A coincidental increase? Kael gulped, the sensation like acid on raw stone. Why after three days at 0.5%? Why suddenly 4.5% more stress on his anchor?

  An event must have triggered it, and the only thing he could think about was his discussion with Arthur. Did the sick man put stress on his anchor, or was it his own perception of Arthur that did? Perhaps because his sunken face reminded him of his mom's before the same illness took her. There might be other reasons, reasons that eluded him.

  After four days, the stress value remained stable, strengthening his suspicion that increases weren't coincidental. Arthur had mostly remained in his room during that time, too. What if Arthur knew about truths, noticed he had awakened endurance, and took him to the grave one silent step after another?

  Kael glared at Arthur's door, his grip tightening on his ledger. Somehow, the shadows seemed deeper.

  As he did, the man limped out, weak, coughing. He dragged himself to the rock at the table, his back hunched forward, his sunken eyes barely focused on Kael. "I've never seen someone heal as fast as you did. Odd, but good, son."

  Kael clenched his right fist—the one broken by the creature—now strong enough for him to use with marginal discomfort. If the corrosion should have marked him, his pale skin showed none of it, while the wound at his side only gave him phantom tickles whenever he thought about Tovin.

  "You won't ask how?" Kael narrowed his eyes, his voice as blunt as his question.

  Arthur tilted his head. "Good rest, food, and youth, I guess? Or do you want me to believe the gods embraced you in their mercy, that they diverted their attention from whatever made them blind to this god-forsaken place to help you recover faster? No, Kael. I think bread and safety helped you heal faster. And that we, descendants of slaves, endure much better than the scums they lumped with us."

  Does he really not know, or is he acting stupid to fool me? I can't tell... In any case, I'm not risking my anchor.

  With a shrug, he turned toward the door. "I guess so."

  Els nodded beside him with an expression of forced care about the mystery of his healing. Then, her facade collapsed as she filled the silence with her soft, eager voice. "It's nice that you recovered in time for the harvest festival. Let's go before we miss the priests' parade."

  Kael stood up, but Arthur shook his head. "Seen it enough for two lifetimes." He leaned toward Kael. "What will you do now?"

  Kael paused, silence thickening in the room for a heartbeat. Then, he spoke without turning. "Revenge. I don't want the Ragged Crown to knock on your door if things go wrong, so I'll get by on my own."

  "You're leaving—" Els' green eyes widened.

  Arthur interrupted her. "I don't know if I'll still be around next time you visit, so let me wish you luck and may the gods bless you with a path to Veston. Enjoy the festival, children."

  "I don't need blessings from gods," muttering, Kael left the old shack, his ledger pressed against his chest, and a steely glint in his eyes. Arthur had a month or two left, a thought that saddened him as much as it compelled his leave. He didn't trust the man, or anyone, for that matter.

  The wintry wind blew scents of frozen decay and soot. Snow wasn't white in Ashcoil Row, nor anywhere in the slums, but here it was worst; a damp grey as if even nature was too poor to wear its colors.

  A tap on his shoulder made him turn toward Els. She munched on her lips, her fingers tightening on his shirt. Her mouth opened, then closed, before she ended up sighing. "Dad... No, he's right. If you're not returning, let's enjoy the festival. You'll pay me back later, of course."

  She fished inside her basket, and four copper coins glinted on her palm. "Or we can try to sell your oh so precious book. You can keep half the earnings."

  "Yeah, sure. I guess you'll take the other half for your deep wisdom?" Kael rolled his eyes. "I'm not selling it."

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  Els slammed her scarf on his head, tying it in a makeshift hood a bit too forcefully. "Fine. I wouldn't sell a book of the gods either."

  "A what?!" Kael lifted the edge of her scarf, just enough to let his wide eyes through.

  "A book of the gods. Or of an evil spawn since you seem bewitched?" Else pursed her lips. "Just kidding. It has to be a book of the gods, or how would you explain why it disappears whenever you're not holding it?"

  A deep furrow creased Kael's brow. He let go of the ledger, letting it hover beside him, something he hadn't let happen during his week's stay to avoid interest. A finger pointed at it, he asked, "You don't see it?"

  Els waved where the ledger had been, her hand passing through its frame as if it had no substance. "Light is temporary, but darkness remembers... It's really gone. Where do you hide it?"

  Kael simply picked the ledger up, and she let out a surprised "Ah!" Then, he gripped her arms, his face close enough for her warm breath to caress his cheeks. "Don't talk about it to anyone, Els. You hear me? Anyone, not even your father. It's... dangerous to know. For you, for me, for everyone."

  "I-I Won't. I promise." Els stepped back.

  He let her go. Survival over mercy, her motto. She would never talk if it could threaten her. Still, he had no idea others couldn't see the ledger unless he held it. Practical, reassuring. Letting him hover, he jerked his head toward the end of the street.

  Els smoothed her patched robe, each movement relieving the gloom from her face. She took the lead, whispering. "I understand they'd lust after your book. I'll forget it exists... You could have told me what's written inside. Nevermind. The less I know, the better."

  "You got it."

  "Yeah, smart ass. Keep the scarf down." She pulled it over his eyes before racing toward the industrial district.

  Miners nodded at them while dragging three frozen corpses to the burial pit. Winter struck again.

  As soon as he followed her out of the neighborhood, he saw the clock tower in the distance. 7 A.M. Yet, people were already packed on the avenue, none of them noticing his ledger. In front of the factories, improvised booths filled the air with scents of bread and meat. Meat from which animal? His mom always said it was rat or cat meat. He never dared to ask.

  Els grabbed his arm, shoving her way through exasperated adults to another booth. Steam tickled Kael's nose with a comforting, earthy aroma. Festival day called for meat. Therefore, a thin man wearing an apron over his white shirt smiled from behind his grill. "One copper crown a piece, children."

  "I wonder why no one came to your booth, sir. Can't you make it one copper crown for two?" Els asked, her voice soft, but her eyes watching everything.

  "Humph." The man crossed his arms over his chest, the coal light making shadows dance across his face. "No discount. Get lost if you're not buying."

  "Alright. Have a great festival day, then." Els walked away with a shrug.

  Kael frowned. They ate this every year. What did Els have in mind?

  "Wait!" Just as he thought, the man called out.

  "One copper. First client's service. Don't tell other children, alright?" The man planted two metallic sticks in his soft potatoes, then extended them.

  Grinning, Els slammed the copper crown in his palm, took the stick, and gave one to Kael, who raised a brow. How did she get them for half the price?

  "Potatoes are tastier than bread, but much smaller. No one in their right mind buys them, except for the rich in the central district, perhaps. Anyway, you know how it is. They scrape every bit of value out of anything. On festival day? They obviously double or triple prices. But this man's box was still filled. He must have watched other stand owners earn while his line remained empty." Els bit on her potato, answering before he even asked. Hot, tender flesh made her huff. "I feel so warm now. Your mom was right, as always. Nothing beats a hot potato in winter."

  Kael ate his own, noting her insight on economic matters. Once done, they handed the sticks back to the man and continued toward the central district, where the temple priest would begin their parade in an hour. He glared at every rooftop.

  "Say, how do you handle cold that well? You're not shivering at all with just a shirt." Els swung her basket contentedly, interrupting his search.

  Kael opened his mouth to say cold never affected him much, but closed it the next second. Naked with bloodied bandages. If Els found him like this last week, she would never buy his excuse. "Dangerous answer."

  "Same is your super fast recovery, I guess. Alright, forget I asked. Look over there. They sell hot milk." Without giving him time to recover from her question, she dragged him to the queue of another booth close to Maelin Quor's shop.

  After ten minutes, they both warmed their hands on mugs, slowly sipping the rare liquid bartered for three copper crowns.

  Kael enjoyed this once-a-year luxury until claps and whistles spread across the crowd. Not too far, coming out of the Black Cask bar, the priests emerged with long staves adorned with golden rings that clinked each time they stepped forward. Heavy wind blew their white gown embroidered with the same red sun spreading into blazing flames around their shoulders and waists. With their solemn expressions, they really looked like envoys of the gods. At least, they felt rich enough to make Kael wince.

  "Wow, this year it's Kythra's priests," Els gaped like the crowd.

  But Kael's eyes darted to the roofs and alleys again. And this time, he found what he was after. Seated on the sloped roof of a shop, Tovin and Ash cheered the priests, the first wearing his stolen shoes, the other his shirt.

  They were vulnerable, unaware. An icy glint flashed in Kael's eyes. In the general fever, he slipped away without a sound, his ledger hovering behind him like a witness.

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