“Spring in Talins, eh?”

“The weather alone would be worth the trip. The time comes…” And he swallowed his shot in one and slapped the empty glass down on the bar. “You have to get out.”

She slowly nodded. Wouldn’t be the first time she’d got out. Saved herself in the camps, hadn’t she? And in Rostod, during the rebellion. And in Valbeck, during the uprising. Saved herself, even if she saved no one else.

Truth was, she wouldn’t be missed. She’d made sure of it. Never stay in a place you can’t walk straight out of without a backward glance. Never own a thing you can’t leave behind. Never make a friend you can’t turn your back on. A life that leaves no marks. She thought about that, as if for the first time. The people she’d tricked, betrayed, left behind, and she wondered—is a life that leaves no marks a life at all?

She hadn’t come for a way out. Not really. She’d come to try one on and see how it fit.

“Can’t say I’m not tempted.” She thought about that last look on her brother’s face, before they dragged him away. The last words Sibalt said, before he cut his own throat. “But the time comes…” She drained her glass and set it down. “You have to stand up.”

“Where are you going?”

She set a coin spinning on the counter and left without looking back. “To stand with the losers.”

Better Than Carnage

Orso woke to the clanging of Corporal Halder’s truncheon on the bars of his cellar. He much preferred the word “cellar” to “dungeon.” The place was designed for wine, after all, even if the purpose it was being put to now was, one had to admit, more than a bit dungeony.

“Wake up, Your Majesty,” grunted Halder.

Orso sighed, then flung back the rags he preferred to call blankets and swung his feet to the clammy floor.

Bloody hell, it was cold down here. But then it was cold everywhere. He took perverse pleasure in tolerating the same conditions his least fortunate subjects must be enduring. He used to have such privilege and such guilt. He felt far lighter, carrying neither one.

Hildi had been busy scrubbing his other shirt. In cold water, of course, since that was all that could be had. Now she was pegging it up to dry near the bars. The washing had frozen there a couple of times, cloth turned stiff as chilly card.

“Get back from the door, girl,” said Halder, keys in his hand.

Orso distracted him by ostentatiously stretching. “You know my mother searched for years to find a bride who’d meet my standards, but we never could light upon quite the right balance of outstanding beauty, impeccable breeding, piercing intellect, ethereal grace, subtle diplomacy and boundless patience.” He pressed one hand to his chest. “If only you’d presented yourself at the time, Corporal Halder, perhaps there’d be a royal heir or two already…”