A mile or so out of Chiva, under the flimsy cover of a plain white tent, Sarielle sits bolt upright.

Clutching at her threadbare blanket, she fights to rein in her gasping breaths, conscious of the sleeping form beside her. She blinks hard. A lantern knocks against her fist, but it's far too late to light it. Still, the silhouettes of trees shifting and clawing above turns her racing heart to ice.

She shakes her head, shifting up against the tent's material. It's silly to be scared of the dark. Then again, perhaps it isn't fear. Perhaps it is familiarity, the faint sensation that the shadows mirror whatever snapped her so forcefully from sleep.

Briefly, she considers lying back down again, then discards the thought. Her eyes are heavy, but they are burned open. Stale air rasps at her throat. Hopefully, if she steps outside, just for a few minutes, her heart will calm enough to ease her off again. She needs all the rest she can get at the moment. They all do.

With all the quiet care she can muster, she teases back her blanket, shivering at the cold air that sweeps in. She surveys Dalton, curled up with his back turned to her. His breathing remains steady. She's okay. Bracing herself against the tent's side, she rises slowly. Her hair spills out over her shoulders. She has to resist the urge to comb her fingers through it; its knotted nature is tangible.

A glance at the flap. Her legs suddenly seize up, losing confidence. What if something awaits her out there? The world is far from safe at the moment.

She shakes her head and continues, edging around Dalton, though she does pause at the far end of the tent to slide her sword from its sheath. She cringes at the metallic scrape, but once it sits in her hand she relaxes a little. It pays to be prepared.

Exhaling, she turns to the exit. But before she can take another step, her legs are swept from under her.

Twisting as she falls, she lands haphazardly on one knee, whipping her sword out before her. Her heart pounds. Her hands shake as she squints through the dark. Yet the instant she lays eyes on the figure crouched before her, a laugh escapes her. She lowers the sword.

Dalton sits back on his heels, arms folding. "Sarie, don't you dare scare me like that."

Clambering to her feet, she scoffs. "Your fault for being such a light sleeper." A smile twitches her lips. "Though that was impressive, for the middle of the night."

She can't see him clearly enough to make out his smile, but she hears it in his tone. "I suppose it's practice for real Neyaibet intruders." Their blankets shuffle as he stands. "Why are you awake, Sarie?"

Concern weaves into his voice and thrums through in the gentle grip of his hand around her arm. She makes a futile attempt to pull away, the soft touch freezing her in place. "I... had a nightmare." Another short laugh breaks out as she ducks her head. "Which sounds really childish now I say it aloud."

His fingers slide along her arm, interlocking with hers. He squeezes. "Hey. It's perfectly understandable given what we're all going through." He steps forward, his warmth chasing away the night's chill. "Do you want to tell me what it was?"

Licking her lips, she considers only for a moment. "I don't really remember. I just know I don't want to go back to it."

It's a good job she spent much of her childhood learning how to lie; the words slip out smoothly. But they aren't total lies, she tells herself. She doesn't fully recall the dream, but she knows its focus, its theme, the clammy sensation it leaves tingling over her skin. And she does want to return to it, more than anything. But she can't. It only brings pain.

"Okay," Dalton whispers. He leans in, bending the slightest amount to bring himself to her height, and brushes his lips over hers. The tiniest touch, but it lingers warmly. She smiles.

"Does that help?" he asks.

She giggles lightly. The only answer she provides is the tug of his shirt to pull him closer, and the second kiss she presses into his lips, deeper and more lasting. He tastes metallic, like rust edging a blade. Perhaps he's been bleeding and hasn't told her. She'll drag the truth from him later, when she's finished dealing with her own.

He returns the pressure, his hand weaving towards her spine as their chests meet. For several seconds, she drinks his warmth, testing to see if it will drown the stirring in her heart. It doesn't. Tonight, the dark's coils are too tight to slip free.

Drawing in air, she releases him. At only an inch apart, she can make out his ruffled hair, his tired eyes. Guilt clenches in her lungs. She takes a full step back.

"Go back to sleep," she orders quietly. "I need some air. I'll try not to wake you when I come back."

His hand hovers at her arm. "You sure you'll be okay?"

Nodding, she pushes back his hand. "Don't worry about me. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you in the morning, Sarie."

With a final, lingering glance to ensure he is moving back to his sleeping spot, Sarielle spins and slips out of the flap, clutching her sword tightly in her right hand.

A quick sweep of the shadowed camp confirms she is alone. With a relieved sigh, she lets her sword drop to her side, though she doesn't let go of it as she turns away from the tent and heads for the dark, pointed shapes of a clump of trees. Beyond, the rise of a hill climbs to a mountain's peak in the clouds, and many more onward, but night shrouds them all from view. The noise of the wind rattling needles is the only way she can make out the web of branches as she ducks under them.

It is freezing out here. She should have grabbed her jacket before marching out, but she can hardly go back immediately. Instead, she wraps her arms around her torn tunic, pressing it into the vest underneath, and backs up against the nearest tree trunk. If she tilts her head back, she can taste the earthy tang swept up by the breeze. The cool is pleasant to an extent. It soothes the stifled pounding in her head.

Above, stars come and go, hiding behind wisps of clouds like candles flickering beneath a fog. She knows this sky well by now, enough to pick out the lines the stars trace. The faint shape of a stag some long-forgotten ancestor once saw. A snake winding past its antlers.

With a sigh, she slides to the ground. How far are they from Polevis now? It must be at least fifty miles. A day's journey on horseback, yet it isn't that simple anymore. Home is a distant thing for many of the Oscensi soldiers, but for her, it burns raw, the sensation of something so tangible ripped so suddenly from her grasp. So hopelessly. She didn't even know until it was too late, and even then there is nothing she could have done. It's a miracle any of them are alive at all.

Her eyes sting, a lump rising in her throat, forcing her to drop her head. She grits her teeth against it. Crying is pointless. She isn't a child anymore.

Absentmindedly, her hand drifts downwards, tracing shapes in the earth. She takes in a shaky breath. Her father will have gotten away. She has faith in that. If the king managed to flee, then so did he. It isn't his fate that tangles her heartstrings, squirms in her stomach, keeps her awake at night.

She twists her head sideways, as if the movement pulls her from the memory's path.

Lifting her finger, she looks down. She's marked out four broad lines in the dirt. Meaningless to anyone else, but they jolt her to her feet, hurriedly dusting her hands on her tunic. She spins around the trunk. If she holds her hand out, twists her wrist, she can almost picture the darkness solidifying in her palm. Cold, flickering, tangible.

It isn't just one memory. It is a thousand, each blurred and dimmed until they merge into one writhing silhouette of a dream, embedded with so many unanswerable questions.

He can't still be alive. He was as much a part of the castle as the bricks beneath the paint and decor -- unseen and forgotten, easy to destroy. Besides, even if she were there, how could she have protected him? She wasn't even supposed to know he existed.

Her fists clench. But she did, and he was hers to look after. Hers to leave behind.

With a brisk shake of her head, Sarielle pushes away from the tree, weaving her way through the weeds back to camp. It's stupid to dwell on it. He's in the past now.

"I'll come back. I promise. I'll come back when the war is won, and I'll get you out of there."

A tear slips free. She swipes at it, casting it away with a hissing breath. The naive words of a girl, an impossible promise she never could have kept. A knot of guilt that she can't repair. Besides, he was never really someone to save.

"I know you will. I trust you."

She hesitates, only a pace from her tent. There are hundreds of Oscensi soldiers, all caught in the same struggle, saving the same people. Only she had the power to keep him safe. It isn't only a promise she has broken. It is his trust, too.

Sarielle abandoned a boy with nothing else. She can save a thousand lives, bring about all the justice that can be leaked from this world, and that fact will never change.

A boy with dark eyes, and icy skin, and a touch like death. But her boy. Her failure.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: Sarielle's name was originally Danielle. But then I finalised Dalton and didn't like how similar they were, so had to change one, and so I messed about with hers until I liked it. According to google it is actually a real name but I made it up before I knew that so I'm claiming it xD

Anyway, uh, tada! This chapter was very fun to write, even if it did take me ages because I kept hating it. We finally meet our mystery girl. She and Dalton are so sweet, right? Best couple *nods*

Now if you need me, I'll just be over here listening to Nothing's Broken by Digital Daggers on repeat--

- Pup