I slowed Gwinny’s trot as we emerged from the forest, stopping first to adjust the set of my hood. The change to the town as we plodded out of the trees made my breath catch in my chest.

  The baron’s army had set up camp across a huge swath of the fields—three hundred in number at least. Tears clouded my vision as I could only imagine one purpose for a force of such size. I clutched the beaded hairpiece my mother left me and thanked the spirits that the Hume sent only one company of soldiers to our home and left the rest here.

  I paid the stableboy again and carefully made my way past the church to Eletria’s home. She and Parrith were halfway through packing up their things. He had been delighted about the news of the baby and, between that and his friend’s death, had decided they should make haste to Dust to get settled before the baby arrived.

  Eletria returned him to the task of packing so she could speak with me alone. My cousin was devastated to hear the clan’s news and tearfully recounted how she’d always believed that if she wished or needed to, she could come back which, now, would be an impossibility.

  I didn’t have the heart to convey the depths of her parents’ grief to her. With our move to the north and hers to Dust, it seems unavoidable that she’ll be distant from our family forever, and yet in many ways, that has been the case for almost a year now, ever since she left to live with Parrith.

  Though Eletria wanted me to stay and talk with her for longer, I made the visit as brief as I could. Tears flow freely in our clan and in her small corner of Shakerton, but I could not stop to mourn, not yet. Not while I have Bansaerin still to save.

  There was one welcome change from my earlier visit to Shakerton with a great many more women in the streets than I had found before. They wore low-cut dresses, some with bared shoulders despite the cold. I assumed their strategy was to express their gratitude to the soldiers for their presence here and, perhaps, attract the means to a better life than they’d yet found.

  A great many of them had made their way to the tavern for a late breakfast, keeping my new acquaintance the tavern keeper quite busy. I had returned there to gift the keeper two bottles of Lifkin wine for which he insisted upon paying, restoring my coffers from my trip for Aveela. “Is what they say true? The soldiers have ordered your move to the north?”

  I dropped my gaze to the steaming coffee in my hands. “That or convert, yes.”

  “And you’re going to go?”

  I nodded, still struggling to meet his gaze.

  “A pity, that.” The genuineness of his sentiment restored my confidence. “You brought in that wine, and I couldn’t help but think how you and I might embark on a mutually beneficial arrangement. There’s certainly a demand for honey wine.” He shook his head. “A shame.” He turned to go but paused, a frown flickering between his brows. “Was that a friend of yours they brought in late last night?”

  My hands tightened around my mug, the only way I could stop their shaking. I tried to answer but my throat was too dry. “Yes,” I rasped. I cleared my throat and tried again, keeping my voice low. “It was. Do you know where they’ve taken him?”

  He leaned closer to me, keeping an eye on the soldiers around us. “Straight to the church and locked him beneath.” He chewed his lower lip, his gaze searching my face. There was more he had to say, but he was trying to decide if he should or not. I’d felt the same speaking with Eletria that morning. “He looked like a wounded bird, lass, when they brought him in. And that herald.” The tavern keeper shook his head. “A frightening one, he is. Even for their lot.”

  I couldn’t stop my hands’ shaking then. My lips trembled too. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He inclined his head and reached out his hand for mine when I reached toward the pouch at my waist for a copper for the coffee and the gos. “On the house. If you decide to stay, I’ll pay you well for the wine. Might save this place after all.”

  I slid off my barstool and took a final sip of the coffee, swallowing as best as I could around the knot in my throat. Like a wounded bird. The words echoed again and again in my mind. Bansaerin had inherited a cloak from his brothers. The neck, shoulders, and hood had been covered in ravens’ feathers, giving him a dark, birdlike appearance.

  My stomach twisted as I imagined what the Hume had done.

  The soldiers paid me little mind as I shuffled through town, though I kept my ears and hair covered by my hood for safety. I kept a sharp eye out for the ruffians from the alley, convinced they would reappear at any moment, further incensed and smarting after having been rebuffed before. But once again the spirits were with me, and I made it to the House of Light, where the tavern keeper had said I would find Bansaerin.

  I approached the church warily, unsure of the state of things within. The priest had been unwelcoming enough the day before, and he hadn’t viewed me as a friend to or accomplice of a murderer, albeit one I knew had been falsely accused.

  Two soldiers had been stationed outside. They stood to attention as I slowly approached and bowed their heads to me. “Can we help you, miss?”

  I knew in such cases it was better to stay as close to the truth as possible though I could not divulge all. I wrung my hands together. “I’m here on behalf of the Twisted River clan and I have . . . I should like to speak with a member of the Order about the prisoner they took captive yesterday.”

  Both soldiers’ eyes widened, and they conferred between themselves. They must have decided upon some solution as one hurried inside while the other asked me to wait a moment more.

  The soldier returned with the adjudicator just behind him. A frown creased the warrior-priest’s brow and grew deeper as he saw me. The adjudicator quietly dismissed the soldiers and beckoned me nearer. I shuffled forward.

  The blue of his eyes was more striking up close, and my assessment of his age proved true—he was a few years older than me but younger than the other Hume around us. The sense of kindness about him was more apparent in such proximity to him as well. Despite his armor and the blades hanging from his belt, he seemed anxious for me to be at ease. His gaze searched mine, and the sense of puzzlement I’d sensed about him earlier returned.

  I parted my lips to explain why I’d come, but my success had outstripped my plan, and I wasn’t sure what I could say that would make him want to listen to me and allow me to see Bansaerin.

  I’d made it about halfway across the churchyard and stopped, my hands still wringing one around the other.

  The adjudicator, having no choice but to acknowledge my unease, prompted me with the information I had promised. “Thou hast news of the assassin?”

  “Yes. Well, in a way. Not exactly.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “I . . .” There was one falsehood I had invented, that as the junior spiritspeaker, it was imperative for me to speak to Bansaerin and say a prayer over him and his spirit to ease his passing, but being here with the Hume, having to trust them and needing them to trust them in order for me to even see him much less arrange his release—tears flooded my eyes and I blinked to clear them.

  I couldn’t say the words aloud, couldn’t speak into being the terrible things they had planned. ‘Like a wounded bird’ echoed through my thoughts again. Had they put him in chains when they locked him beneath the church? He’s always been so strong, no matter the terror happening around us. I could not bear it.

  “Thou art upset,” the adjudicator filled in as my words failed me.

  “Yes.” Half-answer, half-breath.

  “But why? Thou dost not need to be.”

  This rankled me. I had a great many reasons to be upset, several of which he was at least partially responsible for. “My family are being forcibly displaced and must move north. The last time this happened, both my parents were killed by soldiers.” I refused to speak to an adjudicator or any soldier of the baron about Iredella. The spirit had promised she was alive, and that, for now, was enough.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “But thou dost not have to move.”

  I stared back at him.

  “Thou mightst step into the light and pledge thee and thine to the true goddess of light.”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Of course thou—”

  He had misunderstood what was causing my distress most in that particular moment, so I interrupted, “They don’t actually want us to convert.” A fact he must already know well, particularly because he was supposed to hear our confessions of faith and had left to keep Bansaerin imprisoned instead. “They sent soldiers to remove us from our home. Again. They captured my friend and plan to—” Again my voice failed me.

  I tried a different tack instead. “We don’t need anything your goddess has to offer. The people here do. But you saw us—we aren’t starving.” At this I stopped because his expression hadn’t changed since I’d mentioned Bansaerin and he was looking at me the way the soldier had when he’d asked me how it felt to be friends with a murderer.

  There was every chance the adjudicator would be even more irritated and confused by my eliding the violence of his work and the accusations against Bansaerin. There wasn’t any visible blood on his hands or armor, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been one of those hurting Bansaerin.

  “Thou wishes to speak to the prisoner.”

  I bit my lip and then answered simply. “I do.”

  “The Herald has forbidden anyone from speaking with him.”

  My heart fell. What was I to say to that?

  “But I wish to help thee.”

  There was a warmth behind the Hume’s eyes. I believed him. I was so surprised I stopped myself from asking why.

  “Dost thou know the side entrance?” He gave a subtle nod toward the opposite corner of the church.

  I had seen it when I passed along that side of the House of Light under Alfonse’s escort.

  “Meet me there, and I shall let thou beneath.” A shadow crossed his expression. “Thou wilt have but a few moments.”

  I took a shuddering breath. “Thank you.” Even though I couldn’t fathom why he would want to help me, I believed him when he said he did.

  Was his willingness to aid me somehow connected to why he’d been watching me the day before? “I am called Hytham. Hytham Cranwyn,” he added before he turned to go back into the church. “I will meet thee around the side.”

  I watched him as best I could as he returned to the House of Light. He didn’t call the two soldiers who had been stationed out front to arrest me, which was a more optimistic sign than I had entirely hoped for.

  Once he had passed from sight, I crept around the side of the church as he’d directed and waited. I turned my attention to the streets just in time.

  Two leering men stalked closer from the rougher side of Shakerton, their gazes fixed on me. I adjusted my hood. My stomach twisted in knots. And still they approached.

  My palms began to sweat and I clenched them into fists. The adjudicator couldn’t have called them, but their timing had been so impeccable, appearing just as I slid around the corner and sheltered beside the church, I couldn’t help but fear their appearance was somehow connected to the adjudicator.

  They were both of middling height, so at least one of them was different from the two men who had attacked me and Eletria a few days before. Just as they drew near enough that I had set my mind to run, Hytham cracked open the door and stepped out in a thin slat of light, his tall frame casting its shadow along the stone stairs I sheltered beside. I had never imagined being glad to see an adjudicator, but in that moment I was. I hurried toward him and slipped inside.

  Dim lanterns hung from the hallway beyond the small side room the adjudicator let me into, casting long shadows against the wall. Hytham motioned me to one corner of the room dominated by a dusty wardrobe.

  I frowned, not understanding. Had circumstances been less fraught I think he might have enjoyed showing me the secret entrance he’d found—the wardrobe doors were a false front that opened onto a narrow stair that spiraled down into the cellars.

  The adjudicator gestured for me to proceed ahead of him which I did, climbing over the false drawer fronts and sliding through the back of the wardrobe onto the stair. I gasped and quickened my pace as soon as I saw Bansaerin, leaping off the final two stairs and rushing to clasp the iron of the cell doors.

  Bansaerin slowly lifted his head at the noise, only moving more quickly once he saw that it was me rushing toward him. One eye widened, the other had swelled almost entirely shut, and bruises and blood hung about the corners of his mouth.

  My heart pounded against the base of my throat.

  He pushed himself up with a wince and limped over to me, holding himself as though every breath cost him dearly. “Draeza, you cannot be here.”

  My name has always sounded enchanting upon his lips, most likely from the way he dropped his voice for the middle syllable. “I had to see you. I had to find out what happened.” I gripped his hand in mine and murmured the healing charm I had learned. “They came to Twisted River—” I shook my head, knowing the accusation was an impossibility.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, gaze low. Exactly as I’d thought. Bansaerin wetted his swollen lips. “I was following them through the forest. The commander and his men were attacked by three giant mournlings. They fought bravely, but they were overcome. The others came through the forest and caught me, said I had been the one to kill them. And then the herald—” His mouth worked back and forth. “He made me confess. I didn’t do it, but he made me. I don’t know how.”

  I tightened my grip on his hand, tears blurring my vision, clouding familiar features that I so badly wanted to see.

  Bansaerin dropped his head. “You were right. We should have just gone north. We can’t fight them.” He tried to break away from me, but I reached through the bars and rested my hand against the side of his face, wishing the last of the bruises to fade. Glowing chestnut eyes stared back at me. “Draeza, it isn’t safe. You should go.”

  “I’m going to help you. I have a plan.”

  “Draeza, please, it’s no use.” He broke away from my hold, deepening the ache that had spread across my chest since the captain had first spoken.

  I’d seen Bansaerin angry more times than I could count. Enraged, a few. Worried, when I left for Shakerton and when I came back hurt, when he showed kindness to Alfonse who had helped me. I had never seen him broken, not even as a boy when word reached us of what the Hume had done to my father and his brothers. He’d raised his chin defiantly and promised to protect me in their stead.

  The herald had done what the king and his confessors could not.

  I had to tell him something, a mote of hope for him to cling to. “We all knew it was a lie.” I didn’t want to tell him that they’d threatened all of us and blamed him. But he needed to know that I had known the falsehood. That our community had known he couldn’t do such a thing.

  “Well that is something I guess.”

  I gripped the bars, willing him to step back toward me. “Keep your head up,” I begged, one of our ancient blessings.

  The door creaked at the top of the stairs and footsteps rumbled closer from the other end of the prison hall, voices echoing down the opposite stair. “Thou art out of time,” Hytham whispered to me.

  I lingered. I didn’t want to leave Bansaerin there to the mercy of the Herald with his strange magic, with priests and knights behind him. Voices echoed from the end of the hall.

  Hytham called to me again as Bansaerin whirled back, eyes wide. “Go.” He didn’t want me to get caught. A thick coating of fear weighed his voice. “Draeza, please.” My lips trembled, but I did as he asked, looking back at him as I rushed up the stairs.

  The adjudicator immediately applied himself to securing the doors of the wardrobe and fastening a hidden latch over their front. I paced back and forth, not knowing what to do next. My suspicions had been confirmed and the true killers identified, which left me the dangerous next course of action of venturing back into the forest, hunting down the mournlings, and, somehow, proving the deaths of the sheriff and his men were brought on by the mournlings.

  I needed to trust the adjudicator before me. If he knew where the bodies had been found, they would provide important clues, ways of demonstrating Bansaerin’s innocence while I tried to prove the mournlings’ guilt. “He’s lying. Bansaerin didn’t kill the commander. The herald made him confess.”

  Hytham turned back from the wardrobe, his gaze narrowed.

  “He didn’t. He told me.”

  “Assassins can be liars.”

  I balled my hands into fists. “He’s not lying.” Instinct spurred me on. I stepped closer to him then as I would have done if Bansaerin and I were arguing. It didn’t have quite the same effect. Bansaerin savored the closeness and enjoyed the challenge. He would have closed with me, glowered down, smirked as his gaze darted to my mouth unless he truly was angry. Even then there were times when he couldn’t seem to help himself. I knew a war priest wouldn’t react in quite the same way.

  Almost as proof of this, Hytham backed up instead, bumping into the wardrobe behind him.

  “We have to help him.” I repeated what Bansaerin had told me, told him about the three mournlings in the woods. “We’ve never encountered mournlings of such a description before, not here.” What would make an adjudicator of the Order care? An idea sparked and I pursued it. “Maybe they’re a threat to the king’s forces, part of some larger attack?” As an adjudicator, it would be his duty to investigate, wouldn’t it? To protect the king’s and the Order’s interests?

  He kept watching me, and I caught the barest glimmer of concern.

  “You saw Bansaerin,” I reasoned. “He couldn’t have taken out all of those men.”

  “Why would the herald lie?”

  “I don’t know.” I stepped closer again to the same lack of effect. The adjudicator’s hands twitched as though he wanted to reach out and keep me removed at arm’s length. “But we can find out. Have you seen the place in the woods where the attack happened?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “Then come with me. I don’t know why he’s lying, why he would force Bansaerin to confess.”

  He considered my proposition, more convinced by the potential mournling threat I was sure than anything else. Finally, Hytham nodded. “I will help thee.”

  We resolved to meet at the stables and ride out together. I split away from him to head back to the stables first, my head full of wishes to the spirits that we could find something in the woods to convince at least one of them of the truth, some way to prove Bansaerin innocent so we could save him.

  Had I even told the adjudicator my name? I didn’t know why for certain he was helping me. As I hurried to the stables, I wondered what would have happened had I stayed in the prison and faced the herald, defended Bansaerin. Would he have hurt me too? Was he hurting Bansaerin now?

  My eyes burned thinking of it, so I turned my thoughts to the path ahead. We’d ride for the forest, find the mournlings and bring back evidence, then we’d free Bansaerin. He’d go on to find the Umbral Wolves, and I would help our people to our new home in the north.

  It would all work out. It had to.