The Scarlet Blade looked over her shoulder at Kael, who stood to the side, his head high and his arms clasped behind him, and then to her right hand, where Nath stood, barely able to contain a grin behind his characteristic scowl. Next to him was Cait, who appeared relieved to no longer bear the burden of pretending to be the thief-queen.

  The thief-queen gave a speech to the crowd about working together, and trusting each other, and building something new out of the ruins of the old. As she spoke the words, she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Gillspin or to herself. And she felt afraid and hopeful and new and shaky and confident, all at once.

  She could do this, but not alone. With her friends at her side. They could work together and build something new and beautiful, something that would defy the world around them. They could be a gesture of defiance to the kings and oppressors of Austrisia and beyond. A place for all the guttersnipes and orphans in Kyreia.

  At the end of the speech, when she was speaking her final sentences about the new Gillspin and the future, she saw a dark spot on the horizon, almost like a river flowing toward them. Kael and Nath saw it too; they tensed, their hands going to their swords.

  It looked like a horde.

  A shout went up, and the people listening turned to look. Some cried out, fearful, others murmured. Briand drew one of her knives and leaped from the platform to the back of a saddled horse. She wheeled the animal around and rode hard toward the edge of the city, where the land met the shore.

  She met the first line of people reaching Gillspin, and Nath, Cait, and Kael reached her side a few moments later, also on horseback. The newcomers marched along the thin line of land. They were ragged, their faces worn and haggard, their shoes torn to strips. They were led by a man with a thin, hungry face and a patchy black beard carrying a child on his back. His clothing was stained as if he’d been walking for days through mud and brambles.

  This wasn’t an army.

  These were refugees.

  “Please,” the bearded man with the child on his back said to Briand. His voice was fraught with exhaustion, but still, he spoke fast, desperate, his words spilling over each other as he poured out what he had to say. “We are seeking asylum in Gillspin. We’ve been struggling through the wilderness for days with only the clothes on our backs and what food we can scavenge from the wild. We are bakers and cobblers, tailors and farmers, not hunters or woodsmen. It has been arduous for us all. Tell me, is this Gillspin? Have we arrived at last?”

  “It is,” Briand said gravely, still gripping her knife. “Who are you? Are you in charge?”

  “My name is Manon,” he said. “Our city was destroyed by Cahan, our people’s livelihoods and homes turned to dust. We didn’t know where to come, but we’d heard of the Scarlet Blade in Gillspin, and when word came that the city had been taken from its mayor, and that it was a place of freedom—”

  “The whole countryside has heard,” the woman behind him cried.

  “We are seeking the Scarlet Blade’s mercy and protection,” Manon said.

  “How many of you are there?” Nath asked from behind Briand.

  “Six hundred,” the man answered.

  Briand exchanged a look with Nath. What were they supposed to do with these people? She turned to Kael.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked.

  “I did not,” he said. “But we discussed this before.”

  “I remember saying we could not take them,” she murmured to him.

  But with the ragged line of refugees stretching into the distance right in front of her, Briand’s heart twisted. Some of them were clutching infants. Children with dusty feet and hollow eyes stared at her.

  She couldn’t turn these people away. Where would they go? Briand thought with a surge of anger about all the hungry and desperate people she’d known in Bhan. All the desperate people who existed all over the world. The ones who risked everything to come across the sea on ships and sell themselves into servitude for a chance at a new life.

  She knew what it was like to be lost. To be unmoored.

  She had told Kael before that she couldn’t take refugees, and she wasn’t sure how they could absorb these people into Gillspin. She still didn’t know.

  But she wasn’t going to turn them away.

  The men and women stood before her, their faces torn between worry and hope. Watching her for her answer.

  She turned to Nath.

  “Nath,” she said. “I’m assigning you oversight of the refugees. Get them organized. Find places for them to stay. We’ll have to find food for them. Get them jobs in the city. Draft a few of the thieves to help you.”

  “When the mayor left, some of his supporters fled with him. A few slavers left large homes empty,” Cait volunteered. “We could house them there.”

  “Good idea,” Briand said. “Let’s start there.”

  ~

  It was hours before they had the refugee housing sorted, and hours more before enough food had been scrounged together to feed everyone. Briand stood at the front of one of the former slaver mansions, her eyes gritty with exhaustion and her muscles aching from pointing the way for people to go, and from moving mattresses and furniture with the rest of her trusted circle of thieves. She was drenched in sweat, dust, and a few flecks of blood where Crispin had ripped a fingernail while moving a bedframe. A few young thieves lay on the cobblestones, groaning rather dramatically with their own gripes of bruises and fatigue.

  A footstep behind her alerted Briand to someone’s arrival. Somehow, without turning, she knew it was Nath. Perhaps it was the way the air suddenly held a slightly indignant quality, or the way the young thieves sat up in reflexive defensiveness as if at any minute they were going to receive a lecture on the proper way to conjugate Tyyrian verbs. They scattered into the street, leaving her alone with her old friend.

  “You look disgruntled,” Nath observed, leaning against the side of the house with his arms folded and his eyes squinted against the setting sun.

  “Moving several hundred strangers into their new quarters is not exactly my life’s passion,” she replied wearily.

  Nath was quiet a moment. “And what is your life’s passion, Guttersnipe? Thief-queen, newly elected leader of Gillspin, triumphant ally of Nyr. I could go on. You’ve got the world, at least our corner of it, at your fingertips. Whatever it is, you have the means to achieve it now, don’t you think?”

  Briand gazed upon the lake at the bottom of the hill, at the place where Gillspin crawled down to meet it. She could see the spit of sand and the finger of dock where she had once run from the Seeker who’d captured her. Where she’d once been dragged onto a ship, a prisoner without hope. It had been years ago, but it felt like longer.

  It felt like another lifetime.

  Once, she had been a frightened guttersnipe, fierce as a feral kitten, determined to fight and spit and claw her distance from everything that was trying to capture, maim, or kill her. And a lot of people were trying to kill her. If she’d had a passion beyond knives and horses, it was survival.

  She’d spent most of her life running away.

  Now, the people who were running were running to her, and she was standing still. She’d put down roots here, of a sort. She had a family.

  “I’d like to make this place somewhere that people like me—guttersnipes, orphans, castoffs—can be safe,” she said slowly.

  “You didn’t want the refugees before,” Nath said. “What changed?”

  “Well, we have a city now,” Briand pointed out, a point he conceded with a nod of his head. “We aren’t all jammed wall to wall in the thief-quarters. But…” She paused. She didn’t quite know how to articulate Bhan, and all that she’d experienced there. In the time she’d spent surrounded by her chosen family, she’d forgotten the vicious sting of utter loneliness. In her years as dragonsayer, she’d forgotten what utter powerlessness felt like.

  There were far too many lonely and powerless individuals caught between the forces of the war. Bestane and Austrisia and Eisea and Nyr, pirates and nobles, Cahan and Jehn. The forces of violence left untold numbers without homes or safety.

  She was no longer without power. She was no longer without strength. The world had ignored her for most of her life, for she was nothing and nobody.

  They couldn’t ignore her any longer.

  And she was going to make the most of it.

  While she was still trying to think of a way to put the swell of hot determination that rose in her into words for Nath, a speck of dark appeared on the horizon, growing larger as it approached.

  A mechbird.

  It dropped into Briand’s hands, the gears hot, the wings clicking. It spat out its message and then died in a small explosion of sparks and smoke.

  “It’s from Jehn’s army,” Briand said, reading the message. “The one stationed in Estria. From a general named Irana.”

  “What does it say?” Nath demanded, taking a step closer. “Guttersnipe, what is it?”

  Briand held out the paper for him to read as she turned to look toward the horizon again.

  “It says Cahan’s army is traveling straight for Gillspin as fast as it can move, and it intends to burn us to the ground.”

  **Briand’s and her friends’ adventures continue in book 9, coming soon! Meanwhile, if you are desperate for something else to read in the meantime, check out the first book my newest series, RED RIDER—a post-apocalyptic retelling of Red Riding Hood meets The Handmaid’s Tale!**

  A Note to My Lovely Readers:

  Thank you so much for joining me in yet another story of Briand, Kael, and their chosen family. I hope you enjoyed reading this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Well, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed the chocolate I ate while writing it. (Sometimes, writing is less fun than having written.)

  If you loved this book and think other readers might enjoy it too, consider taking a moment and leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, Bookbub, or wherever you prefer to write book reviews! I would deeply appreciate it. As a reader, reviews are the first thing I look at when deciding whether or not I'll like a new book, and the same is true for many others. Reviews help readers find books they might like, and they raise visibility for authors. Your words are especially powerful in reviews of later books in the series, since less people write reviews for those. So be a booksayer and write a review!

  Your words have more power than you know.

  Sincerely,

  Kate

  Keep reading to check out the first few chapters of Red Rider, available now!

  PROLOGUE

  THE ALPHA’S ELITE werewolf fighters, the Sworn, came for my father on the night of my tenth birthday. As long as I live, I’ll never forget that night. Every detail is branded upon my mind with excruciating clarity.

  The evening began dreamily. My stomach had been twisting in anticipation of presents and dessert all day. My mother had baked a cake and drizzled it with honey. A ring of honeysuckles plucked fresh from the edge of the forest surrounded the cake, and I spent all of dinner staring at it. My grandmother was there, her hair still dark brown with only a few silver streaks in it at the time, her eyes the same unclouded gray, but they were merry when she looked at me. She smiled more then, even though the world was full of danger and uncertainty, even though our country had been ruled by werewolf overlords since she was a little girl, and their magic had tainted everything, even our forests and the animals that lived in them.

  My best friend and neighbor, who lived in a brown house accessible via a path through the tangled woods that surrounded our home, a dark-haired boy named Kassian, was there to celebrate with us. I remember how he stole a honeysuckle blossom from the bunch around the cake and passed it to me under the table, our fingers brushing against each other. I broke off the stem of the flower and pressed the hole that was left to my tongue when my parents weren’t looking. I’ll never forget how Kassian smiled at me when the bubble of summery sweetness spread across my tongue. His eyes crinkled and a dimple appeared in his left cheek. He knew honeysuckles were my favorite.

  After our dinner of beef stew and cabbage, my mother lit the candles and dimmed the lights. They sang to me while I held one hand over my mouth to hide my delighted smile. I was getting too old to be so giddy over things like birthdays. But something about the candles, the cake, the singing, the smiling faces—all of it washed away the tension and strain on my parents’ faces. Even my grandmother looked happy for a moment in the light of those candles.

  And Kassian. Kassian, my best friend since we were babies. In the last few weeks, I’d discovered that the way the sunlight fell across his hair made my hands sweat and my chest feel tight. I found myself daydreaming about touching his face, about holding his hand. And when I blew out the flames, I wished Kassian and I would be friends forever, whatever else happened between us.

  The gifts came after the singing. My mother gave me a box wrapped in a flour bag. I opened it and found a honeysuckle-embroidered collar for my dresses that she’d knitted from her precious stash of yarns. After that came a doll, even though I was growing too old for them, its button eyes blue and its hair the same color as Kassian’s. My grandmother reached into her pocket and produced a wooden ring polished to butter smoothness, unwrapped and still warm from its place next to her hip. My father’s eyebrows lifted at it, and a wordless glance passed between them, but I didn’t understand the significance of their silent communication.

  “It’s nothing,” my grandmother said then, in response, and my father grunted.

  Then, my father’s gift. The box was heavy, and I set it in my lap, my whole body tightening with anticipation as I lifted the lid and dipped my fingers beneath the paper laid on top of the contents inside.

  Something dense and soft met my hand. Fabric, black threaded with gold filigree that winked and flashed in the dim light of our kerosene lantern.

  I lifted the gift from the box, and velvety folds spilled over my knees and across the floor.

  A cloak.

  One side black and gold, the other side a deep, vibrant red.

  My grandmother drew in a sharp breath, as if someone had slipped a knife between her ribs.

  “Dan,” she said to my father. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s hers,” he replied, his voice flat and firm at the same time, the tone he used when he was feeling unyielding. “It’s always been hers.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” she replied angrily.

  I only dimly heard them, for I was captivated by the cloak. I spread my palm against the silky feel of it, tracing the embroidered flowers, turning the edge of it this way and that to admire the way the light bounced across the threads. Something about it seemed to call to me deep in my bones. There was power in this cloak. Magic. Tendrils of it teased my fingertips as I ran them across the fabric lightly. Touching it felt like an echo of when I’d brushed against the electric fence that ran around the fields where Farmer Eliazar, the only one in the village with a windmill that produced power, kept his cattle.

  The sensation faded, leaving only fabric, but I knew what I’d felt.

  My grandmother reached across the table and put her hands on the cloak as if to take it from me. A noise of protest tore from my throat. My father grabbed her wrists.

  “Don’t,” my grandmother said again to my father. This time, it sounded like an order.

  I lifted my head, and my stomach curled at my grandmother’s expression. I glanced from my father’s face to my grandmother’s in confusion. They were both grim.

  My mother stood silently and busied herself with the dishes, leaving them to glare at each other. Kassian sat quietly, looking as confused as I felt.

  “You can’t stop it,” my father said tightly.

  My grandmother’s face went as rigid as a statue’s. “I can stop it,” she hissed to my father. “I’ll do everything in my power to stop it. I won’t lose her, Dan. Not Meredith.”

  I was frightened. What did my grandmother mean, lose me? How was giving me a cloak going to cause me to be lost?

  “Daddy?” I asked, the word scraping in the sudden silence.

  “Later,” my grandmother said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” my father said. He scooped up the cloak and put it back in the box. He closed the lid and put it beneath my bed that sat in the corner. “Who wants some cake?” he asked, forcing joviality into his tone.

  My grandmother’s jaw tightened, but she allowed him to brush the matter aside for now. The tension eased in the room, and the lantern seemed to brighten. My mother returned to the table and straightened her hair with one hand. I remember how her fingers trembled against her forehead. She mustered a smile for me and asked, “How about an extra big piece, Red?”

  “Don’t call her Red,” my grandmother said before I could speak. “Her name is Meredith. It’s a beautiful name.”

  It was an old, stupid argument. My grandmother must have still been feeling surly to invoke it. I was a girl of many names. My family called me Red because of my hair, which had been red as a radish when I was born, and the fact that the word was nestled between the other letters of my given name, Meredith. It was a short, no-nonsense kind of moniker, and I never thought it was that pretty. It tasted like a lump on my tongue. Red. Short, easily shaped into a shout, a curt command, a snap. Friends called me Mere, and I was used to hearing that yelled by other children as they waited for me at the gate so we could venture into the edge of the forest to pick blackberries and search for fresh eggs. Only my grandmother and my teachers ever called me Meredith, which was prettier, but unfamiliar to my ears. The word was undulating, lispy, fancy. I used to practice whispering it to myself as I stared into the mirror, searching for myself in the sound of it. But I never seemed to find my identity in that name.

  Kassian, my Kassian, called me Erie, and I liked that name best of all. It made me think of wind-swept skies and rippling cloaks and soaring high above the forest, higher than any Sworn or treecrawler could reach. It made me feel safe, but also somehow adventurous.

 

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