Waking to the metallic tang of blood in her mouth, Alicia's bearings elude her for a few painful heartbeats. The sound of frogs and insects croaking in the dark bring her back to reality and a part of her wishes for unconsciousness again. At least there her stomach isn't cramped with hunger.

She shivers with the cold, the fire of the camp too far away to be of any warmth. Alicia breathes through her nose, trying not to panic, trying to think of something. Her aunt would have some elaborate plan, perhaps involving fireworks and a witty remark. She's had four years to adjust to life as an exile and Alicia has spent the past four years trying to forget the things she did for survival.

Alicia doesn't belong in this type of world, not anymore.

She tries to move, her muscles stiff, but finds rope still binding her to the tree. Searching around her, she spots a stone. She kicks out her legs, trying to disentangle her feet from her skirts, but footsteps crunching on dead leaves still her movements.

Narrowing her eyes, Alicia watches the man approach, scrubbing at something in his hands. The lines around his dark blue eyes deepen as he squints at her in the dark. Alicia recognises him as the man giving orders earlier and her back stiffens, wondering what he could possibly want with her.

"You haven't been an exile long, have you?" he questions, stopping before her, out of kicking distance.

Alicia's gaze drops to the glove in his hand, dark splotches on the leather. Glaring up at him, she doesn't attempt to reply, her lips painfully dry around the cloth still in her mouth.

The man kneels before her, wriggling his fingers back into his glove. "I have some questions for you." He reaches forward and yanks the cloth out of her mouth. Alicia jerks her head away from his touch and runs her tongue along her lips. "What's your name?"

Eyes darting around, is dawns on her that she doesn't have much hope of an escape, not with the emerald-eyed man leaning against a tree a small distance away and the rest of the men at the camp.

She lifts her chin and wills the iron that she forged within herself four years ago back into her spine. It's not easy considering she knows she doesn't have it within her to do every terrible thing for survival anymore.

"As I said to your friend over there, go fuck yourselves."

The corner of his mouth lifts, deepening the lines in his face. "I don't like hitting women, but I think I can make an exception with you."

She clenches her jaw, glaring at him. He doesn't seem to care for her scolding gaze, opting instead to run a thumb over the ruined material of her skirts.

"But if you cooperate, I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

"What do you want?"

"I want to know where David hid the supplies." He reaches out a hand, and she flinches from it, turning her face away. His gloved fingers brush against the discoloured side of her face, sure to have bright purples and blues blooming across the bronzed skin of her jaw and cheek. She's seen it before on herself too many times to count. "And I don't want to have to ruin this pretty face further."

She doesn't bite off his fingers. But she seriously considers it. Instead she meets his blue gaze. "Who's David?"

He grips her chin, forcing her to face him, to meet the wrath in his gaze. "Kathryn told you where he hid the supplies, and you're going to give me an answer."

She spits and saliva splatters his cheek. He presses his lips together, reaching for the cloth in his belt to wipe the muck from his face. She sees then what he was cleaning from his gloves, the pale material tarnished with it. Blood. The man had blood on his hands.

"Jeramiah here likes to hold a grudge," the man says, nodding to where the other man leans against the tree, observing the exchange. "You did break his nose so I'll give him the honour."

Alicia's gut begins to sink, but she blinks away the tears that sting her eyes.

The man steps back to allow Jeramiah to stand over her, a gleam in his eyes that Alicia discerns as joy.

She's hurt a lot of people in her life, but never has she enjoyed it.

He lashes out, the back of his hand splitting her lip. Her head cracks into the trunk of the tree and rocks her vision. Blood drips from her chin, staining the front of her already ruined dress.

"Where are David's supplies?" the older man asks, raking his fingers through his dirty blond hair.

Prodding at the cut on her lip with her tongue, Alicia thinks of her aunt's words about David hiding supplies in an ancient ruin. Whatever he hid there better be worth it. "Who's David?"

Jeramiah raises his fist again but the other man waves him away. He reaches for the gag around Alicia's neck, and she can hardly protest before he's shoving the cloth into her mouth.

"Kathryn will come for you," he says and they both leave her there.

She lowers her chin and sucks in breaths of the brisk air.

Alicia chose exile. It was either this or torture and interrogation by the grand duke, and she knows which evil she'd rather face. And seeing her ma again after her betrayal would have just made this wound in her chest fester further.

Alicia's thoughts are broken by a shadow moving in the corner of her eye. She raises her chin and her eyes widen as Kathryn skulks through the trees.

Shaking her head, Alicia tries to warn her away.

The woman kneels at her side, dirt smudged on her bronze skin and a wild gleam in her black eyes.

"Bastards," she hisses, reaching for the gag in Alicia's mouth.

When her mouth is free, Alicia whispers, "Get out of here."

"Not without you," she says, tugging at the ropes. "We're going west. The people in the Commons will protect us. They'll protect you. Especially with what you know."

"Kathryn," Alicia argues, trying to catch her aunt's eye. "Kathryn, it's a trap."

Kathryn meets her gaze as she pauses in her attempts to free Alicia. Then a shape moves behind her and Alicia's lips part but she's too slow to warn her. The man grabs Kathryn by the hair and hauls her away from Alicia. She fights against her restraints as the man shoves Kathryn to the forest floor, twisting her arm behind her back to prevent her from reaching for the sword on her hip.

"Where are the supplies, Kathryn?" the man growls, pressing a blade to Kathryn's throat.

She turns her head to look at Alicia, her breath stirring the dirt beneath her face. "Let her go and I'll tell you."

"No!" Alicia shouts. "He'll kill you."

"I never told her where it is," Kathryn continues, ignoring Alicia's pleas. "She doesn't know anything."

The man leans closer to Kathryn until the bristles coating his jaw brush her ear, making her cringe. "Then it'd be wise for you to tell me before I cut her throat in front of you."

"Kathryn, don't."

"David's grave," she says through gritted teeth. "I reburied them with him at the farm."

The man removes his knee from Kathryn's spine to flip her over onto her back. "Try again."

"I'm not lying."

"I already searched his grave. I searched that entire farm." The man stands and tilts his head. "The truth, or I begin cutting her. Starting with those lovely eyes."

Kathryn struggles to her knees, a sneer twisting her lips. "I'm not giving you those supplies, Warren. I know what you'll use them for."

"The capital will get what it deserves."

It happens faster than Alicia can blink. One moment Warren is advancing on Alicia with a knife in his grip and rage in his eyes, the next there's a choked gasp and Warren is cursing.

Kathryn grips his wrist, her lips parted, blood glistening on them.

Alicia screams. Warren stumbles back as crimson trails down Kathryn's throat. He pulls his blade from the woman's neck and she crumbles to the ground, wheezing breaths escaping her.

Alicia's wrists bleed as rope frays at her flesh, as she tries to reach Kathryn, to take this all back, to save her.

Alicia is only ever good for one thing, and that's getting people killed.

Unable to do anything but struggle and cry, Alicia can't tear her gaze away as Kathryn looks at her, choking on her own blood that bubbles from her lips and leaks into her hair.

Alicia watches Kathryn die, watches her saviour and family bleed to death before her. She feels her soul crack, hears the shattering of it in her ears.

An exile should remember that they will die in these lands, and there is nothing they can do but fight.

Warren is swearing as he presses his hands to her throat, trying to stop the bleeding.

But Kathryn is already gone.

Warren pulls back, staring at the blood on his hands with a grimace. His gaze is icy when he looks at Alicia. "You're going to find me those supplies." Then he stands and walks away, leaving Alicia with nothing but the cooling corpse of the woman who was more of a mother to her than her own mother.

Her heart grows cold as she sits there, the night and the dead her only company. She sits there, the icy breeze drying the tears on her cheeks, and she wonders when the Reaper will decide he's had enough of condemning her.

All she knows in that moment is Warren is going to do everything he can to get what information she knows out of her. Alicia's hurt enough people to understand that everyone breaks eventually. And Kathryn just died for this secret.

Alicia kicks out her legs again and drags the rock to her. With it in her grip, she starts sawing at the rope. Familiar numbness begins to spread through her, a numbness that allowed her to kill and steal without hesitation for two years of her life.

She allows it back into her heart with the knowledge that she may never be able to get rid of it again. Not after losing the queen. Not after her ma's betrayal. Not after seeing her father die before her, and now her aunt.

Maybe the numbness will make it hurt less.

Her wrists are freed and Alicia begins unravelling the rest of the rope. She doesn't feel the elation of freedom that she should as she finds her pack within the bushes, eyes never straying from the distant fire and figures.

She moves towards her aunt, fingers trembling terribly as she closes the woman's sightless eyes and gives a silent prayer. For the Reaper, not the gods. She's said similar prayers too many times in this life. She promised herself never again. These last few months have made her break so many promises to herself. What's one more?

Take me, not her.

Undoing the strap of Kathryn's sword around her hips, she does it up around her own, vowing to not let Kathryn die in vain. Too many people have already.

Alicia will do what she must. She will learn to do what she must, just as she did six years ago with a gun in her bloody grip on a cold night in the slums, the need for survival a vibrant and terrifying thing that hummed in her blood. Just as she did in the glittering palace, some demented hope for repentance held within. Just as she did for the Zalana name, for a vision that was never hers.

She doesn't look back as someone shouts. Slipping into the shadows and the trees, she abandons her fight for repentance and forgiveness. All it brought her was more suffering. She will survive because that's what Kathryn sacrificed herself for.

Alicia is an exile, there's no redemption for a soul like hers.