Kid descended the stairs from the dungeon for the fourth time in the past hour. It turned out that the guards were only half kidding. Grasping hands covered in weeping cuts and sores reached out for him through the grates in the door. He’d had to use a torch from the wall to keep some of the prisoners at bay as he passed the food through the hatches. Kid shuddered at the thought.

Kid froze at the bottom of the stairs as he saw a pair of Venarans dragging a prisoner from the hallway where the screams had been coming from. The two men wore bloodstained smocks and red blood coated their hands. They hardly glanced at Kid as they opened one of the cells and tossed the limp form inside, locking the door behind it. The two exchanged some words with a laugh, walking toward the next cell in the line.

The man inside scrambled away from them, fingers scratching against stone as he muttered “No, no, no, no.” over and over. The gate opened and the two Venarans easily overpowered him, dragging him screaming from the cell and down the hall. The man reached for Kid, desperation in his eyes as he disappeared around the corner.

Kid let out a slow breath, trying to keep himself from trembling as he walked between the cells. He stopped before James’s cell door. James lay facedown on the floor, heaving sobs coming from his chest. Hilda sat in the adjoining cell, curled up against the bars and reaching to him. James barely seemed aware.

“James,” Kid whispered.

James flinched, then levered himself to a sitting position and turned toward Kid. Kid nearly gasped as he saw the seared, blackened skin marking where James’ nose, ears and right eye had been. His face had a ghoulish, skeletal look and his remaining eye looked like it belonged to a corpse. His bare chest was covered in wounds that had been neatly stitched shut. He looked like a patchwork mockery of a man.

James’ mouth opened but no words fell out. He saw the horror and fear in Kid’s eyes and whatever light was remaining in his eye seemed to die.

Kid felt shame, wishing he’d been able to control himself, but even now he found it hard to look at this shell of a man. A good man he’d known all his life and cared for. Tears blurred his eyes, and he blinked them away as James’ dead eyed stare pierced him.

Kid forced himself to mee James’ gaze not wanting to turn away from him. “Marc sent me here to deliver a message he wants you to provide to your captors. He-”

James cut him off “Marc,” he rasped, what was left of his brittle voice dripping with hate.

The sound sent chills through Kid. His voice quavered as he continued, “You need to tell them-”

“Kill me Kid,” James said, cutting him off once more. Tears began to leak from the man’s eye as blood dripped from the empty socket on the left.

Kid’s mouth worked, but there were no words.

“No, please. No,” Hilda cried from her cell.

James dragged himself forward, careless of the stitches splitting along his torso. “Kid. Please. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” His hands gripped the bars of the cell and he whimpered as he pulled himself to his knees.

Kid shook his head. “I- I can’t do that.”

“How can you not?” James whispered.

Kid looked to Hilda, but she was curled into a ball, tears falling down her face as she looked between them. He had the feeling they’d had this conversation a number of times between themselves. Kid thought he might throw up. “If I do, this will all be for nothing,” he said, hating the words as they came out of his mouth.

“It already is,” James said, any last flickers of hope fading from him. “Please,” he said, voice breaking.

Kid’s hands shook. He could sneak a knife from the kitchen and end this. It would be the right thing to do, of that he had no doubt. But, if he did, Marc’s plan would fail. Any hope the Sons had of breaking free would come to an end. For better or worse he was one of them. He couldn’t let Marc down. The man had told him the price of freedom was measured in blood. Kid supposed that included the blood of friends.

He closed his eyes as he spoke, knowing his resolve would waver if he looked upon James a moment longer. Kid delivered his message, heart heavy and soul torn. James listened in silence until the end.

A profound silence hung in the air, broken as James whispered “Please.”

“Is there anything you want me to tell Lissa?” Kid asked.

James looked like he wanted to say something but after a moment he shook his head as if thinking better of it. “Tell her that my memory is something to live for, not die for.”

Kid bit his lip and nodded. “I will.” As he turned from James, the man reached through the cell and grabbed him by the arm. Kid startled, eyes locking with James. A final desperate plea hung between them until Kid ripped his arm away, sealing James’ fate. Kid made his way to the stairwell, turning to look at James and Hilda a final time as their outlines faded into the dark of the dungeon. James’ gaze followed him, a sight that he knew would haunt him the rest of his days.

“Marc did this to me,” he cried after Kid, voice ragged. “He did this to all of us.”

Kid clenched his eyes shut, rubbing away the tears he didn’t want the guards to see.

“He did this.”

The cries of rage, pain, and sorrow followed Kid as he ascended like phantoms on the wind. His mind was drawn to a memory of the Reaper’s tapestry, a tear of blood streaming from her left eye. He steadied himself and emerged into the light.

***

Kid sat at one of the many tables in the kitchens, having both completed feeding the prisoners and his mission. Billy seemed to have somehow gotten roped into unloading all the carts in addition to their own, which elicited much grumbling and cursing from the old man. Winson told Kid to bugger off when he’d returned from the dungeons and the Venaran stewardess who’d originally tasked him, Grela, or as Winson affectionately called her- that bitch, was nowhere to be seen.

That suited Kid fine as he twiddled his thumbs, fending off the dark thoughts of what he’d seen. The kitchen buzzed around him, the cooks and serving girls rushing about as though they were putting out fires rather than delivering food and drink. A particularly large woman seemed to be directing the chaos, ladle in hand and Kid froze as her eyes locked on him and she began to move in his direction.

He found himself unconsciously sitting straighter at her approach. He bowed his head in greeting, not certain where he’d sit on the Venaran pecking order in relation to her. She looked him up and down. “You look like you could use a little meat on those bones of yours, boy. Are you hungry?”

The sight of James’ emaciated face ran through his mind. Kid shook his head. “No, Mistress. I don’t think I could eat.”

She frowned, taking a seat at the table across from him. Her eyes glanced to the left and right across the kitchen then she leaned closer to him. “Me name’s Mara.”

“It’s already done,” Kid whispered.

Mara blinked as if not understanding for a moment, then her brow furrowed. “The fuck you mean- it’s done.”

Kid shrugged. “Grela caught me on the way in and sent me to Winson. Winson sent me to the dungeons.”

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Mara stared at him for a long moment before a grin spread across her lips and she began to cackle. “By the Reaper’s bloody tits. Venaran security is a wonder. If you’re carrying food or wine, you can walk damn near anywhere in this place.” She shook her head.

Kid forced a grin, wishing he could share in her good humor.

She cocked her head at him. “You look like you saw a ghost down there.”

Kid bit his lip. “It’s- bad down there.”

Mara’s grin faltered. “War is a terrible thing. They say it breaks a man and breaks a woman’s heart.”

Kid’s brow furrowed and he spoke in a whisper, “But you’re in the Sons.”

Mara nodded. “Aye, but we don’t enjoy these burdens placed on us and if you did then you’d be fucked in the head,” she said tapping her noggin.

Kid nodded, conceding the point. “Some would disagree.”

Mara shrugged. “Some are fucked in the head,” she said. “They say conscience is the thin line between madness. Make sure you see to yours, boy” she said, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder.

Mara’s gaze flicked over him and a moment later a hand grabbed his shoulder, twisting him about.

He found himself face to face with Grela. Kid swallowed as her eyes burrowed into him. “What are you doing?”

Kid swallowed. “Uh- Nothing.” It was the best he could come up with.

Grela grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “You’re lucky I have a use for you, or I’d give you a flogging to beat the laziness out of your bones. She pushed him forward into the hall beyond the kitchen and he fell against a crate full of wine.

Kid gasped for air and rubbed at his throat. Grela pulled a full jug from the crate and deposited it into his hands. She pointed to the door. “I need you to take this to the Marshal. He sent one of his guards for more wine and God forbid the man carry it back himself.”

Kid paled. “You want me to serve the Marshal?”

“I don’t. But I’m shorthanded as it is, and he probably won’t bend you over a table for fifteen minutes. He’s in first floor foyer. Go down the hall to the end, make a right and it’ll be the fourth door on your left.”

She turned and left Kid holding the jug of wine. Did she say probably?

Kid swallowed and followed her directions, exiting the kitchen. He walked the long, gilded hall until the very end. The glass windows were bright, and light streamed through the finely crafted panes, some of them colored. He had to resist the urge to touch the glass panes. It was rare that he was allowed so close to anything this fragile or expensive.

Kid followed Grela’s directions to the foyer door. It was guarded by a southern guard bedecked in a coat of shining, bronze plates. He eyed Kid as he approached, placing his hands on the hilt of his sword.

Kid halted a good ten paces from the man. “Wine for the Marshall.”

The man knocked twice on the door then nodded for Kid to enter. As Kid neared the door, he stared at the strange bronze knob protruding from the wood. Where was the latch? Seeing no obvious apparatus to open it, he touched the knob. It twisted at his touch. Kid committed himself to his hunch and twisted it further. A click sounded and the door opened before him.

Kid shifted his gaze from the strange, yet fascinating latch to the room. His eyes widened as they met the grey eyes of the Earl. It took a conscious effort to keep his legs from shaking. His first instinct was to run, but that would just end in a quick trip to the gallows. The man’s eyes weighed. There was no chance the Earl didn’t recognize him.

“Are you going to go inside or stand there like an idiot?” the guard asked.

Kid started. He had been standing there like an idiot. He made his decision and scurried inside. The Earl’s eyes followed him as he walked to the table. The gnawing fear in the back of his mind welled up as he drew closer to the man. Each step he took was the hardest step he had ever taken.

He averted his eyes from the Earl, unable to even look at him any longer. Instead, he looked to the Marshall. His eyes were no kinder, and his was the face of the empire who had made his life such a hell. The image of James’ face flashed through his mind. Kid looked at the floor.

It took every ounce of will he had to keep his voice steady. “Wine your grace.” He placed the jug on the table between the two men.

The Marshal nodded curtly. “Get out boy. I have things to discuss.”

Kid tried to bow while backpedaling and stumbled in his haste to leave. He mumbled apologies and rushed to the door. Behind him the Earl spoke. “Excuse me. The Privy calls.”

Kid’s spine went cold as he crossed the threshold into the hall. The Earl’s chair skidded against the hardwood behind him, followed by thumping footsteps. Kid quickened his pace. As soon as he rounded the corner of the hall to the kitchen he broke out into a run. He didn’t make it two paces before his collar snapped tight around his throat. A strong arm pulled him from his feet and hauled him backwards.

The Earl dragged him into the closest room. The door closed with a sense of finality. Kid struggled in the man’s grip, scraping his feet against the floor while he struggled for breath. Rodger Thorne tossed him to the floor. Kid scrambled backwards, knocking over a set of chairs that crashed into the nearby table. His back grew suddenly hot, and he stopped. Kid glanced over his shoulder and realized he’d almost ran headfirst into a lit hearth. The Earl followed him across the room and, looking into the man’s eyes, Kid considered making the plunge.

Kid struggled to maintain his breathing as the imposing man towered above him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Rodger Thorne knelt over him, and Kid’s breath caught. The man uttered one word. “Talk.”

Kid shook his head. The Earl leaned closer. “Boy, don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

Kid kept his silence more because he was too scared to talk than any semblance of courage. The Earl grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head backwards. the heat behind him intensified as he was inexorably driven toward the fire. Kid flailed against the man, hitting his arm and trying anything to ease the iron vise around his throat. The discomfort at his back became pain. Tears streamed from his eyes.

Then, it stopped. The Earl pulled him away from the fire. “I won’t ask again.”

Kid coughed as his throat throbbed. Blood pulsed through his temple so loud he could hear it. He worked his mouth, trying to find his voice through the pain and overwhelming sense of terror. With the flames at his back and the difficulty he had breathing, his mind flashed back to the fire in the Outwalls.

The Earl seemed more patient this time, only staring at Kid with eyes as dispassionate as their color.

“Message,” he managed to get out between breaths.

The Earl waited.

“To a prisoner.” Kid panted.

The Earl stared hard at him. “What Prisoner?”

“James,” Kid whispered, eyes wide.

The man’s expression darkened. “James Haverson?”

Kid nodded, his stomach sinking. The man’s face was calm, but Kid could tell it belied a simmering rage.

“What was the message?” The Earl demanded.

Kid hesitated. That was the line that would unravel the plan if it reached Longreen. He swallowed, shaking his head.

The Earl’s cold eyes bored into him as the door clicked open behind them. Kid glanced over the Earl’s shoulder to see Billy slip into the room, a kitchen knife clutched in one hand.

“Let him go,” Billy growled, closing the door behind him.

The Earl rose to his feet, drawing the blade at his hip. He held its point toward the ground in a non-threatening manner. “Bill Billson with the Sons? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Billy scowled. “These days are pretty shite m’lord.” He glanced toward Kid. “I’ll be taking the boy.”

Rodger Thorne was quiet a long moment, glancing between the two of them. “I need only call the guards to end this.”

“Are you willing to bet I won’t end you first?” Billy asked.

The Earl’s scowl tightened. “On your honor, Bill- will this mission hurt a member of my family?”

Billy shook his head without hesitation.

The Earl sheathed his sword. “Then before you go, tell me one thing.”

Billy frowned but nodded as Kid scrambled toward him. As Kid looked back to face the Earl, he realized the man was talking to him. Kid met his gaze.

“How were they treating him?” the Earl asked

Kid swallowed. “Torture. He begged me to kill him. But- I-” He trailed off.

The Earl closed his eyes, shoulders slightly sagging. “Go. I will see to this.”

For some reason that didn’t ease his worries. Kid frowned as Billy grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back towards the kitchen.

Well, shite,” he said, shoving a serving girl out of the way. She fell to the floor with a scream followed by the shattering porcelain. Billy didn’t pause or give her a second look. He ignored the angry shouts and kept walking. “Nothing for it now. It’s time to go.”

They rushed through the door and emerged into the cold morning air. Kid retraced his steps from earlier to the cart they came in on. He expected guards to come charging from the house at any minute, but the night was quiet- the only noise being the sound of distant music and laughter.

Kid fixated on the cart and almost tripped as they scurried across the yard.

Billy clambered into the driver’s seat, clutching the reins in his hands and whipping the horses into motion as Kid pulled himself into the seat next to him. As the cart clattered around the outskirts of the manse, Kid waited for the alarm to sound, for the distant gates to slam shut.

Nothing happened.

They made it to the gardens without incident. Billy glanced toward Kid. “Calm down boy, you look you just killed somebody.”

Kid unclamped his hand from the edge of the cart and focused on keeping his breathing even. He looked to Billy, noting the kitchen knife he still had clasped his hand. They were quiet as the cart wound its way toward the exit.

The garden seemed to go on forever. Kid fought the urge to wring his hands. The wrought iron gate appeared as the last of the foliage fell away. It was still open. The cart passed with only a cursory glance from the guards. Kid exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

They followed the paved road to the outer wall, the soldiers on either side of the road entirely ignoring them. The guards at the gate had clearly long since cracked into the crate of wine appropriated from their cart. However, the officer who had stopped them earlier still stood by the entrance. As the cart neared, he smiled at them and waved the cart through without a second glance. Kid stared, trying to keep the disbelief from his face.

Once they were out of earshot he asked, “Why didn’t he stop us?”

“A guard only cares who comes in, not who leaves,” Billy said

Kid leaned against the edge of the cart, letting the waves of relief wash over him as they emerged into the relative safety of the city.