Chapter 3

Prospective pipers must prepare for the challenge years before they come of age. Though it's acceptable to complete the challenge as many times as needed to become a piper, it is generally frowned upon by legacy families. Practice can include anything from combat training to muscle strengthening, but it is always necessary to practice in some format. A piper cannot complete his or her challenge without preparing for it.

-A History of Pipers; A.A. Wesen

"There's a rat in the house," Father snarls, throwing an apple at the wall. It shatters, making a mess I'll have to clean up when he storms out. War hasn't been going his way this month, and we've all felt his frustration. Apparently, the rival kingdom has their own war piper and now the war has gone on for months. Two war pipers of the same caliber means a stalemate and both kings aren't happy. He has yet to convince his king to pay Finnian for his services, to have two pipers instead of one. The king thinks he's already paid and should therefore be guaranteed a win. He expects Finnian to work for free, but Father has refused thus far.

This is why I don't want to be a war piper. Nothing but petty squabbles over a few plots of land. It's pointless.

"It's cold outside," Finley comments. "The thing is probably trying to find some warmth."

"I don't care," Father says. "It needs to die."

I continue cleaning the floor where I scrub, trying my best to get up the mud prints Finnian left behind. The asshole never wipes his boots and I'm always left to clean it up.

"Aren't you supposed to be practicing?" Finley asks me suddenly, and I look up from where I clean before my eyes flicker over to Father.

"I'm supposed to be cleaning," I answer softly, continuing to scrub so it doesn't look like I'm not doing my job.

Finley frowns and glances at Father for an answer.

"There's no use of him practicing," Father surprisingly answers despite never giving answers for anything. "He'll be a comedy piper. That's clear. He's better suited here, scrubbing the floors."

He kicks my bucket and splashes the suds out onto me. I do my best not to react despite my desire to scowl. Instead, I scrub harder, trying to get the boot print up. If I don't, Father will beat me. And I can't afford any injuries. Not right now. Not with my challenge only four months away.

Finley's eyes dance over to me with pity. It's the most emotion I've seen directed at me since before her challenge, but I don't need her pity. I can handle things myself.

"His challenge is in a few months," she says. "Perhaps I can?—"

"You'll leave him be," Father snaps. "He has to clean. And Fenwick?" I look up and he glares. "Get rid of the rat before I get back home."

He throws on his coat and leaves, heading off to a war that can't be won. Silence falls around us that's only broken up by the sound of my brush bristles against the floor.

"You're still practicing, aren't you?"

I look up at Finley where she sits watching me. She looks older now, as if being a greed piper has aged her quickly.

"Why does it matter?" I ask.

"You should still be practicing, Fenwick," she says softly. It's the first time she's used my real name in years, and it shocks me into silence. "No matter what Father says. You'll still take the challenge."

I straighten. "Why are you being nice?"

"I'm not," she growls. "It's just a warning."

"I'm your brother?—"

"You're only my brother if you pass the challenge, and then only if you get a good pipe. Father won't allow it otherwise." Her eyes flash, golden like Mother's. Finnian got Father's. Only I have both. "For your sake, I hope you get a war piper."

"You think I can?"

She hesitates and it's the only answer I need. No, she doesn't think I'll be a war piper. I know I don't fit the profile, but it still hurts.

"Just keep practicing," she says. "I can't help you. You can only help yourself."

She stands, and because she has an image to uphold, she kicks my wash bucket over, spilling soapy water all over the floor. But she throws another lingering look at me, so full of pity, it does nothing but anger me.

I don't need a warning. I don't need her help.

I don't need anyone at all.

* * *

I pull the stick back and click it into place. I only have a few hours to catch the rat eating its way through Father's favorite apples. I'm not allowed to touch the apples in the barrel, but the one he threw against the wall tastes so sweet it nearly makes me cry when I eat the mutilated pieces up off the floor. I don't care if it's been nibbled by a rat. We're all hungry beasts.

I set the trap out, one that won't kill it. My plan is to catch it and take it out into the woods. If it's far away, it can't hurt things here, and I won't have to watch it die. No creature should be punished for the crime of being small.

I set the trap and continue with my cleaning. When I hear it snap fifteen minutes later, I excitedly rush over to it only to find the trap empty.

"Strange," I muse, leaning down to study it. "Maybe the trap is faulty."

I reset it and leave it again. Twenty minutes later, the same thing happens, the trap empty while the food is gone, and I scowl. This time, I know my trap didn't fail. I'd set it up right and the food doesn't disappear on its own.

I turn in a circle and spy a small face looking out at me from beneath the cabinet. The rat is brown and white, pretty, but those eyes hold an intelligence I've never seen in a rodent before.

"You clever rat, you," I say, watching it. "Let's see if you like this."

I build two more traps and load them with bits of an apple. Father will punish me for the missing fruit, but if I catch the rat, I can at least say I did that. I load each trap and make sure there's no way to spring it without getting locked inside.

Failure. Each one. Not a single trap catches the rat. I try at least a dozen times to catch her only for her to spring the trap and take the food every time. She's clearly too smart to capture. I don't even know how she's outsmarting me. When I set the trap and hover just through the doorway, watching, she doesn't come out and act until I've grown bored and look away. I never see how she does it.

Finally, I sit down in the center of the room, frustrated because I know Father will punish me for my failure. If I can't catch this rat, he'll beat me until I bleed, and I'll be forced to take a break from my practicing. It'll put me back too far when my challenge is so close.

I drop my head in my hands, distraught and tempted to cry, but when a soft squeak echoes before me, I peek open my eyes. The rat carefully steps out of the shadows from the cabinet, her eyes on me. She takes a step forward, and another, watching me carefully for any threats.

"You are I are much the same, friend," I tell her with a sigh. "But at least you're not trapped here. At least you can leave."

The rat inches closer, her whiskers twitching.

"You're quite clever, you know that?" I ask. "I've never seen a rat outsmart that last trap. You must have so much experience evading traps. That, or you're not a rat at all."

The rat takes another step closer, staring at me with intelligent eyes, as if she understands me.

"I don't think you should be punished for trying to survive," I tell her. "But my father, he'll kill you if he catches you. And he'll punish me for not catching you."

I reach into my pocket for a piece of bread I'd been saving for later. This one, I dug out of the trash when Mother had gotten rid of them. I get the leftovers, always, and though I'm already small-boned, it keeps me from growing any stronger. I never quite get enough food. I have to steal what I can. But I can share this with her. She's earned it for outsmarting me.

I pick off the mold that has started to grow and leave only the shiny white piece.

"Sorry, this isn't better," I murmur, holding it out to her. "It's all I have."

She looks up at me and finally comes all the way over and climbs up on my lap. She takes the bread and starts nibbling at it and there's this moment that passes between us, this understanding. We are the same, her and I.

"Could you do me a favor?" I ask. "If you go somewhere else to eat, I'll make sure to bring you food every day. That way you get food, and I don't get Father's fist."

She looks at me, and for a second, I smile, amused that I'm taking to a rat. And then she nods her head at my question. There's no mistaking the movement. My eyes widen in surprise.

"You can understand me?" I rasp.

Another nod.

Excitement fills me and I gently stroke my fingers down her head, petting her. "What do I call you, oh clever one?" I ask.

Gisellewhispers in my mind.

I grin. "It's very nice to meet you, Giselle. You can call me Fenwick."

I know, piper. I know exactly what you are.

"What does that mean?" I ask with a frown, but she doesn't answer. She just munches her bread, an ordinary rat.

Or not so ordinary at all, it seems.