Wagon wheels.
Two of them.
I spun to see Cassian riding at the fore, reins in one hand, the hem of his deep blue cloak stained with soot. Behind him, two creaking carts rolled into the fields, loaded with barrels of water and crates ofsupplies. There was bedding, dried food, medical salve, and bandages.
Relief supplies for the Dregs.
He climbed down and landed lightly on his heels, already pulling open the first wagon.
“It’s not enough,” he said, meeting my eyes. “But it’s what I could get. Most of the other Houses refused. Called it a ‘waste of resources’.”
They would. I didn’t want to know what he had to do to get all this for us, what it would cost him. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
He turned, gesturing toward the supplies. “Water. Some rations. Enough for a couple of nights, maybe. Until we figure something else out. I couldn’t get tents. I tried.”
I blinked hard, trying to keep it together. “You did this?”
Cassian shrugged like it meant nothing. “I wish I could do more. I wish they would open the gates.”
“Cassian,” I said, softer now. “Thank you.”
He just tipped his head, looking saddened. “Did Fiona…?”
“She’s alive,” I told him quickly. I’d seen her earlier, deeper in the wheat field with her family.
He looked relieved, then he turned, boots crunching over ash, and started handing out supplies.
I stood at the edge of the field and peered outat the Dregs, staring down at what used to be our lives. Smoke still curled from the charred skeletons of homes, drifting like ghosts through the dawn light. The fire had devoured everything, leaving blackened foundations, twisted metal, and ash where blankets used to be. The small fields beyond were scorched, ruined for planting. The little land we had was gone.
Even if I survived the trials… even if I won and claimed the magic… where would we go? What would I return to? Even with magic, the Elites would never accept me. That much was clear now as I stared at the barred gates of the city.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the ache.
The Elites had barely looked down from their towers.
I was fighting for a future that had already been burned. I realized in that moment that the Elite didn’t need us. Not like I thought they did. They’d find workers from villages just outside Aerlyn to travel in and do the jobs they didn’t want to do. They didn’t need our measly wage taxes either. They probably just raised them to try to get us to leave. We were expendable.
And yet, as I looked at the families passing water jugs, sharing scraps of bread, holding each other in silence, something inside me hardened.
The Dregs might be gone, but its people remained. We couldn’t be erased with our lands.
Let them think we were ashes. We’d rise from them anew.
‘I’m sorry, Brynn.’Valkaryn’s heartfelt words came from where she sat at my hip. I gripped her handle, squeezing, but I had no words. She believed in change, that I could start a revolution and demand lower taxes, cleaner water. Now everything was just gone.
An hour later, the distant howl of a train’s whistle echoed through the cliffs. I turned, squinting past the haze, as a narrow silver line cut across the tracks and came to a grinding halt on the edge of the Dregs. These tracks were rarely used; they went out into distant farmlands, and… Fenmyr, taking grain once a week, sometimes twice, but that was it. The Aerlyn Railway in the city was much more widely used, with trains leaving every hour.
A man stepped down from the front car like he owned it, his black cloak whipping in the wind. Kaelric embraced him easily with a warm hug. The man was large, and now that I knew what to look for, clearly a wolfkin. But it wasn’t just him.
Behind him came more wolfkin, over three dozenby my estimate, men and women alike, strong and sharp-eyed, with packs slung across their shoulders and purpose in their strides.
I stared, stunned, as they began unloading heavy crates, supplies, bedding, rope, tents, more than I’d ever seen in one place, more than Cassian had brought—much more. This would be enough for each family to have a tent of their own, a blanket of their own. It was incredible.
Kaelric stepped over to me, and my throat tightened. “What is this?
“A way out,” he said. “The war in Fenmyr is still active, but the western territories remain untouched. My mother’s home village of Hildreth is hidden in the glens, protected by mountain passes and a pack that is loyal to me. It’s not luxurious, but it’s safe. And it’s theirs, if they want it.” He motioned to my people.
My jaw unhinged. Move to Fenmyr? The entire population of the Dregs? But we weren’t wolfkin.
