29. Finn
Finn
The morning air bites at my cheeks as we mount up outside the inn. Everyone’s moving a little slower today, too much ale and not enough sleep, but there’s a tension in the air, something simmering.
Rye helps Gemma onto her horse. His hand lingers at her waist a beat too long, and she lets him.
This thing building between them is getting more reckless.
Rye is completely gone, but that’s not even what worries me most. She’s falling too.
I see the way she lights up around him even when she’s trying not to.
She knows there’s no version of this that ends with him.
It’s too dangerous for them. But I don’t know how to protect her from this.
I force myself to look away. There’s nothing I can do about it now, not here anyway.
Grier rides ahead, alone. He’s been quiet since we left. He’s in his own head, replaying things he can’t change. I urge my horse forward until I’m beside him.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
He shrugs, noncommittal.
“That good, huh?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” It’s actually impressive how bad he is at it. The man can kill someone sixty different ways but can’t fake a smile to save his life.
Rosie appears beside us like she was summoned.
“Room for one more in this moping session?”
Grier exhales, but I see the pull of a smile.
The three of us ride together for a while. Rosie and I take turns pulling Grier out of his head, with stupid jokes, ridiculous stories, anything to keep him present.
“Remember that time you fell in the river during training?” I offer.
Grier presses his lips together, but there’s a flicker of amusement underneath. “I didn’t fall. I was pushed.”
“By who?” Rosie questions, eyebrow raised.
“You.” He looks at me, grinning.
Rosie leans forward, delighted. “He pushed you into a river?”
“In full armor,” Grier says flatly. But he’s close to cracking, so I keep going. “It was a team-building exercise,” I defend, hand over my heart.
“I nearly drowned.”
“But you didn’t. See? Team building.”
Grier snorts. Rosie bursts out laughing, and I catch myself staring a beat too long.
“You’re an idiot,” Grier mutters, but he’s smiling now.
Rosie’s eyes find mine behind Grier’s head. She’s proudly grinning, like we just pulled off a heist together. I wink at her. She bites her lip to keep from smiling wider.
Grier, mercifully oblivious, stares at the road ahead.
Unease settles in my gut, quiet but insistent. I stop listening to the sound of Rosie’s laughter and start listening to everything else. A weight settles between my shoulders, not fear, not exactly, but with awareness.
The road behind us settles into a rhythm that doesn’t belong to chance.
I ease my horse back half a length, just enough to listen.
Hooves, not close and not loud, but steady, matching our pace.
I glance back casually, like I’m stretching the stiffness from my neck.
I don’t look long enough to catch faces. I don’t need to.
I drift closer to Grier and keep my voice low. “We’ve got a tail.”
He doesn’t look back, just tightens his grip on the reins.
Rosie sobers instantly.
“How long?” she asks.
“At least since we left town,” I say. “Could be longer.”
Grier scans ahead. There’s a fork in the road coming up, and he angles us away from the clean and open road and instead toward the narrower track slipping into the trees. The path is worse, narrow and rutted, the kind of road no one takes accidentally.
After a mile, the rhythm of the hoofbeats is gone. Maybe we lost them, or maybe they’re just patient.
Eventually, the trees thin out and the road widens back out. There’s no sign of anyone behind us, but the unease is still there.
“We need to talk about tonight,” Grier says, voice low enough that it won’t carry. “The contacts in Foxhollow are expecting us.”
Right, the rebels, I’d almost let myself forget we’re not just on a pleasure ride.
“What’s the plan?” Rosie asks, matching his quiet tone.
“We’re meeting with them after sundown to hear what’s really happening up here with the unrest and give them updates on our end.” Grier glances back toward Rye. “Obviously, we can’t bring him.”
“We need a cover story,” Rosie says. “If we dangle Gemma, Rye’ll bite at anything we tell him.”
Grier’s jaw clenches. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want to put her in danger.”
I keep my mouth shut because the only danger Gemma faces tonight is falling further for a lovesick prince, and Grier already knows that, whether he admits it or not.
Rosie continues. “What if we say there’s a tradesmen’s gathering? Workers complaining about the crown. Rye would understand why he can’t come.”
“And Gemma?” Grier asks.
“She gets dinner with Rye instead.” Rosie shrugs. “She just keeps him company, in public, completely safe.”
Grier doesn’t look convinced.
“It’s dinner, Grier,” I say. “She’s handled worse than a prince with a crush.”
He relents, barely, and the look on his face mirrors exactly how I’m feeling. Gemma’s never needed us to keep her safe in a fight. But this isn’t a fight. This is her falling for someone she’ll have to walk away from, and I’m terrified of what it’s going to do to her.
“I’ll fill Gemma in,” I say. “Rosie, think you can keep Rye busy while I talk to her?”
She tilts her head with a playful smile curling at her lips. “I suppose I could suffer through a conversation with a handsome prince.” She sighs dramatically. “The things I do for the rebellion.”
“Don’t enjoy it too much; I’ve grown attached to being your favorite.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away first, still smiling, as she nudges her horse toward Rye. I watch her go and think the same stupid thing as always, that she makes everything feel possible.
Grier clears his throat. “You two are exhausting.”
“Shut up.” But I don’t even bother looking away from her when I say it.
I slow my horse until Gemma catches up, leaving Rye and Rosie a comfortable distance ahead.
“What’s up?” Gemma says, clearly reading my face.
“Tonight, Grier’s got a meeting with the rebels. Rosie and I are going with him.”
“And Rye?”
“Can’t know, obviously.”
“So, what’s the cover?”
“A tradesmen’s gathering with locals airing grievances. A prince showing up would shut them down.”
“Smart.” She looks at me, waiting. “And what do you need from me?”
“Keep him distracted. Get dinner and just keep him away from wherever we actually are.”
Something flickers across her face.
“Gemma.” I lower my voice. “If it’s too hard to be alone with him—”
“It’s fine.” The words come out too fast, and we both know it. “I can handle dinner.”
I study her, weighing whether to push. But I know my sister, and pressing her when she’s like this only makes her shut down harder.
The next village rises ahead as the sun begins its descent, stone buildings and thatched roofs emerging through the tree line, smoke curls lazily from chimneys.
We slow as we enter the town, passing a blacksmith, a general store, and then—the smells hit us.
Fresh bread and something savory drift from a tavern on the corner.
“All right,” I announce, loud enough for the group. “Grier, Rosie, Gemma, and I have somewhere to be. There’s a tradesmen’s gathering on the east side of town, locals voicing complaints. We need to hear what they’re saying.”
Rye straightens in his saddle. “I’ll come—”
“If a prince walks in there, they’ll clam up before we even sit down.” I shrug. “Sorry. You’re too recognizable.”
He nods, accepting it.
Gemma inhales deeply, her eyes drifting to the tavern.
“Finn, do you actually need me for this? I’m starving.” She looks at Rye, with something almost shy in her expression. “Ryewood, would you mind if I joined you for dinner instead?”
The look on his face. For tides’ sake, he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.
“I thought you’d never ask, little fox.”
Little fox, his lovesick nickname for her. He says it like we’re not all standing right here. The man has absolutely no shame.
Gemma flushes, and Rosie makes a noise that might be a laugh disguised as a cough.
“Right,” I say flatly. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves a lot of options,” Gemma shoots back.
“Exactly.”
I turn my horse before I have to watch Rye help her down. There are some things a brother doesn’t need to see.
The meeting hall is larger than I expected and packed. At least eighty people crowd the space, farmers, tradesmen, workers with calloused hands and hollow cheeks. This is more than whispers of unrest. This is an organization.
And at the center of it all is Grier. I’ve known the man for years, fought beside him, trained under him, but watching him now, standing before these people like he was born to lead them, I realize I’ve only ever seen half of who he is.
“The crown takes and takes,” a woman is saying, her voice raw. “My children haven’t had a full meal in weeks.”
“The old Queen never would have allowed this,” an older voice calls from the back. Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room.
I don’t know enough about the old Queen, no one at the castle ever talks about her. Out here, they say it like she still belongs to them.
“We know.” Grier’s voice is calm and steady. “That’s why we’re here, not to start a war, but to make sure no one starves while the nobles feast.”
The room murmurs in agreement. These aren’t revolutionaries hungry for blood; they’re parents, workers, and people pushed to the edge.
Beside me, Rosie has gone very still. I can tell how much this is affecting her.
For the next three hours, Grier listens to person after person step forward with their grievances about nobles seizing land, merchants hoarding grain while children starve, workers dying in mines while the nobles could just pull it from the ground.
The anger isn’t only aimed at the King. It’s also aimed at a system that lets the powerful prey on the weak.
An older man near the back speaks up, voice weathered as his hands. “It’s not just the nobles. The land itself is failing us.”