Jesver Merrik halted on the edge of Maiden’s Hollow. As ever, he looked the weather-worn poacher more than he did the Terror of Kellin Valley. His fifty or so companions were no better, swathed in ragged leather and torn wool-cloth. But their weapons were sharp. They’d spent the better part of the morning honing the blades.

Merrik shrugged, dislodging his haversack. “A week back, I agreed to fight. Then I agreed not to. Now I’m back to where I started.”

Crovan rubbed his forehead, searching for the words to carry the day.

“The Hadari bring us freedom. Do you want to live beneath the Council’s boot the rest of your life?”

He snorted. “I’ve never lived under the Council’s boot. And I’ll sure as Queen’s Ashes not live under shadowthorn rule. Should’ve said so when the duke was here. I’d rather fight for my freedom than hope for it.”

Crovan didn’t have to ask what had spurred Merrik’s change of heart. New arrivals at Maiden’s Hollow had spoken of nothing else.

“The Phoenix is a myth,” he said. “Nothing more.”

Merrik ambled closer, his friendly tone laced with a hint of danger.

“See? That’s why you’ll never belong here, northwealder. You can talk like us. You can pretend to share our cause. You can even mucky your blade, when called to it. But you’re still an outlander.”

The words stung after everything he’d done for the Southshires. The career he’d thrown away. The bridges he’d burned. The disinheritance from a family who sought to hide roots buried deep in Eskavord. He felt something cold beneath his palm. The pommel of his old army sword. Crovan didn’t recall putting his hand there. Come to that, he hadn’t worn the blade since gathering the Vagabond Council. So much easier to preach non-involvement without a weapon slapping your thigh. Why had he belted the thing on that morning?

Maybe it was for the best. Merrik was close. He suspected nothing. A show of strength, inked in blood for the rest of the Vagabond Council to see. They’d fall into line. Some might even thank him. Crovan blinked the thought away, appalled. That wasn’t who he was.

“Calenne Trelan is a child. She’ll get you all killed.”

“Then we’ll see our families again, won’t we?” said Merrik. “When you stop running long enough for the Raven to take you, seek me out in Otherworld. You can tell me all about how much better you lived your life while I was gone.”

Merrik stomped away up the hill, his followers falling into step alongside.

“I’m not a coward,” Crovan muttered. The words were not the balm to his stinging pride he’d hoped. “I’m not.”