While they ate, I quizzed their mother. Her name was

Deirdre, and I learned as much as I could about the fishing village they’d come from. She told us how she used to make the finest fishing nets for miles around, and that their village had prospered. Trade had kept them all fed and full and clothed and housed.

Now, however, Deirdre and her younger children were forced to fend for themselves while her husband and her oldest daughter—like most of the other capable men and women from their village—had gone off to volunteer in the militia.

“Militia?” I asked, not sure I fully understood. Deirdre just nodded. “Locals willing to fight for our country but not wanting—or able—to join the military. Either too old or too young, or not fit enough to be in the armies. Most of our villagers decided to join the militia so they could stay together, rather than being divided and sent to the far reaches of the country. Last we heard, the queen’s army was gathering every militia to meet near the Astonian border. Talk is, war isn’t so far off.”

Guilt knotted my stomach, so I only listened while everyone else ate.

I wondered how many other families were in similar situations. How many other mothers were off scavenging for food, trying to make ends meet for their children while they awaited word of the war. Waited to find out if their loved ones would even return home alive.

“I feel sick.” The little girl called Meg rubbed her hand over her protruding belly to emphasize her point.

Brook grinned back at her. “Well, you should. You just ate an entire week’s worth of rations. At that rate you’ll grow up to be a big, strong soldier like your sister.” She tousled the girl’s hair. “Too bad we’ve got to get going, or I’d teach you a few moves myself.”

Meg’s eyes brightened. “You think I could be like you someday?”

Eden scoffed at the notion. “You don’t want to be like her. Look at her. She’s not so tough.” Her lips curled in wry amusement as she indicated the bruises on Brook’s face.

The littlest boy wrinkled his nose. “Then you must not be tough either,” he said, ogling Eden’s black and swollen eye.

Eden directed her gaze at the boy, glaring as sternly as she could until the boy blinked and glanced away. Then she nodded, as if satisfied in her ability to intimidate.

I made a clucking sound in her direction, letting her know I didn’t think she was very impressive, terrifying a little boy and all.

“How far is your village?” I asked, turning my attention back to Deirdre when I didn’t get the appropriately contrite response I’d hoped for from Eden.

“Not so far.” I caught her shooting one of the older two boys a warning look when it looked as if he might dispute her statement. “Just past the next harbor.” She pointed vaguely along the coastline.

Perplexed by her explanation, I frowned and turned for clarification to the boy she’d prematurely silenced. “And how far would that be?”

The boy looked sheepish and avoided his mother’s eyes when he answered, “Almost a day’s walk.” He admitted, before she had the chance to stop him, “It’s hard on the little ones.”

Concurring, Meg nodded vigorously. “It’s true. It’s awful far.”

Again Eden sighed, reading my thoughts before I could even give voice to them.

I tried to reason with her. “It’s on our way, Eden,” I said under my breath. Deirdre had been pointing southward. Eden could hardly argue. According to Caspar’s maps, we had to go south before heading east toward the Astonian border. “Besides, we have more than enough room.”

In the end I won and we piled Deirdre and her four children into the VAN. Eden drove sullenly, while I felt downright pious about the decision, especially as the wind died down and the fog churned up from the sea, making the ground difficult to see, and nearly impossible to navigate. Because of the poor visibility, it took us more time than it should have to locate the highway so we could follow it.

To the children the VAN was an adventure. They bounced exaggeratedly up and down in their seats, and traded places every few minutes and pointed out the windows. They chattered among themselves, while Deirdre showed us landmarks along the way. She gave names to the cliffs and the plains, and even the road we traveled, which was in such a state of disrepair that for the most part we drove alongside it, using it only as a guide to mark our way.

The Coastal Highway, she called it, and I had a hard time imagining it had ever been anything but the pitiful mass of crumbling concrete it was now.

Her village, she told us, was formerly 116Southeast but now was called Graylond, and they’d held a huge party to christen it as such.

“That was the day before my husband and my Erin left,” she explained. “So we stayed up all night, drinking and dancing around the bonfire, and I pretended it was because our city had a new name. But really it was so I could be with them as long as possible.” She looked down at her hands, which were folded and motionless on her lap. “I hope they come home soon. I hope the new queen knows what she’s doing, and that all this talk of war is just that. Talk.”

I nodded. I hoped everything she did, and more. I couldn’t tell her I was doing my best. That I was willing to sacrifice everything—including myself—to bring her family home, so I merely nodded.

“That’s it,” she said, pointing through the thick layer of fog to a knot of homes that seemed to be built right over the water’s edge.