Hold Lord Brandish slowed his horse as he entered the clearing. He signaled to his men, and they fanned around him, moving to encircle the wooden shack that lay in the center. Once his men were in place, he dismounted, securing the reins of his black steed to a small tree. He closed his eyes and steadied his thoughts. His horse snorted, Brandish imagining it as disgust. Every day he lost a small part of who he was. Today, he would forfeit a monstrous amount.

It was the deal Brandish must break that hurt. The boy had accomplished more than expected and yet, it was for naught. Deep down, he had known it would come to this. The numbers were always against the agreement. The land was stacked against hope, destroying wants and replacing them with what must be. This day would add to his hatred of himself.

Brandish moved slowly, wishing something would change in the time it took to reach the home. Nothing would. Wishes being useless for a Hold Lord. His men were set back near the edge of the clearing as instructed. Far enough to be ignored, close enough to assist if it became necessary. He would prefer his men not bear witness, allowing them to keep a portion of their souls intact. It was his hell and sharing it would be cowardly.

As a kindness, the Hold Lord knocked on the door which was poorly hung on hemp hinges. The respect was a feeble offering. Entering was foregone.

The door opened slowly. Brandish respectively bowed his head, another useless gesture. His self-hatred blossomed when he saw her face.

"Lord Brandish," Joycelyn said. She opened the door wide and stepped aside to allow him to enter. "Cory and the twins are away gathering supplies. I wasn't expecting anyone, but I can make some tea."

Brandish hesitated before he entered. His task weighed heavy on him, slowing his thinking and his movements. He could see apprehension forming in Joyceln's eyes. "Tea would be welcome," he said. Stalling was weakness. Still, it was preferable to speed.

Joycelyn's movements were uncomfortable as she stepped toward the tiny hearth. It looked as though her muscles were uncertain as to which direction to move. It hurt to watch, but Brandish forced his eyes forward, giving her all of his attention.

She suspected. No, she knew.

Joycelyn dipped a pot into a barrel, filling it with water, then placed it on the coals to heat, the wet sizzling off of it. She kept her back to him, putting her hand on the wall, supporting a newfound weakness in her legs.

"Will I have time to finish the tea?" Joycelyn asked. Her speech was halting as if it were dragged out forcibly.

"Aye," Brandish replied. He sat down at a makeshift table, nothing but crates with a board placed across. His chair, another crate with a folded blanket atop. He refused to allow himself to consider the hovel as anything but a castle. Joycelyn turned. Her stature was stoic, though her red eyes forecasted her knowledge.

"My children?" Joycelyn asked with a mother's bravery.

"I have sent someone I trust to your husband. They will not return here," Brandish said. She deserved what truth he could offer.

"By not return...do you mean..." Joycelyn stuttered. A tear ran down her cheek.

"They will be told to go north," Brandish said as quickly as possible. "I have provided some coin and do not wish to know their destination." Joycelyn's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"The boy? He has failed?"

"Nay. Still, he defies the odds." Brandish placed his hands in his lap, mostly to give them something to do. Guilt bred awkwardness. "It is the witness they seek now."

Joycelyn raised her wrist displaying the scar to herself. She ran her fingers across the surface of it. "I was a fool to think I could escape the curse." A weak smile formed. "It was a good dream. Too short, and yet it is my forever." She looked up at Brandish. "My children are beautiful, and Cory loved me."

"Loves you," Brandish corrected.

"Aye," Joycelyn agreed, her tears did not match the smile that grew from the thought.

"They have already killed three looking for you. The whole of the south will be fodder if it isn't ended." Brandish wanted her to understand. He wanted her to know it wasn't a choice. He could live without forgiveness, but not without her knowing it was unavoidable.

"The game of numbers," Joycelyn said, repeating the High Lords words from the first time they met. "I don't wish others to die in my stead." She hugged herself. "I fear it though. Mayhap, it is the pain. Mostly, never seeing my children again."

"There will be no pain," Brandish said. He reached into his cloak and produced a small vile. "I have been promised this will invoke deep sleep. In quantity, you will not wake." He placed the vile on the table. A bottle of peaceful death. Better than a sword.

"I thank you for that," Joycelyn whispered. It was a like a knife had been thrust into Brandish's belly. She was thanking him for killing her nicely. Where was the hatred he deserved? The end should be fought tooth and nail. The bringer of death should be met with venom, scarred with words if not claws.

"I did not want to come. I did not want this," Brandish said. His clenched his jaw trying to maintain control over his emotions.

"Then why do you do their bidding?" Joycelyn asked. A simple question with an obvious answer. Because he had too. Because disobedience meant the end of forever. Brandish tilted his head, examining Joycelyn's face. She wanted the whole truth. It would give her no solace, yet he owed it to her.

"Do you really wish to know?" Brandish asked. Joycelyn nodded. He looked away, closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When he looked back, she was still waiting. He smiled. Maybe a little revolt was in order. It wasn't as if the secrets would leave the shack. "Over tea, I will tell why, my lady." Joycelyn's eyes widened at the honorific spoken with such sincerity. The lady turned to prepare the brew.

Joycelyn sipped her tea as Brandish spoke. He told her what he knew. All of it, leaving nothing out. All of the horror, and his part in it. His father's part, and his father's father before him. It was evil with a purpose, intelligently rationalized and rewrapped as good. Brandish didn't short his opinion, nor did he hide his complicity. Joycelyn's face turned pale as he told her the secrets few knew.

"You know what I know," Brandish said when he was done. He could see he was right. It brought no solace.

"The boy never had a chance," Joycelyn said, the words lengthening like it was a revelation. "None of us have a chance. We will never be more than we are." Her eyes dropped to the table. "My children have no future beyond what they are given."

"And they are given little," Brandish added. "I can only try to lengthen what lives my people have."

"Your game of numbers is flawed," Joycelyn said, her head rising. "You manage your subjects like cattle, culling the herd and quelching guilt by claiming less have died." The truth had brought out anger. Brandish relished it. This is how she should be, hating him as much as he hated himself. "In time everlasting, are any remembered? Those who did die and those who didn't are both forgotten. But you will not be forgotten, will you?"

"Nay," Brandish said. "And nor can I stop it. Do you fault me for my choices?"

"It is not a choice," Joycelyn said, waving away Brandish's question. "Kelton truly saved my daughter. That much I know now. She will live in ignorance, hopefully cherishing her children as I do her." She shook her head and pointed at Brandish. "Do you fault me for hating them, for hating you?"

"Nay." Brandish wondered why he thought he would prefer her hatred. The truth had erased her reservations along with the fear. It sharpened her anger to a fine point, and she stabbed with it. He was surprised when she grabbed the vial. Removing the stopper, she emptied the contents into what was left of her tea.

"I will drink this only with your promise," Joycelyn demanded. "If not, I will die screaming on your sword and bleeding all over what's left of your soul, if you have not lost it already." It wasn't an idle threat. She had divined his weakness and thrust it back at him. She wouldn't let him rationalize her death away, not without concession. She was going to make her death costly, one way or another. The woman would not be trivialized, no matter the structure of the world.

"What do you ask of me?"

"I know my Cory," Joycelyn said, jabbing the cup toward Brandish, the contents slushing inside. "When the children are well situated, he will come for you. When he comes, you will..." She stuttered as her eyes began to flood. "You will tell him I said not too. You will tell him he and our children are my everything and I wish them to live." She wiped her eyes. "If he does not listen, you will make it honorable. Just you. None of your soldiers." He closed his eyes and dipped his head.

"I swear it." When Brandish opened his eyes, Joycelyn placed the cup to her lips and drained the contents into her mouth.

"I took everything from him," Joycelyn admitted. "I shoved the respect he had earned to the side and cursed his life with mine. Now, I don't have the time to pay him back." Joycelyn's eyes drooped, and she chuckled. "Not that I ever could..." The last words slurred. Brandish knocked the table out of the way to catch her falling body. Cory's name faded with her last breath. She died quickly in his arms.

"My lady, for this I must apologize." Brandish laid her down on the ground and unsheathed his sword. He lined the tip of the blade with her belly. Closing his eyes, he drove it up under the rib cage, into her still heart. He retracted the blade, then opened his eyes. Blood was draining from the wound as he dragged the blade along her face. He repeated the process, adding visible wounds all over her body. Her death must look painful to placate the Brethren and deter others.

Brandish stood and looked at the ugliness he had created. It was then he noticed the tears running down his cheeks.

"As you guessed, my lady, I still have a tiny part of my soul." Brandish paused, then decided he would keep what he had left, no matter the cost. "If your man comes, I will remind him of your love. If he persists, I will bear my chest to him, for he is a better man than I."