Kid climbed the stairs from the dungeon for the twentieth time in the past two hours. The guards were only half kidding. Near a dozen times, grasping hands covered in weeping cuts and sores reached out for him through the grates in the door. He’d had to strike them with a torch from the walls to keep them at bay. The pungent stench of burned flesh still filled his nostrils. Kid shuddered at the thought. However, the pained screams and curses were nothing compared to the face of the man he was looking for. Kid had nearly screamed when what was left of the man emerged from the darkness. He had no nose. No ears. No lips. Only seared, blackened skin remained to hint at where they had once been. It gave his face a ghoulish, skeletal look but that was nothing compared to the rising hope in his comrade’s eyes when Kid showed him the seal. Whatever was in the letter crushed that hope into the deepest of despairs. Kid knew then that he was looking at a dead man. Kid showed him Marc’s signet for proof and burned the letter after as he was instructed. It wasn’t as if he could read it anyways. The man in the cell faded back into darkness as if he were never there. Kid wished that were true. The image of the man’s face was seared into his memory. Kid licked his lips as he emerged into the hall. The guards had long since begun to ignore his comings and goings. Kid passed them without a word. All he had to do now was survive the night. How hard could that be? He wandered back into the kitchen, hoping to fade into the background and sneak some food when nobody was looking. The staff bustled about him while he kept his head down, making his small profile even less noticeable. He eased into the corner by the vat of slop, out of sight and out of mind. In all the chaotic tumult, nobody so much as glanced toward him. That suited Kid just fine. He soon lost track of time as the minutes slipped by. The cooks were far too busy to take notice of him and periodically, he would swipe a handful of small, though delicious pastries. All told, this was one of his less horrible evenings ever. He caught sight of Hilda standing in the doorway. She carried a jug of wine and as he looked to her, they locked eyes. Her gaze conveyed a distinct message of “Get the fuck over here.” Kid scampered across the room and ducked through the doorway. Billy was there too, standing with his arms crossed. He kept swiveling his head down either hall, as if the guard would come charging at any minute. Hilda leaned in close to him. “We need to make a quick plan to get you into the dungeon. I saw the guards and-” Kid cut her off. “I already did it.” She blinked. “You what?” “I delivered it. It’s done.” Hilda just stared at him. Billy cackled. “And you didn’t want to bring him. Divines. The boy did all the damn work for us. Shite. I gotta get back outside or somebody will miss me.” Billy turned and walked down the hall. Kid watched him go while Hilda stared at him in bewilderment. “You’re telling me that I came here just to spend an entire night serving and being felt up by these southern whoresons? How the hell did you do it?” Kid crossed his arms. “Maybe I crawled through the kitchen stove. I hear that’s what expendable people do.” Hilda narrowed her eyes at him. Her gaze flicked over his shoulder and she turned from Kid, walking with haste down the corridor. Kid cocked his head at her as she hurried away, then a hand grabbed his shoulder. It spun him around and he found himself face to face with Grela, the woman who had greeted them outside, or as Winson affectionately called her- that bitch. Kid swallowed as her eyes burrowed into him. “What are you doing?” Kid pretended to cough to give himself a moment to think. “Nothing.” It was still the best he could come up with. The urge to fall dead on the spot was overwhelming but his prayers went unanswered. Grela grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into the kitchen. “You’re lucky I have a use for you or I’d give you a flogging to beat the laziness out of your bones. She pushed him forward and he fell against a crate full of wine. Kid gasped for air and rubbed at his throat. Grela pulled a full jug from the crate and deposited it into his hands. He had to fight the urge to wince as his burns flared. She pointed to the door. “I need you to take this to the Marshal. He sent one of his guards for more wine and god forbid the man carry it back himself.” Kid paled. “I- I thought you didn’t want me serving?” “I don’t. But I’m shorthanded as it is and he probably won’t bend you over a table for fifteen minutes. He’s in back end study. Go down the hall to the end, make a right and it’ll be the fourth door on your left.” She turned and left Kid holding the jug of wine. Did she say probably? Kid swallowed and followed her directions, exiting the kitchen. He walked the long, gilded hall until the very end. The glass windows were pitch black. Night had fallen in earnest. He had to resist the urge to touch the glass panes. It was rare that he was allowed so close to anything this fragile or expensive. Kid followed Grela’s directions to the study door. It was guarded by a southern guard bedecked in a coat of shining, bronze plates. He eyed Kid as he approached, placing his hands on the hilt of his sword. Kid halted a good ten paces from the man. “Wine for the Marshall.” The man knocked twice on the door then nodded for Kid to enter. As Kid neared the door he stared at the strange bronze knob protruding from the wood. Where was the latch? Seeing no obvious apparatus to open it, he touched the knob. It twisted at his touch. Kid committed himself to his hunch and twisted it further. A click sounded and the door opened before him. Kid shifted his gaze from the strange, yet fascinating latch to the room. His eyes widened as they met the grey eyes of the Earl. It took a conscious effort to keep his legs from shaking. His first instinct was to run but that would just end in a quick trip to the gallows. The man’s eyes weighed on him like an oppressive weight. There was no chance the Earl didn’t recognize him. “Are you going to go inside or stand there like an idiot?” the guard asked. Kid started. He had been standing there like an idiot. He made his decision and scurried inside. The Earl’s eyes followed him as he walked to the table. The gnawing fear in the back of his mind welled up as he drew closer to the man. Each step he took was the hardest step he had ever taken. He averted his eyes from the Earl, unable to even look at him any longer. Instead, he looked to the Marshall. His eyes were no kinder and his was the face of the empire who had made his life such a hell. The image of the faceless man in the dungeon flashed through his mind. Kid looked at the floor. It took every ounce of will he had to keep his voice steady. “Wine your grace.” He placed the jug on the table between the two men. The Marshal nodded curtly. “Get out boy. I have things to discuss.” Kid tried to bow while backpedaling and stumbled in his haste to leave. He mumbled apologies and rushed to the door. Behind him the Earl spoke. “Excuse me. The Privy calls.” Kid’s spine went cold as he crossed the threshold into the hall. The Earl’s chair skidded against the hardwood behind him, followed by thumping footsteps. Kid quickened his pace. As soon as he rounded the corner of the hall to the kitchen he broke out into a run. He didn’t make it two paces before his collar snapped tight aroung his throat. A strong arm pulled him from his feet and hauled him backwards. The Earl dragged him into the closest room. The door closed with a sense of finality. Kid struggled in the man’s grip, scraping his feet against the floor while he struggled for breath. Rodger Thorne tossed him to the floor. Kid scrabbled backwards, knocking over a set of chairs that crashed into the nearby table. His back grew suddenly hot and he stopped. Kid glanced over his shoulder and realized he’d almost ran head first into the hearth. The Earl followed him across the room and looking into the man’s eyes Kid considered making the plunge. Kid struggled to maintain his breathing as the imposing man towered over him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Rodger Thorne knelt over him and Kid’s breath caught. The man uttered one word. “Talk.” Kid shook his head. The Earl leaned closer. “Boy, don’t make me do something you’ll regret.” Kid kept his silence more because he was too scared to talk than any desire to keep Marc’s secrets. The Earl grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head backwards. the heat behind him intensified as he was inexorably driven toward the fire. Kid flailed against the man, hitting his arm and trying anything to ease the iron vise around his throat. The discomfort at his back became pain. Tears streamed from his eyes. Then, it stopped. The Earl pulled him away from the fire. “I won’t ask again.” Kid coughed as his throat throbbed. Blood pulsed through his temple so loud he could hear it. He worked his mouth, trying to find his voice through the pain and overwhelming sense of terror. With the flames at his back and the difficulty he had breathing, his mind flashed back to the vents of Bleakridge. His hands burned and he couldn’t tell if it were his imagination or real. The Earl seemed more patient this time, only staring at Kid with eyes as dispassionate as their color. “Letter,” he managed to get out between breaths. The Earl waited. “To a prisoner.” Kid panted. “Don’t know what’s in it.” The Earl stared hard at him. “Did you succeed?” Kid nodded. The Earl reached into the pocket of his jacket and flipped a golden Hart into Kid’s hands. “Don’t run next time.” The Earl rose to his feet and turned away from Kid, walking to the door as if nothing happened. Kid managed to get his breathing under control and he staggered to his feet, still wary. As the Earl opened the door back up Kid edged closer to it himself. The Earl walked through it then his head whipped to the left. His eyes went wide and his hands sprang into the air. He was too slow. Kid stared dumbstruck as a vase crashed into the Earl’s head with a deafening crash. Kid winced as porcelain fragments clattered to the ground along with the Earl. Billy rushed around the corner and grabbed Kid by the arm. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” As the man dragged Kid down the hall he stared behind them in horror. Streams of blood ran down the Earl’s face as he struggled to his feet. “Why? Dear god. Why did you do that? He was letting me go.” Billy pulled him into the kitchen. “Well, shite.” He shoved a serving girl out of the way and she fell to the floor with a scream followed by the shattering of more porcelain. Billy didn’t pause or give her a second look. He ignored the angry shouts and kept walking. “Nothing for it now. It’s time to go. Hilda’s gettin the cart.” They rushed through the door and emerged into the cold night. Kid felt safer in the darkness. He retraced his steps from earlier in the night back to the cart they came in on. He expected guards to come charging from the house at any minute but the night was quiet. The only noise being the sound of distant music and laughter. He could see Hilda now. She sat in the driver’s seat, wiping her hand against the inside of her jacket. Kid watched the cart so intently he almost tripped. He looked down at what had hindered him. Grela lay at his feet, throat slashed and lifeless eyes staring at the sky. Kid used her corpse to help him step into the back of the cart. “Billy toss her in the back. The less evidence we leave behind, the better.” Billy sighed and heaved the corpse into the back of the cart next to Kid. Hilda whipped the reins, setting the cart into motion as soon as Billy climbed up. Kid helped Billy pull Grela’s corpse into a corner and cover it with the tarp from the wine crates. As the cart clattered around the outskirts of the manse, Kid waited for the alarm to sound, for the distant gates to slam shut. Nothing happened. They made it to the gardens without incident. “Calm down boy, ye look ye just killed somebody.” Kid unclamped his hand from the edge of the cart and focused on keeping his breathing even. He looked to Billy, noting the kitchen knife he had clasped his hand. Kid didn’t even notice him swipe it. “I can’t believe you hit the Earl in the head with a vase.” Billy chuckled. “Been wanting to do that for years. This is the best job I’ve ever had.” Hilda turned her head to look at them, brow furrowed. “That’s what you meant when you said you’d handle it? Have you lost your fucking mind?” “Of course. Why else would I be here?” Hilda closed her eyes, let out a deep breath and turned back to the road. The garden seemed to go on forever. Kid fought the urge to wring his hands. The wrought iron gate appeared in the dark, still open. The cart passed with only a cursory glance from the guards. Kid exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. They followed the paved road to the outer wall. Campfires from either side of the trail illuminated their path. The Greencloaks huddled by them passed jugs of wine around the fires. Laughter was heavy in the air, completely at odds with Kid’s mood. The road felt longer than he remembered it being. The guards at the gate had clearly long since cracked into the crate of wine appropriated from their cart. However, the officer who had stopped them earlier still stood by the entrance. As the cart neared, he smiled at them and waved the cart through without a second glance. Kid stared, trying to keep the disbelief from his face. Once they were out of earshot he asked, “Why didn’t he stop us?” “Lucky for you idiots, nobody cares who leaves a party, only who comes in.” Hilda flicked the reins and the horses sped up to a canter. Kid leaned against the edge of the cart, letting the waves of relief wash over him.