MISTAKES
The Workshop had always been a sanctuary for me, in my happiest or my darkest times. My family was never overly religious, but nor were most of the nobles in the South. We held on to the customs and holidays of the Nine, but they were more ceremonial than spiritual. No, my true faith was in my Carpenter training. My temple was a catacomb of rooms and buildings hidden within the belly of the Narrows. My gods were swords and staffs and bows and tonfas. My religious texts consisted of the twenty-four fighting forms, and my confessions happened in the ring.
It had been two weeks since that night by the tavern, and try as I might, I couldn’t stop seeing the guard. The blood on my sword, the sound of his body collapsing around my weapon, and the blank stare as his life escaped. If I h
