An Honored Vow

Book 0: The Halfling Saga

by Melissa Blair

Genres: Romantic Fantasy; LGBT & Pride

Synopsis

This thrilling romantasy about king’s Blade, Keera, and her epic quest to avenge her lover, save her people, and bring down a tyrant king is the final installment of Melissa Blair’s highly acclaimed series. The Halfling Saga showcases BIPOC and queer representation, love, passion, betrayal, magic, and great battles of the sword and the soul.

“Your land is not the one you take; it is the one you die for.”

Keera has tried to keep her final promise to Brenna, the partner she was forced to kill to save a kingdom—but that promise has led to the most difficult struggles of her life. She’s been at war with her worst self while battling King Damien for the freedom of the Halflings, and she’s lost too many along the way. But when she finally breaks the last seal, unleashing the Fae magic that’s been hidden away for hundreds of years, the conflict seems to be turning in the Halflings’ favor.
 
Meanwhile, Keera’s discovery of a staggering secret about her lover and the kidnapping of one of her closest allies threatens to tip her back into darkness, but she has no time to rest. Opening the kingdom’s magical seals has transformed Keera in ways even the wisest Fae elders could not have anticipated, and the return of an evil thought long vanquished throws their rescue plans into chaos. And with the kingdom’s Halfling population suddenly posing a risk to the crown, the land is plunged into violence as the king begins a new blood purge. Keera and her allies must gather an army to meet Damien’s forces in a final confrontation of epic—and tragic—proportions.  

The stunning conclusion of BookTok sensation Melissa Blair’s epically romantic series will leave readers breathless as Keera fights for her land, her people, and the promise of a better world.
 

Publisher: Union Square & Co.

Print pages: 480

Sample

I PREPARED MYSELF FOR DEATH. Not mine but the soldiers’ who were foolish enough to stand in our way. The heat of my magic pulsed under my skin in the same steady beat it had from the moment I’d broken the last seal. The new gifts bubbled in my veins, still untested in the three weeks since they were unleashed, but I would need to test them tonight.

I sheathed my bloodstone dagger. It felt wrong to leave it behind, even if the mission would be a short one. After all, it was the blade that had restored Elverath’s magic; the blade that had turned my eyes gold. A small weapon, but hardy enough, though my dual blades were stowed between my shoulders for good measure.

The city of Myrelinth boomed with celebrations underneath my feet. I peered down at the Elverin from the treetops as they delighted in the revived magic. Children’s laughter echoed off the spiraling branches of the giant Myram tree. My chest loosened. I was grateful they could indulge in celebration, even if the levity wouldn’t last.

Magic had returned, but the war was not over.

I leaped from my burl. With a flash of light against the tangled vines, I took flight. It was easier to leave the city in my eagle form than walk through the crowds.

I scanned the skies as I flew, searching for signs of mercenaries or spies in the thick wood. Before the seals had broken, the wood was dark enough that any signs of fire were easy to spot. But now the Burning Mountains were aflame with their own inner light.

Leaves of every color glowed beneath my wings, swaying in the wind like luminescent algae caught along the surf. It was breathtaking. I couldn’t blame the Elverin for celebrating the return of magic.

The land was completely new. Just as the rivers of snowmelt washed away the frost each spring, the sealed magic had flooded across Elverath, transforming it almost beyond the point of recognition. I had been too dazed to notice the extent of the changes when we journeyed back to Aralinth the day the last seal broke.

My mind was on everyone we had lost.

Lash.

Maerhal.

Nikolai.

I refused to believe that Damien had killed him. That would be too merciful. All I could picture were the different ways Damien had been torturing my friend. Some things were worse than death.

Dead or not, Nikolai’s absence had fractured us completely. While the rest of the Elverin danced until dawn each night and spent their days rediscovering plants and life they thought had gone extinct, the heart of the rebellion no longer had a pulse.

Syrra refused to speak. She haunted the crypts as if waiting for her sister’s ghost to come and find her there.

Vrail hadn’t left the library. She was determined to find some kind of ancient magic to locate Nikolai, or to at least find out if he was dead or alive.

Their duties plus Nikolai’s had fallen to me. And Killian’s, it seemed.

I kicked the ground as I landed, shoving thoughts of Riven and his deception from my mind. My anger had had three weeks to roast, but it would do no good for me tonight. Riven had fled as he always did. And, as always, it was left to me to make the hard choices.

I took a deep breath, and the scent of honey filled my nostrils. I needed to focus on this mission. Nothing else existed. I looked down. Tiny yellow bells had sprouted from where I disturbed the soil with my boot.

Three weeks had not been enough to calm my newfound magic. My body was electrified, pulsing with life, and I could feel that same pulse everywhere I walked. Magic. That’s what Feron had told me when I came to him with my concerns. I was overflowing with it.

He had told me that my powers would only grow stronger now that I was a niinokwenar. A Faemother. I pulled my hood over my head, covering my golden eyes. I didn’t want more magic. Especially when the Elverin looked at me like a reincarnation of their sacred Faelin.

I would not bring them peace like she and her daughters had.

I had brought a war to their feet, and even with our magic stores returned, I knew that the death toll would spill over with blood soon enough.

Most of it amber.

My magic pulsed as I flattened my palm against the stony peak of the Burning Mountains. I could make out the trail through the thick foliage, but it was best to check for rogue Shades and soldiers before the others arrived. The pulse of life overwhelmed my senses. I winced as I focused my gift to just the trail below. It was clear. I took flight and dove through the glimmering leaves. A flock of faeflies scattered as my arms replaced my wings in a flash of light.

I gawked at the path. It was like walking a winding trail through the stars instead of a woodland. Every place I stepped was an eerie dream, equal parts familiar and new. I had traveled the paths along the western side of the Burning Mountains countless times; I’d patrolled it for half a year after I gained my hood. I would go to sleep with every turn drawn behind my eyelids like a map.

But even the woods in the kingdom were different now. The Elder birch had turned gold just like those in the Faelinth. They shimmered as the first signs of light broke along the horizon.

The others would arrive any minute.

I leaned against one of the massive trees. New plants and shrubs I had never seen sprouted between the white trunks. Tiny berries hung from purple leaves and spouted a tiny tendril of flame each time a faefly buzzed past. At night, the flames flashed so often they looked like stars had fallen from the sky and settled along the tree line.

I pulled the stalk of a thin weed the color of seafoam. The earth swelled around its roots as I lifted the hidden fruit from the dirt. The thrashing power of my magic swelled forward, and water pooled from the air to wash the dirt away. Underneath was a thick, round ball the size of my fist.

I hit the hard skin against the trunk of the birch tree. The sound echoed, and something in the darkness snarled.

I ignored it. I was still the scariest thing in this wood.

The tough, green skin of the fruit gave way to bright pink flesh. My stomach rumbled at the sweet aroma. The flight had exhausted me more than I thought, and I hadn’t packed any sustenance. Nikolai was the one who always made sure to pack extra food.

I set one half of the fruit on the ground and bit into the other. It was one of the plants that had gone temporarily extinct without magic. I knew it was edible because I had watched Darythir pluck one from the ground to feast on, but I had no idea what it was called.

I groaned as I took the first bite. It was deliciously fresh. So much so that I barely looked up when the watery veil between the two Elder birches swirled with auric light.

“You make more mess than a horse.” Gerarda’s lip curled above her teeth in feigned disgust. She looked shorter than normal standing between two tall horses. The top of her short hair was pulled back into a small bun, not long enough for a braid. Her eyes darted in every direction as she scanned the trail.

Gerarda didn’t have it in her to trust my magic to defend us.

She let go of my horse’s reins as it gracefully licked at the fruit before swallowing it whole.

Gerarda might have had a point.

Fyrel and Gwyn slipped through the portal side by side, their horses trailing after them. Fyrel was mid-whisper when her gaze landed on me. “Morning, Keera.” My name came slow and rough on Fyrel’s tongue, like it still caused her pain to call me anything other than “Mistress.”

Gwyn smiled and tossed me a small bag of cured meats.

I launched a piece into my mouth. “I knew there was a reason I let you come on this mission.”

Gwyn’s crimson curls fanned out as her head snapped back to me. “Let me?” She turned to Gerarda. “You said I earned this.”

Gerarda planted herself right next to the portal. “You have.”

I stuck another piece of meat in my mouth so I didn’t say something foolish. Gerarda and I had been arguing about letting Gwyn accompany us for two days. She was certain that Gwyn’s sword work and combat skills were well past an initiate. I couldn’t deny Gwyn’s skill with a blade, but there was something familiar about her unearned confidence. She was impatient and overzealous just like I had been. Just like Brenna had been.

And that had gotten her killed.

A small smile played at Gerarda’s lips as the veil of water shimmered once more. I didn’t need to see Elaran step through the portal to know it was her. There was only one person on the entire continent who could make Gerarda focus on anything other than a mission.

Elaran slipped off her horse, her big curls loose but pushed back with a golden headband.

I stared at the portal. “Syrra? Vrail?”

Gerarda laced her hand through Elaran’s and shook her head. “Syrra refuses to leave the crypt, and Vrail locked us out of the library before we could ask her.”

“And you didn’t break down the door?”

Gerarda looked at the ground with a guilty expression on her face.

“Feron fixed it,” Elaran said through her laugh. She rested her arm on Gerarda’s shoulder. “Though he insisted Gerrie leave Vrail to her books.”

“And you didn’t try?”

Elaran’s face softened with pity. It made my back tense. “She’s not coming, Keera. We’ll try again next time.”

Next time. What if Vrail never went on another mission? What if losing Nikolai changed her forever and she never held a sword again? I thumbed the scar along my forearm through my tunic. Losing Brenna had changed me. In so many ways—some I was only beginning to understand.

“Did you find Riven at least?” There was a desperate breathiness in my voice that only made me angrier. Riven had left Aralinth hours after we returned from breaking the last seal. All I had gotten was a notebook with a I’m searching for Nikolai scribbled onto the first page.

I hadn’t written him back.

Elaran shook her head. “The four of us are more than capable of handling an extraction.”

“There’s five of us.” Fyrel pointed to each of us, tallying it up on her fingers.

Elaran smirked. She looked as alluring as a fire lion, and just as dangerous. “I’m counting you and your sweetness”—she eyed Gwyn—“as only one. Untested halves, if you will.”

Fyrel’s cheeks flushed red and she had the sudden urge to reorganize her saddlebags. Her braid swayed behind her back as her leg bounced underneath her.

Gwyn’s blue eyes narrowed. “Haven’t we trained enough to be seen as individuals?”

“If that were true then you wouldn’t be serving the same role on this mission.” Elaran’s horse bucked, his ears flicking to something in the forest. She patted its jaw, and it nipped at the grassy trail.

“Keera, what does she mean?” Gwyn crossed her arms, her red strands almost setting themselves aflame with the rage behind her eyes. “Gerarda said that I would play a crucial role.”

Of course Gerarda had said that. I snapped a look at her, but Gerarda just shrugged, leaving me to answer Gwyn’s questions.

“And so you shall.” I lobbed another piece of meat into my mouth. “As lookouts.”

Gwyn groaned. “So you don’t mean for me to do anything at all.”

I stood up from the base of the tree. “This is not some training drill, Gwyn.” My magic flared behind me, and I could sense plant life sprouting from where I had been sitting. I didn’t turn to look; I needed Gwyn to understand this. “These are real people. Real Halflings we are going to save. I would never put their lives in the hands of someone I couldn’t completely trust to do their job.”

I stepped close enough to Gwyn that I could feel her swallow.

“Are you telling me that I shouldn’t trust you with this?” I tucked my hands behind my back and stared down at her just as Hildegard had done to me countless times as an initiate. “If you are not ready for a real mission, say so now.”

Gwyn straightened to her full height. “I am ready.” Her nostrils flared as she spoke.

“Good.”

Gwyn didn’t relax her stance. “Am I meant to be a sentry forever then?”

Elaran stepped around Gwyn and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Patience is the sharpest weapon a warrior can have.”

“And the largest shield one can carry,” I added.

Gwyn turned to Gerarda, as if she couldn’t trust what Elaran and I had said without her approval. I gritted my teeth. Gerarda was an excellent warrior, one of the greatest I had ever seen, but only one of us had been named Blade.

Gerarda nodded. “If we save Victoria and her Halflings, it will be in no small part because you and Fyrel were keeping the path clear.”

“Who is Victoria anyway?” Fyrel said, still next to her horse, her cheeks less red now.

“One of the Halflings in hiding that helped others find refuge,” Elaran said. “She is one of the founding members of the Rose Road.”

My chest tightened with the urge to correct Elaran’s mistake. Victoria was Mortal, not a Halfling. Though I could understand the assumption in a world where so few Mortals were willing to risk their lives to ferry Halflings into safety. But something in her gaze told me that correction was best left until the Halflings were safe and not under threat of siege from Damien’s sellswords.

“Doesn’t explain why we’re rushing to Silstra the moment she sends word.” Gerarda crossed her arms. “Wouldn’t it be safer with more of a plan? I never sent in Shades without at least a week of surveillance.”

I tugged on the new fastener at my neck. The gleaming gemstones and the white stone of the Order that we had reclaimed for ourselves. “We aren’t Shades any longer.”

Gerarda crossed her arms, refusing to move until she had her answer.

I sighed. I had been evading Gerarda’s questions since Dynara sent word of Victoria’s message two days prior. And anyone willing to put their lives on the line for one of my plans deserved an answer.

“Damien’s soldiers are dealing with the chaos that the return of magic unleashed.” There had been reports of new plants destroying dwellings and the waters of the Three Sisters rising up and washing livestock away. “That chaos is a distraction we can use to our advantage.” I swallowed the lump building in my throat. “Giving Damien time to plot is too dangerous. It’s better to move quickly before he has every village under watch.”

If he didn’t already.

Gerarda’s lips were nothing but a thin line across her face. She held my gaze for a long moment then nodded.

Elaran tugged at her partner’s bun. “Glad that’s settled.” She twirled a long, thin blade with two sharpened ends between her fingers. “We should be on our way if we want to make the last portal by dusk.”

I shoveled the remaining contents of the meat pouch into my mouth and swallowed. I grabbed the horn of my saddle, ready to mount, but Gwyn grabbed my arm. Her finger was pressed against her lips, and she pointed up to a gap in the foliage where we could see the lightening sky.

Fyrel and Gerarda grabbed their bows and nocked an arrow in perfect unison. They tracked the target as it flew but did not shoot.

Three beautiful birds soared above the tree line. Their feathers were a deep red near their body and burned bright gold at the ends. They had flown over the Pool of Elvera mere hours after the seal had broken and the survivors of Damien’s troops had fled.

Laethvaraq. That’s what Feron had called them.

He said they were an omen of great prosperity and always flew in a flock of three. Before Aemon had come to Elverath, the laethvaraq were seen as a symbol of luck. Then the king had them killed and they were forgotten by all except those old enough to have seen them for themselves.

But that was not what Gerarda and Fyrel had their arrows pointed at. Soaring high above the birds was a small black shadow. It made no sound at all. The only warning was the sudden silence of the wood.

It lingered in the air and, for a moment, I thought it wouldn’t strike.

But then it dove.

The small shadow grew in size, almost as large as my eagle form. The laethvaraq turned their long necks just in time to see the owl transform into a horrifying beast. Its head slithered from its body like a snake, growing until it was large enough to swallow the lucky birds whole.

We watched in silent horror as its tongue wrapped around the neck of the middle bird. The resounding snap echoed through the forest as the owl swallowed the beautiful creature in a single gulp.

Then as quickly as it had transformed, its head shrunk to its original size, and it looked like a normal owl once more.

Gerarda lowered her bow.

“No wonder Syrra hates them,” I said under my breath.

“The first shapeshifters.” Elaran took a sip from her waterskin. “Many of the Fae who had the gift would take an owl’s form.”

Like Riven’s mother.

I mounted my horse and pushed all thoughts of Riven and his shapeshifting from my mind.

Gwyn’s face was solemn. “Feron told me that the laethvaraq are born as three. If one dies, two more deaths will swiftly follow.”

My chest tightened. I hoped that wasn’t an omen too.

“It’s amazing,” Fyrel said, her arrow still pointed at the sky. “Imagine being able to take whatever form you like.”

She turned to me with wide, pondering eyes.

I huffed a laugh. “No shapeshifter has ever known that power. We have one other form, and that is more than enough.”

I disappeared into a flash of light and soared across the path, whipping Fyrel’s braid with my wing. I perched on my saddle and transformed back to my Fae form with a grin. Fyrel clapped her hands, and Gerarda hit my leg with her shoulder before mounting her own horse.

“Show-off.”

I REFUSED TO LOOK AT THE GROUND where Maerhal had died. Everyone else was focused on readying their blades as we waited for the second sun to fully set. We had spent the day patrolling the King’s Road, keeping our ears to the ground for any useful tidbits that would let us know what to expect in Silstra.

The city still smelled of smoke from the fires Damien had set. My body turned to stone, too heavy for my legs to carry, but I stood anyway. Gerarda knew that Maerhal had died in Silstra, and I was certain she told Elaran, but I never told anyone the details.

I never told her that the woman I swore to protect died within the portal’s boundary. That only a few weeks earlier, I had come to this city with hope that we could still best Damien and instead left an empty shell. Part of me wished that I had died that day when I opened the seal, that Riven had never helped me, and that I didn’t still carry the weight of the war on my shoulders.

“I can’t believe that used to be a dam,” Gwyn whispered in awe as she stared up at the towering cliff’s edge and the thrashing waterfall that now fed the mouth of the Three Sisters below.

Silstra.

Fyrel turned to me. “A few explosions took down a structure that high?”

“Dozens.” I swallowed the memory of Nikolai stitching the detonators in a frenzy as we shared a carriage. “And I nearly died doing it.”

Fyrel gasped as if she hadn’t heard the story half a dozen times on our passage from the Order to the Faelinth.

“Tie the horses,” I ordered. “It’s time.”

We walked along the bank of the river with me at the front and Gerarda and Elaran at the back. No one spoke as the first stars dotted the skies and then exploded into a moonless, shimmering tapestry.

The lack of moonlight served us well. We didn’t meet a single soul on the steep path up the cliff to the eastern side of Silstra. It was as if the entire city was on edge, checking the skies for another Fae attack.

Of course, they blamed the fires on me and not the man who set them.

Their king.

Bile coated my tongue as the putrid scents of burnt stone and wood filled my lungs. I gazed across the river and saw the ruin of the building I had pulled Collin from. The image of his corpse with the words Halfling Scum carved into his chest was imprinted in my mind. It welcomed me every time I closed my eyes and tried to escape into a dreamless sleep where, if only for a few short hours, I could forget all that Damien had done.

What did they do with his body? Had they strung it up along the city center somewhere for residents to gawk at? Or had they thrown it back onto the ruin to rot?

Did Damien stop playing with his toys once they died?

Whatever Damien had done to Collin, I knew what he was doing to Nikolai would be so much worse. How much time did Nikolai have left? I didn’t know if I should be counting in hours or days.

Nothing could be done for Nikolai in that moment. I had to trust that Riven would find him or that some other path to his rescue would appear. Guilt tore at my throat, but I needed to push all thoughts of my dear friend from my mind.

We had Halflings to rescue.

We nestled behind one of the large piles of blasted stone at the edge of the city. It was the perfect lookout for Fyrel and Gwyn. I checked their necks for the matching glamours hanging on Elvish chain that Feron had made them. As long as they kept to the shadows and didn’t make any obvious movements, they would be hidden from view.

Gerarda let go of Elaran’s hand and pulled something from the side pocket of her leathers. She handed thin, silver tubes to Gwyn and Fyrel. Spyglasses. “Watch for movement along the city streets. Signal us with the faebeads I gave you if you spot trouble.”

Gwyn’s hand wrapped around the spyglass and her lips thinned. “Surely we can be of more help going with you.”

She gave Gerarda the sweetest smile.

Fyrel elbowed Gwyn’s side, but the girl didn’t drop her stare. Despite her years of servitude in the palace, Gwyn had not learned to respect the word no. Not that I could blame her—I had done far worse in the dawn of seventeen.

Gerarda leaned three inches to the side to look at me. She always set me up to be the disciplinarian with Gwyn.

“You will do as ordered,” I said bluntly.

Gwyn scowled. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

I raised a brow. “If I was interested in coddling you, you would be in Myrelinth with Vrail. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

Gwyn turned to Gerarda. She was like a toddler pleading with one parent after the other said no.

Gerarda threw a knife into the air and caught it in the thin holster along her forearm. “Don’t turn to me for solace.” Her expression was unyielding. “I would have sent you home for arguing against orders the first time.”

Gwyn’s mouth snapped shut.

Elaran chuckled and stroked Gwyn’s cheek and then Fyrel’s. “If you’re quick enough, you can take a few soldiers during the escape before I get to them.”

Fyrel’s eyes went wide with anticipation. For someone whose legs had been burned to the bone only a few weeks before, she seemed eager to draw her sword again.

I gritted my teeth. I would not make these girls killers unless absolutely necessary. “The point of the mission is to avoid soldiers, Elaran.” The scars along my body tightened, pulling at my skin, a thousand tiny reminders of the true cost of a kill.

Elaran gave a coy shrug. “I like my missions a little wild.” Her green eyes trailed over me in a way that made me shiver.

Gerarda cleared her throat and handed Elaran a fully stocked quiver. “Dynara’s message said that they would expect us at nightfall. The time for quips has ended.” There was a slight edge to Gerarda’s voice that only seemed to encourage Elaran.

I held a hand to Gwyn’s cheek. It was soft and unmarred, unlike her belly. I didn’t want her skin marked any more than it already was. “Hold your post.” I turned to Fyrel. “No matter what. You’re our eyes. Our lives are fully in your hands.”

Fyrel straightened and placed her hand over her face and then her chest. “Yes, Mistress.”

I raised a brow.

“I mean, Keera.”

Gwyn pulled me into a quick embrace. “Don’t spare any of them,” she whispered. There was a wicked undercurrent to her words, dangerous like the sea on the brink of a storm. It unsettled me how easily the young girl who shook in anticipation of the presents I might bring her now spoke of death. The war had changed her so much. Who would she be at the end of this? If she even survived.

I squeezed her back and nodded.

We slipped under the cover of darkness and stalked along the eastern alleys of the city. Elaran and Gerarda crept behind me, knees bent, darting from shadow to shadow along the empty alleyways.

I held out my hand as we came to a wide street. It was deserted apart from three stragglers who had yet to return to their homes from the pubs and pleasure houses.

Gerarda reached for her sleeping darts, but I stayed her hand. Unconscious bodies would be too easy to spot; we needed a better distraction.

I let my chest fill with the whirlwind magic that came from my lungs and took control of the air around us just enough to create an inconspicuous breeze. With a wave of my hand, the hat flew off the middle man’s head and rolled down the street in the opposite direction of our path.

They all chased after it, drunk with ale and laughter, as the three of us crossed the street unseen. Silstra was unusually quiet. It was not one of the larger cities in the kingdom, but there were always people meandering through the streets late into the night.

A sound echoed in the alley, and we all went still.

Elaran pulled the smooth gold pin from her hair. It was sharper than a knife on either end and perfectly balanced. Her fingers tightened around its middle as she pointed to a barrel at the end of the way. She crept along the wall, hidden in shadow, making no sound. I understood why Hildegard had chosen her to spy on Curringham and the other lords for years. She was perfect.

Elaran lifted her tiny spear to strike but froze.

Gerarda nocked an arrow, assuming Elaran had been hit.

But she just stuck the gold rod back into her bountiful curls. She turned, and a small rodent-like creature scurried down the alley behind her. Its tail glowed bright red before it disappeared between a crack in the wooden building.

“Orchard mouse.” Gerarda sighed, her shoulders relaxing. They had reappeared across Elverath, continuously searching for their favorite snack—winvra—but the magical berries had not replenished as quickly as the mice had returned.

I signaled to keep moving forward. Elaran and Gerarda fell in step behind me as we came to the house that Victoria had been using to hide and feed Halflings. What had once been a house in shambles, with its decrepit roof and rot in the walls, was now a total ruin. Burnt wood covered the ground.

The building had abutted the same house that Damien had thrown Maerhal into. Whether the purple flames had ignited the refuge or Victoria had done it with intent, I didn’t know. Dynara’s message had been short.

Get there soon was all it had said apart from the instructions on where to find them.

Thankfully Victoria’s hideaway had been moved. Tarvelle had seen to it that all the safe houses in Silstra were changed after the last was burned in purple fire. He had done it out of suspicion of me, and ultimately that suspicion had cost him his life. Damien had used his obvious distaste for my past as the perfect scapegoat to hide his true mole among our ranks.

Collin.

He had injected Collin with the same kind of elixir he had put into me. But where Damien had only forged a connection between our minds through dreams, he had given himself full control over Collin’s dreamscape. Wearing the face of Killian in Collin’s dreams, Damien had gathered all the information he needed to keep watch over his brother’s rebellion in the west and use it to his advantage.

Like the locations of our safe houses. I gripped my blade. Even though Damien’s soldiers had been scattered in the chaos of recent weeks, I had to be prepared for the possibility that Damien was using these Halflings as a trap.

We were all still stuck in his game.

“It should be around the next bend,” Gerarda whispered, pointing to the decrepit temple at the end of the alley.

I ran to the end of the lane and froze. The glamour hiding the safehouse blew away on the evening breeze.

Where a long wooden beam had fallen through the rafters and onto the ground now sat a hole.

Not a hole, but an entrance. Five steps were crudely carved into the dirt leading to a thick stone door. It stood upright, the top of it at ground level, hiding the dugout underneath. Elaran and I walked down the steep steps, both of us stretching our legs and using our hands to climb down. I grazed the divots in the stone door; the hammer that had forged it was quick and imprecise.

My magic stirred, raising the hairs on my neck.

Elaran knocked three times before the door cracked open. A harsh squeal echoed out from the room, and I peered over Elaran’s shoulder. Dozens of eyes blinked back at me in the pale starlight. Some held their hands to their faces as though even the night was too bright. From the smell of it, they had locked themselves inside for days.

I held my breath and searched for the only pair of eyes I knew. Deep lines framed her dark brown gaze. Her back had a curve to it now, and her hair was even more gray, but Victoria had nothing but a proud smile across her face as she looked at me.

She hobbled up the steps inside the room. I grabbed her leathered hand. “It has been too long, old friend.”

Victoria’s round shape had deflated in the months of rations. Knowing her, she had taken less than her share and split it among the children. I scanned the room quickly. There were at least two dozen kids i