The mayor’s new meeting room was separate from his house. It resembled a tent—a large dome with no door, only curtain-like carpets you pushed aside to enter. His original office was still under repair. He had insisted that the townspeople prioritize homes and shops first. And so, he was left to conduct his orders from what his friends jokingly called “the pillow fort.”

  It might sound cruel, but many in Chestnut had turned to humor as a way to cope in the days following the attack.

  Carol walked with Yig to the entrance, careful not to rush him and aggravate his injuries. At the threshold, she stopped and stood straight, gesturing for Yig to continue without her. The meeting wasn’t hers. This was a private conversation between the mayor and a resident of Chestnut—though she understood it was far more personal than that.

  Inside, the tent was lit by tall torches, their flames flickering in the draft as Yig stepped through. The wooden skeleton of the dome curved above him, its beams arching toward the peak. A few feet away, seated on a raised chair, the mayor loomed over him. His ginger beard was damp and matted to his face. He didn’t meet Yig’s eyes. Instead, he stared down at the floor, his hand resting on a jug stained from spilled drink.

  In a deep bellow, still without looking up, he addressed Yig.

  “You came?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “…Do you have anything to say?”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “You spoke of Darleth to her—as did the rest of the village—but you especially wouldn’t let it go. Why?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well then, boy!” the mayor roared, voice thick with strain. “Let me explain! Darleth left—long, long ago. I was there when he turned his back on us—on his family, on his village. And yet, the children still cheer his name. None more than you.”

  “But—”

  “Silence! I was Mona’s father—do you understand? Maybe not by blood, but I raised her. I taught her. I cared for her. She could’ve been so much. And still, despite being better than her failure of a father in every way, she wanted to follow in his footsteps. All because someone among us carried Darleth’s spirit.”

  He hurled his mug across the room, splashing liquor on Yig’s trousers.

  “You’re wrong, sir.”

  The mayor’s face turned scarlet. He rose, towering over Yig with barely contained fury.

  “The man you fought—who was he?”

  “He was of The Storm. I know that much.”

  “You arrogant punk! My people are dead, and you still have the gall to feed me fairy tales?”

  Yig glared back, firm. The mayor’s rage didn’t vanish, but it seemed to ebb as he slumped back into his chair, rubbing his face with a trembling hand.

  “Darleth,” he muttered, “left Mona a gift for when she came of age. It’s still here. You will take it.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Yig took a step back, caught off guard. That was the last thing he expected to hear.

  “What could be worth giving to me?”

  “The cave, behind the mound. He left something in there.”

  The mayor seemed calmer now, though reluctantly.

  “Was that… like his hideout?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Why do you need to know?”

  Yig mumbled under his breath in the face of the grumpy mayor.

  “Well, that was Jack’s theory.”

  A third voice suddenly boomed into the tent as someone entered.

  “You pompous prick!”

  Both Yig and the mayor jumped as Jordan stormed in, followed by Shack and a flustered Carol.

  “You think that chair gives you respect? Well, damn that!”

  The hunter continued shouting as he marched toward the stunned mayor.

  “Are you calling me pompous, Jordan? I—”

  “What word would you prefer? Because I’ll call you whatever I want while you’re still harassing my men!”

  Yig sat up straighter.

  “Your men? Me…?”

  “First you take away their hunt—now you’re hassling Yig?”

  The mayor slammed his fist on the armrest, but didn’t have the energy to stand.

  “Plenty of the hunters wanted a break after the attack.”

  “Then let them have it! They don’t speak for all of us! For me and the others, the hunt is all we have. And if anyone needed a break, all they’d have to do is say the word. If that’s how they cope, I support them. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to sit around pulling weeds.”

  “You sure talk big for someone who’s never sat in this chair!”

  “Wait…” Yig said quietly. “I’m one of your men?”

  Jordan met his eyes, that same stern look now giving Yig hope instead of shame.

  “Damn right you are.”

  “Quiet!” the mayor barked. “Arguing with any of you has proven pointless. Jordan, it’s clear your hunters will do whatever you think best, no matter my orders. I suppose that’s the result of training you all to be so damn independent. The same goes for Yig—he may do as he sees fit. But if our economy begins to suffer, I will intervene.”

  His voice softened.

  “It’s a difficult time. I ask for your patience.”

  Jordan, still wound up, fell silent—his aggression stalled by the sudden shift in tone.

  “Sir?” Yig asked. “You were talking about—?”

  “Yes. Mona’s birthright. I can’t tell you what it is—I don’t know myself. All I’ve been told is that it’s a weapon. I urge you to approach the cave with caution. Still, it’s the opinion of many, myself included, that you have every right to claim it… if you can.”

  “Sir… thank you.”

  “Don’t,” the mayor muttered, his voice heavy with grief and drink. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “…I’m going to leave. Soon.”

  “As you’ve said,” the mayor replied with a groan.

  Yig looked at him for a moment, then turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  Yig stopped and glanced back.

  “Darleth made one more thing clear when he spoke of the cave—don’t go alone.”

  Walking across the wet grass, his red cloak shielding him from the cold, Yig made his way toward the mound. Behind him, Jordan caught up, followed by Shack, who trailed behind sheepishly, clearly dissatisfied with being dragged along by his brother.

  “Oy, Yig! What was that about Mona’s birthright?” Jordan called out.

  Yig stopped and turned. “Why are you being nice?”

  “Have I ever given you the impression I’d do otherwise?”

  “You’re not exactly the kindest.”

  “What? Because I yell? Because I give you a stern look?”

  Yig’s face scrunched up. He didn’t want to admit that was the reason—but Jordan could tell.

  “Can’t you see that being kind and gentle isn’t always the best way to show kindness?”

  “And kicking me out of the hunters? That was kindness?”

  “Yes! What good would it do you to stick with a group so below your league, Yig?”

  “Hey,” Shack snapped, turning his nose up in frustration.

  “Come on, Yig,” Jordan continued. “You and Mona—that was the team you belonged with. Not us.”

  Yig paused, sadness flickering in his eyes, then kept walking.

  “Please,” Jordan said. “Tell us what the mayor talked to you about.”

  “It’s about Darleth,” Yig replied begrudgingly. “He left her a weapon. In the icy cave at the back of the mountains.”

  “And you’re going to take it?”

  “I plan to.”

  “Right. Well, me and Shack are coming with you.”

  Shack grumbled something under his breath but followed his brother anyway, skittish. His face was still battered from the battle, a bandage over his broken nose, his eyes dark and baggy. Yet defying his brother still seemed like a worse threat than those who’d attacked them.

  “For what?” Yig asked.

  “To help.”

  Yig’s face shifted, his expression pulling between joy, anger, and sorrow. “What happened, Jordan?”

  “You know what happened. I saw you fight, Yig—and how skilled you’ve gotten… But you can’t do this alone. Let us help.”

  One emotion finally rose above the rest, settling on Yig’s face as he offered a calm, appreciative smile.

  “No.”