He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You should come to the market next time. The baker’s wife makes the best honey cakes. Not that you’d know, being cooped up here with this lot.” He jerked a thumb at the hall’s occupants, then winked.
Alina rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He grinned, pleased. “That’s what my mother always said.”
There was a shifting in the crowd, a subtle, coordinated turning of heads toward the main doors. Finn clocked it and straightened, all joking gone in an instant. “He’s here,” he said, sotto voce, as if announcing the arrival of death.
Into the silence walked a man dressed in the dark blue of the city’s watch, hood down, hair cut close to the scalp. His face was unremarkable except for the eyes: pale, flat, the color of dirty ice. He carried himself like a man who’d never once questioned the ground beneath his feet.
He strode to Kael’s table, set something—a letter, maybe?—down on the wood, and waited. Kael opened the letter, scanned it, then passed it to Tamsin. She read it, frowned, and handed it to Elara, who only glanced at the page before folding it neatly and tucking it away.
Kael gestured for the messenger to wait, then rose, crossing the hall with a stride that made every conversation in the room die. He came to stand beside Alina and Finn, not looking at either of them at first.
After a moment, he said, “We have a problem.”
Finn’s face was all mischief again. “Only one? We’re improving.”
Kael ignored him. His attention was fixed on Alina, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it in the short time she’d known him.
“King Edmund has mobilized every able-bodied man in the city,” he said. “There’s a curfew, checkpoints at every bridge, and a bounty on your head.” He let that sink in. “They’re calling it a rescue mission. But what they’re actually doing is preparing for war.”
The word hung there, a living thing. War. A bounty. As if she was a criminal. Not exactly what one would expect from worrying parents.
Alina’s mouth was suddenly dry. “What does that mean for me?”
Kael looked at her, and there was no artifice, no mask. “It means you need to decide, tonight, if you’re with us, or if you’re still waiting for someone to come save you.” Her heart beat in her chest. Suddenly, her situation seemed so much more real. No pretending this could end well anymore. No more delaying dealing with reality.
Finn looked between them, then reached across the table and took Alina’s hand in his, squeezing once, firm. “You’ll have to excuse the captain,” he said, voice bright, “he doesn’t believe in small talk.”
Kael’s gaze never wavered. “This is not a game, Finn.”
Finn let go, but not before giving her a look that was pure reassurance.
Kael sat with a sigh, elbows on knees, his body coiled as if ready to spring into action on a moment’s notice. “There’s a raid planned for next week. We’ll take the supply depot at the foot of the south bridge. If it goes well, we buy ourselves a month. If it doesn’t, we lose half our people before winter.”
He looked at Alina, as if trying to see straight through her. “I want you with us. On the front lines. You have more power than anyone here, even if you don’t see it yet. But you have to want it.”
She felt every eye in the hall turn to her, even the ones pretending not to listen.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, “I’ve already decided. I want it.”
Kael’s mouth twitched, laced with just the ghost of approval. “Good.”
Elara approached the table, gliding rather than walking. She addressed Kael first. “The council is meeting at midnight. They’ll want a decision from you.”
Kael nodded, then looked at Alina. “Rest. Eat. Be ready.”
He left without another word, vanishing into the corridors with Tamsin at his side. Finn watched them go, then turned to Alina, voice quiet now.
“Don’t let him scare you,” he said. “He’s a bastard, but he’s our bastard.”
Alina smiled, her expression hiding the turmoil of fear and anticipation that sent her stomach roiling. The world was about to change again—but this time, she was deciding how.
I want you with us.
In her heart, the fear made room for something else: a tiny, cautious emotion, but undeniably there.
She looked across the hall to where the messenger still waited, stone-faced, and wondered how many more would come, how many more messages would be delivered before all this was over.
