The palace reception room had been lovingly and breathtakingly transformed, as it was every year, into a display of such opulent perfection that only the most hardened and jaded soul would fail to be impressed by the sheer beauty of it all. Lords and Ladies were everywhere, all wearing their very best in pretentious ornamental finery. Everyone moved smoothly and eloquently, as if attempting to be worthy of where they stood at any given moment, mingling amongst each other like bejeweled butterflies.

There was a certain amount of magic in the air, an undercurrent of excitement and fear. This was it – the moment when all of your hard work either earned you the riches you felt you deserved, or went entirely unnoticed and plagued your waking thoughts for months. Dreams came true at functions such as this, the beauty and splendor surrounding you simply adding to the already strong impression that you must be dreaming, for the golden paradise that glittered before you could not possibly exist anywhere but in your wildest imagination.

Puke.

It's rather difficult to be sarcastic and miserable when surrounded by something like that, but I managed. If you're ever interested in learning the trick, a good portion of the secret involves making certain that you've had a sword shoved through your leg the night before, or possibly slammed into the side of your head. Both, if you can arrange it.

Finding out your entire family had been murdered instead of dying from natural causes like you'd originally thought, and then being unable to find out anything further from the fellow who hinted at such a thing ... that also helps.

I sat there, damaged as I was, high up in the balcony watching the other Lords and Ladies flit to and fro amongst the various tables and each other much like ... well, I've used 'butterflies' to describe them once already, I know. But that's just what they reminded me of. Really, what good is it to come up with the perfect simile if you're only able to use it once?

Ordinarily I would have been flitting to and fro myself, though both my limited mobility and my dark mood made such a thing impossible. Very few people came over to visit me or say hello, given the out of the way location I'd chosen. Those who did come by merely stayed long enough to nod, inquire about my health, make their excuses and leave.

Without a doubt, several dozen versions of what transpired between Redforne and myself were already circulating mercilessly, and I could only guess as to their contents. No doubt Theo, who had assured me that he was fully recovered from his ordeal and was currently mingling in the crowd below, would keep track of all the rumors he was able to sniff out and give me a rundown of everything he'd heard when next we met.

Perhaps I was still numb with shock, but I found myself not really caring what anyone thought. I sat alone, having told Tarryl to wait for me with the carriage, preferring to limp to my seat without the benefit of any assistance. Given the aforementioned multitude of rumors that must have been circulating, I didn't really have any concerns over my personal safety. I'd killed a swordsman the likes of which had not been seen in a score of years, after all. Who in their right mind would want to try something?

In truth, I wanted to be alone. Surrounded by nothing but glittering beauty and starry-eyed Lords and Ladies bursting with excitement and eager anticipation, I felt very alone indeed.

My mind went in circles as I sat there waiting, wisps of thought again and again returning to Redforne and all that had occurred the previous evening. It seemed like I could not go five minutes without experiencing the pang of realization anew, this feeling of overwhelming remorse, sadness, and anger. At times my thoughts would wander - seeing some Lord I recognized, or wondering idly what sort of delectable food item a servant was in the process of bringing out ... and the very absence of that feeling would suddenly hit me like cold water, reminding me once again of what had happened a mere day ago and pulling me back into the familiar, frustrated despair.

Hours passed as I sat there, unmoving, my chin resting on the banister of the balcony overlooking the hundreds of people below. I barely even moved when the trumpet fanfare finally announced the arrival of the Prince, the man who would be meting out both fortune and misery this day, news both good and bad.

With the diminutive Prince's arrival there was an immediate cessation of mingling as everyone focused on finding a seat, or returning to a seat they'd claimed earlier. Given that this was an event that any territory-owning Lord or Lady must attend, there were hundreds of seats available, and all of them would fill up in fairly short order ... even the ones up in the balcony area where I had parked myself.

Tenarreau didn't simply show up from behind the far curtain and sit down on his throne ... there was far too much pomp and ceremony involved for something as simple as that. He and his entourage walked into the grand hall slowly, his feet moving to a regular and steady cadence that was being belted out by invisible trumpeters, his every move somber and serious. It took him three full minutes to traverse a distance it would have taken me fifteen seconds to cover at a comfortable walk, a fact that had nothing to do with the length of Tenarreau’s legs.

Just seeing him was enough for me to recall my last meeting with him the night before.

I'd been escorted to him in record time once I'd identified myself to the group of guards who handled his day to day affairs. When I entered his study I found him appearing distracted and preoccupied. He'd looked at me, said my name, and waited for me to speak.

I wished I’d been in possession of news he'd wanted to hear.

Everything spilled out of me in a tumble. I'm not even certain how much sense I made trying to describe what happened.

Prince Tenarreau had stood there with an open book held before him, listening impassively. His face was devoid of any sort of expression as I recounted the details of the incident at my keep, still fresh in my mind. I attempted to describe how I'd tried to convince Redforne to reconsider his brash act, the very real effort I'd made to avoid bloodshed.

In the end he'd simply stood there for a couple of minutes staring blankly at the floor, as if pondering, book still open in his hands. Then he looked at me once more. Expressionless, he'd simply said “Thank you, Tucat. You may go.”

Asking about my family, or how this sudden turn of events might impact the offer he’d made ... well, it didn't exactly strike me as a wise course of action. The Prince had some very sudden changes to try to accommodate, and he looked like he'd been hitting the tea a little hard, the fumes in his study suggesting that he’d been burning the candle at both ends. Not the most opportune time, I figured.

I left, having heard a mere handful of words from the Prince. I went back home, and I tried to sleep.

When that failed I opted to simply lie on my back all evening long, staring at the ceiling and thinking bleak thoughts. It was probably the best thing for my leg as well as the rest of me, given how much blood I'd lost.

I spent most of that night haunted by images of Redforne, plagued by feelings of guilt, kept awake with thoughts of my murdered family. When I wasn't torturing myself, I was wondering what changes the ceremony would bring about. I'd done nothing overly spectacular that year in terms of creative thievery, having concerned myself more with maintaining the healthy equilibrium of the territory I'd managed to carve out for myself.

Gaining property wasn't really what I wanted at this point anyways. It became clearer the more I thought about it. I craved information.

I needed to know. Title, estate, wealth ... none of it meant anything compared to finding out whatever I could about the circumstances of my family's demise.

A situation almost identical to that of the boy I'd killed.

Irony, see? Life's full of irony.

Howling in frustration felt like a good idea. It was maddening, knowing just enough to whet the desire for retribution, your only source of information someone you couldn't pressure, couldn't force the knowledge out of.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the sudden silence that had fallen. The ceremony was beginning. The Prince was at the lectern and about to speak.

He stood in front of his throne, his very appearance as utterly transformed as the room had been. Tenarreau looked nothing like the creature I had left behind in his study last night. He'd looked bedraggled and tired then, his bleary red-rimmed eyes evoking my sympathy despite the dangerous glitter of coldly calculated intelligence that I saw lurked beneath them.

Now he stood before the collected Lords looking refreshed and energetic and spry, even seeming a little bit taller than usual. He looked pleased, and his smile seemed infectious.

Some herbs were capable of amazing things, I mused. No doubt Tenarreau would pay some harsh price for it later, but for now he looked confident and in control ... just as a Prince should.

The first fifteen minutes or so involved a small announcement regarding the condition of the city of Harael, a carefully prepared and fairly well-crafted speech, one that used some impressively descriptive words throughout. There was a smattering of applause after, which he accepted with a small bow.

Once that had been taken care of, he listed off the names of Lords who were no longer considered active Lords within the city, having pocketed their fortunes and moved elsewhere, or died suddenly, or transferred ownership by mutual agreement, or one of a dozen or so other reasons. I won’t attempt to recite the list, since I was only half-listening anyways.

The mention of Greybridge’s name provoked quite a stir. Several faces turned to one another in astonishment, and one or two turned to focus on me. I had, after all, undertaken to represent Greybridge in a duel a mere day ago. Was I somehow responsible? Those who had heard about the duel were likely wondering exactly that.

Let 'em wonder. I simply stared down at the assembly below, chin resting on my forearms, which were in turn laying upon the banister on the very edge of the balcony.

The news concerning Greybridge also caused ripples of excitement amongst those in attendance, which was not surprising. That much territory up for grabs meant that your chances of an unexpected windfall increased dramatically.

And then, preliminaries done with, Tenarreau began talking about what everyone was there to hear.

There were no maps on display or any sort of means to illustrate the area the Prince was talking about ... he simply recited your name, waited for you to stand, and then described your new territory in terms of the streets that formed its borders. Sometimes your territory grew a little, sometimes it shrank.

Nobody applauds during the delivery of this portion of the speech, since it is a nearly impossible feat of memory to remember specific territorial details that are not your own. I mean, imagine if you’d heard the Prince recite the boundaries of a formidably sized territory, and you became so impressed that you clapped heartily ... only to discover that the Lord in question had formerly occupied nearly twice that amount. Awkward...

Sitting quietly eliminated the possibility of misunderstanding. Usually, you could tell by a Lord’s tone of voice as they phrased the traditional reply of thanks whether or not they viewed the new territorial boundaries in a positive light, or a negative one. I'd heard Lords practically sputtering with rage as they recited the politely worded thanks, and heard others who sounded so bewildered and baffled by their own good fortune that they gave the impression of forgetting how to speak entirely.

I'd been to a total of seven of these events since turning twenty-three and laying formal claim to my estate. I'd gained territory three times, and remained unchanged for four. I'd never actually lost territory, which was a common enough occurrence amongst Lords that its absence was a point of personal pride for me.

A very small part of me wondered just how upset the Prince was with how things had turned out, and if I'd be subjected to my first territorial loss as a result.

It was a small, silly thought – Tenarreau was a politician, someone who didn't care a whit about personal feelings or grudges, so long as a person could perform in the capacity he required of them. I'd served my purpose, he'd told me as much in his study.

Still, that fact might also be the only thing keeping me out of the palace prison.

I half-listened to the list of names and the Prince's subsequent description of their territory, the responses to which seemed mostly positive. There were a few disappointed voices here and there – in some areas of town it was not possible for someone to gain territory without it being at the expense of another.

Overall, it seemed that most people were fairly happy with the news, were gratified to learn that Tenarreau's perception of their performance nearly matched their own.

Theo's name was called, and his holdings had changed not at all, yet again. His territory had not gained a single yard since he'd taken possession of it, something that he claimed was precisely what he wanted. Given how large his holdings were (twice as large as my own) this could hardly be disappointing for him. While it may have lacked ambition, there is a certain satisfaction that comes from knowing that you have what you would consider to be enough, and that the Prince believes you capable of maintaining it well. I'd be sure to congratulate Theo later, once everything had returned to normal.

I'm usually mentioned right after Theo, or just before. This time, however, the Prince went from Theo to Lord Marcsun (who lost some territory, I noted with some small measure of glee), followed by Cleaver, seeming to bypass my territory entirely. I tried not to read too much into it.

Dozens of names trickled by, one after another, the street names and description of territories blending together and becoming indistinguishable to my ear.

And then I heard another name I recognized.

“Redforne,” Tenarreau said, glancing down at the assorted jumble of cards he held just below the specially designed lectern he stood behind. “Vita Redforne.”

Near the back of the main floor, I saw the serene and lovely woman who had introduced herself to me as Lady Teuring rise slowly to her feet. She was garbed in black, and wore a solemn expression.

I remained absolutely still as I watched her rise, emotions too numerous to count suddenly churning within the confines of my chest. Sorrow, pity, remorse ... I'd taken her husband from her. Regardless of the circumstances, the various twists and turns that had been offered up by fate, it was something that I could not deny. No matter how hard I wished to.

Tenarreau continued his address after receiving a respectful nod from the black-clad figure.

“It is with a heavy heart that I acknowledge that even as I prepared to bestow upon Eagan Redforne the rights and privileges of Lordship in Harael, I learned that tragedy had befallen the Redforne Family in the form of a terrible, terrible accident, one that cost young Eagan Redforne, only son of Salvatori Redforne, his life.”

Accident?

“It pains me to learn of the passing of such a talented man, one who held so much promise,” he continued. “I would like to take this moment to extend to Lady Redforne the Crown's most heartfelt condolences. All of Harael suffers with you – what this fair city could have become with the benefit of your husband's guidance, the infusion of his spirit, has been lost to us forever.”

...Accident?

What in the name of all the gods was he doing? One would have to be stone deaf not to have heard at least a dozen different rumors concerning myself and the late Eagan Redforne. For Tenarreau to actually use the word 'accident' to describe his death was tantamount to him declaring the matter settled, for all intents and purposes.

I decided to start paying very close attention to what the Prince was saying.

“Thank you, your Highness,” was all Vita was able to say. Her voice gave the strong impression of someone in extreme emotional distress.

I felt another razor-sharp dagger of guilt thrust itself into my chest, needling my soul.

“As tribute to his skill, and the solid promise that he showed as a Lord of Harael, I bequeath the following. Four Stones and Saxon North to Tippany Road, Tippany East to Forecastle, Forecastle to Silhouette, West along Silhouette to Banes Bridge, North up Chelsea to Two Stones, back to Four Stones and Saxon. The building that was once known as Redforne Keep is contained within that spot, I believe,” Tenarreau said, nodding his head towards Lady Redforne.

Well. Surprising, but not an unpleasant thing to happen. I'd never heard of a widow being honored in this way before, but I suppose there is a first time for everything. Still, she had all but confessed to me her naivety when it came to politics, and being given territory was much, much different than being able to hold it. I felt a touch of worry over that. From what I was able to recall, it wasn't an easy neighborhood she'd just been given, part of Greybridge's old estate, with-

“This property will be held in Surety by the Crown until such time as it can be claimed by his son, Faene Redforne,” the Prince continued. “Upon his twenty-third birthday he may negotiate with the Crown the terms by which he will take possession of this property.”

...Son?

I experienced another spiritual kick to the crotch, yet another unexpected twisting of the invisible knife that had buried itself deep within me.

History repeats itself. Another Redforne whose father had been stolen from him by a Tucat. Yet another vendetta, another blood feud pitting this family against what remained of mine. Another child raised amid the anger of loss, allowed to soak up the poisonous and heady fumes of revenge and murder. A boy brought up to hate me, just as Eagan Redforne had.

My eyes closed, my heart feeling heavy in my chest, a sick feeling in my gut. I almost missed the Prince calling my name a minute or so later.

“Tucat. Lord Vincent Tucat,” he said, looking out to the crowd as if he had no idea where I was, though I'd caught him looking upwards and in my direction at least a half dozen times over the course of the ceremony.

I stood, slowly. A great many faces turned to look at me as I did so.

I resisted the urge to snarl at them all.

Suddenly, none of it mattered. I didn't care. I wanted to be punished, to have territory taken away from me. Just leave me my keep, I thought to myself. They could take everything else for all I cared.

I was tired, I decided. Tired of nothing being what it seemed, tired of the suspicious glances being leveled at me, or murderous ones. I had been working far too hard on my reputation, and had reached the point where I wanted nothing to do with the activity at all any more. I was done. Let someone else pull off bold, daring thefts designed to humiliate and impress. Look where being clever and sneaky had gotten me, after all.

Screw it.

Drawing myself up, ignoring the pain, I looked down at the assembled Lords and Ladies below me. Then I set my jaw, pressed my lips together tightly and looked to the Prince, bowing my head slightly.

Do your worst, I thought.

“Tournay and Robe Street West to Finnay, North to Pike...”

Familiar roads being recited in a familiar order. A part of me seemed to feel a sense of profound disappointment that was surprising, like it had almost been looking forward to the idea of being stripped of land and title, like it would have come as some-thing of a relief.

“Pike to Flaine, West to Chimney Rock, North to Yellow Shoal...”

Yellow Shoal was new, and ... hey! I was being given some of Marcsun's territory, the area that he'd lost! The thoughts of what kind of apoplectic fit that was likely to inspire from him cheered me somewhat. It was a healthy chunk of land, large enough that it would probably sting his pride a little bit, as well as hurt his income. I risked a small smile at that, just in case he was watching.

Asses like Marcsun got what they deserved from time to time. The news buoyed me somewhat.

Perhaps some small measure of justice still existed in the world. I tried to focus on the positive side of the situation. Maybe I didn't need something quite as drastic as having my territory stripped away from me.

I was overreacting, responding emotionally instead of logically as a result of how I was feeling. Never a good thing. Perhaps I simply needed to allow myself the chance to settle back into my old routines, step back into the life that had existed before all this craziness had begun.

“-to Crab Tree Lane, to Painter's Lane, North to Corby Street, to Speakswell...”

Wait a minute...

“ -West to Herod, North to Redbrick, to Hastings, to...”

What the hell was this?!

I didn't recognize any of the street names Tenarreau was rattling off, one right after the other. They weren't in my territory, and they weren't streets belonging to my neighbors. I was being given brand new territory.

A lot of new territory.

“-Richford, North to Fowl Alley, West to Fortress Hill, to Jade, South to Fallow’s End...”

Those streets had a familiar ring – the very streets I’d traveled during my recent exploits, the roads and paths near the keep of a certain Lord I had stolen from.

I was being handed Greybridge Keep!

By now there were looks of astonishment on the faces of those assembled, even those who were not overly familiar with my old territorial boundaries. These were streets and neighborhoods that people were familiar with, Lords especially. Several extravagant, well-to-do shops were run here.

The list of street names went on and on, distinctly longer than anyone else’s had. Dozens more. At one point he had to actually flip the card he was holding over, as well as take a breath.

“-South to Smithy, to Hutchins, to Tournay, back to the corner of Tournay and Robe Street,” he finally finished.

Everyone was stunned. Hell, I was stunned...

And I began to suspect that I knew why the Prince had done what he’d done.

Even the largest territories managed by Lords could usually be described with a half-dozen or so street names, the vast majority of territories conforming to the shape of rectangles. Even if a street did wind or meander, the border it described would meander with it. A single city block or a few miles, the description of the length of the border was about the same size, verbally.

My own territory was square, or had been, more or less. Now, near the north end, it extended up along a tiny corridor that had been opened up through Marcsun’s territory in order that it might tie most of Greybridge’s old territory to my own, like two boxes tied together with a thin piece of string.

This was not a reward.

A target had been painted on my head, though likely it was only the Prince and myself who knew it. I didn’t know the exact size of the portion of Greybridge’s territory I’d been given but it sounded substantial. Quite substantial, and oddly-shaped enough so that the lengthy description of it would catch the attention of everyone assembled. Very likely it also bordered several territories of Lords whose behavior had become problematic as of late.

I would be fulfilling the role the Prince had told me Redforne was going to play in keeping some of the other Lords in line. The only difference was that instead of a young Lord desiring to prove himself, I was a Lord who was being thrown into the wolf-pit, given an impressive amount of new territory and put in a situation where I would have to fight tooth and nail just to keep it.

A fortune in well developed territory in the right hands, with some hefty strings attached.

Strings I didn't want.

All this flicked through my mind in the barest instant as the last dying echoes of the Prince’s words faded away amid the astonished silence.

I cleared my throat, coughing lightly into my hand.

“Highness, the honor you do me is too great. Modesty and humility aside, I fear I am unworthy of such a substantial offering, of such prominence within our fair city. I assure you that the only reward I require is a few kind words from your most noble self, words that I would treasure more than any amount of gold.”

Roughly translated - Screw all that other stuff. All I want is to know about my family.

It wasn’t the traditional reply, and any scandalous murmurs went unnoticed by me. I was too busy looking the Prince in the eye, staring down at him from the balcony where I stood.

His expression barely changed, still radiating calm confidence and good cheer. He cocked his head at me, acting as though there was nothing unusual about my breech of protocol, my utterance of this message that only he and I understood the significance of. He knew what I was saying, and my tone couldn’t really be misinterpreted either.

The smile he wore got a touch wider, and he responded.

“Lord Tucat, this is not a gift with which I give to you, but is simply a token of the honor that you are due – a measure of what you have demonstrated you so richly deserve. I have no doubt that a year from now, when you have fulfilled my expectations and your territory has flourished, the words of gratitude you shall receive from me for the service you have done for all of Harael will render all other words pale and trite in comparison.”

Roughly translated – Tough beans. I know that’s what you want, and you’ll have to work for it. You helped create this problem, I want your help fixing it. Survive for a whole year, do as I wish, and then we shall discuss your family.

I couldn't really tell if he was able to notice the look I was giving him, given the distance between the two of us. I stood there unmoving, as countless Lords and Ladies watched us with unfeigned curiosity, blind to the nature of the words that had just been exchanged between us.

I cleared my throat.

“I know the land of which you speak – I thank you, and do accept responsibility on behalf of the Crown. I pray to be worthy of the honor that has been done me this day, and swear to protect the lives of the citizens you've entrusted to me as if they were my own,” I said, reciting the traditional, time-honored words...

Very sarcastically.

I sat down, my leg sending me searing reminders that I shouldn't be attempting to use it. There wasn't going to be anything more to announce - my news was the obvious finishing note that he wished to leave fresh in the collective minds of the Lords and Ladies present. I stared at my feet, avoiding any looks being sent my way, blocking out what I could.

There was the gentle sound of trumpets a minute later. I felt my lip curl, and continued scowling at the floor.

Almost everyone rose to their feet as the Prince departed. I chose to remain sitting because I was exhausted, and standing made me dizzy, and my leg hurt, and I didn't feel like going downstairs to socialize...

And I wasn't thinking very happy thoughts about my Prince at the moment.

He didn't need to do what he'd just done - there had been time to talk beforehand. I'd attempted to see him that morning, in fact, only to be turned away by the very same tired-looking guards who had all but whisked me off my feet in their efforts to bring me to the Prince's study the night before.

He'd wanted me unbalanced and astonished in front of every-one, perhaps so I wouldn't find some way to weasel out of what he'd just arranged. As it were, I admit that I was shocked at my own temerity, responding to his offer the way I had. It was hard to know which people would be talking about more – my scandalous lack of respect for tradition, or my bewilderingly sarcastic acceptance of what most Lords would view as a priceless and undeserved gift.

I shouldn't have sounded quite so sarcastic, I know. He'd surprised me, and I hate being surprised.

“Lord Tucat?” a quiet, feminine voice said from nearby, jolting me from my thoughts.

Oh, son of a bitch...

“Lady Redforne,” I said bleakly, recognizing the voice. I didn't look up, not wishing to look at her. Then, I considered how rude such a thing was, and began to look up ... and then paused, conflicted. I tensed as if to rise, and then stopped. Clearing my throat quietly, I opened my mouth to speak while wondering what it was that I'd say.

A strangled sounding 'I-' was all that came out.

Damn it.

“It feels so strange to be called that, I keep forgetting people are referring to me,” she said, sounding as though she were giving me a sad sort of smile. I don't know if she was – I still couldn't look at her.

“My Lady, I ... words can't express-” I stammered, shaking my head. “If I could have, I ... I tried to-”

“Please, Lord Tucat,” she said softly, sitting down on the chair beside me. “I know. The Prince, he told me everything this morning, explained it all. I'm so terribly sorry.”

I very quickly turned my head to look at her. Her red-rimmed eyes were fixed on mine, filled with a mixture of sorrow and compassion.

“Lady,” I croaked hoarsely, “of all people, you are the last who should have reason to be sorry for anything, and if you feel you do then I fear that what the Prince has told you may not be-”

“He told me that my husband broke into your keep after the duel, and that he died attempting to murder you,” she said, quietly. “He told me that you tried to stop him, talk him out of it – that you even tried to save him when he ... when-” she broke off, perhaps stifling a sob.

I stifled one of my own. She'd become the slightest bit blurry all of a sudden.

“I'm so sorry, My Lady. It ... I tried, and we couldn't, but ... but it was still me who ended...” I took a shuddering breath. “I'm sorry. Gods, how you must hate me.”

“I don't hate you, Lord Tucat,” she said gently, sadly, putting a tentative hand on my arm a moment later. “I ... I became aware of certain things. There was something different about him lately – something wrong. I had thought that it was something to do with his plans, the dinner that you'd attended ... I'd been so terribly anxious about that whole thing. But things somehow went even more wrong after that. He didn't act the same, he looked at me differently, treated people differently. It scared me a little ... made me nervous.

“It was as if he were a different person – ironic, I know. Perhaps he sensed my unease, for two nights ago when he came back from the Circles smelling of evil substances, he bid me come to our library once I'd put Faene to bed for the evening. When I did, he sat me down and told me everything, and when it became clear to him that I didn't believe his words he provided me with proof. It was ... quite convincing.”

Redforne's fortune made mine look like the contents of a beggar's hat. When you're that rich, it isn't exactly hard to convince someone you're rich. I nodded attentively.

“But it made me angry, so very angry! The man I knew and loved seemed not to exist at all. It was funny – he had thought I would be overjoyed when I learned that my husband was in fact a man of considerable wealth and power, that we needn't live in a keep with boards lining exposed holes to ward off drafts ... like it mattered not at all that he'd lied about everything, right down to who he was. And yet he professed to love me, this person I almost didn't know at all.”

“I believe he did, Vita,” I said, feeling like I should contribute something. The wounds to her heart were still fresh, and yet she had come to me at the first opportunity, attempting to balm my soul. “He ... we were talking, and I tried to dissuade him, point out everything he might lose through his actions. Your name was mentioned, and he became emotional. Nothing else caused his resolve to flicker, but mentioning you...” I let the words hang there, uncertain of how to continue.

A minute passed in silence. I looked away, because, contrary to what some people might think of me, I don't derive any pleasure from watching a fellow human being in pain.

“I tried talking him out of it as well,” she said, her words quiet and heavy. “He said I didn't understand, couldn't understand what he needed to do. And he was right, because it made no sense! I begged, pleaded with him to give up this notion that you were somehow responsible for what happened to his father, that you deserved to die. I tried ... so hard. So hard,” she sniffed, the back of her hand quickly wiping her cheekbone.

I had taken to staring at the ceiling by this time, having swallowed the lump in my throat at least a half dozen times.

“I cannot hate you, Lord Tucat. You wished for none of this, nor did I. And though my heart-” I heard her voice catch suddenly as she sobbed and broke off mid-sentence, eyes closing tightly.

The two of us simply sat and stared at nothing for a while, neither of us saying a word. We were both in pain, for similar reasons. Minutes went by.

“I'm so sorry,” I said, finally, making an effort to breathe normally, turning to look at her while trying to loosen the tight grip of sorrow that was squeezing my chest.

“As am I,” she replied, sounding as if she were experiencing something similar.

We both pretended not to notice how much of a wreck the other was. She was first to stand, smoothing out some of the wrinkles that had appeared in her skirt and sniffling as she did so. She waved a gesture towards a woman who was waiting patiently out of earshot, and who was holding the hand of a small boy who was looking at me with biggest green eyes I'd ever seen.

“I should go. Faene needs his nap soon,” she said quietly. “So much to do suddenly, and ... apparently I need to plan a move to a new keep.”

She attempted a brave smile, her eyes still glassy and her lower lip trembling.

“If you should need help with anything at all, please ... call on me,” I said, feeling my own face following her trembling lead. “And please, tell Faene when he's old enough to understand, tell him I'm-”

My voice went hoarse and I slowly shook my head, as if to express my inability to articulate what my heart was attempting to say.

She looked at me, and after a few moments she nodded.

“Faene will know of his father, Lord Tucat. He will know that it was his father's own anger that stole him from us,” she said, raising her chin slightly. “I don't understand what drove my husband to do what he did – I will not allow the seed of that same anger to blossom in my son. I do not blame you for this, and neither will he. I wished for you to know this.”

Tears began rolling down my cheek silently, and the entire room decided to become a blur of golden reflected light for a while. I didn't notice when she silently departed, no further words being exchanged or needed. Perhaps she sensed that there was truly no good way of ending a conversation like ours.

I sat there for a good, long time. Long enough for the throngs of mingling Lords who had crowded the large hall below me to dissipate into a few hundred, and then to a mere dozen or so.

Long enough that my thoughts began to drift to things other than profound sadness mingled with regret.

Like the fact that Tarryl was probably still anxiously waiting for me outside.

I sighed and rose to my feet carefully, picking my black walking stick from against the wall where I'd left it, and somehow managing to make it all the way to the stairs without leaning on anything. I wasn't silly enough to attempt the same feat on the stairs, and chose to hobble down the several flights leading to the main entrance area with a firm grip on the bannister.

With so many of the other nobles having already left, my own carriage was easy to locate, being one of the only ones remaining. Mine was also the only one that had a pensive-looking Tarryl standing beside it. Upon recognizing me, he quickly set about preparing the horses and opening the door in anticipation of my arrival.

“Sorry Tarryl,” I said, limping to within earshot and gratefully accepting his offer of assistance for the last few yards. “I didn't mean to make you wait quite this long. Some things came up.”

“No need to apologize, Milord,” he said, sounding more concerned for my well-being than annoyed at the lateness of my return. I'd have to give him a raise, I thought.

...I'd have to give everyone a raise.

Oh gods, I'd have to hire new staff, just to handle the new responsibilities that had been thrust upon me. I'd have to introduce myself to new shopkeepers, win them over ... I'd have to-

I pressed my fingers against my closed eyes firmly, idly wondering if the headache I knew was coming would distract me from the pain I felt in my leg.

“Home please, Tarryl,” I said as I gingerly lowered myself into the carriage seat. “Straight home, if you please.”

“Aye Milord,” he called back.

Yes, home was where I needed to be. I had large amounts of wine there.

And a towel I could scream into.

I looked out the window, bleakly, and then spoke up once more before he was out of earshot.

“If we should pass by a temple on the way, would you be so kind as to stop and let me know?” I asked, bitterly. “There's a few gods I'd like to give a piece of my mind.”