A rattle at the door warns us before it opens, and Chass pokes his head inside. “Brennr,” he says, his voice full of calm authority.

I sit up, feeling all the eyes in the room follow me. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

My face burning under the attention, I climb down my ladder and scurry after the tenant as he leads the way into the field. He doesn’t speak again until he’s ushered me into his quarters and closed the door behind us.

“I have a question,” he announces.

I sit on the edge of his bed and wait.

“I’m familiar with some kinds of Wordweaving,” he begins hesitantly, as if he’s not sure how to voice what he’s thinking. “I know some Wordweavers are better suited to certain things. One I knew was very good with elements—fire, wind, that kind of thing. You obviously have a talent for healing.”

“Yes,” I say, confused. I’d thought he was going to talk to me about Tyrr’s accusations. “Why do you ask?”

“I know Wordweavers can only do what is naturally possible for their target,” he goes on. “You could not, for example, bring someone back from the dead or command a fish to become a bird.”

The way he says it, with his blue eyes intent upon me, makes it seem more like a question than a statement. “What do you want to know?” I ask.

Chass leans his hip against his desk and crosses his arms. “Captain Oristel thinks a Wordweaver can do what threats cannot. Can someone be made to speak when he doesn’t wish to?”

“You mean the scout?”

“Speaking is natural,” Chass reasons. “It’s certainly within his powers to tell us what we want to know. It should be within the realm of your capabilities.”

A flush of alarm spreads across my skin. “You want me to do it?”

“Not you,” Chass says. “Brayam.”

I consider that. He might be able to do it if he focused on the subject’s mind, on loosening his inhibitions and bending his will...

“You can’t,” I say.

“It isn’t possible?”

I fidget under the serious look in his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s possible or not. But forcing someone to speak... to betray his country...”

“It’s no different than torturing him for information,” Chass points out. “And, one might argue, far more humane.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that torture is also wrong.”

“This is war, Braids. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t agree with.”

“This isn’t war.” My fingers clench at the filthy fabric of my jacket, twisting it in my hands. “You said yourself that we were only on the brink of war, not that one had already been declared.”

“That’s a technicality. Would you argue that these things were permissible if we were at war?”

“Of course not,” I huff. “But at the very least, you should give the true reasons for your actions instead of hiding behind a fake one.”

“And what are my true reasons?” Chass asks in a low voice.

I frown at him. “How would I know?”

“You don’t think much of your army, do you?”

“You mean my captors?”

Chass winces. “I know the work has been rough, but now that the tunnel is complete—”

“Then Tyrr will find some other work for us to do. At least under King Ryvenlock’s reign, we weren’t enslaved by our own army.”

“Be careful, Braids,” Chass says. “If the wrong person heard that, you’d be punished.”

“What more can they do to me?” I snap. “If the Grand General runs things the way Tyrr does, then he’s a tyrant.”

To my surprise, Chass laughs. “I almost wish I could arrange a meeting with the Grand General so you could express your views to him yourself.”

“I would,” I say. The thought makes me go cold, and I’m sure Chass sees right through my lie. I couldn’t even stand up to Tenant Tyrr. But I can hardly back down now, so I straighten my spine and set my jaw and pretend I’m not terrified at the thought of confronting the Grand General. “Someone should tell him things are wrong, if he really doesn’t know.”

“And if he does?”

My resolve withers, but I try to keep my expression fierce. “Then I suppose I would be punished, wouldn’t I? I couldn’t expect justice from such a man.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Chass says. He chuckles at the look on my face. “Don’t be afraid, Braids. I won’t give you up to the fearsome Grand General. If you weren’t thrown in a dungeon, you’d likely be executed.” He pushes himself away from the desk, sighing. “And I don’t want that, so you needn’t worry about me tattling on your extreme beliefs.”

Something about his expression looks forced—a tightness around his eyes, a crease between his brows. “Why is that?” I ask quietly.

“You saved my life,” he says, as if the answer is obvious.

“That debt is repaid as long as you keep my secret.”

“Perhaps.” He gestures toward the door and looks away. “There’s much to do now. You can tell the others I was only asking about an injury you reported.”

“Let me come with,” I blurt.

Chass pauses with his hand on the door handle. “Come with to what?”

“When you question the scout,” I rush on. “You can say I’m there as a messenger in case you need something.”

“Why?”

“Because...” Because the scout has hair like Aze. Because if he has to have his will ripped away, he should have someone there who is sympathetic to his suffering. “I want to know if it will work.”

Chass’s eyes search mine, serious and steady and tired. “Fine,” he says at last. “But you must remain silent, whether you agree with the proceedings or not. If you can’t promise that, I will toss you out for your own safety.”

“I will,” I say. “Thank you, Chass.”

A small smile touches his mouth as he turns back to the door. “Then you may perform your first action as messenger and bring Brayam to the guardhouse. We’ll conduct our experiment there.”

I find Brayam in the dining hall, finishing off a mug of ale at a table with other off-duty soldiers.

“Excuse me,” I say gruffly, very aware of how my hands dangle limply at my sides. I want to reach up and scratch the back of my neck, but I try to appear casual. “Tenant Gryfalkr has asked you to report to the guardhouse.”

The other soldiers whistle and jeer while Brayam glowers at me. “Now?” he grunts. The single syllable appears as a burst of blood-red, the color saturating his slurred word.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes fix on me, then on the mug of ale in his hand. A dozen empty ones are lined up in the middle of the table, and his friends snicker as they wait for him to stand. Finally he pushes back from the table and guzzles the rest of drink, slamming the empty mug down before them. “If I disobey again, they’ll take away the ale,” he growls, and the other soldiers cheer.

I hurry through the door and make my way to the guardhouse. Brayam’s footsteps are heavy behind me, sloshing through muddy snow without care for the mess he splashes up. No soldiers stand watch outside the guardhouse, but as we approach, I hear Chass’s voice from within.

“This will go better for you if you simply tell me what I need to know,” he says in Ielic. “I assume you know what Wordweavers are capable of.”

There’s no response. I take a slow, calming breath before knocking, and when Chass opens the door, my face is a mask of control.

“Come in,” Chass says. “Brayam, I would like you to command the prisoner to tell us where his unit is.”

The scout’s eyes tighten, but otherwise he holds himself completely still. Brayam, on the other hand, lets out a burst of laughter. “You think I can do that?”

“You will try,” Chass says.

Brayam shrugs and steps before the scout, reaching out to set his fingers on the scout’s lips.

The scout bites him.

I flinch as Brayam draws back his arm and punches the scout across his bruised cheek. The scout takes the blow silently, turning his head and spitting out a mouthful of blood before lifting his eyes back to Brayam’s.

“Try that again,” Brayam snarls. “And I’ll light you on fire after the tenant gets what he wants from you.”

The scout doesn’t react, but when Brayam touches his lips again he keeps them closed. “Ask your question, Tenant,” Brayam growls.

Chass folds his hands behind his back. “Where is your unit?”

The scout is silent. Brayam takes a breath and a rusty red glow forms on his fingertips—the same color as his voice. I glance down at my own hands. Even after all this time, I don’t know the color of my voice. I can hear the hues of different emotions in my words, but my voice itself doesn’t sound like anything. But if Brayam’s voice matches his energy, maybe mine does, too. Do the different colors mean something? Maybe some clue as to our distinct strengths?

“Speak,” he commands. His power jolts through me, reverberating in my bones, as different from mine as blood is from snow.

The scout says nothing.

“Speak!” Brayam says again, but again nothing happens.

“Tell us where your unit is,” Chass puts in.

“Tell,” Brayam tries, shifting his fingers so his whole palm covers the scout’s mouth. A burst of brown-red light pulses from him, but when he removes his hand, the Ielic’s lips remain closed.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I thought a Wordweaver could do anything that is naturally possible,” Chass says dryly.

Brayam lifts his lip in a snarl. “Wordweaving is like any other skill. You couldn’t pick up a new weapon and become proficient without training, yet you expect me to master a new command on the first try?”

“I don’t have time to let you practice,” Chass says, opening the door. “Leave us.”

Brayam withdraws his hand, lip still curling, and stalks out of the guardhouse without a word. I move to follow, but Chass’s lifted hand stops me.

“Not you,” he says quietly. “Check him. Are his injuries serious?”

I look from Chass to the scout, confused. Why does he care about the scout’s health?

“Quickly,” he prompts. I shuffle toward the chair.

There’s no reaction from the scout; he simply continues to stare, his expression never changing. I study his face first, searching for any sign of broken bones under his bruises, even prodding his cheek gently to be sure. His skin is lighter than I expect an Ielic’s to be, but then, it is winter. It probably darkens in the summer, like Mama’s.

Further inspection of what I can see of his arms, torso, and legs yield similar results, and I pass my findings on to Chass. “You’re sure?” he says, in a steady voice that somehow seems strained despite his casual demeanor. “Nothing from the fight with the soldiers? No old injuries?”

“He may have broken his nose at some point in his youth,” I say. “There’s nothing else.”

“I see.” Chass rocks on his heels, expression bland as ever. “I had better go to Captain Oristel. He’ll want a report.”

He leads the way from the room, running his hand over the lock before gesturing toward the barracks. “Return to your quarter and enjoy your quiet night. There may not be many more in the future.”

“What?” I ask, alarm streaking through me, but he doesn’t turn back. Blood pounds through my ears, drowning out the sound of his receding footsteps. Aze and the others were right.

The scout’s capture will be the catalyst to war.

***

Near sundown, a soldier comes to the barracks and tells us to report to the mess hall for the evening meal. The conversation, which had wound down as the hours stretched on, circles back to the topic I most want to avoid as the men refuel their lagging energy.

“I overheard the soldiers talking,” Bronhold says as we take our seats at the long tables. “They say we’ll be sent to battle within the week.”

Aze glances at me. “That can’t be true. Most of the villagers haven’t been trained.”

“Well, the soldiers will be sent out then,” Bronhold relents. “And our training will be accelerated. With the tunnel finished, what else is there to do?”

I listen in uncomfortable silence, eating my food without tasting it. The others have no idea how close to the truth they are, and how far we all are from understanding the decisions at work behind the scenes. If war really has been declared, there won’t be time for proper training. After all, if all the Grand General needs is numbers, we can serve that purpose as we are now. The boys don’t seem to care about that, but the wary looks exchanged by the older men tell me I’m not the only one who’s worried.

For once, Aze’s excitement seems tempered despite the other boys’ enthusiasm. He finishes his supper with an expression nearly as solemn as mine and doesn’t join in the speculation. When his tray is clear, he murmurs, “Think I’ll turn in early. Brennr?”

All too happy to leave the discussion behind, I follow my brother out into the yard. “It’s probably a good idea to get as much rest as we can,” I say. “We don’t know—”

“You need to leave,” Aze says, spinning to face me.

I blink up at him. “What?”

“We’ll come up with a story,” he says. “Some excuse for why you’ve gone. Maybe Tenant Gryfalkr can help. But if there really is to be a battle, you can’t stay here.”

“I can’t just leave, Aze.”

“You shouldn’t even be here. You’re not ready for battle.”

“Neither are you,” I snap. “You’ve only had a few weeks’ training. But leaving isn’t an option, so get used to the idea of me being here.” I give him a long glare and add, “You may be seventeen now, but I am still your elder.”

“I’m a man,” Aze bites back. “Elder or not, you can’t tell me what to do anymore. You’re just a—”

He stops, but the unspoken words tear at me. You’re just a girl. Not a soldier, not a man. Not supposed to be here. Regret kindles in his eyes, but his lips press closed. He won’t take his words back. And why should he? He’s right.

I’m useless here.

I leave him without another word, and he says nothing to call me back. I want to go somewhere he isn’t, somewhere away from the barracks and the tunnel and the dining hall. I want to be in Mjera’s barn, tucked in the hay loft high away from the world, where we could talk and make light of our problems. My feet carry me away, and I pay little attention to where they take me until I find myself outside Chass’s door.

“Braids?”

I spin, my face heating with embarrassment. “I was—um—I had a question.”

Chass closes the door to the building he’s just left, his shoulders slumping as he studies me. “What is it?”

My embarrassment shifts to concern as I take in the heavy violet-blue in his words. “Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?” He smiles, but the color of his voice doesn’t change.

“You seem… tired.”

“I am tired,” he says, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s no cause for concern.”

But it is concerning. Dark circles mar the skin beneath his eyes, and there are new worry lines creased into his brow.

“Has something happened?” I ask carefully.

“No. Well, yes, but...” He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. You needn’t worry.”

“I already have my worries,” I say. “Wouldn’t it be better to share yours?”

Chass chuckles again. “So simple,” he says. “Everything is simple to you. It’s either right or wrong, action or inaction. Tell me, how long was it before you decided to join us? You only had two days to make the decision, and I suspect it was largely made before the end of that first evening. What guided that choice?”

Is he mocking me? I bristle, but Chass’s gaze is earnest as he waits for my answer. “I have told you my reasons already,” I say.

“To save your friend’s brother,” he says, and for lack of a better answer, I shrug in agreement. “I thought so,” he sighs. “Then I’ve had my answer this whole time.”

“Your answer to what?”

“I wish I’d met you months ago,” he says, a wistful pink coloring his voice. “It would have saved me several headaches.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No.” He steps past me, setting his hand briefly on my shoulder as he goes. “Try not to dwell on it. All will be well.”

I open my mouth to say more, but Chass gives me a gentle push toward the barracks, and I go. At the door, I glance back toward Chass’s quarters and find him ducking into the guardhouse.

Apparently I’m not the only one worried about how the scout’s presence will affect our future.

***

I am wrapped in my blankets long before the other villagers file into our barracks. I sense eyes on me and know Aze is watching for signs of wakefulness, but I keep my body still and my breathing deep. After a while, I hear him crawl into the bunk below me and mumble good night to the others, who answer in soft tones before settling into their own beds. Silence descends on the room, broken only by the shifting of blankets and the sighs of men falling into exhausted sleep.

But sleep does not come for me. For hours, I lie on my side and stare at the shadows, trying to match my breathing to the peaceful exhalations around me. My mind won’t calm. On nights like this back home, I usually soothed my restlessness by tidying up the kitchen or preparing for the morning meal. Somehow I doubt the soldiers will want me messing around their dining hall.

Then again, why not? No one said we couldn’t leave the barracks, and no one can object to the place being cleaned. I play with the idea for what feels like hours, alternately talking myself into and out of action, until at last my frustration outweighs my reservations and I slide down the ladder to the floor. Quietly, I pull on my boots while listening for the sounds of disturbed slumber, but when no one moves I creep toward the door on work-softened soles.

Outside, I take a deep breath of frigid air and let the cold seep into my lungs. It does more to wake than relax me, but since I’m already up, I might as well make the most of it. I start toward the dining area, planning out the areas I will clean first.

A deafening clang shatters the quiet, stabbing through to my heart and ripping a gasp from my throat. Warning bells. I search for the reason behind the disturbance, but everything seems as it was before.

Except—movement draws my eye to the south, toward the gatehouse. A man stands beside the door, facing me with a torch in his hand. The light pools on his face, illuminating yellow hair and a scornful grin.

Tyrr.

Doors throughout the compound burst open, spilling soldiers and villagers into the yard. Confused questions collide with shouts for order until finally the men crowd into ranks and wait for instruction. I lose sight of Tyrr in the chaos and give up searching for him when my name is called. I join my quarter and melt into line beside Aze.

“Where were you?” he hisses. “What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answer, craning my neck to see over the heads of the men before me. Chass stands at the front of the group, and I hush Aze as he tries to ask more questions.

The bells cease their clamor, sending echoes of their final knells into the darkness. “There’s no need for alarm,” Chass calls, lifting his hand for silence. “The soldiers on watched feared the scout had escaped, but he has been found.”

Murmurs break out, but Chass speaks over them. “Investigation into this matter will begin immediately. Return to your beds. No one is to leave the barracks until summoned.”

A few men shout questions, but Chass ignores them. Soldiers push us back toward our barracks with harsh words, and we have no choice but to go. I follow Aze, my heart still pounding to the rhythm of the clanging bells. The scout tried to escape? He must not have gotten far, though far enough to cause a panic for whoever was on guard duty. Did he manage on his own, or—

“Not you, mouse,” sneers a voice at my shoulder. I turn to find Tenant Tyrr smirking down at me. “The captain has some questions for you.”

I stare at him, confusion slowing my understanding. “Me? Why?”

“It’s not your place to question,” he says, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me toward him.

“Brennr!” Aze says. “Wait!”

Tyrr shoves him back into line. “Go on. Your little mouse will be returned once he’s explained himself.”

“You can’t just—”

“Go, Aze,” I interrupt. “I’ll be fine. I haven’t done anything.”

Tyrr nods and drags me toward the guardhouse. A group of soldiers huddles before it, including the captain and, thank the Phoenix, Chass.

“Here he is, Captain,” Tyrr announces, holding up my arm like a trophy. “The one I saw in the yard.”

So that’s what this is about. I raise my eyes to Captain Oristel, his hair mussed and his long cloak disheveled. “Sir, I didn’t—”

“Silence,” he barks. “You will answer my questions, nothing more.” He glances at Chass, who stands as calmly as though he is regularly wrested from bed in the middle of the night. “Who was supposed to be on duty, Gryfalkr?”

“Morrigan, sir. Denn was to take over for him.”

“And where is Morrigan?”

“Here, sir,” says a heavyset man. His hands are folded behind his back, and he wears a resigned look on his wide face.

“Why were you not at your post?”

“I was on the wall, sir.” Morrigan’s spine stiffens as he speaks, as if tensing for a blow. “I was told my shift had been changed.”

“Who told you that?”

“Sturn, sir. He said he’d traded with Ulvor.”

“Gryfalkr,” Captain Oristel growls. “You will get to the bottom of this. I will leave the punishments to you.”

“Yes, sir. Morrigan, you’re dismissed.”

The big man salutes and flees across the yard, and Captain Oristel turns his fierce gaze on Tyrr. “Now,” he says. “Make your report.”

“I was out checking the guards at the tunnel, sir, according to my assignment,” Tyrr begins, his voice dripping with dutiful innocence. “When I passed the guardhouse, I noticed no one was on guard. I looked in on the scout and found the door was unlocked, and the room appeared to be empty. By Ieldran’s grace, he was only hiding, and I caught him before he could get any farther.”

By Ieldran’s grace. He’s already admitted that he considers Ieldran to be no more than a myth, and the falsity fills me with disgust. “Someone was clearly helping him,” Tyrr goes on, jerking at my arm. “After I locked the room back up, I called up to the wall to sound the alarm. That’s when I saw this one sneaking around the yard.”

“No,” I say, but my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice. “I didn’t… I couldn’t sleep, so I came outside to clear my mind. I had only just left the barracks when the warning bells started and Tenant Tyrr saw me. I had nothing to do with the escape.”

“Can you prove you were not near the guardhouse before I saw you?” Tyrr says.

My stomach clenches. “Can you prove I was?”

“Hold your tongue, boy,” Oristel growls. “Or it will be cut from your insolent head. Tyrr, return him to his quarters and double the guard on the tunnel. Gryfalkr, I leave you in charge of the investigation. You will have results for me in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” both tenants say. Oristel grunts and stalks away without a backwards glance.

I want to yank my arm free, but Tyrr’s grip tightens as he narrows his eyes at me. “Come along, mouse,” he says. “Back to cower in your little hole while you still can.”

I glance back at Chass, who levels a long, searching look at me as Tyrr pulls me away. It will be well, I know it will. If anyone can find the truth of the matter, it’s Chass. There must have just been a mistake with the watch, and all will soon be righted.

Chass nods to me, his blue eyes serious as I let Tyrr lead me back across the yard. The message in them is clear: I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.

But I do worry, for the rest of the night as I lie sleepless in my bunk, and into the next morning as the villagers wake on their own for the first time in weeks. When the men rise and wait uncertainly for directions that don’t come, I worry. When some of the boys take up the spears we aren’t allowed to have in the tunnel and begin sparring in the aisle between bunks, I worry.

And I worry when a summoning bugle call echoes from the yard, bouncing around the room like a warning cry.

We trail uncertainly from the barracks, joining the other quarters and the soldiers already waiting outside. Chass stands beside Captain Oristel and Tyrr, waiting while a guard brings the scout to join them. His hands are tied in front this time, so he’s able to catch himself when Tyrr forces him to his knees before the captain.

“Today we are witness to the great justice of Grand General Ambritten,” Captain Oristel calls. A sour feeling turns in my stomach as his voice echoes over the stillness. “We have determined that the Ielic scout is guilty of the senseless killing of two Awnian soldiers while on a mission of espionage into Awnian territory. These actions have only one possible consequence. This man is sentenced to immediate execution.”

The soldiers erupt in applause while the blood drains from my face. They couldn’t be that cruel—he did nothing but defend himself. I stare desperately at Chass, but his attention is on Captain Oristel.

“Ieldran’s will must be done,” the captain says, and the men hush in anticipation. “This man will not die alone today.”

A low murmur spreads through the men. “Did they capture someone else?” Aze whispers.

“Some Ielic trying to help him escape, maybe?” Kjerrin murmurs back.

“We are here to serve justice against all enemies of Awnia,” Captain Oristel goes on. “Even those within our own ranks. Soldiers, seize Brennr Hirdinn.”