet Grim’s gaze. “Ilyena, you may go.”
The girl looked between them, a question in her eyes. She curtsied and disappeared between the Keep doors a moment later. His father held Grim’s gaze a moment longer before saying, “Come.”
The man always had a way with words. Grim followed in his wake as the Earl entered the keep and led him down the twisting halls of the interior. Grim found himself drawing stares from the staff he passed, whether because of his presence or his injury, he wasn’t sure.
It soon became clear they were headed to the castle armory, and the heavy iron doors soon came into sight. A pair of guards flanked the door. One wore the golden brooch of a Briar Guard, the twisted gold vines pinning his crimson cloak over his shoulders. A tabard was draped over his mail, bearing the black Briar of House Thorne. Upon noticing their approach, the guards straightened and saluted the Earl, fists over hearts and heads bowed.
“At ease,” The Earl said, “Open the door and take twenty.”
The Briar Guard nodded and turned to the door, as he pulled a key ring from his belt. A moment later the locking mechanism clicked, and the guards heaved the heavy door open.
The Earl nodded his thanks and strode into the torchlit room. Grim followed and the guards pulled the door closed behind him. As the door sealed, all sound from the outside disappeared.
Grim looked around the room at the racks of weapons and crates filled with armor piled high in the huge warehouse. It was enough iron to field an entire army, most of it left over from the war. “Why are we here?” Grim asked.
The Earl walked to a crate and sighed as he took a seat, leaning forward and resting on his knees. “We’re here because it is safe from any prying ears,” he said.
Grim followed his example, finding a nearby crate. He looked to the Earl expectantly.
“We need to talk,” his father said, trailing off as if searching for the next words. After a long moment, he sighed. He seemed to age before Grim’s eyes, the lines around his father’s eyes growing deeper in the dim torchlight.
At last, he spoke, “Your mother was the bravest woman I knew. When the terms for our surrender demanded that I set her aside and take a Venaran wife, she told me to do so.”
Grim blinked, a look of disbelief settling across his face. “Why the hell would she do that?” he demanded.
The Earl pulled the signet ring from his left hand. “Because it is what was best, not for us, but for the Rills.” His father whispered, shame evident in his voice. “I was set to follow my father into a bloody battle at Varna that would have seen the end of the Rills in its entirety. I thought it my duty to meet our end, sword in hand. Your mother, Ilyena, convinced me otherwise.”
The Earl’s hand curled around the signet ring he held in his palm. “And your grandfather-”
“You killed him,” Grim said.
His father nodded. “Yes. He knew surrender would see his life forfeit, and he would have brought us all down with him for a few more months of life.”
The Earl’s eyes drifted to the signet ring and Grim followed his gaze. “Was that his?” he asked.
His father shook his head. “This was the ring I wore when I married your mother.”
Grim’s throat choked up. He couldn’t remember a single day his father hadn’t worn it.
Rodger Thorne tightly closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “This is also the ring I wore the day she asked me to end her life.”
Grim’s blood ran cold at that admission. His mouth worked a moment before words found their way out. “Why?”
“They made her into a toy. A novelty for noblemen and Venaran officers to abuse for coin. You know what she was forced to do, but you don’t know what was done to her,” he whispered.
Grim felt ill. “And you did nothing to stop it?” The coldness in him was giving way to a burning anger.
The Earl’s brow furrowed. “Anything I did, only made it worse. Longreen enabled it to punish me. Any sign I cared only redoubled his efforts.”
“Bullshit,” Grim growled, rising to his feet. “They wouldn’t have come to blows over her life. You could have taken her any time you wanted.”
The Earl tensed. “She gave her life for the peace we brokered,” he said.
Grim spat. “Damn the peace. You gave up on her.”
The Earl’s calm façade fell away in an instant, revealing the fury beneath as he leapt to his feet. “She died for you!” he yelled. “Do you think the thought of taking her and keeping her safe here didn’t cross my mind? Do you think I didn’t spend every night alone, itching to grab an axe and cut the head from whatever fucking southerner was abusing her?”
He was gasping. “She did it for you until she had nothing left,” he said, turning from Grim. “She wasn’t going to risk your life or position here for anything.”
Grim’s rising anger died, quenched by a rush of guilt, and he fell back into his seat atop the crate. “I- I-” He tried to speak, but there were no words.
His Father returned to his seat as well. He pulled the ring from his finger, clutching it tight in one palm. A long silence stretched between them as Rodger Thorne uncurled his fist and looked to the ring.
“She’d have wanted you to have this someday,” he said, “Now seems as good a time as any.” He held the ring out to Grim.
Grim met his father’s eyes, seeing the depths of sorrow held deep within. His hand shook as he reached out and closed the man’s hand around the ring. “It’s yours,” he whispered.