Asour candy appeared behind her ear, plucked from thin air by quick hands. The little girl gasped in delight, her wide eyes locking on Jory.
Her mother smiled, reaching out to pat his shoulder in thanks—
And then, a loaf of bread tumbled from his sleeve.
Near the center of the square, a vendor tracked Jory like a hungry wolf.
“Thief!” the man roared, his arm swinging wildly toward him. “That’s all I have left!”
Jory ran.
His worn boots slapped against the icy slush, slipping, stumbling. The loaf nearly fell from his grip as he darted between bodies, his breath coming in fast.
The market wasn’t much of a market anymore. The ground had churned into a trench of mud and frost, the skeletal stalls stocked with a few sacks of damp grain, dried berries clumped together like stone, and slabs of gray, frozen meat.
“Stop him!” another voice bellowed, but the crowd barely reacted.
People surged forward, pushing and grasping as if Jory’s stolen loaf had suddenly become more valuable than gold.
Kael moved through the chaos, his shoulders tight, braced against the noise. His hand hovered near his sword, knuckles whitening around the hilt.
Hunger was a force now, hanging in the air, mingling with the smell of tallow and spoiled flour. It made tempers snap and hands grasp harder. And someone lunged for it.
Jory stumbled—his knees hitting the frozen ground. The bread fell and the crowd closed in, hands scraping and clawing, hoping to salvage even crumbs.
A burly man grabbed Jory by the collar, hauling him up like a sack of grain. The vendor struck him. Hard. The sound cracked through the square.
“You little rat,” the vendor snarled, shaking him like a caught rabbit. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this.”
Another blow—Jory’s head snapped sideways.
“Stop.”
The voice cut through the fray—Ryn.
She stormed into the chaos with eyes blazing as she planted herself between the boy and the vendor.
The vendor scowled. “Get outta here, Barkeep. This ain’t your business.”
“It is when you’re beating a child,” she shot back, her voice like steel.
The vendor’s face darkened. With a shove, he knocked her down into the mud.
Kael moved. His shadow fell over them. He didn’t look at Ryn—not yet. Instead, he turned to the vendor and reached into his cloak.
The vendor gazed suspiciously at Kael. “What’s that?”
“Payment.”
Kael tossed the coin into the vendor’s hands. Crown’s gold. The vendor weighed the coin in his palm.
“Gold?” He smiled. “What good is that now?” He gestured wildly at the empty stalls. “We’re going to starve. The Crown’s gold can’t fill an empty belly.”
Kael shot him a look. “Then return it.”
The vendor’s gaze went from the gold to the boy. Muttering, he finally released Jory, gripping the coin tight. Jory staggered back, hands clutching his ribs. He looked at the bread, now trampled into the mud.
“This isn’t over,” the vendor muttered before storming back to his stall.
Suddenly, the market, for all its hunger and fury, stood still. And Kael finally exhaled, his shoulders relaxing.
“You think that fixes anything?” Ryn’s voice sliced through the quiet that briefly settled over the scene.
Kael turned toward her; Ryn’s fiery expression was all disdain.
“I bought him some mercy.”
Ryn barked a bitter laugh. “Mercy? That’s what you call it? Tossing the Crown’s gold around like it can fix anything?”
She pressed in, voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You think your gold buys you forgiveness? Buys back everything you’ve done here?”
Kael retreated, looking down; he hadn’t expected the words to land so heavy. “I did what I could,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to make this right.”
Ryn shook her head, still burning up inside. “Did you?” Her voice was sharp, slicing through him. “Or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?”
She leaned in, her breath visible in the cold. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re still the same Crownsman who thinks he can buy his way out of the blood on his hands.”
Kael didn’t reply. The two stood locked in silence, the noise of the market a distant hum. Finally, Ryn turned away.
“You’re no better than the rest of them.”
Kael watched her go, as he felt something: a tug, on his coat. Jory.
“Listen, Mister.” The boy’s voice was raw, his face bruised. “I’ll pay you back.”
The market’s clamor swelled again, but it felt distant. Muted. For all his gold, Kael couldn’t buy back what was broken. He felt its uselessness.
He glanced at the ruined bread, buried in the mud. Slowly, he reached for his pouch. Heavy with gold. He held it out.
“Take it.”
Jory shook his head. Then he ran, fast as his legs could go.