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“I don’t.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“I certainly don’t trust a man who bargains with kith and profits off of everyone else’s sacrifice,” Seph shot back. “Has he even visited the Rift lately? Our brothers are there, remember…? And Papa…? Do you even care?”

Linnea winced as though pierced by one of Seph’s arrows, and Seph knew she’d crossed a fragile line.

“How dare you.” Linnea’s words fell quiet and trembling, and her eyes glistened. “Just because I’m not angry and bitter all the time like you…it doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Seph set down the pelts, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Mama called after her.

“To split more wood,” Seph snapped, striding through the door and slamming it closed behind her.

Just because I’m not angry and bitter all the time like you…

They were words, not arrows. Empty accusations from a weak mind, and yet memory mocked Seph’s resolve. Images flashed in her mind, fast and relentless, of a young and radiant Seph, abounding in joy, running wild and free, without a care in the world. Dancing and laughing and stealing kisses with Elias before the veil opened, before the kith came, before the baron began to take.

And take.

And take.

Seph didn’t feel the rain as she stormed to the old stable in back. It used to hold a beautiful storm-gray Andalusian, but as they’d been forced to give that to the war too, it now held their firewood. Normally, this stack was as tall as Rys, but they’d been burning a hot fire at all hours for Nora’s sake, and their current stores were half of what they needed for the inevitable winter.

Seph cupped her hands over her nose, closed her eyes, and breathed deep, only she could not catch a full breath. Loneliness and despair were like a vise around her chest, squeezing out every last droplet of hope. The weight of it all felt suddenly too much, all the tasks once shared by her papa and brothers that now fell upon her wiry shoulders because Mama was too weary, Linnea too fragile, and Nora too sick.

“Get it together,” she hissed at herself. Her eyes burned, and she wiped her cheeks, dropped her hands, and picked up the ax. She lifted a log off of the stack, set it on the stump, and swung the ax around.

Thunk—crack.

The log split, and she did it again, and again. Grabbing new logs and wiping the rain from her hands, her brow. Channeling her anger and sorrow into each slab of wood, letting them absorb each fervid blow.

Fire wasn’t the only way wood warmed a person.

Seph could have split that entire pile, such was her anguish, but she stopped once she’d split enough for the next few days. She set back the ax, and she was just gathering her split logs when she sensed another presence.

Alder had meant to knock on the door, to deliver the promise he carried, but hesitated when he’d heard the arguing.

And then he’d heard his name.

“The Weald Prince,”one of the women was saying.“The one who deserted his regiment and joined forces with the depraved.”

Sothiswas how that slimy bastard was spinning it?

Fantastic.

The women kept talking, and Alder continued listening, crouched beneath their window. He was so caught up in their conversation and strained family dynamics that he didn’t register the rain, or the approaching footsteps, until the door was swinging open and a head of white hair stormed through.

Alder was really losing his touch.

He ducked into the pines for cover; thankfully, the girl’s fury kept her focus fixed. Otherwise, she would have spotted him.

Which wassort ofthe point, he reminded himself.Shewas the reason he’d come all this way, and there she was, standing not ten paces away. He should call out to her, hand off the ring and be on his way.

And yet…

He watched her standing there, rooted by emotion as she covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders slumped and chest heaved, as if the weight of responsibility were finally too much to carry.