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  Nodding, Blackthorn said, "It is true. I don't like you, though I have difficulty explaining why. I can talk about your cavalier smile. Your obnoxiously consistent successes. Sometimes I secretly wish you a failure to bring your ego down to a normal man's level. The list could go on, but taken by its parts, it doesn't justify my dislike."

  Tenbrook straightened in his seat and acknowledged Blackthorn with a nod.

  Blackthorn continued. "Sitting in the General's chair, leader of the council and leader of the townships, I don't have the luxury to ignore the complex subtleties of men who would see themselves as my equal, whether they be on the council, among the merchants, or even among my officers."

  Tenbrook blurted, "I assure you, General. I am not one who would hold himself up as your equal. I have sworn my sword to follow you until the day I die, and I shall."

  "I don't doubt your loyalty, Tenbrook, not one bit."

  "Thank you, General." Tenbrook took a breath and ventured further. "With respect to your last statement, might I say that, from where I stand in your shadow, it appears you do more than tolerate these men that consider themselves your equal. You have a rare talent for managing those relationships. In the old days, men might have called you a politician."

  Blackthorn's face darkened. "You would call me a greedy buffoon in my own house?"

  "No, no," Tenbrook pleaded. "That is the meaning attached to the word as it is used today. In the ancient books, most politicians were indeed greedy buffoons, but some rare politicians were able to navigate the spider web of relationships as though they were born to it and were able to bend it to their will with ease. That is what I say when I call you a politician, General. It is the highest compliment, given on how well you have managed the townships all these years."

  "I understand." Blackthorn nodded and looked vacantly at the fire, then back at his boxes of tongues. "Each of these belonged to a man who sought to bring ruin on the townships through his petty plots, his lust for power, or his seditious proselytizing on pacifism. Each of those is a story and a lesson that an intelligent man, if paying attention, might listen to, might understand, and might put to use as he manages the power seekers among his peers."

  Tenbrook looked at the fire. "Minister Beck's father's tongue would represent just such a lesson?"

  "Yes."

  "Why have we burned it?"

  "I intend to teach you the lesson I learned from the episode with minister Beck's father."

  Tenbrook was confused and trying hard to hide it. "Why? Is this solely for my benefit in smoothing the bumps out of my relationships with the other captains?"

  Blackthorn shook his head.

  "I don't understand."

  Blackthorn pulled in a deep breath and took the first step on a path that he dreaded, necessary though it was. "I intend for you to fill my shoes as General when the day comes that they must be stepped into."

  Chapter 8: Ella

  "We have to get out of here," Bray urged. "Come on! The soldiers won't be distracted long."

  Ella, William, and Bray fled the storage room, sidestepping the spilled belongings, exiting the house. The alley was clear, but it reeked of demons. For the first time since Ella had smelled them in the forest, the stench was a welcome one—the demons were keeping the soldiers at bay.

  Ella stuck next to Bray and William, creeping around the bodies, heading for the end of the alley. She blotted her tears. Seeing Samuel made everything real in a way seeing her aunt and uncle hadn't. He'd confirmed what had happened. He'd given voice to their pain. Just a few hours earlier, Frederick and Jean had been alive, walking and breathing. She'd come to Davenport too late. If only she'd saved her silver years ago and moved to join them.

  Now she'd never see them again. She'd never see Melora.

  She glanced back in the direction of the square.

  "Ella!" Bray cautioned. "We can't go back there."

  Ella swallowed, fighting her heartache.

  "I don't know this area too well, Ella," Bray tried. "I need your help. Stay with us. Stay with your son. Help us get out of here."

  Ella wiped her tears and concentrated. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll lead."

  Following her childhood memories, Ella led them through the streets, holding William's hand. She guided them past the houses as if she'd built them herself. She dodged barrels and debris, steering clear of the main roads. Bray kept a lookout. Several times Ella heard cries from adjacent streets—soldiers battling demons, demons razing homes—but she continued moving away from the noise. Right now, distance meant safety.

  They fled through an unkempt section of town. Fewer bodies lined the road, and the wreckage around them was evidence of its age, rather than the destructive hands of men. She'd played in these areas as a child, in street games and races.

  Had Melora?

  I'll come back. I'll find her…

  Ella swallowed the sick feeling in her stomach. Though she might've saved William by fleeing Brighton, she'd condemned others to die. This is my fault. How can I live with myself? They reached the end of a row of buildings. Ella paused at the edge of one of them, leaning around to inspect an open field of dirt. A hundred feet away was one of the rear entrances to Davenport. To her relief, the gate was open and unmanned. Two soldiers lay slumped on either side, shock contorting their dead faces.

  "Let's go!" she mouthed to William and Bray, the guilt heavy in her stomach.

  They broke out into the open, casting glances in all directions. It sounded like the soldiers were still entangled with the demons. Whether more soldiers lurked in the woods, she didn't know, but they'd face that obstacle later. Right now Davenport village was a graveyard for the unburied, a monument to Blackthorn's cruelty.

  A side effect of the decision she'd made.

  Ella swallowed her bile and kept running until they'd reached the gates. She fought the words that kept repeating in her head, the voices of three hundred souls echoing in her ears.

  You did this, Ella. You killed us all.

  Chapter 9: Blackthorn

  As Tenbrook stared with his mouth open, Blackthorn wished he'd had another choice. He wished he'd had a son of his own to pass his name and title to.

  He thought about his wives, all three of them. Try as he might, none of them would bring him a child. What terrible luck he had that all were barren. Ironically, after each passed to The House of Barren Women, whatever malady had prevented his seed from finding the fertile field in their bellies had somehow cured itself. The third of them had a single child. The second went on to feed bastards into the orphanage. The first… Blackthorn didn't want to think about the first one.

  Now, here he was, late in his life, sitting in the townships' most powerful seat, not only without children but without the means to make one. His manhood had stopped functioning a year prior. After that, his urine began to leak at the most inopportune times. Now, he counted himself lucky on days when he had any control at all over his stream.

  To manage the problem, he'd taken to drinking nearly no liquids. He'd given up on alcohol. Still, in the mornings he woke to a wet bed. He'd taken on the services of a mute maid to wash his bedclothes daily. Each morning when he dressed, he stuffed a thick cloth in his pants to soak up anything that might leak out during the day.

  Now, his back hurt all the time and his joints were developing aches that seemed to grow worse each time he moved. Blackthorn, through his great success as a General and leader, now had the misfortune of having stayed alive long enough to get an old man's disease. He'd wanted to die with a sword in his hand, not in a stinking, wet bed.

  Finally, Tenbrook spoke. "I am honored."

  "I know."

  Tenbrook looked down at the tongues. "I'll learn all you can teach."

  "I have no doubt."

  "I will need every bit of insight you can provide when it comes time for me to step ahead of your captains, to sit equally, no, above, ministers Beck and Winthrop."

  Shaking his head, Blackthorn said, "Th
at will not happen. When you ascend to take my place, none of the old captains will remain here to be jealous. The two ministers will also not be your problem."

  Tenbrook was taken aback. "Will you send them to the pyre?"

  "If necessary." Blackthorn shook his head. "I don't think it will be, though. I am developing a plan to handle all of them."

  Nodding, Tenbrook said, "At your convenience, I'd be pleased if you could inform me of this plan."

  "First, let me ask you, given your knowledge of numbers and your education, what do you think of Minister Beck's theory that we will all starve unless the weather takes some very favorable turn for us?"

  Tenbrook cast a glance toward the door. "When I arrived, an early snow was starting to fall. Though I think the ground is too warm for much of it to stick."

  "I was afraid the chill and the wind today bode badly for that eventuality. What of Beck's other points?"

  "I would like to review the mathematics behind Scholar Evans' analysis, but he is not one to make mistakes in either process or prediction. I fear Minister Beck is right. Famine is coming."

  "I also believe that to be the case," said Blackthorn. "The plan you asked about. You and I will talk many times about it over the coming weeks. I intend to activate the militia to support our cavalry. Twenty-two cohorts are at our disposal. I'll leave it to you and Beck to tell me how many men I must take with me so that the rest of the townships survive. Fewer mouths to feed, you know. I will take this army, along with the older captains and the two ministers, to the Ancient City, under the pretense of clearing the demons from that city and ridding ourselves of demon hordes for all of our future days."

  Shaking his head, Tenbrook said, "Stories from the Wardens who have had the misfortune to get lost and find themselves in the Ancient City say the demons are beyond number there. You may do little more than ride to your death."

  Nodding, Blackthorn said, "Or to glory. If all of us die, the townships will avoid a famine. The transition from an old leader to a young one will proceed without skullduggery and violence. We may succeed in clearing out the Ancient City or we may not. If not, we will kill so many that we might preemptively protect the townships from hordes for another generation or two."

  Tenbrook nodded gravely. "So this is the plan you have decided?"

  "It is what must be done."

  Chapter 10: Ella

  Ella, William, and Bray ran until the cries of soldiers gave way to a bitter wind whistling through the trees. Pine and oak branches hid them from any eyes that might be looking. A light flurry had begun to fall, and the air had grown colder, invading the lungs of the travelers. Though their legs protested, they pushed on for miles, dodging thick strands of thorny bushes and streambeds that threatened to twist their ankles. Finally, they climbed a rocky incline to the crest of a small hill. They halted.

  Ella placed her sword on her lap, catching her breath while Bray watched the forest across the tops of the trees.

  "Winter's coming early," the Warden muttered, staring at the falling snow. Ella was barely listening.

  William leaned down beside his mother. His face was contorted with emotional agony. "You didn't tell me Melora was my sister, Mom."

  "I couldn't." Ella's eyes watered, unable to contain the grief.

  "What does that mean?"

  "I just…couldn't."

  "You said she was my second cousin. You said she was too sick to travel when Uncle Frederick and Aunt Jean came to visit. Why did you lie?"

  "We needed to protect you."

  "Why didn't I ever meet her? Why didn't they bring her to Brighton?"

  Ella paused. She'd expected the questions, and William deserved the answers. She just wasn't ready. How could she ever be? She'd always envisioned this day, but she didn't think it'd come until later. She brushed a lock of hair from William's eyes, wishing the discussion could've come under different circumstances.

  William deserved to meet his sister. But Blackthorn had robbed him of that chance. He'd robbed them both.

  William stared at her impatiently. "How come I didn't meet my sister?" he demanded. "Answer me, Mom!"

  The anger in William's eyes was the same anger she'd seen when he'd found Frederick and Jean on the spikes. But unlike the anger directed at Blackthorn, this was directed at her.

  "An awful thing happened to me when I was a child, William. We had to keep it a secret. We did it so I could marry Ethan. We did it so I could move to Brighton and have you."

  "What awful thing?"

  Ella swallowed. "You're too young to understand."

  "Too young to understand?" William scoffed. "Too young to understand? I'm old enough to kill a man! I'm old enough to carry a sword! But not old enough to know the truth?"

  William stomped the ground. For a second, she feared the demon spore had caught up to him, that his mind was succumbing to madness. But the tears in his eyes argued that he was human.

  Ella breathed deeply. It'd been years since she'd given voice to her secret. She hadn't said the words since the night Frederick and Jean had confronted her, when she was scared, pregnant, and ashamed. She stared at the pale sky.

  "When I was thirteen, I was…attacked." She paused, unable to say the words. She glanced up and noticed Bray staring at her. Her cheeks reddened with shame. She couldn't do this. Not here, not now. "We'll talk later, William. I promise. I need to find the best way to explain this to you."

  William shook his head and walked across the hill. He clung to a neighboring oak and stared out across the landscape. Ella clenched her eyes shut. She felt awful for the boy. But she knew no way to rectify it.

  "Give him a minute," Bray suggested.

  Ella nodded. She got to her feet and stood next to Bray, listening to the keen of the wind and the conversations of birds. They stared off over the hill, watching flakes of snow melt on the ground. After a few moments, Bray stuck his sword in the dirt.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," he said. "We all know about Blackthorn's temper. But this is the worst I've seen it."

  "This is because of me," Ella whispered, lowering her head. "All of it."

  "You can't blame yourself. He's a twisted man. No one can be certain of his reasons."

  Bray bowed his head. They both knew the truth; there was no need to argue it. Jean's and Frederick's heads on spikes were all the proof they needed.

  "If we'd gotten to Davenport sooner…" Ella started.

  "What would you have done? Fought an army of soldiers?"

  Ella shook her head. "But how can I live with myself? All those people… My daughter…"

  "If I let all the things I've done haunt me, I'd never sleep," Bray said. He spat in the dirt and peered into the forest. "We should be on our way. There's no telling where the soldiers are. They've probably been searching the forest for hours. If they've come this far from Brighton, they'll keep looking until they find you. Their fear of Blackthorn will spur them on."

  "Where will we go?" Ella glanced around her, as if she'd just woken from a trance. She realized she had no idea where they were.

  "I know a few places," Bray said. "But we need to keep on the move."

  Ella stared at the Warden. He had no more obligations now than he had back at the river, or at the cave. What if he chose to abandon them? She pictured herself and William defiled by demons, tormented by soldiers.

  She expelled those morbid thoughts and walked over to William. The boy had left the tree and was peering down the hillside. His eyes were locked on the ground.

  "We have to get going, William," she told him.

  William didn't move. He didn't look back. She clung to his shoulders, embracing him while he heaved a thick sigh. Melora would've been fifteen years old. William would've had an older sister. In another world, they could've grown up together, kept each other safe.

  But not in this one.

  Ella heaved a guilt-ridden breath. "I'm going to explain this to you," she told him. "I owe you that much, at least."

  "Why
not now?" William asked, his breath fogging the air.

  Ella glanced back at Bray. "Do we have a minute?"

  Bray glanced around the forest. "Not really. If you want to talk, you'd better make it quick."

  Chapter 11: Ella

  "Ella! Where have you been?"

  Thirteen-year-old Ella stared into Uncle Frederick's blazing eyes. It was after dark, and she'd been expected home from the market an hour ago. Ella shrank into her clothes. She held her hands downwards and mumbled an answer, barely aware of the excuses coming from her mouth. Her only concern was concealing her ripped dress.

  "There was a line at the merchant's. They wouldn't let me cut ahead."

  "Did you sell the vegetables to Bernard like I asked?"

  Her throat stung with bile at the merchant's name.

  "I did. He was busy. He lost count."

  "Lost count? That doesn't sound like Bernard."

  Ella avoided her uncle's eyes, afraid his gaze alone would uncover her secret. Bernard had threatened to kill her if she spoke a word. The lies he forced her to tell were almost as vile as his actions.

  The truth was, Bernard had lost count. She swallowed as she recalled what had happened.

  **

  When Ella reached Bernard's stand, she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She considered leaving, but the thought of coming home empty-handed made her persist. She didn't want to disappoint Uncle Frederick.

  Besides, she valued her trips to the market. Her uncle had only just started letting her into town on her own. And so she started the transaction.