Hilda fidgeted, wishing she had a glass and a rag to clean it with. She hated not having something to occupy her hands. Billy sat across the table from her, dressed in a fresh tunic and pants borrowed from Marc. They had long since lapsed into awkward silence in the hour since Marc left, leaving only the unhelpful order of ‘wait here.

She watched Billy pour another glass of Marc’s vodka, his fourth since arriving. She grabbed the glass before he could pick it up. She held it our over the floor and let it fall to the ground. The glass shattered, sending a spray of liquor across the floor.

“The fuck was that for?” Billy asked.

“We have a job to do tonight.”

Billy grumbled to himself then grabbed the bottle, taking a long draw from it. Hilda sighed. She was going to die tonight. Her relief was palpable as the door clicked open from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Marc finally returning with Kid in tow. She narrowed her eyes at the boy. Divines, she’d like to wring his skinny little neck. He seemed aware of this and kept Marc between them.

Hilda tore her eyes away from the boy and looked up to Marc as he came to a stop before them. His pallor was sickly, as if he’d caught pneumonia in the hour he’d been away. She noticed a bloodied bandage wrapped around his hand. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She just knew he’d found an opportunity to be dramatic.

Marc cleared his throat. “Hilda are the preparations for tonight in order?”

“Yes, but we should stick with the original team. I don’t know how to work with Billy.” She looked to Kid. “And why the hell is he here?” The little shit got her family broken up and she couldn’t seem to get through a day without running into the bastard.

“I’m as happy about this as you are but tonight is the only chance we have to get inside within the next few months.” He put a hand on Kid’s shoulder. “And he’s here because he’s going with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Marc stared hard at her.

Kid looked between them. “I’m going where?”

They both ignored him. Marc took his hand from Kid’s shoulder and leaned against the table. “He could come in handy. Besides, you might need a pickpocket.”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “And you want him to fill that role? He’s the worst thief in the Outwalls.”

Kid pursed his lips but didn’t respond.

“No. I don’t. But I trust him, and trust is something in short supply.”

“I don’t see why Carver can’t-”

“Carver,” Marc snapped, “just tried to kill your daughter.”

Hilda’s mouth worked but no sound came out. “What?” She blinked, slowly regaining her faculties. “Oh gods, is she okay?” She leapt to her feet. “Where Is she Marc?”

Marc raised a hand for silence. Hilda forced her panic down and calmed. He wouldn’t have been so nonchalant if something had happened to her. “She’s fine and staying with Melna. Nobody will hurt her while she’s under her roof. I sent word to James about it as well.”

Hilda nodded, heart still racing from the bolt of fear that had pierced her. “She’s okay?”

“She’s okay.”

Hilda sighed in relief and eased back into her chair.

Marc glanced at Kid. “You ought to thank the boy. The way Lissa tells it, she wouldn’t have even seen them coming without him there.”

Hilda looked at Kid. The boy looked uncomfortable and like he wanted to bolt for the door. Mixed feelings fought inside her. The silence stretched until Billy spoke up. “So, are we gonna to get to it or keep bitching about how much we don’t want to play together?”

Hilda sighed. “Fine. I’ll get the uniforms.”

“Uniforms?” Kid asked.

“Venaran serving uniforms. They hire extra help for special occasions. That’s our way past the gates.” Hilda rose to her feet.

“How’d we get the uniforms?” Kid asked. He looked a little queasy.

Marc answered. “Who do you think makes their clothes boy? We put a little extra money in the hands of an inner-city seamstress. She was only too happy to help. Apparently, her employers are assholes.” Marc grinned. “Getting hired was easy, some of our number actually work for a living.”

Billy tried to take another drink from the bottle, but Marc snatched it from his hands. The man scowled. “Arsehole,” he muttered. “Won’t they notice we’re not the people they hired?”

“It’s a staff of over three hundred. Just keep your head down.”

Hilda paused at the door. “Wait, what is Kid supposed to wear?”

Marc drank from the bottle on the table. She could tell he was stalling. Hilda narrowed her eyes at him. He very slowly swallowed. “I already had his clothes made.”

“Why would you have done that?”

“Because I want him to deliver the message.”

Hilda gritted her teeth. “And why haven’t you told me this until now?”

Marc grinned. “Because I knew you’d be mad.”

“Why Marc? Just Why?”

“Because you look cute when you’re angry.”

Hilda slammed the door behind her. She could hear Billy giggling from the other side. Divines, this was going to be a long night.

***

His father and sister awaited him in the courtyard. His sister wore an elegant gown that matched his own attire. Silver, Rillish weaves ran along the hem of her dress and rose along her sides. The Earl was still dressed in his customary black on black, his jacket's golden buttons glimmering in the twilight.

Grim approached the pair, eyeing the carriage behind them with a look of relief. After the morning he had, he felt no desire to ride exposed into town with only a silk jacket as protection.

The Earl looked him up and down. "It'll do."

Ilyena was more gracious. "It'll do very nicely. Tonight should be-" she paused. "Interesting."

Grim and the Earl snorted at the same time then looked to each other. Rodger Thorne narrowed his eyes. "Interesting is one word for it." He gestured toward the carriage. "Best not be late."

Ilyena pulled up her dress and stepped into the carriage. Grim hesitated, looking around at the dozens of soldiers readying their mounts. The thickly muscled goats bleated as the men hauled themselves into the saddle. Hooves stomped around the courtyard as the beasts pawed at ground, snorting and knocking their wickedly sharp horns against each other.

"Are we going to a party or to war?" Grim asked. The ill-tempered beasts were rarely taken into town. They had a tendency to take pieces out of passersby.

"In these times it hardly matters," the Earl answered.

Grim nodded and stepped into the confines of the carriage. Plush pillows and satin drapes greeted him. His sister was already lounging across one of the long benches, taking up half the carriage. Grim managed to keep the vexation off his face and sat across from her. His father soon followed.

Grim waited a few moments before thumping his fist against the roof of the carriage twice. The driver outside whipped his reins against the horses, setting them into motion. Grim grinned as the clapping of hooves sounded from outside. He'd always wanted to do that. Ilyena rolled her eyes at him then turned her gaze out the grated window.

The Earl reached past Grim and snapped the wooden shutter shut in front of Ilyena's face. She scrunched up her lips but didn't argue the point. Grim fought the grin from his lips.

Rodger Thorne looked to his daughter. "You know your task tonight?" She nodded.

Grim raised an eyebrow. "Task?" he asked.

The Earl ignored him. "Relay what you find to me immediately."

"Yes father."

"Relay what?" Grim asked.

The Earl turned to him. "You are inexperienced at this boy. Do what your sister says tonight. Follow her lead and be damned careful. Don't antagonize the Marshal. If you think he doesn't know about your visits beyond the wall, then you're a fool. You're on thin ice Grim and soon, not even I will be able to pull you from the water."

A blood curdling scream sounded in the distance, momentarily drowning out the sound of hammers pounding steel. It was impossible to tell which hammer pounded nails into flesh

***

The Earl let them open the windows as the carriage trundled the last few dozen paces to the Greencloak fort. There were a few carts ahead of them carrying casks of wine and other assorted foodstuffs. Guards dressed in coats of thick bronze plates searched the carts and inspected the papers given by the drivers.

They waited as the guards waved each cart through. The man vetting the guests didn’t even look at their papers, seeming to recognize the Earl. Grim watched as the threescore soldiers who escorted them veered to the right of the gate and dismounted. The carriage continued onward. They were alone.

Greencloaks in fine armor held shining spears pointed over the roadway in salute to the guests. Grim watched them from his window. As the cart passed, each man snapped back to rigid attention. It seemed Longreen brought out his finest for the occasion.

Empty carriages passed by them, their passengers dispensed. They weaved through the garden, the flowers seeming even more vibrant in the orange light. Their driver led the horses in a wide arc around the fountain, bringing the carriage to a halt before the ornate double doors of the estate.

A footman waiting outside opened the door to their carriage. The Earl exited first, his boots clacking against the cobblestones. Grim followed him out. Dozens of servants bustled about, giving their carriage a wide berth. Nobles lounged near the doors and loitered by the fountains, eyes sneaking glances in their direction.

Grim found himself acutely aware of his manners. He turned about and held his hand out to Ilyena as she exited. The girl took his hand and stepped down next to him. She rewarded him with a sly, knowing smile.

Grim turned back to the house. Trepidation for the night to come washed over him. He was never prepared for anything like this before. He stretched one of his legs to the side, trying to make a little extra room between his legs. The pants were just a little too tight. His efforts were in vain.

Grim sighed and followed his father as the man walked toward the door. Grim held out his arm for his sister. She shook her head and brushed past him. He awkwardly lowered his arm as a footman opened the estate doors.

The nobles by the entrance hushed as the Earl walked past, arms behind his back and grey eyes staring straight ahead. He didn't spare them a glance. Grim followed his example but his eyes widened as the came into the entry hall. Two long banquet tables stretched the length of the grand room and between them, near a hundred people dressed in finery milled about the open floor. Every single noble was wearing clothing matching the green of the banner hanging high overhead.

Grim had the sudden uncomfortable feeling the Earl was making some kind of statement. Eyes turned as they entered and a herald shouted their names out over the din. He heaped titles onto the Earl that Grim didn't even know the Earl had. Apparently, his family were the proud owners of a small village outside Venar, making them Venaran nobility.

The herald had barely managed to announce the Earl before Longreen emerged from the crowd, red-faced and with a glass of wine in hand.

A shadow fell over his face as he saw how they were dressed. He recovered his composure, the slight sneer returning into a welcoming smile. "Lord Thorne, I welcome you on this auspicious occasion. But I doubt you require any reminder of what day it is today."

His father's stony visage didn't slip an inch. "The day I signed away the kingdom."

"To the true king," Longreen added.

"To the true king," Rodger Thorne agreed.

Longreen's eyes drifted over to Grim. "A fact we'd all do well to remember."

Grim's jaw tightened but he held his composure. Ilyena smiled brightly. "Come Grim. Let's not impose on the Marshal. I'm sure he has matters of import to discuss with father." She pulled his arm.

Grim didn't budge. "Of course," he grated." He matched Longreen's stare for a long moment before allowing Ilyena to lead him away.

When they were out of earshot and out of sight Ilyena pulled him close. "What do you think you're doing?" She pinched his arm and Grim winced. "Do you want him to have you watched all night?" She paused a moment. "Actually, that may be a good thing. If he's focused on you then he may forget me."

"What are you trying to do?"

"If father didn't see fit to tell you then I certainly won't. Just do me a favor and create a ruckus."

Grim narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dear brother. You need only be yourself tonight."

Grim glared at her but before he could respond, she slipped away. Grim stumbled after her, not wanting to be left alone in this place. As they weaved through the crowds, heads turned to regard them. The hairs on the back of Grim's neck prickled. He hated the feeling of their eyes crawling across his flesh.

They came to a halt by a section of the tables laden with glasses of aromatic red wine. The air smelled how Grim had always imagined a vineyard. Ilyena plucked two glasses from the table and handed one to Grim. She took a small sip from her glass, the red wine staining her lips.

Grim followed her example. "What are we doing?" He growled under his breath.

Ilyena narrowed her eyes at him. "Enjoying the party dear brother." She took another drink. "Relax, the night is still very young."

Grim fought the scowl from his face and quaffed the rest of the wine. He grabbed another glass.

"Fine. Have it your way." He leaned closer to her. "Whatever it is, be careful. Alright?"

She grinned. "Come, let's head to the salon. All the interesting conversation happens there."

She dashed off into the crowd, leaving him to stumble after in her wake. He mumbled half-hearted apologies as his bulk bumped into people. Curses followed in his wake but Grim ignored them, following Ilyena as she slipped into one of the many side corridors.

Flashes of vivid color surrounded him, accompanied by the sounds of lyres and the incessant, nattering voices of the crowd. Gods, what he would give to be patrolling the Outwalls with his men. He turned into the corridor just in time to see the hem of her dress disappear through an open door. Grim grumbled to himself as he turned into the doorway.

He emerged into a small candlelit room whose steady flames cast a warm, inviting glow. A dozen young nobles lounged in plush couches, their bronze colored fingers wrapped around the stems of wine glasses. The furniture was arranged in a circular pattern around the room, forcing the occupants to look at each other. A few heads turned to regard him but drifted back to the lively debate already occurring between Harren and a nobleman Grim didn't recognize. Grim sulked into a corner while Harren spoke.

"-beside the point. King Vitran himself said that 'to govern is mundane but to rule is divine.' Sure, any individual with strength to enforce his will can control his fellow man but it takes a king blessed by the Divines to hold it together in perpetuity and maintain order. Look at what happened to the Rills. They elected their own king from among them and they were weak. Now a king blessed by a divine Rules here. It's the natural way of things."

The other noble balked "My lord, you speak dated platitudes as if they were a gospel truth. The Taran experiment has shown that stable governance can be achieved without a king. The crown is a means to the end, not the end in itself-"

Harren cut him off. "Lord Gabriel, careful with your tongue, you border on treason."

"And you tread ignorance sir."

Grim smirked. Carys Longreen stood, raising her hands to the two men before they could come to blows. "Gentlemen, please. This is a venue to exchange views and ideas, not insults and accusations."

The two men looked abashed as she glanced to each in turn. "I believe Lord Gabriel makes a valid point. The success of the Taran Republic is indisputable. But they rely on the divines as much as we do if not more. The Goddess is less a part of their society and the ways of the Reaper are foreign to us. Perhaps she bestows her favor differently."

Harren wrinkled his nose. "'Favor' is certainly a delicate way to put it. Her favorites are often sacrificed in her name. They consider it an honor." He shook his head. "Barbaric. Truly."

Carys pursed her lips. She didn't seem ready to refute that. Gabriel spoke up. "The Reaper is the shadow to the light of the Goddess. Both are subject to the will of God and both are valid representations of the duality of man. Each is a part of us and we should seek to understand."

He turned his head to where Grim's sister lounged on the couch, swirling a glass of wine. "Lady Ilyena, your family once worshiped the Reaper as your patron. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the purposes of these-" he paused. "Barbaric, rituals."

Ileyna took a sip from her wineglass and tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. "The worship of the Reaper is simple. There is only one law. And that is the preeminence of strength. It's why states who worshiped her were, and are, so chaotic. Warlords and chiefs were toppled with the passing of each generation. The Rills rarely elected a King without a war to decide the matter." She shrugged. "I know little of the rituals. I've never seen one and they were before my time."

Her head swiveled to Grim. "Perhaps my older brother could enlighten us on the subject."

Grim inwardly sighed. She would throw him under the carriage. This turn of the conversation took him back to his childhood in the later years of the war. They were more vague recollections than actual memories. Disjointed images of wounded men screaming in the halls of Bleakridge, the castle turned into an infirmary. Withered husks of bodies fallen among them. God touched healers who drained themselves to save others. Their skin flaking like ash in a fire pit.

Chills ran down his spine and he drank from his wineglass as he avoided thinking of those touched by the Reaper. He didn't want to look weak in front of these people and they weren't worth sharing the memory. One of the few that gave him comfort.

He pulled the glass from his lips. "You speak of it like a crime. A man with little meaning in his life may find great comfort in giving his life to a higher purpose. Should one wishing for death be subjected to the cruelties of life?"

Carys spoke. "And what of those who are sacrificed against their will?"

"That, my lady, is what we in the Rills like to call murder." Grim took a drink from his glass. "You can't sacrifice something that isn't yours to give. Just how you shouldn't hang people who aren't yours."

An awkward silence settled over the room. Its occupants stared at Grim as if he were some strange, exotic animal. Gabriel spoke first. "If they didn't rebel against the strong then mayhaps they wouldn't have to hang."

"I find myself in rare accordance with Lord Gabriel," Harren said. Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the room.

Grim shrugged. He hadn't expected them to understand, or to care. He drank.

Carys cleared her throat to be heard over the low voices. "Perhaps there is something to be said for leniency with the law. The first King of Venar himself said that all citizens are equal in the eyes of the Goddess and deserving of her forgiveness."

Gabriel shook his head. "I doubt he meant that statement to extend to traitors."

Grim set his empty wineglass on a table. "Maybe if people didn't have to watch their loved ones hung or nailed to a cross, there'd be less traitors."

Harren scoffed. "And maybe if there were less sympathizers then they'd be less successful at murdering our country men."

Grim scowled at him. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

"Yes. You speak against the hangings, yet you carried them out yourself. Does that not strike you as hypocritical?"

Grim's visage darkened and he had to restrain himself from reaching for his axe.

Harren sneered. "Nothing to say to that? I didn't realize they both branded and gelded you."

Grim had hardly taken a step toward the man before Ilyena was at his side, holding him back by the arm. "The conversation seems to be getting rather heated. Grim why don't you step into the courtyard to cool down a minute."

Grim's jaw hardened. He took a deep breath and nodded forcing his feet to walk to the door. It took an effort of will to resist slamming it behind him.

He walked down the hallway toward the entry hall, his boots clacking against the Borish wood. The halls were less chaotic than before as many of the guests had filtered to other areas of the estate. Grim skirted the throngs of southerners engaged in animated conversation and headed toward the large double doors. Some fresh air actually sounded nice.

A footman in green livery opened the door for him and Grim emerged into the brisk air. The silver of his jacket gleamed in the starlight. He watched his breath frost in the air. The nights were growing cold and chill breeze tore the stifling heat from his body. He felt free and his humor quickly improved. The cold seemed to have driven off all but a few guests. The only sounds were the whistling of the wind and the trickling of the fountain.

He walked to the stone rim and sat with his back to the water. The noise calmed him. Grim sighed. Harren was right. He was a hypocrite. He looked up at the estate before him. Despite the extravagance of the place, it was truly beautiful in the moonlight. The walls reflected the silvery light while it's windows glowed with candlelight.

Something wet hit his cheek. He wiped it away and blamed the fountain. His flesh grew cold. It made him think of the thousands of people huddled in shacks beyond the wall, struggling to stay warm. Struggling, while he sat outside a palatial estate filled with enough wealth to feed them for a year.