He who grows the crops feeds a nation, but he who protects the grower feeds only himself. Both are necessary to prosper.

  To grow a crop to maturity requires water and soil, but to grow a man to character requires toil and grit. Both are worthy skills of great patience.

  -

  To tell a friend’s affairs is a betrayal; but to tell of one’s own is a trust. One yields enmity and the other friendship.

  -Selection of Brikhvarnni Proverbs

  Krid followed Gale’s uneven trot out of the thicket. She crashed through some ferns heading in almost the correct direction.

  “Easy, Fair Gale, you will lose your way if you run off on your own.” He tried to add a softness to his voice. He was aware that to her, his voice growled too much. She kept a stiff upper lip, but that only went so far.

  She turned on him, her cheeks wet with that sadness of the soft-skinned. “Go away!” she spat. “You knew all along and haven’t protected him!”

  Krid sighed. He knew much more than Gale realized. For instance, that Syrdin had never lived among the Brikhvarnni. That zhe likely meant to exploit Fenn and Mell’s good will for some ulterior purpose–related to Fenn, based on how zhe’d scolded him for not protecting him. But Gale was in no state of mind to discuss that information. Not just yet.

  “I will protect him if it comes to violence, but Syrdin is skilled. Without zhem, I may not be able to look after all three of you. You are… trouble.” He glanced up at a panthrae who glowered at him from a low branch not ten meters from them, wolf-like ears twitching backward when he made eye contact. The Collective Sentences–or whatever Fenn had called the shared senses of the forest–must have told the panthraes that he was dangerous because they never moved when he passed. Gale, however, had been headed straight for it.

  Gale followed his gaze and flinched, seeing the danger for the first time.

  He guessed she realized it wasn’t attacking, because next she melted down the side of a tree like superheated iron dripping down the side of a crucible, her back sliding down the bark until she puddled on its roots, her head in her knees. “I can’t ev–even storm off right!” she groaned between hitches in her breath. “How am I supp-pposed to make him-m listen to me!”

  Krid stared. Brikhvarnni women did not act like this. If Fridana had been so wronged by him, she would have challenged his honor, and if he insisted, he would have been forced to duel her. The prospect frightened him enough to always respect her opinions. Not that he needed the motivation. He loved her, so he listened.

  Aha! The conversation from the very first night they arrived in the realm finally made sense. Fenn had insisted no marriage gift was needed. That his partnership with Gale was arranged. He hadn’t said loveless. That was different. Yet, that was the exact type of important detail Fenn would fail to say.

  Still, Gale obviously loved him, and they had a formal arrangement. Fenn’s honor required that he do right by her. Honesty was the heart of integrity, a cornerstone of honor. And trust a cornerstone of partnership. Krid’s claws dug into his palms and he forced his lips to hide the snarl forming behind them. Fenn had not trusted Gale with the truth from early in their relationship. Not with his reasons for entering the Fae, not with who Syrdin was, and he suspected with more. It was wrong of Fenn. Deeply wrong. His attention to Mell and her opinions did not help. Even Krid could tell Gale was jealous of her, and he was as thick-skulled as they come.

  He crouched in front of Gale. “If you need a second, I would take your side.”

  She peered up from her knees, cheeks glittering. “A sec-cond? W-what?”

  He took in a breath. Her nation must not duel. It was obvious the Etnfrandian’s were not a people who engaged in much violence. “In my country, when a person does wrong by another, the other has the right to challenge him to a fight. If you win against Fenn, he must apologize and do as you ask of him as restitution.” It felt strange to explain such an ordinary occurrence.

  “Fight? Like with weapons?” Gale’s eyes could have burst from her head.

  He stifled a chuckle. “Yes, with weapons. Sometimes fists, if that’s agreed on. But usually fully armored and never to maim or kill.”

  “That’s horr–” she caught herself before she completed her insult and lowered her head, averting her gaze. “I couldn’t do that.”

  He scratched behind one of his spines and threw another glance in the panthrae’s direction. It was gone. “Then what do your people do when you argue?”

  “We use words. And try to make the other person understand what he did wrong.” The last words were muffled in her knees.

  Krid scoffed. “Makes no sense. Words? Then how do you know who won?”

  She picked up her head, a rye smile showing between the trails of her tears. “I suppose whoever apologizes first loses.”

  Krid shook his head. “No. That would take too long. You could at least challenge him to a duel of words. Between the two of you, he would lose.”

  She giggled at his compliment, taking the idea as a joke. “I suppose that’s true.”

  Krid nodded. She was becoming less hopeless. That was progress. Soon he would coax her back to camp to face her problems.

  Her head drooped back into her lap. “But Syrdin and Mell have tricked him into thinking that Syrdin isn’t an enemy! That zhe has no ill intentions! What’s worse, I think Mell genuinely believes it.”

  Even Krid was not positive that Syrdin intended ill. There were three clans within the Night Elf people who lived in the Darkcaves. Anyone loyal to a clan was inherently dangerous, but those who betrayed the clans were usually not so evil. The colonies of Night Elf Newts proved this–and nobody said every escapee or traitor had to join the colonies. Though Syrdin was no Newt, zhe may not be a Destroyer, a Warclasher, or a Deathdoler. Definitely not a Deathdoler. If that were the case, they’d all be dead. Especially Gale.

  Gale huffed at his silence. “Don’t tell me you trust zhem, too?”

  He shook his head. “No. Only I have not decided zhe is our enemy. Zhe is hiding. If zhe will come into the light, reveal h–zheir secrets, then we can listen and then decide.”

  “It would only be lies!” Gale protested.

  “Maybe.” Krid stood, tired from crouching and from using words when action was required. He was no chattering bird to roost and prattle. He reached for Gale’s arm and lifted her to her feet. “Come.” he pulled her along as gently as he could manage. “This moping doesn’t fit one as fierce as you. We waste breath. Lies or not, we will only find out if we face zhem. And you can only confront Fenn on his honor if you face him! If I can’t be your second in a fight, then I will second you how I can.”

  She yelped as she found her footing, but kept pace with him, staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time. A small smile formed on her short, round face. “You’re right.” She caught up and pulled free, then patted her tiny hand on his forearm. “Thank you.”

  He grunted. She-elves were not like beautiful, powerful drakewomen, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t growing fond of Gale.

  He stopped in his tracks. He respected Gale. He knew she would put in effort to understand something new, like himself and his customs. Despite what Fenn had said, Gale had proven her ability to listen and to accept someone different. Or to try. He would not comply with Fenn’s disrespect of her any longer.

  He filled his lungs with the thick forest air as he trod on, ready to explain what he could. “Gale, there is more than one clan of the Night Elves. Each have different values and different religions. Some clanless of them live among my people. Syrdin is not a Newt–not one of my people–but zhe is also not of the evil religions. Fenn also knows this and he knows you don’t know this. He… thinks you’ll have a hard time understanding.“ Krid shook his head.“But it is simple. Syrdin may be a rogue on zheir own, or may be working for someone else. I don’t know. Maybe Mell knows and won’t say. But what Fenn says about the barrier in your country–he is saying zhe can’t be a part of the evil religions. And therefore not a part of the clans.”

  Gale stared at him. The bird-things reached a harmony and a wind rustled in the upper canopy. “That’s why you aren’t sure?” she asked. “Because zhe could be a defector?” Her squishy brow wrinkled expressively.

  He grumbled his affirmation, then added, “yes,” when she didn’t understand.

  “But… zhe is mean, and cruel.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Krid waded through the ferns at his knees, shoving a branch out of Gale’s path. “Not to everyone.”

  “No, zhe is perfectly compatible with anyone zhe can’t defeat in a fight.” Gale glared at him.

  He chuckled. That must mean me. “And Mell. And especially Fenn.”

  Gale frowned. “A mystery, unless you consider that zhe must want something from them.”

  Krid stroked his spiny beard. That was one to ponder. What does Syrdin want? He pushed past a final line of foliage into camp. Whatever it was, they would find out, or they would send zhem off to die.

  Syrdin didn’t want to be alone in the forest at this juncture. Their battle had roused Ferngal’s attention. Through the leaves and boughs and even the fabric of the tents, Syrdin could feel the owlen’s leer cutting through zheir squared shoulders.

  Ath-togail, can she see you?

  The goddess stirred, but did not emerge from Syrdin’s soul to speak. Without words, zhe still felt the goddess’ disapproval. Syrdin had made a juvenile mistake in allowing Gale to irk zhem.

  Zheir teeth ground together. You failed your clan. You know it. Gale’s words ripped open a memory. If only when Syrrah had died, her memories had died with her. Instead, the final words her mother had spoken to her lived on, festering in Syrdin, far more painful than the naginata that had preceded them and the dagger that followed. You know it, and you only try to shift blame to me. Weak.

  It was a lie. The priestess’ consorts, like her children, had never been anything to her but trading chips. And they were traded for more war, more death. It needed to end.

  Syrdin stole into Mell’s tent. Zhe dumped Boidhan’s necklace and the staff grip out of zheir bag onto Mell’s bedroll. The necklace landed with a soft plink. Zhe felt the draw of it immediately, pulling at zheir attention like a polished dagger in a display of rusted ones.

  Zhe could grab it and place it around zheir neck. It would sit fetchingly on zheir sternum, winning the favor of the others. They would be unable to resist the magic draw. Then zhe could use them; bid them do as zhe needed. They would become zheir chips to trade.

  No.

  Zhe shook loose of the idea. If zhe stole it now, the brittle remains of trust zhe had forged with Mell would break to dust. Zhe turned to go, prepared to nab a light supply of rations in case the others returned with the intention to kick zhem out by force.

  When zhe stepped from the tent, zhe came nose to nose, or rather nose to sternum, with Noble Privilege herself. Zhe bit back a huff of frustration. Great.

  Gale glared down her short, round nose. “What were you doing in my tent?” she demanded.

  Syrdin let out a sly grin. “What? You scared?”

  “No.” Gale puffed out her chest. “And I think you should leave. If you don’t, I’ll force you.” Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Even now, they were still glassy, ready to drop a fresh tear at a moment's notice.

  Syrdin scoffed. Only in the perfect scenario, with the bow at Gale’s fingertips and great distance between them in an open field, would Gale be a challenge to fight. “The only way you would force me to go would be by your sheer annoying-ness. Unfortunately for you, I have a high tolerance for stupid and petty.”

  Gale’s jaw flexed at the corners. “Perhaps not, but I will win the others to my side, and we will have you leave. Maybe we’ll even feed you to the Watcher.” Gale’s gaze flicked outside the tent. She had noticed it, too.

  Syrdin raised a brow. She has no idea how to make threats. “The others won’t listen to you, flower. They may trust your intentions, but I have their respect. Or did you forget who it was that kept your precious Fenn from getting you all caught in Entfrandia? Who saved Mell from the Flobotymus? Who else could assassinate you by leaving a gift in your room?” Zhe sent a clever grin up to Gale, goading her with empty threats. As desired, it frightened her, and she shoved past Syrdin to investigate. Zhe stalked away, hearing the panicked rustling of Gale rummaging through her belongings.

  Gale’s threats were weak, but the risk of being asked to leave was real. Syrdin strode to the campside rations pile. The Captain eyed zhem through slitted pupils as zhe grabbed a bag of hardy biscuits and a jar of almond butter. In one hand, Syrdin waved the jar in the air for him, as if to say, here I am packing minimal food–nothing sneaky–and then, with the other hand, slipped a bundle of his prized goat jerky into zheir bag. Like zhem, he was an omnivore on the technicality that he could gain nutrition from vegan sources, not that he regularly did. Thus, he guarded his rations jealousy.

  It was a mean trick, but Syrdin wouldn’t know zhemself anymore if zhe didn’t gyp somebody on the way out.

  Fenn pushed between leaves into the clearing with a few arrows bundled in his hand and Mell a step behind him. His shoulders were slumped and brow darkened with unpleasant thoughts. His attention fell on Syrdin immediately, and he stopped.

  Zhe stared back. Usually, Fenn looked away first. Instead he searched zheir face for something.

  Fenn glanced back at Mell, who nodded, and they approached. Fenn’s shoulders tightened back, his jaw set. He was going to ask zhem to leave. Or demand answers. Answers zhe couldn’t provide.

  Zheir fists clenched at zheir sides. “It’s fine, Fenn. I’ll go–just as soon as we leave her forest.” Zhe jerked zheir chin in the direction of Ferngal’s presence. “I think we both know that all of our chances of survival go up if I stay until then.”

  Fenn’s mouth hung open. No words formed there. He followed zheir gesture with his gaze, then chewed his lip. He turned to Mell, who shrugged, then Krid, who glared.

  He closed his mouth and swallowed. “Until then… will your… distaste for Gale continue to be a problem?”

  Syrdin snorted. “Only if she makes it one.” As if I’d do more to stir up trouble. I have to win back favor if I’m going to stay.

  Fenn shuffled his feet in the grass, as if unsure whether to accept that answer. “Why is it… Why do you hate her so much?” His arms closed over his stomach, his hands hiding in his armpits, but he bored his stone-colored gaze into Syrdin.

  Zhe blinked at him. It took gall to ask something like that in front of everyone. Gall–or a complete lack of self-awareness. He wants to know why I hate her? Zhe had never posed that question to zhemself. Zhe did hate her, zhe found. The girl was nothing but a stupid, soft-handed noble who had never known the punch of a blade or the call to action. Yet her mere existence brought Syrdin to a boil.

  In the silence, Fenn continued. “If it was both she and I, then I could assume it was the old alliances, but it isn’t. So, what–”

  “I don’t see why you both like her so much.” Syrdin cut him off. “She is soft, entitled, and clearly has been spoiled with too much attention. Yet you two fawn over her like she’s the most perfect little diamond. I’ve met axolotls with thicker skin and toads with sharper wits. I mean, really. Why do you like her so much?”

  “Ack!” Gale emerged from her tent just in time to hear the insults. She gaped; then outrage tightened the expression into a snarl.

  Mell arched a knowing brow. Syrdin steeled herself under it. Just what does she think she knows? Somehow, that human had come to see through zhem more than zhe liked.

  Fenn scratched at a purpled ear. The color was subtle, but Syrdin didn’t miss it. “She’s been quite brave for someone who has never left her homeland before, and she has done her best to be agreeable to everyone…else.”

  “Which is more than you can say,” Mell added. “And she’s got pep and spunk, something you seem to have left behind in Hethbarn.”

  Syrdin rolled zheir eyes. It was like they were trying to scold their child. “You just want me to be agreeable with the Etnfrandian, right? Fine! I can do that. Let’s see if she can, too.”

  “Uhm, Syrdin, Fenn is also Etnfrandian.” Mell sent her flattest stare. “You’ve never minded him.”

  Zhe snorted. “Look at him.” Zhe gestured up and down at him, calling attention to his short hair, his spectacles, and his blousy white shirt clearly taken from the world of men. “He barely counts as an elf. But Flower Princess is the worst of it.” Syrdin shook zheir head. “If she had my skill set, she would have found me out and assassinated me by now, yet she lives and breathes.” Syrdin let those words sink in with all of their implications. Yeah, if I truly hated her, I would’ve killed her. I could’ve killed any of you.

  The purple that had touched Fenn’s cheek drained to white. He squirmed in his shirt, wrestling to say something.

  Syrdin glared at him. “If you all demand I leave once we reach the Yellow Wood, fine. But before then, we have to survive the Watcher’s scrutiny. Good luck getting rid of me.”

  The others looked to each other, then into the forest. Mell nodded to Fenn. They sensed it, too. Ferngal’s wrath was ready to fall.

  Krid huffed the air. “We have no time to argue any longer. We must scurry like ants until we reach the border. Then, we can settle this dispute.” He glowered at zhem. When the time came, he would do all in his power to chase zhem away.

  I haven’t ruined it yet. I only need Fenn and Mell.

  “Wait,” Fenn said, finally forcing out whatever he’d been struggling with. “I’ll agree to allow you along–f-for now–on one condition.”

  Syrdin ducked zheir head, struggling to press a smile from zheir lips. Good boy! When zhe looked up, zheir expression was sharp. “What?”

  He flinched, but lowered his arms from around his stomach and clenched his fists at his sides. “You will be more forthcoming with what you know.” His voice turned up at the end, almost like he asked a question. Mell put a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

  Syrdin grinned. Zhe couldn’t help it. Zhe stalked toward him and patted his bony arm, meeting his resolute expression. “Sure thing, as long as it’s mutually beneficial.”