"My what?" Smalls was utterly confused. As far as he was aware, he was the youngest and last-born child his parents had had.

Wilfred's voice remained calm."You had a younger sister. Still do, in fact." Smalls stared at him like he was insane. Wilfred held up his hands. "Hold your questions. Let me explain first. When your father died you were only about three years old. Afterwards, there was a council gathered that arranged for the protection and hiding of several of your siblings. One of those was Emma, who was only a baby at the time." Smalls was confused. Why didn't he remember this? Surely, he would have. But the harder he thought about it, the more elusive his memories became. "They put her in the care of Lord Rake, and she's been living here ever since, quite unaware of her heritage, believing that all her family is gone. She was the healer who first saw to Picket. She's Doctor Zeiger's assistant." Smalls processed the information for a minute, and then asked,

"She has no idea at all?"

"None." The fact felt inherently….wrong to Smalls. He'd always known who he was. Ever since he was a child. It had never been strange or alien to him and he'd always understood what was expected of him. Another thought struck him.

"Why was she hidden like that and not the rest of us?"

Wilfred nodded slowly. "Because if anything ever happened to you, the Green Ember would pass to her. She's next in line for the throne if you fall."

Wilfred had never tried to hide the danger Smalls faced as heir. Smalls had faced many terrible things from a young age, and much as he knew Wilfred regretted and wished that that wasn't the truth, it was, and he'd never tried to pretend it away.

"It's a contingency plan that's been in act ever since the two of you were little more than babies." Wilfred continued. "it's a great hope among those who know that we will never have to use it. But something had to be done to ensure that the throne would not become vacant if Jupiter's chosen heir died, and it seemed logical that it would pass to the next youngest sibling. I'm sorry lad, I didn't tell you before. For everyone's sake it was safer, as she's never known who she is. I'm asking you not to tell her. She's had a safe life here, and a quiet one, evidently."

"Will she ever be told?"

Wilfred sighed. "I don't know. That's up to Lord Rake. He's her guardian and has raised her as his own, so he'll make that choice when the time comes. It's the law."

"She ought to know eventually, at least. She's never known her family."

"If we're being honest, Lad, do you think she'll want to be a part of the royal family? Morbin has infiltrated even here." Smalls thought back to the day before and the nightmares he constantly had to battle.

"No." He said slowly. "No, not after she sees what it really is."

Wilfred nodded; his eyes sad. "It has not always been so. Nor will it always be. But for right now, this is the reality we are faced with. I know you are strong enough to handle it. But I'm sorry you must bear this secret now too, on top of all the others."

"I would rather her grow up in safety and I have to lie, than for her to have grown up in the First Warren and I never having had to tell a falsehood in my life." Smalls replied. Wilfred placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It will not be so in the mended wood." He promised. Smalls nodded.

"What about Helmer?" He asked. "What's his story?" Wilfred's face changed to something in between exasperation, irritation, and reminiscence.

"He and I never got along well, if I'm being completely honest." He replied reluctantly. "We didn't see eye-to-eye, especially when we were younger. When we were kids, we had our fair share of tussles."

"You grew up with him?"

"For a few months he lived in the orphanage about two miles from where I lived. I didn't see him again until I enlisted in the military. We didn't get along then, either. But I doubt that has anything to do with his current state." Wilfred's expression turned grave. "During the later years of your father's reign, he commanded an elitest military unit nicknamed the 'King's arm' made up of mostly young soldiers. He loved those boys like his own sons." Smalls had a feeling he knew what was coming. "He learned of Garten's plan too late, and chased after Jupiter with those soldiers. It didn't end well."

Wilfred's gaze was directed to one of the stained-glass windows, finished, that showed the end of the golden age and the death of king Jupiter. Smalls turned to look where he was looking, and saw that Wilfred was staring sadly at the image of his elder brother. Garten gloated in the representation, proud over his accomplishments.

Smalls had met the rabbit before when he was younger. He had hated him. Everything about Garten was the opposite of what Wilfred was, everything they stood for was different, everything they thought was different. The only similarity lay in how the looked. That taken into account, they could have been twins.

It seemed that Wilfred was not looking at the glass itself, but past, far off into whatever memories he had of the day everyone's dreams died. Tears were in his eyes.

"They failed, of course." He rasped. "And not one of those soldiers survived. Helmer watched them fall, one by one. I myself was bound in chains." Smalls rarely heard Wilfred speak of that day. Wilfred suddenly turned away from the glass portrait of the past. "I'm sure you can guess what happened next." Smalls had seen the war tear enough people apart to know exactly what that looked like. He wanted to ask more questions, but could tell that Wilfred was done answering. "I have some paperwork. You can stay here as long as you like. Rake gave full permission, and none of the artisans will stop you." With that, Wilfred stood and walked away. He paused at the door, and Smalls saw his hand go to his face, his shoulder heaving slightly, before he straightened and continued on his way.

War was a terrible thing.

.

.

.

It made Smalls sad to think about his father. Obviously, that was a common sentiment, but it was strange for Smalls. He'd never known the buck. He'd been little more than a baby when Jupiter was killed, but ever since then it was all he seemed to hear about.

Except from Wilfred.

Wilfred rarely talked about Jupiter now. Smalls could guess the pain, shame, and grief that he must carry. Wilfred had been one of his father's closest friends. And he blamed himself thoroughly for not catching onto his brother's villainous plot in time.

Again, the chain around his neck seemed to grow heavier, and weigh more.

Smalls stayed in Light Hall for a long time. Most of the morning he spent thinking, examining each stain-glass window picture. The strange thing was, he had never felt any longing for his dead father. He couldn't remember him, and the fact was, Jupiter hadn't been around much for his early years anyways. There had been more war, according to Wilfred, which had taken Jupiter away. He had hated it, Wilfred said, hated leaving his family, but hadn't had a choice.

So Smalls' limited memories of his father were limited indeed.

It wasn't anyone's fault. No, it was Garten's, but that was about it. Jupiter hadn't had the chance to be a father to him. Nor had he had that chance with many of his children.

The lie that Smalls had used so many times-that he was Wilfred's son-was not entirely a lie. In everything but name and blood, he was. And I'll be proud of it till the day I die. He added fiercely to himself. He turned, leaving behind the frozen past. It was the past. Smalls had to worry about the present. The stained-glass memories would do him no good. Not now.

.

.

.

Smalls returned to his room and became thoroughly engrossed in a book, which was why he hadn't heard the first three knocks. Or the shouting. What he did finally hear was the loud thump and crack, which startled him out of his quiet revery. Annoyed, he got up to see who it was.

Picket.

It was Picket. Of course, it was Picket. The kid had apparently decided it was his life's goal to be a general nuisance to Smalls. Why on earth he had smashed his crutch against Smalls' door he couldn't be sure, but the guards standing at ready with there weapons pointed at Picket clearly weren't conversational. Smalls shook his head and sighed.

"What have you done this time, lad?"

Picket glared at him and turned away. "He's been causing trouble all morning." One of the guards snapped. "Tripping over blast powder and such, and then making a ruckus down here."

"I thought it was my room." Picket muttered, standing painfully.

"It's his second offense. I'll have to tell Lord Rake."

"He's barely more than a child. I doubt he knew better." The second guard said reasonably.

"His kind make trouble no matter their age." The first spat, glancing angrily back and forth between Picket and Smalls. Great. This is wonderful. Smalls steeled himself.

"It was an accident." He said.

"Accident or no, I'll be reporting." The first guard repeated stubbornly.

"Reporting what?" They all turned to see Pacer, who had spoken, and Lord Rake, who let out a long sigh. Pacer glanced first at Smalls, who tried hard not to look suspicious, and then to Picket, who was not even trying to conceal his terrible mood.

"He-" The first guard jutted a thumb at Picket, "Nearly tripped a blast powder barrel, and then was trying to break down this door."

"Is that so?" Rake said, raising his eyebrows in a way that showed he truly thought this was ridiculous.

"It is, lord."

"It was a mistake." Smalls repeated. "And no one was hurt because of it."

Rake nodded. "Leave them be, Hale. It was an innocent accident."

"Innocent." Hale grumbled, "Innocent as newborn babes, they are. Capable of doing no wrong." His sarcasm was overheard by Pacer, who gave him a sharp reprimand. Hale shot one last glare in Picket's general direction and then walked back to his post, mumbling and complaining to his colleague all the way.

"I should dismiss him." Pacer muttered. "He just causes trouble." Smalls decided he agreed with that plan. He and Rake continued on down the hall, there conversation dropping so low that Smalls could hear nothing. This vexed him, for some reason. He truly hated secrets, despite how necessary they were. Picket had picked himself up and was hobbling down the hall. Smalls debated for a second, cast a longing glance back into his room where his book was, then sighed and followed Picket.