*A/N: Trigger warning for this chapter here. Some graphic descriptions of violence.

"Happy birthday, dear," my mother said warmly, kissing the top of my head as she sat the small pastry in front of me. I smiled up at her in thanks but then reached for my knife and cut the treat into four pieces. I handed my mother one and then my father.

"Sixteen," Evelyn sneered. "Weren't you supposed to be married by now?"

"For that," I told her. "You don't get a piece."

And I popped the final piece into my mouth. She squealed and dove for the one remaining on my plate but I pulled it away before she could make contact, grinning crudely at her so that the puffy bread showed through my teeth.

"Girls!" my mother exclaimed, appalled by our behavior. Ever the dutiful daughter, I set my plate back down onto the table. Ever the obstinate daughter, Evelyn snatched the final bite of pastry before I could bat her away, tossing it into her open mouth and chewing it triumphantly. I rolled my eyes and pushed back from the table, standing and announcing that I wished to get a head start on the baking if Evelyn and mother were to be out all day and father and I would be alone at the shop. My mother nodded her permission and I left the kitchen, descending the stairs into the shop below.

Finding my apron on the hook by the door, I placed it over my head and got to work. I thought, not for the first time, about how fortunate I was to work in a profession in which there were opportunities to take out one's aggression. Kneading the dough was difficult work and the sticky mass could take a bit of abuse and still turn out to be the fluffiest and most pleasant bread you had ever tasted. Today was one of those days in which I took advantage of the necessity of elbow grease. And today, much like the others, it was because of my sister.

Mentioning that I was supposed to have been married. As if father's tirade concerning unkept promises were not enough to endure the night before, I had even tolerated my mother's remarks on how she had been precise in her presumption that the boy would not return. And now Evelyn thought it prudent that she provide her commentary on the matter in form of jest. I pounded the dough upon the counter in front of me, blowing a strand of hair from my face as I did.

Of course, I hadn't expected him to return. Not truly. But I had thought of him in the weeks preceding my sixteenth birthday. This was, after all, the date which had been set for our wedding within that contract signed and forgotten so long ago. I pressed harder down than I meant to while kneading and split the dough. Sighing, I reached for the rolling pin to start over.

"We're off, dear," I heard my mother's voice cooing as she entered the kitchen. I turned to see her and Evelyn, dressed in the finest clothes they owned which were still frayed at the hems by comparison. They waved eagerly at me and I nodded in response, my hands busy with my work. I watched them leave, their skirts brushing against the doorframe as they exited, and then returned to the dough.

What my mother knew was that it was unseemly to marry off a younger daughter before an elder if an arrangement was not already in place upon the younger turning sixteen. So it had become a necessity to find Evelyn a match as soon as possible so they could begin the hunt for mine. Therefore, my mother had met with a woman in town who had a son my sister's age, or perhaps a year older, and who was respectable enough to warrant a visit in an attempt to secure a match. What my mother did not know was that Evelyn already had a boy in town whom she was already quite interested in if the amount of times I had been forced to sneak from our room late at night to retrieve her from her visits with him had been any indication.

He was a soldier, stationed in Raleigh at the beginning of the war. They had built quite an encampment here on the outskirts of the village. The number of soldiers and generals nearly outnumbered the people in the town by now. My father had been pleased at first, certain that the hungry soldiers would venture into his shop and purchase some freshly baked bread with their generous royal pensions. But it seemed that the men ate what they were rationed by the King, nothing more. I would been lying if I claimed I hadn't searched for him. When the regiment first arrived, I milled about the encampment for days, wondering if the boy who had promised he would return had done so in the form of a militia. But I never saw him among the soldiers and, feeling quite as foolish as the girls who hung about the encampment for quite different reasons, I headed home and I never returned.

Since then, I had chided myself for the preposterous endeavor endlessly. Honestly, what had I been thinking? The likelihood that Oliver Ainsworth would be posted to Raleigh when hundreds of other similar encampments existed all throughout England was preposterous. And even if he had been, what was the probability that he would have been pleased to see me? Despite the ill advised promise of an unbalanced twelve year old, he clearly had no intention of returning to me. Why should he when his stent in the academy had undoubtedly risen his status beyond the bounds of even my comprehension? And, for that matter, why did I want to see him? I had taken the arrangement between us as a sentence of death to my independence. Now, I was free of that. If today came and went without the vows of nuptials between us, then as far as I was concerned our contract was null and void.

"Easy, Avery," I heard my father's voice and I turned to see that he had entered the kitchen behind me, a look of concern on his wizened face. "You'll break the granite."

"I'm sorry," I told him and I turned back to the dough, reaching over for more flour to pat it down with as it was beginning to get sticky. My father approached, taking a seat on the bench behind me and watching me work for a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly. I did not turn around.

"Of course. Why not?"

"I might have... flown off the handle last night. Your mother informs me that I did not take your feelings into consideration. As frustrated as I was, I should have realized that this would be hard on you."

"Why would it?" I asked then, finally turning to face him. I wiped my hands on my apron and stared at my father, truly curious about his answer. He didn't seem to have one. He was surprised by my cavalier manner and could do nothing but blink up at me in surprise until he regained his composure.

"We just thought that... since you had been spurned-"

"Spurned? By a twelve year old boy? Because that's what he was when I last saw him. You made an agreement between children, father. We are children no longer."

I turned back to the bread and continued my kneading. He remained in thought at my back for some time but said nothing more and eventually rose from his place to return to the shop.

Luckily, I was so busy that morning baking all of the bread by myself which I would usually bake with my mother and sister that I hardly thought anymore of Oliver Ainsworth and my father's shortsighted arrangement. I had run myself nearly ragged when my mother and sister finally entered the shop again, laughing in a display of comradery I had hardly ever seen between them before. Typically, the two women were thoroughly opposed. I wiped the sweat from my brow and then placed my hands on my hips, observing the astonishing display with reservation.

"It went well, then?" I asked, unable to contain the hint of surprise in my voice. Evelyn's laughter died immediately and she gave me a look of warning as my mother breezed into the shop, removing her bonnet as she did.

"Your sister had the man practically eating from her palm by the end of it. I've always said my daughters' beauty knows no bounds. At this rate, I'll have no trouble at all finding you both husbands. A kind young man in town was asking after you just this morning, Avery. But Evelyn, she truly put on the charm. I thought the boy ready to sign away his property by the time we left."

My mother laughed heartily at her joke and I chuckled along politely. Evelyn smiled but I could tell it did not reach her eyes. I was not surprised. I knew my sister as well as I knew myself and, after years of living in close quarters, I could tell precisely when she was being herself and when she was putting on airs. Though I had to admit, it was a wonder of a performance when she decided to make it one. I imagined the boy hadn't stood a chance.

"I'm off to change then," my mother announced, heading for the stairs. "I'll be down to help in a moment."

We nodded and bid her goodbye. The moment she was gone, the tension in my sister's shoulders released and she settled herself onto the bench that my father had previously occupied while I turned back to my work.

"How was he?" I asked, knowing that we could now have a frank conversation.

"Pox-faced and boring," she told me. "I've had better conversations with a feral alley cat."

I chuckled. "That's unfortunate. You'll find a way out of this one, I'm sure. In the meantime, I've decided what I want for my birthday."

"I thought I'd already gotten you a gift."

"What's that?"

"My sensational mood."

I laughed again and she smiled.

"Besides that," I continued. "Promise me you won't see him tonight."

She hesitated and then sighed. "Avery-"

"Eve, I've been on my feet all morning working my arse off so that you and mother could play matchmaker in town. All I want is to have a pleasant soak and go to bed early. Which I won't be able to do if I have to fetch you from his barracks which I will because you never come home when you say you will."

"I can't help it, Avery," she said, standing and walking to my side with a smile. "It's a compulsion. You wouldn't understand it, your love story failing as it did."

"My love story? You mean my contract."

She smiled. "You will come, Avery. You always do."

"I won't."

"You will."

"I'll tell mother."

"You won't."

I set my jaw and glared at her, hating that she was right. As annoyed as I was about my role in her affairs, our sisterly bond was stronger than any sort of irritation I could ever feel against her and, judging by the infuriating smile on her face, she knew it. I would keep her secrets and fight her battles always because that is what sisters did. And she would defend me in a way that ensured she was the only one ever allowed to poke fun at me as she did. It was the curse of siblings, to love someone you nearly hated.

"At least try to be home on time," I relented finally and she smiled wickedly as she made her way to the stairs, following in mother's footsteps to change out of her nice dress.

"We'll see."

My sister managed to invent some hastily conjured justification for her absence at dinner as she always did. That night it was a visit to her friend Julia's house. My mother, pleased with how social Evelyn had been as of late, approved without hesitation and my sister kissed each of our parents on the cheek before exiting the apartment, wiggling her fingers at me as she did. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and resumed dinner with my parents. My mother spent the majority of the evening telling me all about the boy who had asked after me in town. She called him handsome but when she told me his name I knew she was lying. Jack Leary. I had met him on more than one occasion as he enjoyed sitting in the tea shop across the street and watching for me as I took out the garbage every night. He was menacing and far from handsome with his acne scarred face and greasy hair. But I nodded along, smiling for my mother's benefit, and praying for this dinner to end.

Eventually, it did, and I excused myself after assisting in the cleaning. I poured myself some warm water which I had prepared earlier and relaxed into it, sighing as I submerged myself. It had been some time since I'd had a warm bath. As the youngest, I had to wait until everyone before me poured out their bath water and then I got what remained which was typically cold by the time I got to it. But on my birthday, I had first pour and I was going to make it count.

Half an hour later, I emerged feeling cleaner than I had in weeks. I pampered my skin a bit, washing my face with a bit more water in the basin, and then dressed and headed for bed, yawning and wishing my parents a good night as I did. I fell asleep in no time, feeling the exhaustion in my very bones the moment I laid down. I awoke some time later. How much later, I could not be sure. Late enough that I could not see my hands in front of my face in the dark. I laid there for a moment, blinking and allowing my eyes to adjust. I hadn't a clue how late it was but I knew that it was far past the time for my sister to have returned. I felt across the chasm between our cots and found hers empty.

Cursing under my breath, I sat up and pulled on my shoes. As I laced up my boots, I was soundlessly listing off a series of my sister's most degradable faults. Unreliable, undependable, irrational. And myself? Insane for believing that this time might be any different, foolish for knowing it wouldn't and allowing her to go anyway, and preposterously loyal for going after her. With my shoes now on, I stood upon my cot and set a hair pin into the tiny lock on the small iron cage facade. After some maneuvering, much slower in the dark than I was typically able in the day, I heard a fateful click and the lock sprung free, the ironwork beset into the opening swinging freely onto the street. I pushed myself up and through the hole, reminding myself to inform Evelyn that if I ate one more loaf of bread, she would be without her most reliable rescuer.

Panting from the effort, I emerged onto the roof. I clutched my arms tighter to my chest. It was much colder out here than in the comfortable confines of our room. I took a step, ensuring my footing, and then made my way to the trellis which I scaled to the ground. Stomping ahead, allowing my fury to lead the way, I headed in the direction of the barracks. Luckily, the one that Theodore Marlow, my sister's suitor, occupied was at the very end of the row, hardly even inside of the encampment. No one was about save for the few guards on duty and they knew me well enough by now not to ask of my intentions as I passed. In fact, they rarely asked any questions at all of young women seeking entrance into their camp, assuming, quite correctly, that they were here to visit young men. Incredibly easy it would be, then, for an enemy to send some French harlot sauntering into the camp. Our brave soldiers would welcome her with open arms. I rolled my eyes at the thought as I approached the barracks. Without any concern for those inside, I reached out and knocked hard on the door. I heard the groans inside from those truly trying to sleep and felt a twinge of remorse for them but it hardly overcame my rage.

After a moment, Evelyn opened the door, giggling. Her hand was grasping the collar of the man who followed, a wide grin spread across his youthful face. I rolled my eyes and waited for them to say their goodbyes. I could not help but glance around as they did. Evelyn and Theodore were quite affectionate around each other and they did not seem to care who witnessed said affection. I knew, because I had asked, that Evelyn and Theodore had never engaged in copulation or done anything more than a kiss here and there but a girl exiting a soldier's barracks so late at night risked ruining her reputation. It was that reason which kept me returning here late at night nearly every night to retrieve my sister. She became completely engrossed with Theodore whenever they were together and always lost track of time. But, if morning were to come and she was seen, I couldn't bear to think what it would do to her.

So I always came for her, every night, and debated all the while whether I was loyal or foolish. Having had enough of their affection for the night, I reached out and pulled my sister's sleeve. She giggled again and bid her beau goodnight as I led her away from the barracks and back toward the house. She carried on the way she always did along our walk, sighing dramatically and declaring that Theodore had the most absolutely gorgeous eyes and she simply couldn't get over them, and I carried on the way I always did, sighing in irritation and rolling my eyes at her hopeless romanticism. My feet had just begun to ache when I saw the first glimpse of our home beyond. My relief was short lived, however, as I noticed that the door to my family's shop stood strangely ajar. Evelyn noticed it as well. She stopped walking, her hands falling from where she had been gesturing in her speech and her lips parting slightly in surprise.

Forgetting the possibility that we would be in trouble if we were found out so late at night, I sprinted ahead, heart pounding, racing through the door. What I saw within my family's shop stopped me cold in my tracks. I stared at the scene before me in horror, a feeling of desperate sickness spreading through me in an instant. I turned away and retched just as I heard Evelyn reach the threshold. She shrieked so loud I thought it must have woken every man, woman, and child in town. I fell to my knees, hands shaking, breath hitching. Evelyn ran for help, screaming through the streets until she could gather an assembly. I could not move. I remained transfixed, my eyes taking in the sight before me one piece at a time as though any more would overload my brain and shut it down.

My father, just beyond the doorway, face down in a pool of his own blood. Pale, rigid, dead. A bloody handprint on the counter where he used to sell our bread. And then my mother, slumped against the kitchen door, throat slit so deeply it had nearly decapitated her, her sleep dress soaked in blood. I felt the sickness again and turned away. That was when I saw it. Written in blood on the opposite wall were the words Pay Your Dues. I turned back when I heard the footsteps approaching behind me. A few men I recognized from town burst through the doors in their pajamas. The cobbler was one of them and the butcher another. How fitting. I heard Evelyn sobbing behind me and turned to see her standing in the doorway. A woman from town, the blacksmith's wife I believed, gathered her in her arms and turned her away from the grisly scene. But I could not look away. I just watched as they covered my parents' bodies and hauled them out of their own shop. I looked down at my hands which had been resting upon the floorboards and saw their blood stained upon them. It was then that the tears came. And they did not stop.

A week later, Evelyn and I had hardly left the apartment above our family shop, resorting to eating rotten vegetables on more than one occasion just so that we did not have to go anywhere. We had hardly spoken as well, both of us, it seemed, having quite lost the will to live. Where life had once been joyous albeit monotonous, now there was only despair. We sat at dinner and stared at their empty seats. We glanced to the stairs from time to time as though they taunted us to descend and return to where the madness had been. We both knew that eventually we would have to venture down into the shop again but neither of us broached the topic for discussion and neither of us wanted to be the one to do it.

People from the village had been stopping by periodically, bringing what little they could to give us as if it were some recompense for the loss of our parents. We hadn't answered the door. Not once. Because the door was in the shop and neither of us could return to the shop. But our rations were dwindling and we knew that sooner rather than later we would have to face the horror below.

It was on the eighth day of our confinement when there came a knock, not on the shop door below, but on the door to our apartment. Evelyn and I looked at each other, wide eyed and frantic. Someone would have had to have entered the shop and climbed the stairs to the residence above to reach us here. Pulling my gaze away first, I made my way slowly to the door. I reached out to open it but, before I could, a piece of parchment was slipped through the crack underneath and emerged right at my toes. Brows knitted in curiosity, I knelt to inspect it. It was a note, folded in half with an untidy scrawl across the side. To the Hastings Sisters.
Evelyn was at my shoulder now. I exchanged a glance with her before I opened the note and read what was inside.

I will not tell you my name. It is unnecessary. I am certain, by now, you have gotten my message. Your parents borrowed a large sum of money from me quite a few years ago. As you have probably surmised, they have not paid it back. With interest, the sum comes to about one thousand pounds. Due to their untimely demise, the debt now advances to you. I am sure that you fully understand my stern warning and the gravity of your situation. But I can understand that you are two young, uneducated, and unmarried women who might find it difficult to find employment. So, I would be willing to set you on a monthly installment plan of ten pounds a month. You will drop this due, and any correspondance you wish to have with me, at the statue in the town square on the first of every month beginning in April. I look forward to working with you. Do not make me resort to such depravity again.

By the time I finished reading, my hands were shaking. My sister was just as horrified as I was. She gaped at the note in my hands and then turned her gaze to me.

"One thousand pounds?" she repeated. "That's impossible."

"They were murdered," I said aloud, coming to the understanding as I said it. "For money."

"What are we going to do?" she queried, panic setting in. "If we don't pay them, they'll kill us too."

"I-I don't know," I stuttered, finding my way to the table and sitting down. I felt like I might pass out if I remained standing any longer. Evelyn wrung her hands and paced in front of me. Her nervous energy only served to heighten my anxiety.

"We only know how to bake bread," she was saying. "We have no other skills. Well, we have skills but none that transfer into employment. We could sell the shop. But I don't imagine the gruesome murder of our parents doing much to help with the property values. Oh, if only my sense of style and your knack for sneaking around undetected could get us jobs."

My head snapped up at her words and I remembered the thought I had had only a week ago as I entered easily into an English military barracks.

"Maybe it can," I said then, so quietly I thought she hadn't heard me. But her pacing stopped and she turned to look at me, brows furrowing in confusion. I leapt to my feet. "I think I know where I can find a job. I'll return as soon as I can, alright? Just- just stay here."

Then I was running from the room, down the stairs, and out through the back door. I went on as fast as my feet could carry me until the barracks was in sight. I did not have time to consider my plan at any length. My desperation drove me onward and my fright stilled my thoughts. The soldiers who stood on guard normally did not stir themselves at the appearance of a young woman but apparently one approaching at a dead sprint was a cause for concern. They stood straighter, the one on the left reaching for his sword.

"Your General," I spat as I approached them, panting from the run. "I want to speak to your general."

"Pardon?" the one on the right asked, his lips curled into an amused smile. "Who are you?"

"Avery?" I recognized the voice calling my name in an instant. After all, it had only been a week since I had last heard it. I clung to the hope Theodore Marlow provided as I rushed forward to him.

"Theodore," I gasped. "Please. I need to speak with your general."

"The general? Why?"

"I have a proposition for him."

"Oh, Avery..."

"Not that sort of proposition!" I shouted, slapping him on the shoulder. He winced and touched his shoulder with the other hand. He began to argue with me but I stopped him with pleading. "Theodore, please. It's important."

I gazed into his eyes and watched his stony soldier's countenance break in the presence of a damsel in distress. He glanced at the soldiers standing guard behind us and then nodded. Without another word, he led me through the camp. Soldiers turned their heads as we passed, a few of them even whistled. Theodore's targeted glares did nothing to silence them and I could see why. Compared to the other men milling about the encampment, my sister's suitor was not an impressive specimen. Still, I remained closely at his side as I did not particularly care for the way his fellow comrades were eying me.

Theodore led me across a wide expanse of grass to a smaller bunker set atop a hill. I would not call it a bunker, per say, it looked more like some poor peasant's house which they had commandeered. That supposition only strengthened when we were let inside and I got my first glimpse of the general as he sat in what clearly used to be a kitchen. He was seated at a simple wooden table on a simple wooden chair, eyes darting over the contents of a document held deftly in his hands, lips set into a frown at whatever grim news he was receiving. He did not so much as flinch when we entered. I assumed he was not aware of our presence but then, after a few tense minutes, he spoke.

"Who is this you've brought me, Marlow?" the general barked all of a sudden. Theodore jumped. I did not. The general's voice was as commanding as I imagined a general's voice had need of being. Deep and stern, a tone to match his disposition. He looked up in an irritated fashion and Theodore stumbled forward.

"I- um, well, Sir. This is Avery Hastings. She said that she had need to speak with you," Theodore told him, stuttering all the while. So this was to be my introduction. More timid than I would have hoped. The General gazed around the tremoring boy to me and I met that gaze easily with my own. He did not intimidate me because he did not control me. And besides, if I were to ask of him what I were about to ask of him, showing weakness would not bolster my case.

"And you bring every girl who seeks audience with a military commander directly to his door?"

"No, sir. Of course not but-"

"What does she want?"

"I don't-"

"Excuse me," I interjected then, having had quite enough of being spoken about as though I wasn't in the room. "She can speak for herself if you don't mind. Now, sir, I know that your position demands respect and I will show you all that you are due. But you must allow me to plead my case first."

He looked me over then, dark eyes roving over me from head to toe. I stood straight, strong, silent and waited for him to complete his examination. He looked at me as a man looks at a bug he is near to squash. He looked at me as though I were no more worthy of his precious time than excrement on the sole of his shoe. In that expression, I lost hope. I felt sure that he would send me away without so much as entertaining my plight. But when he spoke, it was to Theodore.

"Leave us," he ordered and the boy did without so much as another glance in my direction. But he was not the only one who left. The general's guards left us as well, shutting the door behind them as they did so that I was completely alone with this prominent man. He set down the documents and crossed one leg over the other as he gazed back up at me. "Tell me, girl, what issue of yours could possibly be so important that it commands immediate seizure of my time? By the looks of you, you're no more than a peasant. What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"I have been into this encampment practically every night since it was erected. Not once have the soldiers guarding your gates asked me who I was or what I wanted," I told him then. He narrowed his eyes.

"Girls your age come and go at all hours," he waved off dismissively, turning back to his documents. "I don't want what you're offering."

"That's not what I'm offering," I snapped, hearing the rage in my own voice. When had I become so angry? He looked up at me again. "This is one English camp of how many? How many young girls slip into how many English camps every night? I understand the reasons behind it. You can't withhold certain pleasures from your men. But what I ask you to consider is, if the English, the greatest army in the world, are allowing unquestioned young girls into their camps every night, wouldn't you say the French are too?"

Finally, he understood my meaning. His head jerked up from his papers and he stared straight ahead as though looking at something behind me. But I could tell that he was simply putting together the implications of my observation. I did not give him time to reason it all out himself. I plunged ahead.

"The intelligence you collect is restricted if you use only men. Not just men but soldiers trained in one type of thinking. Your enemies interrogate the men seeking entry to their camps and their courts. They suspect men. They ignore women. So, if you wanted reconnaissance that was truly profitable, you would consider a woman as your agent."

"Are you offering yourself for the post?" he asked then, shocked.

"I am."

He laughed at that and I felt my cheeks flame.

"You? You're a peasant girl. We would have need of someone capable of remaining undetected, someone skilled in stealth."

I smiled and leaned forward. "Precisely."