Page 32 of Ballad of Nightmares

Sam looked up at the rest of the windows—six more left to uncover. “We are a few years late on rotating this one,” he muttered, hands on his hips. “Remember the cathedral in the back?”

“Forgot about that,” Rolfe replied. “We should look at it next. I miss all the stained windows.”

Sam recalled them. The black wings and roses. The story of the last war written in art. “You did a good job on those,” he told his friend.

Rolfe waved him off. “Never doing glasswork again,” he said. “That was the extent of my physical labor artistry. I’ll stick to skin mutilation from now on.”

“That is the worst way to describe tattoos,” Sam said.

“What?” Rolfe asked, and the genuine frown on Rolfe’s face made Sam shake his head.

“Nothing,” Sam chuckled. He jerked his chin in the direction of the next window. “Let’s get this one.”

They moved their ladders over and over to each window, revealing the rest of the room in grey light as they did, and by the time they got to the last one, they heard someone shouting through the halls. The pair exchanged a quick glance before Rolfe began shouting back.

“You better’ve brought lunch,” Rolfe called out.

They were taking down the last curtain when Millie came around the corner and slapped a bag on the grand table. She sputtered and waved her hand in front of her face as the dust crested before them.

“Fuck all,” she mumbled. “Is there a reason you’re rotating rooms today?”

Sam shrugged as he jumped down from the ladder and dusted off his hands. “Why not?”

Rolfe landed with a thud that shook the dust off the ground and into the air again. He went straight for the bag Millie had tossed on the table and started rummaging through it. Millie slid her arms across her chest and looked at Sam.

“You didn’t feed the pup?” she asked.

“He’s hit his four-hour limit,” Sam replied. “You’re late today,” he added with a jerk of his chin. “Everything okay?”

Millie sighed but shook her head. “Nothing to worry about,” she told him.

“Her girlfriend didn’t call her back last night,” Rolfe said through a full mouth of food.

Millie punched him in the stomach, making Rolfe sputter up his sandwich, and he growled at her, baring his teeth when she smiled.

“I’ll have you know I woke up to her pretty tongue exploring all the right places this morning,”Millie countered. “What did you wake up to? Your hand cupping your balls?”

“You know he wakes up in hound form, Mills,” Sam interjected. “Probably licking his balls instead.”

“That was just the once,” Rolfe said quickly.

“Right,” Sam smirked. He noted the tiredness in Millie’s eyes despite her purposeful play, and he considered her again. “Really, Mills. What’s bothering you?” he asked again.

She let loose a heavier sigh this time and hugged her arms around her chest. “Damien called in the middle of the night,” she said. “He’s hearing reports about a possible attack on the Spine.”

Damien was a demon legion commander in the Spine and Millie’s closest spy. Sam trusted him as much as he trusted the two in front of him, though Damien had, on the rare occasion, blown things out of proportion.

“An attack… from Firemoor?” Sam asked.

The Spine was supposed to be the only neutral territory after the split. It divided the continent directly down the middle, meant as a space where there would be no war, no poverty. A space for trading and growing foods for the entire continent without agenda. Only equality and safety, as people continued to think Shadowmyer was full of the wretched monsters that would take your soul in your sleep. Some people feared that, though the stories grew, and the realities of Shadowmyer showed itself as the true neutral place after a few centuries.

Kings of the Spine had stayed true to the agreement for four centuries, but once the last two found themselves in power and their greed got the better of them, they began treating their citizens like Firemoor. Cleansing the poor, the supernatural, the misunderstood. Those people had worshipped Deianira’s name in the street after she took the last king off the throne and took care of any offspring and wives. And those same people had taken it upon themselves to come out of hiding and help their fellow neighbors when the smoke cleared.

Perhaps that was a good enough reason for Firemoor to strike the small territory. Not to mention having that land to station troops for Ironmyer and Shadowmyer.

“Firemoor, yes,” Millie said, and Sam watched her as he reached into the food bag and propped himself up on the table. He could see the apparent worry in her eyes, though he wasn’t sure how to help her.

“Are you sure he’s not being overly dramatic? Perhaps paranoid?” Sam asked before chomping on a fry.