The left side of my face had stopped being mine. It was a mask of skin stretched over bone that no longer knew how to hold the shape. I touched the cheekbone. It was cold. It was hard. It was not flesh. It was stone. I was in the infirmary. The stone walls smelled of wet wool and rust.

Captain Thorne stood by the window. He held a lantern. The light caught the dust. It danced. It did not settle.

"Walk," he said.

I walked. My legs were heavy. They dragged on the flagstones. I felt the pain in my jaw. It was a dull ache. It was constant. It was part of the air now.

"Again," Thorne said.

I walked. I walked until my breath came in short, sharp gasps. The sound of my own breathing filled the room. It was loud. It was ugly.

Thorne watched me. He did not blink. His eyes were flat. They were like chips of slate.

"Stop."

I stopped. I leaned against the wall. I waited.

"Your face," he said. He pointed a finger. The finger was pale. The finger was thin. "It is changing."

I touched the cheek again. The skin was tight. It pulled at the corners of my mouth. I tried to smile. I could not. The muscles did not move. They were dead.

"It will not change," I said. My voice was rough. It scraped against the silence. "It is healing."

"Is it?" Thorne asked. He stepped closer. The lantern swung. The shadows lengthened. "Or is it leaving?"

I did not answer. I looked at the floor. The stones were grey. They were cold. I felt a chill in my gut. It was not from the room. It was from inside.

"We are out of gold," Thorne said. He turned away. He looked at the window. The night outside was black. The stars were invisible. "The King sends no more. The roads are closed. The bandits are everywhere. We are alone."

"We have the men," I said. "We have the duty."

"Duty does not feed men," Thorne said. "Duty does not buy bandages. Duty does not keep the fire burning. We are starving, Elias. Slowly. But surely."

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I clenched them into fists. The nails dug into the palms. The pain was sharp. It was real.

"Then we eat less," I said.

"We eat nothing," Thorne said. "There is nothing left. I have checked the stores. The sacks are empty. The barrels are dry."

He turned to face me. His face was tight. His jaw was set.

"I am to send you back," he said.

The words hit me. They were heavy. They were solid. They landed in my chest and stayed there.

"Back?" I said.

"To the village. To your mother. To the farm. You are wounded. You are useless. You cannot march. You cannot fight. You cannot even hold your face in shape."

"I can fight," I said.

"You cannot walk," Thorne said. "You saw that. You dragged your feet. You were slow. You are a burden."

I stared at him. I wanted to speak. The words were in my throat. They were stuck. They were hard. They would not come out.

"Is that an order?" I asked.

"It is a necessity," Thorne said. "I cannot leave you here to die. I cannot take you with us. We move at dawn. If you are not gone, you will be left behind. And if you are left behind, you will be killed. By the bandits. Or by the cold. Or by the rats."

"I will not go," I said.

"You will go," Thorne said. "I will have the guard escort you. You will be in the cart. You will be wrapped in blankets. You will be safe. Or as safe as anyone can be in this war."

"I will not go," I said again. My voice was low. It was dangerous. "I will not leave the company. I will not leave you."

Thorne sighed. It was a long breath. It was tired. It was old.

"Elias," he said. "You are delirious. The fever is in your head. You do not know what you are saying."

"I know exactly what I am saying."

"Then you do not know what you are losing."

He stepped toward me. He held out the lantern. He pointed the light at my face. I flinched. The light was too bright. It burned my eyes.

"Look at yourself," he said.

I looked into the small mirror he held up. I saw the mask. I saw the stone. I saw the thing that was not me.

"It is ugly," he said. "It is wrong. It is not human. Do you see it? Do you see what it has become?"

I looked at the mirror. I saw the hollow eyes. I saw the slack mouth. I saw the fear. I saw the end.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Then go," Thorne said. "Save yourself. Save what is left of you. Leave us to our fate. It is not your fate. It never was."

I closed my eyes. I felt the tears. They were hot. They ran down the stone cheeks. They did not soak in. They rolled off. They fell to the floor.

"I am with you," I said.

Thorne laughed. It was a dry sound. It was like dead leaves skittering on the ground.

"You are with me," he repeated. "In death? In starvation? In the dark?"

"In everything."

He shook his head. He lowered the lantern. The room went dark again. Only the moonlight from the window remained. It was silver. It was cold.

"Then I am sorry," he said. "I am sorry, Elias. I am sorry for you. But I am not sorry for the company. The company comes first. It has always come first."

He walked to the door. He opened it. The night rushed in. It was loud. It was full of wind.

"Go," he said. "Before I change my mind. Before I make it harder for you. Go."

I did not move. I stood by the wall. I felt the cold seep into my bones. I felt the hunger in my belly. It was a hollow ache. It was a void.

"Go!" he shouted.

I moved. I stepped toward the door. My legs obeyed. My mind did not. I felt a tearing sensation. It was inside me. It was in my chest.

I reached the door. I stopped. I looked back at Thorne. He stood in the shadows. He was silent. He was still.

"Thorne," I said.

He did not turn.

"Who sent the message?" I asked.

He turned then. Slowly. His face was unreadable.

"What message?"

"The one that said I was wounded. The one that said I could not walk. The one that said I was useless."

Thorne said nothing.

"Was it the King?" I asked.

"No."

"Was it the council?"

"No."

"Who was it?"

Thorne looked at me. His eyes were wet. I had never seen him wet. I had never seen him break.

"It was me," he said.

The words hung in the air. They were heavy. They were final.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you were a distraction," Thorne said. "Because you were soft. Because you cared about the men. Because you slowed us down. Because you were a burden. And because..."

He stopped. He swallowed.

"And because I was afraid," he said. "I was afraid that if you stayed, I would have to follow you. I would have to be like you. I would have to care. And I cannot care. I cannot afford to care. I have to survive. I have to lead. I have to be stone."

"I am stone," I said.

"You are not," Thorne said. "You are the only thing in this camp that is not stone. And that is why you have to go."

I looked at my hand. I looked at the dirt under the nails. I looked at the blood.

"I will not go," I said.

Thorne raised his hand. He held a dagger. It was short. It was sharp.

"Then I will have no choice," he said.

I looked at the dagger. I looked at Thorne. I saw the fear in his eyes. I saw the pain. I saw the man he used to be.

I did not raise my hand. I did not draw my weapon. I stood still. I stood open.

"Kill me," I said.

Thorne trembled. His hand shook. The dagger wavered.

"No," he said. "I cannot kill you. I cannot kill the man who is still human. I cannot kill the mirror."

He lowered the dagger. He dropped it. It clattered on the stone floor. The sound was sharp. It was clear.

"Go," he whispered. "Go before I lose my nerve. Go before I become what you see in that mirror. Go."

I turned. I walked to the door. I stepped out into the night. The wind hit me. It was cold. It was sharp. It cut through my tunic. It cut through my skin.

I walked. I did not look back. I walked toward the village. I walked toward the farm. I walked toward the end.

I walked until my legs gave out. I fell to my knees. I stayed there. The stars appeared. They were bright. They were cold. They were indifferent.

I looked at my face in the reflection of a puddle. The stone was still there. The mask was still there. But it was not me. It was never me.

I closed my eyes. I felt the peace. It was quiet. It was deep. It was mine.

I waited for the dark. I waited for the end. I waited for the release.

The wind moaned. The night was silent. I was alone. I was free. I was done.