With every step I take, the darkness is more oppressive. This night is not one of comforting blackness and twinkling stars. It is all sharp angles and unseen walls, unattended lanterns glaring from around corners, each aimless street the same as the last until another surprise springs from the shadowed brickwork to trip my stride.

A discarded wooden sword. An uneven break in the path, leaving one piece of the cobbled puzzle absent. One half of a metal breastplate leaning up against a moss-covered wall, eaten up by rust.

Shivering, I feel for my hood, pulling it low over my ears as I dart around the next corner. It didn't take this long when Rovena led me to her house. There must be a way out somewhere, just another collection of paces away.

In the distance, a wisp of smoke coils from the rooftops, vanishing into the blackened sheet of cloud. Moisture tingles in the air. Rain is on the way. This time, I doubt the sky will be as kind as to gift me snow.

At the next turn, the stretching square greets me, and I nearly keel over in my relief.

One more path from here. That's all it took. I can hurry along it, vanish back into the mountains, snatch another bit of rest if my mind will allow it. The renewed loneliness might settle my thoughts. Even if not, when the sun rises, I can slip back into the village. There will be more people around then, emerging to bask under the light, I hope. It will be easier to slip by unnoticed. I can approach a fresh stranger with practiced lies, extract my answers quickly, and then disappear before anyone can become too curious. No accepting kindness this time. Certainly no following them across town. If I want to do this, I do it alone.

My heart clenches. Shaking my head, I venture out into the centre of the square. Alone is the safest way, as much as it gnaws at my insides. After all, it's how it always was before.

I spin, examining all sides of the square, and my plan's certainty evaporates. My fingers curl into a fist. How can I handle myself alone when I can't even remember the way out?

"Just pick one, Noli," I murmur to myself, the name rising to my lips subconsciously. "You can do this. Pick one."

My left feels the correct sort of direction to head. I linger for a moment, then march along one of the wider paths, my pace quickening as the houses close in on either side again. Those windows I can make out are dark, yet they still seem to watch me with narrowed suspicion.

The path bends sharply ahead. I pause just before the corner, shrinking away from the light that pools around it. A few concentrated breaths. There have been lamps like this before, illuminating the drifts of mist.

Steeling myself, I step out of the shadows and round the bend, only to stagger to an immediate stop.

An armoured woman carries this lamp. It hangs at her waist, glinting its bright reflection in a trio of slim daggers lined up across her belt's front. Black outlines her torso and accents the edges of her helmet, flanking the painted shape of a silver ship riding a turquoise wave. A ship with black sails, glittering in the firelight as she dips her head, eyes locking onto me.

Ice caresses my spine. Neyaibet. They've come for me.

She was leaning against the wall as I arrived, but now she pushes off it, a short plait of blonde hair falling from her shoulder. Fayre, my mind whispers, somehow breaking through the buzz overtaking the rest of my thoughts. Her bow is absent, although it could easily be concealed under her dusty cloak.

It takes all my willpower not to take a nervous step backward as she moves to the centre of the path, blocking it off to me. I can't make out her eyes under the shadow of her helmet. I find myself staring at the ship symbol just above instead.

"Excuse me," I manage. My voice is far too small.

Her head tips sideways.

"Can I come past?" I say with a little more force. My rapid heartbeats draw the syllables out of rhythm.

Her cloak shifts as she taps it away from her lamp, still watching me. "I didn't think there'd be anyone out at this hour." There is a note of challenge in her tone.

"I couldn't sleep." Nerves shake my attempted laugh.

"Be careful. The night is dangerous." The edge to her voice is that of a blade, and it slices at my breaths. I catch the flicker of movement in her eyelashes as her gaze drops to my waist. "Though I see you've come prepared."

My hand hovers over the hilt of my dagger. "It pays to, at times like these."

"At times like these," she echoes thoughtfully.

Hesitantly, I lift my hand, not wanting to appear as if I'm threatening her. My eyes flick to her left, lingering on the empty space behind her. The gap between her and the wall should be big enough to squeeze through. I make to dart around, but before I've managed one step, her arm flies up to stop me. I flinch back from her palm, hovering just in front of my face.

"Did I say we were finished?" she snaps.

Swallowing, I back away, feeling for my dagger again. So what for threats. "I'm sorry," I murmur.

She fiddles with the lamp at her side, sliding a finger under its handle. "At times like these," she repeats, placing emphasis on every word, "it's important that I ensure there is nothing unsafe going on in this town. You got that?"

Unsafe. I nod, unsure how to reply.

"So, I'll need you to hand over that dagger."

My stagger forms another backward step, my fingers closing protectively over my hilt. "But--"

"And any other weapons you might possess," she continues, the lamp thunking against her side as she releases it. "Just the rules, I'm afraid."

My head shakes automatically. "I--I'm leaving town," I say quickly. "There's no need. I'll just--"

She lifts her helmet, and her grey stare beneath freezes my voice in my throat. "You can hand it over quietly," she says evenly, "or my companions can arrive in the morning and take it from you by force. Up to you."

The air thickens. My feet shift with the squirm in my veins as I rub at the hilt, terror clawing under my skin. I can't give it to her. I can't carry on alone if I'm defenceless.

Gritting my teeth, I tense my muscles. There's only one way out.

With a final, lingering glance at her, I take off running, racing back along the path the way I came. Her frustrated growl resonates from behind as she gives chase, a dagger scraping its way from her belt. My throat scratches with my panting breaths. Pushing myself further, I clutch at my side, grabbing my own dagger and gripping it tightly. If I run fast enough, I won't have to fight.

The square seems so far away, the walls either side so toweringly impossible to escape from. Her footsteps pound closer. I catch the hiss of her hastened breath in the wind.

Finally, the street draws to a close. My hood flies off as I dash around the corner, aimlessly sprinting for somewhere to the right. Should I turn and attempt to slash at her? Or will she fall away if I keep running? Perhaps I can lose her in the maze of narrow paths.

A hand coils around my wrist and jerks me back. My feet slide out from under me, and my spine crashes into the cobbles with jarring force. The dagger clatters to the ground. My cry cuts short as a hand clamps roughly over my mouth.

"No more running," Fayre whispers, resting a knee on my ribs as she crouches down. Her ashen gaze sparks with her slight smile. "You've hidden long enough."

Even without her words, the way her face has lit shows the truth. She knows who I am. I catch the flash of her dagger, and unbridled panic explodes in my stomach. Clawing at the stone, I search for my own blade, only for her to snatch up my hand and yank it upwards. I twist with the motion, gulping back my yelp.

Her fingers run over the glove, her head tilting as she observes it. "The witch worked her magic," she mutters.

Fayre's palm is sweaty, uncomfortably warm, and the longer it presses against my mouth, the more my insides protest its presence. I can't breathe properly when it clogs my senses. Bracing myself, I push aside my disgust and bite at her hand.

My teeth barely make contact before she jerks it away, drawing in a sharp breath. She glares down at me.

"Ligari isn't a witch," I protest before she can say any more. "She's Jeía." And Neyaibet found her. Our leaving didn't prevent that after all. My heart twists, encased in the prayer that they haven't done her any harm.

"Sounds like a fancy word for witch to me."

Fayre twists my wrist. Hissing at the strain, I pull at her grip, but she only holds it tighter. Her other hand, the one I bit, slides under her cloak as it reaches for her belt. I recognise the sound of metal rings clinking together and drag my heels over the stone, my free hand pushing at the ground. I won't be trapped again, not by Neyaibet. This can't be happening.

My eyes roam the empty square, the dark shapes of houses, and my fears crawl up my throat. "Help!" I yell, almost pitching into a scream as she yanks me closer. "Help, please! Someone--"

Pain thuds into the side of my head, and my voice dissolves into a whimper. The world swims and blurs. Aching waves spread from the spot, weaving into my skull and pulsing with a decisive throb.

With a harsh blink, I force at least Fayre to come back into focus. Her eyes are spires of rock. From her lifted hand dangles a mass of chains, each metallic tap searing through my bones and merging with the incessant ringing in my ears.

"Unfortunately," she snarls, her voice distant as if she speaks underwater, "orders are to keep you alive. But that doesn't mean I can't hurt you."

I snatch in a breath. The ground heaves and buckles. With one hand still imprisoned in hers, I can do nothing but grasp at the cobbles with the other.

"Stay still," she orders. Even if I had the energy to disobey, I don't want to get hit again. I'm helpless as she winds the chains around each of my wrists, sharp edges pinching my skin, and draws my hands together. I barely have time to adjust before she gives the chain a sharp tug, jerking me into sitting upright. A fresh surge of pain rises at the sudden movement. Squeezing my eyes shut, I will it to recede.

Within moments, Fayre's voice spears the moment of respite. "Stand up, or I'll make you."

I'm not sure I can. It's difficult enough without my hands to support me. I take a moment too long in hesitation, and so she wrenches the chain upwards, forcing me to scramble to my feet. Its rattle is painful enough without the way it keeps contracting around my wrists with every pull.

My dagger. The desperate thought breaks free from the cloud suffocating everything else. It sits abandoned, on its side in a trench between cobbles. I cast it a hopeless glance.

And my only other weapon is bound by chains. I can only uselessly grasp at my gloves, powerless to their effects, wincing with the caged burn of my flame as it begs to smother the pain still thudding through my temples.

Fayre yanks the chain again, sending me stumbling forward. I hurry to catch up to her, wriggling my wrists in an attempt to loosen their binds.

Briefly, I debate calling for help again. Or perhaps pulling as hard as I can on the chain and resisting her attempt to drag me away. But there is no-one coming to save me, and I don't have the strength to combat her. Neyaibet has me.

Dread settles in my chest. She continues walking, crossing the square, and I search the side of her face as I reluctantly follow. "Is Harlow here?"

She shoots me a glare that suggests I'm not in a place to be asking questions. I bite down on my tongue. "Close," she says shortly. Her steps pause momentarily. "He'll be asking about the other traitor, so I suggest you get your answers ready."

My throat turns dry. "F... Finlay?"

Her eyes narrow. "Indeed."

She maintains my gaze for a second more. There is more to her fury, but I'm too afraid to question it. Huffing out a breath, she turns.

Her shoulders visibly stiffen. I barely have a chance to wonder why before her feet are whipped from under her, and she is falling to the cobbles, my hands carried with her.

Thankfully, I brace myself just in time for the impact, and manage to land on my side rather than hitting my head again. Still, pain flares in my shoulder. Gasping, I wrench my hands away, finding the chain gives way and comes with me. I roll over, tangling myself within its loops in my need to use the opportunity and get as far from her as possible.

When I finally look up, hands trapped under my chest as I lie on my stomach, the air vanishes from my lungs as I find my rescue.

A sword longer than Fayre's arm clangs against her dagger. My eyes rove up the flashing blade, its curved hilt, the splayed white cloak of the woman that holds it in place. Rovena's swipe soon crumbles Fayre's hasty defence, and the Neyaibet soldier scrambles back, helmet tumbling from her head as she rolls away from another slash of the sword. She comes up on one knee, a dagger pointing downwards from each hand. Her hair has come loose from its braid.

Lifting her sword, Rovena readies her stance. She looks just as she did when facing Aiden, but now her eyes flash with genuine intent, her dark fingers coiled around the pale hilt in a sure grip.

Relief pools in my chest, melting some of the fire's heated panic. There is someone to save me after all.

Briefly, she catches my eye, flashing a smile in my direction. I return it with all the silent gratitude I can muster. Her gaze jerks downwards.

The end of the chain. It lies abandoned on the cobbles. Fumbling for the right loop to pull, I yank it closer, whisking it from Fayre's outstretched fingers as she dives forward.

Pushing into a crawl, I scurry back, dragging the chain after me, just as Rovena steps into the empty space it leaves behind and raises her blade. Fayre leaps to her feet, parrying with both daggers. When their contact breaks, she tries to dart towards me, but Rovena moves swiftly to block her.

They're engaged in a fight. They're both distracted. There is no-one to pay attention as I jerk my wrists, finding give behind the action with no-one to tighten the binds. My hands, gradually, slide free.

I dare to glance up as I work. Rovena and Fayre have become nothing but a blur, ducking and weaving around each other. But Rovena has lost her element of surprise now, and as she staggers away from a particularly forceful strike, I'm acutely aware of how tired she already appears. Light sweeps over her hair as Fayre spins sideways. Streaks of grey highlight themselves.

Age creeps up on us all. Twisting around, I kick at the heavier loops of chain, and finally the weight falls away. Rovena may be a great fighter, but she isn't prepared for the younger soldier's speed and agility. I need to help.

The world sways a little, unprepared for me to jolt so quickly to my feet. I allow a few seconds of hesitation, and it comes with a cost.

Rovena cries out. One of Fayre's quick jabs has met its mark. Red blooms at Rovena's side, rapidly staining the white tunic. Somehow, she still manages to fight through her obvious pain and lift her sword to block another assaulting blade, but even from here I hear her gasping pants.

My heart races. Faster. Frantically, I search the square, lunging for my dagger the moment I lay eyes on it.

Doubt takes root as soon as I grip its hilt, still supporting myself against the ground. Lamplight picks out the sheen of sweat gathering on Rovena's forehead. Fayre's slash narrowly misses her chest.

If Rovena is too weak to win this fight, I don't stand a chance. Not unless I take the risk.

I can't afford to ponder it. The second the thought enters my head, the dagger is falling back to the stone, my hands instead clawing at one another. Why did Ligari have to form the gloves so tight?

Air meets my palms. With it comes a rush of coolness, of liquid steel, solid certainty. Gentle waves wash the pain from my temples. I stand, already leaping towards them before I even register the way Fayre readies another strike from beside her hip.

My hands fly up as I skid into place between them, calling the flames like a much-needed inhale. She freezes. The colour drains from her face. Her dagger falls limp, hiding from the lamplight, its glint fading in line with the grey in her eyes. Flickering black is reflected there instead.

"Leave her alone." I'm surprised by the ease of command in my tone.

Movement shifts from behind, and a lash of terror spins me sideways, one palm pointing in Rovena's direction. "Please. Stay back."

I meet her gaze as steadily as I can. My heart's race is slowing, gradually, each lick of flame grounding me further. It feels like a reverse of roles; now she is the one with fear lurking behind her eyes, with hesitant motions and held-back trembles, though she still stands firm. I don't look away until she lowers her sword.

"What are you going to do?" Fayre's voice hooks me back in her direction. It dances with an attempted taunt, but it breaks, splintered. "Kill me?"

The words' cracked edges scrape at my insides. I keep the fire flowing. "If I have to."

She barks a laugh. Renewed confidence, however temporary, sparks in her eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Anathe. If you really had the guts to kill me, you'd have done it already."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," I snap. Instantly, I wince at the venom coating my voice. I can almost sense the charred remains of Rovena's former opinion of me. But I have to keep going. "Drop your daggers."

Challenge draws her eyebrows down. Holding her gaze, I let my fire flare higher, twisting over my fingertips, darker than the sky above. Her hands open in sync, and the blades bounce over the cobbles.

My eyes flit to the one still hanging at her belt. "All of them."

A low snarl curls her lip back. In a motion fluid with aggression, she rips the dagger from her waist and casts it to the ground.

"Well?" She spreads her empty hands out. "I'm unarmed now. Anything else?"

She's trying to be brave, to paint over her fear with mockery, but my attention is drawn to the waver in her smirk. Ignoring the squirming in my chest, I push out more fire, letting a tendril glide through the air before her face.

She takes a stiff step back, eyes fixed on the black wisp until it fizzles into nonexistence.

"Make another move against me or Rovena," I say, inclining my wrist, "and I won't hesitate to use this. Otherwise--"

It's only then does realisation catch in my throat. I haven't a clue what to do with her. If I let her go, she will only run back to the other soldiers she mentioned earlier and tell them of my exact whereabouts. I'll have narrowly escaped her capture only to run into another trap.

But the only way to stop her from talking is by killing her. My palms itch.

Rovena's step is so soft that I sense her presence at my side before I register the sound. I flinch, pulling my arm in, but she hasn't drawn any nearer. Her prowl leads her in a careful arc around me, and her gaze shows the same avoidance.

Turning her sword over in her hand, she advances another pace. Its tip edges closer to Fayre's chest. "Otherwise," Rovena continues for me, "you'll do exactly as we say. Get back against that post."

Scowling, Fayre backs away from the outstretched blade, though her reluctance shows in the clench of fists at her sides. The sword turns so that it crosses her neck. Her back bumps against a wooden support -- Woodrow's stall, I realise -- and she twitches, head pressed against the post to evade Rovena's threat.

"Nathaniel," Rovena says without moving. I tense. "Pass the chain over here."

I can't dwell on trying to read the emotion behind the sharp orders. Hastily, I return to where I left the chain and gather it up, though I'm careful to keep a trail of flame interlocked in my fingers. It slithers down my arm as I approach her, holding out the chain.

Her eyes are hard, focused, her thoughts concealed behind their shield. She sets down her sword and reaches for the chain, moving slowly. She must be aware of how I fight not to shrink away in order to let her take it. As soon as she has hold of its end, I scurry back again, skin prickling with the risk.

Rovena begins winding the chain around the post. As it passes Fayre's chest, she thrashes suddenly, and flame bursts from my palm automatically as I take a step forward. She stills.

"You heard the boy." For the first time, I catch the hint of a smile in Rovena's tone.

"Loud and clear," Fayre mutters through clenched teeth. Her fists curl tighter as they are forced into place at her sides, pinned them down with links of chain. It forms several loops, firmly attaching her to the post, before Rovena finally curls the end of the chain around itself in front of her chest and steps back.

She hums under her breath, as if in thought. Then, with a flourish, she detaches the lamp from Fayre's belt. Her head tilts. "Being chained up suits you."

Fayre spits at her. With a snorted laugh, Rovena looks down at her front. "What a nice gift. I'll treasure it forever."

As she turns away, snatching up her sword, Fayre switches her gaze to me. Fury writhes like smoke in her eyes. "We'll keep chasing," she calls. "You can't keep running forever."

Fire coils over my wrist. "I can try."

And that may have been my plan -- to run, from anyone who tries to follow, into what remains of the night -- if I hadn't looked over at Rovena. She melds my feet to the cobbles.

Her sword is sheathed at her side. Instead, a pair of black gloves dangle from her hand, bobbing up and down so that the silver lace glitters. She waves my dagger with the other. "Not from me you won't," she says, a brief smile contrasting her stony stare. "You've got some explaining to do."

Closing my fingers, I extinguish my flame, despite how my heart races. Perhaps I won't be travelling alone just yet.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: These last two chapters have actually stuck to my outline. Like, almost exactly. It's weird. I'm not used to this.

So, that was a close call, huh? But we've got Rovena, so we're all good. Mostly. As long as she doesn't also decide to stab Nathan. That would be no fun :/

Also just thinking about how low his pain tolerance is and how he's so weak without the flame and :(

- Pup