Does he know I know? Petyr wondered.

  In a way, his father had to. Ever since he’d come and brought up knowing that he was called Squeezer by Anders, the old man showed signs of cracking.

  Once they’d gone into the kitchen and started cooking, Petyr considered bringing it up more directly; but it was at that same moment that Alis wandered in breathlessly after being gone all day, expressing her joy at finding Petyr unharmed and her frustration over being made to worry for so long.

  "Where were you exactly?" she asked, pulling up a seat to join him in peeling potatoes.

  The question made his father wake up to that fact as well. “That’s right, Petyr,” said Gregory, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. He adjusted his glasses. “You never said where you were last night.”

  Not the best moment to bring up being kidnapped by Avesta, is it? In a way, it might've been best to be upfront about the whole thing. In a good world, he could just give Gregory all the details and invite Avesta to join them for a good long talk. Everyone could--

  “Petyr!” Alis, who had been looking at him, gasped.

  She pushed his hair aside and checked out his ear, where the bottom part of the earlobe had been sliced off. “Petyr!” she repeated, inflection rising, this time the concern replaced with anger as she saw the exact damage, as she realized he was a little less now than last she saw him, literally. “What happened to you?! You… Petyr! What happened?”

  Before he could answer, she was up on her feet and racing upstairs to get something for it. Gregory wandered closer to get a look, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Who bit you?”

  Who? Sneaky old bastard, thought Petyr. He could hardly suppress the smirk coming on. “Just an accident.”

  Alis ran back into the kitchen and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him after her. “Come, come. Come with me at once!”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  They headed out on the porch, where she proceeded to wash the spot, rub it with disinfectant, and then applied some more of that nasty black stuff she'd put on the bump on his head. A bump. Ah, how much simpler that was...

  “How does this keep happening to you?” Alis demanded with a sigh, and smacked his chest playfully.

  Beyond the indignity of being handled like a baby, Petyr realized Avesta herself might be secretly watching the display from afar and blushed from the humiliation of it. “I'm not as well liked as I thought.”

  "What happens next time? Do you come home without an arm?”

  “It’s just… two unhappy accidents. That’s all.”

  “Was this that damned oni again? Tell me, Petyr. I’m going to smack the color off of her.”

  No, he almost said; but then, what other way could he explain it? “No, of course not,” he said, in a hesitant way that made it sound like a yes.

  Mora could take the blame. Why not? Better than to explain it was some crazed wannabe hot Soverni assassin who was some sort of princess.

  “I knew it! Those damned oni are savages. I told you that back home my great-uncle used to have one as a slave. Some lazy, good for nothing. Kept trying to run away with the silverware. Probably spent more time looking for it than they ever got work out of it. One day my great-uncle got so mad that when he found the slave, instead of bringing it home, he just beat its face in.”

  It? Petyr wondered, a bit taken aback by the level of indifference given the warm soul it was coming from. It sounded grim. As bad as Mora could be, he couldn’t imagine beating her dead or taking her as a slave.

  Then, out of nowhere, Alis grabbed him by the arms and made him look into her sweet brown face and deep, loving eyes. “Petyr. Is something wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

  “Wrong?" He laughed it off. "Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “Ever since you came night the back before last, you’ve been acting so strange… And then I heard about Jayne’s death… You two kids weren’t involved in anything, were you?”

  He clicked his tongue and shook her off. “I barely knew her, Alis. You know that.”

  “Because I need to know. I may not be your mother, but also… I kind of am. So, you know.”

  If his real mother would’ve been anywhere as detached as his father, then Alis was already more of a parent than both combined. “I’m fine. Really. And don’t say that. You know you mean everything to me.”

  He almost cringed saying those words, but her genuine smile made it worth it every time. “I know. You’re an arrogant little brat, but you’re still mine. Come on. Let’s see about this dinner. I don’t trust your father with cooking anything.”