The glass mug shined more clearly than diamonds, yet Hilda continued to polish its gleaming surface. She couldn't stop thinking about the night before. If that boy hadn't been there. She shuddered. He may have been a lout, but he handled himself well. He reminded her of many of the men her husband served with decades ago, all of them fools. Well-meaning fools, but fools nonetheless. She shook her head, continuing to scrub at the glass. The repetitive action soothed her and took her mind off her worries, even if only for a minute.

She caught sight of her daughter out of the corner of her eye. The girl was gathering bowls at a nearby table, her thin arms straining from the effort. The sight made her heart ache. Gods knew she wanted to give that girl all there was to have in life, to send her to a future she deserved. Instead, she could see a deepening sadness in those once innocent eyes. Hilda knew a parent couldn’t shield their child from the ugliness of the world forever. One day that beautiful baby girl you held in your arms must learn to harden herself, and with hardness comes the loss of wonder.

The clunk of wooden bowl hitting the bar shook her from her thoughts. Lissa set another down and stepped away to find a wash rag. Hilda grabbed her daughter by the arm and two brown eyes stared up at her. “Lissa, take a break. I’ll handle those. The floor is pretty quiet right now.”

The girl cocked her head. “I thought you said idle hands breed mischief?”

Hilda smiled, “Then, go find some.”

Lissa didn’t need to be told twice, yelling, “Bye mom!” over her shoulder as she rushed to the door outside. Hilda shook her head. The girl deserved some time to herself. Hilda released a long-suffering sigh. She looked about the room which was emptying after the midday rush.

Nobody seemed to need her. She scooped up the wooden bowls and nudged the wooden door behind the counter open with her hip. She ducked through the cramped doorway and entered the back room where her family lived with all their valuables. The small room was dominated by sacks of flour lying across the floor, doubling as both storage and beds. A dozen barrels cheap ale were stacked on the far side of the room and atop them lay the few objects they still owned. A broken bow, a stack of clothing and a chest full of cheap coins.

James sat on a stool in the center of the room, staring at the small table before him with the utmost attention. His powerful arms flexed with the strain of intense precision as he ran a sharp metal scraper down the length of a long piece of wood. She could already see the longbow emerging from its wooden cocoon. Her eyes involuntarily moved to the broken bow atop the barrels. The sight of the old wood made her shiver. She tore her eyes away before her husband could catch her staring and walked to the washbasin they used for scrubbing dishes.

Hilda lost herself in the monotonous task, listening to the steady scraping of iron on wood and the rustle of wood shavings falling to the ground. She was so intent on her washing, she didn’t notice the noise stop and jumped in surprise as a pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. James’s beard prickled her skin as he kissed her cheek. Hilda couldn’t help but smile.

“Now why is my wife doing my daughter’s chores? Surely it can’t be out of the kindness of her own heart,” he said.

Hilda looked up at him over her shoulder. “What heart? I sold that for a barrel of ale weeks ago.”

“You did? And here I thought I’d stolen it. Suppose I must’ve missed,” He squeezed her a little tighter.

“Mayhaps you took a lung because I’m finding it awfully hard to breathe,” she said, tugging at his arms.

James smirked and released her from his embrace. “Are you sure my charm didn’t just take your breath away?”

Hilda snorted, not giving that line the dignity of a response. James let out an ear shattering laugh, utterly amused with himself. His laugh was strong enough to be infectious and Hilda found herself chuckling along, much to her chagrin.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at her husband. “Anyways,” she said, “I let our daughter have some time to herself. The girl deserves the rest. Especially after what happened last night. Did you get a chance to talk to her?”

James’s grin fell from his face, making Hilda regret asking. “Normally I can’t get her to shut up, but last night I couldn’t force a single word from her lips. I’m not worried about her, you know our daughter. She’s strong and too smart for her own good. Much like her mother,” he grumbled.

Hilda smiled and stood on her tiptoes, giving James a peck on the cheek “You picked us darling,” she reminded him.

“Never said I was smart,” James said, giving her a slight smile. He looked at the door leading to the common room. “Do you think I should go find her and try again?” he asked.

Hilda shook her head and tuned back to continue scrubbing the dirty dishes. “No, she’s probably going to go see Kid. You know girls that age. They won’t say a single word to their parents, but they’ll spill their guts out to any boy willing to listen.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Hilda snorted. “Hon, have you seen that boy’s face? I’ve seen donkeys with prettier backsides. Lissa can do better than that.”

James stiffened, and she felt as if her heart was caught in a vise. She cursed her careless tongue as she spun around to look at him. She took in the jagged scars crossing his once handsome face, his mutilated hands and the small crater in his skull where a mace had shattered his cheek bones almost twenty years ago. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when he raised his hand. She watched the hurt and shame in his eyes turn to steel as he hardened himself. “Don’t try and save face. The irony would be lost on me.”

“James, I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” James averted his eyes, seeming to have difficulty looking at her. “Lissa deserves only the best,” he said opening the door and leaving without another word.

Hilda stared at the door as it shut, tears beginning to blur her vision. She scrubbed them away. It had been twenty years. When would he get over it? It wasn’t as if it had been easy for her either. They were married the day before he left for the war. She could still remember his boyishly handsome face grinning as he kissed her goodbye. What a bittersweet memory that had become. five years she waited, and when he came home, he was barely recognizable.

She could still picture the bloody bandages covering his mangled body as if it were yesterday. The greatest regret of her life was screaming when she saw him. Fresh tears trickled down her face at the memory and the pain in his young eyes. But she had stood by him and supported him until he could return to work. Her hands were still stained from the year she’d spent in the tannery. She didn’t regret a single moment of it. She’d do it all again. Hold him tight when he woke up screaming, help him to the bathroom, clean up the shattered looking glasses. It was hard, but he was still James. Still the man she loved.

They’d survived. So why did he keep punishing her for that scream?

Hilda dried her tears and forced the rest down, finding her composure and going back to cleaning the bowls. She was almost done.

As she picked up the last dirty bowl, she noticed a piece of parchment attached to it. She blinked in surprise and grabbed the folded piece of paper. She smoothed it out and the image it bore caused a frown to crease her lips. The face of a wolf stared back at her, it’s charcoal eyes seeming to bore into her. She’d been called to duty.

She tucked the small piece of parchment in a pocket and walked to the barrels of ale on the far side of the room. She waited a moment, listening for her husband’s footsteps in case he came back. Nothing. Relief mingled with disappointment. She grunted as she pried the wooden lid off the barrel farthest to the right. It was half filled with the cheapest ale silver could buy. Hilda rolled up her right sleeve past her elbow and dunked her arm deep into the amber liquid. Her hand found a rock at the bottom and she nudged it off its perch. The object beneath it rushed past her arm, it’s buoyancy carrying it upward. She winced as a splash of ale struck her face when it surfaced. She opened her eyes and looked down at the wooden mask floating in the barrel. The face of a wolf stared back up at her.

***

The lump in his throat was so big it felt as if he were trying to swallow a boulder. His legs ached from dangling off the edge of the wooden bench beneath him, its sharp corners digging into his thighs. He waited in darkness. The drawn curtains about him drowned out the light and made it hard to see the thin mesh separating him from the other side of the confessional box.

The priest knew he was waiting. Southern churches always had a single priest in the nave to tend to the flock and when Kid walked into the church he’d locked eyes with the man. Upon seeing Kid's dirt stained outfit, the priest stopped praying and watched him. Kid knew he was just waiting for an excuse to kick out the Outwaller.

The irony made Kid smirk humorlessly. It wasn’t funny. Not really. But this Outwaller was determined to outwait and outwit this priest. It was going to be outstanding. The thought brought a real grin to Kid’s face and gave him the nerve to keep waiting. For all the Venaran clergy preached about the love of the Goddess and her capacity for forgiveness, he had yet to see any of it. The man couldn’t ignore him forever.

Kid jumped in surprise as the curtains rustled on the far side of the mesh barrier. “Are you okay son?”

Kid shook his head, looking to his feet. “Forgive me father for I have sinned.”

Kid saw the outline of a frown through the mesh. “What happened child?”

“I only have three to talk about father. I’m ashamed,” he said, fighting the urge to wring his hands.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of when you come for our Lady’s forgiveness. Anyone can make a mistake. Fewer can admit them. Tell me son, and be proud.”

Kid wringed his hands, a chill running down his spine. “My first sin, sir, is one of envy,” he said, forcing his hands apart.

“Go on.”

“I’ve often envied the golden necklaces worn by priests and priestesses, sir. I’m ashamed to say that that envy led me to another sin.” Kid hesitated. This was where it could all come apart. “Theft, sir. And it’s of a rather personal nature to your church sir.”

Kid could hear the wooden bench creaking as the priest leaned forward. “Did you steal Mother Helena’s cross guard?”

Kid swallowed. “I have it with me,” Kid exclaimed, trying to forestall the priests outrage. “Guilt overcame me, and I tried to return it last night sir but-,” He paused, as the priest opened the mesh between them, his dark eyes staring into Kid’s soul.

Kid tried to continue his lines, but the man talked over him. “How can I help you? Do you need food? Work? I can give you either if it would help.”

Kid’s mouth worked silently, the prepared lies about the unfaithfulness of the priestess falling from the tip of his tongue into oblivion. Of all the reactions he expected, kindness was not among them. He swallowed and dug the necklace he had stolen out of his pocket. He looked at the leather tong and the golden sword shaped pendant hanging off the end. The symbol of God. A deity he was unfamiliar with.

He couldn’t bear to meet the priest’s eyes as he passed the necklace through the window. The man grasped his hand, taking the pendant. As Kid pulled his arm back the man held him in place. Kid looked up, a lance of fear running through him.

The priest was frowning. “There’s too much fear in you for one so young.”

Kid jerked his hand free. “If your charity extended beyond the wall then maybe I wouldn’t have to be afraid.”

The priest was quiet a long moment. “I can only help those who seek me out. Forgiveness needs to be asked before help can be given. You did the right thing coming here. Few of your kind have respect for the God or the Goddess.”

Kid fought the scowl threatening to alight his lips at the phrase ‘Your kind.’ “You’re right,” he whispered, “I need help.”

The priest graced him with a sad smile. “We all do sometimes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He held up the golden pendant. “I’ll return the pendant to mother Helena. I’m sure she’ll welcome you to our little home with open arms.

Kid almost winced as the man turned from him and left the booth. Kid followed him out. “Sir?” Kid asked. The priest glanced at him over his shoulder. “I-” He swallowed, looking at the marble tiles. “I’m sorry.”

The priest smiled. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He turned away and walked through a side door, leaving Kid alone in the church.

A pang of guilt shot through him, but Kid wasted no time. He ran between the pews to the altar, skidding to a halt before it’s marbled surface. He dropped to his knees, quietly praying to the donation box. “Be full. Be full. Be full. Divines, please be full,” he whispered, pulling a small iron crowbar from his sleeve and slamming its head under the lid.

He heaved all his inconsiderable weight onto the cheap iron and to his horror the bar started to bend. He watched the bulging wood with wide eyes, hoping it would be the first to give out. He winced as a loud snap echoed through the hallowed halls. Kid held his breath, listening for the sound of running footsteps, blaring horns, the words THEIF.

All was silent. Kid threw the broken crowbar to the side with a look of disgust. It had cost him six copper bears. He could have eaten for two days off that. He grimaced as his stomach rumbled. Time for plan B.

Kid ran to a nearby candelabra almost as tall as himself and hefted the heavy bronze object. With a grunt, he turned it over in his hands, knocking the lit candles onto the floor. He wielded the candelabra like a sledgehammer. Kid took a running start at the box and swung his improvised hammer with all his might. He missed.

The base of the glorified candlestick struck the corner of the altar with the echoing sound of a gong and the crack of shattering stone. The reverberations running through the metal shaft made him release his hammer with a yelp and it clanged to the floor. Kid heard shouts of alarm through the door the priest had left through.

Oh god, he didn’t want to die. Kid smelled the acrid stench of smoke in the air and turned to see the dried wood of the pews beginning to catch fire from the candles. He could only stare in horror. Burning a church? He was without a doubt going to hell and likely soon.

He almost bolted for the door, but his stomach rumbled, demanding he finish the job. Kid whimpered as he bent down to grab the candelabra once more. He pulled back and swung with all his might. The heavy bronze base slammed into the side of the donation box with a deafening crack and gold exploded into the air. Kid stared in wonder at the fortune scattering across the church floor. With a start, he shook himself and ran after the hundreds of clattering coins. He dove to the ground, stuffing as many into his pockets as he could. Gold! Real gold! He could eat like a king for a week with a single gold coin. Not that he knew how kings ate.

The side door slammed open and Kid looked up to see the priest staring at the scene in abject horror. The look on the man’s face made Kid die a little inside. He didn’t deserve this. Kid wasted no time and bolted for the exit before the priest recovered. His heart ached for the dozens of gold coins he had to leave behind. But greed is the death of thieves, a fact he still might be proving today.

Kid ran for all he was worth, fleeing down the center aisle as more pews caught flame in his wake. The familiar words “Thief!” echoed behind him as he slammed through the front doors. He tripped down the stone steps as he flew from the church. Blood dripped from his skinned knees as he scrambled to his feet and kept running. He looked over his shoulder. The priest struggled to smother the growing flames with priceless tapestries from the walls.

Kid wasted no more time thinking of the church. He fled into the anonymity of the crowded streets. His small figure weaved between the hundreds of bodies, or rather was knocked around until he stumbled through. Curses lit up in his wake as his dirty rags brushed up against the fine clothes of well-to-do citizens, often leaving smears of dirt across their colorful dress. He had to get out of the inner city. He stood out like a sore thumb on these streets. Kid knew the guards would have questions if they caught him in this part of town, questions he didn’t want to answer with pockets full of stolen treasure.

The crowd started to part before him, making Kid think he got a lucky break. Then two Greencloaks appeared, plowing their way through the crowd toward the church. He froze in terror, willing his body to move as the giant men bore down on him. Their shadows darkened the street before him, making him feel small. An elbow crushed into his face, knocking him to the ground. Blood filled his mouth as his fight or flight instinct kicked in. Flight! Flight! Flight! He crawled blindly until he ran into the wooden wall of a house and clawed at it like a trapped animal as the crowd pushed at him, suffocated him.

Gradually, his pounding heart slowed. Rough hands didn’t grab him. A blade didn’t split his shoulders. And iron manacles didn’t find his hands. He slumped to the ground, using the wall he had been clawing to support his back. The Greencloaks kept pushing through the crowd, running towards the smoke rising in the distance. Kid felt the tension and fear leave his body like water wrung from a rag. He pulled his legs to his chest, noting the disdainful eyes staring at him from the crowd as it moved back into motion.

His fingers were torn and bloody, but that pain was nothing compared to the shame he felt from the wetness of his pants. He wanted to cry but knew he couldn’t afford to wait or draw more attention to himself. He staggered to his feet and continued weaving through the crowded streets. He wiped the blood from his lips with a dirty sleeve.

Soon the church was far behind him and he neared the city gates. Its high walls loomed over the nearby buildings, casting deep shadows on the road. Kid’s stomach growled when he spotted a bakery by the gates. It was well placed to serve travelers arriving from the countryside. The smell of fresh bread drew him in like a sirens song. He waited outside the store, taking peeks inside through the window and trying to blend into the shadows.

After a few moments wait he caught the bakery empty of customers. With shaky hands, he pushed the door open and slipped inside. A pale, portly man stood behind the counter, almost as doughy as his materials. Kid watched, his mouth watering as the baker kneaded his dough with practiced hands. Kid approached the counter as he would a rabid dog, just waiting for it to bite. The baker crinkled his nose, doubtless catching whiff of Kid, and turned to look at the boy. The look on his face was not promising.

“Ay!” he yelled. “Get yer filth out of my shop boy. I sell food here, ye dolt.”

Kid winced, quickly pulling a golden Hart from his pocket with fumbling fingers, dropping several coins to the floor in a metallic clatter. He cursed his clumsiness as the baker’s eyes widened at the wealth. “I have money. Please,” he said, falling to his knees and scooping up the dropped coins as if afraid they’d disappear.

The baker’s eyes flashed to the door. “Lock it, boy.”

Kid leapt to his feet and snapped the wooden latch shut while the baker came from behind his counter and closed the shutters on the window. As the light disappeared, Kid had a sinking feeling as the big man removed all prying eyes and possible witnesses. He had not made it all this way to get beat to death with a rolling pin.

“I’ll scream!” he blurted.

The baker gave him a confused look, then burst out laughing. “Divines boy, calm down. I’m not going to take your money and put you in a meat pie. That’s what rats are for. Street urchins are used by the butcher down the street.” As the man spoke his face grew more serious, leaving Kid not entirely sure he was joking. “Besides, there’s hardly enough meat on you to be worth the trouble,” he said, pinching Kid’s arm.

“Ouch!” Kid yelled, swatting at the man’s hand. “I just want to buy some bread. Is this a bakery or not?”

The baker snorted and walked back behind his counter. “I’ll give you a loaf for a Hart. Final offer.”

Kid’s jaw dropped. He could buy a new set of clothes, shoes, and a week’s worth of food for that much. “Are you crazy? That’s blatant robbery!”

The baker arched an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. Am I to believe you earned that money running letters?” The baker snorted. “I could get hanged right next to you for taking your money. Risk, reward. Simple as that.”

“Screw you!” Kid said turning to leave.

“I’ll call the guards,” the baker said.

Kid froze, “You wouldn’t.”

The baker shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. They might even give me a reward.”

Kid licked his lips and turned back to the man. He had maybe a dozen Harts on him. “The price is too high.”

The baker shook his head. “Supply,” he patted a loaf of bread. “Demand,” he extended his hand.

Kid grudgingly pulled two Harts out of his pocket and slapped them into the baker’s palm. As the baker tried to pull his hand away, Kid’s grip tightened, holding it in place. “And a sweet roll,” he demanded.

The baker's eyes narrowed. But Kid held firm. He barked a laugh. “Ha! Ye’ve got a lot of balls for a boy who just pissed himself.” Kid flushed bright red but kept his grip tight. “Fine. A sweet roll too. Pleasure doing business with ye.”

Kid released the man’s hand and the baker wiped it on his apron as if trying to remove the filth. He then grabbed two loaves of bread and a fist sized sweet roll. He tossed them to Kid who caught them and tucked them under his arm.

“Now off with ye.” As Kid turned to the door, the baker spoke up. “Through the back.”

Kid shrugged and walked behind the counter and through the back room. A giant oven dominated the chamber and the smells of baking bread hung heavy in the air. At the end of the small room was another door and he pushed it open. Cold air rushed over his skin, feeling good after his brief walk past the stifling heat of the oven.

He barely made it through the door before tearing into one of the loaves of bread. Within a minute, he’d devoured the entire loaf, unsure how he fit the entire thing into his small frame, and for the first time in a week he felt full. The feeling brought such relief, he felt dizzy. He would survive another week. The jingle of coins in his pocket brought a smile to his lips. Perhaps a good while longer.

He had one more obstacle to overcome before he could fade into the Outwalls and be safe from prowling soldiers. He had to get through the gate. Any guard worth his title could recognize a pickpocket. Kid need only look in a mirror to see what one looked like. He’d received many a beating from the gate guards over his thirteen years and if they caught him with this much money, the consequences would be more fatal than a broken bone.

He bided his time, watching the gate as dozens of people made their way in and out of the city proper. The Greencloaks were lazing around, all but ignoring their duty of watching the crowds which Kid was thankful for. It was never pretty when they caught a thief. Kid looked toward the crosses and the traitors hanging from them. He swallowed. Would robbing a church warrant that? He was sure he could sneak past the Greencloaks, but the Thorne soldiers watched the crowd like hawks. He didn’t mind getting caught by them. They usually let him off with a cuff on the ear and confiscation of his coin for their gambling uses. But if they caught him with gold, they would ask questions. That would attract attention of the Greencloaks. He did not want that.

A steady stream of people continued walking through the gates. Kid waited until a large merchant’s cart loaded with bundles of wool approached the gateway. The gate's tax farmer brought the wagon to a halt just inside the archway. Kid had to pick a side to walk through. Past the Greencloaks or the Thorne soldiers?

Making his decision, he palmed one of his coins and grabbed the hand of a passing middle-aged woman. She started and tried to pull away at first before feeling the metal in her hand. She looked down at him. A silent understanding passed between them. It wasn’t an uncommon practice among young thieves. A passing grubby child carrying food for his mother was far less suspicious than a passing grubby child who somehow ‘acquired’ food himself.

Together, they walked to the gate while the wool merchant argued with the tax farmer over some such code or another. He must've hoped to hold up traffic long enough for the bureaucrat to wave him through just to get rid of him. Kid was thankful for the distraction as he ducked his head, trying to appear as small as possible. He was getting too old for this trick, but his small size could make him appear years younger if he hid his face.

He guided the older woman toward the Thorne side of the gate, making sure they kept an even pace to avoid suspicion. His heart pounded and he could hear the blood pulsing through his veins. They were almost through. He chanced a peek at the guards and almost froze when he locked eyes with one of them. The guard winked at him. Kid could have kissed the man. Plausible deniability was a beautiful thing.

Relief flooded him as they passed into the Outwalls. Kid kept walking with the woman for a few dozen more paces before releasing her hand. “Thank you!” he yelled, racing into the nearest alleyway. The woman smirked after him, shaking her head then looked at what she’d earned. Kid looked over his shoulder and enjoyed the look of shock she sent after him. It was likely the first gold coin she’d ever held.

Kid wound through the alleyways, avoiding all the gangs of older boys waiting in the shadows to rob those foolish enough to travel off the main roads. Kid had been wandering through the warrens of cobbled wood since he was old enough to walk. He knew their haunts and the ways to get around them. Bleakridge was like a maze with a thousand solutions but you only needed to be smart enough to find one.

It wasn’t long before he found himself on his home street. A peculiar sight stopped him in his tracks. Some dandy wearing the Thorne colors was stumbling through the streets like a drunken bear. His clothes were fine, but he looked like hell, with bloodshot eyes and crusted vomit about his collar. The dark fabric of his clothes was speckled with a reddish stain that Kid assumed to be copious amounts of wine.

The man patted his pocket and smiled. It was a habit rich people had when walking through poor neighborhoods. Kid loved it. It let him know right where the dandy kept his money. Kid walked straight toward him. The man stared through Kid with clouded green eyes. His furrowed brow and distant look made it clear his thoughts were elsewhere. Kid feigned a trip, bumping into the man and slipping his hands into his pocket, enjoying the cool feeling of fresh coin. “Sorry sir!” Kid called out, almost meaning it.

The man didn’t even seem to notice as he continued his single-minded trudge down the road. Kid checked the coins he palmed. Half a dozen silver lions stared back at him. Not bad. Not bad at all. He added them to his collection and looked up just in time to see an arm fall over his head and wrap around his throat.

He tried to scream but his air was cut off as the arm dragged him into the closest alley. Only a squeak escaped his lips. People saw but pretended ignorance as they continued their daily business. “Hey Kid, how’s your ugly mug doing?”

Kid kicked in the air as the man held him suspended in a headlock. After a moment of watching him squirm, the man released him. Kid fell to the ground, dropping his food into the dirt. He gasped, trying to get air into his lungs and coughed from the pain in his throat. The man waited for him to get his breathing under control.

“What do you want Marc?” he wheezed, rising to his feet and looking up at the man. Marc was a mean old bastard who seemed to enjoy knocking Kid around and he always seemed to pop up around the Dancing Bear at the worst possible times.

Marc looked over his shoulder to the street. “Give me what you took from that man. Now,” Marc said.

“I don’t know what-”

“Don’t bullshit me Kid, I’m not in the mood.”

Kid was not going to open his pockets in front of this man. Not today. There was too much at stake. “Okay okay,” Kid said, readying his legs to spring away and run.

He leapt and yelped as Marc caught him by the throat. Marc yanked him back and slammed him against the wall of the alley, making the whole wooden structure shudder. Marc shoved his hands into Kips pockets and dug out all the coins. His eyes widened as gold poured out of Kid’s pockets into is hands. “Where’d you get this? There’s no way he was carrying this much”

“From one of the churches in the inner city, he only had six lions on him,” Kid answered. If he got caught in a lie with this man he knew he’d likely end up dead.

“By the Reaper’s blade boy, I almost forgive you for trying to run. Almost.” Marc pocketed the gold. “Thanks for your contribution to the war effort. Marc grinned wolfishly.

“Fucking Sons,” Kid muttered beneath his breath. Very beneath his breath.

“You know what? I’m going to let you off with a warning,” Marc said, drawing a dagger from his belt. Kid stared at the steel, dread beginning to set in. He didn’t dare struggle. A wave of fear petrified him, and he fell limp. Marc’s grip was all that kept him on his feet. Marc let him go with a disgusted grunt and Kid fell to the ground.

“You’re not even worth teaching,” he muttered, sheathing his dagger and turning to walk toward the street.

He paused at the entrance. Kid looked up, watching the man flip a gold coin between his fingers. Bastard had nothing to fear. This world belonged to him. Marc flipped the gold coin and caught it. “On second thought, you must be doing something right.” He looked over his shoulder. “If you get hungry again and need work, go to the Dancing Bear and ask for Hilda. Tell her I sent you. We always need more runners.”

Without another word, he disappeared around the corner.

Kid struggled to his feet, legs still shaky from the bolt of terror that struck him. He was glad he’d already wet himself, because doing it in front of Marc would have been far worse. He staggered over to his dropped food and wiped the dirt from it.

Disappointment hung like a cloud over his head, seeming to darken the very air around him. He did all that for nothing but a little bread. It had taken him weeks to find a chance to steal that damn necklace and another to muster the courage to go through with his plan. And despite all his blunders, it had worked! Then it all unraveled because Marc wanted to see what was in that man’s pockets. Kid cursed his greed. Greed is the death of thieves.

Damn it.

Kid kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, muttering about the Sons. They owned everything out here. If Marc asked for his head on a platter, it would be at the man’s doorstep by morning. The only thing that kept people like Kid from ratting them out to the guards was that they were more scared of the Sons than the Greencloaks. It was better to please the wolf in your home than the one in your fields. He couldn’t believe the bastard offered him a job right after he robbed him.

Kid kicked at the ground again and yelped in pain as he stubbed his toe on a rock. He hopped on one leg, cursing and shaking his wounded foot. A feminine voice spoke to him, “Are you okay Kid?”

Kid looked up in horror to see Lissa standing in front of him, her round eyes staring at him with a look of concern. He blushed a deep red under her scrutiny. Could this day get any more humiliating? If Kid believed in anything, it was his endless capacity for bad timing.

“Hey Lissa, just ran into a spot of bad luck is all. Been a rough morning.”

Lissa nodded in commiseration and Kid could see hints of sadness in her face. It was well hidden, but after so many years spent wandering the streets with her, he saw the slight line of worry in her forehead, the distant look in her eyes, the redness about her throat. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head, seeming to have trouble speaking. Kid knew it was bad if Lissa of all people found it hard to talk. He reached out to her and to his surprise she tackled him in a hug, almost making him drop his hard-earned bread again. All his personal worries flew away as he hugged her back with his free arm. He tried to scoot away to avoid touching his soiled clothes to her clean ones, but she seemed beyond caring and pulled him closer.

Lissa was taller than him by a large margin. And he was uncomfortably aware of his face pressing into her chest. The feeling was pleasant, but he could already feel its ramifications beginning to stir. He was not ready to humiliate himself again today, especially not in front of her. Kid pushed her away and looked up into her eyes which were now the picture of sadness.

Kid swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “I got you something,” he said, holding out the sweet roll.

For a moment, the sadness vanished from her eyes as they widened in longing. She snatched up the sweet roll and almost took a bite before hesitating, giving him a guilty look. “We’ll split it,” she said, tearing the soft, sweet bread apart.

Kid’s mouth began salivating at her offer. He had been looking forward to eating it, but was willing to give it up to cheer her, even if only for a moment. He took his half from her. “What happened?” he asked, taking a bite. Sweetness filled his mouth.

She shook her head, cheeks already stuffed. “Not here. C’mon,” she said, walking down the street.

Kid shrugged and followed as Lissa bounced down the road. Their fellow pedestrians all gave her a wide berth. It made Kid jealous. People usually went out of their way to push him around. The Dancing Bear was less than a block away and within a minute Lissa led him to the slim alley between the tavern and the neighboring house. Calling it an alley was being generous. The neighboring house leaned on the Dancing Bear, leaving a small gap about a foot wide. Just large enough for a girl or a small boy to squeeze through.

Lissa waited by the gap until nobody was looking. Then she slid into the crevice, squeezing her slight frame between the rough wood and inching her way through. Kid followed her lead, looking both ways before slipping in. Over the past year, it got harder and harder for him to push his way through. His belly scraped against the rough wood, leaving him in constant fear of splinters as he pushed his way through. As he struggled to exit the other side, he stumbled, falling on his face as he popped out.

Kid spat dust from his mouth and rose to his feet. He looked around the small enclosure, surrounded on all four sides by wooden walls. Miraculously, a small tree grew in the center. They’d planted an acorn there together on his tenth birthday and it had grown against all odds. Kid smiled at the familiar sight. It had been a while since he’d been here. As Lissa got older, her parents kept her working more often. Kid missed her company, though he would never admit it. She’d probably make fun of him.

Lissa sat down against one of the walls and Kid plopped down next to her, rolling the last loaf of bread in his hands. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

By the end of her story, his mouth was hanging wide open. “They almost got Marc?” he asked, wishing they had. Not that he’d tell that to the man’s niece. “Your dad must have been pissed that he hid there.”

Lissa shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think he was too relieved that mom and I didn’t get hurt to be mad then. Well- not really hurt.” She rubbed the mark around her throat. “Thank the Goddess that Grim was there.”

Kid felt a little guilty for robbing him blind. “What was he doing there?”

Lissa turned her head to Kid. “Why does any man come to a tavern?” Kid stared blankly at her. “To escape his problems," she said, “his must be pretty bad for him to end up way out here.”

If it was that easy to escape your problems, then maybe he should start drinking. Kid chuckled darkly, he couldn’t afford it. One problem at a time.

“What’s so funny?” Lissa asked.

Kid shook his head. “Nothing, sorry. I just got caught up in my own head when you mentioned problems.” He told her about his day, making her laugh with how he bungled even the simplest of things and still managed to make it back to the Outwall. He left out the part where he robbed the bastard and ended the story with how Marc extorted him, making the whole trip in vain.

“He what?” Lissa yelled, rising to her feet. “I’m going to have some words for him next time he comes around.”

“NO!” Kid yelled, also jumping to his feet. “No no, please no. He’ll think I’m trying to bring you into this. He’ll beat me bloody!”

Lissa pursed her lips, crossing her arms and sitting back to the ground with a huff. “Fine,” she muttered. “I won’t say anything. But he sure isn’t getting any more hugs from me.”

Kid chuckled. “Really?” he asked, amused

Lissa threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “What else can I do?”

Kid sat back down next to her “He even offered me a job as a Runner. Whatever that is.”

Lissa turned to him with wide eyes. “Take it,” she said without hesitation.

Kid blinked in surprise, arching an eyebrow at her. “I thought we were mad at him?”

“Kid,” she said, “Runners get paid in silver.” Kid’s eyes widened as Lissa kept speaking. “Marc has meetings late at night in the Bear sometimes. While I was serving, they were talking about raising the Runner’s payment per job from eight copper bears to a silver lion. Something about having more missions in the inner city.”

Kid frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen myself working with the Sons.”

Lissa shook her head. “Not with. In.”

Kid’s frown deepened. “One of them.” The words tasted like curdled milk in his mouth.

“What’s the alternative?”

Kid didn’t bother answering. They both knew his prospects. He scuffed his feet against the dirt and looked up at the leaves of the small tree. They were turning orange with the onset of autumn. The rays of sunlight illuminated the veins within, giving them an almost skeletal look. “Greed is the death of thieves,” he whispered to himself.

“What’s that?” Lissa asked.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. A moment passed in silence as they listened to a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of their tree. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine they were somewhere else. Somewhere kind.

“What did he say the castle was like?”

Lissa’s eyes brightened. “Let me tell you.”