An awful twitching seizes my guts, like my bowels might empty right here in the road. What does it mean that I’d consider breaking a sin eater’s rule of silence? It’s like breaking a vow. Da said if you break a vow, it cracks your soul. I’d never escape Eve then.

I think of my da. What it was like to be known and seen and heard by him. And how each year since he’s been gone I’ve lost more of my place in this world until I don’t know who I am or where I belong. But I could sort things out, I think. I could mend things. I could get the other Sin Eater back. I could be us again. And mayhap, Maker help me, if I make things right, I’ll be forgiven for eating the unrecited heart, and when I die I can go to the Maker. I turn on my toes back towards the castle. Mayhap we can both be saved.

The castle guards don’t know what to do with me. They look at their parchment list, then at one another. Never at me, except a first, startled half look. I wait, and they wait. But in my chest I remember the cold dark of a cellar and wonder how much worse the dungeon must be for the Sin Eater. And then I just go on and slip between the guards through the castle gate into the courtyard. I expect a cry behind me, but it’s quiet as I cross the stones.

The Makerhall is still. The folk’ve all gone. I walk up the centre aisle, the padding of my steps disappearing into the large emptiness. Near the front is a small, carved door, but it only goes to a vestment room, hung with Makermen robes. Where now? The only other place I know in the castle is the Queen’s rooms, where we heard Corliss’s Recitation.

Back in the courtyard I find the door with the stone scroll above it. There’s a guard, but he seems as confused as the gatekeepers at my approach. I take a gamble and walk with purpose. Just before my toe strikes the door, the guard pushes it open, sliding to the side to avoid my touch.

There’s plenty of folk to be found in the passageways of the Queen’s quarters, maids and grooms and guards, guards everywhere, but they look away when I pass. If only my uncles knew what a thief a sin eater could make, they would fashion a brass S, don skirts, and forgo their other games.

I climb the castle stairs as quick as I dare, keeping my hand against the wall to be sure I don’t fall. Somewhere near, Maker help me, is the Queen. I will tell her that Corliss recited no killing. I will make it all right.