“Utgar isn’t seeing visitors today,” the guard said, eyeing her.

“I wish to speak to Runa.”

He frowned at her.

“Ask her. She’ll want to see me.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Fera. Mother of Taelord.” She smiled as the guard’s frown deepened.

“Wait here,” he said, and ducked inside the tent.

She had gotten up early, earlier than anyone else, and wandered Helsng, working out how best to say what she had to. Only when the sun was well up, had Ser found her, and told her it was time. She had hastened straight to Utgar’s pavilion. She hated doing this without her son knowing, but… well, he would just try to stop her. She knew he would.

She shook her head. Poor Taelord. There was so much about the world he still didn’t understand. She wished they lived in a place where he never needed to learn, but… well that was foolish thinking.

The guard returned, Runa with him. She frowned when she saw Fera. “You are Taelord’s mother?” she said.

Fera inclined her head. “I would speak with you,” she said. “Alone, if I may.”

Runa glanced at the guard.

“Stay within sight,” he said. “And don’t go too far.” He looked Fera up and down – probably looking for weapons – and then returned to the front of the pavilion, where he watched them, hand on his axe.

“Come,” Fera said, placing a hand on Runa’s shoulder and leading her around the pavilion, to the side. She stayed within sight of the guard, but judged him to be out of earshot.

Runa frowned. “What do you want?” she asked, turning and facing Fera.

Fera could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She took a breath, knowing she must choose her words carefully. “I know your father is searching for a solution to the rebellion,” she said. “He seeks peace, but doesn’t know how to reach it. I have come to show him the only possible way.”

“He’s inside,” Runa said hesitantly.

“I know,” Fera said. “I thought to speak with you first. I doubt he would like what I have to say. Will you hear me?”

Runa watched her with a frown. “Tell me,” she said after a moment.

“Utgar must surrender,” Fera said. “Please, let me finish,” she added, holding up a hand as Runa opened her mouth.

“This is the only option. He has no Wellspring, and even his own Volcarrens are beginning to disregard his wishes. If he remains as he is, between two forces bent on destroying each other, he will be overrun. He doesn’t wish to join either side; therefore he must surrender to the Empire.”

“My father has considered this,” Runa said slowly, “and has decided against it.”

Fera wasn’t surprised. “Has he considered it fully?” she said. “Has he considered the might of the Empire? What they could do? They have armies, food, resources… what does he have? Less than a thousand fighters? Half-starved farmers and fishers? Weapons made out of bone and rock?

“We sit on the brink of war, Runa. We can all see it. But it is not a war the rebels or Utgar can win. It could start at any time, and if it does… he won’t survive. You won’t survive. The Empire will crush you. You must go to your father. Convince him to surrender to Jandar. It’s our – your – only hope.”

“We can’t,” Runa said, watching Fera with a frown. “I suggested surrendering to the Empire myself, but we can’t trust them. Father convinced me of that. Believe me, I want to trust them, but… after what they’ve done, what they are still doing to the people of this city…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t trust them. I’m sorry, Fera. We can’t surrender.”

Fera looked into her eyes, searching them, and believed her. Her mind was made up, and therefore so was Utgar’s. They wouldn’t surrender.

But they didn’t understand. They had to surrender. It was the only way Fera could be sure. They only way to keep Taelord safe. She sighed. So be it.

She had carefully maneuvered herself close to Runa, and now she leapt towards her, pulling a knife from beneath her shirt. It was small, easily missed by the guard. Runa was taken completely by surprise, and Fera crashed into her without resistance.

Runa fell, and Fera went with her, both of them rolling to the ground. Runa fought. Fera had anticipated that. The girl had grown up in the Volcarren after all, in the Bone Desert. She knew well how to fight. But she was still only twelve. Fera overpowered her easily, and stood, holding Runa before her like a shield, her knife pointed at her throat. Runa stopped struggling as the cold metal pricked her, and before them, guards skidded to a halt, too late to intervene.

“Bring Utgar,” Fera said, speaking to the closest guard. “Tell him I have his daughter, and that he will hear my demands.”

The guards glanced at each other, uncertain. They had their weapons out, but they didn’t dare approach. Fera dragged Runa backwards, putting her back to the canvas of the tent. She couldn’t get surrounded.

“Go,” she said.

One of the guards turned and practically ran to the pavilion entrance. There was a rushed rumble of voices from within – Fera judged Utgar had been speaking with Vydar, leader of the Vel – and then hurried footsteps.

A shadow fell across them as Utgar appeared, Vydar behind him. He turned, saw Fera and Runa, and approached slowly. He was even taller than Fera had realized, now that she was standing so close to him. He stopped a few paces away, towering over her, his features cold. Deadly.

“I have your daughter,” she said, pressing her back to the canvas of the pavilion, knife still pointed at Runa’s throat. “Move towards me, and I will make sure her death is slow.” Runa had stopped struggling, and now stood still, watching her father with wide eyes. Her grip was vice-like, tight on Fera’s arm about her throat.

Guards fanned out behind Utgar, but he swung out an arm, halting them, and watched her carefully, his eyes burning. This was not a man to trifle with. Fera knew that. But she also knew that he loved his daughter more than anything. She had pieced that together from things Taelord had said, and from the way he protected her, keeping her isolated from everyone else. As long as she held the knife to Runa’s throat, Utgar was hers to command.

“You will summon Jandar,” Fera said calmly.

No one moved.

Fera pricked Runa’s skin, so that a tiny bead of blood appeared.

“Do it,” Utgar hissed. “Bring Jandar.”

One of his guards jumped as if burned, and took to the air, heading for the keep.

“And what,” Utgar whispered in a deadly voice, “is Jandar coming here for?”

“You are going to surrender to him,” Fera said, keeping an eye on the other guards. There were seven by now. “You will command your forces to lay down their arms, and you will do whatever Jandar asks of you. You will not, however, relate the location of the Wellspring.”

Utgar’s only reaction was to narrow his eyes. “Why not?” he whispered.

“Because my son will need something to bargain with,” Fera said. “When Jandar arrives, I will have secured your surrender. And when my son tells him the location of the Wellspring, our future safety will be assured.”

She could see Utgar piecing together what she meant. There were only so many people who knew where the Wellspring was. “Taelord?” he hissed. “You are his mother?”

“I am,” Fera said. She looked calmly into Utgar’s eyes. Every instinct was screaming for her to run, but she ignored them. She had Runa. She had the knife. She controlled everything.

And then she controlled nothing. A powerful hand gripped the arm holding the knife, and pulled it away from Runa’s throat, practically shattering the bone with its power. Fera cried out, and another hand gripped her other wrist, pulling it away from Runa’s neck.

Runa, now free, launched herself towards Utgar, and the seven guards all flew at Fera, pulling her to the ground.

“Do not strike her!” Utgar’s voice commanded, and the guards lowered their fists. They kept her pinned to the ground, and Fera saw another Volcarren round her, and approach Utgar.

“Thank you, Kirav,” Utgar said, still watching her.

Kirav glanced at Fera, and she saw that his face was a mass of cuts, and one wing was held tight in a wooden splint. “Good thing this tent has no floor.” He nodded to the section of canvas wall behind Fera, which she guessed he had crawled under. She had never seen him.

“Good thing you stayed behind in the pavilion,” Utgar said. “You have my thanks. When this is all over, I’ll reward you with something better than guard duty.”

“Looking forward to it,” Kirav said grimly as Utgar approached Fera.

“What is this?” a commanding voice asked. Fera turned her head against the ground, and saw Utgar’s guard a short distance away, panting, Jandar at his side, unarmored but still somehow regal. His eyes went over Runa, who was standing next to Utgar, holding a hand to her neck; to the tent, which Fera guessed Kirav had torn to reach her; to Fera herself, held against the ground and surrounded by guards. His eyebrows raised.

Utgar turned. “I ask the same of you, Jandar,” he said, a tremor of anger breaking through his voice. “You come to me, asking for surrender, and then barely an hour later you send an assassin to demand the same?”

“Assassin?” Jandar repeated. “Has someone been slain?”

“Not yet,” Kirav growled, glaring at him.

Utgar pointed to Fera. “You sent her here to threaten Runa, to make me surrender. Do you deny it?”

Jandar looked to Fera, and met her eyes. In that moment, she knew what he was about to do. She saw the sorrow it caused him.

“I don’t know this woman,” he said, looking back at Utgar. “I’ve never seen her.”

Fera closed her eyes. She had known Jandar would have to deny her if she failed. But still…

“You won’t mind if I get some answers out of her, then?” Utgar said. He clearly expected Jandar to protest, to show some hint that he had sent Fera there.

Jandar shrugged. “She’s a Volcarren,” he said. “This is your concern, not mine. I would say though, if your own people want you to surrender this desperately… you might reconsider my offer.” He turned, and without a second glance at Fera, left.