Young Writers Society

"Certainly." The woman curtsied again and produced a key. "Oh, and I would advise avoiding the topic of Lord Michael when you're around Lord Gaius."

“I appreciate the advice.” Pratik took the key and stepped into the room, eyes flicking around the area as he tried to take it all in. Don’t mention Michael. Got it.

"The door locks from the outside," she added. "I've got another key; we'll lock you in at night. Sleep well."

“You as well,” Pratik answered, then gently closed the door and listened as the maid locked him in.

It was a nice room. Simple. And apparently cursed. But nice nonetheless. Much better than sleeping in a cell like he had the first night here. Pratik wandered around slowly, then kicked off his boots and fell backward onto the bed, sprawling across it as he stared straight up at the ceiling.

There was so much to process, now that he finally had time.

The Ash children were clearly smart and used to being taken seriously by adults. Sera seemed like she’d enjoy nothing more than watching Pratik get flayed, if she ever had the chance. Ash seemed distant from his family, but Pratik didn’t particularly believe that. Men who didn’t care for their family tended to have children who were scared to speak and wives who didn’t make eye contact. And that clearly wasn’t the case here.

The maid. He’d need to get her name later. So much information surrounding Gaius’s family, which might some day be helpful to know.

Pratik stretched his back, mind playing through what information he’d learned tonight that could be helpful and committing it to memory.

Gaius sat at his desk in his study, poring over the letter he had received that morning. Tomhas did indeed have a mercenary in his employ--a skilled one at that. His source hadn't been able to get a name, but he could confirm that there was one and that he had been deployed to Ren at some point last week. Gaius hadn't heard of any activity there, but it was very useful information. It was a good thing he was paying this source well.

Apparently, he needed to get Sara alone. He wasn’t sure exactly what she might be likely to tell him. But he wasn’t one to pass up on advice like that, no matter what came of it.

Pratik was grateful the feeling had finally come back into his fingers, his toes just a bit behind, still tingling as they hung over the edge of the bed. He rubbed his face. He wasn’t looking forward to debriefing with Ash. He’d much rather just try to put that memory far, far out of his mind. But he was getting paid to do what he’d done. And to share the information he’d gathered. So he needed to pull himself together and stop being so sentimental before Ash picked up on the fact that Pratik hated killing as much as he hated it.

Gaius rubbed his eyes; he'd had a splitting headache since that morning and he was feeling a little dizzy. Sera would tell him it was his own fault for skipping breakfast entirely, and she would be right, but he wasn't in the mood for another one of her lectures. She knew as well as he did that he couldn't help not being hungry.
That being said, a little food would definitely help him focus on this letter. He'd read the same three sentences over at least ten times now.

Pratik groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position, then slowly walked to the opposite side of the bed and found that his saddlebags had already been brought up to the room. He checked them. They had very clearly been rifled through this time -- no doubt to check for more weapons even though he'd surrendered all he'd had in them at the gate -- but nothing was missing.

He dug through his bag until he found the little ball he'd stolen when he was probably no older than nine or ten. It'd been a comfort to him back then -- the only semblance of a childhood he'd ever have -- and it was a comfort to him now. He sat on the edge of his bed and tossed the ball into the air again and again and again, trying not to think of the carnage as he thought about what he'd tell Ash. It was hard to say when that meeting would be, and he needed to be ready to report no matter when he was sent for.

He decided to take a break. There was still a lot to do and dinner hadn't exactly felt like a break itself; he'd been occupied with watching Pratik.
Gaius rose, gripping his cane tightly. He stretched and a few bones cracked satisfyingly. Perhaps it was time to visit the graveyard again. He hadn't been to Oscar's bench in some time; certainly not since the start of the war.

I bet those men had families. Throw. Maybe kids. Catch. Or a wife. Throw. Or parents. Catch. Not everyone's like you. Throw. Some people know love. Catch. Have people to miss them when they're gone. Throw. That miss them now. Catch.

He didn't throw it this time. Instead, he squeezed it, a stab of anger running through him as he realized what he was doing. Stop it. It's not like they didn't know what they were signing up for. No one forced them to become soldiers. They chose their fate.

He tossed the ball onto the bed beside himself and rubbed his face, sighing deeply. He still couldn't shake the guilt of knowing he was the last man on this planet to see those men alive. Saw their last breath. Took it from them.

They're no better than you are. His mind flicked back to what Sera had said at dinner -- the world would be better with fewer deplorable things in it. He knew she was talking about him -- and he even agreed with her point there. But he wasn't the only deplorable thing. And he'd eliminated more of the problem than what his existence caused. We all deserve to die. You're just quicker.

Gaius made his painful way out of his study and down the two flights of stairs to the ground level. He was dressed warmly as always, but he flipped up his hood anyway as he exited the Keep and limped out to the graveyard.

The Ash family plot was enormous. It took up nearly ninety acres of land within the Keep walls, making up the majority of outdoor space. Each grave was occupied by a single stone bench, upon which a marble statue of the deceased had been posed. Hundreds of Gaius's ancestors, all seated peacefully row after row. His father was buried here, as was his mother. As was Michael.
But Gaius wasn't here to speak to them today. He was here for Oscar.

How had he even found himself here?

He flopped backward, bending his neck over the foot of the bed so that he could look at the room upside-down. He rubbed his own throat, imagining what it might feel like to have his own dagger slice through it.

He never wanted any of this.

Part of him hated the fact that he'd caught the soldier raping the girl. Maybe if he hadn't killed him, then he could have stuck to petty crime and been a mere thief instead of having to live life on the run and learn how to defend himself first, then turn those skills to the offense.

But, then, if he hadn't caught the soldier, then he would have just been left to hurt that poor girl. And she didn't deserve that any more than he deserved to have the soldier's death on his conscience. They were two kids, both of whom had their childhoods ruined by the same damned soldier.

He wondered if she'd ever recovered from that, or if she was as fucked up as he was now.

Gaius didn't have far to go. He walked past his mother, whose willowy frame was turned towards the next bench, which was empty. Her eyes were fixed on where his own head might be. Inaccurate and overly poetic, Gaius had disliked the commissioning of that statue. Michael was next, sitting stiff as a board on his bench with his thick brow furrowed and his face a mask of stoic contemplation. Another lie. Then came his father, who looked so much like him it was almost frightening. Gaius avoided looking at him as he passed.
The final bench held a tiny boy, barely a year old. The stone statue sat with its knees tucked up under it, and its gaze was turned toward the sky. A wide smile was carved into its round, eager features.
"No clouds tonight, eh, Oscar?" Gaius eased himself down beside the statue, resting his gloved hands on his cane and letting his chin sit atop them. "The moon's full."

He had to stop.

Obsessing about his mission. Lamenting his past and playing poor-me when he thought of how unfair it was for Ash's children to have a stable home. But most of all, being in this line of work. This will be my last job.

It was a lie.

He knew it.

He always knew it.

He'd tried to get out of it before, and it always ended the same way. He'd find he had no aptitude whatsoever for any craft. A childhood of theft and an adolescence filled with killing and running for his life had left him with only the skills he needed to survive. Not the skills to make a living as a baker or a farmer or a merchant or a musician.

And he didn't have the patience or time to learn any of those crafts on his own. And no one wanted a useless twenty-two-year-old apprentice. And so his options were to limited to what he was good at.

And the only thing he was good at was crime.

"Mother used to say you loved to look at the moon," he mused. "Does it speak to you at all? Are you with it now?" The statue gave now reply. Gaius sighed and straightened. "I'm sure you've heard our niece is married, now. Lyra." He let his gaze wander to the snow on the ground. "She's too young for that sort of thing, Oscar. What was Tomhas thinking? And wedding her to Tarr, of all people."