The Secrets We Keep

Episode 12: The Price of Defiance

As we walked through the Veil district, the dirt roads were cloaked with an unusual stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. There were no Mongrels walking about today, and the air seemed thick with unease. Anxiety gnawed at us, settling deep in our bones.

I glanced at Cyrus and Serf Seraphiel, their expressions mirroring my own confusion.

Where is everyone?

Serf Seraphiel quickened his pace, his eyes sharply scanning our surroundings with utmost caution. We had all been quieter than usual since we left No Man's Land, our thoughts weighing heavy with the burden of what transpired with the Remnants. He didn't need to remind us of the danger– if any King's Guards caught wind of our intentions, the consequences would be severe.

Our steps grew more deliberate as we neared Josiah's home, every sound or movement scrutinized with a paranoia that bordered desperation. When we knocked, the silence that greeted us was unsettling.

"Josiah," Serf Seraphiel called out, his voice low but urgent. "Josiah, I'm coming in."

Dust stirred as he pushed open the door, particles of it dancing in the dim light. The room was cold, a dirty blouse stained with blood lying discarded on the floor. Suddenly, a faint grunt echoed from down the hall and we rushed towards the sound.

Our friend was slumped in the bathtub, the water tainted red, and his trousers still clinging to his legs. The sight of him brought a tight knot into my chest.

"My goodness," Serf Seraphiel breathed out, his face paling. "What's happened?"

Josiah sat up roughly, wincing as the struggling movement aggravated the raw, angry welts on his back. His skin was pallid, and his wet hair clung to his forehead. "T-the King's Guards... enforcing new p-punishments," he rasped.

The words hit me like a blow. No wonder the entire Veil District had retreated into their homes. Fear had driven them into hiding.

"Which one did this to you?" I whispered, my blood boiling.

"Gorvyn," Josiah replied, grimacing as he shifted. "Twenty-five lashings– It's a new punishment that King Varek blessed off on for use of our magic and such."

"You used magic?" Serf Seraphiel asked.

"No," Josiah muttered. "I stole s-some bread from the King's district while I w-was working there. My wages have been short– I needed to feed my family."

"Where are your wife and daughter now?" I asked, a growing unease gnawing at me. The house was unnervingly quiet.

"They're being questioned."

A heavy silence fell over us, the weight of those words settling heavily. We all understood the implications. My heart clenched at the thought of his family enduring the cruel interrogations.

Guilt must be eating him alive right now.

"Why is the Captain of the King's Guard enforcing the punishments himself?" Cyrus asked, his tone full of disbelief. "Shouldn't he be delegating that to his subordinates?"

"He wanted to do it himself," Josiah said with a hollow smile. "That bastard is a true sadist."

Cyrus grabbed a towel, his movements brisk and efficient as he approached our friend. He started to wipe the blood off his back, but Josiah let out a sharp intake of breath from the pain.

"Alright, fuck this," Cy said angrily. "I'm going to heal you."

Josiah jerked forward, turning his head around to meet Cyrus's eyes with a desperate intensity. "Don't. The guard's will notice that I've been healed and it'll only bring more trouble for whoever helped me."