“What’s your alternative, hmm?” Khazmine asked as her lip tugged into a snarl. “No, really… Do you have any better ideas?”

Rida winced uncomfortably on the spot and tensed his ears at the obvious.

“You’re too young to know, miss,” Rida tried to explain delicately. “But sometimes you just can’t win. No matter what you do, sometimes people just die.”

Undeterred by his response, Khazmine continued to make her point.

“The way I see it, you’d rather simply give up,” the outcast sneered. Khazmine’s voice went cold, and any hint of gentleness was snuffed out, like the last flickering ember on Rida’s wax candle. “It’d be easier for you to give up without pursuing every option possible. Just ‘move on and try to live with it,’ I suppose…”

The outcast gritted her teeth at the healer’s pained expression. “I’d pegged you for an opportunist, but I should have labeled you a coward.”

“Khazmine, hey, wait a minute—” Jaycen tried to interject, but the outcast had already turned her back and snuck through the chamber door to the recovery room to check on her boys. He grumbled and shook his weary head at how quickly that interaction had soured. Jaycen stepped forward to speak with the healer, only to find the southerner’s shoulders slumped and posture slackened. “<Dorian?> Are you okay?”

“It’s fine, Lieutenant,” Rida mumbled. “Well, it stings a little, but…”

“Do you want me to speak with her about an apology?” Jaycen asked. He could pull rank and demand one from the outcast, if Rida really wanted it, but the lieutenant would rather not have to force Khazmine to seek forgiveness.

“No, don’t worry about it.” Rida frowned and brushed a hand over his eyes. “Just leave her be… It’s too late to go home now. Feel free to sleep on the chaise, and don’t mind the papers. Everything’s kind of a mess anyway.”

“Sure thing, <Dorian>. Thank you.” Jaycen shed his armor and tugged at a heap of blankets stacked behind the chaise to find one large enough to cover himself. The lieutenant laid down and patiently waited for Khazmine to emerge from the recovery room, but tiredness overwhelmed him and the Solanai fell asleep, unaware of the conspiracy that was about to take place behind the closed recovery room door.

Aranthus nestled against Pavo, curled up like a soft, snuggly marsh pup, trying to keep the little guy warm with his body heat. Pavo’s frail body kept trembling in the night, waking the Outsider repeatedly. This time, Aranthus woke to the familiar shape of his big sister, who was discreetly wiping tears from her eyes.

“Lady Kiss-Me?” Aranthus whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, little one,” Khazmine exaggerated. She was anything but fine at that moment and was shaking with guilt from what she was about to ask of her little brother. “I found someone who can help fix Pavo’s ether core. No, don’t get up, please, just listen… We can get care for him as soon as tomorrow, but I’ll need your help...”

“Me?” Aranthus asked with visible confusion. He was at a loss at how he was capable of helping, but Aranthus’s eyes widened as Khazmine explained. “I can help Pavo?”

“Yes, your help is essential for this to work,” Khazmine whispered as Aranthus leaned closer to hear her.

“You just, that is, I—,” the outcast struggled to find the right words, the correct sequence of syllables that would make her request okay. Her little brother was staring up at her, waiting to hear what he needed to do to save Pavo, with eyes filled with wonder and curiosity in equal measure. Khazmine wrestled with her conscience and tried to dismiss the distaste that came with ignoring it as the words seeped from her lips.

“I need you to lie for me…”

---

Dawn came late the next morning, which was made miserable by a lingering, heavy fog that refused to dissipate until the mid-day meal. Only insistent rays from the midtown sun clock gave any indication of a specific hour, as Old Sarzonn was otherwise shrouded in gloom.

Khazmine had risen and departed early that morning, leaving Jaycen Mevralls without a breakfast companion once again. He’d grown accustomed to their breakfasts together, and his days felt somehow diminished and empty without the young outcast to share sweet thistle-wheat cakes and bacon with. What little conversation they’d had that morning at the camp was cordial and superficial, with Khazmine replying with short answers anytime Jaycen asked a question. His mind wandered to their interactions as he waited impatiently during his mid-day meeting.

Lieutenant Mevralls inhaled deeply and sensed the hint of oncoming autumn as he waited to give a status report on the Solanai observation deck. It was a relief that the monsoon season was finally ending, which had put a figurative damper on camp activities during the periods of heavy rain. The first leaves of the season began to change color, harvest fruits made their debuts, and the Evermonth tree shed its pink blossoms to ready itself for another cycle. Though dreary some days, it was Jaycen’s favorite time of year.

Four other lieutenants gave their respective reports to Major Barshaw as she took stock of their findings on a fold-out table at her leisure. Reports varied, but there was a notable drop-off in recruits this season compared to years prior, and a surprising uptick in job postings to the Solanai board in recent weeks. There was something going on with both of these trends, but the Solanai were at a collective loss for what the connection might be.

Aside from some minor scuffles in Cheapside, a recent fire in a run-down boarding house, and significant traffic leaving the city, there wasn’t much else to report from Lieutenant Mevralls. The initiates were preparing for their first round of assessments, and Mister Hallem had volunteered to take several extra training shifts to earn some money after his recent shortfall. If he didn’t know any better, Jaycen would have thought that all was well in the camp.

Until it wasn’t.

“Major! Major!” a young, human initiate with a splatter of food on her uniform barged into the meeting on the restricted deck. “Please, ma’am. It’s an emergency!”

“What’s happened?” Mevralls demanded. Major Barshaw rose from her stool at the initiate’s unkempt state, with her gray eyes homed in on the frightened newcomer. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Mevralls pushed past his contemporaries to assess the situation. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the half-breed, sir,” the initiate trembled where she stood. “She’s attacking Mister Scurving in the commissary. That horrid thing slashes at anyone who comes near her, and we need—”

“MOVE,” Major Barshaw commanded before taking a leap from the upper deck to the lower landing. Lieutenant Mevralls wasn’t bold enough to try soft-falling from such a height, and trailed after his commanding officer as fast as he could manage.

Quin Scurving’s terrified screams could be heard across the yard, summoning several bands of soldiers to investigate. Two initiates staggered out of the commissary, clutching their wounded faces and hands from what looked like deep scratch marks from a wild animal. Jaycen recognized these two as faithful followers of Mister Hallem’s training unit, which Quin also belonged to. If memory served, these brash fools were friends who seldom parted company.

Jaycen raced behind Major Barshaw, whose boosted strides and ambitious use of soft-fall ether had given her a handsome lead over her subordinate. By the time Mevralls echoed her footfalls to the commissary, the major had already separated Khazmine from Quin Scurving, who was cowering under a table to shield himself from another volley of punishing blows.

“Major? What’s happened?” Jaycen asked.

Khazmine’s toe tips dusted the floor as the major hoisted the outcast by one side of her hooded jacket. The fetch-and-carry’s soaking wet head lowered until it brushed against her chest, and Khazmine stifled a cough that rattled her entire body as she remained suspended a few inches from the floor. Major Barshaw repositioned her tenuous grip on the half-breed’s clothing, which had been lately drenched by some sticky liquid that ran dark red streaks down Khazmine’s face, neck, and shoulders through several layers of clothing. The major hadn’t scolded, shouted, or otherwise made her displeasure known, yet her captive trembled and cried silently to herself in Tazanni’s upraised grasp.

“She’s a savage, that’s what she is!” Quin cried out from under the safety of his heavy wooden dining table. Allyn and Jarrow, his wayward accomplices, peeked into the messy commissary at the sound of their fellow bunk mate’s voice. Plates of spilled food, dark liquid stains on the floor, and shattered dishes were scattered around the evacuated room. “Look what she’s done, Lieutenant!”

Jaycen didn’t need the Major’s experience with investigating battlefields to guess what had occurred here. Avenging Mister Hallem’s tarnished “honor,” these three initiates saw fit to torment the half-breed fetch-and-carry, pinning her to the floor and pouring sticky wine or brambleberry juice on her.

Unfortunately for her opponents, Khazmine had channeled a spark of ether and lashed out at the initiates with unbridled fury, taking her captors by surprise. Ungloved, angry, and on edge from last night’s difficulties, the outcast swiped at anything in her strike radius without restraint, leaving hellacious gashes where her fingernails raked against unprotected skin. It was evident from Quin’s initial reluctance to abandon his hiding place that Khazmine’s ferocious attacks had left the three men bloodied, battered, and deeply afraid. Quin crawled out from under the dining table and Jaycen eyed his attire to gather more clues.

A painful cough erupted from Khazmine, followed by what remained of the dark reddish liquid that had been poured into her mouth when Jarrow and Allyn had held her down. The offending slurry barely missed hitting Major Barshaw, whose cruel, grey eyes locked on the quivering Scurving. Quin must have been the one who’d decanted nearly an entire jug on the poor outcast, as his boots were stained through from splashing her with sadistic glee. He hadn’t just tried to humiliate Khazmine…

Quin tried to drown her.

“Allyn, Jarrow, Quin—report to the brig immediately,” Jaycen ordered, his eyes closed tightly to contain the lieutenant’s festering rage. “No arguments, just report now…”

“But sir, we—” Quin protested.

“I SAID NOW!” Jaycen roared, even to Major Barshaw’s astonishment.

When all three offenders remained in place, quaking in their boots, Major Barshaw stepped in to back the lieutenant’s order. The major gently lowered Khazmine to the floor before storming off with Quin, Allyn, and Jarrow dragging mercilessly behind her through the last remnants of the morning’s fog. This treatment of the camp’s fetch-and-carry had far exceeded mere hazing, and would not be tolerated, especially from some poorly-trained initiates. Lieutenant Mevralls watched the four figures vanish into the haze, only to flinch at another rough, ragged cough from Khazmine.

“Are you all right?” Jaycen asked as the outcast set about wringing her clothing in clenched, trembling hands. The outcast’s fingers stained red as trickles of sweet-smelling liquid hit the still-messy floor. When Khazmine didn’t respond, Jaycen approached with open arms, only to see the outcast recoil at his advance. “I’m so sorry Khazmine, really. I had no idea it was this bad…”

Silence. Horrible, deafening silence.

Khazmine refused to look up at Lieutenant Mevralls, and only interrupted the quiet loneliness of the commissary with an occasional fit of spasmic coughing. The outcast’s wordless presence spoke more plainly to the lieutenant than any words she could have said in her own defense.

You should have known better... Khazmine’s silence seemed to say. These are your trainees, and they’ll get away with murder if you let them.

“Khazmine, I—”

“Permission to leave camp, sir?” the outcast muttered, still unable to meet Jaycen’s concerned gaze.

“Of course, fine,” Mevralls replied. “Please, take the remainder of the day to rest and I’ll… I will stop by the hovel this afternoon to check on you, all right?”

Khazmine nodded without another word and trudged out of the commissary, approaching a gaggle of onlooking initiates and soldiers who’d stepped away to give the frightful half-breed plenty of space. The wiry fetch-and-carry they’d pegged as an easy target had proven to be anything but weak and Khazmine’s outburst had encouraged the Solanai to maintain a respectful distance from her. Regardless of whatever punishments the officers were enforcing, no one wanted to rile the feisty half-breed who’d humbled initiates Quin, Jarrow, and Allyn.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jaycen called out to Khazmine before she’d ambled too far for his voice to reach her.

The outcast shot a quick glance back at the lieutenant and faced forward again with a weak, pursed-lipped smile.

No, you won’t…