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didn’t
go and see the man, but sentimentality won out, and he relented; a
decision he would quickly come to regret. Even covered in filth and
chained to a stone wall, Arvis had the audacity to lecture his son
on loyalty and staying true to the UKA, even in tough times. And it
seemed nothing had changed since; a year in prison, the stroke, a
year spent sheltered under Drish’s roof; nothing had changed the
man’s conviction. Arvis was just as stubborn as ever.
    “So this is how it’s to be, two strangers
who just happen to share the same last name,” croaked Drish
resentfully, and he turned his back to his father. There were more
words that came from Arvis’s lips but his embittered son had
stopped listening. Instead, he blew through the doorway, seeming to
float down the corridor, while vaguely wondering if the insurgent
fighters would kill him for uncovering their secret headquarters.
It didn’t seem to matter if they did. Drish was going to be a dead
man anyway when the Empire came for him.
    “Drish, wait,” it was the harlot—or
insurgent—he actually wasn’t sure what she was anymore. He wasn’t
sure about anything. It wouldn’t surprise him if she was to be his
assassin. Is that why she’s here now? Is she the one who will
silence me? But she wasn’t there to silence him at all.
    “Are you leaving already?” She said, blocked
his way with her small frame.
    The noble only grunted a reply. There simply
wasn’t any words for what he was feeling, and he was loath to try
and sort it out with this garishly-dressed circus clown. He tried
to step around her instead, but she placed a hand lightly on his
chest. It was almost caressing in its touch.
    “You look awful, are you okay? What’s going
on?” Abigail probed his face until he was forced to meet her
gaze.
    Is that concern glistening in her
eyes? It had been so long since someone had shown him anything
but contempt; or at best indifference; that he found it difficult
to suppress the rusty emotions that were beginning to stir within
his heart. It was like these emotions were desperately trying to
break free, gearing up as if to make a connection with the
fingertips pressed to his chest. Suddenly he found himself wanting
to share everything with her.
    “Talk to me, Larken, is something going on?
You look ghosted. Does this have something to do with Arvis?”
    Arvis…blah!
    Hearing his father’s name spoken from the
lips of this mesmerizing woman slammed shut the door on any
emotions he might have felt, and instead locked them firmly in the
dusty basement where they belonged. What a fool he was for thinking
he could’ve made an emotional connection with some female street
urchin. Insurgent or not, she was just another lowborn in sooty
makeup, and; as his grandmother would have reminded him if she was
still alive; too far beneath his station to ever matter. He brushed
Abigail aside, leaving her concerns unanswered, so that he could
drift away from the packed tavern like the ghost she accused him of
being.
    In a trance of dejection, Drish took to the
barren streets, shambling through a raging blizzard, until he ended
up back at the door to his townhouse on Cooper Street.

Chapter
4
    Safely tucked inside the warmth of his home, Drish
tried to go to sleep, knowing the morning hours would arrive soon
enough, but every time he tried to lie down a restlessness took
hold. What will the morning bring? He’d be expected to
report to work in the morning, but if Domaire was right, an arrest
squad would be there waiting for him. However, if he failed to go
to work at all, he would receive a truancy mark and probably lose
his position; and how would it be viewed? Running might only prove
his guilt to those that would condemn him. With hopeless dread,
Drish realized he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, and
wrestling over that dilemma stole any sleep that might have come.
He left his bed early on and took to pacing his flat instead, until
song birds