“Wolves! To arms! Defend yourselves!”

I lurch to my knees, ripped upright by the shouted orders. The screams start a heartbeat later, stabbing into my ears, my bones, my gut. Something pushes into me, knocking me forward as the soldiers in my quarter leap to their feet.

“Bows!” someone yells. Another man screams, and one of the fires gutters out. Blurred shadows streak toward the absence of light, yelping and snarling. I shoot to my feet, boots forgotten.

Wolves. The camp is under attack.

“Close in around the fire,” Devlinn yells, drawing his sword. The other soldiers do the same, crowding around us as more wolves press out of the darkness. Howls cut through the night, covering shouted orders as the soldiers try to organize.

A scream splits the air, coming from the nearest quarter. “Release arrows!” calls a soldier. “There, in the trees!”

“To the central fire,” Devlinn says, and the soldiers sprint off toward the shouts while Devlinn urges us toward the center of the camp. I cast around for something to use as a weapon, but there’s nothing—even the branches I might take from the fire are too small to do anything. Aze presses his hand against my arm, putting himself a step ahead of me. As if he has any power to protect me.

We’re helpless.

A rustle in the bushes behind me makes me turn. In the hellish lights from the guttering fires, I can barely make out the silhouettes of three wolves dragging something into the trees. It’s nothing but a shadow, but even that is clear enough to make out the shape of a body. I stand frozen, unable to move as they jerk their victim away from the light. No one else sees—I should say something—but my quarter surges on without me.

Another shape breaks away from the fires, sword held tight at his side and cloak billowing over his shoulders. Tenant Gryfalkr. The wolves drop their prey at the edge of the tree line to face the new threat as the tenant crashes toward them, swinging his sword wide, making himself as large as possible. Two of the wolves draw back, but the third launches itself at him. Another slash and it goes down—but the other two are there to take its place. They snarl, tails lashing, as the tenant turns his sword toward them.

The brush where the wolves left their victim trembles. I take an involuntary step forward. Is he still alive? “Aze,” I breathe, but my brother is already ahead with the rest of the quarter.

The wolves growl, drawing my attention in time to see them leap at Tenant Gryfalkr. He catches one with his sword, but the other breaks past, teeth flashing in the firelight before they sink into the tenant’s leg. He cries out and staggers, then goes down as the wolf pounces on him.

I snatch up a piece of wood from a scattered fire and rush toward them, brandishing my pathetic weapon. The remaining wolf turns to face me, snarling. I shout, stomping my stockinged feet in the underbrush and waving the smoking stick. This should be enough. Even when the wolves attacked our sheep, this would have been enough to make them pause.

But the wolf jumps at me, heedless. I yelp and swing my stick harmlessly as the wolf dances back, growling—into Tenant Gryfalkr’s sword. It crumples, falling forward to lie still as the sword pulls free of its fur.

Tenant Gryfalkr collapses. The embers left on my stick sputter out, and I blink desperately in the fresh darkness. Harsh breathing gives away his position, so I drop to a crouch and make my way toward him. “Tenant?”

His only answer is a shuddering breath. My hand touches his arm, and I drag myself the rest of the way until I’m kneeling over him. There’s no moonlight tonight; a blanket of clouds obscures the sky, and all I can make out is the darker shadow of his body against the earth. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, anticipating the teeth of another wolf.

“You’re injured?” I ask. My voice trembles.

“My leg,” he forces out. “Bitten.”

I reach out a hesitant hand and recoil as hot, wet blood soaks through my glove. The tenant hisses and pulls away. “Stay still,” I say. “I can help you.”

It’s a lie. My bag is back at the fire, and if the bite damaged the wrong part of the leg, there may be nothing I could do even if I had the supplies.

Tenant Gryfalkr steadies himself and jerks his head in a weak nod. I tear off my gloves and reach forward again. Blood pools in the mess of flesh and fabric on his thigh and spills into the frozen earth. “Tenant,” I say, pressing my hands into the wound. He groans, throwing his head back against the ground. “Tenant, you need to stay awake. The bite damaged an artery.”

“Artery,” the tenant echoes. “That’s bad?”

Why didn’t I bring my bag? This would need yarrow and nettle to stop the bleeding, and vervain to protect against infection afterwards. No, he’ll bleed to death before infection has a chance to set in. “It’s not good,” I answer absently. “If the bleeding isn’t stopped...”

“Ieldran,” the tenant breathes. His voice is a pale, dusty blue, a washed out version of its former color. “You can—you can help?”

No. The blood pours out over my hands, sticky and burning and everywhere. I don’t speak, but he hears my answer in the silence.

“Ieldran.” His voice shakes around the word, and his body follows. It’s already too late. “My father,” he says, faintly. “Someone should tell him. He’ll be expecting me.”

Edlan told me never to lie to a dying man, so I keep my teeth clenched over the reassurances I want to give. No herbs can heal this wound. But he’s lying there in the darkness, trembling, and I have to say something.

“I’m so sorry.”

The words form before I can tell them not to, before I can acknowledge how useless they are, but the tenant shifts and grips my hand in the darkness. “There’s… nothing you can do.”

But there is.

I dig both hands into the wound. Blood squelches over my fingers, but I push out the sensation and conjure up the image of healthy, smooth skin and strong muscles. The tenant cries out, and I don’t need to see the ugly bruised yellow in his voice to know that he’s afraid. “Heal,” I whisper, pressing every ounce of energy that has built up over the day into the command. Light surges through my fingers, filling the darkness with a burning, golden glow. Dimly, I’m aware of the tenant shifting beside me, lifting the corner of his cloak to block the light from the rest of the camp.

Nothing happens.

I delve deeper into the wound, ignoring the tenant’s agonized gasp, searching for the deepest part of the injury. “Heal,” I order, as firmly as Edlan had been every time he told me not to do this. My inexperience will not cause the tenant’s death today. The wound will heal. I will not accept anything else.

As if waiting for that thought, his muscle trembles under my fingers and slowly pulls itself together. I withdraw my hands, following the progress of the mending flesh as I retreat from the wound. The flow of blood stems beneath newly mended skin as the tenant’s shallow gasps turn to shuddering inhalations, then at last deep, even breaths. When there is no trace of the wound except the blood still staining his clothes, I cut off the power flowing through my fingers and let the darkness return.

Exhaustion crushes me. I sag over Tenant Gryfalkr’s body, sucking in a breath that tastes like blood and sawdust. Spots swim before my vision, though I can’t tell if it’s because of the loss of energy or the disappearance of light.

Tenant Gryfalkr’s hands are on my shoulders. He tries to speak, but his breath catches on his words and obscures them. Or maybe it’s the blood rushing through my ears that keeps me from understanding. My stomach churns, and numbness works its way through my limbs. I’m always tired after Wordweaving, but it’s never been this bad before—but then, I’ve never healed anything this serious before. A prickle of panic rushes up my spine, but I force long, slow breaths through my lungs until I feel it subside. It’s just the normal weakness. I cast around for something else to focus on besides my unsteadiness and try not to settle on the pressure of the tenant’s grip on my coat.

Ieldran, the other soldier. Guilt wipes the weariness from my mind as I push to my feet and stumble toward the brush where the wolves left him. The body is still there, but when I drop to my knees beside him and press my fingers to the neck, they push through the torn flesh to the exposed bone beneath.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The smell of blood drenches the air, and I barely have time to lean over before I’m retching into the snow. He was probably dead before the tenant went after him, and certainly before I made my foolish charge into the woods. Whatever movement I’d thought I’d seen must have been a trick of the darkness, or of my panicked mind.

I pull in a shaking breath and wipe the back of my wrist across my mouth. I don’t know this man. The empty scabbard on his belt marks him as a soldier, but that’s all I can tell in the darkness. He had his sword drawn when the wolves took him, protecting the villagers in his quarter.

The shouts and barking sounds from the campsite have subsided, but I can’t manage the energy to look back. A hand touches my shoulder. I flinch away from it.

“Loen,” Tenant Gryfalkr says. “I was the only one who saw him fall. I tried to call for help, but no one came. I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

I scrub a bloody sleeve across my eyes. The tenant crouches beside me, his movements slow and cautious. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.” My throat is dry, and the word comes out choked and brittle. Snow melts beneath my knees, soaking into my borrowed trousers along with the blood. The cold drags a shiver from me. The tenant’s grip on my shoulder tightens.

“I miss the braids,” he says.

A burst of panic scorches the nausea clawing up my throat, settling in a hot flush across my chest. “What?”

“At least I know why you asked all those questions now,” he says. “You did a good job of disguising yourself, but I never forget a voice.”

My voice. How could I have forgotten to change my voice? I am the most stupid, the most irresponsible—all I had to do was stay out of the tenant’s way and not Wordweave, and I couldn’t last a day. It’s all over now.

“What will you do with me?” The words come out shakily, as weak as the tenant’s had been only moments ago.

He hesitates, and when I look over my shoulder, his form is silhouetted against the firelight from the road. “I’m under no orders to disclose the identity of any Wordweaver we may find among the villagers,” he says at last.

“But… I thought…”

“I told you I was hoping to find a different use for Wordweavers,” he says. “I didn’t realize I’d stumbled upon the best source for my answers. So much for women not being able to Wordweave.”

“I said there was no record of it,” I say weakly.

“That’s wise,” he says. He settles into a more comfortable position, his elbow bumping mine as he shifts forward. “You said that every Wordweaver must make a sacrifice.”

I’ve never told anybody what happened. My family was there, and so was Edlan, so who else could I talk to? There have been many times over the years when I almost told Mjera, but something always stopped me. One of her parents calling for her, or our brothers interrupting, or the fear that if the king ever came for me, he would punish anyone who kept my secret. It was safer and easier to keep it to myself, but now… what does it matter if the tenant knows how it happened? A tiny voice that sounds suspiciously like Edlan warns me not to speak, but I’m tired of silence. I’m tired of hiding, of keeping the best parts of myself buried under fear and mistrust.

I want to tell someone. And for the first time in my life, someone wants to know.

“There was a fire.” My voice is low, and it cracks over the word fire, so I have to clear my throat to continue. “In the lambing barn, when I was a child. Most of the sheep got out, but when we counted them, my favorite lamb was missing. Her name was Ixia.”

“Ielic for ‘snow’,” the tenant says.

“She was the most beautiful lamb I’d ever seen,” I go on, barely louder than a whisper. “Her fleece was so soft, it was like holding a cloud. And she was curious and playful and…” I’m rambling, but the tenant listens as though my description of the lamb is as important as the Wordweaving. I clear my throat again. “I went in after her. I didn’t mean it to be a sacrifice—I didn’t even think—I just went in. I found her in one of the pens just before the roof collapsed.”

“That’s how you got your scars,” the tenant says. I look at him, and he goes on in a soft voice. “I saw your hands when you were cleaning after dinner. And when you took off your scarf.”

“The burns are all over,” I say, shrugging. “My hands, my arms, my chest, my neck. But I don’t remember it hurting much. It was just fear for Ixia.”

“Did you save her?”

In spite of myself, of the blood covering my hands and the snow soaking into my trousers, I smile. “Yes. My father came in after me and pulled me out, and I had Ixia in my arms. She wasn’t breathing, so I begged the Phoenix to bring her back. And… then I healed her.”

Mama had run to fetch Edlan when they realized I was in the barn, and they came back as I was healing Ixia. I didn’t understand my parents’ fear at the time—surely what I had done was a good thing?—but we were blessed that Edlan was the one to witness it. He never spoke a word of it except to teach me the importance of keeping my abilities secret.

So much for that.

“But if you could heal the lamb,” the tenant says, interrupting my memory. “And if you healed me, why not heal yourself?”

I lift and drop one shoulder. “I can’t. I’ve healed many of my other injuries, but never the burns. I think it’s because they were my sacrifice. It’s not truly a sacrifice if you can get it back, is it?”

The tenant is quiet, and I shift to relieve legs that have gone numb. “How old were you?” he asks finally.

“Six.”

“Then you’ve always been brave.”

A short, humorless laugh rips out of me. I want nothing more than to hug my knees to my chest and cry—or go to sleep—or turn around and run all the way back to Vallegat. “I’m not brave. I’m selfish. I risked my life and my father’s to save a sheep. I’m only here now because I wanted to escape a marriage, and leaving with the soldiers gave me the best cover.”

“You gave another family’s name.”

I hesitate, but there’s no point in holding back now. If he wants to send me away, knowing this information won’t change anything. “Mjera’s,” I say. “Her brother is only a child. When you wouldn’t make an exception, I thought this was the best way to solve both our problems. But please, Tenant, if you must send me back, say that Brennr Hirdinn was taken by the wolves. Don’t make Arun pay for my actions.”

“Chass,” he says.

A burst of grass-green sparks showers his voice, so bright that I have to blink away the afterimage. “What?”

“If I am to keep your secret, I will give you one in return. Call me Chass.”

“You… you’re not going to tell?”

“No.” His voice is back to its usual blue, but it’s lighter than it was before. “I won’t bring you to the Grand General, and I won’t reveal your gender. If this is where you want to be, I won’t send you away.”

I stare at him. “Why?”

“It’s not so easy to disregard a life debt,” he says, driving a soft huff of air through his lips. “I won’t repay it with a life of servitude as a weapon of war.”

I open my mouth, but a voice shouts from the road before I can speak. “Tenant! Tenant Gryfalkr! Has anyone seen the tenant?”

He lets out a breath and pushes carefully to his feet. “Here.” He reaches for my hand and I let him pull me up, casting one last look at the dead soldier before the tenant leads me back to camp. His hand stays clasped around mine, and something in the clammy grip of his skin makes me think he’s seeking comfort rather than giving it. His confession from the inn flashes through my mind—“My rank often creates distance between me and other people. It can be… lonely.” Coupled with his nickname, it paints an image of a lost little boy under the tenant’s uniform, and another one of my barriers falls away.

“Tenant,” one of the soldiers says, fear and relief clinging like yellow and violet vines to his words.

I drop Chass’s hand, and he answers in a strained voice. “How many?”

“Five missing. We’re searching, sir.”

“Good. Carry on.”

He looks back at me as the soldier hurries away. “That’s my quarter,” I murmur, gesturing toward the fire that had felt so safe and warm just minutes ago.

“Go then,” he says. “And...” I wait, but he shakes his head and clears his throat. “Thank you isn’t enough.”

“Your silence is,” I say.

“You have it.” His dark eyes gleam in the firelight, and I have to summon what feels like all my strength to break his gaze. He stays there while I move through the company, trying not to feel the heat of his attention on my back. By the time I reach my quarter, the exhaustion has settled over me like a second skin, weighing me down as though trying to press me into the earth.

“There he is,” Kjerrin says, pointing as I approach. Aze spins toward me, his face going white.

“I’m fine,” I say, remembering at the last moment to pitch my voice low. Fear and exhaustion thicken the words, so they come out in a harsh, coarse grate.

“What happened?” Aze rasps. His eyes are on my arms, and I look down to find Tenant Gryfalkr’s blood reaching as high as my elbows. My sleeves are soaked in it, along with the front of my shirt and the knees of my trousers. I left my gloves behind with the wolves, but I’ll never get the blood out of them now.

“It’s not mine,” I say, aware of the others’ eyes settling on me. “One of the soldiers was dragged into the forest by the wolves, and—and when they left, I went to see if I could help him.”

Aze grips my shoulders. “What were you thinking?” he demands in a harsh whisper. “You could have been killed.”

I nod, unable to form an argument. I would have been furious if Aze had gone off without me; I can hardly fault him for reacting the same way. But it’s done now, and I all I want is to sleep and forget how close I came to ruining everything.

“Do you have an extra shirt?” says Devlinn in a gentle voice.

I nod woodenly. “Change it before you go to sleep,” he suggests. “I’ll see if I can find some water for you to wash up in.”

“Thank you.”

Aze shoots me a worried look, but I wave him off. I know how to change without showing anything. At least when it comes to my shirt, anyway... my trousers I will have to leave on or change beneath the bedroll. I kneel beside the fire and dig through my bag until I find the clothes, and then slip my coat from my shoulders and drag the extra shirt over my head. I tuck my arms through the sleeves, rolling the soiled shirt off underneath the clean one and pull it through the neck and over my head. Aze takes it and folds it to keep the blood stains tucked inside the clean parts of the cloth before packing it away in my satchel.

Devlinn returns with an extra water skin, and Aze pours a stream from it so I can wash my arms. The blood on my knees has mostly dried, so I decide to leave my trousers on and change them when I can find more privacy.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Kjerrin asks as I finish.

Devlinn shrugs. “I doubt it. We killed quite a few of them before they ran off, so I don’t think they’ll be back tonight.”

“We’ll reach the fort tomorrow,” puts in another of the soldiers. “It’s got walls and a lot more guards, so we needn’t fear the wolves.”

But I do fear them. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were, but even without knowing the numbers, that was easily the largest pack I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard of wolves attacking lone travelers on their way between valley villages, but never a group the size of ours. My shouting and burning stick should have been enough to scare them away, and it wasn’t. Will crossbows be any better?

“Get some sleep,” Aze says quietly. “The soldiers are taking shifts throughout the night. We’re protected.”

A glance at Devlinn confirms this, so I give in to the heavy feeling in my eyes and return to my bedroll. The others do the same, except two of our soldiers, who take up positions with their backs to the fire and their swords held out.

It makes me feel no safer, and sleep does not come back for me.