29. Finn #2
Murmurs ripple through the room.
“Weather’s gone wrong,” he continues. “Used to be you could predict the rains. Now?” He shakes his head. “Now the ground doesn’t know what season it is. There’s snow in late spring, heat waves in autumn, and orchards blooming right before winter.”
An old farmer with sun-spotted hands nods slowly. “Something’s broken,” he says. “The land itself feels hollow and drained.”
“My grandmother used to tell stories,” an older woman says quietly. “About when the land was healthier and the seasons made sense.”
A heaviness falls over the room because these aren’t complaints about taxes or nobles. This is something deeper, something no one in this room knows how to fix.
“And the twin hunts are getting worse,” someone in the back adds. “Three families in the outer villages this month alone. The King’s men aren’t even pretending anymore. They’re dragging children from their beds.”
The blacksmith’s jaw grinds. “One of them was my neighbor’s girls. Five years old.”
My fists clench under the table. The anger is easy. It’s the fear underneath it that I don’t know what to do with.
Grier takes each one seriously. He doesn’t promise miracles or make speeches; he just listens, asks what they need, and tells them what he can and can’t do. Even the things he can’t fix tonight, I can see he’s already planning how to try.
By the end, half the room is in tears, not from despair, but from being seen.
After the main gathering disperses, we follow the three local leaders, a blacksmith, a healer, and an older woman with sharp eyes, into a barn out back. There are a few thin sacks of grain on a shelf against the far wall.
“The grain stores won’t last through the winter,” the blacksmith says grimly.
My eyes go back to the sacks, and the truth lands too slowly. That’s everything they have left.
“The Davriks and Thornwicks are hoarding the supply, driving prices so high no one around here can afford to eat. And the crown does nothing.” He practically spits the last words.
“We’ve seized three of their shipments in the past two months,” Grier says. “Redistributed everything to the villages that needed it most.”
The blacksmith’s eyebrows rise. “That was your people?”
“That was us,” Grier says, though there’s no pride in his voice. “But they’re adapting, hiring more guards, and changing routes. It’s getting harder to hit them without risking lives.”
“What do we do?” the healer asks.
“We keep trying and find new ways in,” Grier says. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I promise you this…no one in this village is going to starve if I can help it.”
The room is silent for a moment. Then the blacksmith steps forward.
“Thank you, Commander. For everything.” The blacksmith clasps Grier’s arm, then adds quietly, “Glad to see you back to yourself. After the fire, I wasn’t sure you’d find your way to us again. I know it’s been a long road.”
A shadow passes over Grier’s face, and he nods once, and neither elaborates.
The healer nods, eyes wet. The older woman just watches Grier with something like hope.
“I can help.”
Everyone turns. Rosie steps forward with her chin lifted high.
“I have magic. Strong magic.” She swallows. “I can grow grain. Enough to get the families through the winter.”
“Rosie—” I step forward, grabbing her arm. “That’s too dangerous. What if anyone finds out…”
She turns to me, and there’s no hesitation in her eyes, just quiet certainty.
“Finn. There are children starving.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “I have the power to help them. I need to do this.”
Before I can argue, she crouches down and presses her palms to the dirt ground. Everyone goes still. Then tiny green shoots push through, unfurling, stretching upward until stalks of wheat rise from the ground, golden heads heavy with grain.
The blacksmith stumbles back, and the healer gasps. The older woman just stares, her sharp eyes softening into wonder.
Rosie stands, brushing off her hands, a smile breaking across her face. “I can do more, so much more.”
“No.” I move in front of her, lowering my voice. “Rosie, listen to me. If the Davriks and Thornwicks find out you’re the reason their inflated grain prices fall, they’re not going to take it sitting down. They’ll come after you.”
“Then I’ll be careful.”
I glance at Grier. I need to shut this down. Tell her it stops here and tell everyone it has to be enough.
I open my mouth.
Grier’s hand lifts slightly. The message is clear, not here, not like this.
I stand down, even though Rosie’s exposed now, and it’s on all of us.
“What you’ve offered tonight,” the older woman says, and we both turn, “will help the families who need it most survive the winter.” She takes Rosie’s hands in hers. “Thank you. From all of us.”
Rosie squeezes back with her eyes bright. “It’s the least I can do.”
I watch her stand there, surrounded by people who finally have hope because of her. Watching her become exactly who she’s meant to be, I’m realizing, with a clarity that steals my breath, that I’d burn the world down before I let anyone hurt her.
We step out into the cool night air, and Rosie is practically bouncing beside me.
“Grier, I can do more of this. We should go to the villages most in need. I can grow enough grain to get families through the winter.”
Grier holds up a hand. “Rosie. Slow down.”
“But—”
“Finn is right. This is dangerous, more dangerous than you realize. You need to be a last resort, not the first solution we reach for.”
Her face falls.
“We’ll find other ways first,” Grier continues. “We’ll intercept and redistribute shipments. And when those methods fail—when there’s no other option—we’ll come to you.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She nods slowly. I can see her wrestling with it, the need to help warring with the logic of holding back.
I reach over and take her hand. She looks at me, surprised.
“What you did in there was incredible. You’re incredible.”
I bring her hand to my chest and keep it there, holding her gaze. Her cheeks go pink, and she doesn’t look away.
Grier clears his throat. “If you two are done, we should get back,” he says with warmth in his eyes.
“You’re right; we should get back before Rye and Gemma burn down the tavern,” Rosie says teasingly.
I look at Rosie, still glowing, and feel dread move through me like cold water. She just stopped being invisible tonight, and in this kingdom that’s the most dangerous thing you can be. I feel the weight of keeping her safe settle alongside the ones I’m already hiding.