Morning came slowly. The sun's rays tickled my face with warm fingers. The birds’ song sounded lighter and more cheerful than it had in days.

  I woke alone. Dizzy. But I could stumble out of bed without feeling sick. My nose wrinkled as I smelled my shirt, the same shirt I wore in prison. My boots were gone. The floor felt like ice beneath my bare feet.

  I was met with the delicious, greasy smell of baking bacon as I slowly pulled the door open, the hinges creaking under the strain. My mouth watered, and I couldn't help thinking of my mother. Bacon, that special treat she could magically afford.

  The common room was devoid of life when I took my first cautious steps out of the bedroom. The silence made my skin crawl.

  “Fern?” I called out, glancing around the tavern.

  “In here, lad.” Fern's boisterous voice rang out from a storeroom over the clanking of pots and jars. “Didn’t go anywhere.”

  Before I could take two steps inside, Fern pulled me into a fierce embrace.

  “I’m sorry, my boy,” he sobbed. “I couldn't protect you.”

  "Fern. It's not your fault.” I rubbed his back as I hugged him. "You couldn't have known about the ferry." He let me go and, turned back to the messy storeroom.

  I stood and watched him work. "Why are you packing more food? Didn't we have enough?"

  Fern looked up, and a small smile crossed his face. "We did, but I traded it all to beggars, trying to get information about your whereabouts."

  My heart sank. Fern never gave up. His world had fallen apart just as much as mine had that day.

  "Fern. You would've never found me."

  My throat closed up as I collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Fern struggled to sit beside me. He lifted my head onto his lap and gently rubbed my hair with his hand.

  "Fern, they took me to the prison in New Janderus. Then...” I gasped as sharp breaths rushed in and out. The words I wanted to speak struggled to form. “Church bells and I... I can't, Fern.”

  Fern listened without interrupting. He wiped my tears with his sleeve.

  "My son, when you're ready to talk, I'm here."

  “Thank you,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  We sat in silence on the floor. Fern held me tight while I focused on steadying my breathing. He didn't rush me, even though I felt the twitching in his leg and the small adjustments in the way he sat. Seconds ticked by until a voice finally broke the silence.

  ”Are you two going to eat breakfast or not?” Vine yelled from the common room. “I promise only bacon, eggs, and fresh water!”

  Fern slung the filled saddlebags over his shoulder and nodded for me to follow. The thought of food filled me with a warmth that brought a smile to my face.

  I followed Fern into the common room of the still-quiet tavern and slumped into one of the chairs. Vine had set a simple table with wooden plates and iron utensils. My eyes widened as he placed a platter of bacon and eggs between us.

  Vine took one look at Fern and then at me, his nose winkling in confusion. “Fern,” he said bluntly, “you sure your girl stayed true? That boy looks nothing like you.”

  Fern didn't look up from the table. He spooned bacon and eggs onto a plate before handing it to me.

  “Vine,” Fern said. “There is no gal in my life. I chose to adopt this boy. He's my son, regardless of flesh and blood.”

  Vine shrugged, clearly unconcerned, and loaded his own plate. “Well, blood or not, at least we finally have someone good-looking in this family.”

  I snorted and looked at Fern, who failed to look angry behind his slowly creeping smile. He shook his head and laughed. “My boy just saved you from an ass-kicking, Vine.”

  Vine shoved an entire egg into his mouth. “Fair enough.” He chewed like a cow chewing its cud. Fern and I both winced at the sight. “Does this lad have a name?”

  Does this lad have a name? Good question. I mulled it over, staring at the steam rising from my plate of food.

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  “Abel.”

  Fern turned away from the table nearly, spitting out his breakfast. He slammed his chest a few times with his fist. Fern looked at me, his eyes were wide with confusion.

  “My name is Abel.” I stared at him. He coughed and nodded his head.

  Vine sharply exhaled, spitting the mangled egg onto his plate.

  “Fern found himself a boy who thinks he’s a noble!” He doubled over laughing, slapping the table. Blood rushed to my cheeks. I stared the crooked fork in my hand.

  “That’s because he is, Vine.” Fern glared at Vine and set his fork down before crossing his arms. “Remember the job I took down on the Southern Islands? The one to help keep the tavern afloat when Mother and Father fell ill?”

  Slam! Vine's fist crashed down on the tabletop rattling all the dishes. My fork clattered to the floor.

  “Absolutely not, Fern! I’ll never forget the day you left with the damn Iljas to go to Ilrunen. I lost my big brother that day!” Vine shot to his feet and leaned over his plate, staring at Fern.

  Vine's short, angry breaths were the only sound in the common room. Fern and Vine stared at each other. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife.

  Vine's shoulders sagged as he sat back down in his chair. “You're leaving again, aren't you?”

  Fern sighed, looking down at the table. “Yes. I have to. We leave today for Ilrunen.” He folded his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut. “Abel's heritage makes it too dangerous for him on the mainland. He needs Ilja’s protection.”

  Vine shook his head, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “Who was mad enough to lay with an Ilja then?”

  Silence. It hung in the air like smoke clouding up a forest during a wildfire.

  “It was Arnameaus, wasn’t it Fern?” I spoke softly, daring not to say the name aloud. Almost like I worried that the walls might have ears.

  Fern's look said enough. My stomach dropped. Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore.

  Vine laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No shit, really, Fern? Prince Arnameaus Ramseas got himself an Ilja?” He slapped his knees. “So even the great Iljas couldn't keep their blood out of the Ramseas line, huh?”

  Arnameaus is my father. I felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, but my thoughts still whirled like a raging storm. Even if I wasn't a bastard, a crown was never meant for me. But why would the king want me?

  A bastard has no right to the throne.

  But when the king, hell, even Arnameaus, has a legitimate child, I'd be irrelevant. I didn't understand. Why not let me waste away in Zelheim like the others? What threat was I to a whole kingdom?

  I don't know what I expected, learning finally who my father is. To be honest, I didn’t feel any different. This knowledge didn't push aside the fear weighing on my heart.

  Fern covered my hands with his own.

  “House Ilja has always been complicated. It probably has something to do with their house's magic.” Fern patted my hands. “I don't know much more. I was just a servant. But they've been aloof since Saint Ilja took Ilrunen as his earthly home.”

  He paused, pursing his lips. “From what I heard before I left, was that Lord Ilja was furious when Augundornis demanded your mother’s hand.” I glanced at Vine. He picked at his teeth without a care in the world. “I can't imagine he was pleased when Alemania told him about you.”

  “But...” I looked back at my hands buried beneath Fern's large bear paws. “We're going to Ilrunen. How do you know that he'll even let me stay?”

  “Because Alemania convinced him to, and we have to believe he'll keep his word.” Fern rubbed my hand.

  “I never understood why Lady Alemania did that. Mother was always so secretive about me.”

  Fern gave my hands a squeeze before reclaiming his fork. “Ilja will never admit to having a grandson with Ramseas blood, especially one that's a... Well, I only hope he doesn’t take it out on you. I'll leave it at that.” He sighed. “Now eat. We leave before noon.”

  Vine had already finished and was stacking the empty plates and mugs. “How about I grab Abel a new shirt and those boots I fixed? You can’t expect a pretty lad like him to show up in Ilrunen dressed like that.”

  ──── ? ────

  Outside, the morning sun caressed us gently. Short trees stood still on the market square, their naked branches protected by the tall buildings around them.

  Fern stood with Peanut and the black stallion I’d stolen from New Janderus. I had no choice but to tell him how I’d magically forced the guards to hand the poor beast over.

  “Does he talk to you like Peanut does?” Fern asked, patting the stallion’s neck. The stallion nudged him, snorting softly.

  “At least he likes you,” I laughed. “No, I’ve tried. He won’t open up to me.” I buried my face in Peanut’s mane. “I missed you, girl. And good thinking, relaying Fern’s messages.”

  “Peanut told you what I yelled at the ferry?”

  Peanut began bobbing her head joyfully. I grabbed her bridle to calm her down. “She did, Fern. It gave me hope while I sat in New Janderus.”

  Fern said nothing, but his shoulders eased. Light returned to his eyes, and a slow smile crossed his lips.

  Peanut shook her head free of my grasp and bobbed it again.

  Peanut proud. New friend scared of little master. Evil look in eyes.

  Her thoughts tangled as always. I'd have to get used to it again.

  “He’s scared of me,” I said. “My outburst the night I stole him frightened him. At least, that’s what Peanut thinks.” I patted her neck.

  Fern tightened the saddle straps. “Then I’ll ride him for now. Give him time, and let’s hope he opens up to you.” The stallion stomped in protest.

  Peanut nuzzled my hair.

  Little master. New friend. Blackie.

  I snorted.

  “What, boy?” Fern asked.

  “The stallion’s name is Blackie,” I said laughing. “That's like naming a cat Meow.”

  Fern swatted my arm. “Don’t laugh at the poor animal. We want him to trust you. Laughing at him won't help.”

  Vine inched outside, shooting Fern a strange look before tossing a small sack his way. It jiggled when Fern caught it. “Promise me you’ll visit more often than once every ten years?”

  Fern handed me Blackie’s reins and walked up to his little brother, pulling him in a tight hug. “Oh, Vine. When Abel is safe, I’ll come visit. Promise.”

  Little master, Fern use no-no name. Peanut whispered, hiding behind me.

  “It’s alright, Peanut. I’m not hiding it anymore.” I scratched behind her ears beneath the bridle's strap.

  Fern and Vine turned to face me.

  “What?” Fern asked.

  I smiled. “That’s the first time Peanut’s ever heard you call me Abel.”