Argain greeted them with the usual setting, as if he hadn't left at all. They had to walk the city on foot because there were too many people. Everyone was going somewhere, crowding, pushing, and calling each other names. At first, Reed thought there was a sale somewhere, but from snatches of accidental conversations, he understood that something more serious than just a sale was brewing. A spectacle. They were going to see a spectacle, for they already had bread. And if anyone didn't, the spectacle itself would be enough to make them forget about an empty stomach.

  Reed was wearing the palaka. He was afraid to show his face. In Argain, Ermod's people might recognize him, or the Wasps if they were still alive. Reed didn't intend to announce his presence too soon, for if Ermod really wished him dead, revealing his face in such a crowded place would mean a death sentence. He wouldn't live until dawn. Ermod had people in every hole within the capital, and maybe even further.

  Meredith trailed alongside reluctantly. She clung to his arm, hung on him, and pressed closer. Pale and frightened, she had never seen so many people in one place, and the gathering terrified her. The unknown always scares. Her clinginess and odd behavior no longer irritated him. Rather, he was increasingly indifferent to it. He simply resigned himself, allowing her to cling to his arm.

  "Are there always this many people here?" she asked, looking around as if trying to count them all.

  "Today more than usual."

  "Don't let go," Meredith said, squeezing Reed's hand.

  "Do you want to sit on the horse?" he offered.

  "No," she grumbled, squeezing her fingers tighter.

  Reed rolled his eyes, scooped Meredith up, and seated her sideways on the horse. Then, without looking at her, he offered her his hand. Something resembling a smile appeared on her face, and they emerged onto the Square of the Three, where even more people crowded. The Square of the Three was one of the main squares. However, while active trade was closed on all the others, events of a different sort were usually held on this one.

  Usually, on every third day of the month, the Square filled with people eager for church speeches and rites. The Blessed One would come out to them. With guards, naturally. He would chat for hours about Vesifer, who once stole a human body and entered the world, about mages, and how dangerous they were. And then about how lucky they were that the Three once turned their gaze upon them, and he, the Blessed One, knew how butter up the Three. It jarred Reed every time he heard about the Three and saw with what reverence the people choked down these fairy tales.

  No, he had nothing against the Three, but he had enough brains to understand that they didn't speak to the Blessed One who was blessed only by himself. And his long speeches were not to raise spirits, make people feel better, to believe in redemption or the purity of the Three. They were aimed to make them easier to control. You bring offerings, and the Three are grateful, although Reed didn't understand what use gold was to gods who created it. You hate mages, so the Three are grateful; never mind that the Song of the First Memory doesn't speak of mages at all. The Church was a convenient tool to manage crowds of uneducated citizens eager for mercy and favor of all sorts and shades. The Church acted by the will of the Council, and the Council washed the blood from the Church's hands. A vicious circle, however you spin it.

  But the Mother was prayed to silently. She doesn't speak, doesn't teach, only listens. The Mother doesn't ask for money, doesn't call for hatred, and doesn't grant forgiveness to those who angered her. The Mother's cruel justice appealed to Reed more, and he would believe in her if he could believe in anything other than the power of steel and blood.

  "What is that?" Meredith asked, tugging at Reed’s hand, who was scanning the crowd for familiar faces he wished he didn't know.

  "Ah, where?" He followed her finger and saw a scaffold built for three. He hadn't noticed it immediately. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the heads of the crowd. A curse tore from his lips, and he didn't even care who heard him.

  "What is it? A performance?"

  "You could say that," Reed forced out, looking around. "Do you want to leave?"

  Meredith wanted to answer but suddenly fell silent, squeezing his palm harder than before. Her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled. Reed looked in the same direction and froze. Prisoners were being led to the scaffold. They were there partly because of him. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, to turn away or flee, but he forced himself to watch. Having been too indifferent to learn why the Church hunted mages, he had to watch now as a form of punishment. The fact that he hadn't known an execution was planned didn't lessen his guilt, and Reed wanted to feel the weight of it in full.

  He had thought the mages would be locked up, hidden, or forced to work for the good of society, but he had been mistaken. In truth, he had understood they would be executed the moment he saw the severed hands. He just hadn't wanted to admit it to himself because he could no longer fix anything. Reed had stood by doing nothing. Though he could have chosen not to participate at all, he had personally sent them to the gallows, and now only inaction remained for him. A silent, submissive inaction soaked in guilt and worthlessness.

  "Oh, Great One," he murmured, barely audible, watching as three men were led to the executioner.

  A burly, masked executioner placed nooses around their necks and stepped away. The Blessed One stepped forward, the one through whose lips the Three supposedly spoke.

  "And here we are again, beside Their House. It has been a long time since we saw one another, yet the third day of the Month of Harvest has not yet arrived. Only the will of the Three forced me to tear myself away from studying Their Song. Today, we see the filth, shame, and vice of our kind, which sends the entire nation into the maw of Vesifer, just as it was with the inhabitants of Aras A'Belle, who sold him their mortal bodies. And the Three cursed them, just as they cursed those who mixed the blood of the Three with the blood of Vesifer's servants. This curse flows in their veins from birth, showing us that their lineage is not pure. And what can we do to protect ourselves from the stinking maw of the monster who enslaved the world of the Three? He exiled them from their home, forcing them to seek a new refuge. What are we to do when we are threatened with the fate of our great, blessed patrons?"

  The crowd roared, giving the answer. The Blessed One smiled, looking at the gathering the way a father looks at a child who is smarter than their years. There was admiration, approval, and praise in his gaze. The kreyghars shouted over one another. Their words merged into a single sound which and despite its variety it had only one meaning. They pointed fingers at the captives, who did not even resist. Their faces were stony, lifeless, and empty. The mages and their allies did not cry or beg, humbly accepting the prelude to their death.

  "What is he talking about?" asked Meredith, shifting her gaze to Reed. Her eyes seemed glassy. "Why were they brought here?"

  "I..." Reed didn't have time to answer. The crowd roared when the Blessed One raised his hands, accepting the applause. The roar of the kreyghars was deafening, stealing the words that fell from the Blessed One’s lips and making them part of the bottomless noise.

  Reed looked toward the scaffold again. The Blessed One nodded and his smile widened.

  "Correct! You learn well, and the Three will reward you for your efforts."

  A new wave of approving cheers swept over the square, and then the executioner was given the sign. Meredith screamed as she saw the kreyghar pull the lever. The prisoners fell downward, suspended in the air. Her scream mixed with the howling of the crowd of gawkers and zealots. No one heard her, not even Reed, but he saw the pain on her face. Meredith's palm squeezed his hand harder than ever before, as if trying to transfer the suffering that gripped her in that moment.

  She cried when the bodies were taken down and three others took their place. The kreyghars howled approvingly, chanting cruel slogans. They looked like wild beasts. They seemed mad, crazed by the scent of death. And Reed just stood and watched, his eyes flickering strangely in the slits of the palaka. He didn't immediately realize that Meredith was no longer holding his hand.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "Papa!" she screamed, reaching out to one of the condemned men. She pushed everyone in her path, straining her voice in attempts to shout out to the last person who was closer to her than the ossified, cruel mercenary. Some kreyghars stepped back, making way but others shouted back, pushing the girl right onto the cold stones of the square. Meredith fell, scraped her knees and palms but then got up and rushed further. She screamed until she was hoarse, as if she didn't understand the futility of her efforts. Reed tore from his spot, dealing out rough kicks to everyone standing in his way, shoving and literally fighting his way to her. If Meredith gave herself away now, she was done for.

  He caught up with her almost at the scaffold. There were only a few people ahead. She kept screaming insanely, as if she didn't care at all about the consequences and knew no fear. Reed caught her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulled her toward himself, dragging her away from the terrifying pedestal of death.

  "You can't help," he said right into her ear. "You can't help! They'll kill him, and us! Stop it."

  "Papa!" she begged one last time, digging her nails into Reed's arms as if trying to tear him off herself.

  Reed looked at the man she was struggling toward so desperately. Their eyes met for a moment. Just before the Blessed One waved his hand, satisfied with the bloody ecstasy of the crowd. Life flickered in mage’s eyes but Reed's were filled with guilt. He couldn't watch. He couldn't withstand that gaze. Squeezing his eyes shut, Reed backed away, dragging Meredith with him. She was no longer struggling or scratching, but simply sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air. He sharply turned her toward him, forcing her to bury her face in his chest, and whispered, "Don't turn around."

  "Papa..."

  "It's okay, just don't look."

  The occasional kreyghars who paid them any mind shook their heads in condemnation, looking at Reed and Meredith. How could one bring unprepared children to such a sacred ritual? And he felt sick from a single glance at their faces, which all merged into one: ugly, bloodthirsty, and excessively monstrous.

  Reed dragged Meredith through the crowd, away from the scaffold and the sound of the falling bodies. He heard nothing more, neither the kreyghars, nor the Blessed One, nor Meredith. Reed simply pulled her away, wishing to get out of this stifling, fetid place as soon as possible. Air was scarce, he breathed heavily and still couldn't catch his breath.

  Finally, they squeezed through to the horse. Reed couldn't leave the mount behind as all their meager wealth was with it. Seating the moaning Meredith on the horse, Reed climbed up himself and pulled the reins, forcing the animal to turn around. The kreyghars around them swore, scattering to avoid getting trampled by hooves. Before the noise of the wind and the clatter of hooves replaced the roar of the crowd, he heard the executioner carry out the will of the Three once again.

  ***

  Meredith had been silent ever since Reed took her from the square. She sat silently at the table, staring mindlessly at the plate before her. Reed sat nearby and had no appetite either. He wanted to say that he was also to blame for this, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. He had already been lying to everyone for so long that silence didn't even feel like a lie. And what would he say? Reed had never been a master of words. He had nothing in reserve that could explain to a child what he was guilty of. And he hadn't even received money for it.

  Money wouldn’t spare him the guilt, but it would have provided an excellent excuse to continue lying to himself. He could have casted the memory aside for at least a couple of days. After that, he simply wouldn't have thought about it. But he only had Meredith: silent, closed off, and depressed. Naturally, Reed didn't feel guilt for every one of his crimes. Otherwise, he would have found another occupation long ago. This time, however, he had become involved in a matter the essence of which he didn't understand, and people suffered when they shouldn't have. Reed never killed women or children for money. Eliza had been an exception, and he had killed her out of pity. Now he felt as if he had gone to that village of his own free will. As if he had wanted this, rather than just doing a job he hadn't cared to look into.

  Hornet said that mages were dangerous, and that was true, but they were defending their families. Reed had no one to defend, so he understood them only partially. But understood nonetheless. It seemed to him that he had been guilty of dozens of ruined destinies, including Meredith's. Up to a certain point, Reed truly believed he was doing a useful deed, for the Church always works for the good. But he hadn't wanted to look into the Church's work either. If he had devoted even a little time to find out instead of hanging around dubious establishments, he would have known that mages would be led to public execution. All of them. Meredith too. If he had wanted to know, he would have learned that mages are dangerous, but only when defending themselves. Reed was late in understanding why they hid in remote, abandoned villages, and why their children had never seen cities.

  Immersed in the abyss of self-hatred, Reed didn't notice that Meredith had been looking at him all this time. Their eyes met. Her gaze pressed on him, lashing like a whip, although he thought he had long forgotten such torments.

  "My mother died too," he said quietly.

  "The one who will bring you peace?" Meredith asked just as quietly. Life had left her voice again. Reed felt as if he were talking to a corpse.

  "No, mine," a sad smile touched his lips.

  "Why?"

  "She was too weak to work."

  "And did you see it?"

  Reed nodded, a lump growing in his throat. He didn't tell Meredith everything, but he remembered. Hadn't it already been said that not thinking doesn't mean not remembering?

  "What did you do after?" her voice was hoarse from screaming, and she spoke as if every word hurt.

  "I... left."

  "Where? Didn't you want to stay with her a little longer?"

  "I wanted to."

  "Then why didn't you stay?"

  "Because I would have found the same peace."

  Meredith fell silent, examining Reed's gloves. "Did you cry too?"

  "Of course," Reed squeezed out, covering his face with his hands. He had driven himself into a position that gave Meredith the right to crawl into his soul, to fish out the blackest memories. Yet Reed wasn't angry, he was simply in pain.

  Her small hand covered his and squeezed. "Will I find peace too?"

  "Like everyone else."

  "And will I see them?"

  "Probably," he shrugged, giving Meredith's hand an encouraging squeeze. "If you want it very much, anything is possible."

  She nodded. "Then I want to very much."

  "What can I do for you?" Reed asked, peering into her tired face, exhausted by tears and loss.

  "I... I don't know, Hector," she said, and then began to weep. At first, it was just tears, which quickly grew into wailing, then into hysteria. Reed looked at her hand convulsively squeezing his fingers, at her swollen face and suddenly remembered that once he had cried like that too. Yet no one held his hand, and he cried alone. And when he got older, he forgot how to cry altogether. He had hardened, ossified in his convictions, frozen solid into his past, which he had tried to get rid of all his life. Because no one would have held his hand. Reed was used to it, but now this thought pricked him. He lowered his eyes, not wishing to see the child's pain.

  He caught himself thinking once again that he was not free. The past had captivated him, inscribed his destiny, his future, and the life he hated but led because he didn't know how to live otherwise. One raised by violence and suckled on cruelty will always carry violence and preach cruelty. And this circle will break only when Reed stops breathing. He didn't wish to be a monster, but he became one without even noticing how it happened.

  Meredith howled, shaking. Reed snapped out of his thoughts and stood up. He walked to her, and his hand timidly lay on her shoulder, pulling her into embrace. He comforted her as best he could. His embrace was as far from fatherly as it was from cruel and indifferent. Meredith hugged him back, clinging to his leather armor, shedding tears on the rough surface of his clothes. Reed remained silent, listening to the pain. He was no master of processing grief. Usually, he drowned it at the bottom of a glass or hid it in the folds of the skirts of pliant women, but he never allowed pain to live. That is why it never left. Reed was burying what was not dead.

  He stood there, allowing the child to live through her pain, while his own quietly sloshed somewhere in the recesses of his soul, if he still had one left. Meredith clung to him weakly, and after a while, he heard only sobs. Then those subsided too. Tears had exhausted her. The day had taken toll on her, and she could barely sit. Reed silently lifted her, laid her on the bed, and turned to leave.

  "Don't leave until I fall asleep," Meredith's voice was so quiet that one might have thought she hadn't spoken at all. "Please, Hector, I'm scared."

  Without uttering a word in response, Reed kicked off his boots, snatched up the cloak, covered Meredith with it, and lay down beside her. He had done this before, but this time, staying with her was especially hard. He still had work, a personal matter to attend to, so he couldn't allow himself to sleep.

  Meredith's ragged breathing calmed soon. She was asleep. And Reed allowed himself to get up. Snatching up the belt with his daggers, he disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving nothing behind that would speak of his presence.

  ***

  He returned at dawn, breathless and driven like a wild beast. Meredith was still asleep, but he had no time to wait for her to wake up.

  "Get up, Dita!" he said loudly, shaking her slightly.

  "What happened?"

  "We need to leave. Let's go!"

  "Why? You said we aren't going anywhere else."

  "No time, Dita!" he shouted. "Get up!"

  "I won't," she answered sleepily, "until you tell me."

  Reed looked like a rabid dog. He snorted viciously. He was on edge, shaking as he hadn't in a long time. He did something. And for this, he could pay with his head if they found him. There was no doubt the guards were already looking for him. Whether they would find him was a matter of time. Meredith's questioning and sudden stubbornness enraged him, and he barked as he turned around, “We are leaving because I killed the Blessed One! Happy?"

  The last word tore from his throat like a bark.

  Meredith froze, staring at him. "Why?"

  "Just because! Get up!"

  She obediently slid off the bed and began to get ready, rubbing her eyes, swollen from sleep. When they went out, the trampling of horse hooves and the clatter of guard armor could already be heard in the distance. Now he was definitely a corpse if he tried to find Ermod.