Kid awoke to the taste of stale vomit and a pounding headache. He groaned as he lifted himself from the soft linen of his bed. It felt as if somebody were using his head as a drum. Even the candlelight seemed too bright as he opened his blurred eyes. the scent of wine immediately set his stomach to roiling. He thought he was going to puke again but managed to hold it in. He coughed into the sleeve of the fresh shirt Marc gave him after the initiation.

The initiation.

His hands shook at the memory, and he clenched them into fists to steady them. He’d thrown up shortly after killing the southerner. One of the sons had then handed him a jug of wine ‘to celebrate’. His memory quickly faded after accepting the drink. He was glad for the void. Maybe that was why so many men found solace in drink, but it seemed a temporary cure at best.

Kid looked around him, realizing he wasn’t even in his bunk. Divines knew where he’d ended up, but at least nobody had cuffed him over the head for it. As he rose to his feet, the world spun but he managed to right it, taking a deep breath as he fought the urge to vomit.

Kid stumbled his way between the beds, struggling not to bump into any of the men and women still sleeping. He unlatched the door of the room and slipped into the hall. He must have still been in the undercity as, there were no windows. The floor was cold stone like one would find in a castle and the wall and ceiling consisted of thick wooden boards. Every twenty paces a reinforced, wooden pillar dominated the center of the wide hall.

Several Sons stumbled down the corridor, the smell of drink hanging heavy in the air about them. Some wore their masks, while others had them hanging at their belt. Kid unconsciously felt the mask on his hip. The blood was still sticky. A chill ran down his spine and for the second time today, he felt he might puke.

With little to no sense of where he was, Kid turned right, down the hall. Branching corridors went off in all directions, giving it the feeling of a maze. The increasingly familiar twang of a longbow sounded down the corridor. The noise drew Kid’s attention, and he followed the periodic thwacking to range.

As he entered the room, he found Marc standing before the targets, slowly drawing a longbow, his arms straining with the effort. On noticing Kid, he loosened his draw, letting the bow creak back to it’s natural form.

“You’re up early. I’d have thought the drink would keep you down till midafternoon.”

Kid shrugged. “How early is it?” he asked.

“Morning. But the sun hasn’t risen yet. I’m rarely able to sleep more than a few hours these days. Too many dreams.” Marc nocked another arrow and drew the string, grunting with the effort of it. He released it. Kid watched the arrow slam into the head of the dummy. Marc rested the stave on the ground and leaned against it. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Kid’s hand brushed the mask resting against his hip and Marc’s eyes flashed down to it. “Then again, maybe you already do. The things we do are not meant to be easy, Kid.”

A chill ran down Kid’s spine. “Then why do we do them?”

Marc locked eyes with Kid. “Nothing worth doing is ever easy. The price of grain is measured in silver. The price of freedom is measured in blood.” Marc’s eyes drifted down to the mask. “That,” he said, “is to make sure you never forget.” Marc ran a hand along the wood of the bow stave. “Do you understand?”

Kid swallowed then nodded.

A slight smile crossed Marc’s lips before it fell into a deep frown. “It’s good you’re here. I need to ask something of you, Kid.”

Kid cocked his head, meeting Marc’s gaze.

Marc averted his eyes. “I received word that James was taken after the battle.”

Kid’s eyes widened. “Lissa…” He trailed off.

“I just found out, and need to tell her,” Marc said, “She’ll need a friend afterwards,” Marc said. He stepped closer to Kid. “A friend that I can trust.”

Kid nodded slowly. “Of course.” He hesitated. “Can he be saved?”

Marc’s silence hung heavy in the air.

It was the answer Kid expected, but it still stung. He and James had never been close, but he’d known the man most of his life.

Marc put a hand on his shoulder. “War is hard on us all, but in the end, we’ll see the sacrifices were worth it. I promise.”

Kid looked up to Marc. His freshly bloodied mask hung heavy at his side. “I hate them,” he whispered.

Marc’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “In the coming days, you’ll have an opportunity to express that hatred. I guarantee you that.”

Kid’s hand unconsciously grasped the hit of his dagger.

“You’ve exceeded my every expectation these past days, Kid, and now you are a Son of the Reaper in truth- not just name. Keep making me proud.”

A rush of emotion ran through Kid at Marc’s words. “I will,” he whispered.

“Good lad.” Marc sighed, looking toward the door. “No sense delaying any longer.”

Kid rushed after Marc as he stowed his bow and strode from the room. The man walked with purpose down the long halls. As they passed Sons, every man stopped in their tracks and saluted Marc, fist over heart and head bowed.

It was easy to forget the authority the man commanded among the Sons. But every time he did, Kid found himself met with a stark reminder that Marc was a very powerful man. Kid wondered at his luck to fall on the man’s coat tails.

This was a life he could take pride in. His hand ran across the dagger at his side. A sense of unease ran up his spine, but he ignored it. This is who he was now. There was no going back.

He followed Marc down the halls as he led the way to Lissa’s rooms. He wondered if she’d be asleep and then realized that was foolish. Of course, she wasn’t. How could one sleep not knowing if your parents were alive or dead?

Marc’s gait slowed as he neared the door. He rested a hand on the latch and met Kid’s gaze. Marc took a deep breath and opened the door. Kid followed him inside.

The room was dimly lit by candles resting atop the familiar altar that dominated the far side of the room. Above it sat the tapestry of the Reaper. Both were seemingly untouched from the flames that consumed Melna’s home.

However, the tapestry was almost unrecognizable from its previously bleak depictions. The Reaper still stood front and center, her lips drawn in a hard line. Her eyes were shadowed beneath her hood, but a line of blood ran across her left cheek as if she shed a single tear of blood. Around her visage, the forest- glowed a dark red. The thread was so rich in hue that it seemed to glow of its own accord.

Kid blinked. No- It was glowing.

Lissa knelt before the altar, arms crossed across her chest, the whisper of some prayer falling from her lips into the quiet of the chamber. The surface of the altar rippled with dark lines that swirled like smoke across its surface.

Marc had come to a stop a few paces into the room and started at the scene open mouthed. Kid could just barely hear whisper on the man’s lips. “By the Divines.”

Kid came to a halt beside him, equally entranced. He barely noticed as Kryll uncurled in the far corner and interposed himself between them and Lissa, eyes wary.

She was dressed in a simple black robe with the hood down, but her hair seemed to float, defying gravity. As she finished her whispered prayer, the red light dimmed, and her hair drifted back to its natural place. She looked over her shoulder at them, eyes as black as night. Lines of black liquid fell along her cheeks like tears. With one of her sleeves, she wiped at them as the darkness slowly faded from her eyes.

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“They’re friends, Kryll,” she whispered.

The Keeper dug its claws into the ground, leaving small indents in the stone then sulked away back to its corner.

“That was incredible,” Marc said, “What were you doing?”

Lissa presented a forced smile as she rose to her feet and turned to them. “Talking. I’ve been hearing whispers since Melna passed. If I focus my intent into the altar, I can just barely hear them.”

Kid looked to Marc out of the corner of his eyes. The man looked almost afraid. “And what do they say?”

She frowned. “It’s like they whisper in passing. They’re scared. They say they never should have come here and that that they want to go home.” She bit her lip. “I give what comfort I can.”

The hairs on the back of Kid’s neck stood up as he put the pieces together. Had she spoken to the man he’d killed? For some reason the thought shamed him. He tried not to let it show, feeling uncomfortable as her eyes drifted to the mask hanging at his side.

Kid’s mouth opened to speak but no words came out as he struggled to find them. Marc spoke, having apparently found his first. “We need to talk, Lissa.”

At his words her face fell, and the room seemed to darken. “What happened?”

Marc met her gaze. “Your father was captured by-”

Marc trailed off as the candles snuffed out, leaving them in total darkness. For a long moment, the only sound Kid could hear was the beating of his pulse in his ears. Then, a sob echoed through the room. Kid felt himself rushing forward and suddenly Lissa was in his arms. She crumpled and he eased them to the floor. Warm tears fell across his neck as she buried her face into him.

Kid could hear Marc’s bootsteps as he walked past them to the altar. He must have had some kind of tinder on hand as sparks flew, followed by the low flame of a single candle. Marc calmly used the candle to light the others.

“I’m sorry Lissa,” Marc said, “I have no way to get to him.”

Lissa gasped, trying to find the breath for a response. “You could try.”

“And whose father should die to save yours?” Marc asked.

Lissa shuddered in Kid’s arms. “He’d come for you.”

Marc hesitated, eyes seeming to grow distant for a moment. “This is about more than us,” he whispered.

Lissa leapt to her feet, shrugging free of Kid. “And what about us? Are we just pawns to be sacrificed for the cause? How much more do I need to lose?” she screamed.

Kid slowly rose to his feet, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Marc matched Lissa’s gaze. “We will lose whatever it takes to keep you safe.” He shook his head. “Your father fought for what he believed in and that was you,” he paused, “I believe in you.”

Marc reached out and held Lissa’s cheek. “Lass, you’re all I have.”

Lissa’s anger seemed to melt away, replaced with deep sorrow. “There’s nothing we can do?”

“I’m sorry,” Marc whispered.

Lissa shuddered. “Me too,” she whispered, reaching out to him and wrapping him in an embrace.

Marc hesitated as he returned the embrace. He held her for a long moment before saying “I can’t stay for long.”

Lissa’s shoulders sagged. “I know,” she said, “It’s okay.”

Marc kissed the top of her head before releasing her and turning his gaze to Kid. “Keep an eye on her for me, Kid. I’ll be back this evening and, should everything go as planned, I’ll have a job for you in the coming weeks.”

Kid blinked at that. A job for him. What in the hells kind of job was he the best suited candidate for?

With a final smile for Lissa, Marc strode from the room. A long moment of silence passed between her and Kid before Lissa broke the quiet. “I hate him sometimes,” she whispered.

Kid frowned, waiting for her to continue.

“Walks in, ruins my life, and walks out just as quickly,” she added, stifling a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Kid whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she whispered.

Kid’s frown deepened.

Lissa’s wide brown eyes enveloped him. “He asked you to report on me, didn’t he?”

Kid paled a shade. He averted his eyes, unable to meet her gaze.

Lissa nodded as if that were all the confirmation she needed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Kid.”

He winced.

A new quiet hung between them. “You can talk to me,” she said.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.

He forced himself to meet her gaze and as he took in her tear-filled brown eyes, he found the words. “I’ll always be here when you need me. Marc be damned.”

A small smile broke across her lips, though it quickly faded. She took his hand in hers and looked to the altar. “Will you make an offering with me, to ask safe passage for my parents?”

Kid glanced up at the tapestry, fighting the urge to shrink beneath the Reaper’s hooded gaze. “I don’t know how,” he said.

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll show you.”

Lissa led him to the altar. The swirls of darkness across its surface had vanished, leaving the surface a ruddy reddish color. They stood before it together and Lissa touched its surface, tracing it with her fingers. Where she touched, dark lines spun outwards across the surface, coalescing into an image of a-

Kid blinked. “Is that me?”

Lissa nodded, her finger tracing the final line to complete a very good approximation of his nose.

He grinned in wonder. “That’s incredible.”

Lissa pursed her lips, taking in the image. “I have little to do other than practice my intent in here. I’m barely ever allowed to leave my cell.” With a wave of her hand, the image dissipated back into the altar. “You’re a bit more handsome in real life,” she said off-handedly.

Kid blushed despite himself, knowing she had to be teasing him. He ran a finger along the smooth, cold surface of the altar. “What even is this made of?”

Lissa wiped at her eyes before laying a hand on the surface of the altar. The stone stirred at her touch. “Just rock,” she said, “What makes it special are the sacrifices made through it. Melna said this altar is nearly as old as the Rillish Kingdom.”

Kid tested the words ‘Rillish Kingdom’ on his tongue. Saying it out loud sounded strange to him.

Lissa seemed to not notice his fixation as she pulled a small knife from her robes. She angled the blade toward her opposite palm and slowly drew a thin red line, droplets of blood falling freely from her hand and beading atop the altar.

The sight made Kid uneasy, his eyes drawn toward the knife and hands clenching in sympathy pangs. Lissa took note of his unease. “Why are you afraid?” she asked.

Kid looked to the tapestry above them. “It feels wrong,” he said.

Lissa followed his gaze. “Our lady keeps the Veil where souls are kept. We all end up in her arms eventually. I choose to think she’s a kind mistress.”

Kid swallowed. “And if she’s not?”

“What if the Southerner’s Goddess is the cruel one for birthing life into this world?” Lissa asked, “Would it make a difference?” she asked.

Kid frowned. He supposed natural laws were a silly thing to worry over. Their course had been set long ago. Lissa seemed to take his silence as acknowledgement as the candlelight began to dim around them. The droplets of blood that had fallen on the altar sank into the stone like water into a sponge.

Lissa’s eyes were fixed on the tapestry of the Reaper above. “To you, our lady, we give this sacrifice. May you carry my mother and father gently to the veil.” Her voice choked, but she continued, whispering, “I love them.”

She lowered her hand to the altar. As she touched the stone, the veins on her arm began to stand out. Lissa winced, her muscles going tense. Darkness seeped into the stone from where she touched its surface before fading into the rock.

After a long moment, she tore her hand from the stone with a visible effort. She gasped, seeming drained of energy. Kid watched as the dark cloud faded into the stone. “Where does it go?”

Lissa took a moment to steady herself before responding. “Some is stored. The rest goes to our lady.”

Kid blinked. “Stored?”

“Like grain in winter,” she said.

Kid ran a hand along the surface, but it felt no different than before. He wondered how much power was in there, and moreso- he wondered what Lissa could do with it.

She rose to her feet and walked to her dresser in the corner of the room, retrieving a bandage and wrapping it around her wounded hand. After tying off the knot, she returned to him, offering the knife hit-first.

Kid looked at it a moment before shaking his head and drawing the bronze dagger at his hip. “I’ll use mine,” he said.

Lissa shrugged and sheathed her blade within her robe.

Kid looked between his hand and the shining metal reflecting the fire-light. “Just cut and put it there?” he asked.

Lissa nodded. “With a message if you like.”

Kid bit his lip before taking a deep breath and drawing the blade across his palm. Droplets of blood beaded on the surface of the altar as they had for Lissa. He grunted as he placed his dagger atop the surface and pondered his message.

He sighed, a pang of hurt running through him as a memory rose to the surface. He looked to Lissa. “Do you remember when your father put me to work during one of the harder winters?”

She nodded, a question in her eyes.

He smiled softly. “He set me to sweeping the snow off the roof of the tavern and patching any issues with the thatching.” He shook his head. “He showed me how, but I still barely knew what I was doing. Paid me way more than he should have too.”

Kid smiled. “Neighbors told me a year later that he’d paid to have the roof redone before the real snows came. Just wanted to help me and my mom while letting me feel like I was earning it.”

Lissa cocked her head. “Was that why he climbed onto our roof every night that winter?”

Kid pursed his lips and nodded. “To fix everything I fucked up.”

Lissa snorted, her mirth quickly fading.

Kid took a deep breath. “To James. May our lady guide him.”

Kid placed his hand on the altar and gasped. A force surged along his arm and pulled at him, and he could feel his blood flowing faster, pulse pounding in his ears as his heart began to race. It was at once, exhilarating, terrifying, and painful. But he found that he couldn’t let go- didn’t want to let go. His doubt and unease had vanished, replaced with a sense of purpose and duty. He owed James this and more. His mind was clear.

At the edge of his awareness, he could hear Lissa saying his name, but he couldn’t make out the words. He pressed harder against the stone, looking up to the tapestry overhead. He could see her eyes, black as night, watching him with interest.

Kid was torn back to reality as Lissa grabbed his arm and wrenched it from the altar. The confusion and fear seeped back into him, compounded by a deep wooziness. He tried to rise to his feet and found that his cheek was pressed to the stone floor.

Small hands rolled him over and Lissa’s face appeared overhead a terrified expression on her face. She was beautiful, he thought as his eyes drifted shut.