I'm practicing with my wooden sword in the workshop's backyard when I hear the steps.

"Not now, Oliver," I grunt. "I'm almost done."

I hit the wooden dummy again, but the blow is still not strong enough. Its faceless head seems to be grinning at me with defiance. It reminds me of Hadrian. I saved his life, and yet all he had to say to me was 'It's not my problem, is it?' With this red scar across my face, with my left eye closed forever, I'm too ugly now to even be around that arrogant, pampered bastard.

I smash the dummy so hard that splinters fly in all directions. Panting, I turn around, expecting Oliver's mocking applause.

Instead, I find Grumio standing by the wall, watching me. I freeze, surprised. Oliver didn't tell me he would come today. I haven’t decided yet what I was going to say to him.

I put my sword on the ground and approach him slowly.

"Hello," I say. "You do recognize me now, don't you?"

He looks at me blankly. Despite us being twins, he seems older, paler. His posture still resembles that of the castle slaves—his back bent, his hands hanging limply, his face devoid of expression. It's painful to see him like this. He's not in the castle anymore, yet it seems the damage is irreversible.

I look around the yard full of wooden garbage. Where's Oliver? He hasn’t been around in the last couple of days, but it must be him who have brought Grumio. He could at least have given me a warning.

"Why don’t you talk to me? Aren’t you glad to be free?"

He raises his eyes to my face, but there's little focus it them.

"Free?" he says in a rusty voice.

"Yes," I say. "We rescued you, haven't we? You're not a slave anymore."

"Rescued?" He blinks at me. "After twelve years?"

I feel a sting of guilt. "When they took you, I was seven years old. What could I do?"

There's finally a shade of expression in his eyes, although not one I could hope for.

"You're not seven now," he says. "Not for a while now. Oliver told me about you. Your work in a carpenter shop, you sleep in a bed, you drink with your friends, you screw harbor whores. You've been enjoying your life."

This is so unfair it makes my breath catch in my throat. "It's not so simple. I didn’t know where you were, not even if you were still alive. We couldn't even get into the castle until we got that map."

"You forgot about me," he says with sudden anger, and I blink, surprised by this display of emotion. He reaches out and pokes me in the chest with his finger. "You had a life and you forgot about me, and mother, and father, and Grandpa. Their killers are still walking free."

"They're not," I say, gently catching his hand and removing it from my chest.

The anger on his face is gradually replaced by confusion as my words sink in. "What?"

"The yellow beard—remember the yellow beard?" In my mind's eye, I can still see that huge man, his eyes laughing through his visor and he buried his sword in my father's back. I can see a reflection of that memory flicker in Grumio's eyes. He's been there. He's the only other living person who knows what it's been like.

"I remember the yellow beard," he says.

"I got him two years ago." This memory is clear, too, and this one is mine alone. I wish I could share it with him, let him feel the excitement that I felt following the drunken man into that dark alley. I wish I could make him feel the sensation of the knife penetrating the man's chest, or the look in his eyes as I recited the names of my family members as he was sliding down to the ground. "I stabbed him like he did our father, and I stood over him and watched him die."

Grumio frowns. "What about the tall one?"

"He served in the night guard. Caught him alone one night, pushed him from the pier. He smashed his head on the rocks. It took them days to find him. I came to check on him a few times. His body was half eaten by dogs when it was discovered."

"And the other two?"

"Dead," I say. "I will tell you all about it if you want."

His gaze softens a little.

"So you did avenge them, after all," he says.

"Not yet," I say. "I punished the soldiers, but they were only a tool. It's the King and this whole system that must be changed. The firstborn tax must be abolished. Oliver is working hard on this and perhaps soon we could strike them down. Only then the revenge will be complete."

He nods. Then he reaches out and touches the black leather patch covering my left eye.

"You look like a pirate," he says. "Remember how we played pirates?"

"I do."

"Does it hurt?"

"The eye? Less and less." I shrug. "At least nobody will confuse between us anymore."

"Right," he says, and then, to my surprise, he smiles. "I saw you with the sword. Not too bad for a carpenter."

"I have a good teacher, a retired master of arms. There's all kinds of people helping us."

He looks away, biting his lower lip, then glances at me again.

"Could he teach me as well?" he says. "I want to fight them, too."

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