Vierna cursed her exhaustion and panic. The thought of betraying the Reich still hung in her mind like a body swaying from the gallows. The pain had returned as well, creeping back now that the numbing agent had worn off. In that haze, she had slipped, made a mistake that someone as perceptive as Loran’del would never overlook.

  It wasn’t about what she had lied about. The problem was that she had lied at all. Ever since her encounter with Loran’del on her first day here, it had been clear that once he learned she was using a fake name, he regarded Vierna with suspicion. Now that he had caught her lying again, it only added fuel to an already burning pyre of doubt.

  With that, Loran’del was able to push her to drink the tea, and nothing good would come of it.

  Loran’del’s gaze sharpened. “How could you, a human, notice something in the dark that Fenric didn’t?”

  “I… I…”

  “Herr Loran’del, Vierna is lying.”

  The voice split the silence like a blade through ice. Vierna’s breath caught, her eyes widening as she turned toward the source. Fenric. His black eyes were steady, unflinching, meeting Loran’del’s death-cold stare without hesitation.

  “I notice something in the grass.” Fenric said. “So I told her something was amiss.”

  A low murmur rippled through the hall. Even the villagers began to exchange uneasy glances, their doubt shifting toward him.

  “Fenric… what are you talking about?” Loran’del muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead.

  “I saw some grass blades snapped, like someone had stepped on them. And the direction of the break was against our way back, which meant someone other than us had gone deeper into the forest. So we went to check.”

  Loran’del’s eyes narrowed, the tension snapping into focus. “You said you were bad at hunting! What you just described would only be noticed by a hunter or a tracker—and you told me you can’t do either!”

  Fenric hesitated for a moment, then took a slow breath. “That’s why I asked Vierna to lie for me—so I could eventually be reassigned to something else. I don’t want to be a tracker or a hunter.”

  The room went still.

  “I especially don’t like hunting,” Fenric continued, his tone quiet but firm. “Just because my mother was a hunter doesn’mean that I too should be a hunter even if iam good at it. I never wanted to kill for a living.”

  He turned his gaze toward Vierna, the faintest trace of guilt flickering in his eyes. “She was only covering for me, because I told her about this while we were out hunting together.”

  Vierna couldn’t believe that Fenric had just defended her—a girl he barely knew—in front of the entire village by revealing his own secret. Her mind kept asking why, yet she had no possible explanation. She owed Fenric a huge debt; his defense had shifted Loran’del’s suspicion, even if only for a while.

  “Lies! The only reason I didn’t force that girl to drink is because I trusted you. And here you are, Fenric — defending a girl you barely know and putting the entire village at risk!” Loran’del flicked a rune into the air before Fenric; the same tea from before materialized. “Now drink it!” he commanded.

  Yvlaine snapped. “Loran’del, that’s too much!”

  Loran’del sharp gaze was now pointed at Yvlaine.“That tea only would hurt you if you lie! So if Fenric was as honest as he claimed then he won’t-“

  His voice was cut short as Fenric grabbed the cup and drank it in a single gulp. He threw the empty cup aside and opened his mouth to show it was gone.

  “Who noticed the clue first?!” Loran’del shouted.

  “Me!” Fenric answered without hesitation.

  Vierna knew too well that Fenric’s head must have been splitting apart—he was lying, and the pain from the truth-forcing tea would be unbearable. Yet his expression didn’t waver, his eyes never lost focus.

  Fenric wasn’t a Kagemori like her; his spirit and body were more tightly bound, so whatever something happened to his spirit, his body would immediately feel it too. Which means the same agony Moony had endured was now tearing through Fenric—and yet he gave nothing away, enduring it all alone.

  She felt tears sting her eyes, not knowing why he was willing to suffer this much for her. And worse, Loran’del’s suspicion wasn’t unfounded—he was right to doubt her.

  “Who noticed the clue first?!” Loran’del shouted again.

  “I did, you damned Drow!” Fenric roared back, his reaction unflinching, his body language giving nothing away. He was putting his very spirit on the table.

  Loran’del flicked another rune, and a new cup of tea appeared before Fenric. “Drink it again!”

  “That’s enough, Loran’del!” Ylvaine’s voice thundered across the room as she seized the cup and hurled it against the wall. “You know Fenric is deer-kind, and yet you still keep him as a hunter. And you’re surprised that he lied to you? Are you an idiot?”

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  “It’s because we don’t have any hunters left—thanks to you and your group of outlaws!” Loran’del snapped. “I do what is necessary to protect Rolbart!”

  “Fenric is part of Rolbart! He drank your damned tea, and you still don’t believe him! You keep saying we are family, Loran’del—but here you are, doing exactly what the Reich did to your kind!”

  “Both girls are a threat to Rolbart! And they somehow convinced Fenric to lie for them! I should’ve seen it yesterday, but I was softened by their act of helping this village!” Loran’del shouted. He turned his icy gaze toward Lina and Vierna. “I want the two of you gone by tonight!”

  “You want to throw away someone who actually stood up to that pig of a tax master—and someone who intercepted a threat to this village?” Ylvaine snapped.

  “Yes! I don’t care about any of that! All of it was a fabrication meant to make us lower our guard! I can see it—the lies, the inconsistencies, they’re all over the place!”

  “And we don’t have the right to decide for ourselves anymore? Is Rolbart entirely under your hand now? Is that it, Loran’del?”

  “Stop! Please!”

  Both Ylvaine and Loran’del turned. Vierna stood trembling, her eyes wet with tears. Lies and truth coalesced into a sorrow too heavy to bear.

  “Herr Loran’del…” she said, her voice shaking as she tried to hold back her tears. “If Aline’s presence and mine here are truly intolerable to you, we understand.”

  She took a breath, her voice softer now. “We’ve already been thrown out of our home once. Forced into Haustwitch, made to serve someone as vile as Korrn. When we heard he was making us stay here, we were relieved. It felt like a second chance, better than anything Haustwitch could offer.”

  Vierna met Loran’del’s gaze. “But if our presence here truly harms that community, then we understand, and we’ll leave. We don’t want to bring more trouble to Rolbart. So please, Herr Loran’del… don’t fight with Ylvaine anymore. She clearly has Rolbart’s heart in mind.”

  Hearing Vierna speak about being cast out of her home and her desire not to bring more trouble to Rolbart changed something in the villagers’ faces. Their hearts softened with compassion; the pain of being driven from one’s home was something many of them understood all too well. A few lowered their eyes, others shifted uneasily, guilt tugging at their expressions. Someone in the back wiped at a cheek, pretending it was only the smoke from the lamps.

  Both Lina and Vierna could feel the change in the air. Her hands trembled at her sides before she clasped them together, forcing herself to stand straight. The knot in her throat tightened, her breath catching as she looked from face to face, searching for any sign of mercy.

  In truth, Vierna both lied and told the truth. It was a lie that she had been cast out of her home, a lie that she was at peace with being chased away—but there was honesty in her words when she said she didn’t want to harm Rolbart’s community. And that truth made her own words sting all the more.

  She swallowed hard, blinking away tears that blurred her vision. Her voice had steadied, but her heart was racing. She knew she was in a precarious position, yet to sway the crowd, she had to gamble everything.

  “Glad that you understand.” Loran’del continued. “Now we will-“

  A murmur rose from the crowd—soft at first, almost fragile.

  “Let them stay…” someone whispered near the back.

  The words hung in the air for a heartbeat, then another voice joined in.

  “Let them stay.”

  Then another. And another.

  The hall began to stir as voices overlapped, low at first, uncertain, but growing steadier with each echo. A farmer stepped forward, hands still calloused from work.

  “They fought for us!” he said.

  A mother near the front nodded, clutching her child close. “They bled for Rolbart. We can’t turn them away.”

  Soon the quiet murmur became a wave that rolled through the room, stronger, louder, until it filled every corner of the hall.

  “Let them stay! Let them stay!”

  Loran’del’s jaw tightened, but even he couldn’t speak over it now. The villagers had found their voice in unity.

  He looked around. Faces that once followed his word now looked away. His breath hitched—short, uneven. “You’re making a mistake,” he said, but it sounded smaller than before.

  “The only mistake we made was letting you stay in control for too long!” someone shouted from the crowd. “One of them stood up to Korrn and took lashes for it, and the others you so despise hunted until exhaustion—and fought cultists for us!”

  “We should elect another chief! What do you say, people?!”

  “Yeah! Down with Loran’del!”

  Loran’del’s eyes trembled, disbelief rippling across his face. His mouth opened, then closed again, no words coming out. A faint twitch pulled at the corner of his jaw. His hand tightened around the edge of the table until the wood creaked beneath his grip. The veins on his neck stood out like drawn cords, and his breath came shallow, ragged—each inhale sharper than the last.

  He took one step back, then another, as if the villagers’ shouts themselves were driving him away. The composure that once defined him was gone; what remained was a man cornered by the very people he swore to protect. His lips quivered before he forced them still, trying—and failing—to summon authority again.

  “Please, stop!” Vierna shouted gently from her place. She stepped forward toward Loran’del’s position and turned to face the crowd.

  “You’re all angry because you want what’s best for Rolbart. Herr Loran’del is the same. He’s never placed himself above you—he’s worked, suffered, and endured alongside everyone here.”

  The crowd fell silent as they listened to the young girl defending the very man who had tormented her.

  “I’m not saying Herr Loran’del is completely right,” she continued, her voice steady but soft, “but he’s done his best. Under his guidance, Rolbart has survived this long. Even what happened with Korrn must have caused him great pain. I know he didn’t want that man to keep trampling Rolbart—but what choice did he have? Should he have attacked Korrn and branded Rolbart as a rebel village?”

  She looked around, her eyes pleading. “So please, everyone… don’t dismiss all of Herr Loran’del’s actions because of one slip in judgment.”

  For Vierna, having Loran’del out of the picture would have been ideal. It would make her work easier—no more suspicion, no more watchful eyes. And yet, seeing the proud drow slumped and trembling in disbelief was too much for her.

  She reached out a hand toward Loran’del. “Let’s start over, okay, Herr Loran’del?” she said with a gentle smile.

  Loran’del stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on her hand. His shoulders rose and fell once—a slow, weary breath. Then, without a word, he straightened his posture and brushed the dust from his coat as if collecting the fragments of his dignity. A faint tremor ran through his fingers before he steadied them.

  He conjured a walking cane from a glowing rune and turned toward the exit. Each step echoed softly across the hall, the rhythmic tap of his cane filling the silence he left behind. He didn’t take Vierna’s hand, but neither did he brush it aside; he simply left it hanging in the space between them. Vierna’s hand lingered in the air, warmth fading from her fingers as the echo of his cane receded.

  Then again, Vierna couldn’t blame him. After all, he had been right.