Wren
The splinter grew exactly the way he'd planted it to.
Eleven days. That was the number now, chalked on Lucien's slate where fifty had been, and the mansion became a fortress becoming an army. Darius drilled the joint packs dawn to dark. Vessa's scouts mapped the northern passes. Refugee craftsmen from Stone River forged and fletched. Everyone had war work.
Mine, apparently, was being the reason.
Nobody said it. That's what made it unbearable. Nobody said it, and everybody carried it, and I watched them carry it. I sat with a Stone River woman whose mate had died holding their gate, and she took my hand and told me she didn't blame me, and I hadn't asked, and that was the whole problem. I watched seventeen-year-olds drill with spears. I watched Berta quietly teach the kitchen girls
