Lissa held her father’s arm tight as they followed Marc’s men down the streets of the Outwalls. Passersby clung to walls on either side of the road as they made their way forward, eyes following in their wake. Her uncle strode confidently in the lead, smiling wolfishly at the residents. A handful of corner girls called out to Marc and his men offering them favors for a bit of coin.

Marc yelled back that they’d be doing them the favor and his men laughed, waving off the girls. Lissa blushed and her father showed no mirth, looking down at her and the lapels of the oversized coat he’d given her. It was his only one and, though he didn’t let it show, it was clear from the gooseflesh along his neck that he was freezing. It made her feel her feel as guilty as she felt loved.

Her father had told Hilda to stay with the tavern, not wanting her to catch a chill without her jacket or open the doors late. They tried to hide it from her, but she knew they needed the money.

Lissa quickly became aware that they were retracing her steps from earlier in the day, heading back to the priestess’ residence. The realization made her annoyed with her mother for dragging her away in the first place.

Sure enough, within another few moments, she caught sight of the home. It was larger than the surrounding shacks and of a finer craftsmanship, though not so ostentatious that it appeared out of place in the Outwalls.

Her father clearly recognized the building. He called to Marc, “I assumed you’d be taking her to the Undercity.”

Marc glanced over his shoulder. “She’s my niece and my blood. If she’s going to learn, it’s going to be from the best.” He gestured to the home they were approaching. “Crazy old bat won’t relocate. Said she’d sooner die than live underground.” He shrugged.

“How’s this safer than her home?” James asked.

“Nobody gives two shits if Venar comes for you except me. If Venar comes for her, they’ll have to pry her from the cold, dead hands of the Outwalls,” Marc answered.

James didn’t respond, clearly conceding the point.

Lissa looked between her father and the house. “Who is she?” she asked.

Her father was quiet a moment. “She’s a high priestess of the sect of the Reaper. I don’t know her. I just know of her. She’s twice god-touched, which might be why the Venarans have left her be?”

“Twice?” Lissa asked.

James frowned. “Our people have primarily worshipped the Reaper. Her domain is the afterlife. Her counterpart is the Goddess, mistress of all things living and the patron deity of Venar.” He looked to Lissa. “Some people have a connection with one of the gods that lets them draw on their power.”

“And the priestess is connected to both?” Lissa asked.

James nodded. “A rarity in an already rare phenomenon,” he said, “and probably why the Venarans have left her alone.”

“She’s not just holy but wholly holy,” Marc quipped

Lissa pursed her lips as Marc neared the door to the home and knocked. She looked back to her father. “Why do they hunt us?”

“Because they fear you,” he answered.

Lissa was quiet as she looked back to the door. Marc’s men were dispersing, forming a perimeter around the building. They held their hands tight against the axes hanging at their hips as they eyed the nearby roads and alley ways. Pedestrians who caught sight of them tended to search for another route.

The door opened, revealing the priestess from earlier today. Her gaze and bearing were just as striking as they were during the ritual, but she now wore a simple wool dress as if she were no different than any other old woman.

Marc greeted her with a slight bow. The priestess didn’t seem to even notice him, her eyes finding Lissa. A wide smile crossed her lips.

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The woman turned back to Marc. “I swear, boy. If she’s not here of her own will-”

“I am,” Lissa interjected before Marc could respond. She felt her father squeeze her arm before letting her go. Lissa walked forward, joining Marc on the home’s stoop.

She narrowed her eyes as if searching Lissa’s face for a lie, then an easy smile fell across her lips. “Well, my dear, you apparently have poor taste in company.” She eyed Marc. “But, we can rectify that.”

She looked the Leader of the Sons in the eyes. “Shoo,” she said, dismissively waiving her hand at him.

To Lissa’s surprise, Marc bowed. “As you wish,” he said. Without another word, he spun on his heel and moved to return to his men.

Lissa regarded the woman with wide eyes. She’d never seen her uncle let somebody speak like that to him. “I’m Melissa Elania Haverson, but people call me Lissa,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

The old woman leaned against the door frame, shooting Lissa a quick glance. “I’m Melna. Just Melna.” Her gaze drifted back to Marc and she rose her voice. “I see you Marc, and I’m disappointed.”

Marc patted James on the shoulder as he passed, looking back over his shoulder. “Then you have a lot in common with my brother.”

James shrugged Marc’s hand off his shoulder with a scowl then walked forward to join Lissa and Melna. Lissa blinked in surprise as her father knelt to one knee before Melna.

“I see you, James,” Melna said.

Lissa and James looked up to the woman in surprise.

Melna gestured for James to get up. “I know your story. Many people prayed for you in the early days. Some still do.”

As James rose to his feet, he ran a hand over his face, feeling the raised scars crisscrossing his skin. “I wish they didn’t. I’m no hero. Plenty of others just like me.”

Melna looked past him, her eyes drifting to Marc and his men. “No, not really.”

James frowned. Lissa followed Melna’s gaze to Marc. He and his men were conferring with a young man who had just appeared. Her uncle cursed and roared, “On me,” as he raced down the boulevard. His men followed at a sprint, drawing axes and readying bows.

They watched them disappear down the warren of streets, frowning. Melna broke the silence. “He is great, but also wrong in so many ways.”

James nodded solemnly as Lissa looked between them.

“Come inside. I’ll make us a pot of tea and we can discuss the future. I’ve kept you in the cold too long.

Melna stepped inside with James and Lissa in her wake. The home was well-furnished by the standards of the Outwalls. Sturdy furniture which had been pushed to the walls for the service now sat in its rightful place. The main room held a large table covered by a white tablecloth with chairs surrounding it. The walls to the left were covered in cabinets and strange looking tools. To the right was a small sitting area with books scattered about and piled on top one another. The far end of the home held a stairwell leading to the second floor and the hints of a kitchen could be seen behind the stairs.

Lissa barely noticed these things as her eyes inevitably drifted to the altar at the far end of the home. It was tucked to the right of the stairwell leading to the second floor. It was the rusty red color it had been before the morning’s ritual. She’d missed whatever the culmination was.

The Reaper stared down at her from the tapestry above the altar. Lissa blinked and rubbed at her eyes. The portrait was different. The dagger the woman held this morning was gone, though she still held the dark orb. The armored Keeper that had been lying by her feet now sat on its haunches, beady eyes looking down at Lissa.

Lissa stood frozen, staring at the tapestry, wondering if she would catch them moving.

Melna looked over her shoulder at them as she walked to the kitchen. “Please have a seat. I’ll be back with tea in a moment.” She caught Lissa’s gaze fixated on the tapestry. “Don’t worry, darling. You’re not mad. Our Lady moves as she wills.”

Lissa swallowed as Melna disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. She tore her eyes from the tapestry and followed James to the table, taking a seat next to her father. He seemed- pensive.

“What did she mean when she said people prayed for you?” Lissa asked.

James was quiet for a long moment, looking down at his scarred hands splayed across the white tablecloth. She could sense his discomfort at the question, his eyes growing distant.

“I-” he hesitated. “I led the garrison at Varna the day it burned.”

His right hand began to tremble, and he clenched it into a fist. “We were given orders to retreat and abandon the city.” He shook his head, then turned to meet Lissa’s gaze.

His eyes lacked their usual glimmer of life. “We bought time for a lot of people to escape the city, but not nearly enough.”

He looked away as if meeting her gaze hurt. “Every one of my men died, except for me. Venar took me captive and gave me these scars.”

Lissa placed her hand over his atop the table. She’d always wondered but was too scared to ask. She didn’t know what to say.

James smiled sadly. “I always meant to tell you, but at first you were too young, and then there was never a good time.” He shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m just- sorry. I-”

He cut her off by grasping the hand she held over his. He raised it to his lips and kissed it gently. He looked into her eyes as he cupped her hand in his own. “Don’t be. I love my life, and I love my family. The bad times are behind me, and that’s where they’ll stay.”

Lissa tackled her father in a tight hug, clinging at him as he wrapped his arms around her. “I love you too,” she whispered.

He squeezed her just a bit tighter.