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These warriors were still my kin, still my roots. And by some measure of grace, I summoned the will to aim without severing arteries. Adrenaline fired through me, all the while I recalled my oath to this nation, to every soul who deserved to live freely. Clinging to that, I aimed to injure, not to kill.
Compassion. Mercy. Empathy.
That was Autumn. That was what we must strive for.
I thought of the wheat kernels in my pocket. And I remembered why I’d collected them.
Thrashing bodies packed the lawn. I scanned the area for a clear spot and sprinted toward a small dais at the yard’s border. The manacles dragged behind me, so that I grunted and hobbled with effort. Whirling to face the skirmish, I dug into my trouser pocket and yanked out the wheat kernels.
My voice launched into the sky, uprooting from the pit of my stomach. “Honest Autumn!” I roared, then flung out my arm and released the kernels into the wind.
The grains scattered and sailed like a pennant. Moonlight illuminated the sheen of every pod and seized the crowd’s attention.
The knights drew back, their weapons stalling. Their gazes followed the wheat seeds, which soared beyond the training lawn and shrank into the horizon. At once, the attention of every fighter transferred to me.
The magic of The Wandering Fields was not lost on a single witness. If my intentions—if Poet’s, Eliot’s, or Cadence’s intentions—were not honorable, we wouldn’t be standing here. The fields would have led us astray and trapped us inside, and we’d have never emerged.
I had collected the kernels for this reason. Releasing them provided evidence of where we’d passed through. If these warriors must acknowledge anything, it had to be this.
Weary, reluctant gazes stared back. Bruised and lacerated, they braced themselves.
From across the distance, Poet’s gaze latched to mine. Scrapes marred his face, and his shirt was splattered in blood. But he was alive … beautifully alive. As were Eliot and Cadence, each of them battered and heaving for breath.
Aire loomed beside Poet, his features reflecting pride as he inclined his head. “Your Highness, we shall hear your words.”
Protests burst from the troop and overlapped across the yard. The words “Mad Princess” cluttered the lawn.
“She’s a traitor,” they said.
“She’s a sympathizer,” they rioted.
One of them shouted, “They died because of you!”
The Masters. They died because of me.
Poet stalked my way, lest anyone should try to accost me. Looming close, he snarled at them, with Eliot and Cadence joining in. But Aire held up his palm and yelled, “She did not kill the Masters! I have sworn so before, and I shall swear it again. I was there to bear witness. They attacked first, and their leader Vex attempted to assassinate Her Highness.”
In my absence, he must have defended me along with Poet and Mother. Up until now though, that defense had fallen on ignorant ears.
Tonight, the army reconsidered this testimonial. Not all the soldiers had been present during the courtyard carnage. Of the ones that were, only Aire had survived. As their leader, the most trusted warrior of this nation, and a man known for his intuitive nature—which rivaled that of a seer—Aire’s word traveled across the legion, ringing with authority.
Seizing upon their stunned silence, the knight continued, “Briar of Autumn reveres her soldiers. In The Shadow Orchard, she honored Merit’s death in the custom of our people. ‘May Autumn keep you warm,’” he quoted. “With the fabric of her own gown, she cleaned his blood. With grief, she set a maple leaf upon his head. I saw this!”
“As did I,” Poet hollered. “Is that not the mark of a genuine soul?”
Murmurs flowed through the troop. Commonly, Royals did not prostrate themselves and tarnish their priceless garments to bathe a subject’s wounds. But I had. Merit had deserved my homage and more. It had been the least I owed any soldier of this nation. Truly, I would do that and beyond for these people, for my kin, for my home.
Poet had said he would sacrifice this continent for me. And while I loved him for that, I respectfully disagreed with one part.
A princess would never put herself before others.
A princess would sacrifice herself to save this world.
A ruler did not divide her people. A ruler united them.
That was the mark of a true leader.
Our plan had been to arrive near the troops’ quarters and appeal to them first. In this court, the fealty of a soldier held more ground than the council’s approval. If there was one group I needed most on my side, it was these fighters. If I had them, I had a chance with the nobles, whose support could eventually spread to the rest of the kingdom.
