Fudge and Mason had finally joined the party, wrangled in by a short and brawny man, who proceeded to drag them around the tavern and make introductions.

Fudge looked a little overwhelmed and slightly terrified, but Mason, to his credit, stuck to the boy's side, patting his shoulder here and again to keep him calm.

When Fudge met my gaze from across the room, I raised my brow. You okay?

He shrugged, eyes darting to the stocky soldier, who'd begun chugging a pint of alcohol, and back to me.

I laughed.

A new group of men arrived then, pushing their way into the warmth of the tavern, eliciting a rumble of friendly greetings and jubilant cries for more alcohol.

Among the last to trickle in was Tom.

My brother was back from his travels, back from the afterlife. His presence stole my breath away, like some kind of mythical creature—a phoenix scarred by its own flame.

"We've got a meeting in ten minutes," he announced to the room, and a few individuals lifted their chins—understood.

Rover elbowed Jaden. "Mom's home. Hide the rum."

Tom grimaced at their snickers, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over a chair. "This is why no one takes me seriously. You never address me properly."

Rover gasped and bowed comically low. "Apologies, Captain Crater-Face."

Jaden poured Tom a drink. "May this appease you, Officer Man-Child."

My brother huffed.

"Come on, you guys," Sol chided, throwing an arm over Tom's shoulder. "We address His Majesty as King Kingsley on Tuesdays. Manners."

An impish smile lit Sol's face, and Tom chuckled, shoving the man off with a playful sigh.

It made me happy knowing Tom had these friends here over the last seven years. People who saw him as an equal when the sun went down and the armor came off. I was glad to know he hadn't been alone.

Not like I'd been.

My brother flashed his crooked grin, and it widened when he saw me approach. "Al, thanks to you, Holly's sent riders throughout Ells to warn of the invasion. They're calling in the army, rallying the troops here in the Interior. When the Pans come for us, we'll be ready."

I let out a breath. "That's...really good to hear."

He leaned in close and sniffed. His brow creased. "Have you been drinking?"

"I'm seventeen."

"Yeah. What's your point?" He glared at Rover. "Did you give her alcohol?"

Rover gaped, eyes flying to Beckett murderously, and the older man grinned behind the lip of his bottle.

I tugged on my brother's shirt to claim his attention. "Tom, where is he?"

His smile vanished. "Who?"

"You know who."

He didn't answer me right away. I could see the gears spinning in his head, searching for ways to avoid my question.

Sensing the curious eyes on us, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the corner of the pub. "Al, I don't want you anywhere near him. He's an enemy. He's the enemy."

"Would people stop with that word? He may have withheld information...a lot of information...but he's done nothing that warrants that title. He saved my life. A lot. And I'd like to see him."

Before it's too late.

I was suddenly desperate to get Will out of this situation. I didn't know why; I was still angry. I was furious, actually. But Beckett's words itched, and I needed to set things straight. I needed to see that liar and speak my mind. Throw my punches while I still could.

Tom ran a hand through his dark mane of hair. "You really haven't changed at all. I think you've actually grown more stubborn over the years."

"Tom."

"He's in the stables."

I arched an eyebrow. "The stables."

"We don't have a proper detention facility outside the city.  We weren't expecting delinquents. And we knew if we took him to Holly, he'd be executed without a trial," he added when I shot him a dirty look. "I'm serious, Al. Don't go near him again."

I pushed past him, marching for the barn near the edge of the woods. Apparently, Tom still thought he was the boss of me. He still thought he held influence over me after all these years.

He was mistaken.

It hadn't been a challenge knocking out the drunken guard—he'd been half-conscious when I arrived anyway. The most difficult part was trying to figure out what I was going to say to Will.

Was he even the Will I'd come to know? Or had everything been an act, down to his clipped diction and hermit behavior?

With the mask shattered, who was left behind?

Inside the building, the Rhean prince sat on the floor, leaning against an empty stall and carving something into a block of wood. He was chained loosely to a wooden pillar, and each time he used the knife, the chains tightened with a clang.

He wouldn't stab me if I startled him, would he? And what idiot had let him keep a weapon?

As I crept closer, I realized he wasn't doing anything particularly menacing. He was sculpting the wood into a figure—a soldier boy with complete limbs and a miniature sword at his side. I'd forgotten that Will had apprenticed at the carpenter's back in Belgate. He had a talent for woodwork.

"It's good."

He looked up, but he didn't seem surprised to see me. It was like he'd been expecting me, and that annoyed me, because even I wasn't sure I would come. And he didn't know me better than I knew myself.

He went back to carving his wooden soldier, and I watched him work for a few while. Standing there patiently, shuffling my feet.

"Did they let you keep that knife?" I asked.

"No. I had it stashed in my boot. They weren't very smart."

I crossed my arms. "You could have gotten out of this. I know you could have escaped if you wanted to." He didn't even have to run after me when he did. He could have disappeared into the trees when he saw the camp, like Styx. He most definitely could have killed the soldiers who brought him here in chains. But he hadn't.

Will shrugged, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

He wasn't stupid. He must have known his life was in danger.  So why would he risk it? Why had he followed me into the lion's den?

I watched him silently chisel away at the wooden slab. He'd shed the tape on his fingers, revealing strange symbols and obscure silhouettes across his exposed knuckles. I wondered if he'd received them before he'd moved to Belgate, or if he'd found an artist in the southern district who was willing to tattoo an underage client.

"Are those runes? Your tattoos?"

He paused, fingers flexing like he'd forgotten the marks existed.

"Not runes," he said, as if that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "They're the crests of the ten clans in Rhea. A teaching tool for monarchs."

"How old were you?"

"Nine."

I winced, and he went back to fiddling with his stupid carving.  This was headed nowhere; I had to be direct.

"So, your father. He's not the man in Belgate."

Will sighed. It must have occurred to him that I wasn't leaving without some sort of explanation because he finally met my gaze and surrendered to my inquiries. "The man back home was a guard I trusted. He got me out. He's not my father."

Got him out? What did that mean?

"So your dad is really Godric Sterling. The king of Rhea."

He nodded. "He and my siblings are protecting the portal. They've kept it open for the last ten years. Together, they've kept this war alive." He stabbed the little soldier boy through the middle and looked up at me. Weary, resigned. "I'm not like them, Alex. I don't want a war. I never wanted to bring those creatures into the world. That's why I left."

I gazed at him, trying my best to understand. Trying to place myself in his boots, his inked hands and marred chest.

He'd been a kid when he'd shown up in Belgate, even younger when he'd left his homeland and family behind. Then he'd had to listen to every xenophobic school lecture, to every awful slur spoken on the street about his people. Every one of Frost's cruel lessons.

And he'd never so much as uttered a threat in retaliation.

"You weren't sent to Belgate under cover? You weren't involved in the invasion?" I asked, though it sounded very little like a question and more like a conclusion.

Will breathed out. "No. I only ever wanted to escape. First Rhea, then Belgate."

Escape. As if he'd felt the same phantom manacles I had. As if he too had been trapped in a world that barred him from his own identity.

The puzzle pieces were slowly coming together. Right now I only had the frame. The inside was left barren, without an image. But for some reason, it was good enough.

Crouching, I unlocked Will's shackles with the key I'd nabbed off the guard. They fell to his lap, and Will stared at the chains for a few heartbeats. Then at me.

"You trust me?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But...I forgive you."

He was expressionless. No gratitude. No roll of the eyes. Nothing.

I stood, clenching and unclenching my fists, the speech I'd planned dissolving on the back of my tongue. "It's not fair to judge you because of who your family is. Or for hiding the truth from people who would have likely killed you. I hate that you lied, but I understand why you did." My shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt. I was just...angry."

And perhaps unjustifiably so.

What was Will supposed to do? Tell a group of peers he was tied to the presence of these demons? Demons bent on wiping out their country? He'd given us as much information as he could without exposing himself. And he'd protected us. He'd guided us to safety, fully aware of what he'd have to face should someone recognize him.

Besides.

I hadn't been completely honest either—with any of them. Who was I to demand transparency?

I made for the door, wondering if this was the last time we'd ever speak, when he blurted, "Asa."

"...Sorry?"

He looked down. "My name is Asa. William's my middle name. Will just became my nickname—my real name for the past four years." He frowned, like even he didn't understand what he was saying. "But that's who I am now. I am Will."

I found myself smiling at that, pushing down a weird surge of relief.

"You know...I would have called you Will regardless, just to tick you off."

He gazed at me, and a bit of light had returned to his eyes, the tongue of a distant flame. It reminded me of the look Fudge had given me three nights ago, as if he'd seen hope in me. As if he'd finally seen a different future from the one he'd yielded to.

"So?" I prompted. "What will you do?"

He rubbed at the tender skin of his wrists. His eyes flicked to the door, then back at me, uncertain.

"What do you want me to do?"

Stay, I thought mindlessly, and I scolded myself for falling into his trap. "It's up to you. If you want to stay, I'll stand by you, and I won't let them hurt you. If you want to leave, I'll turn a blind eye. But this is about what you want, not me."

He needed to make a choice. I needed to see him clearly. Motives and actions and all.

He ran his thumb over the faded tattoos, and I wondered if they brought up fond memories, or if they served as a constant reminder of the legacy he'd left behind.  I suppose I'd never know.

"Then...I'll stay."

The decision appeared to surprise us both.

"I have a part to play. I realize that now," he said with a little more confidence. "Running will just prolong things."

"You're saying...you'll fight? For Ells?"

"With," he corrected. "With Ells."

I could sympathize with that distinction. Even I didn't want to be associated with my country and its bloody history, and certainly not after everything Nova had revealed.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt and hay off his pants.

"...For what?"

"For convincing a battalion to accept the enemy?"

I shrugged. "My brother's in charge, and I just happen to know his greatest weakness."

"And what's that?"

I turned around with a mischievous smile on my face.

"Me."