Lady Tarroux would, surely, help anyone in pain. And here I am, just enjoying myself.

evil, the hunger cackles. evil down to your core.

“No,” I argue softly. “I’m not the evil tonight.”

When the men finally run out of steam, they spit on his crumpled body and walk off. Blood seeps between the cobblestones as I approach the figure of Gavik slumped against the wall.

“My, my, my.” I lean next to him on the wall, my eyes on the warm lights of the tavern opposite us. “I had no idea this place served just desserts.”

It’s merciful the men didn’t stay, because my eyes catch the wounds on Gavik’s legs mending already. The bruises fade from deep reddish purple to green, to yellow, and then to nothing. The cuts close up, sewing skin against skin. Gavik just shudders and holds himself.

“I thought you were supposed to be dead,” I try. “Don’t the common people know that you’ve been declared murdered?”

Gavik says nothing, his voice rasping in his injured throat with a weak noise.

“You’re right,” I agree. “Why would the nobles tell the common people anything? And why would the common people care about one murdered noble, when their sons and daughters are poised to go off to war and experience the same a thousand times over?”

My instincts hone in on a shadow in the corner of the woodwork, just outside the tavern. An opportunistic vulture, waiting for the right time to strike.

“Unfortunately, he’s not dying tonight,” I call out to it. “And his soul is emptier than his pockets. So move along.”

The shadow rescinds, and I sigh lightly and look down at Gavik.

“It’s cruel of Varia, isn’t it? To send you out here and not give you a new face? You’ve been starving and torturing and killing these people and their loved ones for years. They’re bound to know what you look like. You’re a smart man. The first thing you’d do is put on a mask. Which means Varia must’ve commanded you to keep your face clear.”

Gavik coughs, the sound wet but healing. His breath reeks of stale wine.

“It’s a song,” he rasps.

I wrinkle an eyebrow. “You’ve certainly gotten worse at conversational segues since your time away from court.”

He leans his head against the wall, gray hood falling to reveal the bloodstained skin of his old, drained face as his watery eyes move to me.

“I know how I remember the Bone Tree. It’s a song.”

“It must’ve been a terribly memorable song,” I lilt.

His creaky voice warbles out, low and off tune, the lyrics echoing among the alley’s walls. “The tree of bone and tree of glass, will sit together as family at last.”