As night settled over Minht, the city seemed to collapse inward beneath the weight of what had happened there. The violence had ended with frightening speed, leaving behind only silence, blood, and smoke drifting between shattered stone streets. No celebration followed the victory. No voices rose above the wind. Even the surviving soldiers moved with a muted heaviness, as though the battle had taken something from all of them that could not easily be reclaimed.
Odessa still had not emerged from the governor’s ballroom where Smoli’s body awaited its final rites. The doors had remained closed since the fighting ended. Only Pearl possessed enough courage to enter and stand beside their mourning captain. Outside, Odessa’s ships continued arriving along the frozen docks one by one, lanterns swaying against black waters as more men poured into the city. Under Odessa’s orders, carried through Pearl’s voice, the crews searched Minht tirelessly for every fallen comrade. No body was to be left behind beneath the snow or rubble. Every man would return home properly mourned.
The Blue Heart had anchored close enough to shore for its remaining cargo to be unloaded. Supplies were carried down carefully through the bitter cold alongside the last of Odessa’s higher command. West travelled with the men in silence, his boots striking against frost-covered wood as they crossed onto the vessel. He did not linger above deck for long. The moment he boarded, he made his way toward the Deep.
“West!”
Mo stepped forward inside his cage the instant the door groaned open, his hands gripping the iron bars. Relief flashed across his face at the sight of him.
“You’re back!”
West gave no acknowledgment. His attention moved past the Kesh lord entirely toward Jenny, who immediately began stomping and tossing her head at the sight of him. The mare’s restless neigh echoed through the cramped hold.
“Jenny.” West rested a hand against her neck, calming her with slow strokes through her mane. Only then did a breath finally leave him.
“Long trip?”
“Smoli’s dead.”
The words landed so bluntly that for a moment, Mo appeared unable to understand them.
“What did you say?”
West loosened Jenny’s bindings from the pillar with slow, steady hands. Only after the knots fell away did he glance back toward the cage. Whatever Mo saw in his face removed any remaining uncertainty.
The Kesh lord muttered quietly beneath his breath, something bitter and stunned, before lifting his eyes again.
“And…Odessa?”
West offered nothing. No answer. No comfort. He simply guided Jenny forward as the men above began pulling the Deep open from the outside.
A violent gust of winter air crashed into the hold. Lantern flames bent sharply as crewmen descended into the lower deck, quickly scattering through the storage rooms in search of whatever provisions still remained untouched.
“Talk to me, boy… What is going on!?”
Mo’s voice followed him through the noise, sharper now, frustration bleeding through the concern. West continued forward without slowing, Jenny’s hooves striking hollowly against the wooden floorboards as they disappeared into the cold night beyond the ship.
Behind the bars, Mo’s expression slowly hardened into irritation, the silence cutting deeper than any answer West could have given him.
Snow drifted steadily through the ruined streets of Minht, covering broken stone and darkened blood alike beneath the same cold veil. Men moved quietly between the buildings carrying bodies wrapped in sailcloth, while distant lanterns flickered against the harbor below. Somewhere deeper in the city, hammers rang softly as damaged barricades were pulled apart and rebuilt before the next storm arrived. Everything carried on because it had to.
West stood beside Jenny near the outer gate, one hand resting loosely against the mare’s neck while his attention drifted somewhere far beyond the falling snow. The exhaustion in him had settled into something quieter now. Not grief exactly. Something numb and unreachable that sat heavily behind his eyes.
The uneven scrape of crutches approached through the frost.
“You holding up alright?”
Turik stopped beside him, breath fogging into the air. Even injured, the older man carried himself with a strange steadiness, though the strain of his duel with Odessa still lingered in every movement.
West nodded once without looking at him.
“Good, good, listen, Odessa wants me in Minht with you guys.” Turik adjusted himself against the crutches before glancing toward Jenny. “Do you think I can take a ride on your Jenny?”
West wordlessly handed him the reins.
“Thank you.”
Turik accepted them carefully before studying West again, his expression tightening slightly beneath the cold wind.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Another nod.
“I’m alright, how about you, Turik?”
Turik lifted his chin toward the dark sky and cracked the stiffness from his neck. “As good as I can be. Smoli was a good man.” The words left him slowly. “They told me it was your friend.”
West’s gaze shifted away immediately, settling somewhere down the snow-covered road where nothing moved except the storm.
“Oh, no. I ain't blaming you or anything.” Turik caught the change in him almost instantly. “I’m just saying, that's what they told me.”
The words still lingered between them anyway.
West remained silent. Snow gathered along the shoulders of his coat while somewhere nearby a body was lifted onto a wagon with quiet care. The sound of it made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
West drew in a slow breath through the cold. “I can’t help feeling somewhat responsible.” His voice sounded distant even to himself. “I shouldn't be out here. Chasing him. For what?”
Turik leaned back against his crutches for a moment before reaching over and placing a firm hand against West’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not even your friend’s fault. It’s just kind of the way things are.” He gave the younger man a tired look. “That’s the game.”
West stared blankly into the snowfall for a moment longer. “Master Omni sure picked a winner with this guy.”
A dry breath escaped Turik’s nose. “That’s the thing. No matter who gets picked, it’s never a winner.”
That finally pulled a faint look of confusion from West. Turik only shook his head as though the thought was too old and too heavy to explain anymore properly.
“Odessa’s going to make me her right. Smoli left some big boots.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” West answered automatically, still not looking at him.
“I was kind of hoping to go home in the spring.” Turik shifted the reins in his hand before running his fingers back through his hair. “I got a wife, three kids. I think I’m done here.”
Jenny huffed softly into the cold air between them.
“Well… Maybe in the summer.” Turik shrugged faintly. “What about you? You going to keep chasing that friend of yours?”
West’s eyes settled against the white wall of falling snow beyond Minht’s gates. For a long moment, he said nothing at all. “I don't think he’s out there anymore.”
The answer carried no anger. No conviction either. Only exhaustion.
“Let’s hope Dess comes to that realization.” Turik adjusted himself against the crutches again before motioning forward with his head. “We should go.”
“What about Lord Mozam?” West asked.
“He’s going to be sent to the Clam. Don’t worry about him.”
Turik began moving carefully ahead through the snow while West lingered for one last moment beside the gate, his eyes still fixed somewhere deep within the storm before he finally followed after him.
The two eventually rejoined the rest of the convoy beyond the city gates. Word of Turik’s ascension had already spread through the ranks with the speed of battlefield rumor. Men straightened subtly when he approached, waiting for instruction, waiting for certainty. Smoli’s absence had left a hollow space among Odessa’s officers, and already everyone had begun looking toward whoever might survive long enough to fill it.
Turik carried himself with more confidence than he truly possessed. West could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his grip occasionally tightened around the crutches when he thought no one noticed. Still, he gave the orders cleanly enough, and the men followed without hesitation.
The march back into Minht moved more slowly than before.
Supply crates dragged heavily through frozen streets while exhausted men hauled ropes with raw hands wrapped in torn cloth. Every cart groaned beneath the added weight of salvaged provisions. Even Jenny strained harder than she should have, her breath steaming heavily into the bitter air as she pulled beside the others through thickening frost.
No one complained.
By the time they finally returned to the city center, the bodies had already been cleared from the streets. Ally and enemy alike were gone now, carried away for burial, burning, or whatever rites remained possible in a winter like this. Only the stains beneath the snow hinted at how much blood had soaked into the ground of Minht only hours earlier.
The surviving citizens moved carefully through the aftermath like ghosts reclaiming a graveyard. Doors cracked open cautiously as families emerged from hiding to assess what remained of their homes. Some returned from the outskirts carrying what little they had fled with. Others never came back at all.
“Turik!” Pearl waved them over from the center courtyard, where several members of the Blue Heart had gathered around stacked provisions and half-lit braziers.
“The little lady Pearl.” Turik tipped an imaginary hat toward her as he approached.
Pearl acknowledged the gesture with a faint nod before getting straight to the point. “Odessa wants to speak with you.”
The color nearly drained from Turik’s face. “Oh shit.”
For a brief second, all the confidence he had worn during the march vanished entirely. Then, just as quickly, he forced himself upright again. He slid carefully from the donkey, landing solidly on his good foot before reaching for his crutches.
“Oh, thanks, West.” Turik gave him a quick nod before following Pearl across the courtyard toward the governor’s estate.
West remained behind with Jenny. He loosened the bindings securing the supply crates, and several heavy boxes immediately toppled into the thick snow with muffled thuds.
“Better?” West joked.
Jenny shook her head once and huffed sharply through her nose, earning the faintest pull at the corner of West’s mouth before the expression disappeared again.
The courtyard had settled into an unusual calm. Crewmen sat near the fires, rubbing warmth back into stiff hands while others quietly reorganized supplies beneath hanging lanterns. Nobody laughed loudly. Nobody drank. They all seemed to be waiting for Pearl to emerge again with new orders and some clearer shape for what came next.
West scanned the gathering for Broc but did not find him among Odessa’s officers.
He mounted Jenny again and guided her toward a smaller cluster of men near the outer wall. “Has anyone seen Broc?” he asked.
“At the central garden.” One of the sailors adjusted the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before pointing deeper into the city. “He’s on assignment.”
West gave the sailor a brief nod before guiding Jenny deeper into the city in search of the central garden. It did not take long to find it. Even buried beneath winter, the place still carried the shape of what it once had been. Dead vines clung to frozen arches while empty flower beds sat buried beneath pale layers of snow. The statues surrounding the garden had gathered frost along their faces, turning them ghostly beneath the dim lanternlight.
In the center of the open field stood a massive figure driving a shovel into the earth again and again.
Broc.
West slowed as he approached, Jenny’s hooves crunching softly through the frost. Only then did he notice the bodies.
Blue Heart soldiers had been laid carefully throughout the garden beneath heavy cloth coverings, each one lined in neat rows against the frozen ground. Some were little more than shapes beneath a snow-dusted canvas. Others still had boots or hands exposed to the cold. Between them sat several freshly dug pits cutting dark wounds into the white earth.
“Hey, Broc, we’re back.”
Broc did not stop digging immediately. The shovel struck frozen dirt with brutal force before he finally paused long enough to glance over his shoulder. Sweat steamed faintly from his skin despite the cold.
As West moved closer, the sheer number of graves became clearer. “Graves?” he questioned.
“Odessa’s orders.” Broc drove the shovel back into the earth hard enough to crack through another frozen layer. “She said since I like digging holes so much, I should dig some for the boys.”
West looked across the garden again, toward the rows of bodies waiting quietly beneath the snow. “She said that?” West asked.
“Pearl did.” Something dim flickered behind Broc’s eyes before disappearing again. “Odessa doesn't want to see me right now.” The words carried far more weight than Broc tried to give them.
West stepped down from Jenny and approached him slowly. After a moment, he reached into his coat and produced a clear bottle of liquor, nudging it toward the larger man. “Take a rest.”
Broc stared at the bottle for a second before taking it from him. His rough fingers turned the glass slowly beneath the lanternlight. “This was Delios’ favorite.”
“It was his,” West responded.
Broc uncorked the bottle and cautiously smelled the contents. His entire face tightened in disgust almost immediately. “He gave this to you?”
“I stole it.” That earned a look. West shrugged faintly. “I doubt he’s going to notice.”
For a second, Broc only stared at him. Then the meaning landed all at once. A rough chuckle escaped his chest before growing into a tired laugh that briefly fogged the cold air around them. He lifted the bottle and took a long drink.
West watched him carefully. “Slow down! I was hoping we could share what was left.”
Broc pulled the bottle away and belched loudly into the frozen garden. “Disgusting.”
He shoved the bottle back toward West, who drank the remainder quickly before hurling the empty glass toward one of the far stone walls. The muted crack of shattering barely disturbed the silence hanging over the dead.
“Come on then.” West extended a hand toward the pile of tools nearby. “Give me a shovel.”
Broc’s expression softened for the first time since West arrived. Not happy exactly. Just less alone. “Right. But first.” He lifted the shovel overhead like a knight raising a sword before battle. “Let us get another bottle. On my cousin.”
West grabbed another shovel and raised it to meet his. “To Delios and his fine taste.”
The two lowered their tools and began walking back through the garden together.
As they passed through the mansion gates and reentered the occupied estate, West quickly noticed the shift in atmosphere around Broc. It lingered in the eyes that avoided him and the silence that followed in his wake. Several Blue Hearts who normally would have saluted him instead turned away or pretended not to notice him at all.
Broc noticed too.
He gave them nothing in return.
They entered the governor’s kitchens, where lanternlight flickered warmly against stone walls and overturned cabinets. Broc immediately began opening storage crates and cupboards in search of more liquor, but the room had already been picked clean.
“It’s all gone.” The disappointment in his voice came quieter than expected.
Only then did he turn around fully.
Several officers stood scattered throughout the kitchen holding half-opened bottles of various spirits, their faces red from drink and exhaustion. One man leaned casually against a counter, swirling amber liquid in a crystal bottle that clearly belonged to the governor’s private reserves.
Broc’s expression darkened slowly. “On whose authority were any of you granted permission to the rations?”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The room stiffened. Most of the men looked away immediately, suddenly very interested in their bottles or the floor beneath their boots.
“On whose authority are we to answer to you?” The voice came from a broad-shouldered officer near the hearth.
Broc crossed the room in only a few steps.
The officer tried to hold his ground, though the difference in size between them became impossible to ignore once Broc stood directly in front of him.
“As far as any of us are concerned,” the man continued, forcing confidence into his voice, “Odessa swapped you out for Ethios. You have no more authority than any of us.”
West watched the realization move visibly across Broc’s face.
Confusion first. Then hurt. And finally anger. Not the simple anger most people expected from him, either. Something uglier. Something wounded.
“So what, you want to fight me?” Broc stepped closer.
The officer involuntarily leaned backward now, forced to look upward at him. “Of course not.” His confidence had vanished almost entirely. “I was asking for clarification. A serious inquiry.”
Broc slowly looked around the room. Nobody met his eyes. Not one of them.
“Fuck you.” Broc spat out. He ripped the bottle directly from the officer’s hand without resistance. The man allowed it immediately.
Broc turned toward the others, jaw tight beneath the flickering lanternlight. “Fuckall of you. Come on, West.”
The room parted for him as he stormed back into the hallway, sailors pressing themselves against the walls to avoid his path. As he passed another officer, Broc snatched a second bottle cleanly from the man’s grasp and handed it backward toward West without breaking stride.
Neither of them spoke on the walk back to the garden. They simply returned to the frozen field of graves and resumed digging beneath the falling snow, each heavy strike of the shovel followed sooner or later by another pull from the bottle.
West quickly discovered he had badly underestimated Broc’s ability to drink.
What had begun as shared labor and quiet remembrance slowly dissolved into uneven shovelfuls and long pulls from stolen bottles beneath the snow. The garden had grown darker as the night deepened, lanternlight flickering weakly against the frost-covered statues surrounding the burial grounds. Their discarded bottles continued gathering near the stone wall in shattered pieces while the graves multiplied slowly across the frozen earth.
At some point, the digging had become secondary.
Broc stood near one of the cloth-covered bodies, swaying only slightly despite the amount he had consumed. He bent down with surprising gentleness for a man his size and rolled the corpse carefully toward the open grave.
“This was Mali.” His voice had grown rougher with drink, though no less sincere. “He was a good man. He loved roosters. He used to say they made him good money fighting.”
The body settled heavily into the grave beneath a soft blanket of falling snow.
West stepped forward and splashed a small stream of liquor over the dead man before moving toward the next body waiting nearby.
“This was actually a cousin of another man we saw earlier. Coim.” Broc pointed lazily with the neck of the bottle before nudging the next corpse with his boot. “This is Ira. I didn't know much about him, but he was pleasant to look at.”
Even through the exhaustion and liquor, the faintest ghost of humor touched his face. He pushed Ira into the grave beside the others with careful force while West repeated the same ritual, letting another splash of alcohol spill across the body and frozen dirt below.
“I told you to stop that.” Broc watched the liquor disappear into the snow. “You will waste it before we even get close to finishing.”
“It’s only for the good men,” West answered.
“They were all good men.” Broc’s eyes wandered slowly across the garden. Rows of bodies remained waiting beneath pale coverings while fresh graves cut through the frost around them like open mouths. “Oh, this is Phender.” Broc approached another corpse and crouched beside it for a moment before pushing it toward its resting place. “Nobody made a pot of beans like him.”
West dripped only a small amount this time, barely more than a few drops into the grave. Broc noticed immediately and shook his head with tired disapproval before taking another drink himself.
For a while, the only sounds were shovels biting frozen earth, quiet breathing, and the distant groan of winter wind passing through Minht’s empty streets.
Then West finally broke the silence. “So what’s going to happen? With all of us? With Odessa?”
Broc leaned heavily against the shovel and released a long breath into the cold night. “Well... the last time I saw her like this was when Delios left to join the Evokians.” His gaze drifted somewhere beyond the garden as memory slowly surfaced through the liquor. “She stayed away for a few days, then came back angry. Cold. Eventually, she got over it.”
His voice lowered. “But this is Smoli.” The words lingered heavily between them. “This is very different.”
Snow continued gathering along Broc’s shoulders while the lanternlight beside them crackled softly in the wind.
“Dammit…” Broc lifted his eyes slowly. “I should have been there.” The admission came rougher than the others. “I would have...” He stopped himself abruptly.
For the first time all evening, uncertainty crossed his face.
“No.” Broc shook his head once. “It would be disrespectful to say Smoli was incapable of doing anything I could not do. It is the way of the warrior to take and receive.”
His eyes settled firmly onto West. “I am enjoying my time with you, West. Smoli was right about you.” The larger man stepped closer, his expression softening only slightly before hardening again beneath the weight of what still remained unsaid. “But if the Gods should will it, I will take your friend’s life without hesitation.” His voice carried no hatred. Only certainty. “I promise you this.”
West looked at him quietly. The liquor and exhaustion caused the garden to sway faintly around him before he suddenly felt Broc’s massive hand steady itself against his shoulder.
“Please do not think you have to take a side.” Broc gave him a small nod. “We are men of the battlefield.”
He took the bottle from West’s hand and drained whatever remained inside before hurling it toward the stone wall beside the others. Glass exploded sharply through the frozen garden, briefly scattering the silence surrounding the dead.
Then Broc lifted the shovel overhead again like some drunken warrior king standing over a battlefield of graves. “Let us find some more!”
The sound of approaching hooves eventually broke through the drunken rhythm of shovels and clinking bottles.
West squinted through the falling snow, one hand shielding his eyes from the lanternlight drifting across the garden entrance. Two riders emerged slowly from the white haze, their horses stepping carefully across the frozen paths between the graves.
“It’s Pearl and Turik,” West announced.
“The turd,” Broc said as he immediately abandoned his shovel and began lumbering toward them through the snow with all the subtlety of a charging ox. West staggered after him a few steps behind, already regretting how much they had consumed.
Turik sat stiffly atop the horse, his injured foot strapped tightly against the stirrup while Pearl rode beside him beneath a heavy winter cloak. The moment Broc reached them, his face split into a wide, drunken grin.
“So then it’s true.” He pointed upward toward Turik with exaggerated pride. “Look at you on that horse. I’m proud of you.”
Turik barely had time to react. Broc grabbed his arm as though greeting an old friend, only instead of shaking his hand, he hauled the older man cleanly off the saddle and dropped him straight into the snow.
Turik let out a sharp noise somewhere between surprise and pain as he landed awkwardly, immediately trying to keep pressure off his injured foot. “Ah, God damn it... not the foot…!” The complaint slipped out beneath his breath, more instinct than anger, though everyone heard it clearly.
Broc roared with laughter loud enough to echo through the frozen garden while Turik struggled upright.
“Careful with the damned foot,” Turik muttered to himself while brushing snow from his coat. “Broken once is enough for a lifetime...”
Broc paid absolutely no attention. With effortless strength, he scooped Turik up again despite the older man’s irritated groaning and tossed him back onto the horse as though placing a child into a saddle. “There,” Broc said.
Turik winced the moment he settled back into place. “Yes. Wonderful. Thank you, Broc.” He brushed more snow from himself with the exhausted patience of a man too tired to argue with a drunk giant.
Pearl dismounted before either of them could escalate further. “We need to talk about our situation.” The seriousness in her voice cut through the moment almost instantly.
“Right.” Broc straightened slightly. Some of the drunken looseness remained, but the shift in his expression showed he was at least trying to focus.
“Odessa is not in a good place right now,” Pearl continued quietly.
“Where is she?” Broc asked, genuinely confused. West unexpectedly broke into laughter beside Broc, the liquor finally catching up with him fully.
Pearl blinked once before slowly looking toward Turik in complete disbelief.
“Are you two drunk?” Turik asked, almost worried.
“I cannot speak for West,” Broc answered proudly, “but I am.”
West nodded in solemn agreement beside him. Pearl turned toward Turik again with a look that silently demanded assistance.
Turik sighed deeply through his nose before leaning forward in the saddle.
“Hey, come on, guys…we have to be serious! We cannot be drinking at a time like this.” He adjusted himself carefully again, trying not to irritate his foot. “Now I already told the other men the same thing. What, you don’t think Odessa is going to come out of there eventually? Then what? You drank all the liquor, ate all the rations.” He rubbed tiredly at his forehead. “What do you think that crazy bitch is going to do to us then!?”
“Mr. Turik!” Pearl’s interruption landed immediately.
Turik cleared his throat. “My apologies.” He gestured awkwardly toward her. “Please, let’s listen to what Lady Pearl has to say.”
Snow drifted quietly between them while the bodies of the dead rested nearby beneath pale coverings. The distant sounds of Minht rebuilding itself echoed faintly beyond the garden walls.
Pearl stepped closer, wrapping her cloak tighter against the wind. “We are in a very tough situation. Delios did not exaggerate how bad things were in Minht with the absence of the Emerald Chain.” Her eyes moved between the three men carefully. “The situation can be managed, but it will take all of you to make it work.”
For the first time that night, even Broc seemed completely sober.
“Broc, you must take control of the men. You are still our general.” Pearl’s voice remained calm and steady despite the strain beneath it. “Turik will be in charge of the administrative work. The men know he has Odessa’s ear. You two have to work together to make sure things do not get worse than they are. The men need authority.”
Broc swayed faintly where he stood, liquor still heavy on him, but he listened carefully all the same. Slowly, he scratched at his forehead while staring out across the graves he had dug with his own hands and managed to respond, “I understand, Pearl.”
Then Pearl turned toward West. The softness in her expression faded into practicality, though something gentler still lingered underneath it.
“West. You have reunited with your Jenny. We need to know.” Her breath fogged softly into the cold air. “Are you with the Blue Hearts, or do you wish to take your pay now and depart?”
She paused only briefly.
“Nothing personal, but we have to know who we must feed and who we can.”
West finally felt the spinning in his head slow enough for the world to settle back into place. The snow, the graves, the lanternlight, all of it stopped blurring together for one brief moment. Broc’s heavy hand remained planted firmly against his shoulder to keep him upright while the cold air bit through the haze of liquor clouding his thoughts.
West nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I’ll stay. At least for the winter.” His eyes drifted vaguely toward the dark city beyond the garden walls. “I mean, where am I going?”
Pearl studied him for a moment before giving a small nod of acceptance. “I’ll take it. You will be Turik’s eyes and ears. You will work with the crew, train with the crew, and live with the crew.”
“I can do that,” West answered without missing a beat.
“Very well.” Pearl pulled her cloak tighter around herself as the snowfall thickened again. “I will depart from Minht after we dispatch Smoli. I will pray that you all can work together. Turik has seen the numbers. He knows.”
Her gaze moved carefully between the three men standing among the graves. “So let us all lay witness. We will maintain order under the acknowledgement that Odessa is not in the state of mind to lead here. We will lead and survive by any means necessary.”
The words settled heavily into the frozen garden.
Broc straightened himself as best he could through the drink and exhaustion. Despite the liquor thickening his speech earlier, something deeply sincere still remained in him. “We will maintain, Pearl. Do not worry.” He placed a fist against his chest. “And we will see that Odessa is taken care of.”
Turik shifted uncomfortably atop the horse beside them, his injured foot clearly beginning to throb from the cold and Broc’s earlier handling of him. “Once this foot heals, I’m going to reprimand so many of these fools.” He muttered the complaint mostly to himself while adjusting his leg carefully in the stirrup. “Can you believe they drank all the governor’s spirits? And who do you think has to tell Odessa that?” He winced faintly beneath his breath. “God damn giant… throwing me around like cargo…”
“Mr. Turik.” Pearl’s calm interruption arrived before he could fully spiral into the rant. “I would like a moment with West. Perhaps you and Broc can begin making a list of all the inebriated men.”
Turik sighed heavily through his nose. “Yes, yes. Come on, Broc.”
He carefully pulled on the reins and guided the horse away from the graves while Broc followed after him through the snow, still carrying the shovel over one shoulder like a soldier marching off to war.
“Careful with the damned foot this time!” Turik muttered as Broc nearly bumped into him again.
West watched them disappear slowly beyond the frozen hedges before Pearl turned toward him.
“West.” She stepped beside her horse and gently gathered the reins in one hand. “Take a walk with me. You can bring Jenny too.”
Without waiting for an answer, Pearl began leading the horse away from the burial grounds and toward the quieter outer paths surrounding the garden. West blinked once before stumbling toward the nearby tree where Jenny had been tied. The mare huffed softly as he loosened the rope, then followed behind him obediently as he slowly caught up beside Pearl.
The further they walked from the graves, the quieter the city became.
Snow drifted softly through empty streets while distant lanterns glowed faintly through the storm. Somewhere far off, men continued rebuilding barricades against the winter wind, but here the only sounds were the slow crunch of boots and hooves against frost.
“Smoli was a good man.” Pearl’s voice remained soft, though steady.
“He was a big part in maintaining order and stability in this operation. No one joined the crew without his blessing.” She kept her eyes forward as they walked. “Odessa always trusted his judgement. He was the one who suggested you watch over me during our excursion in Minht.”
West listened quietly while Jenny walked close behind them, her reins occasionally brushing against his coat.
“He was signaling to Odessa that you could be not only useful, but trustworthy.” Pearl glanced toward him briefly. “I would like to believe he was right.”
The cold wind shifted strands of dark hair loose around her face.
“You are the last person he brought into not just the crew, but our group. From what he and Odessa have said about you, I think you can help steer things.” Her expression dimmed slightly. “Turik is going to need help. He is a smart man, but like the rest of them, he lacks moral clarity.”
West lowered his gaze toward the snow beneath his boots.
“You are not a warrior. You understand that not every problem is solved with force. You have his ear. Help him.”
“I…” West began. The responsibility of it settled awkwardly in his chest.
“If not for the Blue Heart, then for your own.” Pearl continued.
West remained quiet for several steps afterward. He did not know how to answer her. Everything inside him still felt numb from Smoli’s death, from Tyrus, from the growing realization that Minht was rotting beneath them faster than anyone wanted to admit.
“Or did you have plans to continue following your friend?” Pearl asked.
“No.” West rubbed tiredly at his face before speaking again. “It’s just... I don’t know if I can be in that kind of position. I can report to Turik, but guide him?” He shook his head faintly. “You heard what Delios had to do to maintain order here. I’m not one to call for an order like that.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent,” Pearl answered. For the first time that evening, genuine strain slipped into Pearl’s voice.
“The people of Minht do not need to suffer any more than they already have and will continue to.” She slowed her pace slightly. “This will already be a hard enough winter on them with the occupation, but if allowed, our presence can make things much worse. With Odessa not in her right mind...” Her eyes drifted toward the distant governor’s estate. “I don't want to imagine what this can all turn into.”
“I understand why you think that, Pearl, but...” West’s words slurred faintly together from the alcohol.
Pearl stopped walking. “I want you to write me whenever a ship leaves for the Clam.”
She reached into the satchel hanging from her horse and carefully removed a small wooden box along with a matching key. The craftsmanship was simple but elegant, polished smooth from careful handling.
“You can put the message in this box, and it will not be opened until it reaches me.” She placed both items gently into West’s hands. “Promise that you will at least write me.”
West stared down at the box for a moment, turning it slowly in his hands while snowflakes gathered against the dark wood. “I can do that.” The answer came quieter than before. Reluctant, but honest.
Pearl smiled softly then. “Thank you, West.” Before he fully realized what she was doing, she leaned forward and placed a light kiss against his cheek. It was small and innocent enough that his drunken mind barely processed it at first.
Then she stepped back immediately and mounted her horse again. “We are sending Smoli before sunrise.” She gathered the reins carefully into her hands. “Please get some rest.”
West stood there silently while Pearl disappeared slowly into the snowfall.
Only after she had already gone did the warmth lingering faintly against his cheek finally catch up to him. He remained standing in the quiet street holding the small wooden box in both hands while Jenny waited patiently beside him beneath the falling snow.
The evening slowly disappeared beneath snowfall and torchlight.
Word had spread through every district of Minht long before darkness fully settled across the city. Odessa’s orders had reached every alley, every broken home, every cellar where frightened families still hid from the aftermath of the siege. No exceptions were permitted. The old, the sick, the wealthy, the starving, all were dragged from whatever warmth remained available to them and forced into the frozen streets to attend the funeral of the man who had helped conquer them.
By nightfall, the city moved as one slow river toward the governor’s mansion.
The snowfall had thickened into pale curtains drifting through the black sky while hundreds of lanterns flickered weakly against the storm. Blue Heart soldiers lined the roads in silence, their armor and cloaks coated white with frost as they guided the citizens forward. No shouting was necessary. The atmosphere alone smothered resistance before it could form.
West stood among the gathered officers near the front courtyard with Jenny beside him, the mare unusually calm beneath the strange heaviness hanging over the city. Nearby, Broc stood motionless with his massive hands folded behind his back while Turik leaned carefully against his crutches, his injured foot wrapped heavily against the cold. Pearl remained near the entrance steps, speaking quietly with several officers tasked with maintaining the crowd.
Nobody drank now, and nobody laughed.
The governor’s mansion loomed over the crowd like a dark monument waiting for judgment.
Its great windows glowed faintly from within, where Smoli’s body still rested in the ballroom at the heart of the estate. The massive wooden doors remained open, allowing the procession to continue steadily through the mansion one by one. Blue Hearts entered first.
Each soldier was given only a few moments beside Smoli before being ushered onward again into the courtyard beyond. Some stood proudly before him. Others quietly broke apart at the sight of the man lying motionless beneath ceremonial cloth and burning candles. Veterans who had survived battlefields without fear lowered their heads like children before his body.
The further the night progressed, the more the grief seemed to spread through the crowd itself.
Even the citizens of Minht watched quietly now.
Smoli had not ruled them kindly, but death on that scale possessed its own gravity. They could feel something shifting within the Blue Hearts tonight. Something dangerous and unstable beneath the mourning.
Then Odessa finally emerged.
The courtyard seemed to tighten the moment she appeared at the mansion entrance.
She wore black from head to toe, heavy layers of mourning cloth flowing behind her against the snow-covered steps. A long veil concealed her face completely, turning her almost unrecognizable beneath the lanternlight. The woman who descended those stairs no longer resembled the fierce captain who had marched into Minht at the head of an army.
She resembled a ghost.
Odessa did not speak to anyone.
She did not stand beside her officers or acknowledge the men grieving around her. Instead, she walked silently away from the crowd and positioned herself at the far edge of the courtyard overlooking the city below. Snow gathered across her dark veil and shoulders while she stood completely motionless, separated from everyone despite the hundreds surrounding her.
West watched her carefully from across the crowd. The stillness unsettled him more than rage would have. It reminded him too much of himself after Omni died. That same cold absence. That same hollow distance where grief stopped looking, human.
The ritual began shortly before the first light of dawn.
Barrels of oil had already been carried throughout the mansion under Odessa’s direct command. The ancient halls, wooden pillars, staircases, and velvet-lined chambers had been drenched carefully to ensure the fire would spread quickly and burn hot enough to reduce everything inside to ash.
Including Smoli.
The crowd was forced farther back into the courtyard and streets, while Odessa alone remained standing near the estate.
Then the torches were thrown.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then fire erupted upward through the mansion windows all at once. The ancient estate ignited with terrifying speed.
Flames devoured the oil-soaked halls in roaring waves of orange and gold while smoke poured violently into the winter sky above Minht. Heat rolled outward against the frozen streets hard enough to force the nearest citizens backward as the great wooden beams of the mansion began groaning beneath the inferno consuming them.
Snow hissed into steam before it could touch the flames.
The fire reflected across thousands of silent faces: citizens, soldiers, conquerors, and survivors.
Everyone stood watching as the governor’s mansion collapsed inward, piece by piece, around Smoli’s funeral pyre. Burning embers spiraled high into the night sky like fleeing spirits while the ancient architecture blackened and split apart beneath the growing weight of the blaze.
Still, Odessa did not move.
She stood entirely alone before the burning mansion while ash drifted across her veil like black snowfall.
No prayers were spoken aloud. No speeches were given. Only the fire mourned him.