A cold wind flutters through Gudgeon Docks so early in the morning, forcing me to pull my gambeson tighter around my body. As if I could. The buttons reach my throat and tighten my airways already; the next best thing I can do is put on another coat to keep myself from freezing. Even the wool-lined gloves on my hands aren't enough to keep away the most difficult weather of the year.

Today is pairday. A few days out of the year, Ocanthio grants us the ability to work with another member of the docks, whether someone in the same line of work or another entirely. Chaska and I quickly grabbed a large iron tub and scurried over to the edge of the docks. She grips tightly onto the rusted handle and tucks her chin into the fur-lined coat I managed to snatch from the palace—included in my own selection.

The slide of fish hitting the deck from nets thumps against the side of ships. Crewmen call out, shouting orders to their fellow fishermen or to us, the cleaners, who wait by impatiently. The sooner we start cleaning fish, the warmer it'll become. Tearing a fish apart, piece by piece, isn't exactly the easiest chore.

I glance down the line of shuffling cleaners and others I don't recognize, searching underneath the awnings of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. Most of them are foreman offices, but the cooper's workshop and the dispensary for brewed goods are the most-esteemed locations out of many in this village. Their wares are not what I search.

Rylan had already left by the time I woke, my arms tucked underneath my bare body. His clothes were gone, as was a set of light armor and a familiar sword I've cleaned on many days after long work hours. No breakfast, no kiss goodbye—nothing. I immediately woke with regret, wondering whether I did something wrong, but my heart is fulfilled. The longing withered away, only to be replaced with something much worse. Guilt.

I could've visited my family instead of distracting myself with Rylan. Our flame has withered and died, leaving only a release that happens months separate of each other. Not to say our intimacy is terrible, but I can say I've had better with the same man.

He's not here. I turn back around, trying to hide my disappointment, but Chaska catches onto my flat frown. "What's wrong?" she questions. Her eyes widen. "They're not coming for you today, are you? Not on pair day, I—"

"Chaska, that's not it," I interrupt. "I was just seeing if Rylan was anywhere nearby."

She scrunches up her nose in hatred. "Did you two fight last night?"

I rock back and forth on my heels, staring at the ground to avoid her sweltering gaze. "Not exactly."

"Step up, step up!" a fisherman with two missing front teeth shouts, waving us over. The grey spindled hairs on his head stick out in all directions except towards the top. A sheen of bald catches the morning sun drifting higher into the sky. Like the many that spend the majority of their days on the ocean waters, the skin of his face is cracked and withered from years of work and worry underneath the sun and surrounded only by mead and saltwater. He resembles the leather bindings of a dusty book.

Chaska and I ease our empty trough onto the wooden dock. The fishermen hardly notice our presence. They dump herring, cod, turbot, and plaice without regard for neatness. Wrapping my fingers around gills and through the lip of many fish, I place them back in the trough from where they slid out, like butter, onto the docks.

"On with ya," the old fisherman declares, batting us away like flies.

We combine our strength and lift, using both our hands to grip the handles and scurry away with close, too calculated steps. The line of cleaners waiting for their selection steps aside to allow us a clear route of passage, but Eligius does not provide the same luxury. The same thought runs through Chaska's mind and she eases the trough full of sloshing fish onto the deck, brushing off her gloves onto her coat until she realizes exactly where it comes from.

Eligius eyes the sweat beading on my brow. The gambeson suddenly becomes stuffy and too tight. Quickly, it tries to adapt to the growing sweat underneath my arms, but the tight and thick fabric is not a magic worker. "Need some help, ladies?" he questions, arching a furry brow.

Being in the capital made me forget how much I despise his sinwolf presence. How Rylan can get along with someone so determined to ruin the lives of others baffles me.

"I think we can handle it, Eligius," I say. Chaska nods, silently agreeing.

"Nonsense. I'd love to help, especially since you haven't pulled your weight around here in, what is it? A month, total?" He shifts his feet, nearly rocking back and forth like a wooden horse on curved boards.

"Maybe you shouldn't have revealed to the entire village that I'm a healer," I contest. "Then I wouldn't miss a month's time. Then again, Ocanthio doesn't have any issue with me disappearing two weeks out of the month, so you shouldn't either."

A dry, hardly true laugh escapes from his lips, huffing his chest. "I'm only trying to get under your skin, Rithorne. Come, allow me to help."

Before I can protest, he grabs onto the handle, nearly shoving me aside. Eligius does nothing without expecting something in return, so as I glare, I move to the other side and help Chaska lift. We carry the trough to the cleaners' tables and deposit it underneath, Eligius wiping the slosh of fish scales from his thick, padded gloves.

He squints towards the boats and ships lining the docks. "Everyone shows up for pair day," he muses. Moving to the other side of the table, he provides ample room for us to organize our knives, as well as accommodate space for each other.

"It's the most productive day of all," Chaska says. I reach back, tying her apron, and she does the same for me. Eligius's eyes dart between the two of us, questioning something I cannot place. "Working with a partner often results in more production."

"Until you two start gossiping, that is."

I narrow my eyes. "We don't gossip. You of all people should know that."

"Really?" Eligius tucks his fingers underneath the lip of his silver chest plate. The leather straps wrap around his shoulders and extend to the back plate, clasping tight around his waist. A tunic shrouded in chain mail pokes out from underneath, as does a leather belt tied around his hips—adorned with a coin purse and too many knives for me to count with only one look. "Of course, I'm assuming you haven't shared the faintest of a whisper about your time at the palace. Or in Rootbeak Wastes with the prince himself."

Chaska's stare snaps over to me, her wide curls swaying around her head. My mouth tightens. "You talked to Rylan." Not a question, a statement of fact.

"This morning—at the tavern. He told me all about your little adventure with the Panjandrum Corps." Eligius makes a show of looking me over, then clicks his tongue in what I assume to be disappointment. "It's a shame that serpent didn't drag you to the bottom of the Void Queen's river."

He smiles, a crescent of white. If there's one thing Eligius is good at, it's getting underneath my skin. And so quickly. Before I realize my gut is pooling with rage and the Luminary within is attempting to soothe what threatens to break open, I'm simmering. No one makes me consider murder like he does.

"We have work to do, Eligius," Chaska intercepts, giving my arm a quick pinch to thread the rage into hiding. "Marie has to return to the palace in a matter of days. She doesn't have time to deal with your presence."

"It's a shame, you know. How your brother can't take care of himself anymore." He braces his palms flat onto the table, in no way heading in another direction. No, he wants something out of this encounter. Whether his throat slit or for me to jump across the table and claw at his eyes—that has yet to come to light. Eligius chuckles darkly. "Rylan said he's not even a man anymore. Can you believe that, Marie? His sister has to do everything for him."

My body goes numb; rigid. White knuckles wrap around the filleting knife, my nails digging into the wood of the table. Castiel is a man, Castiel is not weak, Castiel is the same person he was before the Void Queen took everything from him.

Eligius waits with bated breath, surveying whether or not I'll attack.

"You don't speak about him that way."

The words don't come from me, nor Eligius. They escape Chaska's lips, through her clenched fangs. A fire rages in her face. Her cheeks flush, her eyes thin, and her mouth tightens into a threatening sneer. Around us, fishermen continue to fill troughs and buckets—cleaners start on the work they were supposed to begin hours before the sun rose.

I don't feel the cold anymore. An icy-hot fume spreads across my ribcage and centers on the cracked rib and hint of wounds. Immortal bodies heal quickly, but threats spewed by others do not glance off as easily.

"He is my brother," Chaska growls. I stand up straighter at that declaration. "I will break your bones before you speak another ill word of my brother."

"That's a threat." Eligius matches her deep, menacing tone with ease. He comes around the table, towering over both of us in height and mass. "Threats are treason, Chaska. I suggest you take care of the lies you spew. Guards always take the word of others rather than a lowly, poor citizen."

He flicks her nose. That's all it takes. Chaska lashes out, shoving her palms against his chest—stronger than what she appears to be. She's using her Luminary force. Eligius stumbles, eyes wide in shock, and he lunges for her, threatening to grab onto her coat. Instead of a firm grip, his touch glances off and nearly falls to the knife on the table if not for a quick recovery.

All he can manage is shoving back against her shoulders. A sinwolf's strength is not matched by other beasts, especially not Chaska. She falls back, crashing into me, and I brace my hands underneath her arms to steady her. "You are filth!" she shouts.

A glimmer of steel flashes in my peripheral vision and I turn towards it. Stepping out from underneath the awning of the smokehouse, his hands shoved in his pockets, Rylan watches us. And makes no move to help, nor approach.

"Do something!" I demand, but he remains where he is. Eligius catches on, realizing that it's not just us and the cleaners anymore. He takes two steps back, breaking himself away from Chaska still lodged in my grip. Both to keep her from attacking and from passing out in case an overwhelming presence of adrenaline takes over.

"Watch where you step," Eligius whispers. Again, he grins, sickening me to my stomach. Sauntering down the street, he kicks a rusted can and launches it into the softly crashing waves against the side of the docks.

"Wait here," I demand, nearly pushing Chaska off to get to Rylan. He stands as still as a statue as I approach. Like he's trying to hide from me. "You weren't going to do anything?" I gesture back towards Chaska and our abandoned trough of squiggling fish.

"Eligius is not my responsibility," he says. He's lying. I know Rylan well enough to understand the quirks of his false truths—the way he squints into the distance like he spots something more interesting than the conversation at hand. I've become very well versed in what he doesn't want to share, rather than what he does. "If Chaska stepped out of line—"

"She did no such thing. It's him that constantly tries to get in the way of our work." Backing away, I add, "You are responsible for him, by the way. Also, I won't be sharing anything else with you about what happens while I'm away. If you plan to alert the entire village, then it's not worth it."

He rolls his eyes. "Marie—"

"No, I'm done." I expose my palms to him. "For a second, I considered believing Eligius when he told me what you said about Castiel not being a man. I mean, that's not the worst thing you've done, is it?" Shifting my weight to one hip, I look him up and down. "Unless you plan on telling me how wrong I am."

His chest rises and falls in a deep, losing sigh. The ocean holds all the answers, everything he wishes to escape to, so that's where his attention falls. I scoff.

"I should've never married you, Rylan." My voice slowly raises, higher and higher, so everyone in Gudgeon Village will hear my declaration. The cleaners have gone silent, as have the fishermen. I catch Ocanthio out of the corner of my eye, silently threatening me not to do it. Don't speak out of turn. These fishermen have beaten a woman for much less. I hammer the final nail into his coffin. "You should be six feet under."

That awakens him from whatever hole he dragged himself into. He gives a glare meant to singe hair and forces himself towards me, stopping just short of stomping me into the ground. "You do not speak to me that way, not in front of all these people."

Out of instinct to remain decent, a flush of embarrassment crawls up my neck and settles in my cheeks, burning my underarms. I keep my stare locked on his. To think I ever loved this man, ever let him touch me...if I wasn't guilty about last night, I certainly am now. Rylan will never have me again, I will never break down my walls to let him through. I build them back up from the crack he tore through the night before, slipping past undetected to get what he really wanted. Because that's all he has ever longed for. Not to love me, but to claim me as his own.

I should've seen it from the beginning. I should've monitored the red flags of his behavior—the pouting when I tried to leave, the anger when I asked for something or did something without his permission. Too stupid. I was too stupid to realize these things, and I'm paying for it now. This is truly all my fault.

For the sake of Castiel's life, I drown the rage. Backing away from Rylan, I grab onto Chaska's arm. I find Ocanthio's eye throughout the frozen crowd, and he jerks his chin towards the thick of the village, instructing me to go home and take Chaska with me. I'm not safe here, not anymore. Anyone with a brain can notice that.

As I pass Rylan again, my hand clutched tightly in Chaska's, I whisper my final piece. "Since you're so fond of sharing my experiences in Rootbeak Wastes, go there yourself. Alone. See how well you fare, and I hope, more than anything, that you don't return."

His pale nostrils flare, but he won't make a scene. Even if the situation deems it acceptable, Rylan carries himself higher than that. I think back to Gustus's warning, how a man can turn into an angered beast at any moment.

"Come," I urge Chaska, tugging her along. "We need to get to Theoden's."

She doesn't disobey. The glint of tears speckles her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. This isn't the end of our struggles, and it's hardly the beginning. My entire body shakes with fear, and then, the realization that I stood up for myself without question. Back at the palace, Cloak is slowly healing. Maybe I'm doing the same.