. . . regret.

I didn't want to kill him.

But I had to. If I left him alive, Raichon - and probably the outsider as well - would be forewarned. Now, their ignorance of me and my purpose remains intact. I will find Raichon, and he will lead me to Alvar's murderer. He better.

I want this apprentice's death to serve some purpose. Even if I'm the one that killed him.

Especially because I'm the one who killed him.

Killing is part of my job. When Jet gives the order, I follow it. I cede my agency and my will to him. That makes it easier. But this time, I wasn't following orders. The decision to kill this young necromancer was mine.

I kneel down and run my fingers gently through his hair.

"We're none of us innocent," I whisper.

It's true. We're all tainted. Twisted by our lives here. Vicious and violent and mean, more like feral animals than elves. Are we even worth rescuing? What would happen if we did escape? If Raichon and Rien keep at it and this crazy plan works? How could we ever fit in amongst normal elves? 

I wonder if Raichon will use his apprentice's body to finish the work on the wall.

I know whose bodies he won't be using. With a few quick slashes of my sickle, I behead Ciana's and Landor's corpses. The scuttlers need the head to operate the body. For these two, I have denied the scuttlers that. They were Alvar's friends. And they were murdered. It seems the least I can do. Aside from killing their murderer, of course.

I don't bother with the remaining elven guard or the nameless human. I don't care what happens to their bodies.

A quick glance around the room and I am gone, back down the tunnel. Past the chambers of stacked elven skeletons. Past the cavern with the scuttlers' pool, thoughts of killing the rest of them abandoned for now in my desire to get out of here as quickly as possible. Into the old record room, up the stairs, across the back of the still-silent warehouse. 

I retrieve my cloak and slip out silently through the back door, into the rain. As I walk away, the stomping of elves in the tavern gradually fades behind me, like a dying heartbeat.

* * * 

I am almost to Nana Romina's when I realize what a complete fool I have been.

I know an outsider. One who had the perfect opportunity to kill Alvar and his friends.

Bolin the dwarf.

Bolin who was gently covering the three street rats with his cloak while I hacked off Calmorien's head just a few cubits away. Bolin who has an unhealthy interest in instruments of torture and very detailed knowledge about the twilight sleep. Bolin who will do anything for gold. Damn him! Did he murder Alvar while I was right next to him? Or did he wait until I was out front shoving Calmorien's head onto a spike to sneak back into the room and slip a dagger into his vulnerable little throat? 

My mind briefly rebels at the thought of his treachery. I was starting to like the annoying little beard. He seemed so . . . compassionate and naively decent. Of course, come to think on it, there was a lot about him that wasn't typically dwarven. Maybe all of it was an act. Maybe he wasn't healing the guards while we were fighting Calmorien. Maybe he was poisoning them so they'd be dead a few hours later and could be sold to Raichon to dig in his tunnel. Maybe he thought no one would miss a few drugged street rats as well, and his eyes lit up at the profit to be made just as they did when he scooped his share of Calmorien's coins into his pouch.

It all fits together like cogs in a gnome's puzzle box. How could I not have seen it before?

I turn around. There is no rest for me yet. The rain seems to fade away as I walk with grim purpose down the back streets toward the refinery. 

Tonight, Bolin dies. Tonight, Alvar will be avenged and my vow fulfilled.

Shit. I'm gonna have to find someone else to repair my cuirass.