Reed returned to Eliza’s at dawn. She was still asleep, and he didn't wake her. He took off his heavy boots, threw his cloak onto the bench, and began untangling the numerous straps of his armor. A few minutes later, he collapsed onto the bed next to her, sighing wearily. She didn't even stir when Reed climbed under the blanket.

  Sleep didn't come. Instead, he lay there examining the bluish hues of the spots on Eliza's thin back. The marks on her skin frightened him, and he pitied her. As much as he wanted to deny it, Reed felt a deep pity, but there was still no love in that pity.

  He just watched her, wondering why she hadn't kicked him out. Why had life decided to give her so little time? Who was to blame for her poverty, and why did she have to die in the poorest part of the city, alone? Loneliness, however, was a relative matter. Reed didn't want to leave until Eliza ordered him to go. But it was one thing to die surrounded by family, and quite another in the arms of a hired killer to whom you were bound only by a shared bed. At least, that was what Reed thought, though he didn't dare ask her.

  Her body radiated heat; sweat covered her back. Sometimes she coughed dryly in her sleep, sometimes she wheezed, and Reed was far from indifferent to the signals of her weakening body. He lay with her until she finally woke. The first thing he saw was her smile.

  "I keep expecting you not to return, but you come back every time," she grumbled sleepily.

  "If you want, I'll stop," Reed answered quietly.

  "No," she muttered, peeking out from under her red strands. "I like that you always come back. What I expect has nothing to do with what I want."

  Instead of answering, Reed just smiled, brushing the disheveled hair from her face. Eliza reached out and touched his face with just her fingertips, tracing the contours of the scar. She looked him straight in the eye and asked in a near whisper:

  "Where is it from?"

  Reed sighed and gently removed her fingers from his face, offering a crooked smile.

  "I know where the ones on your back are from, and you don't need to talk about them. But this one... it’s the most visible, yet the most unclear."

  "Then let’s trade."

  Eliza smiled slyly and raised an eyebrow.

  "I'll tell you my story, if you tell me about the Dry Rot."

  She grew gloomy but nodded in agreement. Reed propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her intently.

  "My father was sick too," she began. "He died about ten years ago. It passes from parents to children. I knew what awaited me when I saw the spots on his face. At first, it was hard and I hated him, but then I just accepted it."

  "How long have you been sick?"

  "About two years. It happens gradually. First, you're constantly cold, and you don't pay attention to it. It seems like just some flu... and then you fade away before your own eyes, and the spots appear. After that, there isn't much time left."

  "And how do you live with this?" asked Reed, moving closer.

  "I don't," she smiled. "I just live as long as I can. I told you; I've accepted it. You can't escape fate, and if this is mine, there's nothing I can do. It is curable, but I don't have the money."

  "What if I give it to you?"

  "Don't talk nonsense," she said, lightly slapping Reed on the cheek, but she hugged him anyway.

  "I'm serious, Eliza," he said, pulling back so he could see her face.

  "It's too late, darling," Eliza whispered affectionately. "I have spots on my back. I know you saw them, and I'm grateful you didn't say anything. Well, now it's your turn."

  "You know how to dodge a topic," said Reed, twirling her hair around his finger. He paused to think. He looked away, as he often did when he was lying shamelessly, and continued: "It was a punishment, back in Belden. I tried to escape, and on the way, I killed the wrong person. When they caught me, at first they wanted to kill me too, but then they changed their minds and decided to teach me a lesson instead."

  "How many times did you try to escape?"

  "I don't remember," Reed answered, honest this time.

  "Did you ever think they would find you?"

  "I did. But I got things to welcome them with now. It’s either me dead, or them. In any case, it will be a fight with no winners."

  "You speak of death so easily that it scares me."

  "Death is as natural as breathing."

  "And are you afraid of it?" Eliza asked. The question sounded awkward, as if she was afraid to admit her own terror of dying.

  "Sometimes."

  "Then why do you constantly get involved in business where you can be killed?"

  Reed froze. He didn't know how to answer. He both loved and hated his life, and he felt the same about himself. Perhaps it was because hatred is stronger than fear, or maybe Reed felt more alive when he managed to wrap death around his little finger once again. Or maybe he was just flirting with it, testing how faithful his luck truly was. Reed didn't have an exact answer.

  “I'm afraid too," Eliza said. She didn't seem to expect an answer to her question, and for that, Reed was grateful. It felt as though she already knew the truth. "And I don't want it to hurt when the time comes. If it doesn't hurt, it's not so frightening."

  "It won't hurt."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just know," Reed shrugged.

  "Thank you," Eliza whispered, wrapping her hot, thin arms around him. "You won't leave me, then?"

  "Only if you ask me to," he replied, just as quietly.

  Eliza raised her head and touched his lips with hers. Reed pulled her closer, his hands roaming over her naked back, hips, and breasts. Her kiss was hot, passionate, and almost hungry; she clutched his shoulders as if terrified he might pull away. Eliza bit his lips, stoking the fire of desire within him. In one motion, Reed moved over her, and she smiled contentedly as he trailed kisses down her neck and collarbones. He pressed his weight against her, and she let out a quiet moan, wrapping her legs around him. Her soft palms slid onto his back, caressing his scars, and descended to the small of his back. She wanted everything at once, and Reed couldn't refuse.

  He tried to be gentle, but it didn't always work. Often his passion was rough—sometimes too much—but he didn't want to be rough with Eliza. She caressed him as if he were her husband, if Reed's understanding of such things was even half right. She kissed him without a trace of disgust, and Reed could see she wasn't acting or pretending. Eliza truly wanted him, and her desire was more than a matter of carnal pleasure; after all, she had saved his life.

  Eliza was the only person who had ever slightly shaken his conviction about the nature of the kreyghars. She was the only one Reed trusted even a little, and the only one he truly pitied. Because of that, he couldn't bring himself to be rough with her.

  That morning, Eliza confessed that she had fallen in love, and Reed couldn't find an answer. He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't voice the truth either. So he simply kissed her and pretended he hadn't heard, though he regretted that the first declaration of love in his life had come from a woman he could not love in return.

  ***

  Working with the Wasps turned out to be less troublesome than expected, and Reed could even say he managed quite well. It wasn't much labor when they mostly had to intimidate pampered aristocrats and seize goods from merchants who were too greedy to hire proper security. Hornet didn't particularly trust Reed, but he didn't nag. Reed did everything on time, losing neither men nor cargo, while possessing brilliant skills of persuasion through brute force.

  Reed's authority grew; rumors among the gang members spread quickly, and soon few complained when they were assigned to a job with him. In time, a certain semblance of satisfaction appeared, but even then, Reed remained an outsider. No success could give him the most important thing: respect. He remained something like a stray dog that had suddenly proved useful. So, Reed remained on guard, sniffing out every detail he could learn. He drank with them and played dice, but he trusted no one.

  Some tasks he performed cold-bloodedly, while others aroused a deep disgust. At times, Reed wanted to spit on Ermod’s contract and bolt for distant lands. He could seize cargo, and he could kill an unwanted merchant or a petty aristocrat, but he could not torture. This became a stumbling block in several tasks issued by Hornet, and after completing them, Reed felt like a true scum. He could threaten, deliver a few slaps, and even conduct an interrogation, but when it came to those not mentioned in the order, his hands failed him.

  Reed was no model of knightly dignity, but he couldn't bring himself to beat women or torment children. Perhaps this spoke of his weakness, or perhaps it was proof that he hadn't yet lost the spark that made him alive. His "colleagues" in the gang often wreaked havoc, and Reed felt a searing shame that he was one of them, even if only temporarily. He didn't want to see women being raped or hear the crying of their children. He only wanted to do his job and go home. To Eliza.

  He wanted to tell her what he had done and how much he had earned, but on those darker days, he didn't want to return to her at all. Reed didn't want to touch her or look her in the eye as he was afraid she would see the deeds he had participated in, though he understood that was impossible. Yes, Reed was a killer, but he felt neither pleasure nor joy from senseless violence. His personality had been born in violence, and he did not wish to be its source. If a person was destined to die, Reed would kill them, and his participation would end there. He didn't pity the kreyghars and their families, but he believed that if he started doing what the Wasps did to women and children, he would be no better than the kreyghars themselves.

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  Working with the Wasps became a burden, and Reed waited for the chance to fulfill Ermod's order and finally rid himself of the necessity to participate in what made him despise himself. Eliza didn't hinder him and didn't pry with questions when he returned. Sometimes she even helped, delivering short notes to Ermod. Reed couldn't transmit the messages himself as it might attract unwanted attention. Yet Eliza handled the task quite well. Reed thought she didn't read the notes, and even if she did, she kept quiet about them.

  Throughout his time with the Wasps, Reed had surrendered almost everything to Ermod: code words, cache locations, action plans, future contracts, the places where the Hive relocated, and the number of people in the gang. All that remained was to wait for the right opportunity and fulfill the contract. Reed did everything to keep his word and stay on the sidelines. Some of the Wasps might survive the coming storm, and he didn't need any more enemies than he already had.

  Reed waited for his chance, and the waiting was finally coming to an end. Hornet gathered them all early in the morning to announce a new job, and Reed understood instantly: this was the moment.

  The long road and high risks required a significant number of men. This meant two things. First, the Hive wouldn't relocate until the group returned. Second, the journey would leave the camp vulnerable, as at least a dozen warriors would be setting out. Reed already knew how to turn these two facts to his advantage.

  Departure was scheduled for nightfall, giving everyone involved time to rest and prepare. Under the guise of needing to visit a weapon shop, Reed headed to the eastern city to warn Ermod. The plan was as simple as an old copper coin: Reed would notify Ermod of the departure point and ask for a squad of guards to launch an ambush far enough away to ensure an advantage. Sabotaging the journey was meant to bleed the gang’s numbers before the main assault on the camp even began.

  If the guards attacked the group at a safe distance from Argain and killed at least half, Hornet would be forced to send reinforcements. The contract in the west of Bradenmain promised massive wealth that Hornet simply couldn't afford to lose. Sending those reinforcements would weaken the camp’s defenses by half, allowing the guard to strike the Hive with minimal losses. Hornet would be killed or captured, and Reed would remain above suspicion. At the moment of the attack, Reed would be too far away to have coordinated the strike or raise questions about his involvement.

  Reed chose to deliver the message personally, not wanting to disturb Eliza; she had been getting worse lately. He wrote a short note and headed to the eastern city, knowing Ermod would be leaving the Council Hall around that time. For a while, Reed simply wandered through the market, inspecting daggers and knives, though none struck him with that familiar, cold fascination. Finally, he stopped at a stall run by a strange fellow who sold murky powders and vials, looking as though he didn’t give a damn whether his goods sold or not.

  "What do you offer?" Reed asked, inspecting the vials.

  "You a guard?" the man asked indifferently.

  "Why? Do I look like a knight with a pure soul?" Reed parried, pulling back his collar to show the fresh wasp tattoo on his neck. It was usually well-hidden, so he didn't fear unnecessary eyes.

  "Ah," the merchant waved a hand, casting a fleeting glance at the tattoo without surprise. "Officially, I just sell gopher poison, something for bedbugs and lice. For friends, I have the interesting stuff. Poisons, explosives, datura. Things for weapons, for food, for torture. Depends on what you’re looking for."

  He pointed lazily at the vials and pouches, though without much enthusiasm.

  "And if they search you?" Reed asked.

  "And if I pay them well?"

  Reed nodded in agreement.

  "I need a poison. Quick and painless."

  The merchant sighed and reached under the counter, placing a small vial filled with a translucent, pale liquid before Reed.

  "This is White Sorrow," he said. "Two drops are enough for a person to fall asleep and never wake up. An extract of white-eye and inkroot. They’ll feel a slight weakness, a bit of drowsiness, and then... breathing and blood flow just stop. This beauty leaves no trace, no smell, and no taste."

  "How much?" Reed asked.

  "One gold piece."

  "And what about something for weapons?"

  "Oh, you're an enthusiast," the merchant chuckled. Reed offered a crooked smile in response and spread his hands. "I have The Sorcerer. Essential oils of carida, voidleaf, and blue sporina blossom. It’ll make the victim vomit blood until there’s nothing left inside. Or there’s Alaira's Mercy: quick and painful. Use it on a blade, in food, or force them to inhale it. Just don’t breathe it in yourself, or you'll go straight to your elven mommy. Tremors, suffocation, fever, and blood from every hole, that’s the kind of mercy it offers."

  "I'll take it all," said Reed.

  While the merchant packed the vials into a single bag, Reed noticed Ermod leaving the Hall. He was caught in a heated discussion with another kreyghar. They looked furious, their dispute echoing across the square, but Reed was actually glad for the distraction. It allowed him to fit into the scene perfectly.

  Reed quickly paid the merchant, clutched his note in his fist, and headed toward Ermod, pretending to struggle with his bag. He timed it perfectly, crashing into Ermod and knocking the scrolls and letters from the official's hands.

  "Have you drunk your eyes away, scum?" Ermod roared while Reed hastily began gathering the papers.

  The second kreyghar rolled his eyes and turned away, treating Reed like a stray dog, something best ignored if you didn't want it to linger. Reed gathered the scrolls and handed them back. Ermod intercepted the stack with both hands, and Reed slipped the last sheet—along with his secret note—into the pile so it appeared to be part of Ermod’s own papers.

  "Now get out of here, freak," Ermod snarled, raising a hand as if to strike.

  Reed pulled a vicious face and turned away, feigning bitter discontent.

  "Look at them, wandering among normal people, giving no peace! If I see you again, I'll call the guards!" Ermod continued to shower him with insults, his voice rising in manufactured rage.

  Reed didn't listen. He was already moving away. All that mattered was that the message had been delivered.

  ***

  By evening, Reed came back Eliza. She was bad. The disease had ravaged her far too quickly. Reed didn't bother her with questions or requests, but he couldn't help her either. She seemed past the point of needing it anyway, refusing to eat or drink. Dark spots covered her neck and descended to her chest; she had almost completely withered away. Her cheekbones protruded too sharply, her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes shone like two little lights, but their glow was feverish and unhealthy.

  Eliza's skin had acquired a sickly bluish tint and was so thin that Reed was afraid he might tear it with a single touch. She was in bed when he entered. She didn't call out to him, only raised herself slightly on the pillows, wrapped in blankets. The chills were getting stronger, and Reed simply couldn't get her warm. It was a pity to observe her in such a state, but he had promised he would be nearby. Even a fool would have understood she was dying, and Reed was no fool. He understood perfectly well that by leaving for the mission in the west, he was seeing Eliza for the last time. When he returned, she would be gone, but in the process of dying, she would suffer, and not only from loneliness.

  "Hello," Reed greeted her quietly, approaching the bed.

  Eliza smiled weakly and extended a thin hand. Reed squeezed her fingers.

  “How are you?" he asked, barely able to look at her face.

  "I'm cold," Eliza answered in a whisper.

  Reed said nothing, only sighed. He realized there was no time left, and he had gave her a promise.

  "Are you thirsty?"

  "I am," Eliza nodded, then grimaced awkwardly. "Will you bring some water?"

  "Of course." Reed kissed her hot forehead and went to the kitchen.

  First, he took the water, then reached for his bag. He took out the White Sorrow, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on the vial. Only a few drops separated Eliza from a painless peace. It was hard for him to bring himself to lower his hand over her glass, but he knew that if he didn't do this, she would die in agony. And he wouldn't make it back in time to say goodbye.

  His hands trembled as he opened the vial. He nearly dropped the vessel when the poison dripped into the water. A pale drop, resembling water mixed with milk, fell into the glass and dissolved as if it had never been there. Then a second, and a third. He tilted the glass, letting the poison mix, and suddenly froze. Tremors seized him; the realization of the deed he was about to commit tore at him. Eliza wasn't a contract, but she wasn't his love either. So why was it so hard to kill her?

  Reed placed the glass on the table and sat down, clasping his head in his hands. The more he thought, the stronger the conviction became: he had no other choice. A religious man would leave Eliza to die in the agony promised by the Dry Rot. But Reed? What would Reed do? He didn't believe in the kreyghar gods, but he knew the Mother would forgive him. This murder wouldn't change anything, even if he did it for money. He was already a killer and had already earned Her wrath.

  Overcoming the trembling in his body, Reed stood up and reached for the glass. He gripped it tightly; Eliza was waiting, and he had to leave soon. He returned to her side and sat down.

  "Are you okay?" Eliza asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

  Reed only nodded. He was afraid that if he spoke to her one last time, he wouldn't be able to go through with it. Silently, he brought the glass to her lips and watched as she swallowed with difficulty, grimacing with every gulp. Looking at her then, Reed became convinced he had made the right decision, however cruel. Every day she would only get worse, until she could no longer drink or eat, even if she wanted to. So why allow her to suffer?

  "Thank you," she murmured, emptying the glass.

  It was done. If the merchant hadn't lied, Eliza would feel no pain. And if he had lied, Reed would kill him.

  Meanwhile, Eliza leaned back onto the pillows and said quietly, "I want to sleep again. Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

  "Yes." Reed took off his boots, his cloak, and the upper part of his armor. He lay down next to her on top of the blanket and hugged her with one arm, watching her eyelashes tremble.

  "It doesn't hurt anymore," she said with a faint smile.

  "Really?" Reed's voice cracked. Every syllable felt heavy, like stones falling one by one onto his conscience.

  "Yes," she sighed, looking at him. "I'll sleep, and I'll feel better. I know it. And then you'll come back."

  "I'm going far away. I don't know when I'll return. Maybe a week, or more."

  "Then I'll wait for you," Eliza said, stroking his face with her fingertips. Reed couldn't look at her anymore and averted his gaze.

  "Is it unpleasant to look at me?" sadness slipped into her voice.

  "No, Eliza, no... I..." Reed faltered. He couldn't say why it was so hard to look at her, so he chose the only thing he knew how to do well. He lied. "I'm afraid for you."

  "Why? I'll ask Alaira to keep me alive until your return."

  "If she hears you."

  "You hear me, so does she." With those words, she closed her eyes, her hand going limp against his neck. Reed was terrified she had already slipped away, but she was still conscious. He took her hand in his and watched her breathing.

  Without opening her eyes, Eliza whispered, "I love you, Reed."

  Reed tensed. It was clear that as soon as she fell asleep, her life would end. He had poisoned her to save her from physical pain, but his silence would torment her just as much. He had lied to her before; what was one last deception? He was already so tangled in his own web of lies that there was no way out. This final lie would stay between them. Eliza would die, and no one else would ever hear his words. No one would see the falsehood; the deception would die with her.

  "And I love you," Reed whispered into her ear.

  A blush bloomed on Eliza's face. A painful, unhealthy blush, but a blush nonetheless.

  They spoke no more. Reed held her hand and waited. Soon, Eliza fell asleep, and then her breathing evened out; the wheezing and whistling disappeared. Her chest rose easily, and her face retained a stamp of peace. Her eyelids no longer trembled, her lips were slightly parted, and her hand stopped squeezing Reed's palm in return.

  After some time, her breathing slowed; she inhaled less and less frequently until she stopped breathing altogether. Reed unclenched his hand and pressed two fingers to her neck. Eliza's heart had stopped. Though she was still warm, the Mother had already taken her. Reed cast a final glance over her, then stood up. He dressed as if in a fog. It seemed to him that Eliza was looking at him, seeing through closed, dead eyelids. Fastening the straps over his chest, he turned away, unable to look at her body any longer.

  Picking up the belt with his blades, Reed looked at her one last time. Eliza was calm and seemed truly asleep. Someone else might have thought so, but not Reed. He knew she was dead, and her sleep was henceforth eternal. Eliza suffered no more, so why was he so uneasy? Why did the thought of her peace not console him? Reed couldn't answer these questions even to himself.

  He had no time to bury Eliza, and he did not wish to say goodbye. If one doesn't say goodbye, there is no feeling that it is truly over. Reed had known this ever since his mother died. He looked at her pale, thin face, which the hand of death had already touched, and left. He wanted to believe he had left her sleeping, and that in the morning she would wake up to wait for him. Nevertheless, he knew for certain that he was no longer awaited, and there was nowhere to return to.

  The contract on Hornet was entering its climax, and Reed realized with shame that Eliza's death brought him not only a sense of guilt but also a noticeable relief. There was no need to lie anymore, no need to think about how she was coping alone, or to return and shamefully avoid her gaze. And certainly, no need to fear that she would die in agony before he finished the job.