Billy sat on the cot in his tiny room, deep beneath the Earth, the image of Melna’s face flaking away at his touch running through his mind again and again. Why was he always the one left behind? Was their lady so cruel?
Melna would have known the answer.
He signed, running a hand through his mostly grey hair. Every joint still ached from the battle, but he was piecing himself back together. There was little choice but to keep moving. He hadn’t been this busy since the last war. Between efforts to keep the refugees alive and the induction of countless new Sons, their numbers had swelled to near double what they had been before the fire.
Swelling their numbers had been a mess of logistics, the barriers between their distinct operations and cells being torn down by necessity. At first Billy wondered why Marc was compromising their security. Then he realized the shift was being made from resistance to revolution. They were in the twilight of the Rillish occupation, and the coming months would likely tell the story of either a glorious rise or a bloody fall from grace.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. The sound surprised him. The hour was late, and his daily duties were at an end. He rose to his feet, fingers wrapping around the haft of his axe. Billy edged to the door and cracked it open to find Kid standing beyond the threshold. He released a breath and widened the door.
“Can I help you lad?” he asked.
“Marc called for us. Asked me to fetch you.”
Billy raised an eyebrow as he tucked his axe into his beltloop. “For?”
Kid shrugged.
Billy looked him up and down. He looked pale as a sheet. “You get bled by our lil Priestess lass?”
Kid blushed, his cheeks a deep red next to the paleness of his skin. “I couldn’t get out of bed without a dizzy spell for a few days after.”
Billy chuckled, patting the boy on the shoulder. “Sacrifice is a thing to take pride in, or at least that’s what Melna liked to say when she asked me to fetch water or nail the thatch on her roof.”
Billy reflected the sad smile across Kid’s lips. He looked over Kid’s head into the barracks beyond where dozens of sleeping men lay. They’d run out of beds long ago and men were sleeping between the bunks atop piles of woolen blankets. He supposed it was a cut above sleeping outside in the frigid night air.
He looked to Kid. “Suppose we ought to find out what the old bleeder wants of us then, eh?”
Kid nodded, following Billy as he walked past, navigating the floor of sleeping bodies- a task easier said than done. Soon, they emerged into the many entry halls of the undercity with a minimal number of curses slung their way. Hundreds more warm bodies were packed into the space- most of these refugees or the families of new recruits. Any secrecy the undercity once held was long gone. Marc had opened the doors in the hour of need.
Billy could commend that.
Kid took the lead and brought them into the tunnels of the undercity proper, winding a route to Marc’s room. Actual patrols now walked the halls, stopping passersby to ask their business. Security had been tightened tenfold since the outsiders were brought into the fold en masse. No incidents had occurred as of yet, but Billy knew some young idiot was bound to get a little too curious and find himself occupying a cell.
A pair of heavily armed and armored sons stood guard outside Marc’s door, watching them warily with hands on their weapons as they approached. Billy squinted his eyes at them. Something looked- off with their armor. The shading of the chain links seemed different in the torchlight.
“Here to see Marc,” Kid said, “Kid and Billy.”
One of the guards nodded and cracked the door open behind him and slipped inside, leaving the second guard behind to stare menacingly at the pair of them. To give credit where credit was due, the man made for a good watch dog- as menacing as he was stiff in his posture. Billy grinned and leaned against the far wall. Men on watch duty hated that.
The guard said nothing, but Billy could see the annoyance in his eyes. A moment later the second guard appeared, waving them inside. Billy followed Kid beyond the threshold into the familiar room.
Marc sat at his small sitting table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked even more tired than usual as if the past week hung heavily on him. He waved toward Billy, gesturing for him to take the empty seat.
Billy lowered himself into the chair, meeting Marc’s gaze. They were still far from on the best of terms. Marc turned to Kid. “Kid, please bring Billy a glass. I think he’ll want a drink for this.”
Billy ran a hand across his face as they waited for Kid to fetch a clay cup from beneath the bed. As Kid grabbed the open wine bottle from the table and poured the wine for him, Billy raised an eyebrow. “Got the boy working as your butler then?”
Marc snorted as Kid set the cup atop the table with an impressive approximation of a Venaran courtly bow. “Believe it or not, he took to the training extremely well.”
Billy cocked his head.
Marc grinned at the sight, clearly enjoying having the upper hand on Billy. “Tell me, how many times have you been to the grounds of the Marshal’s residence?”
Billy picked up the offered cup of wine and took a deep drink of the red liquid. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. “A dozen times. Maybe more,” he shrugged. “Never been anywhere inside save for the kitchens. That’s where the Earl usually left his guard when he was doing-” He waved his hand. “Earl things.”
Marc nodded, a pleased expression settling across his face. “That’s as far as you’ll need to go. “The boy will be delivering a message from there.”
Billy leaned back in his chair. “Are you telling me you actually don’t have a single informant on the manor’s staff?”
Marc chuckled. “We have several, but this task demands a certain level of reliability.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t know them personally, but I do know I can trust your dedication to the cause.”
Billy took a drink from his wine. “Who’s the message for?”
Marc averted his eyes, looking into his wine. “My brother. I have one final task for him before the Reaper takes him to her embrace.”
“Then make sure his sacrifice is worth it,” Billy said, a frown crossing his lips. He knew what it was to lose a brother, and if James was in the Venaran fortress- lost is exactly what he was.
Marc nodded, sighing as he did. He turned to Kid. “When this is all over, statues of him will stand in every city across the Rills.”
“A cold comfort,” Billy said.
“But the best I can do,” Marc answered.
Billy raised his glass. “To the Gatekeeper.”
Marc raised his glass in turn. “To James.”
***
The cart clattered across the cobblestones while Kid enjoyed the high vantage point from the driver’s bench. The ability to see over the heads of the crowd and scan for threats alleviated some of his anxiousness. He had to resist the urge to flinch every time he caught the glint of metal in the distance. Divines, but a part of him wanted to fade into the background of the streets like he had used to. Marc had given him a handful of Harts for his part in helping Lissa and they hung heavy in his pocket. Over the past few weeks, he was beginning to realize that wealth did not equal security and the thought terrified him.
He just had to survive another day.
Next to him, Billy guided the draft horses by the reins with white knuckled hands. The man was so tightly wound, he made Kid appear relaxed. His bug eyes scanned the streets, never lingering on an individual for more than a moment, as if that were all the time he needed to take the measure of a man. Kid caught Billy glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. A permanent frown had creased his face, so Kid doubted it was flattering.
They had set out from one of the Son’s manses in the inner city. He’d never quite grasped the resources Marc had at hand. Before becoming a Son, he had always thought they were delusional, but now… If Marc could hold everything together, it might be possible.
The scrape of a blade dragged Kid from his thoughts and his eyes shot towards the noise. A Greencloak soldier sat on a stool by the edge of the road, sharpening his blade. Kid took deep breaths, trying to calm his beating heart.
“I’m sorry.”
Kid blinked, looking to Billy? “Huh?”
“Sorry my generation wasn’t better and sorry yyoue have to pay the price for our mistakes. You’re too young to be doing shite like this. Too young for scars.”
Kid didn’t know how to respond to that. He shrugged. “I’m alive. That’s what matters.”
Billy frowned. “Life without joy rings hollow, boy. Take the advice of an old man.” Billy turned to look him in the eyes. “As soon as ye get some coin in your pocket, run. Turn your back on this city and don’t look back. You’ll find no rest here. Find a place where men grow old and die surrounded by their sons.”
“Isn’t that what we’re fighting for? Peace?”
Billy hacked and spat over the side of the cart. He turned back to Kid. “I just want to kill the bastards who took that life from me.”
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Kid was quiet, lost for words yet again, and they lapsed into a contemplative silence as the cart rumbled down the road in the dawn’s light.
Kid tugged at the collar of his Venaran serving uniform. It felt odd to wear green and gold. He could see the walls of the Greencloak fort in the orange light of the rising sun. The morning’s supply carts waited in a line at their gates while sentries paced the battlements above. He half expected them to point at him, yelling an alarm, at any moment. But they didn’t, and Billy guided the cart into line.
They waited in silence as the line grew shorter. Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a half dozen Greencloaks dressed in bronze armor that shined in the morning light. The Soldier in the lead raised his hand, signaling for them to halt. Kid fought to keep his face expressionless and his breathing level.
Billy bowed his head in deference and Kid followed his lead. “Morning Sargent.”
The man held out a hand, ignoring his greeting. “Papers.”
Billy reached into the satchel at his side and drew out a sheaf of parchments. He passed them to the soldier. Kid watched his eyes flick over the writing. After an excruciatingly long time, the man nodded and handed the papers back to Billy. “Welcome Mr. Balson.”
Without another word the Sargent raised a hand into the air and waved his men forward. A handful of soldiers climbed in the back of the cart by Billy and began opening the crates.
“Just lots of wine captain.”
“Make sure one falls off the back of the cart.” The officer called back.
Kid’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t say anything as the Greencloaks offloaded a dozen jugs of wine.
The officer pointed through the gates. “You’re free to head down the main boulevard through the gardens. Once you get to the estate, pull off the main and unload at the usual spot.”
Billy nodded as if he’d done this a thousand time. “Enjoy the wine, gents,” he said whipping the reins and set the cart into motion.
When they were out of earshot Kid leaned close to her and spoke in a low voice. “The wine isn’t poisoned or anything right?”
Billy snorted. “Nobles always order twice the wine in a shipment because the guards are like as not to steal half the drink on the way in,” he said “Besides, if the guards started dropping, we’d be soon to follow.”
Kid nodded in understanding as he stared across the dozens of stone buildings and the hundreds of soldiers patrolling the yard. He was still amazed they’d just walked inside. All it took was borrowing the seal and shipping orders of a sympathetic drover.
Within moments they were passing through a wrought iron fence flanked by another pair of guards who eyed them but made no move to halt their progress. Kid soon found himself gawking at the sight of the manor at the end of the evergreen garden. It was more grandiose than any manse in the inner city and far more decorative than the castle had been.
A grand fountain gilt with gold occupied the center of the courtyard, the well-maintained roadway flanked by evergreen shrubbery that was cut into perfect geometric shapes. The manse itself seemed carved from the whitest stone he’d ever seen, its windows wide and inviting, seeming to suck in the sunlight.
Servants milled about the yard, passing between the nearby stables and tending to various plants. Many were digging in the gardens. Kid supposed they must be prepping the yard for the coming warmth of late spring and summer. He expected the garden would be a thing of magnificence to see in all its glory.
Billy twisted the reins, guiding the horses through the winding garden paths. Logistically, the road made no sense, taking as scenic a route as possible. Kid supposed that was the point. Caught up in the scene, for a moment, Kid forgot his worries.
Then they came crashing back as they neared the central fountain, and he caught sight of the guards flanking the great double doors of the manse.
Billy nudged him with his elbow. “Relax Kid, we’ll be in and out real quick like.”
Kid eyed him doubtfully.
The cart turned the rear corner of the mansion, revealing a small army of heavily laden carts. Dozens of men were hard at work unloading and carrying the supplies inside A single woman stood by a lit brazier outside an open door. She rubbed her hands together over the small fire but paused when she noticed their cart.
Billy maneuvered the cart in line with the others and brought it to a halt as the woman approached them. The man climbed to the ground and Kid followed his lead. Kid watched the woman approaching them as she closed the last few paces. Her southern heritage was evident in the darkness of her skin and hair. She crossed her arms.
Billy addressed her, bowing his head. “Good morning mistress, we’re-”
The woman cut him off. “I don’t care who you are. I need porters, not friends.” She pointed at Billy. “You, help the others unload the carts.”
She turned to Kid. “Why is he here? He’s too small to be of any use.”
Kid cringed and Billy’s eyebrows raised. “Wanted to give my boy a chance to see the grounds. He’ll be taking the cart from me in a few years’ time.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Yes yes.” She snapped her fingers at Kid like one would a dog. “Come. I may have a use for you.”
Kid looked to Billy and the man shrugged. “You heard her.”
Kid rushed after the woman as she walked toward the side door of the manse. She made no effort to slow her strides to accommodate his shorter legs, forcing Kid to adopt an awkward half-jog to keep up. He entered the door close behind her and gaped.
It was like walking into a kitchen from another world. The floor consisted of identically sized tiles, and he couldn’t help but admire their meticulous perfection. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and this was an area for servants. Dozens of cooks raced about, crafting dishes as though they were creating great works of art. He didn’t even recognize most of the things heaped atop the plates, but damn were they pretty.
He was so focused on the food he nearly ran over a serving girl carrying a jug of wine. He stumbled to a halt while she shot him a nasty look. She kicked him in the shin as she passed by. Kid grunted and sucked air in between his teeth. Fuck, that hurt.
Kid scurried after the woman as they crossed the kitchen, doing his best not to get in anybody’s way. He didn’t need a second reminder. She led him to a crusty looking old man who was struggling to tear a loaf of bread apart. He cursed as he tugged at the thick crust and had to resort to bending it across his knee before loaf snapped apart. Kid could have sworn he saw dust fly out from inside it. The man mumbled under his breath as he tossed the two halves on a pair of rust-stained metal trays.
Kid’s handler spoke to the man. “Winson, I’ve got you a delivery boy.”
The man scowled at Kid. “Really? Are you sure I shouldn’t take it to the dungeons myself?” He scoffed like that was the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“If you mouth off to Mara again, you might have to,” the woman answered.
Kid’s ears perked up at the name. That was the name of the kitchen’s head cook who was supposed to be his contact here to get him into the dungeon beneath the manor where the most important prisoners were kept.
The woman pushed Kid forward. “Here. He’s your problem now,” she said, turning and walking away, leaving Kid behind.
Kid raised a hand in greeting before nearly dropping the tray Winson threw at him. “Half a loaf per prisoner, and a ladle of-” He scrunched his nose. “That.” Kid followed his gaze to a large vat in the corner of the room. As he watched, another cook poured a pot full of grease into it.
“In the Kitchen, we call it a hunk of rot and a plop of slop. If you want to add a little seasoning, feel free to spit on it.” Winson pointed to a nearby door. “The stairs to below are down that hall and to the right. It’s hard to miss the guards there.”
With that, Winson turned from him and mumbled under his breath as he fought with another loaf of bread. Kid stood dumbly with the tray before realizing that was all the instruction he was going to get. A hunk of rot and a plop of slop. Got it.
Kid grabbed two trays and walked to the vat. He set them down and grabbed the ladle hanging at the side and reached inside, taking a deep scoop of the congealed mess. He dumped it on the tray, and it was immediately evident why they called it a plop of slop. He probably would have turned his nose up to this meal on his hungriest day. He watched in fascination as the green of the bread seemed to leech into the slop. Kid wrinkled his nose. No, he didn’t think he’d ever been desperate enough to eat this.
Kid cast an uncertain gaze around the room, but nobody seemed to be taking any notice of him. It was as if he were invisible. Kid shrugged and walked through the doorway Winson had indicated, trays in hand. Kid’s boots squeaked against the floor as the tile gave way to wood. It was so brightly polished, he could see a glimmer of his reflection in the red-hued wood. The hallway was wider than most houses in the Outwalls, able to accommodate four or five grown men walking side by side. Paintings of places and people Kid didn’t recognize adorned the walls, surrounded by golden frames.
He paused when he saw a figure wearing a crown, depicted standing on a hill above the remains of a battlefield. He held a banner bearing the golden sun of Venar. The hills looked a lot like the land beyond the confines of Bleakridge. Kid stared at the figure wearing the crown, an uncomfortable feeling welling up in him. So, that was the man who shaped the world he lived in. Kid had an insane urge to tear the painting down. He quashed it and loosened his grip on the trays. He let out a deep breath and continued down the hall.
Winson was right. The stairs to the prison were hard to miss. The lavish decorations gave way to a hard, stone archway in the wall flanked by two men who looked even harder. The bronze plates along their chests were clean but didn’t shine like the armor of the other soldiers Kid had seen this morning. Thick bladed swords hung at their sides, their hilts worn with use. There was no pomp or grandeur about them, only a solemn sense of danger.
Kid struggled to keep his nervousness from showing as he approached them, feeling their hard eyes turn to him. “I’ve been told to feed the prisoners.”
The guard on the left looked him up and down. “You think they could pull him through the hatch?”
The other guard narrowed his eyes and inspected Kid. “Maybe. He looks scrawny enough.” He turned to his comrade. “Hey, remember that one kid who thought it’d be funny to take a piss through it?”
The guard on Kid’s left snorted. “Yeah. The prisoner reached through, grabbed him by his cock and slammed the hatch shut on it.” The man smirked. “Divines, that was a bloody mess. Remember what the little shit was yelling?”
The guard on the right laughed. “Yeah. I was on duty up here and I hear him hollering ‘Me cock! He’s got me cock!’” The guard shook his head. “Stupid fuck.” He looked to Kid. “Go on in, but do try and keep your pants on.”
The guard on the left shrugged. “Or don’t.”
Kid looked down the torch lit stairway and swallowed. That was reassuring. He steeled himself, walking between the two guards into the archway. The air grew progressively colder as he walked deeper beneath the earth. Laughter sounded from behind him.
“Divines, did you see the look on his face?”
“Fucking priceless.”
“What should we tell the next one?”
Kid pressed his eyes closed and sighed in annoyance. Assholes. He continued walking down. The stairs didn't extend far, only about one floor. The small tunnel opened up into a wide room cordoned off by cells crafted from iron bars. The stench was- ungodly. Kid hesitated at the foot of the stairs as he heard a scream echoing through the room from down an adjoining hall. The scream didn’t stop, only seeming to increase in intensity.
Chills ran down Kid’s spine, and he had to force his feet to continue moving. As he walked between the cells lining either side of the wall, he began to feel ill. There were maybe six prisoners in total, each more mutilated than the last. Hands missing fingers reached to him through the bars as unrecognizably scarred and bloodied faces wordlessly stared after him.
“Kid?”
The whispered words drew his gaze and he saw Hilda. She was completely unscathed- standing at odds with the other prisoners. His heart rose with hope only to feel it fade away as he remembered where they were.
His hands shook as he walked closer to her. She was filthy, still wearing the same singed clothing she’d been wearing the day of the fire. Her body was pressed to the bars of the cell, hands clutching them in a white-knuckled grasp.
“Lissa?” she gasped, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“Safe,” Kid managed to say through the lump in his throat.
Hilda shuddered in either pain or relief, her eyes looking beyond Kid as if hoping for some kind of rescue. A moment later, her shoulders slumped as understanding dawned on her. “Why are you here?” she asked.
Kid licked his lips, looking down the hall to where the screaming still sounded. “Message for James from Marc,” he whispered.
“Tell Marc to go fuck himself,” Hilda growled, anger seeping into her apparent grief like poison.
Kid’s eyes widened, not sure what to say to that. “Where is James?”
The anger died in her eyes as she looked down the hall where the screams came from. Kid swallowed, a chill running down his spine.
“He’ll be back soon. They can only work on him for so long without killing him,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “Will you give Marc a message for me?”
Kid nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “Of course.”
Hilda pressed harder against the bars as if it would better convey her message. “They think I was Melna’s apprentice and are going to make a spectacle of me. Tell him my execution is due in three days at noon. If he can save me for Lissa’s sake- I won’t say anything. She needs her mother. Please. Tell him.”
Kid cocked his head. “Say anything about what?”
Hilda hesitated, seeming torn. “I- I-” She closed her eyes and turned from him. “Please. Just tell him.”
Kid frowned, nodding as he looked to the small metal hatch built into the door, likely to pass food through. “I shouldn’t linger,” he whispered.
Hilda nodded as if to herself. “Go. He’ll be back soon.”