We dined with Siren's recruits the way people dine when they know it could be their last opportunity to do so.  We ate and drank and swapped stories we couldn't afford to leave untold.  Tom's soldiers spent most of the night trying to weed out fables from fact, but nearly all of Siren's fantastical stories were true. 

It turns out she'd infiltrated the army under the guise of a man and ended up fighting as a federate for years.  She'd climbed the slopes of the patriarchy from within, bonding with her comrades, saving countless lives. Then, inevitably, her secret got out, and the High Court had sentenced to death for violating the Gender Clause. But somehow, she'd managed to escape the gallows and flee into the woods unpursued.

Over time, she'd formed her band of misfits, living in the trees, traveling through the Range for sanctuary, and when she had her army, she'd taken to the Rim to wreak havoc on the enemy. It was here that she'd achieved a number of things, including her famous victory at the Battle of Exeter.

Once she'd built a name for herself, she'd returned to the forest near the Interior to build her military base—near enough to taunt the Command but far enough to evade persecution for her unlawful activities. Her subordinates presumed it was easier for the weeds to pretend she didn't exist, lest her story spread to ears of the impressionable. And, having met the lazy officers myself, I was inclined to agree.

But Siren wasn't the only one here with a memorable tale and an eccentric personality. Every one of her followers was bold and colorful and strange. 

Valerie was a social butterfly—how she became such good friends with Will was a mystery. She also flirted with every soldier in sight, laughing at the unfunny and touching any bicep she could get her hands on.  I was awed by her raw confidence, but more so by her uncanny ability to steal desserts from every single man distracted by her beauty.

A man named Koji wore a dark shade of eyeliner and cleaned his teeth with his knife. He had three piercings on his face in a vertical line, one at the philtrum, and two in the center and bottom of his lower lip. Apparently, he'd spent most of his adolescence in an insane asylum, although after one encounter with the man, it didn't take much convincing.

Jo, a muscular woman with a buzz-cut, spoke almost exclusively in curse words. She kind of reminded me of Grismond, only scarier.

Their origin stories were fascinating, as was the range of talents and skills they possessed, and yet, they were more interested in my history and the truth behind my lethal hands.

I, however, was not in the mood to recount all the things I'd done wrong in the last seventeen years, so Fudge decided to step in. He shared our adventure from his perspective, countering claims that I was a demigod or a telepathic. Confirming that I did in fact place in the Tournament, albeit stupidly, and that I'd sentenced a group of demon scouts to a field of carnivorous grasshoppers.

When we got to Plan Z and my mother's sacrifice, I excused myself and wandered away from the bonfire and the eyes of the curious, seeking the quiet sounds of the forest. Or perhaps what I really sought was one person in particular, someone who could help slow things down in a world of abrupt and sudden change.

In one day, I'd lost my brother to Godric, Jaden had been put in the ground, and I'd found out my father was dead—that he'd been dead for weeks.  Now, I'd suddenly become an asset to the military because of the potent power in my hands. A power I'd only recently begun to accept as a tool, not a death sentence.

Meanwhile, sentinels were dying, and civilians were turning into demonic creatures, and we were sitting here telling stories.

It was all too much. I felt like I was drowning, barely keeping my head above water, and relying on Will of all people to keep me afloat, to keep me kicking.  My clinginess was probably driving him mad, but...I needed him.  I needed his knowing gaze and tender silence. 

And I hated that dependence.

In my peripheral, I spotted movement near the edge of camp—two figures standing at the tree line. I tensed, hand flying to Tom's knife at my hip, but then I realized it was just Will.

Will...and Siren.

Curiosity pulled me forward, and I slid behind one of the tents, close enough that I could hear their exasperated voices.

"Passive aggressive.  As usual," Siren murmured.

"You're one to talk."

"Liam, enough skirting around the topic. Just spit it out already."

"Fine," he said, pinning her with a terrifying look.  "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Siren scoffed, and I waited for her denial.  I waited for her to laugh at his unfunny joke or refute such an incredulous statement.  But she didn't say a word.  She just looked away with a scowl on her face.

Stunned, I stared at the warrior and her slim, muscular torso, as if I would be able to detect a baby bump from here. But the only extra weight on her body was the complete set of knives at her hip.

Was Siren really pregnant? As in, carrying a child, going to birth a child, pregnant?

Back in Belgate childbearing wasn't news—it was an expected update. But this...this was clearly unplanned. And seemingly confidential, if Will had to pull her away from camp to confront her about it.

"Where's the father?" asked Will, his tone wary, like he already knew the answer.

"Who knows?"

The prince didn't like that response at all.  "Don't tell me you're planning on fighting tomorrow."

That comment struck a sensitive nerve, and Siren snapped her head around to glare at him.  "I'm fully capable of leading a siege."

"It's not about capability," Will pressed.  "You're going to be a mom. It's your responsibility."

"And you would know plenty about that, wouldn't you, Liam?"

Will stared at her like she'd slapped him across the face. Then he was stalking off toward camp, fists clenched and eyes ablaze.

Panicking, I quickly pressed myself to the body of the tent, holding my breath as he passed by me in his silent, stewing manner.  

I still failed to understand the nature of their relationship, and this confrontation had only confused me.  Had Siren taken him in when he'd run away?   Was she like an older sibling to him?  A foster parent? A deranged aunt that lived in the woods?

I heard Siren sigh deeply.  "Did you know as well?"

My stomach dropped, and I looked up at the sky in defeat.  Gritz. 

She'd found me.

Should've known I couldn't fool the Reaper of the Canopy, the King of the Red Cloaks.  Whatever other strange titles she'd earned for herself.

Just as I opened my mouth to apologize for my eavesdropping, someone chuckled from the dark of the woods. Dry and hoarse and familiar.  "I had my suspicions."

Wait.

Was that...Beckett?

"You two have been here one day and you've already found me out," Siren muttered.

"That's because we know you.  And we care about you." 

A beat passed.

"Besides.  You haven't touched the rum.  If that's not a red flag, I don't know what is."

Siren said nothing to that, and I peeked over the side of the tent, watching her glower at the misty waterfall.  Beckett stood beside her, taking an easy swig from his flask.

"The girl.  She's Kingsley's sister, isn't she?" she said, and my heart thumped heavily in my chest.

"Yes.  The spitting image in the wake of authority.  She also reminds me of you.  Same rebellious gleam in your eye," he teased. 

I tried to justify the news, to find the connection in a sea of bizarre revelations, the clarity in a mess of chaotic, intersecting lines.  What, had Beckett been Siren's comrade when she'd served as a federate?  Had Tom completed that trio? 

Did everyone just know everyone around here?

"You know...that boy's got a point," Beckett went on.  "You've come so far.  Nothing more to prove. You don't have to ride this war horse to the grave."

Siren murmured something I couldn't quite make out, and she snatched the flask out of Beckett's hand, as if to steal a few gulps. But then she caught herself, and she shoved it back into his chest with a vicious growl.

He tucked his chin to his collar and laughed his low, raspy laugh.

After his interaction with Siren, I wasn't sure if I should approach Will at all, especially when he spent the rest of the evening frowning at the forest. 

So when the crowd began to disperse and the runaway still hadn't said anything, I figured I better ask Fudge about sleeping arrangements.  Preferably, I'd borrow a blanket and crash outside someone's tent. Hopefully, that would prevent me from attacking anyone else in my sleep.

But then Will stood from his log, stretching his elbow behind his head, his black shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of pale skin, and I anxiously waited for a goodnight nod or a dismissive sleep well.  Instead, he looked down at me, his expression soft— borderline affectionate—and he asked a quiet, casual, "Ready?"

My mouth parted in disbelief.

I felt the others watching us with raised brows, exchanging suggestive looks or whispering to one another. In my periphery, I could just make out Fudge's smirk and Valerie's awed smile.

But the embarrassment of their misunderstanding was nothing compared to the flood of relief in my chest.

I nodded gratefully, and Will offered his hand.

I stared at it for a moment, the cursive writing on his wrist, the exposed skin of his palm.  Thinking that maybe, just maybe, depending on someone wasn't as criminal as I'd made it out to be.  Maybe in some ways...it was good.

With a smile dancing on my lips, I slid my hand in his, and he pulled me to my feet.