The horn's call still seemed to hang in the air, though it had been blown minutes ago. People were running onto the field now, their voices rising in a cacophony of shock and grief. Chastity Rather's wails cut through everything else, keening and pitchy.

  [Your path, while fraught with mortal peril, has wrung free its first prize: the life of your mother's promised, and with it, ten (10) experience. Use it wisely, Kinslayer.]

  Dalliance stood frozen at the edge of the Green, Jasmine beside him. He couldn't look away from the head. It was still there, half-buried in the churned earth, his father's face locked in that final expression of rage and betrayal. Someone—one of the uncles, probably Solidarity—was shouting for a blanket, a tarp, something to cover it.

  "Dalliance—"

  His brother's voice was heavy, flat. Dalliance turned to find Industry standing a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back in that familiar way that meant he was holding himself together through sheer force of will. He looked like Dalliance—something in the nose and eyes—but older, and more certain.

  "We should talk," Industry said.

  Across the field, Chastity's sobs rang out over the broken ground. The priest had picked his way across the ruined earth to the body and was pointing out volunteers to carry it. Dalliance watched his mother collapse against the corpse, her hands scrabbling at the broad shoulders, her face pressed against bloodstained fabric.

  "I will tend to Mother," Industry said. His voice was carefully controlled. "But we must discuss this."

  Jasmine looked confused at the seriousness, at the lack of empathy from someone who looked so much like Dalliance. They were clearly brothers, something in the nose and eyes giving them away as family.

  "This is definitely not the clean win you imagine it to be," Industry said. He stopped, glancing at Jasmine as if only just noticing her. His posture shifted slightly—still rigid, but with a layer of courtesy overlaid. He gave her a slight bow. "My pardon, miss. You find us in disarray."

  "I'm so sorry," Jasmine said quickly. "For your loss."

  Industry didn't comment, simply nodded. "Perhaps if you return, it can be to a warmer welcome."

  He gave her a final nodded "Miss," and withdrew, walking away with his hands clasped behind his back. That posture had always meant poorly for the future. Generally, it meant he'd been given an order he was not looking forward to carrying out.

  Dalliance watched him go, his chest tight. He knew what that meant. The job offer, the room above the carpentry shop, the safety net Industry had quietly extended when Dalliance had been disinherited: all of it was gone now. Rescinded. He was alone.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "What was that about?" Jasmine asked quietly.

  Dalliance couldn't answer. Across the field, four men were lifting the body onto a makeshift stretcher cobbled together from poles and sack cloth. The head had been wrapped in someone's jacket. His mother was still wailing, but she'd been pulled back by Earnest's mother and Probity, who seemed to be working together to calm her. Probity glanced in Dalliance's direction briefly, beetled brows and silver eyes just like his father's flashing in the sun, but didn't make any move to go to him.

  They hadn't exactly been close for a while, now.

  Then Parsimony Pleasant was carried past on another stretcher, his orange robes scorched and torn, his face gray with pain and blood loss. One of the village women was walking alongside him, pressing bandages to his side where the darts had struck.

  Chastity's head turned to follow the stretcher.

  She pulled away from the arms holding her, stumbled a step, then another. Her sons moved to flank her, Probity on one side, Industry on the other, and together they followed Parsimony's stretcher at a careful distance. Not close enough to be scandalous, as if that even mattered anymore.

  Dalliance felt Jasmine's hand on his arm. "Should we . . . ?"

  "No," he said. His voice came out hoarse. "We shouldn't."

  The body was being carried toward the village now, toward the granary. The only structure nearby that was cool, secure, pest-free. Somewhere to keep it until the wagons could be readied for the journey to the temple.

  By the time they reached the granary, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the village. The body had been laid out on a trestle table in the center of the building, covered with a cloth that didn't quite hide the shape of it. The head had been positioned at the top, wrapped but unmistakable.

  Someone had already lit candles. The vigil had begun.

  Dalliance stood outside for a long moment, watching people filter in and out. The whole village would cycle through tonight, keeping watch, showing respect. It was what you did. You didn't leave the dead alone.

  "You don't have to go in," Jasmine said beside him. She'd stayed with him, trailing after him like a worried shadow. He didn't know why. He didn't deserve it.

  "I do," he said.

  He took a candle from the basket by the door, lit it from one of the others, and stepped inside.

  The room went quiet by degrees, heads turning, voices dropping. Dalliance kept his eyes on the body and moved to an empty spot along the wall.

  One by one, people began to leave.

  Old Marcus, who'd been standing near the head, muttered something to his wife and shuffled toward the door. The Bramble sisters followed. Then the cooper and his son. Within minutes, the granary was nearly empty.

  Zenith paused on her way out, looking at him with kind eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said quietly.

  "Thank you," Dalliance managed.

  She didn't stay.

  Through the open door, he could see Woebegone standing with his mother and grandmother at the edge of the field. The boy's gaze slid past him, deliberate and cold, and fixed on something else entirely.

  Huh. So he hadn't gotten his mom killed, yet.

  Jasmine was the only one who stayed.

  She stood beside him, holding her own candle, her face uncertain but determined. "I don't really understand what's happening," she admitted. "But you shouldn't be alone right now."

  Dalliance couldn't speak. He stared at the shape under the cloth.

  He didn't even know what he should be feeling, but the numbness seemed worse.