1♡

By the time I found the missing jar of wintergreen shoved behind three sacks of barley flour, I had already accused Nessa of stealing from herself twice, decided whoever stacked the morning delivery deserved to lose the privilege of having hands, and listened to Valkyrie suggest that we bite the farmer arguing at the front counter.

Only once.

I crouched between two shelves with the inventory ledger balanced across my thigh and stared at the faded label on the jar.

No.

He is annoying.

That was not usually considered a legal reason to bite people.

It should be.

The farmer's voice carried through the narrow workroom, deep and increasingly offended. "I'm telling you, Nessa, I only took five jars last month."

"You took six," I called from behind the shelving.

Silence followed.

I tucked the wintergreen under one arm, pushed myself upright, and stepped around the stacked flour sacks. Morning light came through the front windows in pale strips, catching on dust and the bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. Nessa's workroom smelled the way it always did at this hour: crushed leaves, lamp oil, old wood, vinegar, flour, and the faint sweetness of the honey she kept under the counter because children had no self-control and adults were apparently not much better.

The farmer turned to look at me. He was a thick-bodied man with dirt dried into the knees of his trousers and one hand planted on the counter as though he planned to remain there until the gods personally came down and settled his account.

"Five," he repeated.

I tucked the jar into its proper place on the shelf behind Nessa and reached for the smaller account book. "Six."

"Kaelia," Nessa said, though there was no warning in her voice. She was winding cord around a bundle of dried feverleaf, her iron-gray hair tied at the back of her neck and her sleeves shoved above her elbows. "Show him."

"I was going to."

"You had that look."

"What look?"

"The one that usually costs me a customer."

The farmer glanced between us.

I smiled at him.

Nessa sighed. "That one."

Valkyrie laughed somewhere beneath my ribs.

I flipped through the account book until I found the entry. "Six jars of rendered fat, two lamp oils, one sack of coarse salt. Twelfth day of the month."

The farmer leaned closer. "I paid for five."

"You did."

His expression brightened with vindication.

"Then," I continued, sliding one finger lower down the page, "you came back three days later because you'd found the sixth jar under a blanket in your cart. You paid the missing three coppers."

His eyebrows drew together. "I don't remember that."

"You complained about the price of lamp oil for almost a quarter hour."

"I always complain about lamp oil."

"Exactly. That's why the three coppers stood out."

Nessa coughed into her fist.

The farmer gave her a suspicious look, then bent over the book himself. The little mark beside his name was plainly there, written in my hand.

His mouth flattened.

Valkyrie perked up.

Now?

Still no.

The farmer straightened. "Well. You've got a good memory for a Hollow girl."

There were insults that announced themselves before they landed. Those were easy. You could brace for them, get angry, put your teeth into something sharp and useful.

This wasn't one of those.

He hadn't said it cruelly.

That was almost always the problem.

Nessa tied off the bundle in her hands and set it on the counter. "Kaelia keeps the accounts."

The farmer looked at her, then back at me, as if that piece of information required more consideration than it should have.

"Oh."

I closed the book.

"You're also behind on the beeswax," I said.

His face fell. "I paid that."

"You didn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Nessa?"

Nessa pulled another small ledger toward herself without looking up. "She is."

The farmer muttered something under his breath.

I leaned one hip against the counter. "Was that an apology?"

"No."

"Pity. I've heard of those. Wanted to see one."

"Kaelia," Nessa said again.

This time she was hiding a smile.

The farmer pointed at me. "Next week."

"I'll prepare myself."

He stalked out into the lane, letting the door thump shut hard enough to rattle the little drying rack beside it.

Valkyrie gave an approving hum.

I still think biting him would have been faster.

"And then we lose a customer," I murmured.

Nessa reached for another bundle of herbs. "If you're talking to her, tell Valkyrie I'm not paying compensation because she chewed somebody."

I like Nessa.

"She says she likes you."

"I know."

"That's very confident."

Nessa finally looked at me. "She has excellent judgment."

I snorted and carried the account book back to its shelf.

Nessa's workroom sat near the middle of Kharrow, where the village lane widened toward the square and every argument became public whether the people involved intended it or not. We sold the things people always seemed to need after they had already run out of them: lamp oil, salt, dried plants, flour when the miller's stores were low, preserved fruit, soap, cord, sewing needles, wax, salves, old cloth good enough for patching, and occasionally something strange somebody had traded to Nessa because she had a talent for turning other people's unwanted things into somebody else's necessities.

The room itself wasn't large. Long shelves covered most of the walls, the counter divided customers from the storage space, and a narrow stair led to the rooms above. There was a front door facing the main lane, a back door opening onto the alley behind the building, three windows, and a storage passage that should have remained clear except Nessa had spent the last six months insisting two barrels there were temporary.

I knew exactly how many steps stood between me and either door.

I always did.

The stool I used behind the counter was tucked into the corner with the wall at my back and the whole room in view. Nessa had never asked why I preferred it there. She had simply stopped moving it.

I slid the inventory ledger onto the counter and opened it to the current page.

"Wintergreen was behind the flour," I said.

Nessa made a mark on her own sheet. "Of course it was."

"Who unloaded yesterday?"

"Joren's boys."

"Ban them."

"They're twelve."

"Then they'll have time to reflect."

Nessa gave me a dry look. "Count the salt."

"I am counting the salt."

"You're complaining about children."

"I can do both."

I pulled my work knife from my belt and cut the twine around a folded length of linen we'd taken in trade that morning. The blade wasn't pretty. The handle had been worn smooth by years of use, and one side of the metal carried a shallow nick I could never fully sharpen away. It was good for cutting rope, trimming leather, opening sacks, scraping wax off counters and, if necessary, persuading someone to reconsider a poor decision.

Mostly rope.

Usually.

I turned the knife and used the flat of it to scrape a ridge of dried wax from the edge of the counter.

Nessa's eyes dropped to my hand. "Let me see that."

"What?"

"Your knuckle."

I looked at the back of my right hand. The cut I'd earned yesterday when a crate split under its own weight had already closed into a thin pink seam. It had bled enough to ruin half a cloth when it happened.

I curled my fingers. "It's fine."

"It was deeper yesterday."

"Apparently I'm talented."

"At healing?"

"At being irritating."

"That I already knew."

I grinned and went back to the wax.

Nessa caught my wrist before I could pull away and turned my hand toward the window. Her thumb hovered beside the cut without touching it.

"Fast," she said.

I shrugged. "Not that fast."

"It is for you."

The thing about being Hollow was that people learned to notice all the things your body failed to do. Nobody cared much when it did something unexpectedly well.

"I heal," I said.

Nessa released me. "I can see that."

"Should I stop?"

"Preferably not."

"Excellent. Glad we settled it."

I had just started counting the salt measures when something crashed outside.

A woman shouted, "Teren!"

Laughter burst through the lane.

I looked up.

A brown wolf shot past the front window.

He was young enough that his paws seemed to belong to an animal twice his size, and inexperienced enough that none of those paws appeared to be taking instructions from the same brain. He tried to turn near the doorway, slid sideways through a patch of dust, clipped a basket of onions with his hindquarters and sent half of them rolling into the road.

"Oh, gods," I muttered.

Nessa was already laughing.

The wolf froze.

One onion rolled slowly between his front paws.

The woman who owned the basket stood over him with both hands on her hips. "Pick them up."

The wolf looked down at his paws.

Then at her.

"Don't give me that face," she said. "Shift back and use your hands."

The boy's friends had gathered near the well, doing absolutely nothing useful and laughing so hard one of them had to brace himself against the stone.

The wolf lowered his head and very carefully picked up an onion in his teeth.

The woman snatched it away. "Not your mouth."

I leaned against the doorframe.

"He's improving," Nessa said beside me.

"He just attacked vegetables."

"Yesterday he ran into the water trough."

"Then he's practically ready for patrol."

Nessa made a sound that might have been a laugh.

The boy finally managed to shift back, bones changing with the clumsy slowness of someone who had only learned how a few weeks ago. His body folded in on itself, fur drawing away as limbs lengthened and reshaped. Even from across the lane, I could hear the small cracks beneath the louder village noise.

Nobody stared.

His friend threw him a cloak.

The woman with the onions immediately handed him the basket.

"Human hands," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"You'll be more sorry if you bruise the rest."

"I said I'm sorry."

"And yet the onions remain on the ground."

He crouched, red-faced, and started collecting them while the other boys laughed.

Inside me, Valkyrie had gone utterly still.

The amusement slipped out of my chest.

I watched Teren rub one sore shoulder as he gathered the onions.

Again, Valkyrie said.

The word was quiet.

I swallowed.

Not here.

Tonight.

Maybe.

She pushed closer, that familiar presence behind my thoughts suddenly heavy with want.

The longing always caught me in stupid moments.

Not when people called me Hollow.

Not when a girl younger than me shifted for the first time and her entire family celebrated.

It was things like this.

A boy falling over his own paws.

Someone complaining about the ache in their spine after a bad shift.

Mud drying in wolf fur.

The ordinary inconvenience of something I wanted so badly I had learned not to look directly at it.

I knew Valkyrie's shape without ever seeing it outside myself. I knew the reach of her body as instinct instead of memory, knew how her shoulders should roll, how the ground should feel beneath four feet instead of two. Sometimes, when I woke from sleep, there was a moment before thought returned when I expected claws against the floor.

Then I moved my hand.

Five fingers.

Always.

Tonight, she repeated.

We had tried before.

Hundreds of times, probably. I had stopped counting years ago.

Sometimes the attempt brought heat. Sometimes pain. Once, when I was fifteen, pressure had built through my spine so violently that I'd dropped to my knees in the grass behind Nessa's workroom and vomited until there was nothing left in my stomach.

Valkyrie had been miserable for days afterward.

So had I.

Still, every time she asked, some pathetic little piece of hope lifted its head.

Maybe.

Valkyrie relaxed slightly.

Nessa's shoulder bumped mine.

"Don't stare too long," she said quietly.

I looked at her.

She wasn't looking at me. Her attention remained on Teren, who was now arguing with his friends while gathering onions into the basket.

"I wasn't."

"Of course not."

"I was judging his technique."

"Naturally."

I gave her a narrow look.

Nessa turned away, merciful enough not to say anything else.

That was the thing about her. She knew where some of the bruises were without pressing them to see whether they still hurt.

I stayed at the doorway another moment.

Teren had manifested less than a month ago. Before that, he had been just another lanky village boy who spent too much time near the smithy and not enough time doing what his mother asked. Now people were already talking about where he might train, whether his wolf would grow large enough for Harken's guard, whether he'd inherit his uncle's place on patrol.

Nothing had technically changed except that everyone could see the wolf.

That was enough.

The world liked proof.

"Kaelia."

I glanced back.

Nessa pointed toward the rear shelves. "Salt."

"You're obsessed."

"I'm running a business."

"Same thing."

I returned to the counter.

The morning moved on.

Kharrow was rarely quiet once the sun had climbed high enough to warm the roofs. Cart wheels ground over the packed lane outside, someone hammered metal at the smithy farther down the road, and every few minutes the workroom door opened to let in cold air and another person with a problem they had somehow decided belonged to us.

A shepherd came for salve because one of his daughters had burned her palm.

A woman traded two jars of honey for lamp oil and needles.

Two little boys spent several minutes blaming each other for losing the copper their mother had given them, until I found it stuck to the younger one's sticky hand.

"I told you I didn't lose it," the older one said.

"You told me he ate it."

"He eats things."

The younger boy scowled. "Not money."

"Good rule," I said, peeling the copper free. "Keep that one."

Their mother dragged them away before either could defend his reputation further.

Near midday, old Mara Teth came in for lamp oil and immediately began telling Nessa everything she knew about her granddaughter's possible mate.

Which was apparently everything except whether the two people involved actually liked each other.

"They scented each other at the autumn gathering," Mara said as I wrapped her jar in old cloth. "Not a full recognition, mind you. They're young. But her wolf noticed him first."

Nessa weighed out a small bag of dried leaves. "Did he notice her?"

"Oh, yes. His mother says he barely spoke for the rest of the evening."

"Could have been the food."

Mara gave Nessa a scandalized look. "It was not the food."

"Then that's settled."

I tied the cloth around the jar and pushed it toward her.

Mara smiled at me. She had a kind face, which made the words that followed almost funny.

"You'd make someone a very good household keeper one day, Kaelia."

Valkyrie bristled so quickly it felt like a shiver under my skin.

I can keep a household.

I picked up the next jar.

I'm sure you can.

I can also kill intruders.

A valuable domestic skill.

Mara was still smiling.

"I already keep half of this one," I said, gesturing around the workroom.

"More than half," Nessa said.

Mara chuckled. "You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, I did.

She wasn't talking about being somebody's mate.

Nobody ever did.

There were futures people imagined for women like Tavra, and then there were futures they imagined for me. Mine always involved being useful somewhere out of the way.

A keeper.

A worker.

Someone's extra pair of hands.

Never the woman another wolf chose across a crowded room.

Never someone whose presence changed a family line.

Never someone a territory might follow.

I didn't spend much time thinking about that anymore.

There were only so many years a person could stand outside a locked door before it became embarrassing to keep pretending she planned to go through it.

I hate when you do that, Valkyrie said.

Do what?

Make yourself small before they can.

My fingers tightened around the jar.

I didn't answer her.

Mara paid and tucked the lamp oil into her basket. "Tell Harken I asked after him."

I nearly laughed.

"He sees me about as often as he sees you."

Her smile faltered.

Nessa reached across the counter and handed Mara her change. "I'll tell him if I see him first."

Mara accepted the rescue and left.

The door closed.

For a moment, only the faint scrape of Nessa sorting dried leaves filled the room.

Then she said, "You could visit the household."

"I could also lick the floor."

"That sounds less pleasant."

"Exactly."

Nessa's mouth twitched, but she didn't push.

My relationship with my father had become easier once we'd both accepted that avoiding each other required less effort than pretending we knew how to talk.

I was his blood daughter.

Everyone in Kharrow knew it.

That fact mattered when someone wanted something from Harken and thought speaking politely to me might somehow help. It mattered when family lines were recited at gatherings. It mattered when people wanted to remind me that my mother had once stood beside him.

Most other times, I was Nessa's girl from the workroom.

High blood.

Low expectations.

It was a strange little place to live.

I was opening a sack of salt when the village bell rang.

Once.

The blade stopped beneath my hand.

Nessa looked toward the front window.

The bell rang again, its deep iron note rolling over the roofs and down the lane.

Every voice outside seemed to fade.

A third strike followed.

Assembly.

I slid the knife back into my belt.

Nessa was already wiping her hands on her apron. "That's not scheduled."

"No."

People were coming out of nearby buildings. I could see them through the windows now, turning toward the square.

Another strike of the bell.

Nessa untied her apron. "Come on."

"I should finish the salt."

"The salt will survive."

"You don't know that."

She gave me a look.

I followed her outside.

Cold air hit my face, carrying the smell of smoke from the smithy and bread from the ovens near the square. Kharrow had begun moving as one body. Men stepped away from carts and workshops. Women came out carrying babies, baskets, half-folded cloth. A pair of wolves trotted beside their human partners, ears turned toward the bell.

Nobody ran.

Everybody walked too quickly.

"What happened?" someone called.

"Don't know."

"Was there a rider?"

"I saw three."

"Crown?"

That word changed the sound of the crowd.

Nessa and I reached the edge of the square.

I moved automatically toward the stone wall of the grain house.

Nessa followed without comment.

The wall settled at my back.

Front lane clear.

Side road open.

Alley narrow but usable.

Two mounted guards at the far end of the square.

My hand hovered near my belt before I caught myself and forced it down.

Nessa noticed anyway.

She always noticed.

Then the riders entered.

Three horses came down the northern road wearing Crown colors. Mud streaked their legs nearly to the chest, and white foam gathered around the leather of their bits. The men riding them wore dark travel clothes beneath heavy cloaks, each marked at the shoulder with the Skorvath crest.

Conversation died.

The lead rider swung down from the saddle.

One of Harken's guards stepped forward to meet him.

"Message from Raukhar?" the guard asked.

The rider nodded. "For all recognized territories."

That sent a murmur through the square.

The horse beside him shifted its weight.

A shallow cut marked one front leg, blood drying dark against the hair.

Then the wind changed.

Smoke from the smithy.

Horse sweat.

Blood.

My stomach dropped.

The stone wall at my back disappeared.

Heat.

Too much heat.

Smoke so thick it hurt to breathe.

Blood on the floor.

A woman screaming—

No.

Not screaming.

Talking.

Her voice close to my ear.

Don't—

My lungs stopped working.

My fingers closed around my knife.

Kaelia.

Valkyrie surged against me, not trying to shift, not even thinking about shifting. She was suddenly terrified in the exact same place I was terrified, both of us caught in something too old and too broken to hold properly.

Not now.

A hand against my hair.

Blood.

Smoke.

Don't shift. Not now. Hide—

My vision narrowed.

"Kaelia."

Nessa's voice.

Present.

Close.

I couldn't move.

She stepped in front of me, cutting off my view of the injured horse without blocking the square completely.

"Look at me," she said.

I did.

"How many windows on the grain house?"

My mouth was dry. "Four."

"Doors?"

"Two."

"Roads out of the square?"

I forced air into my lungs.

"Three."

"Again."

"Three."

"Good."

The ground steadied beneath my boots.

Nessa's hand rested against my forearm, firm and warm through my sleeve.

Valkyrie stayed pressed close.

Leave the smoke.

I shifted one step farther along the wall until the wind no longer carried it directly toward me.

The memory broke apart as quickly as it had come.

Blood.

A voice.

Hide.

Nothing I could hold.

I hated that more than if I remembered everything.

"You all right?" Nessa asked.

"Yes."

Her eyebrows rose.

"No," I corrected. "But I'm standing."

"That's enough for now."

She let go.

I realized my hand was still wrapped around the knife.

I released it.

The rider had climbed onto the low stone platform beneath the assembly bell. The second rider held the reins while the third stood near the road, scanning the crowd.

Harken wasn't there yet.

That meant someone was already running uphill to the family household.

The lead rider removed a narrow leather case from beneath his cloak.

Nessa inhaled.

Somebody near us whispered, "The Call."

The word moved through the square.

"The Call?"

"Now?"

"Already?"

A woman near the well grabbed her daughter's arm.

The rider broke the seal.

"By order of King Orvek Skorvath and Queen Sarethe Skorvath," he began, his voice carrying easily through the stillness, "the Crown Trial cycle is formally opened."

A hundred people seemed to breathe at once.

I folded my arms.

The Crown Trials were the sort of thing everyone in Skorvath knew about whether they cared or not. Territories nominated eligible women. Those women went to Raukhar. They competed through the Trials and Queen Competitions until the field narrowed, and somewhere at the end of all that blood, ceremony and judgment sat Crown Prince Zarek Skorvath.

The stories people told made the whole thing sound almost romantic.

Those stories were usually told by people who didn't have to participate.

The rider continued reading.

Eligible bloodlines.

Recognized territorial nominations.

Required arrival.

Crown authority.

Deadlines.

Words meant to sound important mostly made me think about food.

Fourteen women traveling toward Raukhar from different territories would need horses, guards, winter clothing, food, lodging, medical supplies. Then Raukhar had to feed them, house them and keep them alive through however long the cycle lasted.

Destiny required a ridiculous amount of flour.

"How soon?" a man behind me whispered.

"Didn't you hear? Before the next moon turn."

"That's not enough time."

"It has to be."

Another voice cut through.

"Tavra."

I glanced right.

Two women from the weaving house stood together near the well.

"Tavra will go," one said.

The other nodded immediately. "Obviously."

No hesitation.

No discussion.

Of course Tavra would go.

Meret had spent years making sure everyone in Kharrow understood what Tavra was suited for.

Beautiful.

Educated.

Controlled.

Manifested.

A strong wolf.

Perfect manners when she wanted something.

"She could make the final group," someone else said.

"With her training? Easily."

"Meret will already have half her things packed."

A few people laughed.

Nessa didn't.

Inside me, Valkyrie's temper rose.

They speak as if she is the only one here.

I kept watching the rider.

Don't.

You are wolf-blooded.

Publicly, I was Hollow.

Everyone knew it.

Everyone assumed there was nothing inside me because they couldn't see Valkyrie, couldn't smell her, couldn't watch me break bones and skin and become something else.

If a wolf couldn't be seen, Skorvath treated her as if she wasn't there.

Valkyrie hated that.

I had gotten better at living with it.

That is not the same as accepting it.

I ignored her.

The rider finished the proclamation and lowered the parchment.

The square exploded into noise.

Questions came from every direction.

"How many can Kharrow nominate?"

"Will Harken choose today?"

"Does Tavra meet every requirement?"

"Who else is the right age?"

"How dangerous are the Trials now?"

A young woman near the well looked pale while her mother spoke rapidly into her ear. An older man was already arguing that the travel deadline was unreasonable. Someone else asked whether Raukhar would reimburse territories for supplies, which was the first sensible question anyone had asked.

Teren had appeared near the edge of the crowd, human again and bouncing on his heels.

"Do you think they'll show the Trials?" he asked his older brother.

"Show them where?"

"I don't know."

"Then stop asking stupid questions."

Teren shoved him.

Their mother caught both boys by the backs of their shirts.

Normal life was determined to survive even Crown proclamations.

I almost smiled.

Nessa leaned closer. "Want to stay?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"There's nothing here for me."

The words came out more bitterly than I intended.

Nessa studied me.

I looked toward the stone platform instead.

It was true.

The Call belonged to women like Tavra.

Women who could shift.

Women whose wolves were visible enough for everyone else to believe in them.

Women who had been raised knowing mating, authority and choice might someday reach for them too.

I had spent nineteen years learning not to expect those things.

That wasn't tragedy.

It was practicality.

The same way I didn't expect to wake tomorrow with wings.

The same way I didn't expect the locked door at the back of Nessa's storage room to suddenly lead to Raukhar.

Some things belonged to other people.

Coward, Valkyrie said.

My eyebrows lifted.

Excuse me?

You heard.

I most certainly had.

She paced restlessly inside me.

You decide they will reject you before they can.

That's called experience.

It's called cowardice.

You are extremely brave for someone who cannot be slapped separately from me.

She went quiet.

Not because I had won.

Because I hadn't.

Nessa touched my elbow.

"Come on," she said. "We still have salt."

I looked at the square, where Kharrow was already rearranging itself around the royal Call.

"Your priorities are inspiring."

"The Crown has survived without my help this long."

"Debatable."

We walked back toward the workroom.

The village felt different even though nothing physical had changed.

Same roofs.

Same smoke curling from chimneys.

Same muddy tracks cutting through the lane.

Same butcher shouting at somebody for standing too close to his cart.

Yet every conversation we passed contained the same words.

Raukhar.

Trials.

Tavra.

Crown Prince.

Nomination.

By the time Nessa pushed open the workroom door, I was tired of all of them.

Inside, the quiet felt almost strange.

The wintergreen sat where I'd put it.

The farmer still owed for beeswax.

The salt sack remained open on the counter.

My knife lay beside the ledger.

Nothing had moved while the world changed outside.

I sat on my stool, wall behind me, and pulled the account book closer.

"Twenty-three salt measures," I said.

Nessa tied her apron back around her waist. "Twenty-three."

"Four full sacks."

"And the open one."

"Almost half."

She began sorting the feverleaf again.

I dipped the pen.

Twenty-three measures sold since the last count.

I wrote twenty-two.

Stared at it.

Swore.

Nessa kept working.

I scratched out the number.

"Twenty-three."

"That's what you said."

"I know."

I wrote it again.

Wrong line.

"Fuck."

Nessa's mouth twitched.

"If you laugh," I warned her, "I'm leaving."

"You just came back."

"I'll leave again."

"Very dramatic."

"I'm going through something."

"So is the ledger."

I glared at her.

She laughed then.

I couldn't help it. I laughed too, once, because otherwise I might have thrown the pen.

The sound loosened something in my chest.

Valkyrie settled.

For a few minutes, we worked.

Nessa tied bundles.

I corrected the account page.

A cart rattled past outside.

Somebody shouted that Harken's household had received the Crown notice.

I ignored it.

Then the door opened.

My head came up before the hinges finished moving.

My hand moved toward my belt.

A young guard in Harken's colors stopped on the threshold.

He wasn't much older than me. I knew his face, though not well enough to remember his name, and from the way his chest rose beneath his dark tunic, he'd come down the hill quickly.

His gaze went to Nessa first.

Then me.

"Kaelia Veyr?"

I stared at him.

"You know that's me."

He straightened slightly. "Your father sent me."

"That usually improves a conversation."

Nessa lowered the bundle in her hands.

The guard ignored my tone with the strained determination of someone who had been told to deliver a message and absolutely nothing else.

"Harken requires you at the household."

I leaned back on the stool.

"Why?"

"He didn't say."

"Did you ask?"

His expression suggested this had never occurred to him as an option.

"No."

"Shame."

"Kaelia," Nessa said softly.

I looked at her.

She wasn't smiling now.

Neither was Valkyrie.

The guard shifted his weight. "He said immediately."

Of course he did.

My father had never been especially interested in the difference between invitations and commands.

I looked down at the ledger.

The ink on the last number was still wet.

That morning, my biggest problem had been a missing jar of wintergreen.

Then the Crown had called fourteen territories into motion.

Now Harken wanted me.

Not Tavra.

Me.

A cold little feeling settled low in my stomach.

"What did he look like when he sent you?" I asked.

The guard blinked. "What?"

"My father. Angry? Bored? Did somebody die?"

"No."

"That's something."

"He was..." The guard hesitated, clearly regretting every choice that had brought him into Nessa's workroom. "Serious."

I stared at him.

"Harken is always serious."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Neither do I."

Nessa wiped her hands on her apron and came around the counter. "Go."

I looked at her.

"If it's nothing," she said, "you can come back and complain about it."

"And if it's something?"

"Then come back and complain louder."

I smiled despite myself.

"You're very comforting."

"I try."

I stood, closed the ledger and slid my knife securely into my belt.

Nessa's eyes dropped to it.

"You have another blade?"

"In my boot."

The guard looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Good answer."

Nessa reached out and caught my sleeve before I stepped away.

For half a second I thought she might say something about the Call.

She didn't.

"Eat if he keeps you there past midday."

I stared at her.

"That's it?"

"You forget when you're angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Then you won't forget."

I narrowed my eyes.

Nessa released my sleeve.

Valkyrie approved.

She knows you.

Unfortunately.

I stepped toward the door.

Outside, Kharrow was still alive with the Call. People stood in little groups across the lane, talking with their hands, speculating about women who might go to Raukhar and what kind of Queen the Crown Prince might choose.

Tavra's name rose above the noise again.

I paused at the threshold.

For nineteen years, Kharrow had been very certain about me.

Hollow.

Useful.

Harken's unfortunate daughter.

Nessa's worker.

A woman who might keep somebody's household one day if she was lucky enough to be wanted despite the thing missing from her.

I had spent a long time learning how to fit inside those expectations.

It was easier than fighting every person who looked at me and saw less.

The guard stepped into the lane and waited.

I glanced once over my shoulder at Nessa.

She had already gone back to the counter, because that was another thing I loved about her: she knew how to let someone leave without making it feel like abandonment.

"Kaelia," the guard called.

"I'm coming."

I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me.

Somewhere beneath my skin, Valkyrie rose with me, alert and restless.

Something is wrong.

Probably.

You are afraid.

I followed the guard toward the hill.

I'm annoyed.

Both.

I didn't answer.

Ahead of us, Harken's household stood above Kharrow, dark against the pale afternoon sky.