It felt like a hand at my back. Not gentle, butinsistent. Pushing me forward. Demanding.I didn’t think. I just started walking, guided by something unseen.
My legs carried me before my mind could catch up. And maybe I was walking into a trap. Maybe the wind was leading me to my death. But I was too tired to doubt it, and too desperate not to follow. We hadn’t come that far just to turn back. And Licia was still out there, waiting for us. For me. Weneededa way through.
“Where are you going?” Will called after me, voice taut with worry.
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
Aran caught up quickly, murmuring my name, but I didn’t turn toward him. The path wound past an orchard of dying trees, the ground littered with rotting apples and bruised pears. Then the slope dipped gently downward. And I smelled it before I saw it.
Salt on the breeze. Damp wood, rust, and something sweet I couldn’t name. A harbor emerged through the thinning trees. At the far dock, a single ship lay moored. Men moved across the deck with practiced ease, unloading crates and barrels into neat stacks along the shore. Above them, snapping sharp in the wind, flew a flag I recognized instantly. A golden deer, its antlers curling like branches, on a deep green field.
The sigil of Alevé.
Aran let out a short, joyless laugh, clearly coming to the same conclusion I had. “Even the Vulture can’t live without his wine.”
I’d heard of Alevi wine, everyone had. It was said to be the finest in the world. Sweet as honey, smooth as silk. Not that I’d ever tasted it.
“I thought the trade routes were cut,” I whispered.
“Well the King’s probably throwing a ball,” Will murmured. “Or hosting a lavish feast.”
It wasn’t the wine itself that lit the fire in my chest. Not the silk or the spices or the crates lined with citrus and sugar. It was the sheer audacity. The borders were sealed, most trade was believed to be cutoff. The fields were burned and people were starving, and yet those ships still docked.
There were far better places to dock, closer to the castles in Sanire. I didn’t have a map, but even without one, it didn’t add up. Perhaps it was black market trade, slipping through, the rarer goods became, the more valuable it was. Worth the detour. Worth the risk. A forgotten harbor, used only by those who didn’t want to be seen.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Aran said mock-sweet. “I was starting to worry the nobles would have to go without their oranges.”
The way the crew moved with quiet efficiency, the rise and fall of the sails, the neat stacks of cargo arranged along the shore like offerings. Dark wines sealed in gold, bolts of silk and heavy sacks with foreign stamps. Each crate, each barrel, each polished bottle pulled from the hold felt like betrayal.
Then new crates were brought forward, unloaded from a wagon I hadn’t seen at first. Furs, smoked meats, barrels of cider that could’ve lasted a winter. I recognized the markings, catching glimpses of familiar stamps between the ropes.
Our goods. But it wasn’t our flag flying above them. Not the white wolf beneath a pale moon, set against navy. Not the sigil I’d grown up with. It was different. A white banner, stretched taut. A single red eye at its center.
The king had changed our sigil.
I stared, and the sickness rose fast. It wasn’t just about power anymore. Or control. Or coin.
He was erasing us.
Our land. Our history. Our name.
But I knew where that ship was headed. And in that moment, that was all I needed to know.
So we waited. The sun dipped low, brushing gold across the horizon before slipping away. Shadows stretched longer, spilling over crates and stone. The harbor hushed, and lanterns flickered to lifealong the dock, soft and swaying, painting broken trails of light across the black water. Only a few sailors remained on board, their shapes barely more than silhouettes.
“We need to time this perfectly,” Will whispered. “If we’re spotted—”
Aran glared at him, like it was an insult to even suggest he’d fail.
“We won’t be,” he said, and his voice didn’t waver.
I wanted to believe we could do it without getting caught, without being killed, without making things worse than they already were. But doubt was already curling through me, filling every hollow space inside my chest.
There was no turning back.
We moved quickly, staying low, slipping from shadow to shadow as the wind picked up around us, scattering leaves and cloaking our footsteps in its rush. Still, every creak of the dock made my stomach twist, sharp and too loud in the quiet. The gangplank groaned beneath us as we stepped onto it, and I hesitated when I caught sight of a figure slumped near a barrel.
