Chapter 9 #4
They moved in silence. The only sound was the occasional crunch of frost that still lined the shadows and the distant caw of a bird.
Alina felt every heartbeat, every brush of Kael’s sleeve against her arm, every subtle adjustment of his stride to match hers.
The closeness was infuriating, intoxicating, and, worst of all, utterly safe.
Behind them, Tamsin trailed at a respectful distance, her gaze unwavering. Alina caught the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of Tamsin’s mouth, as if she were in on a joke that hadn’t been told yet.
When they reached the shadowed mouth of the Caves, Kael stopped and turned to face her.
“Next time,” he said, voice low, “let the Gift come to you. Don’t chase it down.”
She nodded, dizzy from more than fatigue. “I’ll try.”
He let go, and the cold rushed in where his hands had been.
As Alina stepped inside, she looked back over her shoulder. Kael was still watching her, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Tamsin caught her eye, then gave a short, approving nod, as if to say, you’re learning.
Alina smiled—small, secret, triumphant.
For the rest of the walk, she floated on the memory of Kael’s arms, the warmth of his skin, and the excitement of discovering who she really was.
By the time the lamps were lit and the mess hall had filled again with the noise of bodies and voices, Alina’s limbs had settled into an easy, lingering warmth.
The bone-deep ache from earlier was gone, replaced by a fatigue that felt almost luxurious—like the aftermath of a long swim or a day spent in sunlight.
She wrapped herself in a woolen blanket, claiming a spot close to the central fire, and watched the living current of the Caves swirl and tighten around her.
This was not the world she’d imagined for herself. It was better and worse in equal measure. She was a foreigner in her own skin, yet every hour she spent here she found herself less interested in the world she’d left behind.
The hall was the same as ever: rough tables, stone floor, the relentless churn of life at the margins.
Rebels streamed in, faces ruddy from the cold, voices roughened by days of breathing cave air.
There was no separation between work and rest, between business and gossip—the business of revolution was the only business, and even the laughter seemed to circle back to it, again and again.
She watched them: a woman hunched over a sheaf of maps, marking lines in charcoal with quick, decisive strokes; a pair of men, one missing two fingers, the other with a stitched-up ear, bickering over whether to use the northern approach for the next sortie; a knot of children in the far corner, playing a game that involved a lot of shouting and, occasionally, blood.
Every one of them looked hard-used, but none of them looked broken.
She looked for Finn as she expected him to be in full story-telling mode by now, only to come up short.
Kael was at a side table, back to the wall, talking in low tones with Tamsin.
He looked as he always did—alert, contained, an entire country’s worth of trouble sealed under that beautiful, unreadable face.
Tamsin was more animated than usual, gesturing with quick, cutting motions, her hair damp from being recently washed.
On Kael’s other side sat Elara Moonshadow, the witch with the silver hair and the eyes that never blinked.
She watched Kael and Tamsin as if she were watching a duel, her fingers laced together, and her lips set in a perpetual almost-smile.
Alina knew she was being observed, not just by Elara but by most of the room.
There was a novelty to her presence, an unease; she was the only one who had not earned her place here by blood or by sacrifice, and she could feel the weight of that judgment every time she reached for her cup or took a bite of bread.
She kept the amulet in her pocket now, not around her neck.
She’d spent the afternoon turning it over in her hands, tracing the lines of the silver setting, searching for some sign—any sign—of her mother’s true intentions.
Was it protection? Was it control? Or was it just another way to bind her to a future she’d never chosen?
The questions burned in her, but answers were in short supply.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Finn until he was almost on top of her.
He burst into the hall like a gust of wind, his cloak spattered with mud, hair standing up in wild clumps, and his face split in a grin that was equal parts triumph and disaster.
He carried a battered satchel slung across his chest, and a collection of new bruises in the process of ripening from red to purple.
He spotted Alina and made straight for her, skidding the last few feet on the slick stone and landing beside her with an extravagant bow.
“Your Highness,” he said, in a stage whisper calculated to reach every table in the hall. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”
Alina couldn’t help herself—she laughed, despite the attention it drew. “I’m not sure I want to.”
He dropped onto the bench, thigh pressed to hers and made a show of stealing her cup. He drained it, then grimaced. “Stone-cold. Just my luck.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You should come to the market next time. The baker’s wife makes the best honey cakes. Not that you’d know, being cooped up here with this lot.” He jerked a thumb at the hall’s occupants, then winked.
Alina rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He grinned, pleased. “That’s what my mother always said.”
There was a shifting in the crowd, a subtle, coordinated turning of heads toward the main doors. Finn clocked it and straightened, all joking gone in an instant. “He’s here,” he said, sotto voce, as if announcing the arrival of death.
Into the silence walked a man dressed in the dark blue of the city’s watch, hood down, hair cut close to the scalp. His face was unremarkable except for the eyes: pale, flat, the color of dirty ice. He carried himself like a man who’d never once questioned the ground beneath his feet.
He strode to Kael’s table, set something—a letter, maybe?—down on the wood, and waited. Kael opened the letter, scanned it, then passed it to Tamsin. She read it, frowned, and handed it to Elara, who only glanced at the page before folding it neatly and tucking it away.
Kael gestured for the messenger to wait, then rose, crossing the hall with a stride that made every conversation in the room die. He came to stand beside Alina and Finn, not looking at either of them at first.
After a moment, he said, “We have a problem.”
Finn’s face was all mischief again. “Only one? We’re improving.”
Kael ignored him. His attention was fixed on Alina, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it in the short time she’d known him.
“King Edmund has mobilized every able-bodied man in the city,” he said. “There’s a curfew, checkpoints at every bridge, and a bounty on your head.” He let that sink in. “They’re calling it a rescue mission. But what they’re actually doing is preparing for war.”
The word hung there, a living thing. War. A bounty. As if she was a criminal. Not exactly what one would expect from worrying parents.
Alina’s mouth was suddenly dry. “What does that mean for me?”
Kael looked at her, and there was no artifice, no mask.
“It means you need to decide, tonight, if you’re with us, or if you’re still waiting for someone to come save you.
” Her heart beat in her chest. Suddenly, her situation seemed so much more real.
No pretending this could end well anymore. No more delaying dealing with reality.
Finn looked between them, then reached across the table and took Alina’s hand in his, squeezing once, firm. “You’ll have to excuse the captain,” he said, voice bright, “he doesn’t believe in small talk.”
Kael’s gaze never wavered. “This is not a game, Finn.”
Finn let go, but not before giving her a look that was pure reassurance.
Kael sat with a sigh, elbows on knees, his body coiled as if ready to spring into action on a moment’s notice.
“There’s a raid planned for next week. We’ll take the supply depot at the foot of the south bridge.
If it goes well, we buy ourselves a month.
If it doesn’t, we lose half our people before winter. ”
He looked at Alina, as if trying to see straight through her. “I want you with us. On the front lines. You have more power than anyone here, even if you don’t see it yet. But you have to want it.”
She felt every eye in the hall turn to her, even the ones pretending not to listen.
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, “I’ve already decided. I want it.”
Kael’s mouth twitched, laced with just the ghost of approval. “Good.”
Elara approached the table, gliding rather than walking. She addressed Kael first. “The council is meeting at midnight. They’ll want a decision from you.”
Kael nodded, then looked at Alina. “Rest. Eat. Be ready.”
He left without another word, vanishing into the corridors with Tamsin at his side. Finn watched them go, then turned to Alina, voice quiet now.
“Don’t let him scare you,” he said. “He’s a bastard, but he’s our bastard.”
Alina smiled, her expression hiding the turmoil of fear and anticipation that sent her stomach roiling. The world was about to change again—but this time, she was deciding how.
I want you with us.
In her heart, the fear made room for something else: a tiny, cautious emotion, but undeniably there.
She looked across the hall to where the messenger still waited, stone-faced, and wondered how many more would come, how many more messages would be delivered before all this was over.
She finished her bread, sipped at her now cold tea, and stared into the fire until her eyes burned. The word “war” echoed in her chest, gathering weight.
When she stood to go, she felt Finn’s hand at her elbow, a small, sturdy anchor in a world suddenly without gravity.
They walked together, silent, the buzz of the hall falling away behind them. In the shadowed corridors, she thought again of the amulet, and of her mother, and of the choice she’d just made.
I want you with us.
She wanted that, too.