“Raka! Raka!” The wooden door in front of Elira didn’t budge, even when she knocked hard. “Raka!”

For some reason, a bad feeling gnawed at her chest. She set aside her manners and forced the door open.

Her chest grew heavier when she saw Raka’s house empty. A bowl of herbs and clean water sat neatly on the table beside his bed.

“Raka,” she called again, hoping he would appear from the back yard.

But even after circling the house again and again, he didn’t show. Her thoughts churned. Where was she supposed to look for him?

Part of her whispered that he had gone into the forest, or even to Kamura. Elira truly didn’t understand—what was Raka doing in Kamura?

Doubt tugged at her, but deep down she still wanted to trust him. Maybe he had gone to the hall to meet Baran and the elders about the village’s troubles.

Elira jogged toward the hall at the edge of the village, far from the square. Luckily, she met no one on the way—everyone was probably busy preparing for the Festival tonight.

When the wooden hall came into view, she slowed and crept closer.

Her heart thudded as she peered through the window slats. She counted the figures seated inside one by one.

Kael. Baran. Elder Samara. Elder Rillus. Only the four of them. Was this some kind of secret meeting?

Elira craned her neck, trying to see the corners of the room. But the person she was searching for wasn’t there.

“Besides, they promised to deliver at least the day after tomorrow, once the Festival ends. The rains have been stranger than usual lately,” Elder Rillus said calmly. “Strong winds ruined much of their harvest. Even the bees have been scarce this past month.”

“I understand, Elder,” Kael replied, his tone anything but sincere. “But we can’t look weak. Give them an inch and they’ll push farther. I’m only worried our stores won’t be enough for winter.”

Elira snorted under her breath. What was inside Kael’s head? Had he not heard Elder Rillus? Did he not care that Kamura might be in trouble too? It wasn’t as if they would choose another village over their own. Was Ashira the only place that would face winter?

“Don’t worry. The day after the Festival, Raka will go and warn them. Let Raka handle it.”

Kael’s jaw hardened. “I don’t trust him. We don’t know what he’s been doing in Kamura. I saw him give bread to a child at the border. And today, he didn’t even show up at the field.”

Wait—did Kael suspect Raka? Elira’s stomach flipped. She knew Kael didn’t like Raka—truthfully, he didn’t like anyone—but this was too much. Raka had helped the village so many times.

And yes, Raka had kept his promise to help the child Elira found in the forest. What was wrong with doing good? Would giving a single loaf make Ashira starve? The wheat for those loaves came from Kamura anyway.

Elira clenched her fists. She could not listen to Kael slander Raka another second. She didn’t care—she would jump through this window and plant one or two punches right on that infuriating face.

“Don’t exaggerate, Kael,” Elder Samara said, stopping Elira’s rash idea. “I went to Raka’s house this morning to check on him. He was clearly ill—burning with fever, couldn’t even get out of bed. I mixed the herbs for him myself.”

Kael fell silent, though his eyes still flashed. Elira’s blood boiled, but she forced herself to stay calm.

She peered in one more time, noting Baran’s flat expression. Why was her father saying nothing?

Elira swallowed her anger. Finding Raka mattered more than listening to Kael’s nonsense. Besides, it would be a problem if Kael actually went to Raka’s house and found it empty.

So Elira slipped away from the hall and broke into a run toward the forest. She would prove Raka was no traitor. Whatever people said, she believed he would never betray her.

She quickened her pace. One way or another, she would bring him home.