Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 10: Folly

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It was early afternoon when I found Grandmother outside the church in Tehlu Town. It had been a while since I had seen her, for Reaping was often one of the busier months at the church where she spent her free time volunteering. Her face lit up when she saw me hurrying in her direction, before a frown creased her brow.

"What is it, child?" she said as I threw myself into her arms. She cupped my face, looking me over. "Tehlu hold me, you're all skin and bones. Have you slept? What has happened?"

"Grandmother," I choked out. "It's everything. It's all broken and ruined. I thought it was better, but nothing's better. Nothing's ever been better—"

"Hush," she said gently, pulling me against her chest until my hot tears dripped onto the thick fabric of her coat. "It's all right. Come with me. Let us have lunch. And some drinking chocolate. And you will tell me what has happened. What do you say?"

"Okay," I whispered, nodding, as I sniffled against her chest. "Okay."

She led me to a café a few streets away. It was past the lunch hour, so the crowd inside was thin and we had no difficulty finding a table in an empty corner. I played nervously with my napkin while Grandmother ordered bread and salad for us to share, and bowls of thick vegetable soup loaded with bacon. And, as promised, drinking chocolate. The first sip of it spread a calming warmth all through my chest. I closed both hands around the cup, feeling the heat of it in my fingers as I raised it to my mouth again.

"Now, child, what is this about?" Grandmother asked, after the food had been brought to our table and I dug in ravenously, too hungry to find spare energy to talk. It was the best meal I'd had all month. "Is there trouble? Last I saw you and your father, you were both doing so well."

"Not so well as that," I managed, the bitterness creeping into my tone. "It's all a lie. Everything!"

"What do you mean?" She frowned, pushing the bread at me as she watched me slurp at my soup. "Careful, it's hot."

It was the best soup I had ever tasted, even if it burned my throat on the way down.

"Father," I gasped, and felt the tears spring into my eyes again. I wiped at them angrily. "Father lied."

And then it was spilling out of me. Everything. The sad story hanging in the air between us until it was heavy as iron. Father's dark moods. The missing dresses. The rebec. The letter I had found. The empty shop. The old man's words. And how I didn't want to believe them, but how much sense they made the longer I thought of the things Father had done. Of how white his smile had grown over the past months. What did I know of denner? Nearly nothing. But even so, I knew that.

When I finished speaking, Grandmother's face was hard and still as stone. She didn't speak for a long while, her fingers working at the edges of the crumpled letter I had pulled from my pocket. It seemed to resist all her efforts to lay it flat. When she finally spoke, her voice was weary and thin. For the first time since I had ever known her, I saw an old woman looking back at me.

"Are you sure?" she asked me softly. "About the denner? It is not a thing to say lightly, child."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I'm not sure of anything, Grandmother. But I know. I know him. And all this… this isn't…"

"It's all right," she said. "He is my son. I know him too."

We sat in silence for a while after that, the remains of the food untouched between us. The hunger that had plagued me before was gone, and the food felt heavy in my stomach.

"You will come stay with us," Grandmother said finally, her tone as sad and weary as I'd ever heard it. "What you have told me concerns me terribly. Your grandfather and I will speak to Harlan. If what you fear is true, then we will offer what help we can. If he can be saved, we will do it."

I nodded in silence, words seemingly too hard to conjure up. And then, because it wasn't nearly enough, I stumbled to my feet and walked to her side of the table, hugging her fiercely. She held me, her arms tight around me. It was only in the safety of her embrace that I finally felt warm.

Grandmother and I were halfway to her house when a woman caught up to us, horribly out of breath for chasing us down. I recognised her vaguely as one of Grandmother's church friends, though I had no idea of her name. Her blonde hair and fair complexion made her look positively Aturan.

"Nulia!" she panted, and Grandmother stopped, pulling me along with her. We stood on the street, waiting for the woman to catch up. She drew to a halt before us, bending over to catch her breath.

"Tehlu, you're so hard to find," she gasped. "I've checked your house, and you weren't there at all. I've looked everywhere!"

"What is it?" Grandmother said, frowning. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy. My granddaughter has come to visit, as you can see."

"Priest Jared has requested to see you."

"What about?" Grandmother asked, her frown deepening. "I have just seen him this morning."

"I know," the woman said. "But it's rather urgent, apparently. He's received some news about the crop donation and insisted I find you straight away."

Grandmother sighed and turned to me. "Would you like to take a walk to the church?"

"Um," I said, faltering. I hadn't stepped inside the church since I lost Mother. And before that, it had been Denna. I didn't think I could stand to look at the building anymore. "I…"

"It's all right if you don't," Grandmother said gently, seeming to understand. "Run along to the house and tell your grandfather you're visiting. We'll talk it all through when I return. I won't be long."

I nodded, letting go of her hand. And then the Aturan woman hurried her away, and I was standing in the street on my own.

Grandfather wasn't home when I knocked on the familiar yellow door. I stood outside, hugging my arms around myself in the chill autumn air, and waited. I had a key, but in my exhausted state that morning, I had left it at the house, along with my hat and gloves. Eating with Grandmother had served to wake me slightly, but as I stood trembling in the cold, the exhaustion of the night before crept over me again. I paced back and forth, blowing on my cupped hands and wondering how long it would be before Grandfather or Grandmother returned.

After half an hour, I decided to go to the church. Surely Grandmother was nearly done. I could wait for her in the antechamber — that would be warmer than the street. I could handle that much. Maybe. I walked slowly, dragging my feet, hoping I would meet her along the way and we could simply return together. But the streets that led to the church were Grandmother-free, and the church itself was as imposing as ever, its tall grey walls reaching relentlessly for the sky. I stood outside for a long while, trying to work up the nerve to climb the seven steps that led to its thick wooden door. The wheel that hung on its face loomed over me, threatening to break free of its bindings and smother me whole.

In the end, I couldn't do it. There was too much pain in it. It was as if the building was built of memories instead of stones. Mortared with my tears.

I turned away, walking aimlessly through the streets. I had walked several blocks before I realized I was following the familiar path home. To what had once been home. Would it ever be home again? But that was well enough. I hadn't taken any of my things when I ran off that morning. I could do it now. By the time I was done packing, Grandmother would hopefully be finished with the church. And if not, at least I would be warmer for it.

I gave the house a sad glance, wavering outside its familiar facade. The sunny yellow paint was peeling, revealing the worn wood beneath. The green shutters that framed the windows were old. They squealed terribly when I pushed at them. The windows themselves were drafty. The sitting room prone to filling with smoke. I had never grown good at cleaning out the chimney. Why had I ever thought that I could mind a whole house? It was mad. I was only twelve.

But when I closed my eyes I could see Mother and Denna in the kitchen. I could remember all four of us sitting around the fire. I could hear the distant strains of music on the air. It was the last place where we had all been together. I screwed up my face against the rush of memories and stepped forward, pushing open the door into the empty house.

Oh, how I wish. How I wish that it had been empty.

I heard them before I saw them. The thrum of their voices drifted from the kitchen, clashing together in a swirl of hard edges. I paused, my ears straining as I tried to work out the words. The air hummed with the energy of the argument, so sharp I felt I would cut myself if I charged in blindly. I nearly turned back right there. Whatever this was, I wasn't sure I wanted any part of it. I could run now, leave it all behind. But then the conversation drew to a sudden halt, and I heard Father call my name.

I paused, torn between running back out into the street and the familiar timbre of his voice. He was back. He wanted me.

I stepped forward, my feet drawing me to the kitchen. I want to say that it was impulsive. That I didn't stop to think before my heart pulled me along. Maybe it's even partly true. But I didn't forget my discoveries of the night before. They were at my back the whole time, screaming loudly for all their worth. Reminding me that Father was well out of my reach. But perhaps I'm as stubborn as Denna after all, for I kept walking all the same.

"Ah! There she is! Home at last!"

Father smiled when he saw me, his voice nearly as bright and sharp as his teeth. He sounded positively euphoric. The half-heard argument a fleeting shadow. "Come here, come here." He beckoned at me vigorously, setting his half-empty glass down on the table. I could see a dark amber liquid swirling within. "Let us have a look at you."

I said nothing, looking between Father and the thin man sitting beside him. I couldn't see much of his clothes, for a black cloak sheathed him whole. His dark hair was pulled back, revealing a narrow face with a chin that jutted out to a sharp point. His mouth was a hard line across his pale skin. And his eyes… they were dark. Dark as empty holes. Unreadable from this distance, but I could see them trained on me. He ran a finger along the rim of his own glass as he eyed me in silence.

"What are you standing there for?" Father said, gesturing at me again. "We've been waiting for you for hours." He turned to the stranger. "Here she is, like I told you."

"Yes. There she is." The man sounded pleased. He smiled thinly as he continued to look me over, and I felt a chill roll down my spine. It was almost as if he were sizing me up, like a piece of meat at market.

I took a tiny step back, my heart suddenly coming alive in my chest, though I couldn't pinpoint why.

"Always home, this one," Father said, his voice growing louder. He picked up his glass and took a large sip before slapping it down, hard, on the table. The thud seemed to echo through the entire room. "Spends all day sitting around, I tell you. Except the one time I need her." He laughed at that, the sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling. The man didn't join in. "Left me high and dry. Where'd you go, eh?"

I took another step back, my hands shaking a bit. "To see Grandmother."

"That nosy old hag?" He laughed again. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the room. "What for?"

The words cut me. To hear such ugly things come out of his mouth… He couldn't have hurt me more if he had stabbed me.

"How could you?" I cried, my fury rising. "How can you say that about Grandmother?!"

He seemed perplexed at my anger. "Calm down," he said, half rising out of his chair. He stumbled as he took a step.

"You're drunk!" I yelled angrily.

He smiled. "Guilty. You always were a clever child. Not like your sister."

I seethed at that. He wasn't Father anymore. He wasn't anyone I knew at all.

"LIAR!" I screamed at him, angry tears welling in my eyes. "I hate you! I saw the apothecary. It's gone, isn't it!"

A shadow crossed his face for just a moment, vanishing before I could really look. He shrugged. "Guilty again."

His casual attitude made me even angrier.

"You've been doing denner!" I yelled, my voice rising shrilly as I flung all my accusations at him. "You sold Mother's dresses! YOU SOLD HER REBEC! HOW COULD YOU?"

He didn't look remotely bothered. He turned to the man, who was still sitting at the table, watching the drama unfold. "She's so awful clever. Didn't I say she was clever?"

"Yes, I think she'll do wonderfully," the man said, nodding. He raised his glass to his lips, draining it in one large gulp before setting it back down on the table. "But this has taken long enough, Harlan. Let's get to it. I have a long road ahead."

"Right, right." A shadow crossed Father's face again, then the mad, white smile reappeared, bright as ever. It was unnerving. Father turned back to me. "I'm afraid I find myself at a crossroads. You see, without the apothecary, there isn't enough money for us both anymore. Food. Clothes. Wood for the winter. You understand, don't you?" He looked apologetic.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said bitterly, wiping at my angry tears. I shot a glance at the man, who had gotten to his feet beside Father. He was quite tall standing up.

Father actually managed to look uncomfortable through his drunken stupor.

"You are a young woman now," Father said flatly. "And I think it's time you started earning your keep." He gestured at the man, who stepped in my direction. "Don't worry, I've arranged it all. This is Derren. You'll be working with him from now on."

"What?" I said blankly, staring at the man. He was close enough now that I could see his eyes. Black though and through. They didn't smile when his mouth twisted up. Suddenly, I was very, very afraid. "No, I'm… I'm going to go live with Grandmother and Grandfather. I'm just here to get my things."

"What?" Father said, letting out a laugh. "You will do no such thing. You will be leaving with Derren."

I backed away. "I won't."

"Listen, girl, don't be difficult," Derren said with a weary sigh. He took several steps forward, until he stood right beside me. I started to back away, but he reached out and grabbed my arm just below my shoulder. His grip was surprisingly hard for his thin frame. I gasped. "Your father owes me quite a bit of money, and you will be working hard to repay it."

"No, let me go!" I twisted and pulled, trying to get free. "I'm not going!"

He sighed and squeezed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin. I let out a painful gasp. "I would prefer it if you came along quietly," he said. "We have a long journey, you see, and if you insist on misbehaving, it will be rather unpleasant." His lips curled. He shot a glance at Father. "Her things?"

"In her room. I'll get them."

I stared around wildly, my eyes meeting Father's as he turned to leave the room. The laugh had left his face as he watched Derren hold on to me, but his eyes were black as pitch. His teeth white as paper. He said nothing as he stepped past me.

I pulled hard on my arm the moment he was gone, breaking free of Derren's grip and surprising even myself. I scurried away, putting the table between us. He sighed.

"I won't go!" I cried. My hands balled up into fists as I looked around wildly. The only way from the kitchen was past him, through the door. If only I could distract him. If I could get past before Father came back…

Derren approached the table and placed both hands on it. He leaned in, looking at me hard. I eyed the distance to the door behind him. I could slip past. He wasn't as fast as me. I could dart past him, run out of the kitchen, and straight through the door. But I had to do it now. Now.

"You will come with me," Derren said, his tone icy.

"No!" I said, shaking my head violently. I slid along the table. He matched me, the distance between us staying even.

"You do not seem to understand the situation," Derren said flatly. "I will explain. Your father has borrowed money from me. In repayment, he has offered you." He gave me an icy smile. "So you will come with me, and you will do what you are told. For as long as I say. I'm afraid there is no other alternative."

"Father can pay you back himself," I said, my eyes tearing up.

Derren shrugged, his eyes trailing across me again. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But for you, I have offered more beside."

I inhaled sharply at that, shrinking back from the table.

"You will be beautiful," he said softly. "I see it already. I see what your face will become. With hair like that." He eyed my thick, dark locks. Nearly shoulder-length now. His gaze was so penetrating it seemed to stare right through me. "With your eyes all full of fire. Men will fall to pieces before you."

"No…" I shook my head, my heart turning to ice as the tears began to make their way down my cheeks. I eyed the door again. The job he wanted me for; I thought I could see the shape of it closing in around us like a giant bird of prey. I thought of the word. That cruel one. The one that had followed us down the street in whispers, passed between neighbors and one-time friends until it became Denna's shadow in the days before she lost her grip on the earth. I had seen her cry about it more than once.

"It isn't true, D…"

She had said it so many times.

"I was never some… it wasn't like that."

"He said he loved me."

"I won't do it," I gasped, backing further from the table. "I won't be some… whore."

Before he could respond, I ran. I darted out from behind the table and bolted for the door. I was past him in a flash, his curse tumbling into the air behind me. My feet pounded hard against the floor. I was through to the sitting room. I gasped, the air coming in short bursts as I wended between the couch and chairs that surrounded the fireplace, nearly tripping over the low table in the dim light. My chest burned as I ran furiously for the door. I was there. I crashed against it, pushing hard with my shoulder as I twisted at the knob.

It didn't budge.

Locked.

The simple realization stabbed at me. I had not locked the door when I stepped into the house. I hadn't even closed it all the way, distracted by the argument in the kitchen.

And there was only one person who had left the room. Who could have done it. The thought chilled me. Brought me down to depths I didn't even know I could feel.

It felt as if my whole world had shattered. Had broken in ways I couldn't have even imagined.

I struggled frantically with the lock, my tears blinding me as I drew in frantic gasping breaths. My fingers felt thick and useless, stumbling against the lock that I had worked a thousand times before. As if they had forgotten how to do it. My mind was numb, overwhelmed by panic.

"Come on," I sobbed, my hands twisting at the knob. "Please!"

There was a sudden click. The sweetest sound that I had ever heard. I turned the door handle and pushed at the door in one fluid motion, letting it swing wide as the frigid wind burst into the room. I breathed in, letting it fill my lungs as I lunged forward into the winter air.

Freedom.

There was a sharp pain as my hair pulled against my scalp, and I let out a gasp as I was dragged back into the house. My eyes watered and I started to scream but a hand was clamped over my mouth at the same moment that the door slammed shut with a terrible bang, plunging the house into dim darkness again. It echoed through me, shaking my bones. I could feel the pressure of his arm across my chest, forcing me against him.

I blinked, trying to adjust to the dimmer light as I struggled to bite the hand pressed firmly against my mouth. There was an angry curse and he released me, spinning me around by the shoulders and shoving me roughly against the door. My head banged hard against the wood and my vision flashed dizzyingly. When I could see again, Derren's face was inches from my own. He leaned in, until his breath was hot on my face. It reeked of Father's whiskey. But his eyes did not look drunk at all.

They were clear and hard. Cold as ice.

"You had to get that out of your system," he said calmly. "That's all right. I understand. This is an adjustment for you. Now there is something you need to understand." He leaned closer, until his nose was almost touching mine.

"If you try to run before your father's debt is paid, I will kill you. It is that simple. If I do not find you, I will come back here and I will kill your family in your place. I will kill your father, your grandmother, and your grandfather. Everyone you care about will be gone, and then you will starve on the street until you join them. From now on, everything you do, you will do at my request. Do. You. Understand?"

I stared, watching the way the dim light didn't touch his eyes.

"Well?" he said harshly, shaking me until the back of my head hit the door again.

I thought of Grandmother, coming home from the church to look for me. Of how she'd ask Grandfather if he'd seen me. How his brow would wrinkle between his gentle eyes as he frowned. Then I thought of Father, making sure to lock the door of the house as he quietly left the kitchen. The last loose end on his list of how to get rid of me. I thought of them all, dead. Blood-soaked like Mother. Like Denna. All gone because of me. I couldn't bear it. I closed my eyes against the flood of tears and nodded silently, feeling the cold trails against my cheeks.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say, 'I understand, Lord Derren.'"

"I-I understand," I whispered. I could feel tears sliding over my lips. I tasted salt. I opened my eyes, wishing I could keep them closed forever. "Lord Derren."

He gave me a frigid smile. "Excellent. We'll get along just fine, won't we?"

I nodded, my lips trembling. A sudden silence surrounded us then, thick as tar. He released me, his movements deliberate. Then, without saying a word, he took hold of my right hand and slipped off Mother's ring.

"No, plea—"

He slapped my face, and the rest of my plea turned into a sharp gasp. My eyes watered anew. He didn't bother to reply. He merely looked at me, his eyes empty and hard, and pocketed the ring. The last trace of Mother, gone. I broke inside, my heart sagging in on itself.

"Everything all right?"

Father's voice was like a memory of a dream on the edge of waking. A final wisp of an imagined world before the harsh reality of daylight tore it to shreds. Derren moved away, and I saw Father standing at the far end of the room. He was holding a small case in one hand. The things he had packed for me.

"All perfect." Derren's voice was a drawl as he turned to Father. "Just having a talk with your girl about her new responsibilities." He frowned at the case. "Is that all of it? I won't be wasting money on clothes unnecessarily because you're holding out on her things."

"This is everything she's got. You can look for yourself."

"You've wasted enough of my time as it is." Derren slid a hand into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew a coin purse and a modest cloth bag, setting both down on the edge of the small table that Mother had picked out to frame the door. The purse made a rather substantial thunk. "As we discussed."

Father nodded and stepped closer. He handed Derren the case and hefted the purse, feeling its weight in his palm. Then he reached for the cloth bag, taking it as gently as a mother would hold her newborn. "I thank you."

"Don't waste it all at once," Derren said flatly. He pushed at the door, one of his hands gripping firmly at my arm again. "Or do. I don't care."

The door swung open and he pushed me through it ahead of him. I stumbled out of the house, squinting at the sudden brightness. I turned, my eyes drawn to Father's shadow standing in the door. He was looking at us, his expression unreadable in the harsh light.

It was the last time I would see him. I knew it in my bones. And all I felt was a numb sort of anger. Years later, I would know it for grief.

"She sings!" Father called out suddenly. His voice didn't sound euphoric or confident anymore. Looking back, I can almost say it was uncertain.

Or maybe that's just what I want to believe. Maybe he never had any regrets at all.

"Is that so?" Derren said. He gave me a contemplative look, his hand still firmly on my arm. "Such things would have been good bargaining chips, my friend. But you did lose the apothecary, after all…"

And with that he turned and walked away with a smirk, leaving Father standing silently on the threshold, his face hidden in shadow. With Derren's grip like iron on my arm, I had no choice but to follow.

To this day, I don't know if Father knew the fate he had consigned me to. I still lie awake at night, wrapped in the claws of dark dreams, and pray that somehow he didn't. Despite everything, that is the one small mercy I would give him. He was my father. He loved me. Had loved me, once. Before the denner took him and swept away everything he cared about. Grief is a monster, and addiction is a heatless beast. For all that, I want to believe that he tried. That he at least tried…

If nothing else, I still thank him for that one last desperate comment. A slip of conscience. Guilt. Whatever it was. It may well have made all the difference.

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A/N: Another chapter I feel compelled to apologize for... to poor D especially. But we're also 1/3 of the way through this now, so if you're following along with D's story, thank you. As Kvothe said at the end of WMF, things get darker now. But we already know that Denna is a survivor.