**The following story takes place after "Of Lowlifes, Lutes, & Liars" Chapter 50: Until No More Remain and immediately after Side Story 04: Many's the Penny. It has been one year after the events of Chapter 50, so be warned: spoilers ahead.**

Get a hold of yourself, woman, Khazmine admonished silently while wiping tears away. They’ll think something’s wrong if you break down now.

Still, Pavo was so aggressively cute, strumming on his new treasure, that Khazmine couldn’t help but smile.

Watching her little brother try so hard, pouring his fractured heart into something new and exciting, stirred something in the half-breed. Pavocinis had been so frightened, so devastated over the last year of hardship, that it was like a breath of fresh air seeing the wee lad so full of hope.

That’s it, little one. You keep playing.

“Tuff times wee fore got,” Pavo continued, his confidence building with every strum.

Tough times, indeed, Khazmine noted, stroking the markings on her scarred face.

Her old injury was flaring up again, causing the outcast to flinch and draw her ears back in pain. The left side of Khazmine’s face was perfectly fine, but the right side…

Still stings every now and again, Khazmine winced.

A gloved hand grazed her right cheek, tracing the crackling pattern of damaged skin as it spidered out from her ear like a crash of lightning. Darkened flesh was hot and sensitive to the touch wherever it scarred, and a piercing buzzing drowned out Pavo’s playing for untold minutes.

Will it always be like this, from now on?

The children didn’t seem to mind Khazmine’s injury, probably because they’d had a year to get used to it. If anything, Aranthus kept wanting to touch the Deceiver’s scars, with a stare that was equal parts curious and admiring.

Little Alix still shied away from the half-breed once in a while, but the others took to Lady Kiss-Me’s appearance as well as she could have hoped. With time, perhaps they’d forget that the Deceiver had ever been wholly undamaged.

Gods only knew.

“…hear me, Lady Kiss-Me?” Pavocinis asked, with only the last part of his question reaching his big sister.

Unable to respond properly, Khazmine smiled affectionately at her little brother and gave him an approving nod.

“Wanna hear me try again?” Pavo pressed, encouraged by any praise from the Deceiver.

“Don’t stop now, little one,” Khazmine replied, eager to listen for anything wee Pavo could play for her. “You’re a natural.”

Pavocinis beamed a gap-toothed smile at Lady Kiss-Me, his amiable energy reaching his sister all the way to her secluded perch on the back stoop. The southerner had the most contagious grin, corrupting even the dourest mood with his sunshine. Even Aranthus couldn’t help but give in and hover around his little brother, his own distant firstday long forgotten.

“Didja hear?” Pavo chimed again, his latest attempt concluding with a sharp, discordant note.

Lady Kiss-Me was staring off in the middle distance again, trying to rein in the horrid buzzing in her right ear. She was caught off-guard again, but quickly snapped into action once she saw Aranthus clapping for Pavo’s latest efforts. The Deceiver belatedly joined in with her own resounding applause, though she couldn’t confess to have heard everything from her stool on the stoop.

You have to be more careful, the outcast scolded herself as she narrowed glacier-blue eyes. Another shrill ring in her ear caused the half-breed to flinch, but she tried to maintain an unbothered expression anyway. The boys can’t know. It’ll only worry them. Besides, you’ll get used to it eventually.

Still, the Deceiver’s injury from the Day of Dark Skies preyed on her mind, torturing the outcast with glimpses of unwanted memory. Khazmine shuddered at flashes of the malicious verses of the crooning bard, the cold, cruel stares from Cheapsiders appraising her, and the rush of ether attacks against the outcast.

They only bring disease and shame,
So burn them all and curse each name.
And at whose feet cast you the blame?
Of lowlifes, lutes, & liars.

Khazmine couldn’t help but shrink at the horrid sounds of angry townspeople. Star Guards and Cheapsiders alike turned on the Deceiver, not realizing that they ought to have hated Khazmine even more than they already did.

As for the searing ether burn, it’d happened in an instant, too quickly for the outcast to evade. The Deceiver was, after all, a disgusting half-breed, and a convenient scapegoat for every ill that befell the citizens of Old Sarzonn. It should have come as no surprise that they’d see her traipsing out in broad daylight and think Khazmine was some kind of monster.

The half-breed’s mind reeled at a barrage of “ifs.” If only Tatty hadn’t been injured back then, if Khazmine had even a hint of medical knowledge, or if she hadn’t gone out to look for Rida for help; would things have been different?

No, very likely not.

Sure, Khazmine might have been spared a blast to the face on the Day of Dark Skies, but it could have happened anyway on any other day. There was a certain resigned and inescapable feeling that settled on the outcast’s shoulders, as if her injuries were somehow unavoidable. If it wasn’t then, it would’ve been some other time, likely with a worse outcome.

And if she hadn’t gone out that day, poor Tatty might have died. Sure, the wound wasn’t terribly dire, but infection was no laughing matter. Khazmine had seen plenty of Cheapsiders and denizens of The Dregs succumb to fevers, infection, and rot of the flesh. It was the right choice to call for help. Khazmine just needed to accept that fact and move on as best as she could.

Don’t even bother ruminating. There’s no profit in dwelling on the past.

Though her past was a foregone conclusion, Khazmine’s present rang in her ear like a swarmstinger wasp; insistent, painful, and deafening. It was certainly uncomfortable, but the worst of it was robbing the outcast of her chance to hear Pavocinis’s song with crystal clarity.

He’s trying so hard. I’ll need to check him over for callouses soon, Khazmine thought. I’m just glad Pavo likes his present. It made that whole trip worth it.

For as much as Khazmine needed a win to bolster her spirits, Aranthus and Pavo needed comforting as well. Her boys were still too young to truly appreciate the horrors around them, but their fears manifested in other ways.

Pavocinis had the worst time adjusting to this new age of war and suffering, especially at night. The tiny outcast was ravaged by ceaseless nightmares, only managing to get sleep nestled beside his elder siblings. It broke Khazmine’s heart, seeing Pavo so afraid and hopeless.

He’s just a wee thing, so fragile and frightened, Khazmine thought as glacier-blue eyes narrowed. He’s never known comfort, security…

The Deceiver couldn’t blame Pavocinis for being so scared. At just over eight years old, he’d survived several near-death events, the Day of Dark Skies, and the daily frights of navigating their new reality.

Though the outcasts took shelter at Cadlen cottage, they were far from safe. Old Sarzonn was situated in the heart of Tevrose, between the warring nations of humans and Outsiders, and the city’s outer walls could be swarmed at any time by soldiers or Invaders.

And whenever those horrid war drums thumped in the distance, poor Pavo, Alix, and Sprig would duck for cover under tables or chairs.

The war was like a rising tide, flooding the lowlands with soldiers’ blood, creeping up toward the hills of Old Sarzonn. With luck, the conflict would never reach the outer walls, but Khazmine knew better than to put much faith in such things.

If it ever comes to that, we can always flee. I can take at least one of the children in my arms and another on my back, but…

“What’s wrong, Kiss-Me?” Aranthus asked, his icy-blue eyes searching the Deceiver’s for insight. “Are you sad?”

“No, little one. I’m fine,” Khazmine deflected with a warm smirk. “I was just thinking about something, that’s all. Are you ready for sleep?”

Aranthus wasn’t buying the Deceiver’s usual rebuttal, but he didn’t press her for answers. “I’m fine” was, after all, a catch-all phrase that told the Outsider that Khazmine was anything but. If he pushed too hard, Lady Kiss-Me might cry, and Aranthus couldn’t stand the thought of that.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” Aranthus replied, his expression soured and pouty.

Khazmine couldn’t guess what was bothering him, but Aranthus often pushed his lower lip out when things didn’t go his way. Whatever the Deceiver had said ruffled Aranthus’s feathers, and she had a speedy remedy to get her little brother to forget her transgressions.

“H-hey!” Aranthus cried out.

The Deceiver had scooped her brother up in her arms, toting him like a damsel in distress. “What? You’re tired, yes? Then I shall carry you in and come back for Pavo.”

For as grumpy as he was to be treated like a little kid, Aranthus snuggled into Lady Kiss-Me’s embrace and squeezed her arm in his. A thousand thoughts raced through the Outsider’s head, until one rang out above the din, yearning to be heard.

“Do you, I mean…” Aranthus asked, carefully phrasing his question.

“Hmm?” the Deceiver hummed as she continued striding toward the shared bedroom.

“Do you like Pavo more than me?” Aranthus added, stopping the half-breed in her tracks.

“No, little one,” Khazmine replied, sparing a hand to ruffle Aranthus’s wavy, white locks. “I love you both the same.”

“Then w-why did Pavo get a firstday before me?” Aranthus countered, sounding every bit as old as his twelve years. “I’m older than Pavocinis. Shouldn’t I have a firstday before him?”

Khazmine couldn’t help but laugh. Not a polite, reserved chuckle, but a full-on belly-laugh. It was so desperately rare to hear it these days that Aranthus’s pupils dilated at the sound. Instead of heading into the bedroom, Khazmine detoured to the front door, opened it wide, and stood on the stoop.

“What time of year is it, Aranthus?” Khazmine asked with a knowing smirk.

“Harvest,” he replied with a disbelieving drawl, as if the answer was painfully obvious.

“Correct. And your firstday is when, again?” Khazmine pressed.

Aranthus’s cheeks went bright red with embarrassment. He’d been foolish, getting jealous of wee Pavo’s firstday party and present, and now the Outsider had to wrestle with uncomfortable feelings he’d rather suppress.

“If I remember correctly,” Khazmine whispered into Aranthus’s ear, causing the lad to raise his shoulders. “Yours is in winter, just before Yudymas.”

Say what you will about the Deceiver, but she had a steel-trap memory. It was so aggravatingly accurate that Aranthus blushed anew, until his whole face had gone red. An embarrassed “uh-huh” was all he could manage to confirm Khazmine’s suspicions.

“Are you upset that Pavo got a present before you did?” Khazmine asked, before adding a sly remark. “Or did you think I’d forgotten your firstday?”

The look of astonishment on Aranthus’s face gave him away entirely, and the Outsider clung to Lady Kiss-Me all the harder. Khazmine sighed at the Outsider’s trembling hug, and she gave him one in return. A tiny whimper from Aranthus caught in the Deceiver’s good ear, rattling her heartstrings anew.

“Oh, Aranthus, there’s no need for that,” Khazmine soothed. “I meant what I said, little one. I love you both the same.”

“B-but you, I mean, he…” Aranthus struggled, unable to put his despair into words.

The half-breed had suspected that Aranthus was struggling, but had no idea he was holding such feelings in. It wasn’t anything personal, far from it, but it was a point of fact that Pavocinis required more care than Aranthus. With Pavo’s fractured ether core and history of illness, Khazmine had to prioritize the southerner’s sickness more often than not, leaving Aranthus to fend for his own comforts.

“You remember last year?” Khazmine asked, her eyes locking with Aranthus’s. “When Pavo was sick, and you begged me to save him?”

“Y-yes.”

“I promised I would take care of you both,” Khazmine confessed. “You know how many promises I’ve made since then?”

Aranthus had no idea.

“None,” Khazmine conceded. “Not one. You boys are, by far, the most important people in my life. And I treasure your lives over my own, understand?”

The Outsider’s heart skipped a beat at Lady Kiss-Me’s admission. Khazmine’s expression was perfectly serious, with unwavering eye contact and not a shred of falsehood in her voice. The pair lingered on the front stoop until Aranthus relaxed and they could return indoors.

Aranthus’s body felt weary as he sunk into the lumpy mattress in their shared bedroom. He’d managed to wheedle an answer out of Lady Kiss-Me, but it left him feeling weak and heavy. If it was true that Khazmine cared for both brothers equally, would there be any way to prove it?

As if answering his unspoken plea, the Deceiver tucked Aranthus in and ruffled his hair again before asking. “What would you like for your firstday, little one?”

Aranthus was speechless. He truly believed that Lady Kiss-Me wouldn’t try to get him a present. After all, weren’t times tough, and Pavo only got his lute after Khazmine scrounged around for it? How could she possibly get Aranthus what he truly wanted?

“You don’t have to answer me now,” Khazmine added before giving Aranthus a loving pat on the head. “We still have a few months left. You give it a good think and let me know, okay?”

Aranthus nodded before drifting off to sleep. Khazmine was sure to be there when he woke up, which was present enough for the weary Outsider.

“Good night, little one.”