I make it home just in time for supper. My family is gathered at the table, subdued as typical of late.

I walk in with wet hair frozen to my scalp. My limbs are numb, my heart is frozen.

"Thane! What happened to you?" my mother, the lady Kaimi, daughter to the recently-deceased Lord Arim of the First House, exclaims in horror, her concern for her eldest son obvious.

"Nothing, mother. I had something I needed to do, that's all," I offer the excuse I prepared on my walk home. 'Ask those who need to tell you the truth...' it makes no sense and absolute sense all at once.

I had signed off on the death warrant of my own Fated. I knew she was to be executed. I knew that she was young, just sixteen, when she was put on trial for treason against the First House. Never before had a child of such a young age been tried for treason. Gods, she would be seventeen now, wouldn't she? What would I have gotten for her birthday? Would I have finally found the courage to bring her home, the little Acera female, to my House?

It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I ask myself. The old gypsy woman in the desert was right, who would believe a child so young could do those things? How did I believe it?

My grandfather, Arim,... he was my idol. He was the one who told me how Parijan had betrayed us. She was planning on selling our secrets to other Houses. It sounds ridiculous.

The wooden handle of the knife in my hand cracks in my hand. I look at it absently.

"Thane?" Anthea's gentle hand on my arm pulls me from my stupor. "Are you all right?"

"I am," I lie, gently shedding her touch. I am too tainted for her pretty, manicured hands to touch. I can scent the sacred pool waters in my nostrils, still, and can't help but imagine that it smells of my true Fated's blood.

The vision flashes in my mind. Her beautiful eyes, unfathomably dark, holding the secrets of the gods. Then, nothing, life drained from her broken corpse.

Choking, I stand, ignoring Anthea's struggles to her own feet next to me. For once I don't help her rise, and she is clumsy with my first child heavy in her. My first son... with a Choice bonded.

I never approved the vicious imprisonment in the dungeon or the interrogation of my Fated. Who else knew about her arrest and could have given such horrifying orders?

My father, definitely. One of my brothers, maybe. Anthea's father? A possibility.

"Thane!" his mother's voice cuts through his thoughts.

I look at her. She has his eyes. My grandfather. He would have done it. My grandfather, who has been rejected by Death.

For the first time in months, I acknowledge the truth. My true Fated was murdered. That delicate child in the dungeon was not guilty of anything more than being unlucky enough to be paired with me.

"Excuse me, mother," I step backward, scraping my chair on the floor with a loud screech, "I must go."

Ignoring the protests of my family, I stride from the room to the private study of the Lords of the First House.

"Thane?" my father's exhausted countenance greets me. I hadn't even realized that he wasn't with us at dinner.

"She was beaten and whipped before she was stabbed to death."

My father blinks at me in astonishment. Slowly, he shuts the book he is holding in his hands. No surprise shows on his face.

"Did you order it?" I ask him.

My father shakes his head, "no. It was your grandfather, but I did nothing to stop it. I thought they would scare a confession from the girl, but then she," he swallows hard, "died. The night guard says she died that evening."

"Who is the night guard?" I ask desperately.

My father's eyes narrow on me. "Why?"

"Is he a big man? A Northerner?" I ask, remembering the blond hair.

"I can't remember, son," my father replies.

I nod. Most likely the murderer, and I have no way of knowing if he is a mercenary from another House of one of my own. Gods, what do I do, now?

"You, ah, said she was beaten and whipped. How do you know that, Thane?"

"I went to the temple of the dead today, father."

Silence reigns. "You went to Death himself, son. Why?" my father asks in a hushed voice.

I look at him sharply, running my hands through my hair in agitation, "you know why."

"The Death god always asks too much," Everard says in agitation. "He is too powerful. He has no House. There is nothing that we can offer to barter with him."

"He has rejected grandfather's soul. Grandfather... did he lie to me about Parijan? Did he make up all those accusations against her?" I ask bluntly.

Father shakes his head in despair. "I should have known it was your grandfather. He was always so concerned that you would turn from Anthea and become enamored with that little girl."

My mouth twists. "I didn't know he knew of my Fated."

"It was fairly obvious, son. You were in love with that child," my father looks green. He is quiet for just a heartbeat, then he speaks again. "Arim of the First was never a gentle man. I hate to speak ill of your mother's father, but... he was too proud. I love this House, as does your mother, as do you, but Arim was... obsessed with the status of this family. I very nearly was rejected by your mother, did you know?"

I look at my father, startled. "How?"

"I am the second son of the House of the Mother. Not a First. It was a hard bargain my father struck with Arim. He had to press the issue, show your grandfather that it was better to have a second son bonded to his only child. Then, Kaimi could continue to rule the House and Arim's bloodline continues with you."

"I thought you and grandfather were great friends," I say quietly.

"He was thrilled when your mother had three sons. That was when he softened toward me."

I never knew this, although I suppose that's normal. Do we ever know all of our parents' secrets?

"Parijan of the Fifth House was not good enough for your grandfather. He preferred you Bond to Anthea."

"She is... was nothing like Anthea." My beast stirs, blinks glowing red eyes at me before curling up again.

"No, no she wasn't, was she?" Father muses thoughtfully. "Still, the Death god, Thane... We should ask Love what we should do. She is the goddess for your Fated. Do no go to Death again. This is a serious matter, son."

I nod. Reparations. A price.

I walk from the room in stunned silence. Grandfather knew that she was my Fated and had her tortured and killed. She was innocent. He lied to me. What do I do? The entire House is being punished for my foolish trust in Arim of the First.

"Thane!" my mother rushes up to me with an ashen face. "Anthea has gone to her bed. The babe is coming."

---

I stare at the wailing newborn in the nurse's arms. I shake my head, refusing to hold him when the female offers my son to me.

The wails of the newborn hurt my ears. Head pounding, I leave the room without asking after Anthea or my new son.

My feet carry me down, into the depths of the palace. Deep under the beautifully appointed rooms above I enter the dungeons.

The cell where my Fated died is empty. Nothing remains to show that she was ever imprisoned here. Not a hint of a scent, or a speck of blood, remains.

Placing my palm on the ground I desperately search for some sign that Parijan of the Fifth House was here. It smells of clear wax, the cleaning solution of the Death Temple.

Someone cleaned her cell. I know that no one ever cleans the dungeon. Part of the horror for the prisoners is the bits and pieces left behind by the poor souls who went before them.

The stone is ice cold beneath my warm palm. My beast stretches and I shift, letting the animal out to sniff around. He barely fits into the space.

Nothing.

There is nothing in the cell, nothing in the hallway where she lost her life. Parijan is gone.

I shift back to feet and walk, nude and shivering, back upstairs. Mother starts sobbing when she sees me enter the opulent hallways of the private family quarters. I walk past her, ignoring her, not listening to her questions.

I lie down on the bed in the guest quarters and stare at the ceiling. Father is right, I should go the the Fifth House and try to get some answers. I need to know, with absolute certainty, if Parijan was innocent of any plot against me.

My baby is still screaming.

---

He is Damned

I ignore my father's voice. Instead of acknowledging his words, I continue to scrub at his stone feet briskly.

Entomb him as a Forgotten One

"I do not know what that means," I snap at him.

A chuckle is my response. The sound reverberating in my chest. I heave a sigh and scowl, tossing the rag aside. Harku issues a scolding noise and picks it up with a sniff before waddling off. This temple is his domain, I've learned. Nothing makes him happier than cleaning it until it's spotless.

"Fine. I will hope that Patriarch knows what you mean. I am not happy, father. I don't like that House. I want nothing to do with them."

Daughter

I fall silent. I know a reprimand when I hear one... even if I'm not really hearing it in the conventional sense. I am Lady Grief, so I need to stop pouting and do my duty.

Which, apparently, is entombing Arim of the First as 'a Forgotten One,' whatever that means.

The bells I hear a moment later are merry. It's a happy announcement. I smile to myself. They are a pretty noise.

I see one of the postites and hurry to catch up with him. "Postite! Antin!" I rush after him.

"Mara," Postite Antin immediately scolds me, "you must be careful running through the hallways."

I roll my eyes and he grins. Many of the postite's treat me as if I am spun glass, delicate and breakable. "What is happening?"

His smile wavers a little. "Thane of the First House has announced that his bonded has borne him a son."

It still hurts, even now.

---

It's cold in the barren, lifeless desert. At night the heat is leached from the earth, the sand cold under toes as it sifts into my sandals. I hate being cold. It reminds me of that terrible night when I thought I would never be warm again. That night when the gods turned their backs on me before Death's chill touched me, changed me. My fingers trace the scars on my wrists. The bracelets of shredded flesh in thick, smooth white scars are a reminder of my suffering.

Patriarch explained what a Forgotten burial is. It is truly a nightmare come to life.

I shiver. The fires are always lit in the temple. Even in my private temple the sacred pool is warmed with flames underneath. I imagine that it is for me, because I overheard Brother Salbin talking about the increases in our wood supply and what it costs.

I fold my hands in my robes and watch the heavy, solid door open to the stone cairn. It's a gaping, toothless maw with deep shadows hidden from the light of flickering torches.

"Let us inspect the tomb," I order quietly.

Four Recondites, Warriors of the gods, enter the stone maw. They array themselves with their backs to the corners, facing inward. Their faces emotionless and eyes cold. They are here for me, so I'm told, to protect me against anyone and anything that would harm me out here in the sands. They are more frightening than the dead, in my opinion. Thankfully, I don't see either of the two males from the hedgerow incident. That would be an unwelcome distraction on an uneasy night.

I walk in next to examine the tomb. Every stone must be fitted perfectly. Running my fingertips along the walls I feel for any significant divets in the walls, the ceiling, even the floor. I search for anything that can be clung to by the fingers of the dead. A desperate soul, a corpse will seek nothing more than escape.

When I am satisfied with the construction of the tomb I take a deep breath, "Bring in the body."

Two postites carry in the body. It smells rotten, but, being winter, the days-old corpse isn't too rank. I don't want to see it, but I must do my duty to Nateos and the city. This is my first real burial, in fact, and Patriarch Rimon told me that I was the one who had to perform this ceremony.

They settle the corpse on the stone slab in the center of the tomb. I can feel the air in the tomb shift, a distinct chill that is brought not by the wind, but my father, Death, who is anticipating the battle that will take place in this cold, barren prison.

"Chain it," I order.

Heavy chains of silver and iron are wrapped around the body and into the links hammered into the stone floor. They cling to the foundation, sunk in half a man deep, all six of them. Each chain is secured so that the body can not move even a fraction once they are tightened. Special attention is paid to the hands and feet. Those extremities are tightly wrapped. Lastly, a metal chain is placed in the mouth, holding open the jaw to prevent biting.

I step forward when the body is secure. The metal spike in my hand and the little sickle shape hammer are damp from my sweaty palms.

I place the spike over the heart of the body and slam the hammer down. Over and over I strike, ignoring the bile that rises as the metal sinks lower into the dead flesh, hitting bone and muscle along the way. The sounds it makes is more than I think I can bear. To keep my own sanity I recite my prayers to Nateos in my head.

I will ask him to relieve the First House of their curse, if only to prevent this from becoming a standard necessity for every death of that blasted House.

Finally the spike strikes stone. Three more blows and my job is finished.

Stepping back, I accept the clean white cloth from one of the postites and wipe my hands and face clean of anything that flew back onto me.

"Seal the tomb," I whisper.

We all leave the corpse in the depths of darkness. The door is hauled back into place by the four Recondites. As soon as the heavy stone falls into place, postites move forward with sand and mortar to seal the door closed, hopefully forever.

And so Thane's grandfather is sealed into eternal perfidy. Not in the holy tomb of the First House, surrounded by his ancestors and family, but here. In this lonely cairn where the soulless damned are entombed to prevent their rise from the dead.

"Will it hold, Patriarch?" I whisper.

"If Nateos has his way, then this House will not haunt any longer, Mara," Patriarch Rimon gives me a wan smile. It is his third unholy burial since becoming Patriarch. He told me earlier that each is a dagger to his heart and lives on in his nightmares.

I close my eyes to gather strength. It is not the gruesome burial rite that haunts us, but the thought of what will happen if we have made a mistake. The Forgotten must stay buried, for they can't truly die unless Nateos accepts them into the Underworld. Patriarch was very, very clear on the dangers of letting one escape.

"Come, Mara. We must return to the temple and away from this place."

I slip my hand into Rimons. His fingers tremble. He is aging in front of my eyes. I squeeze and offer him a smile. "Go home, Patriarch. I must stay to watch the sealing. I don't trust this House."

My eyes flit to the soldiers of the First House that are here to witness the burial. They are not family, not mourners. They are just guards. Family and loved ones are not allowed to attend unholy ceremonies. We don't want them to watch us mutilate and chain the bodies of their damned.

It is surreal to see the cloaks and tattoos of the First House. I think there will always be a part of me that quakes in revulsion and fear that they will hurt me again.

But they do not recognize me. I don't think my own mother would recognize me, though I can't exactly walk up to her to test that theory. Parijan of the Fifth House is a condemned traitor. Better that everyone believe she died and is rotting away in her own grave.