Neither of us gets any sleep that night.

We trade ideas for several hours, until Tomsu comes in to tell us they’re going to bed and that we need to come inside if we don’t want to sleep in the barn. I curl up on a bedroll in the main room between Mjera and her grandmother—their house doesn’t have bedrooms—and spend the rest of the night hand signing with Mjera in the firelight. By the time morning dawns, I am exhausted and aching to sleep.

But we have a plan.

Aaste insists on feeding me breakfast before I go, so I accept a bowl of creamy skyr, oats, and dried fruit. Arun is quiet during the meal, keeping his eyes on his bowl while Tomsu asks about Tenant Gryfalkr and the other soldiers. I give him as little information as I can, trying to reassure Arun, Aaste, and Sariruuse without giving away our plan.

I stand to help clean up when we’ve finished, but Mjera declines my offer to help with her morning chores. “You have plenty to prepare,” she reminds me. “Go. I’ll see you tonight.”

She’s right, so I don’t argue; I simply thank Aaste for the meal and hurry into town. The bag Aze packed has everything I need, which means I can avoid Bronhold and his promise to walk me to work this morning. I’ll have to make sure I thank Aze for this thoughtfulness when I get home.

Especially since I’m going to make things more difficult for him tomorrow.

When I enter the Kynstett, I find thirty soldiers still asleep on their cots and bedrolls in the hall. Fryr Edlan is there as well, and he waves me over before I can avoid him. “Go help Fraen Hessa at the inn,” he tells me with his hands, his eyes never leaving the soldiers. “The men will need something to eat.”

“How are they paying for the meals?” I sign, knowing Fraen Hessa will have the same question.

Edlan scowls. “Tenant Gryfalkr says they will not be paying. Eating what’s left of our winter supplies is apparently their due for protecting us.”

Then he must have come to town already. If the tenant were nearby at this moment, I would tell him exactly what I think of his protection.

But there’s nothing for it—my preparations will have to wait. I bring Fraen Hessa the news and endure her storm-violet fury, wishing all the time Edlan had sent Hallis instead. “They do not pay for their rooms,” she rages, gesturing violently with the knife she was using to slice bread. “They do not pay for their meals. What good are they?”

I try not to be impatient with her, but it’s hard not to grudge the time I’m losing. “I’m as frustrated as you are, Fraen,” I say when she pauses for breath. “But the men from Norwikk have done nothing wrong. They, at least, deserve to eat.”

The pinched expression on her face eases. “Yes,” she says. “I suppose they do.”

She says nothing else on the subject except to direct me around the kitchen as we prepare the meals. When the first of the soldiers trickle in, she even apologizes for yelling at me.

“It’s no trouble, Fraen,” I say. “We are all upset.”

She gives my arm a squeeze and sends me out into the common room with a tray filled with barley porridge and bread. I serve the men wordlessly, and they accept the food without thanks. On my third trip from the kitchen, I find Tenant Gryfalkr shepherding the last of his men into the room, pausing to count the group before taking a seat at an empty table near the door.

Perhaps the morning won’t be a waste after all. If I can’t prepare my supplies, at least I might get some information. I make my way to him, setting down bowls as I go, and place the last on the table in front of him.

He looks up at me and smiles. “Fraela Solln. Fryr’s apprentice, shepherdess, and tavern maid. Is there anything you don’t do?”

“It’s a small village, Tenant. We all help out where we can.”

“So I see.”

I set my empty tray on the table and take a seat opposite him. “I have some questions,” I begin, folding my hands in my lap. “And it’s only fair you answer them, since you will not be paying for your meal.”

The corners of his lips twitch up in a way I might have found attractive if I wasn’t so angry. “Fair enough,” he says. “What are your questions?”

“How many other villages have you gone to for men?”

“Me personally?” he asks. “This is the fourth.”

“How many men have you taken in total?”

He pauses. “Perhaps five hundred.”

“How do you know how many men each village can offer?”

“We use records from the last census,” he says. “Each village is required to submit one to the capital every ten years.”

“And how many years ago was the last census taken?” I press. “What if the numbers are no longer accurate?”

I know the answer to this already, having helped the fryrs count the families a few years ago when we were given notice of the census order. Tenant Gryfalkr tilts his head, his eyes turning up toward the ceiling as he thinks. “I believe four years ago,” he answers after a moment. “The records are not exact, but they’re close enough to the numbers we need.”

Then they have no way of knowing that Mjera’s father will still be on the record. I stand, picking up the tray and looking down at the tenant. “Your men are welcome to whatever they would like to drink,” I say in a cool voice. “As long as they pay for it. Food is one thing, but you can’t bully us into giving you free ale.”

“Wait,” the tenant says.

I stop, but he doesn’t speak. His gaze roves over my face and settles at the scar peeking past the collar of my shirt. I pull my scarf back up to cover it. “What?”

“You’re wearing gloves,” he says.

“It’s winter.”

“But you wear them inside.”

“Many apothecaries wear gloves,” I say. “We often handle poisonous plants, and it’s better not to let them come in contact with the skin.”

He rubs his chin as if considering my words, then gestures for me to sit. “Have you eaten?”

I blow an impatient breath through my nose. “I have work to do, and joining you would keep me from it.”

“Many girls would be flattered by a tenant’s attention,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“Then go and find one of them to bother.”

A short laugh bursts from his lips. “Very well, then, the truth. My rank often creates distance between me and other people. It can be… lonely. And I find you easy to talk to.”

Something like pity stirs at the bright, vulnerable red in his words, but my irritation swallows it back up. “Then why do this?”

“Do what?”

“Be a tenant,” I say. “A soldier. You admit that what you’re doing is unfair, that you wish you could change it, that you’re unhappy with the consequences of your rank—why not just do something else?”

“It’s not so easy to change the course of a life,” he says.

“It is for a man,” I say, unable to keep the scowl off my face. “Every path is open to you. You can be whatever you want, go wherever you want, do whatever you want. Any limitations you have are the ones you accept for yourself.”

The tenant leans forward, his chin tipped up to look at me. “And what would you do,” he says softly. “If these paths were open to you?”

I meet his gaze without flinching. “Everything.”

His eyes stay on me, as blue as his voice, as unreadable as a storm. When he doesn’t speak, I pull the empty tray against my chest and turn away. “If you’ll excuse me.”

His fingers brush my arm, but he doesn’t stop me. “You’ll be returning to your home tonight?”

“Yes.”

He sets his hand on the table. “I will find my own way back, then, so you needn’t wait for me. Thank you, Fraela Solln.”

***

When I return to the Kynstett, I go in through a side entrance to avoid being sent on another errand. The wooden frame shrinks during the winter, preventing the door from latching properly. I have to dig some of the drifted snow out from around the doorjamb before I can coax it open, proving it’s had even less use than I’d thought. A swirl of loose snow dusts the floor as I squeeze inside and drag the door closed behind me, pitching the entryway into darkness.

Finally, I am alone.

I rip off my glove and send a pulse of energy to my fingertips, savoring the rising wave of heat and power that swells up my throat. “Fire,” I whisper.

The taste of cinnamon crackles over my tongue, and I lick my lips reflexively. Golden light flutters to life in my palm, and a tiny flame sparks up in its wake. It barely warms my skin, fed by the energy I siphon to it. As long as I focus on channeling the power, it can’t burn me.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I relish in the silence and my secret little light before making my way through the stone hallway. There shouldn’t be anyone else in these halls, but I keep my free hand ready to cup around my fire in case I run into anyone. The fryrs are most likely in their studies, or else convening with Edlan about what we will do with so many men missing. There will have to be a support system set up for the families who will be most affected, and the fryrs love nothing more than to organize and plan.

At last the light from a window appears ahead, and I cut off my connection to the fire and watch it wisp into smoke. By the natural light, I find my way to the storeroom where Fryr Edlan dries his herbs.

The door is unlocked, so I ease it open and step inside the familiar little room. A long wooden table with two chairs stands beneath strings of hanging herbs, each clump labeled in Edlan’s scrawling hand. Behind the table, a wall of shelves holds the salves, tinctures, and powders along with the extra tools Edlan keeps in storage. I pick my way through the supplies, filling my bag with vials and jars. I have a few salves at home that I will add as well, along with bandages and a pair of scissors, a sewing kit... what else? I wish I’d been able to write down the list Mjera and I discussed last night—or was it this morning?—but I’ll have to make do with what I can remember.

Oak galls. Can’t forget the oak galls. I add a jar of the plant growths to my bag and retreat down the hallway to the side door. Carefully, I tuck my bag into the shadows where no one will stumble on it, then hurry back to the main hall to finish the day’s chores.

***

As evening descends on my valley, I make my way from the side door of the Kynstett with my bag hanging from one shoulder. I worked longer than necessary tonight, finishing every task Edlan might need over the next week, and hating that I don’t have time to do more. Mjera will go to him tomorrow to deliver the letter I’ve written, thanking him for his guidance and discretion over the years, but it isn’t enough. I wish I could give him a real goodbye.

A pit settles in my stomach as I turn my back on the tower. The village streets are empty, and the buildings stand like silent sentries in the lengthening shadows. Most of the villagers are already home, gathering for one last night with their loved ones. I keep my eyes on the ground before my feet and make a list of the things I still need to pack.

Three sets of fresh footprints precede me to my door. Tenant Gryfalkr must have found his way back, then, and Papa and Aze have returned with the sheep. I push open the door, hiding my bulky bag behind my arm. “Aze?” I say, anticipating his presence in the main room. “I need to—”

I freeze mid-step. “Good evening, dearest,” says Bronhold, pushing back the chair he’d been sitting on and shooting to his feet. Aze and Tenant Gryfalkr look up as I enter but keep their seats at the table, sitting side by side across from Bronhold. Mama must be in the study, and Papa in the barn or still with the herd, which means it falls on me as the eldest to act as hostess.

“Bronhold,” I say in a deflated voice, closing the door behind me. “What can we do for you?”

A wide smile spreads across Bronhold’s face. “I came to speak to you,” he says. “I wanted to ensure your confidence in our future before I leave tomorrow.”

I take a breath to relax my shoulders. “You have so much to worry about tonight. There was no need to come all this way.”

“And to help you gather your things,” Bronhold goes on. “I have already cleared out my room to make space for you.”

My eyes dart to Tenant Gryfalkr, then back to my betrothed. “We should speak in private.”

“There’s no need,” Bronhold says cheerfully. “The tenant and I are acquainted, and Aze will soon be my brother. You can speak freely in front of them.”

“Very well.” I curl my fingers at my sides, rubbing the smooth fabric of my gloves. “I can’t marry you. Whatever our parents have agreed, I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time, but if you’d spoken to me first, I—”

To my mingled surprise and frustration, Bronhold turns to Aze and laughs. “She’s so spirited!” he says. “Most men think of an outspoken wife as a curse, but I find it endearing.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not standing right here,” I snap. “This is as much my decision as it is yours, and I will not consent.”

“Listen to her,” Aze says quietly, frowning at Bronhold. “You don’t know how stubborn she is. If she says she won’t marry you, then it isn’t going to happen.”

Bronhold claps a heavy hand on Aze’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. She will come to love me as I love her once I return. I only came to soothe her—” He stops and smiles indulgently at me. “Your fears, because I don’t want you to worry about your future.” His eyes bore into mine, large and pale and earnest. “I will be a good husband. You have nothing to fear.”

“You should go,” I say.

His smile never wavers as he turns to Tenant Gryfalkr and makes a clumsy salute. “I am grateful for the opportunity to serve,” he says. The tenant inclines his head, and Bronhold turns back to me.

“One more thing,” he says. The smile fades slightly, and a streak of deep blue cuts through his words. “I know you must be worried, so I swear to you that I will watch over Aze. When we go into battle, I will protect him with my life. You have my word.”

His sincerity softens some of my irritation. “That’s kind of you,” I say. “I know you will make some other girl very happy. But I can’t accept—”

“I will do this for you,” he interrupts, reaching for my hand. “Whatever your feelings may be. My promise is not reliant on your acceptance.”

My mouth opens, but I can’t think of anything to say. It would be grand and romantic, I suppose, coming from someone else—or directed to someone else. “Bronhold,” I manage, but he only shakes his head and moves past me to the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells Aze, who nods in response. Then he smiles at me again, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and brushes past me into the night.

Aze watches him go, a smile twisting up one side of his face. “He really isn’t so bad,” he says.

“Then you can marry him.” I sweep past the table, hoping the darkness will hide the flush of embarrassment and frustration on my face.

Aze jumps to his feet and follows me to the loft ladder. “You shouldn’t be so harsh with him,” he says quietly. “He means well.”

“Except that he won’t listen to me, constantly ignores my wishes, and treats me as though I’m incapable of thinking for myself.”

“Except that.”

“Whatever else he may be, I could never love him for that.”

“Who else is there?” Aze asks. “And who will be left after tomorrow?”

“I don’t have to marry.”

“Well,” Aze shrugs. “You’re not living with me when I return from the war.”

“Where are you going to live? You have a house I don’t know about?”

“Father said I am to have the lower pastureland when I return,” he says.

“Then you are welcome to it,” I say, setting my hands on the ladder. “I don’t have to live with you, either. I can take care of myself.”

Aze furrows his dark brows. “I never said you couldn’t.”

I sigh, turning back to face him. Despite the Ielic traits he inherited from Mama, he looks so much like a fully grown Saani man, bred for hardship and perseverance. I have always had Mama’s short stature, and as I measure my brother’s height against mine, doubt worms through me.

How can I ever hope to pull this off?

“Do you really want to be a soldier?” I whisper.

His eyes dart toward the tenant, who again waits in patient, willful ignorance of our conversation. “Yes. That is, I want to go. I already know how to fight, so being a soldier makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“What about the sheep?” I ask. “Don’t you like being a shepherd?”

Aze hitches one shoulder. “I do. But I can always come back to that when the war is over.”

And if you don’t? I can’t voice the thought, no matter how sharply it stings my tongue. I don’t want to think about it—especially since I’m about to take the same risk. I could die just as easily. Somehow, that possibility hadn’t occurred to me until now. I’ll try to enlist as a healer rather than a soldier, but anyone on a battlefield faces danger. How can I lecture Aze on his lack of caution when the same unreasonable feeling of immunity has blinded me?

The firelight throws a golden gloss over Aze’s black hair, making the flash of his teeth stand out even brighter as he smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says, patting my arm. “I’ll be careful.”

Yes. I’ll make sure of that.

I elbow him in the ribs and nod back to the table. “Go back to the tenant. I’ll be back down in a moment.”

He goes, and I climb into the loft to pack.

When Papa returns, we sit down to a meal that is mostly comprised of last night’s leftovers. Mama baked a new loaf of bread to replace the one we finished last night, and she asks me to brew a pot of pine tea after supper, but otherwise it is nearly identical. Papa speaks of his time as a sailor, Tenant Gryfalkr compliments Mama, and Aze hangs on every word. I try to savor the evening, but a restless anxiety buzzes beneath my skin. I bounce my legs beneath the table, alternately wishing the meal would go on forever and willing it to end as soon as possible.

I finish before the others and spend the next hour cleaning everything I can think of while Papa, Aze, and Tenant Gryfalkr drink their tea and warmed mead at the table. Mama comes to help when she finishes supper, but I tell her to go back to enjoy the time with Aze. “My hands need something to do,” I say when she hesitates.

She takes my bare fingers in hers and squeezes. “Bless the work that keeps us busy,” she says in Ielic.

I kiss her cheek and send her back to the table while I try to wash away the dust and the guilt.

“It’s late,” Papa says at last, bringing me his empty cup and setting his hand on mine. “You should get going. You don’t want to make Mjera’s family wait up for you.”

“I’ll just finish this,” I say, but Mama stands and gives me a tired smile.

“Go, afiila. I will finish.”

Swallowing, I turn to Aze and open my arms. He ducks in to give me a quick, tight squeeze, lifting me from my feet the way he used to do when he first grew taller than me.

“I won’t be back in the morning,” I tell him. “But I’ll say goodbye in town before you leave.”

“Take care of yourself,” he says.

I nod into his shoulder. “You too.”

“And don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll keep an eye on Bronhold for you.”

He pulls away, and I kick at his legs as he dodges back toward the table. Tenant Gryfalkr is on his feet, watching me through the firelight as I retrieve my bag from beside the door.

“Good night,” I say into the room, willing my voice to sound natural.

My parents bid me good night, and I suck in a breath and turn back to the door.

“Wait.” Tenant Gryfalkr appears at my side, reaching for the handle and opening the door before me. “I will walk you to the road. I’d like to thank you for offering your home before you go.”

I glance into the room. “There’s no need, Tenant. I am happy to offer whatever I have to the Awnian army.”

My words are thick with sarcasm, and the tenant fights a smile as he hands me my scarf and gloves. “I insist.”

I flash a look at Aze, who has paused beside the loft ladder, and he nods once. He’s interrupted long, undesired goodbyes with Bronhold before, so I know he gets the message, but he waves to the door and signs, “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes. Let him say goodbye.”

Clenching my jaw, I take one last moment to memorize my home before letting Tenant Gryfalkr usher me into the cold.

“Is something the matter?” he asks as soon as the door is closed.

“Nothing.”

“You seem… off.”

I glance at him and hurry toward the road. “You don’t know me well enough to know when I am off, Tenant.”

“Perhaps not,” he says. “Call it intuition, then.”

“I’m fine.”

He holds out a hand, gesturing back at himself and grinning. “Come now. If you can’t confide in a stranger you barely know, who can you confide in?”

“I’m just worried about tomorrow.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and I find myself looking up at him in spite of myself. “I know you don’t believe me,” he says at last. “But I do wish there was another way.”

“So do I,” I say.

The white of his hair gleams in the moonlight, framing his face like snow around a mountain pass. He look so much like a Saani, like a man who has spent his life in the cold and the fellowship of the valley. If his ancestors had stayed in the mountains, he could have been a neighbor. What might that have been like? If I had known him as a villager instead of a soldier, would I have been able to look at him without anger?

Maybe even friendship?

“Take care of yourself, Tenant,” I say as we reach the road. I offer him my hand, palm out instead of down, the way men shake.

He takes it, smiling. “I will. And I will take care of Aze, and...” He hesitates, gripping my hand tighter. “And the rest of the men in my command. I will honor the sacrifices of their families, and I will return them home as soon as I can.”

“Thank you,” I say, softening.

For a moment he is still, holding my hand and studying my face as though searching for something in the shadows on my skin. I wait, resisting the urge to squirm under his attention. How good will his memory be against my new appearance? I can’t imagine he will have much cause to study each of his soldiers this closely, but I would feel better if I knew he was going to forget me as soon as I walked away.

“Goodbye, Tenant,” I say gently, unable to take the silence any longer.

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then releases me. “Goodbye. And thank you.”

I offer him a small, final smile and turn back to the road. His gaze burns into my back as I make my way toward Mjera’s, but I don’t look back. I can’t. I want my last glimpse of my house to be the one I took before I left: warm firelight, clean dishes, and my family wishing me good night.