I fell quiet as I gathered my thoughts. Kross remained a silent presence at my side, calm as marble. It took me many minutes to force myself to speak.

"I was a knight. No, that's a bad place to start."

I was not so eloquent a storyteller as Emma Carreon. It took me some time to find the thread of my tale.

"I wasn't born a lord. My father was a clerk in the employ of a nobleman who controlled a rural fief in the Dales. Still is maybe, though he's got to be, oh…"

I rubbed at my chin, working out the math. "An old man, if he's still alive. I haven't been home in a lifetime." I shrugged, then leaned forward to clasp my hands over my knees. Kross remained silent, patient as trees, hanging on every word.

"I never had much of a head for numbers, or letters. Oh, my da' tried to teach me sure enough, but I was more interested in my mother's tales. She was a commoner too, worked as a seamstress in the castle. She loved talking about knights and heroes, wizards and elves. My sister and I used to listen to her for hours, sitting nearby while she wove."

I'd slipped into my homeland's accent for the first time in nearly fifteen years without realizing it. Funny, how that sort of thing sticks. Especially since my father had hated it, and tried his best to lecture it out of us. He'd been from the north, from the cities.

But my mother had raised me, and she'd had that Dalesteader lilt. Talking about her, I could almost hear the music of her voice again. I closed my eyes, listening to those memories, and smiled softly.

"I didn't have a very good impression of nobles and knights as a lad. The lord was a greedy man who resented his betters, and his country was poor. His relatives bickered, and his men-at-arms, well…" I snorted. "They'd have been a real group of bastards if they hadn't had such a terminal case of the sloth."

"The baron had bad luck with children. His eldest son was a cowardly, sickly brat. Not a good look for a Dale fiefdom — close as we are to Briarland, they value skill at arms highly in that country. As for me, well… I grew fast, and I didn't have much to say compared to the rest of my family. Always preferred listening to talking, and everyone else always has so much to say anyroad. Most people got to thinking I was simple — big lad even at thirteen, quiet all the time? You know how children can be, and adults too. To be fair, I could — can — be slow of wit."

"You were bullied?" Kross hardly seemed to believe it, looking at me with all my scars and muscle.

I scoffed. "I was mocked, sure, disregarded, ignored… but I was strong even then. I ended up training with the baron's sons at my father's recommendation, mostly so they had someone big and tough to swing at. I didn't mind much, though it's a hard thing for a boy to realize his own father thinks he's an idiot. Especially when his father's considered the smartest man in the fiefdom."

"And yet from these humble roots you became a knight?" Ser Kross studied me with searching gray eyes as though trying to see into the fabric of my story, trace its threads. "Not just a knight, but a sorcerer, the bearer of powerful artifacts, even a loremaster."

"Loremaster!" I chortled. "I know enough to understand what sort of nasty bastard wants to crack my skull, and how I can crack theirs harder. But no, I imagine Da' wouldn't think much of my learning, even now. He thought little of soldiers. Didn't stop him from trying to make me one. He was just as ambitious as the earl in his own way."

"So you became one of this feudal lord's shieldbearers?" Kross asked.

I shook my head. "Nah. Maybe I might've been, but fate, or some evil luck, had other plans."

"What happened?" Ser Kross asked when I fell silent. Perhaps he wasn't so perfectly patient after all. To be fair, I'd lapsed into a long silence several times already. I hadn't talked about any of this in…

I hadn't talked about any of this. Not ever. Not to anyone except for…

I sighed, refocusing on my thread. "Some people showed up in the fief. Refugees. One of them happened to be a queen."

"Her name was Rosanna."

The lance of nostalgia, pain, resentment, and fondness that went through me then is difficult to describe. Just uttering a name can bring back such a tide of emotions, of recollection. I'd avoided saying this one a long time, or even thinking it, knowing to do so would stab at old wounds.

If Kross noticed the tightness in my voice as I continued, he didn't comment on it.

"Her family ruled a powerful realm in the south, until her relatives banded together with other traitorous families and usurped the House. Her parents were murdered, and she had to flee her home with just a few servants. There were people hunting her, and she was desperate for allies. She ended up finding Lord Gilles Herder and his household. Not quite the court of heroes she'd been searching for, I imagine."

I smiled at the memory of that raven-haired girl striding through the dingy halls of the Herdhold like some shadowy empress, face etched with mild concern at what she saw.

"She'd fled her homeland and needed refuge. More than that, she needed champions to help her fight her uncle and cousins. Lord Gilles saw an opportunity. He wanted influence, prestige, and he had two options — turn the lost princess over to her enemies and get some meager reward, or gamble on helping her reclaim her realm and earn a spot in history. Honestly, it shocked me when the old codger chose to help her. Lias had aught to do with that."

"Lias?" Kross asked.

"The Herdhold's court magician. More than that later. I'll get to him, just… let me finish. Please."

He nodded. I took a deep breath, working to keep myself focused. I wasn't an orator, and some of these memories were most of twenty years old.

"Rose didn't have much of a pick of able companions in the Herder fief. Lord Gilles's son was no warrior, and he had few knights of any worth. So, no fellowship of heroes for this quest. Gilles Herder knew his opportunity to make something of himself would turn to dust if the princess slipped his grasp and found more competent help. Instead he, Lias, and my father cooked up a scheme. Can you guess it?"

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I met Ser Kross's eyes. He thought for a moment, then smiled. "Ah. They offered you."

"They passed me off as a Herder, aye. A bastard, to explain why I didn't commingle with my siblings too intimately. But I could fight, and that's what the refugee princess really needed. She was skeptical — Rose was never a fool — but she didn't have many options."

"And how did young Alken feel about this honor?" Ser Kross asked.

"I knew it for what it was. Whole castle might have thought of me as the head clerk's simpleton son, but I paid attention. I heard my father's conversations with the baron, listened to Li spin me a tale, and I knew what they intended, the debt they planned to hold over this teenage queenling who'd stumbled into their care."

I shook my head. "But at the time I hardly cared. All I knew was that I had an opportunity to make something of myself, to get out of that place and see the world. I believed I could be a true knight, like in my mother's stories, false pretenses or no. I could help Rosanna reclaim her throne, earn her respect, be good at something. I was already good at fighting, so why not?"

"And then?" Kross prompted me when I lapsed again.

I looked down at my hands, trying not to sink into the memories. It felt like piloting a leaking raft on tumultuous waters, to look into those depths without letting them drag me down into them.

"We won," I said in almost a whisper. "We beat them all. Rose's uncle, her cousins, the other traitors and all their soldiers, all their assassins. I won every fight, and before I knew it the girl at my side had become a young woman, and then a queen. And I became a goddamn champion."

My smile turned grim. "I had help, of course. Lias… I'd have died a hundred times over without him. Point is we did it. Somehow, I'd gone from being the commonborn son of a backwater castle clerk to the First Sword of a High House."

I closed my eyes. "It was like a dream, a'times. And a nightmare. War isn't a pretty thing no matter the stories. There were times I loved fighting — whenever I faced another champion, battled them with sword in hand in fair circumstances, I shone."

"…But Rosanna fought to keep hold of a realm at war, surrounded by enemies and opportunists, unable to trust any of her allies or courtiers, and more often than not I felt more like a butcher."

I clasped my fingers together, partly to keep the tremble from them. "And she could be ruthless, my queen. She'd seen dark things, and embraced some of that cruelty."

She had a lot in common with Emma, now I thought about it.

"They called me Rosanna's Sword, when they wanted to be pretty."

"They called me Rosanna's Headsman, when they wanted to be honest."

"And all the while I kept wanting to believe that dream — that I could be an icon of Chivalry, a knight out of some story."

"But the world is a cruel place, and House politics are a twisted, cruel business. I…"

I swallowed. "I felt alone. Rosanna had to be a leader, and Lias kept getting more lost in his art, and I kept waiting for that day when I'd wake up and find that things were as I wanted them to be. I wanted to be part of some fair court of heroes, to believe all the compromises and ugliness weren't just how things are."

Kross's eyes narrowed. "You did not gain sacred aura as a petty queen's champion."

"No." I unclasped my hands and rested them palm down on my knees, bracing myself for what came next.

"Rose had too many enemies, and a realm too wounded to keep intact alone. The Recusants were growing in power, looking for any vulnerable conquest, and her own allies were hungry for advantage. You can't believe all the assassination attempts me and Lias fouled, all the aristos and opportunists we had to cow."

I smiled. Not all those memories were bad. Sometimes, things could even be fun.

"But Rose had less and less use for an able sword at her side. She needed power. And there was one sure way for an Urnic monarch to elevate their status. There was one thing she could do that would leave all those sworn to the Faith unable to touch her."

I stared up at the window once more, meeting the silver eyes of the Heir. "Every great lord in this land has the right to nominate a champion for the Alder Table."

Ser Kross went very still. "You…" His voice had fallen into a breathy hush. "You were one of the Archon's own knights?"

I spoke through bared teeth. "Yes."

"So this sin you speak of…" Kross leaned forward, his expression grave. "It is the burning of the Blessed Country, your failure to protect it?"

I let out a bark of laughter, the sound a whip crack against the chapel walls. "If only it were just that! If only it were just that, Kross. No, simple failure wasn't my sin, not my only one anyway. All the Table shares that burden, and a burden shared can be shouldered. No, you know what my sin was?"

I stood, beginning to pace. My boots clicked on stone, echoing off the chapel walls. Kross remained seated, gray eyes following me.

"I had everything. You know what I might have been if I'd stayed home? A thug. My father's man, a brute he could loan out to the baron to intimidate farmers or guard investments. I'd been born from nothing, and I became a knight, a champion, confidant to a goring queen. I was given honors, allowed to sit at a council of the land's greatest heroes, given access to magics and secret lore usually reserved for fucking kings!"

I jabbed a finger at the window. "I was given a share of Her own damned light! And I…"

I clutched the hand to my chest, taking a deep breath to calm myself. I'd nearly been shouting.

"I was miserable. I felt so alone. I could cope when I'd been at my queen's side. She knew me, so did Lias. They were my friends, like a brother and a sister to me… but as one of the Table I felt like a fraud. I felt adrift, lost in this swirl of lore and legend and godsbedamned politics. And I had Rose's expectations on my shoulders, her whole realm's expectations. I was their ambassador, their voice to the Archon… and it scared me."

My display of emotion washed off Ser Kross as though he were a seaside cliff. He spread his hands out, still seated. "Such feelings are not uncommon, nor are they evil. Kings and emperors are often lonely, Alken."

"That's not the point." I shook my head. "That is not my sin."

"You keep toeing around it." Kross's expression and voice hardened. "Tell me, Alken. What is your sin?"

For a moment, I dipped beneath the surface of the water. A memory took me.

None of this makes any sense, Dei.

I know. I know, Alken, but you have to believe me. It is all true, and we can stop it.

I still don't understand any of this. It all sounds like madness.

…

Dei?

I didn't want to do it this way. I didn't want you to…

I remember holding her, concerned. I remember the feel of her breath on my neck as she whispered to me, her voice the barest whisper.

There's something you need to know, something I need to… I thought I had more time.

I'm here. I'm listening. Just talk to me.

I remember my confusion. My concern. I remember what she'd told me swirling in my mind, but I couldn't wrap my head around it. It was all too big. All I could do was hold her, brush her pale hair and try to decide what to do, what to believe.

Perhaps my father had been right about me. Just a fool, too slow witted to grasp what's right in front of me.

I need to show you something. You need to promise me, before I do, that you will listen. And… you have to know that I do love you. That wasn't a lie.

I remember how my blood had run cold at those words. I didn't like where they might lead, what they implied.

Everything you're telling me about the other knights, the king… how do you know all this?

I remember her gray eyes meeting mine.

…I will show you.

My pacing brought me to the holy basin in the chapel's center. It still held some blessed water, cast into silver in the moonlight. It showed me my tired face, my unkempt copper hair, the four long scars over my left eye. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the prickle of heat in the old wounds that never truly faded.

"My sin…" I turned to face Kross, meeting his steady eyes. Gray like hers, though his were darker, more like flint.

"I knew what the other knights were planning. I knew war and chaos were about to break out. I could have stopped it. And I didn't. I didn't do anything, because I believed it was all a lie."

"The Fall was my fault."

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