Chapter 4
Wren
The corridor nestled inside the stone wall seems to go on forever, or maybe that’s just my growing unease talking.
Our footsteps echo uncomfortably in the eerie silence.
Ryoden’s are measured and even, mine just a fraction off-beat as I work to match his long-legged pace without feeling like I’m directly on top of him.
A tension coils low in my belly as my eyes strain to see if there’s an exit approaching down the hall around the bulk of his body that takes up my view. It’s beginning to feel like I can’t tell whether we’re headed toward safety or if I’m willingly walking myself into a prison cell.
“Are you actually taking me to get food,” I question skeptically as my eyes swing to the gun hanging at his hip in a holster, “or am I just making it easier for you by walking myself to whatever cage you’ve got waiting?”
Ryoden’s steps stop so abruptly I nearly run into his back. He turns, brows drawing together as his eyes sweep over my face, taking in my scowl and the tension in my shoulders, like he’s cataloging every detail.
“Do you always assume the worst about people?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard more than I want to admit and my brain struggles to supply an answer. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, as the air suddenly feels thinner in the narrow hall.
Is that how my brain is beginning to work now—guilty until proven otherwise?
“Lately?” I say, swallowing against the dryness in my throat as the answer surfaces. “Yes. I’m starting to.”
I don’t like the admission and hate hearing it out loud, because that makes it feel all the more real.
But the moment it leaves my mouth, I feel the truth of it settle in my chest. This is what losing everyone who ever made me feel safe has done.
This is what walking without the earth humming beneath my feet has done.
It’s hollowed out the benefit of the doubt that my safety net gave me and replaced it with suspicion.
His answer comes out softly, but the pity in his tone is all too loud. “That sounds like a really sad way to live.”
I don’t know if it’s my growing despair over the kings, but his words rile me up. It is a really sad way to live, and my resentment of it is growing with each passing day. None of this is what I would do if I wasn’t a weaver and walking around with the unbearable burden of saving the earth.
I drag in a breath and lift my chin to stare up at him towering above me.
“Well, can you blame me with the greeting I had to your city?” I retort, more defensively now. “I don’t even want to think about what they were about to do to me before you walked in. They said my clothes were going to get in the way of their inspection.”
The subtle, contained colonel expression falls away, replaced by something sharper and far more dangerous. His jaw locks, a muscle ticking furiously, and his whole body seems to tighten from the inside out. His hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white as they flex.
Good. I want him to feel even a fraction of the rage I do about his people.
“And that’s after I saw one of the guards at your city’s entry point trip an old man on purpose,” I continue, my words coming faster now, riding the wave of fury that’s been building since the hill.
“He was cleared to go through the gate. They did it just to watch him fall into the mud, for their amusement.”
Ryoden’s lips parts, words clearly ready to spill out, but I don’t let him speak. I take a step closer and shove my finger into his chest, heat burning across my face as my voice rises.
“And then they stopped a woman from helping him up!” I snap. “So, yeah, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m assuming the worst of people in uniforms.”
His eyes are still burning, his jaw a hard line, so when he reaches down to his waistband, I can’t help but flinch back at the assumption he’s going for his weapon.
Instead, he pulls out a small black device and lifts it to his mouth without breaking eye contact with me.
He presses a button on the side until a pale green light flickers to life.
“Derrick,” he says, voice clipped, “switch to private channel.”
The device crackles softly in his hand, a faint static hum filling the narrow hall. My chest rises and falls too fast with my shallow breaths. I can’t tell if I want to keep yelling or if the look on his face has stolen the fight straight out of me.
A deep baritone comes through the comm. “Go ahead, Colonel.”
Ryoden’s gaze doesn’t waver from my face, still, and I swallow hard at the energy radiating from him. He looks every inch the man those guards were afraid of being caught by, and now I see exactly why.
“Derrick,” he says, and his tone drops into something so cold it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand, “I need you to check who was out on scout patrol for the northern ridge with Grayson this morning. Put all of them in a holding cell, along with both guards assigned to processing duty at the main gate.”
My eyes widen before I can stop them. The anger in my chest loosens, easing into something else—surprise maybe. Relief. It’s strange and disorienting to feel it directed at the same man I just accused of potentially leading me to a cage.
“On it, Colonel,” Derrick replies without hesitation. “Do you need me to start any proceedings while we wait for you?”
Ryoden goes quiet and my own breath catches in my throat.
The green light stays lit on the device, casting a faint glow against his fingers.
We stand there in the narrow hall, just the two of us and the distant echo of the bustling city somewhere beyond the stone.
He’s taller than me by more than a head, and from this close I can see the tightness around his eyes in the faint lines.
He inhales, slow and controlled.
“No,” he breathes out, his gaze still locked on mine. “I’d like to handle this one myself from start to finish.”
I swallow before my tongue darts out to wet my lips. He blinks and finally breaks our eye contact, looking at the comm in his hand.
There’s a brief pause, then Derrick’s answer comes through. “Loud and clear. I’m on it.”
Ryoden clips the comms device back to his waistband, the motion smooth and efficient, like he’s done it a thousand times before. The silence stretches between us in the narrow hall, and before I can talk myself out of it, the question slips out.
“What are you going to do to them?”
All traces of my fury and accusatory tone are gone, replaced with genuine curiosity.
He looks at me, blinking once, slowly. The hard lines of his face don’t ease, clearly still plagued by the heavy emotion that’s come over him.
“My job,” he says evenly.
That’s it. Just that simple, blunt answer.
I study him for a moment, thrown by how quickly he acted on what I told him.
He didn’t ask for proof or ask any counter-questions to ensure the accuracy of my words.
He didn’t suggest that maybe I’d misread the situation, or that I was overreacting, or that his guards surely wouldn’t behave that way.
He heard me and acted. Against his own people.
The weight of that settles heavily in my chest. I’m used to skepticism, to being held at arm’s length, to needing to justify every fear that leaves my mouth. Azyric’s constant doubts and accusations still scrape along the inside of my skull when I least expect it.
A reluctant respect unfurls inside me, quiet but undeniable, yet I don’t want it there. I don’t want to lower my guard already, but Ryoden is making that harder than I’d like. His actions back up the persona he’s projected since he walked into that room.
I drag in a slow breath and force my shoulders to stay square, reminding myself that a few decent actions don’t erase the risk of everything I’ve heard from the kings about humans, nor what I’ve witnessed myself.
I’m here to observe and understand for now. I will cast my judgment later.
Ryoden’s shoulders seem to ease a fraction as he exhales, and when he speaks again, his tone is lighter—seeming forced, but not in a fake way, rather like he wants to leave the heaviness behind but is struggling to.
“Come on,” he says, tipping his head down the hall. “We’re almost to the dining hall. I don’t need you passing out here. The paperwork would be a nightmare.”
My lips twitch, but I don’t feed the emotion.
I simply nod and fall into step beside him once more.
We walk in silence after that, our footsteps echoing more companionably to my ears this time.
Eventually, he stops at another heavy stone door set into the wall.
He braces both hands against it and pushes, forcing it to swing open with a low groan.
Natural light spills in and it hits my eyes too fast. I squint, blinking against the sudden change as we step out. The air smells different immediately, with notes of smoke, metal, and food of some kind.
We’re still technically inside the walls, but this space feels more open than I expected.
A series of buildings sit clustered near the inner face of the stone with smoke curling from a few chimneys.
To our right, the largest of them has its double doors propped open, the sound of overlapping voices spilling out in a rush.
Men in uniforms come and go through the doorway, trays in hand, shoulders brushing as they pass.
“The dining hall,” Ryoden says, nodding toward it. “I told you I would get you some food, didn’t I?”
I detect the humor in his tone once more but ignore it to take in more of the details around us.
Further down in an open area, a forge glows bright orange, sparks jumping as someone hammers metal on an anvil. The steady rhythm of it rings across the yard. Weapons in various stages of completion are stacked on a nearby rack—rifles, blades, and some I can’t see well enough to make sense of.
Beside the forge, squatting heavy and immovable, are two tanks. My stomach clenches the second I see them.
I know what machines like that do. I’ve seen what their shells can make of stone and bodies and earth. My fingers curl into my palms as I look away before the past can drag me back under once more.
Ryoden gestures past it all, to where the towering buildings rise further in, clustered in the center like a second, smaller city within the city.
“We keep our citizens protected in the heart of the city,” he explains. “They have their own markets, vendors, and agricultural centers. Away from our efforts.”
My mouth pops open to question his forthcoming nature and I glance at him out of my peripheral vision. “Strange that you still haven’t made up your mind about me, yet you’re giving me all of this information.”
A corner of his mouth tilts up momentarily.
I open my mouth to ask a question, but a sudden gust of wind cuts through the open yard, sharp and freezing.
It wraps around me in a rush, sliding under my now mostly dry clothes and dragging a shiver out of me before I can brace for it.
Goosebumps rise along my arms as the first small flakes of snow drift down, catching in my hair and on my nose.
Ryoden’s brow scrunches as he glances up at the sky. There are still gray clouds overhead reflecting the sun’s beams, but they’re thinner now, stretched out instead of heavy masses.
“Strange,” he murmurs. “We don’t normally have snow this time of year.”
Ryoden tips his head toward the dining hall doors and starts walking.
I follow, drawn by the warmth and the smell of food drifting out.
The noise hits first when we step inside with dozens of voices layered over each other, the scrape of chairs, and the clatter of cutlery against bowls.
Long wooden tables stretch across the room in parallel lines, each one crowded with soldiers in various states of uniform—some still in full gear, some with jackets off and sleeves rolled to their forearms.
Conversation slows as we cross the threshold. Not all at once, but in noticeable pockets as heads turn and eyes flick in our direction, lingering. A few men straighten when they recognize Ryoden, but their attention doesn’t stay on him for long, instead landing on me.
I keep my gaze level as I follow him down the center aisle, the weight of their stares settling over my skin. There’s no open hostility yet, but there’s wariness, suspicion, and a cold sort of curiosity. The kind that says you don’t belong here without a single word spoken.
Ryoden stops at an empty table near the back and gestures to the bench. “Sit.”
I slide onto it, the wood solid and worn smooth beneath my palms. Every time I glance up and meet someone’s gaze, they look away quickly, as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Their momentary retreat doesn’t make me feel better.
Ryoden disappears for a moment toward a counter and returns with two bowls in his hands. He sets one down in front of me and takes the seat across the table, placing his own in front of him.
“Sorry it’s nothing special. We’d usually have a real breakfast, but our two main cooks are down with some type of stomach bug, so we’re making do with what’s easiest to prepare in bulk.”
Steam curls up from the broth in front of me, carrying the scent of cooked meat and herbs. My stomach pulls tight, cramping with hunger. I wrap my hands around the sides of the bowl, letting the heat seep into my chilled fingers before I lift the spoon.
Blissfully, Ryoden doesn’t ask more questions for now. He just starts eating as if we’re two ordinary people sharing a meal. I take a careful sip to test the temperature. The broth is hot and savory, and for a moment I close my eyes against the rush of relief I feel to fill my belly.
When my eyes open back up, I watch Ryoden’s spoon still halfway to his mouth. He doesn’t look around, but it’s clear he’s seen enough as his voice cuts through the room, calm and cold once more.
“Avert your eyes and mind your business, men,” he says, not raising his volume in the slightest to get his point across. “I promise this is not the morning to test my patience on how we treat new folks.”
The silence that follows is sharp and immediate, with all the hushed whispers suddenly caught in people’s throats or dying on their lips.
Then, slowly, conversations resume and benches creak with movement.
The tension doesn’t vanish entirely, but it loosens, shifting its weight off my shoulders just enough that I can breathe easier.
I take another sip of broth and find Ryoden’s eyes on me, tracking my movements.
It’s clear not much gets past him here, and now I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve caught the attention of the worst possible person for my situation.