The Sable Count's castle -- six seasons prior

"Half of Lashaday perished," Sunbane said. "My friend Vaswa was among the dead." The grizzled marten paced before the court hearth fire. Despite his age, his fur still had a healthy gloss. Muscles rippled under his pelt as he moved. "Did you know that?"

Dunbane stared at the dull iron manacles around his wrists. "No, sire." He hadn't intended to replace the weaponsmaster that way.

The great hall was empty save for himself and the Sable Count, his grandfather. Outside the shutters, insulated with heavy tapestries, the storm winds yowled, feral and vicious. Two days of rain had stopped any chance of the fires spreading beyond the outpost.

"Was it worth it?" Sunbane demanded. "Scores of lives lost because of your petty jealousy?" Fury shone in the count's dark eyes. The tawny patch of throat fur--a sunburst pattern that had earned him his name--was streaked with soot, a sign of mourning.

Dunbane pinned his ears in shame. He'd asked himself that same question since he was delivered to his grandfather in chains. When the rains had tamped out the flames, he'd walked through the mud and ash streets.

Every charred, twisted body he saw had deepened the horror and realization at what he'd done. He'd murdered half a town full of innocent creatures, his subjects, the ones he was supposed to one day protect and rule when he took the Sable Crown from his father.

"Answer me, Viscount."

Dunbane squeezed his eyes shut and shivered, pushing back the memories of Lashaday's ruins. "No, sire." Just say it already. Condemn me.

Sunbane's breath hissed between his teeth. "I've spared your mate's honor, and that of your father. The deaths in Lashaday were caused by an untended hearth fire that spread when most were asleep. Officially, Viscount, you had nothing to do with it."

Dunbane winced. "What becomes of me, then?"

"Justice would dictate I execute you myself," the Sable Count said.

Will you make it quick? Dunbane couldn't find the strength to ask it aloud. No courage, no honor; he was nothing any longer.

"However." Sunbane tapped his sword tip against the granite floor. Click click click. "It is beneath me to spill a weakling coward's blood in ritual execution." Click click. "You will be exiled, Viscount, with what remains of the garrison you commanded in Lashaday." Click. "Look at me."

Dunbane obeyed.

"Should you ever redeem your honor," the Sable Count said quietly, "you may return to my realm and be called my heir. Should you not, I never want to see your face again." He turned his back on Dunbane and sheathed his sword. "I trust you know the way to the cells and have the sense to stay there until otherwise released."

"Yes, sire."

#

"You're going to get yourself killed, aren't you?" Seadune said. She stood outside the iron prison cell, arms folded over her belly. Her voice never rose from the chill, even whisper she always used with him.

Dunbane sat on the stone bench. Was it that transparent? A ship was readying for him and his soldiers—those who were still willing to follow him. The memory of Talshesh's wide-eyed death stare burned behind his eyelids, sleeping or awake.

What is wrong with you?

"A mistake isn't worth killing yourself over." Seadune spoke as if she had memorized a poem. Stiff and each word measured. Had she brought this message from his father?

Dunbane turned his head away, ears flattened. He leaned back against the cold stones. Redeem his honor? He didn't know how. Even if he made it his life's goal to save lives rather than end them, never to kill outside the necessity of battle, that wouldn't bring Talshesh and Maincoat back.

But I won't kill again. I swear. Not outside honorable--he almost scoffed at the word--combat. Never again.

When he didn't speak, Seadune left. He wondered if he should have said goodbye and asked if she would wait for him. He hoped she didn't.

#

Dunbane glanced at Becktail. The one-eyed mink stood beside him on the deck of the tiny vessel, Eye of Seablood.

"None of you have to come with me," Dunbane said.

"I do if I'm gonna keep you alive." Becktail smiled grimly. "You're still my friend and commander, Dun."

Dunbane shut his eyes as the sun crested the horizon and they set sail. For his crew's sake, he would do his damndest to bring them home one day.

The seasons passed, rough and hard, on the sea and the lands they traveled. Dunbane humored Becktail and let the mink keep him alive. Though it took three winters, at last he found the strength to let go some of his guilt and began to enjoy his life again. He would not make the same mistakes.

One day, he vowed, he would wash the blood from his paws and soul.