28^th day of the Turn of Maeana, 4987

 

A chill wind blew through the streets of Orcwatch, whipping up the first flakes of snow that had reached the cold cobblestone streets, shuffling them along, and tucking them into every corner and cranny it could find. The sky to the distant east remained bright and clear as of yet, with rays of the crisp, Winter sun shining onto the highlands below, but the imminent storm turned most of the heavens gray.

Shivering against the blasted cold, Everett pulled the soft wolfpelt collar of his overcoat tighter around his neck. Staring up at the snow-laden clouds as he walked, the already present scowl on his face deepened. With a bitterness matching the icy wind licking his exposed ears, he mumbled, “Blast you, Greya.”

The Goddess of Winter was not earning his appreciation today.

A voice, cracking under the burden of mid-adolescence, said, “Pardon?”

Everett pulled his gaze from the sky and glanced at the tall boy striding beside him. A year younger than Everett, Alpert Hyde had straight, blond hair framing a set of awkward facial features that were caught between boy and man. Currently, Alpert gawked at Everett with an expression of open curiosity as he loped along the street, freely swinging arms and legs that seemed much too long for his body. Even though his companion looked ridiculous most of the time, however, Everett had found that he could tolerate the company of the son of a local baron. Alpert was an agreeable sort, proven by the fact that over a year had passed and Everett had yet to lash out at the boy.

Keeping the frown etched on his face, Everett shook his head and replied, “No matter, Alpert. Let’s hurry before the storm gets here.”

Alpert stole a glance at the threatening clouds. “That looks like a short squall at best. Nothing more than a dusting, I suspect. Perhaps a light covering.”

Pointing to a flurry of flakes swirling against the doors of a baker’s shop, Everett said, “That is too much snow for my taste, Alpert. Much more than that, and I am back inside the Regent’s House. There is a nice fire in my chambers waiting for me. ”

Alpert shook his head. “And risk Regent Marrell finding you lounging about? He would know for certain you were not performing your duties, then.”

With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, Everett replied, “Truly, Alpert. What would give you the impression I would care much for what the regent thinks?”

Alpert sighed. “Are you sure we should not check on the preparations in the Grand Square?”

Rolling his eyes, Everett snapped, “Gods, Alpert. Stop asking brainless questions. My face gets cold answering them.” Pulling his chin deeper into his coat, he quickened his step, forcing Alpert to hurry along behind. Through the soft fur lining his collar, Everett mumbled, “Be quiet and hurry up.”

Other than the whining whistle of the Winter wind, the scuffling of their leather boots against the cobblestone was the lone sound filling the mostly empty streets. Everett’s gaze flicked around the seemingly abandoned city as they walked.

I suppose not all rim-folk are fools.

Today was Seventhday, traditionally a day of rest and relaxation, and anyone with a smattering of sense would be inside on a day like today. The citizens of Orcwatch may be hardened to the icy Winters of the mountains, but they did not seek out the cold. Most people were probably warm and snug, sitting before a fire or pot-stove.

Everett’s frown deepened further.

Hells, I should be sitting before a fire or pot-stove.

As Everett exhaled, sending a small cloud of warm breath curling from his collar, his companion moved past him. Everett glanced over, curious.

Alpert met his eye and with a nod of his head towards an alley, said, “I know a short path if you’d like to take it?”

Pleased that the boy had asked for his permission, Everett nodded. “Anything to get out this cold quicker.”

Alpert stared into the alleyway and said quietly, “You will want to keep your head down.” His gaze flicked back to Everett, glancing over his current attire: the wolfpelt overcoat, thick woolen breeches dyed a dark blue, and pair of brown, leather boots. “Your clothes are common enough. If we move quickly, no one will mark you, I think.” He looked down at his own, drab garb. “Or me for that matter.”

Everett’s eyes narrowed. “Why should that be a concern?”

Alpert shrugged his shoulders. “Many find their money pouch missing after a trip through the Well District. Let’s hope the thieves’ fingers are stiff from the cold.”

Everett considered telling Alpert to forget the short path, but the cold wind ripping the heat from his body made a persuasive argument.

Jutting his chin in the direction of the alley, Everett muttered, “Fine. Go.”

Alpert nodded, tucked his chin into his coat, and led Everett down a dim, gloomy lane that smelled of boiling cabbage and stables in need of a good mucking out. Everett wrinkled his nose and pressed it deep into the wolfpelt fur, hoping to block the unpleasant combination of odors.

Gods, imagine what it must smell like in the Summer turns…

The pair wove their way through a number of alleyways and narrow, dirty streets, cutting through a poorer section of Orcwatch. Regent Marrell had warned Everett to avoid the Well District on more than one occasion. On this particular topic, Everett had been happy to listen to the uptight, old man. Everett had no interest in visiting the lowest of the low in this accursed city.

He kept his head down and crouched behind the taller Alpert, making sure not to make eye contact with those few moving about the filthy, garbage-strewn streets. The buildings here were in need of obvious repair. Entire walls of some homes had collapsed, exposing the interior like a frozen, cut-open carcass of an elk. Despite the disrepair of the homes, entire families huddled together, sitting around small fires both in the street and, in some cases, in the open rooms of the structures. Everett suspected the fires were the only things keeping the people here from freezing as the clothes worn by the residents of the district appeared to be little more than dirty rags. Everett shook his head, disgusted by what he saw.

These wretched rim-folk should just die and spare the rest of us from having to look at this…

Thankfully, the path Alpert chose led them from the seedy, rundown section of the city in short order and dumped them back into an area where Everett felt more at ease. He knew he was safe again when he spotted a trio of Red Sentinel footmen moving through the streets on patrol. Alpert had the sense to take a wide berth around the duchy soldiers, huddling close to the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Both boys averted their eyes, turning their heads away from the red-and-black-clad men as they passed. It would be best if no one identified them out here.

After one last turn, Everett regained his bearings, recognizing the street onto which they had emerged. He moved past Alpert, preferring to be in the lead. Alpert glanced over as he passed while wearing an expectant expression.

Everett ignored the boy’s stare.

Oh, please…

Alpert probably hoped for some word of thanks, but Everett was not about to offer any.

Their destination, The Sleek Jackal Inn, loomed ahead of them; a three-story edifice built of local mountain stone and treated pine logs. The Jackal—as it was called by most rim-folk—was one of a dozen places for common travelers to find a room, a meal, and a drink while visiting or passing through Orcwatch.

The inn was typically full, which puzzled Everett; why anyone would choose to spend time in this forsaken, frontier city was a mystery to him. If it had been up to him, he would have left Orcwatch the day he had arrived. Unfortunately, he needed to abide by another’s wishes for the time. He pressed his lips together as a burst of resentment and anger coursed through him.

Thank you ever-so-much for sending me here, Father.

Marching up to the front of the Jackal, Everett took the front stairs two at a time to reach the wooden porch of the inn. The inviting scent of some sort of savory, roasted meat assailed his nose as he placed his hand on the door handle and pushed. His stomach rumbled.

At least these blasted rim-folk can fire a decent roast.

The door swung inward and the pair stepped from the cold, mountain winter into the warm, smoky interior of the inn’s tavern room. The muddled, droning din of a dozen different conversations filled the air, along with the soft strumming of lute strings. Everett glanced to his right with raised eyebrows, surprised to find a playman in the Jackal, sitting a few paces away with his stringed instrument in his lap. The presence of an entertainer was rare in such a modest inn. Suddenly, the mouthwatering aroma of the roast filled his nose, drawing Everett’s attention to the back of the room. A roaring fire filled the large hearth on the far wall of the tavern room, filling the room with welcome warmth.

Everett stood motionless for a moment, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the room. Windows lined the front of the inn, brightening the gloom a bit and combining with the thick wax candles arranged on the tables to light the room. As he stood there, hand on door handle, a number of patrons nearest he and Alpert shouted aloud for them to shut the door. The words used were rude and sharp, drawing the ire of Everett. 

Hardly a fitting welcome for the son of the Duke…

Everett glared at the loudest offenders, finding three men arranged around a table, dressed in thick furs and with drinks in hand. All three wore thick beards, an uncommon look in the Great Lakes Duchy but prominent in the Southlands, far to the southeast. A tiny sneer spread over Everett’s face.

Why in Nine Hells would Southlanders be all the way up here?

One of the men, older than the other two as evidenced by his bushy, grey beard and hair, called out in a rough, Southlands-accented voice, “Hey, pup! Are you deaf? Close the blasted door before Greya herself comes in!”

The sneer on Everett’s face turned colder than the wind blowing outside.

If you knew who I was, you would—

Alpert placed a hand on Everett’s elbow and whispered, “Please, my Lord. It will not be worth it.”

Everett resisted ripping his arm from Alpert’s light grip. Instead, he simply shut the door, silently acknowledging Alpert was correct.

They are ignorant fools. Nothing more.

As the door rattled in its frame, one of the younger Southlanders sitting at the table said, “Looks like his ears work just fine, Guy.”

Everett glared at the trio again. He despised Southlanders even more than rim-folk. Every Southlander he had ever met in his father’s court had been smug and conceited.

The greybeard—who apparently went by the name Guy—grinned and jeered, “Not deaf, eh? Perhaps the whelp might just be stupid, then? I’ve heard that too much mountain air turns you witless.”

Everett took a sudden step toward the table, reached to his waist, and stopped his advance immediately. He bit his lip, angry.

Hells!

He and Alpert he had left their swords at the Regent’s House. While their clothes were common enough, the finely crafted swords would have marked both of them as noblemen for sure. A number of the regulars in The Jackal knew who he and Alpert were, but it was best that those who did not remain ignorant of his heritage.

Everett dropped his hand to his side. With a true weapon, it would have been a bad idea to take on three men who were both larger and, from the looks of them, much stronger than he was. He had a simple dagger strapped to his right boot, but he knew it was utter foolishness to move against the men with something so small.

The table of Southlanders erupted into raucous laughter, pointing and taunting.

Guy’s voice boomed over those of his compatriots. With a wide, mocking smile, the graybeard called out, “Oh blast! The poor whelp lost his blade!”

For a moment, Everett almost rushed the trio anyway. Perhaps catching the look in his eye, the man named Guy suddenly pulled a flap of his coat aside to display a long-handled knife strapped to his left side. The man’s taunting grin turned cool.

“Try it, pup.”

Alpert grabbed his arm again and whispered, “My Lord, please…” The pleading in his voice was clear.

They must pay for their rudeness…

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the room, saving Everett from making what would have surely been a great mistake.

“Ah, young masters!”

Everett turned to find the proprietor of The Sleek Jackal Inn approaching him and Alpert hurriedly. Innkeeper Kinsey was a short, bald man who was as wide as he was tall. His legs, arms, and neck were as thick as the trunks of the pine trees that surrounded Orcwatch. Draped in his ever-present tan apron emblazoned with a painted, red jackal, Kinsey rushed up and stepped between Everett and the Southlanders’ table.

With knowing eyes on Everett and Alpert, the stout innkeeper said, “If you two would follow me, I’ll show you to your table. Master Quin is already here, waiting for you both.” Stretching out a thick arm, the innkeeper indicated the pair should follow him in a direction, away from the Southlanders’ table. 

His hand still tightly gripping Everett’s elbow, Alpert said quickly, “Thank you, Kinsey.” He eyed Everett worriedly and muttered, “Please, let’s just go meet Quin?”

Everett took one last, long look at the three bearded men.

Fools.

At least the rim-folk here were proper Great Lakes citizens. Southlanders were foreigners who sullied the duchy with their mere presence.

Wait until I’m the blasted duke…

Everett shook off Alpert’s hand, turned, and indicated that Kinsey should lead them. The innkeeper nodded and began to stride away. Everett followed and a visibly relieved Alpert fell in behind him. As the group moved through the crowd, Everett noticed it was unusually busy for a Seventhday afternoon. Everett suspected most people were simply getting an early start on their celebrations.

Today was the eve before two straight Days of Leisure for a pair of Goddesses. Tomorrow was reserved for A’shana, the Goddess of Ideas and Innovation, while in two days’ time, the largest celebration of the year was set to occur: Year’s End.

The Day of Leisure used to honor Maeana, the Goddess of Death, was also the last day on the calendar. Throughout the Oaken Duchies—as well as most of Terrene from Everett’s understanding—celebrations and festivals filled the day and lasted well into the night. Despite being stuck in Orcwatch for the day, Everett was looking forward to the day and evening. It would be a welcome distraction from the typical drudgery of mountain life.

“In the corner as usual, young masters.”

Kinsey’s voice pulled Everett’s attention from the numerous patrons in the room and directed it to a dark corner along the back wall. As Everett was only in his sixteenth year, he should never have been permitted in the tavern room. However, he had an arrangement with Kinsey. The innkeeper still ensured they were out of the way and hidden from the prying eyes of people curious why two boys were in the tavernroom.

Everett glanced at the innkeeper as he moved to the table and gave the man a quick nod. Kinsey was a decent enough fellow who had proven capable of keeping his tongue to himself. A small bag of silver ducats at the beginning of each turn ensured his silence. The regent—and in turn, Everett’s father—would not approve of Everett’s time spent here.

“What might I bring you today?” asked Kinsey.

Everett glanced over his shoulder and said, “Mulled cider.” He shivered, still chilled from the wind, and added firmly, “Make sure it’s hot.”

The innkeeper nodded and turned to Alpert to get his order. Without waiting for his companion—Alpert could never seem to make up his mind—Everett continued to the table in the darkened corner. The lone figure at the table glanced up as he approached. Light brown hair draped to the young man’s shoulders with a bit covering dark blue eyes, currently glinting with the reflected light of the half-melted candle on the tabletop. With a short, courteous nod, the man at the table acknowledged Everett.

Quin Cangswood was two years older than Everett and a handsome enough fellow judging from the attention the young women of Orcwatch paid him. Everett suspected the wealth of the Cangswood family wealth had as much to do with his admirers’ flirtatious attitude as did Quin’s good looks. Quin’s father was a particularly successful gem and precious metal merchant, having made a fortune from trading the sapphires and rubies found in nearby mines. The Cangswood name was well known throughout the Great Lakes Duchy, even in the cultured capital of Redstone. Everett had made it a point to seek out and make contact with the heir to the Cangswood company shortly after arriving in Orcwatch. Access to massive sums of coin was never a bad thing, even for the son of the sovereign.

Dropping into a chair across from Quin, Everett returned the young man’s nod while undoing the top few latches on his overcoat.

“Quin.”

Fingering his pottery cup filled with some sort of dark liquid, Quin said good-naturedly, “Surprised you made it out, my Lord.”

Everett shrugged carelessly. “It was either brave the cold and come here, or sit with the blasted regent and listen to another of his lectures.”

With a slight grin, Quin suggested, “Yes, well…he is simply doing what your father asked him to do.”

Everett shook his head and replied bitterly, “I do not care, Quin. Every time we talk, I feel like the man looks at me like I’m diseased or something. And then he drones on and on about something or another.” Everett rubbed a hand over his face, surprised by how cold his cheek felt. “I swear, if I hear one more story about how to keep this guild happy or the proper way to negotiate with this association or that one, I’ll likely slice the man’s throat.”

Quin’s smile faltered. After a quiet moment, he said, “You almost sound like you would do it, my Lord.”

Everett held Quin’s questioning stare.

I would if I could.

Forcing a smile of his own, Everett shook his head and said, “A simple jest, Quin. I mean nothing by it of course.”

The merchant’s son nodded and his smile returned, although not as wide as before. “Of course, my Lord.” He continued to run his fingers over his cup and looked away quickly, making a show of studying the crowd.

Everett smothered a true grin.

He doesn’t believe me.

Everett shrugged and turned to stare at the crowd as well.

Ah, well…it matters not.

Alpert finally arrived at the table, sat down in a vacant chair, and said in disgust, “They’re still out of that amber from Ice Valley I liked so much.” He was pouting, sounding more like a child than a man.

“Truly, you should count yourself lucky, Alpert,” replied Quin.

Everett frowned. Alpert permitted Quin to address him by name rather than by the honorific that he deserved. Quin might be poised to inherit the largest fortune in the western Great Lakes, but he was still not a nobleman.

Quin continued, teasing, “Certainly you recall the night the last time Kinsey had some stocked?”

Alpert grinned wide. “Portions of it, yes.”

Quin chuckled lightly. “You were a sight that night, young Alpert.”

The baron’s son laughed along with Quin.

Everett shook his head and muttered, “I thought you made a fool of yourself, Alpert.” While Everett enjoyed leisure, he had little patience for outright silliness.

Alpert held his stare for a moment before saying tentatively, “I was not that bad, my Lord.”

Everett replied firmly, “You most definitely were. You attempted to dance on the table before falling off, remember?”

Alpert dipped his head, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “Yes, my Lord.”

Everett caught a grin flash over Quin’s face just before the older boy brought up his cup to hide it. He was about to chastise Alpert further when the scent of Summer wildflowers wafted over him. For a brief moment, he was transported to the open, flower-filled fields of his father’s country estate as if it were the middle of the Turn of Sutri.

A soft, lilting voice cooed, “Well, what are the odds of finding the three handsomest men in all of Orcwatch sitting at one table?”

Twisting around in his chair, Everett looked over his shoulder to find a beautiful, familiar face staring down at them all. Lustrous, blonde hair hung unbound, flowing to her shoulders while framing a face full of delicate features and a pair of perfectly pouty lips. Eyes as blue as a cloudless, Summer sky peered down at him. The young woman’s lips split into a gracious grin as she inclined her head in his direction.

“Good days ahead, my Lord.”

Everett knew others used words such as ‘heartless’ or ‘cold’ when describing him, and he would typically agree with the assessments. Yet when it came to some women, he had discovered there was part of him that yearned to be close to them. The rest of his being hated that sliver of him. It made him weak and vulnerable.

Swallowing the thick lump that had formed in his throat quickly, Everett replied, “And good memories behind, Livia.” He pushed away the rush of warmth that flooded through his chest.

No!

A few years past, Everett’s father, Duke Gill Redlord, had once brought a curate of Sormina, the Graceful Guider of Hearts, to speak to Everett regarding properly managing matters of the heart. The conversations with the priest had gone poorly when it was suggested Everett’s feelings had something to do with his mother’s death while giving birth to him. The weekly discussions had ended shortly thereafter when the elderly curate had died after an unfortunate tumble from one of the balconies in Everett’s room.

Livia Grason, the eldest daughter of the head of the Miners Guild who was also a member of the regent’s council, smiled at him a moment longer before looking away. “And hello to you as well, Alpert, Quin.”

Alpert nodded silently, gave Livia a nervous smile, and turned his gaze toward the table, staring at the wood as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. While the young woman’s beauty and presence tortured a part of Everett’s soul, any pretty girl’s smile positively flummoxed Alpert.

Quin, however, had no such problem. Whenever Livia or any other young, attractive woman was near, the merchantman’s son oozed an abundance of charm. Everett simultaneously admired and loathed Quin for his ability to captivate women with a smile and a kind word.

The older boy stood from his chair and gave a gracious, polite bow. Upon returning upright, an inquisitive expression filled Quin’s face. “Pardon me, Livia. But you do realize the festival of Maeana is not until two days from now, yes?”

Everett stared at the young man, wholly perplexed by the question.

Pardon?

Alpert looked up from the grooves and carvings in the tabletop to peer at Quin as well.

Curiosity filling her voice—along with a hint of coy amusement—Livia replied hesitantly, “I am sorry, Quin. I do not understand what you mean.”

Everett glared at Quin.

What does he mean by that?

A wide, confident grin spread over the young man’s face. “Pardon me, Livia. I believe I erred. I thought you were already wearing your Year’s End festival mask. I was going to compliment you on how strikingly beautiful it was. You would surely win the competition.”

The flattering comment elicited a soft tittering from Livia, a roll of the eyes from Alpert, and a withering glare from Everett. Quin was aware only of Livia’s blushing response.

The arrogant fool…

Quin knew of Everett’s weakness for this particular young woman. And while the young beauty paid Everett an appropriate amount of attention when he happened upon her in the city, the moment Quin Cangswood appeared, Livia’s attitude would shift. It was plain Livia had eyes for Quin and that irritated Everett. While Livia was closer to Quin’s age, Everett thought the fact he was the only son of the duke should carry some weight in Livia’s consideration.

In a syrupy sweet tone that made Everett’s stomach turn, Quin asked, “And to which of the Gods do I owe thanks for sending you to our table this eve, Livia?”

Everett glared at Quin.

You had best tread carefully, commoner…

Everett wanted Livia to himself. He was certain he had made that clear to Quin.

With a smile coloring her tone, Livia replied, “Well, to be honest, Quin, the entirety of the High Host conspired to bring me here. You will be quite busy giving an offering to them all. You had best get to it, else you might miss Year’s End.”

Quin replied, “If you are to be at the celebration, I would not miss Year’s End for all the ducats in my father’s treasury.”

The smile Quin wore was sickening. Everett shifted his hard, angry stare back over his shoulder, fixing it upon Livia. The grin she wore outshone her happy tone. Livia glanced down and caught his expression. Her smile shrunk by more than half.

In a more restrained tone, she said, “Ah…well, I merely wished to come by and say hello. I must be going.”

Everett dropped his eyes and dipped his head. The part of him he despised told him he should not have reacted the way he did.

If you have any chance, Everett, stop acting this way…

Everett lifted his gaze to meet Livia’s eyes. “Please, Livia. I would be honored if you were to sit for a moment and talk with us.”

Hells, I should just order you to sit. I’m the blasted heir to the Sovereign’s Chair!

Livia’s expression darkened for a moment, but it was long enough for Everett to notice.

“No thank you, my Lord,” replied the young beauty. “As I’m sure you know, the Miner’s Guild is responsible for organizing the bonfire this year. Father has me flitting about, ensuring all of the nearby taverns will be prepared for the crowds. I have only been to the Red Bootheel so far, and have five more to visit after the Jackal here.”

Everett pursed his lips together. “Are you sure?”

Livia nodded quickly. “Quite, my Lord. My father’s list of things for me to do is long and the light of day grows short. I must be going. Enjoy your time here, my Lord.” Her gaze flicked to the others. “Good evening, Alpert, Quin.” Her stare lingered on Quin as she said, “I truly hope to see you at the festivals.”

Everett sat in silence while Quin offered a genteel, polite farewell and Alpert managed to mutter a quiet “good evening.” Livia turned from the table and made her way across the room to where Kinsey was emerging from behind the serving bar. The stout innkeeper was in the midst of handing a tray full of different sized mugs and cups to his rotund wife and pointing out where to deliver them. Kinsey paused a moment and spoke a few words to Livia. Everett watched in silence, absentmindedly realizing that the playman had begun to play a new tune.

“I’m going to ask her for the first dance, I think,” announced Quin firmly.

Everett’s gaze snapped to the merchant’s son. Still standing before his chair, Quin’s eyes were fixed where Livia spoke with Kinsey.

In a voice full of surprise—and just a touch of malice—Everett asked, “You’re going to do what?”

The Year’s End celebration centered on a great, nighttime bonfire in the Grand Square and was an opportunity for all to dance and revel. Tradition held that the first dance of the night was reserved for husbands and wives, or young couples intent upon making a public declaration of their courtship.

Too caught up in his admiration of Livia to hear the edge in Everett’s voice, Quin said, “I said I think I will ask her for the first dance at the bonfire.”

Everett glared across the table. “I was thinking of doing the same.”

At least I am now.

Quin peered down to Everett. “Pardon?” He appeared suddenly uneasy.

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, Everett said, “I had planned on asking Livia for the first dance on Year’s End, Quin.”

Quin’s eyes flicked to Alpert for a brief moment before returning to Everett. “But, my Lord…” The young man hesitated as tiny muscles twitched across his face. “You know that I have feelings for her.”

Without pause, Everett replied, “That’s not my problem. If I want her, I should have her. It is my right as the duke’s son.”

Quin opened his mouth as if to reply but quickly pressed his lips together. The little light from the candle on the table illuminated his face, revealing that it had deepened to an angry red.

Everett asked coolly, “What is it, Quin? Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

Quin’s gaze flicked upward, back to where Livia stood. After a moment, they returned to Everett. Quin had been an amusing fellow at times, but if he was going to get in the way of something Everett wanted, he needed to be shown his place.

With quiet hesitation, Alpert spoke up. “She is not of noble birth, my Lord. I do not think your father would approve of you—”

Shifting his glare to Alpert, Everett snapped, “Hells, Alpert, I have no intention of marrying the girl!”

Alpert dropped his eyes and mumbled, “Of course not, my Lord.”

“Then why in the Nine Hells would you ask her for the first dance?” snapped Quin. The sharp tone in his voice bordered on open disrespect. “She can’t rightly refuse a request from the duke’s son! Hells, she might take it as a sign there is a future for her in Redstone! As will her entire family! If you have no intent for her, why would you do such a thing?” Quin’s eyes were burning. His earlier restraint was gone.

Everett glared at Quin, considering.

You might be useful one day, but you are certainly a pain now.

At that moment, Kinsey’s wife—a portly, homely woman by the name of Rose—arrived at their table and placed the tray she carried on their table.

“Here you go, young masters.”

She moved two pottery cups to the tabletop, placing a steaming goblet of spiced cider before Everett and a mug of some golden liquid before Alpert. Ignorant of the current tone of the conversation, Rose smiled wide and looked at Quin, still standing upright.

“Is there something else we can get you, Master Cangswood?”

Still glaring at Everett, Quin shook his head and replied evenly, “No, Rose. I’m fine, thank you.” His eyes flicked upwards to the front of the inn and he added, “I need to stretch my legs. I think I’ll head to the bar myself and get something.” Breaking of his stare with Everett, Quin strode from the corner table in the direction of the serving bar.

Everett scowled as Quin swept past.

Fool.

With a curious expression on her face, Rose looked to Everett and Alpert. “Is everything alright, my Lords?”

Everett waved a hand and muttered, “Things are fine.”

Rose nodded slowly, her jowls jiggling a bit as she did. “Good to hear.” She paused a moment before asking, “Would either of you like something to eat? I have a nice side of graywolf roasting.”

His irritation at Quin fled. Lifting an eyebrow, he muttered, “Pardon…did you say graywolf?”

Smiling wide—revealing that she was missing more than a few teeth—Rose nodded in the direction of the hearth. “Seasoned with hillsage, Foothills black pepper, and a healthy dose of Harvest garlic. I grew the garlic myself.”

Slightly disgusted that the aroma of what was essentially a roasted dog had set his stomach growling, Everett shook his head firmly and said with unconcealed disgust, “Gods, no.”

The cuisine of Orcwatch was much different from that of what could be found in the central and eastern regions of the duchy. Rim-folk seemed to eat whatever they could; char the meat black or boil the root long enough, and it passed for dinner here. More than ever, Everett missed the well-appointed tables in the duke’s residence in Redstone. 

As a rush of cold air from an opened door rushed past their table, Alpert lifted a hand and said, “I would love a plate, Rose. Ribs only, please.”

“Of course, my Lord,” replied Rose.

Everett shook again his head as the innkeeper’s wife lifted the tray and stepped away from the table. Looking at Alpert, he asked with revulsion, “Truly, Alpert? Wolf ribs?”

Alpert met Everett’s disgusted expression with a blank stare. After a moment’s pause, he asked, “Why must you mock our ways, my Lord?”

“Because your ways are stupid, Alpert.”

The son of the baron frowned. In a quiet, reserved tone, Alpert said, “We may be ‘rim-folk’ to you, my Lord, but we deserve some respect. We are still duchy citizens.”

Taking a sip of his piping hot, mulled cider, Everett rolled his eyes.

Gods, is he serious?

Savoring the mix of sweet and spice dancing over his tongue, Everett swallowed before muttering, “Fine. Enjoy your cooked dog, Alpert. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Turning from his companion’s stare, Everett looked through the room, searching for the pleasant figure of Livia.

Hells, I’ll just ask her for the dance now and get it over with.

A smile crept over his face.

Quin will be so upset…

His gaze ran over the crowd. He found himself separating people into two categories: locals and visitors. Most of the rim-folk were dressed in regional furs and dark colors. Others from outside the western duchy stood out by the cut or color of their clothes. Everett even thought that he spotted a stunning half-elf woman across the room, sitting alone at a table.

A half-elf? Truly?

The features of the beautiful woman were a clear melding of elf and man, but Everett wondered what a half-breed would be doing in Orcwatch. Most of their kind lived near where settlements of elves and men mingled. There was not a single elven enclave in all of the Great Lakes as far as Everett knew.

He was about to point out the beautiful half-elf to Alpert when a group of men moved across his field of vision. When they moved past, the table with the half-elf was empty. Everett glanced around the room, searching for her, but she was gone.

What in the Nine-Hells?

As he sought out the stranger, he suddenly realized that Livia was nowhere to be found, either.

Hells, she must have left already.

He scanned the crowd again and suddenly sat a bit taller in his chair.

Hold one moment…

His gaze flicked to the people lining the serving bar.

Hells.

With narrowed eyes, he asked, “Alpert? Where’s Quin?”

Alpert put down his cup, twisted about in his chair, and looked over the room as well. After a moment, he muttered, “I don’t know…I don’t see him. Perhaps he stepped out for a moment, my Lord. I think he was upset—”

Everett pushed his chair from the table and stood quickly.

Alpert looked up at him, confused. “My Lord?”

Everett scanned the room one last time. Confident that neither Livia nor Quin were still in the tavern room, Everett grabbed his cup of cider and took a long draught, nearly scalding his mouth and throat.

I swear…if he went behind my back…

Setting the pottery cup on the table, he turned and began to stride toward the front of the room, buttoning his overcoat as he walked. Behind him, Alpert called out again, “My Lord?” A moment later, he heard the scrape of Alpert’s chair and figured the boy was following him.

As he passed the trio of Southlanders near the front, Guy, the graybeard, called out, “Leaving already, are you? Had as much as you can take, whelp?”

Everett’s step slowed a touch as he glared at the Southlander.

Your time will come, fool.

Ignoring the man’s barb and the rush of laughter that followed it, Everett reached the front door and pulled hard, letting the wooden plank smack into the interior wall. As he stepped onto the porch outside, Winter’s cold smacked him in the face. The chill, snow-spattered wind whipped past him, burrowing past his collar and into his shirt. Latching the top button of his wolfpelt coat, Everett turned his head from right to left, staring through the flakes of snow now falling steadily.

Where did you go?

The street that he and Alpert had come down—the one leading straight to The Sleek Jackal Inn—was empty. To Everett’s right, a man wrapped in thick clothes and fur-lined boots was emerging from a small alley.

Calling out to the man, Everett said, “You there!”

The Orcwatch citizen glanced up, peering out from his heavy hood. “Me?”

Everett bit his tongue.

Yes, you fool. Who else would I be speaking to?

“Did you see anyone down that way? A young fellow? About my age? He has brown hair to his shoulders? Was wearing a maroon coat?”

The man shook his head and called, “There’s no one down that way…uh, sir.” The citizen had correctly guessed that he deserved some sort of title. Everett’s pattern of speech was not as common as most in the city.

Behind him, he heard the door to the inn shut. As Alpert moved to stand beside him, Everett waved his hand at the bundled-up man and said, “Move along, then.”

The man grunted, stared at Everett a moment longer, and turned to his right to walk down the street leading away from The Jackal.

Everett moved to the top of the stairs and looked to his left. He could see a corner of the city’s Grand Square and spotted a number of people and carts moving through the streets.

“My Lord?” asked a curious Alpert. “What is wrong?”

Without responding, Everett hurried down the stairs, his boots thudding on the wood as he descended to the street. Upon reaching the cold, hard dirt ground, he turned left and headed for the Grand Square. Alpert hurried after him in silence.

A few hundred paces later, Everett stepped from the dirt street onto a great, open plaza of flagstone. In the middle of the square was a great pile of weathered pine logs, arranged in the shape of an upright cone. Smaller bundles of sticks rimmed the tree trunks, to be used as kindling for the bonfire in two nights. Volunteers and citizens—presumably many of them miners from the thick, black coats they all wore—were in the midst of raising wooden poles and draping ropes between them, lined with extinguished, cold lanterns. For Year’s End, wax candles would be lit and placed in the glass lamps. The Grand Square would be the hub of the celebration, a beacon of brightness and warmth in the last, cold, dark night of the year.

Everett stopped at what was the southwestern side of the plaza and looked over the crowd.

Where are you, Quin?

Alpert halted beside him and risked asking again, “What is wrong, my Lord?”

With his gaze scanning the square and the dozens of alleyways and streets leading to it, Everett asked, “Where is the nearest tavern from here, Alpert?” Livia had said she was going to visit a number of the inns around the Grand Square. He was betting she would head to the nearest next.

“Other than the Jackal?”

 Everett glared at his companion. “Gods, yes, Alpert. Other than the blasted Jackal.”

What a brainless question…

Withering a bit under Everett’s stare, Alpert leaned forward and pointed to a street near the western corner of the Grand Square. “Tornnoble’s Carriage Inn down that mainway.”

Everett looked to the street, nodding. “The Sentinels favorite tavern, yes?”

Alpert replied, “Yes, my Lord. Hence the reason we have never gone there.”

“Until now, Alpert. Let’s go.”

Everett made to walk along the edge of the square when Alpert said softly, “I would think Livia and Quin probably took a different path there from the Jackal.”

Stopping in place, Everett turned back to Alpert and gave him an appraising stare.

Well, he’s not a complete fool.

“Where, Alpert?”

The nobleman’s son hesitated before answering, “Follow me, my Lord.”

Reversing their path, Alpert led them back toward the Jackal a few dozen feet before turning right and heading down an alleyway between a residence and a clothier’s shop. They crossed a few small, narrow streets as they weaved through the labyrinth of darkened alleyways that was Orcwatch. As they came upon a wider street, Alpert slowed and lifted a hand.

“There, I think, my Lord.”

Looking past the taller boy, Everett spotted a figure that in a maroon coat, shrouded in the shadows of the continuation of the alleyway across the way. He was leaning against the wall of a wood building, speaking with someone blocked from Everett’s view by Quin’s body.

In a quiet, calm tone, Everett said, “Stop, Alpert.” It was an unnecessary order. Alpert had halted at the edge of their alleyway.

Everett peeked left, then right, and was pleased to find the crossing street empty. Thick, heavy flakes of snow drifted down and had already covered the ground with a thin layer of white. Two sets of footprints crossed the street; one appeared to be the large bootprints of a man while the other had been made by much smaller feet.

Everett stared across the street, glaring at the back of Quin’s maroon coat.

What a fool you are, Quin Cangswood.

Oddly enough, Everett was not particularly angry. More than anything, he was perturbed that someone had crossed him. Biting his lip, Everett watched in cold silence. For some reason, the chill air and wind did not bother Everett.

You will never make a good ally, will you?

He felt Alpert’s gaze alternating between him and Quin, but the younger boy showed some wisdom and kept quiet.

After a few quiet minutes, Quin shifted position and stood upright, no longer leaning against the wall. Through the flakes of falling snow, Everett spotted Livia’s golden hair whipping in the wind.

As I thought…

Everett took a step backward, sinking into the shadows of the alley and pulling Alpert with him, all the while watching Quin and Livia. The young beauty wore a wide smile and stared up at Quin. Despite the gloomy, overcast sky, Everett swore her eyes were alight. She looked happy.

Fools.

Livia suddenly stood on her tiptoes and gave Quin a quick kiss on the cheek and turned away, hurrying down the alleyway.

“Alpert?” muttered Everett.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Go back to the Jackal, please.” Everett kept his eyes on Livia as she glanced back once before turning a corner in the dark alley. “And get that graybeard Southlander to come with you. Tell him I think he is a bearded lout. Or insult his mother…or…Hells, just think of something and get him back here with you.”

Across the street, Quin stood motionless, still facing where Livia had run off.

Noticing Alpert’s quiet hesitation, Everett turned to stare at his companion. “Go, Alpert. If you do this for me now, I promise to keep you in mind when I become the duke. I can give you more than that puny tract of land your father calls a barony.”

Alpert’s expression darkened. “What are you—”

“Go now, Alpert,” murmured Everett. “Else the offer is gone forever and I will instead shun your family when I am duke. Your choice.”

Alpert, son of Baron Rorlack Hyde, paused a moment longer. Finally, with a deep frown, the gangly boy turned around and hurried back down the alley. Everett watched to ensure the younger boy was intent on following his direction and then dropped to his left knee. After pulling the woolen pants on his right leg up, he gripped the handle of his dagger and slid it from the sheath strapped to his boot. Standing upright, he slipped the dagger up his left sleeve—hilt first—and stepped from the shadows of the alley, heading toward Quin. Glancing left and right again, Everett was pleased. The cross-street was empty.

As he approached the alley across the way, he called out, “Quin!”

Quin stiffened and turned around to face him, wearing an expression of surprise mixed with happiness. Upon seeing Everett, a quick shadow of defiance dashed over his face. As Everett stepped into the alley, Quin’s eyes narrowed.

“Did you follow me?”

Everett frowned and shook his head. “Not exactly. At least, not directly, no. I decided to check out the Great Square preparations as Regent Marrell suggested.” He shrugged. “I got lost on my way back to the Jackal and ended up here.”

Quin frowned, obviously not believing a word of what he had said.

“What are you doing here, Quin?”

The merchantman’s son looked past Everett into the street. “It depends. What did you see, my Lord?”

Everett frowned and said, “I saw enough, Quin.”

Nodding his head slowly, Quin said. “Yes, well…I asked her, my Lord. I asked her for the first dance. And she said yes.”

Of course you did…

In a jovial tone, Everett said, “I assumed that was what had happened, Quin. I saw the kiss.” With a wink and a friendly smile, he added, “I doubt she would have offered you that if she had declined.”

Quin hesitated, clearly thrown by Everett’s attitude. “I expected you to be angry, my Lord.”

With a careless shrug of his shoulders, Everett said with feigned surprise. “Truly, Quin? Livia clearly shares your feelings, does she not? Her smile was brighter than the bonfire will be.”

“Uh…thank you, my Lord?” replied Quin. Again, his eyes flicked past Everett. “Where’s Alpert?”

Ignoring the question, Everett stepped closer to Quin and said, “Granted, I had announced my own intentions for Livia, and you completely ignored me—Hells, you blatantly defied me.” His voice turned as icy as the Winter wind. “She was mine, Quin. I claimed her.”

Quin’s gaze locked on Everett. “You claimed her?” His eyes grew hot again, hotter than minutes ago in the Jackal, even. “You must be jesting!”

Everett dropped his smile and said evenly. “I do not jest, Quin.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Quin muttered, “Blast the Gods! You might be the son of the blasted duke, but you are arrogant, heartless, twisted and a true bastard, you know that?”

Everett stood motionless, quiet.

Ah, the truth comes out.

Quin stepped closer, jabbing a finger in the air at Everett, muttering, “For over a year, I have put up with your foolishness, all the while my father whispers in my ear how I must do my best to remain friends with you. ‘For the sake of the business and family, Quin.’” A bitter, angry sneer exploded over Quin’s face. “I hope by the time you become the duke, I will have made my own fortune and left the Great Lakes. I swear to the Gods, you will be the ruin of this duchy!”

Everett stared a Quin for a long moment, almost enjoying watching the anger bubble. Using a slow, deliberate movement, Everett stretched out his right hand and offered it to Quin. With a conciliatory smile, Everett said softly, “I recognize the error of my way, Quin. I would like to apologize for my rude manners.”

Quin stared at the outstretched hand as if Everett had suddenly produced the severed head of a pig from nowhere. In a plainly stunned voice, he muttered, “Pardon?”

Everett inclined his head, “Many of the words you speak are true, Quin. And you are the first person I have met in Orcwatch with the courage to say them to my face.” He lifted his hand another inch. “I stand here, willing to offer my congratulations on securing the first dance with Livia. As well as thanking you for pointing out my shortcomings. Will you accept my hand?”

Quin blinked a number of times, caught between looking at Everett’s right hand and staring at his face to see if he spoke true. He did not see the blade of the dagger as it slipped from Everett’s sleeve; the cold hilt fit snuggly into the palm of Everett’s hand. 

Take my hand, idiot.

With some hesitation, Quin finally lifted his own right hand and took Everett’s offered handshake. “Perhaps I was too hasty—”

Everett squeezed Quin’s hand tight, pulled him close, and brought the long blade of his dagger up, burying it in the side of Quin’s neck. Quin’s eyes went wide, in surprise at first. A moment later, the intense pain registered. He opened his mouth to scream and managed a short squawk, but Everett jammed the hilt backwards, slicing the blade through Quin’s airway. Quin moved his mouth, but all that came out was raspy puffs of air accompanied by flecks of blood and spittle.

Blast it…all over my coat.

Quin tried to pull away from Everett, but the son of the duke held tight. Instead, the doomed man reached over with his left hand and began to claw at the dagger sunk into his neck. After one, last vicious twist, Everett granted Quin his wish and removed the blade, letting loose a torrent of steaming, red blood. He tossed it the dagger behind him, listening to it rattle on the cold, dirt ground; he did not want to risk Quin getting a hold of the dagger and harming him.

Everett stared into Quin’s eyes and said, “You were right, Quin. I am arrogant, heartless, and twisted. But you were wrong about one thing…” He released Quin’s hand and shoved the dying man’s chest, sending Quin tumbling to the ground. “You are not my friend. I do not have friends.”

Quin Cangswood, the eldest son of the richest merchant in Orcwatch, in the freshly fallen snow as his lifeblood pumped from between his fingers. He tried to stand up once, but immediately stumbled and collapsed again. The ground beneath him was quickly becoming a muddy mix of dirt, snow, and bright red blood.

Everett looked over his shoulder, ensuring he was still alone. The only thing moving behind were the snowflakes gently falling from the sky. The alleyway across the street was still empty. His dagger laid a few paces behind him, its blade covered in Quin’s blood.

Excellent.

Turning back to Quin, Everett made sure that the merchantman’s son was only moments from death. Quin’s movements were weak and flailing, telling Everett his time was nearing an end. Moving forward, Everett stepped over Quin and hurried to the far end of the alleyway, entering the dark shadows. He reached down to his leg, unstrapped the sheath around his boot, and looked for a place to stash it. He did not need anyone figuring out the dagger was his.

The alley was mostly bare, so after a moment, he wrapped the leather bands around the sheath, stuffed a stone inside and launched it up in the air, watching as it landed on the roof of a two-story building.

Confident the sheath would remain hidden for as long as was necessary, he waited a few moments in silence, staring into the alleyway across the way and wondering exactly when he should go. After a few moments, Everett spun around and sprinted around the corner in the alley, heading for the next main road where Tornnoble’s Carriage Inn waited. Breaking from the alleyway, Everett looked up and down the busy street, trying to figure out where he was in relationship to the inn. A hundred paces to his left, a wide, blue sign hung from a pole jutting from a four-story building built of mountain stone and pine with the word ‘Tornnoble’ painted in white, block letters. Rushing down the street, Everett rushed to the front door and threw it open. At least a dozen Red Sentinels sat amongst the crowd in Tornnoble’s tavern room.

Everett called out, “Help! My friend’s been murdered!”

With impressive speed, a number of the soldiers nearest the door stood from their chairs and began to move towards the door. Everett stepped back and let the Red Sentinels emerge. One of the first ones out had the white dots sewn onto his shoulder, marking him a sergeant. Everett knew he had seen the man in the Regent’s House at some time in the past, but he could not remember the man’s name. It did not matter, however. The stunned expression on the sergeant’s face told Everett that he recognized the duke’s son. His eyes ran over Everett’s blood-splattered clothes.

In a voice full of surprise, the sergeant said, “My Lord, what are you—”

Everett began to run down the street, back to the alley. “No time, Sergeant! Baron Hyde’s son is still in danger!”

The sergeant, along with five young footmen, immediately fell in behind Everett, rushing down the street, drawing their swords as they ran. Everett cut back into the alley leading to where he had left Quin. Skidding around the edge of the building, Everett happened upon a scene that was even better than for what he could have hoped. He allowed himself a fleeting grin.

The Gods are with me.

Alpert had not only succeeded in luring Guy from the Jackal, but the other two Southlanders as well. The two younger, bearded men stood at the end of the alley, only paces from Quin’s body, holding Alpert up against the wall. Guy, the older graybeard, stood before Alpert, holding what appeared to be Everett’s bloody dagger in his hand.

As Everett emerged from the shadows, trailed by six Red Sentinels, the four figures at the far end of the alleyway turned to stare. Guy, along with the younger men, appeared quite angry. Alpert’s expression was one of pure terror and fear. Everett suppressed a chuckle.

The sergeant pushed past Everett, mumbling, “Stay back, my Lord,” and rushed down the alley, screaming for Guy to drop the dagger. With wide eyes, the graybeard dropped the weapon immediately and began to plead his innocence, claiming the dagger was not his. The Red Sentinels quickly surrounded the group and the sergeant shouted for them to release Alpert.

Everett was gleeful.

The two Southlanders holding Alpert stepped back quickly, dropping him to the snow. In a matter of moments, all three men were kneeling on the ground, each with a footman standing before them with a sword tip leveled at their throat. Everett drew in a long breath, composing himself, and stepped forward.

Now…try to appear rattled, but strong, as well…

As Everett approached the scene, the sergeant was in the midst of helping Alpert from the ground, even as his eyes were fixated on Quin’s now-dead body. Everett stepped around the corpse, shaking his head, and doing his best to lock an expression of shocked sorrow on his face.

Oh, so sad…

Everett stared intently at the baron’s son and asked, “Gods, Alpert, are you hurt?” He added a touch of hysteria to his tone.

Not too much, though.

Alpert looked to Everett, his eyes still full of panic. “I…I thought they were going to kill me!”

Everett held back a grin.

Perfect.

The eldest Southlander spat out, “Why in Nine Hells would I kill you, boy?”

Everett glanced at the greybeard quickly. He needed the man to be quiet for a bit. With a firm tone, Everett said, “Sergeant, I do not want to hear these men speak again unless they are answering our questions, is that clear?”

Guy glanced at Everett, his eyes narrowing at what was obviously an order.

The sergeant of the Red Sentinels nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” As the soldier stepped from Alpert, walking to stand before the three Southlanders, Everett locked eyes with Guy. The man appeared quite confused. And worried.

Looks like bad luck for you.

Stopping before the three men, the sergeant bent into a crouched position. “You heard Lord Redlord. You Southlanders better be quieter than a rat hiding from a barn cat, understand?”

The two younger men exchanged anxious looks with one another. Guy continued to stare at Everett. Dread had replaced his earlier confusion. Everett held the greybeard’s glare.

Oh, it keeps getting worse for you, does it not?

The men may be from the Southlands Duchy far to the southeast, but they recognized the name of the ruler of the Great Lakes. Gill Redlord had been sitting in the Sovereign’s Chair for over two decades. The only other living Redlord was his son.

Frantic, curious voices echoed through the alley, drawing Everett’s attention back in the direction of Tornnoble’s Carriage Inn. A number of people had begun to wander down the alleyway. Everett suspected his dramatics at the tavern room had drawn the crowd.

Before Everett could say anything, the sergeant of the Sentinels called out, “Haliff and Perd, keep those citizens back.”

The two footmen not guarding the Southlanders replied, “Yes, Sergeant Binning.”

Everett pressed his lips together.

That’s right…Binning.

The pair of soldiers hurried down to corral the crowd. Everett scanned the faces quickly, wondering if Livia was among them. He did not spot her.

Come, Livia. See what has become of your beloved Quin…

He stopped suddenly.

What in the Nine Hells?

Mixed in with the crowd was the half-elf from the tavernroom of the Jackal. The beautiful creature met his eyes and gave him a coy, sweet smile. Everett stood, dumbfounded.

Who is—

“My Lord?”

Everett turned back to Sergeant Binning, still crouched down in the snow.

“Might you be able to tell me what happened here?”

Everett held a hand up. “One moment, Sergeant. I wish to see if Alpert is okay.”

The sergeant glanced at Alpert, then Quin’s body, and back to Everett. “Of course, my Lord.” There was a touch of suspicion in the man’s eyes.

Before turning his attention to Alpert, Everett looked back to the crowd, seeking out the face of the pretty half-elf. Like before, she had seemingly vanished.

No time, now…

Moving over to where Alpert huddled against the wall, Everett leaned close as if he were checking on a friend. Alpert stared at Everett, his eyes still wide with fear. In a low, whispered voice, Everett said, “They killed Quin, didn’t they, Alpert? We tried to stop them, but we were too late, yes?”

Alpert’s gaze flicked to Quin’s lump of a corpse in the alley. Quin had managed to crawl a few paces closer to the cross street after Everett had left him; bright red streaks of blood trailed the corpse.

Everett patted Alpert gently on the shoulder and muttered, “That is what happened, Alpert. And because you will attest to that, you will be well rewarded when I am the one sitting in the Sovereign’s Chair.”

Alpert turned back to stare at Everett. Fear was still present in his eyes, but it had changed. He was no longer afraid for his life, but something else entirely. Everett could work with that.

Good.

Everett whispered quietly, “If something like this were to happen to Quin, it could also happen to you. The alleys of Orcwatch are not always safe.”

Alpert was silent. Flakes of snow stuck to his hair and little puffs of air escaped from his lips, quickly whipped away by the Winter wind. Eventually, the younger boy nodded and whispered, “I understand, my Lord.”

Everett nodded and patted Alpert one last time on the shoulder. “I knew you would, Alpert.” Stepping away from the son of the baron, Everett moved to stand beside Sergeant Binning, his boots kicking up the freshly fallen snow.

The sergeant stood from his crouch, crossed his arms, and said firmly, “If you will, my Lord, please share what happened.”

Everett glared at the sergeant, perturbed by the man’s demanding tone. It sounded more order than request.

“Well, Sergeant Binning,” started Everett. He made sure to use the man’s name. Everett had found that commoners liked it when someone of noble birth addressed them by their name. “The regent directed me to check on preparations of the Grand Square—which I did—and afterwards, Alpert and I arrived at The Sleek Jackal, intent upon meeting our friend.” He glanced at Quin and offered a single, sad sniff.

Too much?

Sergeant Binning held up a hand and interrupted him. “The proprietor of the Jackal granted you entrance, my Lord?”

Everett smiled and shrugged. “With the festivals coming, it was so crowded, I’m sure he did not see us enter.” Everett liked going to the Jackal; there was no need to get Kinsey in trouble with the Sentinels or the regent.

The graybeard Southlander let a disbelieving huff slip out, earning a sharp look from Everett and the sergeant alike.

“Quiet, you,” muttered Sergeant Binning. “We will get to you in a moment.”

Everett pressed his lips together.

Yes, we will.

After a moment, Everett continued. “The moment we stepped inside, these three Southlanders began mocking us. They were quite rude to me in particular.”

Guy frowned in such a way that his guilt regarding the disrespect offered up was not in doubt.

Good…

From experience, Everett knew that every kernel of truth added to a lie made the falsehood that much more believable.

“We had only been there a short time I suggested we try Tornnoble’s instead of the Jackal. It was too crowded in there.” Everett glanced at Quin’s body and said, “I suppose if I had not said anything, poor Quin would still be alive…” He paused, waiting.

Sergeant Binning looked to the body. “Pardon, my Lord. Did you say Quin?”

Everett nodded. “Yes, Sergeant. Quin Cangswood. The son of Lott Cangswood, the gem merchant.” Everett thought saying the name of both father and son would draw a certain reaction. He was right.

Sergeant Binning did not move. He simply stared at Quin’s bloody body while holding the bloody dagger in his hand. The three soldiers guarding the Southlanders glanced at one another, however, with eyebrows raised in stunned surprise. The death of the only son of the wealthiest trader in Orcwatch would keep the city talking for weeks.

After a few heartbeats, the sergeant muttered, “Oh…Hells.”

Everett paused a few more moments, letting the revelation sink in further. He spared a look at Alpert and found the boy staring at Quin’s body, his face completely blank.

Behave, Alpert.

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Everett continued his story. “We left the Jackal—after suffering another round of drunken insults from the Southlanders.” Despite the excess of facial hair, Everett could see Guy’s face turning red. The Southlander looked as if he wanted to burst.

Not yet, Southlander…

“Alpert and I wanted to check again on the preparations for Years End in Grand Square, but Quin did not care to. He offered to go on ahead and secure a table for us at Tornnoble’s.” Everett glanced back to Quin again. “I wish he would have stayed with us.”

After hesitating for what he hoped was an appropriately reverent amount of time, he continued, “Alpert and I doubled back, taking a short path to the inn, when we stumbled upon these three men—” he pointed at the Southlanders “—holding Quin on the ground. I assume they followed us from the Jackal and decided to pick on Quin as he was all alone.” He glared at Guy. “Cowards.”

The graybeard shook his head, visibly livid. Everett decided to poke a little more at the man.

“As I ran up, that one there—“ he pointed at Guy “—looked back and saw me. Before I could do anything, he jabbed the dagger he was holding into Quin and—”

With a sharp, angry retort, Guy bellowed, “That is a lie! I found that dagger—”

Sergeant Binning growled, “Quiet, Southlander! Wait your turn or I’ll turn it on you!”

Everett grinned inside as Guy shut his mouth with a soft curse.

The sergeant turned back to Everett. “Continue if you will, my Lord.”

With a slow, sad nod, Everett said, “I rushed forward as Quin fell to the ground…I…I grabbed the dagger and pulled it from his neck, but I knew it was too late already.” He glared at Guy with cold eyes. “The Southlander had cut too deep. I sat there with Quin…while the blasted graybeard just stood there, laughing at us. The name-calling started again. He said he had wanted to teach us mountain-folk respect.”

“Blast the Gods!” shouted Guy. He was furious. “The blasted pup is lying again!”

Sergeant Binning stepped forward, cocked his arm, and smacked the back of his hand against Guy’s cheek. The graybeard’s head snapped to the side and, with a soft “oomph,” Guy collapsed to the snowy ground.

Everett watched with pleasure.

“Hold your tongue, Southlander,” muttered Sergeant Binning. “Or I will have my men cut it out and hold it for you.” The soldier glared at the Southlander. Any trace of suspicion the man might have reserved for Everett was gone.

That was easy.

Guy looked up from the snow to glare at him. A trickle of blood ran from the Southlander’s burst lip, dripping through his snow-speckled beard.

Angry enough, yet?

“I did not know what to do, sergeant,” murmured Everett haltingly. “My friend was dying…”

Sergeant Binning looked back to him, his expression tinted with a bit of sympathy.

Gods, I am good at this…

Everett held the soldier’s gaze and continued, “I needed help. I’m only a lad of sixteen—they are three, brawny Southlands men.” He glanced down the alley, towards the crowd, and jutted his chin in the direction of the inn. “I knew that Tornnoble’s was a favorite of the Sentinels. Without thinking, I leapt up and ran for help.” He turned to look at Alpert, and with as much remorse as he could muster without sounding insincere, he said, “Alpert, I’m so sorry for leaving you here. I didn’t realize what I had done until I was halfway there.”

Alpert peered at him for a long, quiet moment, his eyes haunted. Everett waited.

Turn on me, and you’re finished, Alpert Hyde.

Snow drifted peacefully from the gray clouds above, coating the tense situation in the alleyway with soft white flakes. The wind from earlier had stopped, allowing Everett to notice the  quiet mumblings from the crowd at the end of the way. Glancing up, he spotted a familiar face, staring at the small group.

Well, hello, Livia.

She stood at the front of the crowd, held back by the two Sentinel soldiers, and peering down the alley, anxious, but not upset. Livia appeared to be staring at the crumpled body of Quin. From where she stood, there was no chance she could know for sure who lay dead. Everett was sure she suspected, however.

Yet she clings to hope so tightly, doesn’t she?

Everett shook his head, almost amused by the situation.

Sergeant Binning prompted Alpert, “My Lord, are the events described by Lord Redlord how you remember them?”

Everett returned to staring at Alpert, waiting. Alpert glanced between Quin and Everett once.

Twice.

A third time.

Bless the Gods, you fool. Say something!

Everett reiterated his false apology, adding a touch more pleading to his tone. “Truly, Alpert, I am sorry.”

Alpert locked eyes with him.

Shaking his head, Everett muttered, “To think that they might have done to you what they did to Quin…”

I still could, Alpert.

The son of the baron finally nodded. With his voice cracking as he spoke, Alpert said, “I understand, my Lord. You went for help. There really is no need to apologize.”

A little wave of relief washed over Everett as he gave a slight nod.

Smart, Alpert. Very smart.

The sergeant of the Red Sentinels said, “To be clear then, Lord Hyde, you are corroborating this account?”

Alpert drew himself up and replied, “I am, Sergeant. After the duke’s son ran off, those two pushed me against the wall, and the old man threatened to kill me unless I handed over my money pouch.” Everett approved of the additional details added.

Still lying on the cold ground, Guy exclaimed, “They are both lying! They left the Jackal, and a few minutes later, that whelp—” he pointed to Alpert “—comes back and says—”

Everett stepped forward and kicked Guy in the gut, cutting his accusation short before any damage to their tale could be done. “I’m tired of your words, Southlander. You killed my friend; I have no reason to listen to your lies, as well.” He glared at the other two Southlands’ men, almost daring them to speak. Both were staring, wide-eyed, at Guy. They were terrified.

Weak minded and controllable…

Guy was the only true danger right now. Everett needed to remedy that.

The graybeard lay in the snow, only paces from Quin’s body, gasping for air. He peered up at Everett through watering eyes and sneered. Judging the moment ripe, Everett stepped closer to the man and bent low, ensuring that he remain alert. He knew he was treading a knife’s edge right now; if he was not careful, he could be cut.

 In a crisp, harsh tone, Everett said, “You dirty Southlanders will spend the rest of your lives rotting in a cell for what you’ve done today.” Keeping his eyes locked on Guy’s face and—more importantly—his hands, Everett called over his shoulder, “Sergeant, I think these men should be taken to the stockades now, don’t you?”

“Of course, my Lord,” replied Sergeant Binning.

Guy dropped his gaze for a moment, his eyes dancing back and forth in their sockets.

Come on…try something foolish…

As the sergeant gave orders to his men to get the Southlanders to their feet, Everett leaned forward and whispered so only Guy could hear, “Who’s the stupid one now, pup?”

Guy’s eyes snapped to Everett, wrathful and angry.

Ready, Everett…

In a great rush of movement, the Southlander graybeard pushed himself from the ground and scrambled in Everett’s direction. Letting out an angry roar, he reached into his coat, presumably for the long-handled knife strapped to his chest.

Predictable fool.

Everett leapt back, falling on his rear, and began to crawl away. Snow and cold stone stung his hands as he called out, “He has a knife!”

The Red Sentinels were quick to respond. One of the footmen, along with Sergeant Binning, leapt forward and thrust their longswords at the enraged man. The footman’s blade slipped into Guy’s right side, just below the rib cage, while Sergeant Binning’s blade pierced one of Guy’s upper thighs. With sharp bellow of pain, Guy dropped the knife he had pulled and collapsed back to the ground. Neither wound looked life threatening, however. Unwilling to take any chances that Guy might survive, Everett sprung forward, grabbed the Southlander’s blade from the snow, and plunged it into the man’s chest, aiming for his heart.

Guy’s eyes went wide. A burst of stale beer breath exploded from the man’s mouth, and blew straight into Everett’s face. A bubbling pool of blood seeped from the wound, splattering on the snowy ground like a spilt cup of red wine on a crisp, clean tablecloth. The man’s lips twitched silently for a moment before quickly going slack.

Everett pushed himself up from the body quickly and took a few, scuffling steps back, pretending to be horrified by what had happened.

Heh…that went well.

Sergeant Binning rushed to his side and asked, “My Lord, are you alright?”

Everett kept his eyes on Guy and nodded quickly, wearing a visage of pure shock and surprise. Inside, however, he was as calm Lake Hawthorne on a tranquil, Summer day.

I am perfectly fine.

Everett murmured, “He tried to kill me, too.”

Sergeant Binning turned to the other footmen and ordered, “Get those other two Southlanders to the stockades, now! Official charges: black murder. They will hang for this after the Patrician is done with them.”

A small bribe to the Patrician should make that a certainty…

As the two stunned men were hefted to their feet, and shuffled down the cross street, Everett made a show of composing himself. Alpert had not moved from his position throughout the brief struggle. His face was blank.

You served well, today, Alpert…

Content that the situation was taken care of now, Everett looked down the alleyway. Livia met his gaze immediately. While the worried, pleading expression on her face was amusing, it made her less attractive in Everett’s opinion.

“Sergeant?” asked Everett. “Do you see the young woman at the front of the crowd? The blonde in the dark blue overcoat standing next to the soldier?”

Sergeant Binning stared down the alley for a moment before nodding. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Let her through. She was…close to Quin.” He paused before adding, “She should know his fate.”

The sergeant nodded and called, “Haliff!” The Sentinel footmen beside Livia turned. “Let that one through!”

After ensuring he had the correct person, the soldier let Livia past. Everett moved toward her—earning a long, look from Alpert as he passed—striding down the alley to meet her halfway between where the crowd stood and the pair of bodies. He held up his arms, indicating she should stop.

The young woman halted, but looked past him, staring at Quin’s body. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but it did not seem any had fallen yet.

How precious…she still hopes.

In a voice that he filled with kindness and understanding, he said, “Livia, I am not sure you wish to go further.”

Her eyes snapped to meet his. She asked in a hoarse, quiet tone, “Is that Quin?”

How many maroon coats do you see in this city, woman?

Watching her expression closely, Everett nodded and muttered, “It is.”

A tiny tremor rippled over her face. The dam holding back her tears broke but she did not collapse into a fit of sobs as he thought she might. She stood as still as a statue as little streaks of wetness lined her cheeks.

Everett reached out, intending to take her hand and offer his condolences. To his surprise, Livia pulled away from his touch, staring at his blood-soaked hands.

Shaking her head, she asked in a harsh whisper, “What did you do?”

Dropping his hands to his side, Everett replied hesitantly, “What do you mean? That man killed Quin and tried to kill me. You saw what happened—”

Livia shook her head vigorously and hissed, “Quin told me what you said, you arrogant fool! I don’t care who you are, you hold no rights over me! Or anyone else!”

Everett peered at the young woman for a long moment. He supposed there was no chance she would dance with him on Year’s End if he asked now.

Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you, Quin?

Livia stepped closer and jammed a finger into Everett’s chest. “We both know what happened here, don’t we, my Lord?” The title came out as a viscous sneer.

With a cold hard stare, Everett said woodenly. “What happened is that a band of Southland criminals accosted us and murdered Quin. If it weren’t for my quick thinking, Alpert would be dead, too. After I heroically retrieved the Sentinels, Quin’s murderer tried in vain to assassinate me, the son of the duke. I killed him instead.”

Everett paused, tilted his head to the side, and added with a slight smile. “That is the story that will be told hundreds of times over during the festivals for the next two days, at least. I’m sure that healthy amounts of wine and ale will add a bit more heroism to my exploits. By the first of the year, people will think I singlehandedly stopped twenty Southland brigands with my bare hands, I would think.”

Livia drew her hand back with the obvious intent of slapping him. Everett reached up to catch her, stopping her palm before it struck his cheek and smudging streaks of blood on her wrist.

“I could have you locked up for weeks for even trying that,” muttered Everett. “But, as I’m feeling generous today, I forgive you. Walk away before I change my mind, Livia.”

The young beauty ripped her hand from his grip and, in a voice dripping with venom, hissed, “You will burn in the Nine Hells for what you’ve done today!”

Everett lifted an eyebrow, amused by the statement. “Perhaps I might. But before that day comes, I will most likely spend many a year sitting in the Sovereign’s Chair, enjoying my time as duke.” He shrugged. “That’s a fair enough exchange, I think.”

Livia glared at him a moment longer before spinning around and rushing back down the alley. She pushed her way through the crowd, finally letting a few audible sobs escape. Everett watched her go, disappointed that he was not going to have the opportunity to dance with her in a few days’ time.

Sighing, he turned and began to walk through the falling snow, back to the pair of bodies.

Ah, well. I suppose I can find another woman to dance with…