On the third night of the hellish week, they all started to feel the sweat start to build from within their armor. They were prisons, boxes they were stuffed in. They were forbidden from breaking out.

Anemone, in her life, had never been big on hygiene. She’d worn the same shirt for several days in the beast camps before she used only a bucket so scrub off the grime. In Dormoor, she bathed maybe once every three days. Yet at this exact moment, there was nothing Anemone wanted more than a bath.

Except maybe a good meal. She ate steak with the rest of her team, but the steak was thin, and they gave her no juice to go with it. Only water. Water that reminded her of baths. Damn this week.

Even Jaxton, who wore only a uniform, had lakes under his armpits with rivers stretching down midway to his chest. It bothered him naturally, though he understood the least of it. Anemone was in all black, so her days out in the sun amplified her body’s production of the horrible exuding moisture.

Despite the cruelty, Anemone was grateful they could at least sleep through the night in an air-conditioned room. They woke early every morning for Carter’s lectures, who seemed to ask more questions than he gave answers.

“In a moderately undermanned position fighting downhill, name the ideal unit percentages one must have to overturn the battle in your favor,” Carter had asked. Anemone had no clue how to answer. These needed logic to solve.

Jaxton raised his hand and answered quickly. “Thirty-to-forty percent archers. More-arrows-more-impact. The other percentage would preferably be infantry, as they will prolong the ranged attacks from the archers.”

Carter nodded with acceptance. He continued to ask more questions, ranging from requiring complex answers to more simple responses that Anemone couldn’t provide. She knew little of war.

In the afternoon, Kinler arrived and traded places with Carter, bringing them outside of Falcon Hill in the plains. They practiced in the sunlight. Even in the cool Autumn, the sun’s gaze melted.

After some training with the sword, they returned to their agency room for the night. Where, as they were doing now, studied.

Jaxton, Wing, and Anemone formed a group, sitting down along the back wall. Jaxton claimed he could understand his passage well enough, though he had some concerns. In return for Wing and Anemone’s passages, he promised to share his own.

The problem was that Anemone couldn’t read the language and decipher its uncanny wording and phrasing. So, they read the chapters.

They started with the first lines.

“‘The doctor plundered the two flowers of their seed, then cast it in a grim garden where few could sprout and fewer could shine.’” Jaxton read. “What do you think that means?”

“I have no clue,” Anemone blinked. She looked at the sentence again. “I don’t know how to read it.”

“Is the ‘doctor’ somebody you know? What about the flowers? Both are nouns, potential people in your life.”

“The seed from two flowers,” Wing lifted a finger. “Maybe that means parents?”

Jaxton nodded. “And plundered means roughly to steal. So the sentence would read, “‘The doctor stole the seed,’ you, ‘from her parents.’ Then the next part, ‘then cast in a grim garden where few could sprout and fewer could shine.’”

Anemone tilted her head. “Maybe that’s the beast camp,” she said.

“The beast camp?” Jaxton asked. “What’s that?”

“In Dork they take green-eyed babies and put them in a program. They labeled us as beasts, forcing our labor. Mostly outside of that, we fought each other.”

Wing lifted a brow but didn’t say anything.

“You fought each other? Like, brawls?”

“Duels,” Anemone explained. “We fought each other, all in hopes to be ‘Chosen,’ where the best fighter gets to repent for their sins.” She learned recently by expression alone where and when she had to clarify. “Our green eyes were what made us beasts. Devils are another word often thrown our way. It was odd to find out I wasn’t any of those when I left.”

Jaxton looked worried. “Was this most of your life?”

She nodded.

Jaxton frowned, though showed little pity. But there was a tad of sorrow there, like he understood. But how could he?

“Alright, let’s continue.”

And they moved on through the chapter. They went further and further on, though they got stuck on another sentence. “‘Two queens,’” Jaxton read, “‘joust for glory, the pinnacle of the world.’”

The word that made no sense to Anemone was “queens.”

“Any insight?” Jaxton grew impatient. “What does this mean? You fought another girl for the top spot?”

“Never,” Anemone said. “I was the only girl even near the top.”

Jaxton grinned, then laughed, falling on his back. “I knew it!”

Wing looked pleased, though more entertained than knowledgeable. He wasn’t one to speak or laugh or make remarks or… well, say anything.

“What is it?” Rown hollered from his desk. He had suffered the most in the past few days. He had a gallon of water by his desk, drinking, sometimes even pouring it down the creases of his armor.

It had been clear he was eavesdropping on them, though Anemone didn’t want to make note of it out loud.

“There are lies in our passages,” Jaxton said, flat on his back, staring into the ceiling.

Jakar started laughing methodically, sitting in the corner down the room to the left. “I thought it was only coincidence,” he said, standing up. He moved to join the group between Wing and Anemone. He thumbed through the book, searching for the group’s page. Tape was on his hand like a glove. How was he holding up through their restrictions? “I thought they just didn’t understand my backstory well enough to write it accurately.”

Jaxton sat up. “You’re joining us?”

“Of course,” Jakar said, hissing slightly with his s sounds. “I want to pass this test with the rest of you guys. I can read this language fluently, and barring bad transsslation from Carter, I memorized all of your parts. You just have to tell me the lies.”

Jaxton nodded. “Fair enough. Finish Anemone’s part for us.”

And so they did. Jakar translated the Elite Speak into standard Huish. “Is it Belch or Burp?” Jakar asked Anemone. Her old name, she had almost forgotten. How did they know so much about her? Had Ranun told the writer?

“Belch,” Anemone said.

Jakar continued. “Belch underwent surgery to gain power. That power is sought from the Lord. Priest tries to kill Belch.”

Anemone almost let that last sentence pass, boggled by how simple the translations sounded. Jakar could run through this book quick. “A cook tried to assassinate me, not a priest.”

Jaxton scribbled that down.

Jakar continued, finishing her story. Ending with, “The King named her Anemone.”

“Ranun named you?” Jaxton asked.

Anemone nodded. She kept her mouth sealed through his wish. “He saw my adoration for the flower between us and decided that was the perfect name. I loved it.”

And I still do, Anemone thought. If her name could be hugged, she’d embrace it and never let go.

Jakar nodded. “Your story is easy to remember. Off to the next one. Do you want your chapter shared next?” He looked to Wing.

The archer nodded, polite with all his being.

Jakar shared Wing’s story as efficiently as he did Anemone’s, waiting for Wing to stop him and let him know where the lies were.

Wing grew up in the tall forest. The food there apparently enhanced his natural abilities of sight and hearing. He was a hunter, climbing down from trees thousands of feet tall, scouting for prey, deer and bears, primarily. His marksmanship granted him scholarships, though his parents sold him to Soucrest instead.

“Do you hate your parents for what they did?” Jaxton asked, cutting Jakar off.

“No, it’s only natural. Parents raise their children like golden cattle. Before they turn seventeen, they can sell their children, either in marriage or in temporary work. I’m contractually obligated to serve Soucrest for five years.”

“I’ll skip that line then,” Jakar said, reading on in silence.

“You didn’t join on your own volition?” Jaxton asked.

Wing hesitated and looked up in thought. His smile straightened into a line and he looked down. “No, but I came to like it here, so all is good in that regard. My parents could have sold me for more somewhere worse. I can appreciate them for that.”

Jaxton frowned. He turned to Jakar, ready to continue.

“Wing said his goodbyes. First to his brother. Second to his father, third to his mother. Fourth to his best friend. Fifth and finally to his girlfriend.”

“There’s a lie,” Wing noted.

“Where?” Jakar asked. “Which one?”

“I never had a girlfriend,” Wing said.

Jaxton wrote that down, though Jakar didn’t look pleased. “No lies have gone on for more than one sentence. The next one says you were gifted a goodbye kiss.”

“Ohhhh,” Wing said. His smile arched back to its standard delighted expression. “I didn’t make myself clear. I’m gay.”

“You’re what?” Rown asked. His eavesdropping was obvious to everyone now.

Jaxton shivered slightly, looking at Wing. Jakar seemed indifferent to the revelation. And Anemone, she was only confused.

“What’s gay mean?” she asked.

“He likes boys,” Jakar said.

“And none of you are gay?” Anemone asked, looking back and forth between Jakar and Jaxton. They both shook their heads. “And so that means you don’t like each other?”

“What? That’s not at—” Jaxton paused. “Oh. You’re a little naïve, aren’t you? Wing dates men.” When nothing in Anemone’s face expressed understanding, he explained further. “… think of a mother and father. But instead of a mother, it’s two fathers. Yeah, that’s it. Two fathers. No mother.”

Anemone blinked. Ranun and Ranun…

“There’s no point,” Jakar said. “She’s still learning what most of the world even is. Shall we read my chapter now?”

Jaxton nodded though looked up toward Rown. “If you’re going to listen in on us, you might as well join us and share your story.”

Rown joined them without explaining himself. He seemed to enjoy being invited rather than inserting himself. Shy, almost like Anemone. He brought his gallon of water with him, of course.

Jakar shared his story, though he put more personality behind it than previously before. “I was a small lad born to rich parents in Avarich. My parents had it all, and so had I. Avarcian culture prioritizes wealth and family on the same level. As their son, I had a stake in their wealth.

“And as their ssson, I had a stake in their crimes. They were found guilty of severe fraud, causing three rival companies to collapse and enter bankruptcy. I can’t get into details I do not know, and neither does the book. The punishment for their crimes rewarded death.”

The listening agents swallowed simultaneously.

“I was twelve. I hadn’t even handled another man’s coin in my life. But I was handed the responsibility. The Market’s Court found my family guilty of first-degree sabotage. The sentencing was four deaths.

“My parents were hung. My father’s brother drew the winning—or losing, however you want to consider it—lottery ticket and was hung too. I, on the other hand, was exempted from hanging due to my age. They instead lowered me neck-down into boiling water, where I was burned and scarred—the next ssseverest punishment before death.”

“That’s why you wear the tape?” Jaxton asked.

Jakar nodded. “I still feel, but the tape makes it not itch. I would be in constant agony without it.”

They all drew in the story, and Jaxton wrote down the necessary details of the punishments, the uncle dying, and his parent’s business affairs. He let nothing that sounded significant slip through.

Anemone felt for him. He had it far worse than Anemone in that one moment than Anemone had in her entire childhood in the beast camps.

Jakar continued. He mentioned being recruited by an assassin. He speaks of his first kill and glosses over the next handful. His master taught him how to hold two swords at once. Then Jaxton learned how to hide among the shadows and pounce at his prey. What he mentioned next shocked the group.

“The book says I was hired to kill a king in the north, but that’s untrue. That’s my lie.”

“If not a king in the north, then where?” Rown asked. He leaned forward, hand on his knees.

“The south,” Jakar said to immediate hostility. Jaxton and Rown backed up. Suddenly, a chair creaked from the left side of the room. Burt, who had remained quiet, walked over. He unsheathed his sword and put the blade’s sharp edge to Jakar’s shoulder.

Blood seeped out, but Jakar looked at the group as if he hadn’t even noticed.

“A king in the south, huh?” Burt asked. “And which king would that be? Would it be… the Gleonish king? Or south as in… the King of Soucrest.”

“I was hired to kill Ranun,” Jakar nodded.

Anemone’s heart sank. The sword dug deeper to no emotion from Jakar. Burt’s face grimaced, and a part of him looked like he was going to saw Jakar’s arm off.

“The king killed my master during our attempt. I was just a fourteen-year-old brat, and Ranun found pity in me. Part of me thinks he only left me alive because his wife was present.”

“I’ll kill you!” Burt spat. “You don’t speak about the Great King that way!”

Jakar hissed. “Do you want to kill me because I insulted your dear king? Or do you want to kill me because I know what your passage says about you? So far, each passage only has one lie. I don’t think your chapter has anything redeeming with that mind, where one lie—even two—wouldn’t make up for everything else you’ve done. Did you really—”

Burt raised his sword and sheathed it. He retreated to his seat without a word, sitting down as if the whole ordeal hadn’t happened.

Jakar smiled to everyone’s dismay. “Now, now, everyone. I’ve reformed. You think they would have let me in here if I wasn’t?”

There was an air of skepticism in the room. Anemone knew that she’d ask Ranun about this the next time she saw him. For now, she just wanted to finish this chapter.

Maybe even yet, move onto Burt’s…

“That is my chapter,” Jakar said. He looked at Jaxton’s notes. “You haven’t written much of that down. Sure you don’t want to double-check?”

Jaxton scribed the notes down, keeping an eye on Jakar throughout.

“What’s next?” Rown asked. His eyes were as curious as Anemone’s. Jaxton too, glimmered at the idea of reading Burt’s chapter. It became evidently clear they all flipped to his chapter.

“No,” Jakar shut them down. “I do not tattle. If you want to understand Burt, ask him or read the chapter for yourself and make your assumptions and best guesses. Don’t look at me.”

Defeated, nobody wanted to read another page. They needed their rest for tomorrow morning. Carter caught Jakar sleeping yesterday, then forced him to answer six straight questions, ridiculing him for each one he got wrong. Jakar got through it, but Anemone knew he would slack again.

With that, they concluded for the night, finding their sleeping spots throughout the room.