Chapter Twelve: Michael

I was still shaking violently after emerging from the basement. My mind had retreated elsewhere and 'twas a miracle all on its own that I managed to climb the steep steps up into the kitchen without tumbling. I knew Fisk was in worse condition than me, but he refused my helping hand once I reached the top and motioned down to him.

"I can make it up fine on my own, Noble Sir," he grunted.

I didn't respond, but I did wait for him. He grimaced and winced as he climbed, but thankfully, he still possessed enough sense to lock the accursed cellar door behind him. Now, Pierce and his men could not escape their inevitable fates, if of course, the sheriffs and judicars disregarded Pierce's financial bribes and strove for justice instead.

As it turned out, Pierce never once bought out the lawmen of Havenport. Rather, the infamous tradesman had threatened the lives of various family members if the sheriff and his men ever dared cross him, and since Pierce already had a reputation for making townspeople disappear without a trace, the law had turned a blind eye on the black market crimes overwhelming the city.

"But not anymore," the sheriff assured Kathy after she told him of our narrow escape from Pierce's basement. Unfortunately for the people of Havenport, their sheriff, a man called Master Porter, was tragically unintimidating, and looked far better suited for keeping records of criminals rather than arresting them. 'Twas no wonder he never stood up to bullies like Pierce and his brutes, but still no excuse.

While various guardsmen infiltrated Pierce's mansion and rounded up the staff inside, I found myself sliding down the brick wall outside the yard, shivering, shirtless, and alone. Sometime—I could not remember when—I had managed to lose the manacles fixed around my wrists and ankles, and I spent a long while vigorously massaging feeling back into my muscles. I hardly noticed the wound in my stomach anymore. As far as I knew, it scarcely bled, but I never had been one to keep account of my own injuries. 'Twas usually Fisk who saw to practical things like that, though I did not expect to find him hovering over me now of all times. In fact, I didn't even know where he'd wandered off to...

Next thing I knew, a city guardsman demanded to check my wrists, as is routine during crime scene investigations. I found I couldn't even lift my eyes as I regretfully handed him my arm and he gently turned it over. A disgusted grunt escaped his lips not a moment later, and he threw my arm back to me with more force than was necessary. Nearby, I heard him tell another guard, "The two over there are in need of medical attention. We can't do anything for this one. He's marked. Legally speaking, his injuries can't be held against Pierce."

In other words, the law would not shed a scrap of fairness on an unredeemed man. I lowered my face and hugged my arm against my chest as if it burned. 'Twas a pathetic attempt at comforting myself. Days ago, I had been alone, but that was nothing compared to the abandonment I felt now.

I continued to tremble as guardsmen hauled Pierce's body out of his house on a canvas stretcher. Was he dead? Had I actually killed another man? Of course, I could hardly regret it if I had, but the thought did not stop the frightened tears from welling up in my eyes. I could still feel Pierce's flesh splitting under my magically sharpened scalpel—quick and smooth, like slicing through butter, and the horrid recollection made bile rise in my throat, as well as other unsavory contents of my stomach.

"Michael?" I heard Kathy whisper softly as I watched the guardsmen carry Pierce away. Where had she come from? I flinched and dodged her gaze, too ashamed to meet her eyes. Before I knew it, the gentle brush of her fingertips smoothed away my tears. "Michael, dear, we need to get you to a physician. You need stitches."

"Where's Fisk?"

"Last I saw, he was speaking to the sheriff, but then one of the healers noticed his injuries. They've carted him away to the healing house. We can follow them there. Come on, give me your hand."

"What did Fisk tell the sheriff?" I asked instead of listening to her. I had to know.

Kathy let loose a tiny sigh. "That he stabbed Pierce. I knew best not to say anything different, and besides, Fisk is right. If the law knew you'd stabbed a noble, they'd hang you! 'Tis not self-defense if you are unredeemed."

"Well, the law will know the truth soon enough," I said bleakly. "When Pierce wakes up, he'll begin fighting his case. He'll tell the sheriff 'twas me who delivered the blow."

"I'm afraid he won't. Pierce is dead, Michael."

Somehow, I already knew that. I might have even accepted it the moment I pried Pierce's limp body off of Fisk and held up the bloody scalpel in my hand—I had killed a man. A living, breathing, wicked man, but a man all the same. And with magic...

Mayhap 'twas only my imagination, but I thought I felt the skin around my tattoos sting, as if confirmation of my vile deed. Without a word, I nodded that I understood, and Kathy reacted by giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

"'Tis alright," she said in a lowered whisper. "That monster deserved what he got."

I didn't know if I agreed, but I was too distant to care. My head suddenly felt heavy and strangely hazy, as if filled with fog. 'Twas then I noticed the slick coating of blood on my hand from the wound below my heart. Could all that blood be mine? Even if not, the sight apparently frightened Kathy, for she supported my sagging form all the way to the healing house.

"I need a physician!" she announced once we stumbled inside a building that smelled strongly of marrow and duckroot. "Please, my brother! He's wounded."

There were three physicians inside the workroom, and at first, all three surged into action. Then a fourth entered in from the back room and glared at me cruelly. "I will not have that criminal here. Take him elsewhere if you want him healed," he growled.

"But he's bleeding!" Kathy protested, horrified. I, on the other hand, expected nothing less. As I said before, word of an unredeemed man in town carries faster than wildfire. "He doesn't have the strength to find another healing house!"

The physician turned his stone-cold face away. "That is no concern of mine. I have the wellbeing of my patients to protect. Get him out of here before I call for the sheriff."

Smoke nearly spiraled out of Kathy's ears as she gritted her teeth in absolute frustration. "Fine, then I will bind him myself. Here, take this!" She angrily tossed a silk purse onto the physician's table, and a few gold pieces spilled out. "'Tis more than enough roundels for a roll of bandages and a needle and thread. I'll even wrap his wounds outside. Come on, hurry up," she ordered with more venom than a viper. Even the physician appeared slightly frightened as he searched for the tools she demanded. Mayhap he thought Kathy an unredeemed criminal, as well…

"Bastards!" Kathy cursed as we staggered down a nearby alley, a healing kit in her left hand, my wrist in her right. "Where is the compassion? I thought healers worked to help other people!"

I thought about how Pierce had ridiculed Kathy's inexperienced view of the world and almost found myself agreeing with his claims. 'Twas no different than the ideals Fisk used to have about me, back when I'd first possessed a faultless perception of heroism and chivalry, right and wrong. I'd found out the hard way that life is nothing like it reads in the ballads. There is no straightforward good and evil—those lines blur much too commonly. Some knights become rogues, and some rogues become heroes. Kathy needed to understand that, but I found I was much too muddled in the mind to speak clearly.

Kathy stitched me up with a well-advanced skill at needlework. She must have picked up a talent for it during my years away. Under her nimble fingers, I felt safe and cared for—a feeling that has escaped my memory for quite some time. I even found it amazing that she held together so steadily after the nightmarish torment she'd just endured.

"You should be in the physician's house with Fisk," I heard myself say to break the silence.

Kathy didn't even look up from the roll of bandages she was unraveling. "So should you, although I'm not sure how we'll manage it. Those blasted fools looked at you as if you were a dangerous murderer!"

"Which I suppose I am," I reminded her gloomily.

Without warning, she pinched my chin, hard, and forced me to meet her eyes. I had never seen her innocent face so full of malice, save the time she stood up to Pierce's threats. "You are not dangerous, or a murderer. If not for you, both Fisk and I would be dead. Do you really believe Pierce would have held to the rules of his sick, twisted game? He would have taken all of us down with him if you hadn't fought back!"

"That game wouldn't have happened if I hadn't ruined Fisk's escape plan in the first place!"

"Oh, is that what you're so distraught over? Please, Michael. 'Twas quick thinking on Fisk's part, but you know Pierce never would have trusted any of us to leave quietly. And besides, I amended your little mishap, and quite brilliantly if I do say so myself." A smug smile graced her lips as she said this. I knew she was trying to make me feel better, but my spirits did not deserve to be lifted. However, Kathy's actions did warrant some recognition.

"You're just as clever as Fisk. Mayhap more so," I told her, and she shrugged.

"Fisk merely planted the idea in my head. When he mentioned the imaginary letter you sent to Father, I was reminded of the one I'd actually sent to Mother earlier today. I just never would have thought to use it to my advantage like Fisk did."

"So that's all true?" I asked nervously. "Did Mother really fund your expedition to find me?"

Kathy must have heard the tinge of longing in my voice, for she smiled warmly. "Of course she did. She's too proud to admit it, but she's constantly worried sick about you. I know 'tis true because she takes an anxiety draught every morning with breakfast, and on your birthdays, she claims to be ill and spends all day crying in bed."

Chill vastly unalike to the feeling I'd felt when I learned Pierce was dead filled me to the brim. I'd always believed my mother to be the mirror image of my father—cold, disappointed, and unfeeling. Never in a thousand years would I have thought Lady Sevenson cared so much about her unredeemed failure of a fourth son.

"I may have lied a little, though," Kathy explained hesitantly. "Mother thought that if she sent me with the tracker, I could convince you to finally come home. What she doesn't know is that the main mission of my quest had to do with Fisk's letter. I think she'll also be a little put out to learn I paid the tracker double his fare to leave me alone after I found you in Lionelvale."

"I see how high I rate," I tried to tease, but it came out sour. "You only wanted to track me down so that I would help you find Fisk. By the gods, you are in love with him."

"Is that really such a bad thing?"

I shrugged to that, for there truly was nothing to say, and Kathy seemed to sense my indifference. She coughed awkwardly into her fist and then began wrapping my torso in bandages. Her hands wavered when she saw my back, and the little whimper that escaped her throat confirmed the fact that she had never seen my flogging scars up close before.

"The horrors you've gone through since you left home," she muttered vaguely.

Ah, but she was also forgetting the adventures! Mayhap I no longer treasured the same flawed ideals as the knight errant of my youth, but I still cherished my good deeds and victorious successes. Yes, there were always moments of pain and danger during my quests, but I never regretted them, for during those times, I had never been alone. Now…

"I'm thankful for you, Kathy," I said as she tied off the knot to my bindings. "You served as any loyal squire should—with courage and fealty. You're the best a knight could hope for."

"The best?" she questioned dubiously, and then allowed her words to sink in. "Now, I know you don't mean that."

We always seemed to come back to Fisk. "He wants nothing to do with me anymore, Kathy, and nothing about tonight will change that," I replied, for 'twas the bleak and bitter truth.

To my surprise, Kathy did not push the argument. Instead, she pressed her hand lightly against my heart and listened to its thumping. A youthful grin played around her lips, and I recalled the various times she and I had played 'physician and patient' as children. If only Kathy understood how very proud I was of her, and how sorry I was to let her down, even if she claimed otherwise.

"How strange to think your blood flows with magic now," she voiced out of the blue, then met my eyes curiously, her hand still positioned flat against my chest.

I'd nearly forgotten. "'Twas through no device of my own! Lady Ceciel made me what I am, and I'm so sorry if it frightened you!" I apologized frantically.

Kathy merely looked appalled by my sudden burst of anxiety. "Frightened me? Michael, your Gifts saved me. And Fisk! You really need to stop pretending like everything's your fault. 'Tis not a knight errant's job to take the fall for everything."

"So you don't think I'm a monster?"

"Of course not! But no doubt Benton would be fascinated to study you—not like Pierce, mind—and can you imagine what Father would say? Truly, I'm surprised you never told him! He might have been so furious toward Lady Ceciel that he may have forgotten to have you tattooed altogether! Perhaps if you showed him now—"

"No," I declared firmly. "Father is never to know, and I forbid you from telling him. This is my burden to bear—"

"Here we go again!"

"I'm serious, Kathy!" I nearly shouted. 'Twas then I realized how dry my throat tasted, and the added strain only made my muscles burn. Quietly, I proceeded, "I don't want our family to know. These tattoos have branded me a villain for life, and I don't need anyone to think further ill of me."

To that, Kathy huffed disappointedly. "Showing Father may get him to rethink his decision. Get you free of those wretched circles!" She squeezed my wrists tightly.

I sighed again, "'Tis none of Father's concern anymore. What's more, he would not care. He wants me to suffer during my endeavors so that I will return home and become Rupert's steward, and I'm too stubborn to let that happen."

"Hmm," Kathy pondered. "Mayhap just as stubborn as Fisk? It seems both of you are determined to avoid certain lifestyles…"

I saw where this was going. "But at least being a squire allows him to travel! To be free. To do some good in this world," I argued.

"Yes, well, you don't have to convince me." She smiled cunningly. "I think you two should speak."

"I already told you, Fisk wants nothing more to do with me." I pulled my legs up to my chest, though it pained, and nestled my cheek atop my knees. I was suddenly so very tired, but where could I sleep? No inn would admit me now, not even the cheap and dirty ones. All I wanted in that moment was to disappear like vapor and find a soft bed where no one could hurt me, and then fall victim to my dreams.

Gently, Kathy smoothed back my unkempt hair and said, "It's your decision whether you want to talk to Fisk or not. I won't force it upon you, but I do think I should sit with him. He's probably in a lot of pain…"

"A healing house that reputable will have plenty of magica salve," I murmured in reassurance. Harsh wind like whip flays struck my bare back and made me shiver. "I'm sure Fisk is in the best hands. But you're right. You should be there when he wakes."

"And what about you?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I'll probably go back to Pierce's house and try to convince the sheriff to return my shirt and sword. Then mayhap I'll check on Chant and True, and look for Tipple. Hopefully the stable hands haven't sold her away yet."

"Michael, you need rest."

"I'll go back to our room if they'll have me. Word of my status may not have reached their ears yet."

Kathy sighed grumpily. "You really are a stubborn fool."

No, I was a cowardly fool, for the last thing I wanted to do was face Fisk after all I had done. I had ordered his death. I had betrayed him just as he had betrayed me in Tallowsport. Mayhap my obstinate resolve likened me to a self-imposed martyr, but I deserved this suffering.

By the gods, I had fallen far.

"I'll wait outside the healing house in the morning. By then, you and I should really make for Seven Oaks. If Father hasn't sent a search party after you yet, he will soon."

"But Fisk—"

"—I think you'll come to find that Fisk doesn't need anyone, Kathy. Not even you!" I snapped with sudden, unpredicted rage. Now where had that come from? Damn, I was so tired, I couldn't even think straight, let alone give my sister's feelings the care they so tenderly deserved. Teary-eyed, I turned my face away from her. "Go to him if you must, but you and I are leaving in the morning. I won't compromise on this."

I listened as Kathy grappled with angry words, but swallowed them down thickly. Her skirts rustled as she stumbled to her feet, and her storming footsteps thundered down the alleyway and disappeared. She didn't even cast one word over her shoulder as she left me behind, but I knew Kathy. She never believed what she didn't want to hear.

I only hoped Fisk would be gentler with her heart than I had been, but what did I care, so long as he ended what his letters had started? Mayhap 'twas time I wrote my squire off for good, the way he had when he left me.

Say the name of the one you can live without.

Could I truly live without Fisk? Time would only tell.

With a new dose of gloom, I set off back to Pierce's house to collect my belongings in preparation for my leave.