Walking further and further away from Priscilla, Kavil was feeling very, very uncomfortable, barely breathing because the smell of blood was so strong it was nauseating. Even though Kavil tried his best, he still needed to breathe, the smell permeated into the ground and wouldn't let him forget that he was willingly walking deeper into the camp of cannibals. The piles of bones were hard to look away from, not when Kavil's mind couldn't help recognizing that the humerus bone he spotted couldn't have come from an adult.

Kavil's stomach was rolling, threatening to rebel but he forced it into compliance with a pulse of healing magic. Whatever nausea remained was purely psychological, and not much could be done about that.

Sulaiman kept a firm hand on Kavil's elbow, which kept Kavil at his side as they followed Beowulf walking towards the prisoners. The prisoners were coated in a layer of mud and there was a defeated set to their shoulders, like they saw no way out of their situation. A few had dirty pieces of clothing wrapped around their limbs as if they were injured, and Kavil itched to examine them and heal them. One glanced up as they approached, but when Kavil met the woman's eyes, she flinched and looked away, as if she was afraid of him.

Kavil swallowed hard, fighting to keep a straight face as he looked at the ground.

Priscilla had been able to lie so easily, been able to fool everyone and Kavil could barely manage to keep his mouth shut. Kavil had never been very good at acting, his auntie told him that he was too honest to be good at it, but, still, he resented being the person who was most likely to say the wrong thing or make the wrong face and have Beowulf start attacking them again.

Priscilla dazzled every audience she stood before, charming anyone who she set her sights on, even the cannibal who saw humans as nothing more than cattle. Even Sulaiman was better at acting than Kavil, his face was a picture perfect example of neutrality, like a porcelain doll's that watched over the proceedings without batting an eye.

Next to the two of them, it was hard to not feel inadequate, like Kavil was the weakest link. If only he could shut his emotions off like Sulaiman or twist his face into a true smile like Priscilla, if he could even come close to their skills, maybe Kavil wouldn't feel so useless.

They arrived near the cannibal's followers, and Kavil tried not to flinch when they looked at him. They all held spears and Kavil knew what dried blood looked like, crusty and flakey on the blades of their spears. The ground below the prisoners was stained a dark red, sending a horrible vision of the followers using those spears on the villagers and then forcing them to sleep upon the ground where they watched someone be slaughtered.

"Her Glory wants you all to make these two feel welcomed," Beowulf said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as he placed a hand on his hip. The large man seemed impatient, foot tapping as if every moment he spent in their presence was a moment wasted. "This one's Lala, that's Vivi. They're our guests, though until Raven gets back, I don't know how long they'll be sticking around. Keep an eye on them and get them settled in until then."

"Got it, Wolf," a short man said, stepping forward to bare his teeth in a grin at Beowulf, who gave him a sharp nod. He had what looked like a coyote pelt draped across his shoulders, though he lacked the designs that Beowulf had on his chest.

The short man cocked his head as he looked at Kavil, as if confused, but before Kavil figured out how he should respond, what sort of face he should make, Sulaiman had stepped forward, angling his body so Kavil stood slightly behind him.

Kavil clenched his fists as he stared at Sulaiman's large armored back.

It was back again, the pesky emotion that had dominated Kavil's thoughts, curling around like strangling ivy, refusing to shrink away even as Kavil tried to focus on anything else.

Shame.

Shame burned within Kavil's chest like an ember that refused to snuff out, ever since they had been attacked by the wolves earlier, pulsing with every step Kavil took and couldn't contribute.

Kavil had been so useless in the battle, his priorities skewed because he was no good at fighting, and his inexperience ended up with Priscilla getting hurt. Kavil hated seeing people in pain, and the way that Priscilla cried in pain was a sound that he wasn't going to be able to forget for a long time, not when he knew it was his fault, no matter what Sulaiman or Priscilla said.

It was a simple fact: Kavil was weak, and because of that weakness, he dragged everyone else down.

When Beowulf had looked at Kavil with derision, like he was debating about killing him there because he sensed that weakness, Kavil had frozen like the rabbit he was compared to because every instinct within him screamed that this man was dangerous, so dangerous that Kavil wouldn't last a moment in a fight against him. But Priscilla didn't miss a beat, easily drawing the dangerous man's attention away to protect Kavil, and kept Beowulf entertained expertly like the pied piper leading the monster away from the city.

And now Sulaiman was putting himself in front of Kavil without a second thought, shielding Kavil at the first hint that someone might target him.

Kavil hated being weak, hated that Priscilla and Sulaiman felt the need to protect him constantly all because of Kavil's own inadequacy. He had been resistant to learning how to fight, but the world didn't care if Kavil liked hurting others or not – their enemies didn't care that Kavil didn't know how to wield a sword, didn't care that Kavil felt sick at the thought of spilling blood himself because it went against everything that Kavil had been raised with, didn't care that Kavil still had nightmares about accidentally killing the moose in the forest.

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He hated how, even now, a part of him rebelled at the thought that he might cause other pain.

"Your kindness is your strength," Aunt Jeroinin said when Kavil cried as he buried a baby bird who died when it fell from the nest, cupping his face and wiping his tears. Kavil hadn't felt very strong because he couldn't do anything to save the bird, but Aunt Jeroinin echoed her words, leaning forward to press a kiss upon his brow.

"Never let the world steal it from you," Aunt Jeroinin had whispered fiercely.

"Vivi," Sulaiman said, jostling Kavil out of his thoughts with a tight squeeze to his elbow.

Kavil blinked a few times, smiling nervously as he tried to seem like he had been paying attention.

Everyone was staring at him, though it seemed that Beowulf had wandered off to walk around the perimeter while Kavil was distracted in his self-hatred. The other followers had stepped closer, forming a half circle around them.

"I was just telling these folks of the tea you sometimes make while we're traveling," Sulaiman said, staring down at Kavil with an unreadable expression.

Kavil had no idea what Sulaiman was talking about, frowning slightly as his mind raced. He'd never made tea before, and, in all honesty, Kavil didn't even like tea all that much. He preferred strong flavors and while oversteeped tea was strong, it did not taste good.

"Remember?" Sulaiman said insistently, eyes boring into Kavil's as if he was trying to convey his meaning directly into Kavil's mind. "Right before we entered the Emerald Forest? Scylla insisted you make it for her. Do you have anything stronger to share with our new… friends? I'm sure they haven't had any luxuries in a while."

Kavil went still, eyes going wide as he realized what Sulaiman was suggesting in a roundabout manner.

It wasn't tea Sulaiman was talking about, it was poison.

Sulaiman wanted Kavil to poison these people, but unlike the controlled experiment with Priscilla, Kavil wouldn't be healing those he poisoned.

Sulaiman was asking if Kavil would kill for him when he asked for a stronger poison than a paralytic.

If Kavil's hands weren't already clenched into fists, they'd be shaking.

Could Kavil truly do this?

Could he serve poison with a smile?

What would Aunt Jeroinin think of him if he did?

"If you're up to making some for us," the short man with a coyote pelt said, oblivious to Kavil's inner turmoil, "we'd sure appreciate it. We haven't been able to enjoy civilization since we last raided that little town at the edge of the fens."

Light chuckling went through the crowd as someone joked, "It's not like we stayed there very long after Her Glory was done putting fear in their hearts."

If these followers had been coerced into following The Starving One, perhaps Kavil might have wavered, but the reminder of what these people had done, the children they had helped torture, that was what made Kavil's will harden into steel.

Channeling his best impression of Priscilla, Kavil smiled, asking, "Does anyone have something to act as a teapot? I'll get the leaves ready while you do that."

The short man, who seemed to be the ringleader of these followers, barked at someone to go get a pot, and Kavil pulled out his pouch of herbs, fingers shaking as he pulled the drawstring loose.

This was the last chance for Kavil to change his mind.

He could choose the herb he had given Priscilla to put everyone to sleep, despite Sulaiman asking for something stronger or…

He could choose two herbs that, when taken together, would cause irregular heartbeats before inducing total organ failure, beginning with the heart, then the lungs, then the brain. His aunt had warned him never to mix the two herbs because the patient would die within ten minutes of ingesting it. One of the herbs was bland, but the other was sweet enough that it could pass for tea, a bud that was meant to entice animals and then have them die upon their roots.

"When you put your life on the line," Priscilla had said, "your enemies will do the same and often only one of you will end up walking away from the battle."

And Kavil planned on walking out these fens on his own two feet with Priscilla and Sulaiman, and Holly and Illnyea, and all of the prisoners who were cowering nearby, yearning for salvation yet not daring to hope lest they have it beaten out.

Perhaps this wasn't the path that his aunt would want for Kavil, perhaps she'd never look at him the same again, but Kavil was resolute.

He wouldn't die here.

Even if it went against the ideals that his aunt so painstakingly instilled in him, Kavil couldn't hesitate, not when the lives of those he cared for was at stake.

Being a killer couldn't be that bad, not when Sulaiman and Priscilla were too – they had killed the bandits who came for Kavil's village, and they hadn't hesitated.

It was better than being weak, only good for being protected and coddled.

Kavil pulled out his entire stock of the two herbs because he didn't want to risk it not being potent enough when it was diluted.

Sulaiman hadn't looked away from Kavil while he messed with the herbs, not once, and his stare was a physical weight against Kavil's neck.

Kavil only met the other man's eyes when he had no other excuse to avoid it.

Sulaiman's strong brow was furrowed and his gaze was intense, black eyes burning with an emotion that Kavil couldn't parse, not when Kavil could barely keep his mind off what he was about to do.

"Thank you," Sulaiman whispered, his words just barely loud enough for Kavil to hear. But even though they were said softly, there was an apologetic graveness to Sulaiman's voice that almost brought tears to Kavil's eyes.

But Kavil took a deep breath in and gave Sulaiman a wobbly smile.

"There's no need to thank me," Kavil whispered.

Please don't thank me for killing a man.

"Got the pot!" one of the followers said and Kavil turned away from Sulaiman. Another follower produced a water flask and filled the pot.

"Get a fire started and you'll have tea in a few minutes," Kavil lied as sweetly as he could.

The followers let out an excited cheer that made Kavil's stomach churn.

But he stayed focused as he let the herbs fall into the pot and slowly stirred it around the slowly heating water. Kavil refused to be the reason why their cover was blown.

He tried to make himself feel better by telling himself that he was giving the followers a kinder death than the one they'd find at the other end of Sulaiman's burning blade.

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