As soon as I am free of the room, I break into a run—away from Captain Bayal and his impossible expectations, or to Six, I’m not sure which. I dodge groups of Ielic soldiers and sprint to the only place I can think Six will be—with the villagers—trying to figure out what I’m going to tell him.

“What are you doing?”

The voice belongs to Redge, and even with my blood pounding in my ears, I can hear the yellow shock in his words. I jog to a stop behind a supply building, looking around for the man who turned me in.

“You agreed to keep it secret,” snarls another voice. His words are slurred with rage, his voice nearly shaking, and it takes me a moment to recognize it as Six’s. I turn the corner of the building and stare at the two in surprise, but they don’t notice me. They face each other, Six’s fists curled into the fabric of Redge’s shirt, their noses only inches apart.

Redge twists in Six’s grip. “You agreed. I was against it from the beginning.”

“She was leaving,” Six says furiously. “She couldn’t have done any harm.”

“She already has!” Redge’s voice is a flushed and desperate red, like a flood of scarlet dye soaking through plain cloth. “I know what it looks like, but believe me, I take no pleasure in this. That’s why I told you what happened. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“She helped us take the fort!”

“Of course she did,” Redge snaps. “She wanted her people freed. At least she feels loyalty to them, I’ll grant her that, but she still acted in her own interests. And it won’t stop there.”

“Shut up,” Six hisses.

Redge’s face contorts with anger. “You don’t know what Wordweavers are like. They’re good at saying what you want to hear, but as soon as it suits her, she’ll run. She’s using you. She’s already managed to pit us against each other. You and I, Six, we’re brothers. I’m just trying to help you.”

“Shut up.”

“Whatever feelings you think you have for her are false,” he goes on. “A spell. She’s only a—”

Six punches him, knocking him back a step and nearly off his feet. “She was leaving,” he repeats as Redge staggers upright, rubbing his cheek. “You did what you did out of hatred, and now we will all pay the penalty.”

“You’ll thank me someday,” Redge says. He spits a mouthful of pink saliva between them and stalks away. Six watches him go, breathing hard, and turns angrily toward me. When his eyes meet mine, he stops short, like he’s suddenly forgotten how to walk. He takes in a long breath through his nose, relaxing his clenched fists and running a hand through his hair. “You saw?”

“I never should have come here,” I whisper.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Six says. The moss green of his voice pulses with red, barely contained beneath a wrap of white exhaustion.

And I have to add to it.

“Captain Bayal has dismissed you,” I say quietly. “All of you.”

Six takes a breath and nods, looking away to hide the deepening hurt in his eyes. “I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Make him change his mind.”

I shake my head and walk toward him. “He won’t. He isn’t doing it to punish you.”

“What do you mean?”

His face is so serious, his attention wholly on me. Redge’s accusation flits through my mind. Whatever feelings you think you have for her... I take a step back and look away.

“Captain Bayal knows who you are,” I say. “He wants you to go to Bresne.”

He goes still. “That’s impossible.”

“He says you’re the only one who can challenge Ambritten. Our only hope for peace.”

“That’s…” He shakes his head helplessly. “I couldn’t do something like that even if I wanted to.”

Belatedly, I glance around to make sure no wandering soldier is going to overhear, but we are alone in the yard. “You don’t want to be king?”

“I just want to forget.”

“You want to forget,” I repeat, lifting one eyebrow. “So you became a soldier in the closest unit to your homeland?”

“It’s—I didn’t have a lot to choose from, did I?”

“You could have kept going,” I press, relentless. “You could have found a farm in the middle of nowhere and spent your days tending crops. You could have gone to the coast and sailed off to another continent. So why didn’t you?”

“Isn’t this what I’m supposed to do?” he asks. His voice is almost as desperate as Redge’s had been, sodden and scarlet as blood in the grass. “Forgive? Forget?”

“If you’re afraid—”

Six cuts me off with a harsh laugh. “I’m not afraid. I would give anything to face Ambritten. I want to take from him what he took from me. I want to make him stand over the ashes of his life and make him realize he lit the fire.”

I stare at him, and he swallows and claws his fingers through his hair. “But I’m not supposed to want that, am I? I’m supposed to go off and live out the rest of my days in exile and be grateful I’ve been spared. If I go back, I’ll just end up like the rest of them.”

“Maybe you’ve been spared for a reason.” It isn’t what I meant to say, but as the words leave my mouth, I see Bayal’s vision clearly for the first time. “If Ambritten attacks Ieli, thousands will die on both sides. You have a chance to stop it.”

“What chance? Challenging Ambritten on my own would be suicide.”

The captain’s words circle in my head, urging me to be brave.

Edelweiss for courage.

“I’ll go with you.”

Six’s expression softens. “You’ve just been given the chance to go free. Even if I decided to go, I couldn’t ask you to follow.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Where would I go?” I ask. My own dejection leaks through my words, and I pause to get my voice under control. “After everything I’ve done, I can’t go home. My people see me as a traitor. If I stay in Ieli, I’ll be distrusted because I’m an Awnian. But if I go with you…”

Thare’s words echo through my thoughts. What do you want to do?

I pull the ring from my pocket and hold it out to him. “I can help you. I can help my people—the Awnians and the Ielics.”

When I want something that badly, I don’t let anyone take it away.

Six’s gaze follows the ring as it sways under my hand. “Do you know the legend of this ring?”

He reaches forward, but instead of touching the ring, pulls the cord up to place it in my palm. “It’s called the Everring. See the wings?”

“Raven wings.”

“Yes. This ring was commissioned by Eileifr I, first king of Awnia. It was made by Vilden Phoenix-Hand.”

“The first Wordweaver,” I say.

He nods. “When Eileifr passed the throne to his son, he gave him the ring. Legend says Vilden Wordwove the ring to ensure it could never be lost. That it would always return to the king of Awnia.”

Pointedly, I hold it out again, but Six shakes his head. “I had it by accident,” he says. “That day, I mean. When everyone... when Ambritten...” He clears his throat, eyes flashing over my face and then turning skyward. “I took it from my father. I don’t even remember why... I was angry at him for something. I was always angry at him. But that day we were visiting my sister in Andred. Her husband was the Jerle of Andredia, the region closest to the mountains. Everyone was there. All my aunts and uncles, my sisters’ children, every noble who held any kind of power in Awnia. I was out in the city when it happened, with Brannwen. My younger sister.”

I nod encouragingly, and he goes on in a voice like rain-drenched autumn leaves. “We heard the screaming when it started. Brann wanted to go back, but I wouldn’t let her. We ran from it, through the city, and when she wouldn’t stop crying, I gave her the ring to keep her quiet. We ran for hours and finally ended up in a tiny village across the river, and I was so exhausted and confused... I was stupid. We stopped at an inn for the night, and I paid with gold. I may as well have shouted from the rooftops who we were, but I wasn’t thinking straight. That night, they came in through the window. I didn’t hear them until they... until Brann was...”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

Six lets out a heavy breath and shakes his head. “I didn’t even go back for her. There was already so much blood, and she was—she was just staring at the ceiling. But the men were still there and I didn’t have a sword, so I ran through the hall and jumped through another window to get away. I just… left her there.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You couldn’t have done anything else.” I want to reach out, take his hand in mine and press comfort into his palm, but my arms won’t move.

“She had the ring,” Six says, his gaze sinking through the space between us until it settles on mine. “I never expected to see it again. And then you showed up with it around your neck. It almost makes me believe the legends.”

I’ve never known Wordweaving to work that way—to enchant an object to return to its owner, or to have any kind of power once the Wordweaver cuts off their power. But Six’s story makes me want to believe it, too. That something lost can come home. That he can retake the throne… that he can become king.

That he can bring us peace.

I close my fingers over the ring. “You have more than this to help you.”

“What’s that?”

“Me.”

He lets out a short puff of laughter, soft and grass green, which soothes away some of the lingering red in his voice. “What more could I need?” He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting away from me. Following Redge.

“Six?” I ask, drawing his attention back. I search for something to keep him talking, to chase away the forlorn look in his eyes. “What’s your real name?”

He gives me a half-hearted smile. “Eileifr.”

“The same as the first king?”

“Well, my full name is Prince Eileifr Ryvenlock VI, Jerle of Vangbeld. I don’t suppose either title means much now.”

“You were named after the first king,” I say. “That means something.”

“It means my mother wanted me and my sister to overshadow our siblings,” Six says in a dry voice. “She was my father’s second wife, and she was jealous of his older children. Can you imagine naming your fifth child ever-heir? That’s what Eileifr means. As if I was ever meant to rule more than a muddy province in the middle of nowhere.” He swallows, shaking his head. “My brothers hated me for it. I often wonder what they would think of it now.”

“I’m sure they would want you to make the most of your life.”

“You didn’t know them,” he says bitterly. His eyes fall back to the cord trailing from my fingers. “You should hold onto it.”

“But—”

“Just until it’s over,” he says. “If you really think we can do this.”

I give him a long, steady look, pushing a confident green through my voice. “We can.”

“Then...” He takes the ring from my hand and holds it between us. “I name you Lady Ynria, the King’s Wordweaver, for as long as you want the title.”

Blinding gold flares through his voice when he says my name. It’s the light of the sunrise burning through morning mist, gleaming over white snow, bursting with all the colors of the dawn. It’s bright and bold and beautiful in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s the color of my Wordweaving, and it settles into the green of Six’s voice like sunlight over a meadow.

Like home.

Six steps behind me to tie the cord behind my neck, letting the ring settle back against the scars on my throat. I barely feel it, still blinking against the afterimage of gold and green. His fingers brush my skin, and I shiver.

“King’s Wordweaver,” I echo, forcing my brain to catch up to the moment. “Is it a paid position?”

He laughs. “If we succeed, I will make you a noble with a golden bed and a pile of jewels to count every night before you go to sleep.”

“That’s a start.”

“It’s a onetime payment, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to be careful not to spend it all at once.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to settle for it,” I say, turning to face him as he finishes with the cord.

He smiles, but then his eyes drift away as he lets out a shallow breath. “One not-quite-king and a single Wordweaver won’t be enough. We’ll need the rangers.”

“Do you think they’ll come?”

“I don’t know. It’s asking more than they may be willing to give.” He eyes the sky again, measuring the time or the weather, a frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t blame them for saying no. If that happens, I’ll go to Bayal and make him take them back.”

“You should talk to them.”

He sighs. “I suppose there’s no point putting it off. Let’s go.”

He turns, but when I hesitate, he stops and looks back. “You should go without me,” I say. “It will go better if I’m not there. I’ll meet you by the gate in the morning.”

“In the morning,” Six repeats. He stands still a moment longer, as if searching for something to say, but then he shakes his head and makes his way across the yard.

I touch my fingers to the ring, at home on my neck once more, and go to find Chass.

The Ielic soldier standing guard outside the little room lets me in when I tell him I have Captain Bayal’s permission. The door isn’t locked—apparently it doesn’t lock from the outside—so I knock gently and ease it open.

Chass is sitting on his bed, leaning over the side with his elbows propped on his knees. He looks up as I come in and flashes a tired smile. “Braids. I was hoping you’d stop by.”

I step inside and close the door, my gaze falling to his hands. He’s only wearing one glove—my glove, the one I dropped when I Wordwove to escape with Six.

“Aze took your other things with him,” Chass says, noticing my attention on his hand. “But I wanted to remember.”

My stomach squeezes at the thought of Chass mourning me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve caused you so many problems since I’ve been here.”

“You didn’t cause anything,” Chass says. “I made my own decisions.”

I take another step into the room, hesitating near his desk. “Why did you send the message to King Aquillis? Why did you warn them?”

Chass lets out a heavy, low sigh, as though releasing a breath he’s been holding for a long, long time. “You were right,” he says. “When we met, you told me that what we were doing was wrong. And you were right, though you didn’t know all the details. Ambritten wants to invade Ieli. He wants to kill their king the way he killed ours, and he will stop at nothing to accomplish his goal. Thousands will die on both sides.”

“Going against Ambritten is treason,” I say.

He nods. “I knew what I was doing. I would do it again.”

Warmth seeps through my heavy limbs. For the first time, I understand the conviction that leads soldiers to fight. “You should speak with Captain Bayal,” I say. “I think he will help you.”

“You trust him?”

“Yes. He’s a good man.”

The smile works at his lips again, relaxing the lines around his eyes. “Then I will. Thank you.”

I lean against his desk, trying to fight off the exhaustion weighing on me. “How did you send the message?”

“A snow dove.”

At my blank stare, he lets out a laugh that warms the room. “Snow doves are strong, skilled fliers, and they possess an amazing sense of direction. They also mate for life. If you have a roosting pair in a city, for example, you can take one dove to a different location, attach a message to it, and—”

“And it will bring the message back to its mate,” I say.

“Exactly.” Chass sits up straight, his hands on his knees. “And Captain Oristel paid a fortune to get a snow dove from the Royal Roost in Elni.”

I gape at him. “Why would he do that?”

“We needed a way to declare war,” Chass says, shrugging. At the shift in my expression, he nods. “Yes, war. The tunnel was always meant for invasion. Oristel’s orders were to complete the tunnel, establish a fort on the Ielic side of the mountains, and send word to the Grand General when it was complete. Then he would release the dove back to Elni with a declaration of war.”

“But you sent it back with a warning instead,” I breathe. “Didn’t Oristel notice it was gone?”

“I told him I was going out to the woods to learn why the wolves had behaved so strangely on the march,” he says. “Then I trapped a wild snow dove, swapped it out with the one from Elni, and released it that night.”

“Amazing,” I say. Chass smiles.

“When I realized who your friend was,” he says. “I knew I had to act. If Oristel found out that we had the missing Prince Ryvenlock…”

He’d have done what Tyrr tried to do with me. A shiver crawls up my spine despite the warmth I’d felt only moments ago. “That’s why you tried to release him.”

“I did everything I could,” Chass says. “I changed the guard schedule to make sure no one would be near the guardhouse, I left the door unlocked… I even dined with Oristel to give myself an alibi. I never imagined Tyrr would blame you.”

“Tyrr saw me in the yard when the warning bell sounded,” I say. “You couldn’t have predicted that.”

But his expression is sober now, his soft brown eyes burning into mine. “You would have been killed because of my mistake. I thought you had been.”

I push away from the desk and move to sit beside him on the bed. He shifts to look at me, and I hold out my bare hand so he can see the scar. “I’d never used my Wordweaving in the open before,” I say. “I’ve always had to keep it secret, always hiding. I’ve practiced on my own, but I’ve never tested what I could do. Wordweaving in front of everyone like I did… it was freeing in more ways than one. If that wouldn’t have happened, I don’t think I would have had the courage to face Brayam in the tunnel.”

Now it’s Chass’s turn to gape at me. “You did what?”

“I did,” I say, allowing a little trickle of pride to melt the stiffness in my chest. “And I filled the fort with fog. A week ago, I would have thought it to be impossible.” Part of me still can’t believe I did it, even with the pounding headache that proves just how much energy I exerted. Without those successes, I would have laughed at Bayal’s earlier words. Me, protect Six? Help him reclaim the throne? Impossible.

But I’ve already done impossible things.

And I’m not done.

“Brayam escaped,” I go on, serious again. “After he warned Oristel about the Ielics. Do you know where he went?”

Chass nods. “He has standing orders to retreat from any losing battle to regroup with the nearest unit,” he says. “The Grand General can’t risk losing a Wordweaver before the war even starts. But Brayam is… complicated. Sometimes he spoke as if he approved of the Grand General, and sometimes he cursed everyone in command. He may go to Andred to warn Ambritten, or he may wait in the wilderness and try to take the fort himself. He’s unpredictable.”

“Will you tell Captain Bayal?” I ask.

He nods. “Be careful,” he says, still frowning. “Brayam holds grudges. If you beat him, he’ll want a rematch. There’s a chance he’ll follow you to get one.”

A twist of fear grips my stomach. I’m only just getting used to Wordweaving in the open, but Brayam has been a warrior for longer than I’ve been alive. I was able to hold him off because he was injured, and my blizzard caught him by surprise. What would happen if he fought me without distractions?

“Where is Aze?” I ask, pushing Brayam from my mind. There’s nothing I can do about him now, and worrying will only make things worse. I have to focus on what I can do.

Chass takes a breath. “I sent him to the Third North Division,” he says. “They’re stationed out of Andred, but the most recent reports said they’re patrolling along the river south of here. Hothram went with him as a guide. They should reach the division sometime today, if they haven’t already.”

“Thank you,” I say. I’ll have to make sure to tell Six that there’s another division patrolling nearby.

Chass smiles again and reaches for his glove. “I heard the Ielic captain is releasing the villagers. You’ll need this back before you go.”

He pulls it off and holds it out to me, but I stop short of taking it and look at the scars on my bare palm. I’ve hidden them for so long, afraid that someone would ask too many questions and somehow figure out my secret. But there’s no reason to hide anymore.

“Actually,” I say, removing my own glove and pushing them both into his hands. “You can have this back. It was always a little big, anyway.”

His brown eyes are soft as worn leather as he sweeps his gaze over me, comfortable and familiar. A premature ache builds in my chest at the thought of leaving him behind. Even when I doubted him, he was working faithfully in the background, trying to protect as many as he could—and always alone. No wonder he sought friendship.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” I say quietly.

Chass’s eyes crinkle in the corners. “If you stay with the prince, I think our paths will cross again.”

A knock at the door interrupts whatever answer I might have made. “Time’s up,” the soldier outside calls. “Finish up in there.”

I stand, pausing as black spots fill my vision. Chass is there to steady me, his gloved hand on my upper arm. When the spots fade, I tip my chin up to look at him, committing every detail to memory. “Until next time, Braids,” he says, his voice a soft sky blue.

“Ynria,” I say.

A smile breaks across his face. “Ynria.”

There’s no color this time, besides his usual variety of blues. No burst of golden light, no shock of energy. Just the same mundane sound of my name, the way Aze or Mjera or Fryr Edlan would say it.

I try not to think about what that means.

“Goodbye, Chass,” I say, looking back at him one last time before I leave.

I thank the soldier, who nods as he closes the door behind me. The air is cool and bracing in my lungs, giving me a tiny burst of energy—enough to get me across the yard to the infirmary.

It’s empty, thank Ieldran.

Lighting a lantern near the door, I search the shelves and replenish my satchel with anything that might be useful—a pair of scissors, more bandages, the freshly cleaned needle and thread Somre used to stitch Thare’s shoulder. When I’ve taken everything I can find that might be useful, I pick out a cot in the corner of the room, lie down, and fall immediately asleep.