Katrin and Treya were heading downstairs to look for Corec when their path was blocked by a tall woman with her black hair pulled back in a bun.

“Lady Katrin,” the cook said, “I have tonight’s supper menu for your approval.”

“I’m sure whatever you’ve come up with is fine, Mella,” Katrin told her. “We spent the last year and a half eating trail food. You don’t need to ask me every day.” She kept meaning to tell the cook she wasn’t a lady, but Mella was an intimidating woman who knew far more about running a proper household than Katrin did. Yet, for some reason, it was always Katrin she came to when a decision had to be made.

The cook pursed her lips. “My previous employer preferred to select the main course herself. It’s difficult to set a menu when we have no fresh vegetables or fresh meats. There’s only so much I can do with salt pork, preserves, and brined vegetables.”

“Nedley will find what he can,” Katrin said. Fresh food was scarce in Four Roads after the dragon, and so early in the growing season. The situation would improve as the refugees returned home to their ranches and farms, but some things would have to wait until the harvest. “If you need something special, we can ask Leena if she’d have time to do some shopping the next time she’s in Tyrsall or Sanvara City.”

“I’ll consider that, my Lady. And may I ask when the additional help will arrive? Mr. Boktar promised there’d be two kitchen maids and a scullery maid as soon as he could hire them.”

“Boktar has been busy, but you and I can take care of that ourselves. If we post a notice at the tavern, word will get around.” While the tavern was no longer selling as much ale as it had that first night, it had still become a place for the villagers to exchange news. Most of the adult men would come in for at least a few minutes each night to catch up on the events of the day.

Mella frowned. “None of the girls here have been in service before.”

“That means you’ll be able to train them up how you like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m supposed to be speaking to Lord Corec.”

The cook’s eyes widened and she backed away. “Oh, yes, of course. I apologize for interrupting, my Lady.”

Once they were alone again, Treya murmured, “Lord Corec?”

“It’s the only way to get her to stop,” Katrin said.

Treya laughed.

They finally found Corec in Boktar’s office—one of six they’d discovered on the first floor of the keep. Boktar, Ellerie, and Bobo had appropriated three, and Corec had suggested Sarette should have another, but he’d been reluctant to take one for himself.

The two men were in the middle of a conversation when Katrin and Treya entered.

“If they want to tear down some of the older homes and rebuild them, that’s fine,” Corec said, “but not everyone can stay in Hilltop. We don’t need a farrier here if Patrig’s handling the shoeing, and we don’t need two thatchers—or we won’t after they finish the work they’re doing now. See if you can convince some of them to go to Creekbend with Jonson. The more people we send east, the better.”

“I’ll try,” Boktar said, “but some folks are already talking about expanding the village downhill.”

“Well, they can’t do that. The hill is our first line of defense. It’s no moat, but it’s better than nothing. If we’re attacked, I don’t want Rusol’s troops to have a bunch of buildings to hide out in beyond our reach. The buildings on the hill are bad enough. Can’t we just tell them no?”

“I think that’s up to you,” Boktar said.

There was a lull in the discussion and the two men turned to greet them.

“Trouble?” Treya asked.

“All the little decisions add up to a lot of time,” Boktar said. “We need a steward to handle some of it.”

“Two, really,” Corec said. “For the house steward, we can make do with a butler or majordomo since we’re not dealing with visiting dignitaries, but the steward of the lands needs special training. I’m not sure where to find someone like that.”

“While you’re looking, don’t forget we still need a housekeeper,” Katrin said. Like the cook, the two chambermaids kept coming to her with their questions—or they asked the cook, which just annoyed the woman even more.

“It needs to be someone with the right qualifications,” Corec said. “We’ll have to look around.”

Katrin nodded. “That’s not why we’re here, though.”

“Oh?”

“There are a lot of children in the village,” Treya started.

“Yes, Katrin told me you’ve been helping her keep them busy and out of everyone’s way. Thank you.”

“Mistress Nallee is helping too, but we can’t do it forever,” Katrin said. “We think there should be a school.”

Corec frowned. “A school? I don’t think many of the parents would be able to afford that.”

“Not like the trade schools in Larso or Tyrsall,” Treya said. “This would be more like the schools they have in Matagor or Snow Crown, where the younger children can attend and learn basic skills. It wouldn’t cost them anything.”

“Which means we’d pay for it,” Corec said. “Do we really need that on top of everything else we’re doing?”

“How did you learn to read?” Katrin asked.

“My tutors,” Corec said, then waved off the look she gave him. “Yes, I know these kids don’t have tutors, but can’t their parents teach them?”

“When would they have the time? And a lot of the parents can’t read either. If we teach the children, they’ll have more choices when they grow up. They won’t be stuck following in their parents’ footsteps.”

Unlike Corec, Katrin knew what it was like to be born into a poor household. She and Barz had been luckier than most—their mother had made sure they could read and write—but many of the children they’d grown up with hadn’t had the same opportunity. Ana had gone from pickpocket to prostitute before she’d ended up serving tables. Katrin had read books on music her uncle had given her so she could learn to play the flute she’d stolen. During her last few years in Circle Bay, she’d been able to support herself just from her share of the performances she and Felix had given.

“How would it work, exactly?” Corec asked.

Treya said, “In Matagor, children can attend school from age six until they turn twelve, if their parents allow it.” That was according to Bobo. Sarette had once claimed that among the stormborn, children were required to attend school until they reached the age of sixteen, at which point they could go into the trades or the military, or apply to one of the academies. Katrin wasn’t sure whether to believe her. What could they possibly be teaching that would require that much time?

“And the three of you would run it?”

Katrin shook her head. “No. We can manage it, but we need someone who can be there every day. Treya and Nallee think we should hire a Sister from the Order of Scholars. Maybe two.”

Corec was silent at first, staring down at a map of the village and the surrounding area.

Finally, he blew out his breath. “We’re supposed to be here to draw out Rusol,” he said. “Everything has gotten too complicated. Are we just doing this for a few years to see if he reacts, and then going our separate ways once we know it’s safe? Or are we planning to stay?”

“I thought you’d already made that decision,” Boktar said. “It’s good land. The location’s not great, but we can manage. I know you didn’t want all these people around, but now that they’re here, they bring a lot of potential. Is there somewhere else you need to be?”

“Need to be?” Corec said, giving Katrin a quick, questioning glance. “Maybe not. But what about the rest of you? The more things we take on, the more these folks are going to depend on us, and I can’t handle everything myself.”

“I’ll go where you go,” Katrin said, “but I think we should stay.”

“It would mean that moving to the city is a lot further off than we thought,” he replied. “We could be here for a long time.”

“I’m not worried about that.” She wasn’t having any trouble finding things to keep her busy. It was a nice change, feeling useful again.

“I can’t speak for Ellerie, but I’d like to stay,” Boktar said. “Marshal is a hell of a promotion over what I was doing in Matagor.”

Corec nodded, then looked at Treya. “You wanted us to take on a larger role once we settled down. Was this what you had in mind?”

“I thought we could protect the area from raiders, and if we were close enough to Four Roads, you could try for a seat on the town council in a few years … but that would be a step backward now. We can do more good here.”

“Then I guess we’re hiring someone to run a school.”

#

“Pickled cabbage,” the storekeeper’s assistant said as he lugged his heavy burden into the wheelwright’s shop. “Two casks. Where do you want them?”

“Back wall,” Nedley said, wrinkling his nose. He hated pickled cabbage. He nodded to Aldin, who was carrying the second cask. Aldin had served with Ballista Five and had agreed to come back when Nedley asked him. The young man hadn’t managed to turn his fame as a dragon hunter into another job, and he’d begun to realize his bonus money wouldn’t last forever.

“Do you have anything else for us?” Kimi asked, crossing off another item on the list she carried. Mother Yewen had allowed her to help Nedley organize the supply caravan, and she’d taken over most of the paperwork once they realized she was better with figures than he was.

“That’s all for today,” the fellow said. “Beans and cornmeal tomorrow, and that’s the last of your order.”

It might be the last delivery from that particular merchant, but they were still waiting on a dozen others.

After the man had left, Nedley chewed on his lower lip, trying to decide what to do next. The shop was getting crowded, but he didn’t want to start loading supplies into the wagons until he’d hired enough guards to keep a night watch.

“Aldin,” he finally said, “will you go check the lumberyard and see if they’re ready for us? If so, when Bili gets back, we can hitch up three of the wagons and take them over.” Nobody was likely to steal wagons full of lumber overnight, and he could block them in with the empty wagons to make them harder to get to.

Aldin nodded and went on his way, which left Nedley alone with Kimi.

She came over and stood very close, smiling up at him. Her hair smelled like flowers.

Just as the silence had stretched too long, she said, “We’d better take a look at the new letter to see what else they want.”

Nedley realized he’d been staring. “Oh, right.”

Leena had stopped by that morning with another shopping list from Ezra. It had been her second visit since Nedley arrived in town. He’d worried about how frequently his friends were checking up on him—Leena normally only visited Four Roads once a week to exchange messages with Mother Yewen—but she’d seemed to approve of the progress he’d made each time.

He retrieved the letter from where he’d left it in the back room. “Four pitchforks. Six pl … plow … plowshares. A dozen saddles! Did he send enough money for that?”

Kimi leaned close so she could see the list, then compared it to her ledger. “If the prices he put down are right, yes, but everything’s been more expensive than we thought.”

“Even if we stack them, a dozen saddles will take up an entire corner of a wagon.” Nedley continued down the list. “Four wood axes. Two dozen work shirts of va … var …”

Kimi held out her hand and he passed her the letter.

“… of various sizes,” she said. “And two dozen pairs of trousers.”

Nedley blushed. He could read—he could!—but all of his reading practice had been with words the others had carefully written out for him. Ezra’s handwriting was cramped and spindly, and Nedley had to squint to make any sense of it.

“There’s more,” Kimi said. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Flour, sugar, oats, soap, pots and pans, rope, more beans and dried fruit, on top of what we already bought.”

“We’re not going to have room for all of that,” Nedley said. “Did he send money for another wagon?” Even if he had, there were no more freight wagons for sale. They were already waiting on two more to be built.

Kimi shook her head.

They were still considering what to do when Bili returned.

“Any luck?” Nedley asked him.

“Not many good mules around,” Bili said. He’d worked as a stablehand before joining the expedition to fight the dragon, so Nedley had put him in charge of finding the animals. “You bought the last of them already. I can get you some old ones cheap, but Benji, he tried to cheat me, thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice. Best to talk to the farmers instead.” Benji was the owner of the largest mule yard in town.

Nedley frowned. He and his friends had purchased a lot of mules since they’d first come to Four Roads. He was tempted to ask Boktar what to do, but Leena’s next visit wouldn’t be until the day before the caravan was scheduled to leave. If he waited that long, and then waited for a response, he’d have to delay their departure.

Corec and Boktar wouldn’t have put him in charge unless they expected him to make decisions like this on his own.

“Draft horses,” he said. “If we’ve already got the last of the good mules, we’ll buy draft horses instead.”

Boktar didn’t like draft horses because mules were smarter and cheaper to feed, but there were plenty of good prairie grasses the horses could eat. And the horses wouldn’t cost that much more—mules sold for a premium in the free lands.

Bili nodded. “I know some people to talk to.”

With one decision out of the way, Nedley made another. “No more wagons,” he told Kimi. “We’ll get the food supplies Ezra asked for, if we can find them, but he’ll just have to wait on the rest. There’s a blacksmith and leatherworker at the keep already. People can buy metal tools and saddles from them.” The caravan was hauling coal and iron stock for Patrig so he could get work started at the smithy.

“I’ll turn this into a smaller list,” she replied.

The door opened, but Nedley was distracted staring at Kimi again. He didn’t realize who’d come in until Bili said, “What are you doing here?”

“I need work,” Rolf replied. He’d been a member of Nedley’s squad before running away during the battle with the dragon.

Nedley scowled. “You won’t find it here. Corec said not to hire any of the deserters.”

“I know he won’t take me back as an armsman, but he let me drive a wagon on the way back to town. There’s got to be something!”

“Why would I hire you when so many other people are looking for jobs?” Nedley asked. His plan was to have the new soldiers handle some of the wagons, and then find drivers for the rest from among the folks who’d asked to go south with them.

“Please, Ned—no one’ll take me on. They’ve all heard the rumors, but you know what it was like!” A haunted look crossed over the man’s face. “You were there! You know!”

Nedley shivered at the memory of the dragon’s fire washing over him. Miss Treya’s spell had protected them, but he’d never been more frightened in his life. If his friends hadn’t needed him to keep his squad in place, he’d have been tempted to run too.

The other men weren’t as accustomed to magic as Nedley was. It was a wonder any of them had stayed. Could he really blame Rolf? The man hadn’t run until the flames had surrounded them. Perhaps that made him a little better than the Catapult Four crew, who’d deserted even though they hadn’t been in the fight at all.

“A driver, then,” Nedley said. “As far as the keep. After that, it’s up to you to find something else. The road crews and builders have plenty of work to keep people busy, but Corec’s just as likely to run you off as he is to let you stay.”

“Thank you, Ned.” Rolf’s voice sounded both grateful and defeated at the same time.

Bili spat on the floor and stalked off, but Kimi gave Nedley a sad smile and patted his arm.

#

Shavala cradled the whimpering dragon against her side. “Can you do anything?” she asked Treya, who was kneeling next to them.

“Yes,” the other woman said, touching her glowing hands to the creature’s side. “I see the breaks. It’ll be fine.”

The little dragon had woken up early that morning and snuck out of the cottage while Shavala was still dressing. Before she could catch it, it had dashed over to the horses and bit Socks on the leg. Socks had responded by kicking the creature hard enough to crack several of its ribs. Zhailai had gone to the keep to fetch Treya while Shavala had remained behind to watch over the animals.

It took less than a minute before the glow left Treya’s hands. The human woman rocked back on her heels to wait. “Let’s see how it feels now.”

The dragon had already started to perk up, twisting its neck around so it could peer at its injured side. It fluttered its wing, and when that worked, it stood cautiously, then licked Shavala’s hand before bounding away to chase insects through the grass.

“Thank you,” Shavala said.

Treya glanced at the other animals. “It was Socks, right?” she asked.

“Yes, his rear left leg.”

Treya approached the horse and crouched down to take a look, staying to his side so he wouldn’t get nervous. “This will heal on its own, but I’ll close it up to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” she said. When she was done, she stood up again. “I can’t stay. The builders are working on the fortress wall today, so I need to be there in case someone gets hurt.”

Shavala nodded. “Will you take Socks and the mule back with you? It’s not safe to have them here right now.”

Treya nodded. “Of course.”

“And my horse as well?” Zhailai asked. “If the dragon is already trying to hunt our own animals, who its known for several days now …” She hesitated. “It has been incredible to see a hatchling so close, and to observe its behavior, but I don’t believe the plan is working. How long before it becomes a danger to everyone around?”

“I just need a little more time,” Shavala said. “I have to know.”

A tinge of reluctant acceptance came through the tree bond. “Very well,” Zhailai said. “I will accompany Treya as far as the field with the chicory. We’ve almost run out.”

That would give Shavala some time alone with the dragon. “Will you stop at the fallen logs with the mushrooms on the way back?” she asked. “I’d like to make a soup tonight.”

Zhailai agreed, and then she and Treya saddled the horses and rode off.

Shavala watched the dragon play for a while, then clucked her tongue to call it over. “Come along,” she told it. “You can have the last of the pheasant.” She’d captured the bird—a male, to avoid disturbing any nesting hens—the day before. Mice were no longer large enough to sate the dragon, so it had been getting by on gophers and ground-dwelling birds. The lack of larger game near the keep might become an issue as the dragon grew, but Shavala had seen a few scattered tracks from deer and feral cattle during her explorations. The mother dragon, it seemed, hadn’t eaten everything nearby.

As the hatchling had its meal, Shavala said, “You shouldn’t hunt my horse. He’s our friend. Why can’t you understand that?” It ignored her. The dragon knew several words, at least to the extent of following simple commands when it had nothing better to do, but she had no way to truly communicate with it. If she was going to train it, it would have to understand her approval and disapproval. Bits of food, as humans used when training dogs, hadn’t worked. Every time the dragon realized she was giving out food, it lost interest in anything but eating.

Shavala only had one idea left. If it didn’t work, she’d have to ask Leena to take the dragon to Cetos.

She glanced at the horizon to make sure Treya and Zhailai were out of sight. If Zhailai stopped to harvest chicory and mushrooms on the way back, she’d be gone for over two hours. That should be enough time.

Shavala retrieved the staff from the cottage, then found a clear spot just south of the village.

“Little trees this time,” she told the staff. She didn’t want them growing so tall that Zhailai would see them and return early.

Shavala stood the staff on its end, the way it preferred, then pictured how she wanted the grove to look. A new root system grew down into the earth from the base of the staff, extending outward and sprouting tershaya saplings at regular intervals. They all came from a single root-bond, as if the trees’ root systems had grown together over time.

She forced the staff to hold back on the typical eagerness it showed when growing tershaya, making sure the growth was slow enough that the ground didn’t shake. When the trees reached ten feet in height, she cut off the spell. That would be sufficient for what she needed.

She returned to the cottage and retrieved a small camp shovel and one of the natural-grown tershaya seedlings Zhailai had brought with her. The dragon, which had curled up in the sun after eating, grew curious and followed Shavala to the new grove of trees.

At the center of the grove, she dug a hole large enough for the seedling’s root ball. It didn’t take long—the ground was still damp from the previous day’s rain. She carefully separated the root tendrils where they’d clumped together from being transported, then placed the tree in its new spot and filled the dirt back in, patting it down enough to hold the seedling in place but not so much as to damage the roots. While she worked, the dragon stalked around the grove, sniffing at the two dozen new tershaya which had sprung up out of nowhere.

When she was done, Shavala took the staff from its resting place and dropped it near the seedling, then crouched down and patted her leg. “Come here,” she told the dragon. “I need your help. It’s going to hurt a little bit, but I can’t think of what else to do. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to send you away. You don’t want that, do you?”

Even knowing the creature couldn’t understand her speech, she couldn’t get over the habit of talking to it as if it was any other animal.

The dragon came to her and she knelt down, gently trapping its torso between her legs. She grasped its left foreleg and used her belt knife to cut a small gash in its paw, between its talons, just enough to draw a few drops of blood. The scales hadn’t hardened enough yet to provide effective armor. The dragon jerked back, but she held it in place and pressed the wound against the seedling, dropping her knife so she could grab the staff. The blood shouldn’t have been necessary, but Shavala wanted to recreate the events from the vision as closely as she could.

With everything in place, she was ready to coax the tree to grow. For a single tershaya, she could have done that on her own, without any help, but in her vision, the staff had added something to the spell—something that went beyond elder magic. She started the ritual by feeding in a trickle of her own power. The staff joined in eagerly, as if it had been waiting, and soon the seedling began to grow. Shavala had to force herself to ignore the dragon’s squawks of indignation. It didn’t like being held down, but she didn’t have a choice—setting it loose in Cetos without a mother to teach it to survive in the wild would almost certainly be dooming it to death. This was the best way she could think of to save its life.

The trunk grew taller as the spell continued, a tiny streak of blood gradually stretching up the bark. Through her elder senses, Shavala could see the slim root tendrils grow longer and thicker until they reached the roots of the other young trees in the grove, joining together in a single root-bond. But although she could feel the communion of the tershaya, she couldn’t sense the dragon at all. Was the spell working? Perhaps the tree bond was only meant for the elven people.

The dragon struggled again to get loose, and when Shavala didn’t allow it to go free, it bit down on her hand. She winced in pain—its teeth had grown longer and sharper since the first time it had bitten her.

Then, suddenly, her vision went red.

She was overwhelmed with too many unfamiliar feelings, too strong, all swirling around at the same time. Unlike the ancient vision from the staff, where she’d felt the tranquil serenity of the tree bond, this sensation was a wild, chaotic energy she couldn’t make sense of.

She fell back, losing her grip on both the tree and the dragon, then screeched in pain and bit her own arm. She was angry at herself for holding herself against the tree when she wanted to be running through the grass, hunting.

No. That didn’t make sense.

She was too intertwined with the dragon’s feelings, but the tree bond wasn’t supposed to work that way—it was only meant to provide a faint understanding of others’ feelings, and use that understanding to build consensus and agreement.

What had happened?

Then she caught sight of the sapling’s trunk, where the dragon’s blood had mixed with her own.

The use of blood in old druidic rituals was generally considered to have been a primitive practice with no real effect, but in the old legends, it had been meant to show the druids’ connection to the world around them. What if those rituals were based on truth rather than superstition? What would it mean for their blood to mix?

There was a rush of excitement. His mother had finally let him go free to play, and now there were bugs to chase. His paw still hurt, but he must not show weakness. The promise of the hunt allowed him to ignore it.

Those were the dragon’s feelings again. It was a male.

The sensation was too much for Shavala to handle and she slumped over on her side. Her last sight before passing out was the hatchling returning to investigate what was wrong with her.