From the dark alley, Gall and his mother stared across the city street at the street cart. The driver was finishing hitching the horses to their harnesses. Mother’s cold fingers clamped down hard on Gall’s arm, but he kept his focus on the cart. “Be quick about it,” she whispered in his ear. With that, she let go.

Gall darted across the street as the wagon driver climbed up into his seat. The canvas-covered cart sat just twenty paces away, its rear opening within reach. The steady growl in his stomach drove him forward—three or four more steps and he’d have what he needed.

Heavy hoofbeats thundered behind him. “Make way, make way!”

A mounted guard bore down on him from the left, but Gall kept his eyes fixed on the cart’s tailgate. Just a few more steps—

“Out of the way, street rat!”

The riding crop cracked across his cheek like lightning. Pain exploded through his skull, spinning him sideways toward the wagon’s wooden side. His right hand shot out desperately as the cart lurched into motion, but his fingertips barely grazed the retreating tailgate before his footing gave way.

He crashed onto the wet cobblestones, knee striking stone with a sickening crack. A curse tore from his throat as agony blazed up his leg.

“You, boy.” The voice commanded from above. Gall opened his eyes to see a grim-faced man on horseback, armored in mail, staring down with cold contempt. A hooked nose dominated his weathered features. “Stand.”

Gall tried to rise, but his injured leg buckled beneath him. The horseman dismounted and hauled him up by his collar with an iron grip.

“Have you no sense, boy? Only a witless fool throws himself before an armed rider.”

Gall looked over his shoulder. The wagon had disappeared around the bend—his chance lost. His knee throbbed mercilessly, and even with the man’s support, the leg wouldn’t bear his weight properly.

“Can you not speak? Are you lame as well as senseless?”

His heart hammered against his ribs. “Release me. My affairs are not your concern.”

The guard’s mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “Bold words from a whelp.”

“I’ve seen twelve winters.”

“Twelve winters of folly, by the look of it. Be gone then, cur.”

The man released him, and Gall immediately collapsed back to the dirt, clutching his knee as fresh waves of pain rolled through him.

“A cripple, then.” A dagger appeared in the guard’s hand, its blade catching the afternoon light. “Perhaps I should spare the city your burden.”

“No, please!” Mother stumbled from the alley, her face pale with terror. “He seeks only food for us both.” She grasped the man’s dagger arm with shaking hands. “Show mercy, good sir. He is all that remains to me.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Where is your husband, woman?”

Mother hesitated, her gaze darting to Gall before she answered. “He fell fighting the Nagun.”

Gall’s breath caught. His father had always been a shadow, a mystery Mother refused to discuss. Now she claimed he’d died a warrior’s death? The lie came so easily to her lips that he wondered what truth she was hiding—and why.

The guard studied Mother with new interest, taking her chin in his gauntleted hand. Something unpleasant flickered in his expression. “Come with me,” he said, pulling her toward his horse.

“Wait!” Gall struggled to his feet despite the fire in his knee. “Where are you taking her?”

Without turning, the guard called back, “Stay where you are, boy. I’ll return your mother presently.”

“Mother!” He managed three hobbling steps before nearly falling again.

She looked back, her face already resigned to whatever awaited her. “I will come back to you. Stay here and wait.”

He watched helplessly as they disappeared around the same corner where his opportunity had vanished. The rumbling in his empty stomach seemed to mock him now. His gaze fell to the cobblestones, where lumps of horse dung dotted the street. A green stem protruded from one pile. Gall pulled the half-eaten apple free and wiped it as clean as he could manage. It would have to suffice.

The shadows lengthened as Gall waited, his knee stiffening with each passing hour. Merchants packed their stalls, children were called home for supper, and still Mother did not return. When the sun touched the rooftops of Tenoach, painting the narrow streets in shades of amber and red, his patience finally broke. He began limping in the direction they had gone, following a path he hoped would lead him to her.

He found her three streets away, walking slowly with her shawl pulled close about her face and shoulders. Even from a distance, he could see the careful way she moved, favoring her left side.

“Mother?” He hurried to her as quickly as his injured leg allowed. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” she replied without meeting his eyes, her voice thin as parchment.

Another lie. With trembling fingers, he pulled back the shawl that shadowed her face. Purple and pink bruises mottled her cheeks and throat. Fresh tears had carved clean tracks through the dirt on her face, and her eyes were rimmed with red.

The sight hit him like a physical blow. “What did he do to you?”

She tried to turn away, but he caught her shoulders gently. After a moment, her hand slipped inside her threadbare dress and emerged with a handful of silver coins. “He… he gave us enough to eat for several days.”

Gall stared at the money, bile rising in his throat. The coins seemed to burn in the failing light, each one marking the price of his failure. If he’d been quicker, stronger, more careful—if he hadn’t been caught—none of this would have happened. His mother’s pain, her humiliation, the defeat in her eyes—it was all his fault.

He closed her fingers over the silver and met her gaze. “Tell me his name.”

She searched his face, perhaps seeing something there that worried her. “Why must you know?”

“His name, Mother.”

A long sigh escaped her. “Ekhart. Commander of the High-King’s guard.”

The name burned itself into his memory like a brand. Someday, when he was stronger, when he was no longer the helpless boy who couldn’t even steal an apple—someday, Ekhart would answer for what he’d done.

Mother’s hand found his cheek, her touch gentle despite her own pain. “Whatever dark thoughts fill your head, cast them aside.”

He looked into her bruised face, saw the love there despite everything, and felt his heart break a little more. “Yes, Mother.”

The lie came as easily to him as hers had to her. Now he was the liar too.