Stitch went overtime trying to extract a confession, though she was still no match for my verbal dexterity.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Unable to assail the impenetrable fortress I had constructed, she eventually took her pay and left, though not without levelling several stern looks my way. I slumped where I sat, finally able to let out a full-bodied sigh. Stitch had been so focused on me she had ignored the fact that Dash had spent the last five minutes cleaning the same spot on a table.

I shoved my wax tablet into my armpit and moved next to my brother, surreptitiously whispering in his ear. “Are you alright?”

“Orvi,” he looked at me with wide eyes. “We’re going to get caught, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely not. Everything will be alright. There’s no reason to think we were the ones who did it.”

“Except Ma always knows!” his voice warbled an octave higher, and I hurriedly shushed him.

“She won’t. And even if she does, just say I forced you, okay? It was my idea anyway.”

“But…” Dash protested. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m never not okay Dash, you know that.”

He gave me a sceptical look, however with Sash moving over the conversation had to be shut down. “What is it the pair of you are chatting about?” she asked, casually invading our personal space.

“Nothing.” We intoned almost simultaneously.

“That seems unlikely.” She sniffed. “It’s not very nice to leave others out of your conversation.”

“We-“ Dash exclaimed, and I couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t blurt everything out.

“-were talking about some new recipe ideas I had.” I interrupted, hoping to dissuade her. “I was thinking that we might be able to start wrapping fillings in some of the edible leaves Uncle Dirk sometimes gnaws on. I just have to ask him where he gets them from.

Sash turned paler at the thought of handling raw ingredients. “How would they be eaten?” she asked. We had hammered the fact that randomly leaving conversations was impolite into her, but it seemed the lesson harmed its teachers as well.

Dash cut in, delivering the death blow. “With your hands.”

“Erm,” Sash blanched. “I don’t like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

“That’s a bit better, then.”

With that, she was off our trail. The three of us chatted about inconsequential things for a time, followed by another brief lecture Sash delivered about the dynamics of fire and how exciting it was. She interrupted herself talking about what things would burn the hottest.

“Is it okay I’m talking? You’re not bored?”

Dash and I quickly assured her we weren’t.

“Not even you, Orvi? I know you have a difficult time understanding these kinds of things.”

“I’m happy to see you excited, Sash,” I told her, trying to verbalise my feelings as clearly as possible. “Although saying I’m not good at thinking about those things makes me feel bad.”

“I’m sorry for making you feel bad.” She said, sincere as always. Dash snickered silently.

“That’s alright.” I told her, quickly shooting Dash a glare. “Keep going though, I want to hear it.”

My sister continued with the lecture, and I struggled keep my eyes from glazing over. It was something she enjoyed talking about; I wanted to listen, even if I might not understand all of it. One of the patrons chuckled, and I had to resist the urge to cuss him out.

A few minutes later Jackson entered the room again, saving me from my own good intentions. He nodded at us and left. It was strange; the Blooded was usually eager to talk to us. I was peering after him when a voice grumbled from the kitchen.

“Or-VI!” it growled. “Need your help with something!”

I scuttled into the kitchen and Ma gestured towards a few dirty plates floating in a clean tub of water. “Clean those.” She intoned.

I nodded and began scrubbing at them. Juggling several pans, she spoke. “Jackson just visited. He is skipping training today. Very unusual for him. He’s brought some good news: he’s joining the Old Guard.”

I blanched. “What? Those traitors?”

Ma shot me a sharp look. “You’re not to call them that in this restaurant.” She turned back to cooking. “The Houses are owed. The godsblood flowing through him is theirs. It is fortunate they did not decide to take it back.”

“Still…”

“They saved us, and most of the continent. There is no way to know how far the Raven’s rot would have spread.”

“No, you saved us.”

“Myself and my peers would not have been there if not for the Houses. There would have been no Blooded. There would have been no battle.”

I scowled. “Why now, anyway? They’ve been gone for so long, what in the blood’s the point?”

Ma hummed for a moment, using chopsticks to swirl frying noodles. “I’m not privy to that information. There could be any number of reasons, however, my best guess is that a god has moved here. Though perhaps it’s simply to retrieve whatever blood remains here.”

“What-“ I stuttered, then tried to recover. “What god do you think it would be?”

Ma squinted at me. “I thought you would be more eager. Most young men dream of fighting in the godswar.”

“I don’t. Want to fight a god, I mean.”

“Wise of you. Every Blooded costs a hundred strong men.” She thought for a moment. "Dure, I would think. The Lizard tends to move towards more arid areas."

“It seems kind of, I don’t know, cruel?” I thought of the Raven, then backpedalled. “For the ones that don’t hurt anyone.”

Once again, she squinted at me. “The gods are monsters, Orvi.” She said carefully. “I need you to remember this. We name them after beasts. They are not beasts. They are not anything close to human. They are divine, and the divine care nothing for mortals.”

I nodded. “But… what if they’re just… living? Far away from people.”

Ma thought for a moment, then conceded the point. “It is foolish to provoke a god, to be sure.” She continued. “Yet humanity needs godsblood to move forward. With just the Raven gone, the rest of the world has progressed greatly. Bloodtech is a marvel, but the Owl must be fought in order to create it.”

“What happens when all the gods are killed?”

The massive woman paused. “A decade ago, I would have told you it was impossible. Now… I think,” she said slowly, “that we will become the gods.”

Nothing could be said to that.

I thought about her words for a time as we cooked in silence. The need for words in the kitchen had passed years ago; Ma only needed to gesture to communicate what to chop, roast, or fry. Occasionally, she hurried out to draw more water, leaving me in charge of whatever meal was being prepared. It wasn’t a calm environment, and the thoughts wiggling through my skull didn’t help, yet at the very least it was routine.

Eventually, the work died down and there was nothing more for me to do. I was idly wiping benches when Ma spoke again.

“There was something else.” She was watching some buns and asparagus steam. “Jackson told me the Bushwhack had been vandalised. Someone had written ‘bootlicker’ in faeces. He was thinking that it was the work of those squatters you associate yourself with. There’s no evidence, though. He was wondering if any of my customers were talking about doing such a thing. If I knew anything.” She adjusted the position of a bun. “Do I have anything to tell him?” she asked, tone carefully level.

I froze. Something was stuck in my throat. The desire to move, to run, to argue, to say something filled my limbs, yet the stillness gripping them was much more powerful. It felt like I was a mouse before an eagle. A child before a monster.

My mouth dried. I could still feel the spear’s resistance as it pushed through flesh.

“No.” I whispered.

She turned towards me, sighing at my denial, then stopped. I avoided her eyes. Slowly, she walked closer and knelt in front of me. Her hand covered mine, and distantly, I noticed that one of us was shaking.

“Orvi. I need you to listen.” She tilted her head to the side, interposing her eyes in front of my own. “Before you are anything else, you are my son.” Her voice broke, slightly. “My son. No matter what you say, I will believe you. And I will never, ever hurt you. Okay?”

I looked at her. Ma’s face was scrunched, more than usual. Her eyes seemed wet, strangely. I wonder if the steam had got in them.

“Okay.”

“Alright.” She stood. “I’ve prepared some of the lunch deliveries. Would you take them for me?”

I nodded, eager to get some distance from the past minute.

“Here,” she opened my pack on the floor – what was essentially a box with two straps – and packed six or seven small bowls inside. “It’s all packed. Do you know where to go?”

I nodded.

“Alright. Be back in time for dinner.”

I scampered out of the house, pushing past a customer at the door. Dash made some excuses as I ran down the street. Dust whipped me, and belatedly I realised it would be a windy day. I thought about going back and getting my poncho, but I would rather get dust in my eyes than go home.

My eyes were already watering anyway.