"Nathan? May I come in?"

A rustle of the tent flap accompanies Sarielle's tentative voice. It may prick at my senses gently, but I still flinch at the sound of it, biting down on my gasp as I lunge forward.

"Come in!" I yell, then immediately regret replying so soon as my second glove catches on the side of my hand. I just about manage to yank it fully over my palm, still skewed over the fingers, before the flap lifts and Sarielle slips in past it. It falls behind her, forming a dimmed white backdrop.

Her brows draw in. "What are you doing?"

Adjusting the glove, I allow a shallow sigh of relief as the leather settles over my skin. Then I glance up again and tense. I'm lying on my stomach, the soles of my boots pushing into the tent's side.

Hurriedly, I push up from the ground and tuck my knees in under me, adopting a slightly more normal seated position. "Nothing."

Her lips twitch. My hand drifts to the cloth on my arm, checking it is still secure, keeping my touch light so she won't realise that the skin beneath is no longer tender. At least the remaining bloodstains help to hide the newly sealed wound.

I shouldn't have given into the temptation. I should have kept my promise to myself to deal with this injury without aid from my flame. But in the lonely silence, its throb returned, and I couldn't resist the impulse to soothe it. After all, if I have the ability, why waste it? No-one else has to know. There's no need to suffer pain unnecessarily.

Even with that, the sight of her knots guilt in my stomach. I hold the arm at my back, hidden from view.

Stepping in further, she crouches down opposite me. She's removed her armour, and now is dressed simply in a white tunic, similar to what the healers wear. It must be standard soldier attire. Outlined in gold is the faded symbol of a bird, large wings spread as it glides from her left shoulder.

Instinctively, I move to touch the identical symbol that marks my own tunic, shaped with a little more clarity. Harper fetched it from a larger tent on the way here. It hangs loosely off me, too long and baggy, and the itchy material is a little too thick for my liking, but it's all they have. Part of me misses the lighter ease of my black clothes, but that doesn't belong anymore. A gift from Neyaibet hardly works when amongst Oscensi soldiers. This white makes me one of them, just like her.

"Thank you." I already said it to Harper, but she deserves to hear it too. A thousand times over. More than she knows.

"What for?" She settles back on her heels.

"For, well..." I trace the weave of my tunic, descending from the bird. For everything. "For letting me stay here, and travel with you."

She glances down. "That's Dalton's decision, not mine."

"But you stood up for me. You didn't have to do that. So..." My hand finds the back of my neck, rubbing over the flushed skin. "Thanks."

"I didn't like the idea of you being alone, that's all." Her sky-coloured eyes flick briefly to me before returning to the ground. My breath hitches.

"Well, thank you. For that. Thanks." A nervous laugh battles its way out of my throat. "I should stop saying that."

"You should." Laughter of her own laces her tone, warmed by her playful smile. "Or you can come out and say it to the others. I came to ask if you wanted to join us for our evening campfire."

My fingers interlock as I look down, picking at the glove's silver decoration. I sense Sarielle's gaze flit to them and hastily part my hands, suddenly conscious of how odd the gloves must appear, how they break the white monotony of the rest of my new clothes. I've had enough close calls and interactions to last the day. Night is darkening the skies outside. I should stay where it's safe, remain hidden in my tent before some quirk like the gloves or my mask gets picked up on and the truth writhes a little closer to the surface. They can't know. If they struggle to take me in as I am now, they won't accept who I truly hide.

Swallowing, I cast a glance at Sarielle and feel my chest tighten. Her eyes are searching, only one desired answer swirling within their pastel depths. Only her might I trust with the truth.

Yet then again, she is different to the girl I knew a year ago. Older, stronger. Would she still look at me the same?

"It's okay if not," she says when my silence stretches, though the thinly-veiled disappointment pricks at my heart. "I understand if you want to rest. I'll bring some food to you."

I snap upright. "I have my own food." My gesture is thrown vaguely in the direction of my bag, tucked in the tent's far corner. My sheathed sword is propped up against it. The dagger I replaced at my belt as soon as I could, however; I'm beginning to feel naked without its presence.

She waves a dismissive hand. "You're with us now. We share food. It's no issue."

"Then I'll share out what I have." I jump to my feet. If Cody insisted on making me take it without paying, I'll be just as charitable with its distribution.

Hopping up as well, she steps towards me. "You don't have to."

"I will." I make to grab for the bag, but instead her hand curls over my shoulder. Every muscle freezes up. There is material separating her skin from mine, but even through it her touch tingles. Heated and yet shivering. Like melting snow.

"Not now," she says softly. "You rest."

She releases me. My arm remains hovering away from my side a few seconds longer than it should before I snatch it back, checking the cloth again.

My other hand slides up to the spot she touched, then jerks away, afraid of disturbing the lingering sensation. I spin. She is already walking away, but her steps are slow. It's easy to chase.

"Wait." I almost reach out to grasp her arm, but think better of it. I'd rather not seize up again. "I'll come."

She doesn't quite contain the glee in her eyes. "That's great!" Turning, she laughs faintly, ducking her head. "I mean, it'll be great for you to talk to everyone."

Her smile is infectious; I can't help but mirror it, slight and shy but truthfully shaped. "I suppose we'll be together for quite a while. It would be foolish of me not to try to get to know you all."

"Of course." She draws in a breath, and a little of the excitement fades, her surety retreating. "Speaking of, I was wondering. What's your last name?"

I force my hand to remain by my side and not feel my neck again. "Aspen."

"Aspen," she echoes under her breath, frowning down at her shoes. Her hair tickles her ears as she shakes her head. "Sorry. I just..." She raises her gaze. "I have this odd feeling we've met before. Have we?"

The answer teeters at the end of my tongue, but I catch it before it can fall. "I..." Claws rake through my chest. "I'm not sure."

She gives her head another shake, waving a hand as she turns. "It doesn't matter. It's probably just me being stupid."

"No," I say instinctively. "No, it's not. Maybe we..." Now I've dug a hole for myself, the end of the sentence she so expectantly waits for dangling lost. I grab for the first thing that comes to mind. "Maybe we met at the castle?"

She jolts towards me, curiosity burning in her eyes. "You lived there?"

"I visited once." Inwardly, I cringe at the lie, but I don't know enough of the castle to explain away how I might have been there.

"Ah. That would make sense. People were always coming and going." She reaches for the flap and pulls it back, gesturing for him to go ahead. "I lived there, by the way. I'm Lord Diraldi's daughter." The material bunches in her grip. "In case you didn't figure it out."

I nod, then quickly yank my face away as I slip out of the tent, hoping she doesn't notice the lack of recognition in my expression. A lord is someone important, someone I should know if I were anyone ordinary. Which makes her important. I'd always figured she was, but a smile touches my lips at the confirmation.

Sarielle Diraldi. Would it be too much to praise her name's beauty again?

As she secures the flap behind, I take a moment to properly study the camp. A similar image of Neyaibet's camp, plain white fabric glowing ghostly in the twilight rather than patchwork blue, only decidedly smaller. When I crane my neck, I pick out a couple of horses lying in the grass a couple of tents down, but otherwise there is very little. Certainly no carriages accompany them.

The contrast should be expected, although that realisation only clenches my chest. Oscensi are losing the war. They have been for some time. No wonder their resources are depleted.

A nudge at my side severs my train of thought. Sarielle has slipped in at my side. "Just through here," she says, beckoning. I follow as she picks her way around the ropes holding up the tent in front of us, lit by miniature flickers of torches, and emerges on the other side of the camp. Just a few paces away, the soldiers are all huddled around a blazing fire. Some perch on logs while others crouch on the earth, with the pacing form of Nash catching in the firelight behind them. They all look up as we approach.

I scratch at my clothed arm, ducking under their stares. Even so, I can't help but notice their numbers: only a dozen with Sarielle included. They seemed so many when they charged into Katamen, but now, without their armour and packed by the fire, they hardly seem enough to form a whole regiment.

My nails dig in. I'm in no place to judge. My plan was to protect the king of a whole kingdom by myself.

"Nathan is going to join us," Sarielle announces. "Please, be welcoming." Her gaze cuts over them to Nash, whose step briefly falters, before she waves me over to the left of the fire.

Dalton is seated on a tree stump there, bent over a piece of meat impaled on a stick. He jerks up, shifting over to make room on the stump, and points at a brunette girl to his left. "Skyla, get Sarie and Nathan something to eat." He glances over at me. "I'm good to call you Nathan, right?"

"Yes." My skin crawls, but I wouldn't feel justified in declining. "That's fine."

With a swift nod, Skyla leans forward and plucks two similar sticks from their propped-up place against one of the fire's outer logs, thrusting them deeper into the flames. The responding crackle snaps in my bones. Fists curling, I twist my gaze away, pushing down the surge of longing.

Brash warmth beats into my skin. I'm sweating under my tunic already. This fire flickers wrongly, out of sync with the beat of my heart. I'm not used to it.

Sarielle pokes me in the shoulder, cascading a welcome shiver down my arm. "Come on. We don't bite."

She slides in next to Dalton, pressed up against him to allow her to fit on the stump. I choose a spot in the grass and sit there, far closer to them that the three boys cramped on a narrow log to our right. The two on each side, sporting identical sandy hair, are chattering away noisily. I feel for the third. He is hunched over a stained piece of paper, marked in a way I recognise as a map.

By the time I look back at Skyle, she is drawing the sticks back out of the flames, the meat browned and dripping. My stomach twists, the scent gnawing at my insides. I snatch up a stick a little too eagerly.

"Thank you," I remember to say just in time. Sarielle adds a thanks of her own as she extracts the second stick.

We fall silent, listening to the flames pop and crack, the sound intertwined with the other's chatter. I make no real attempt to hear more than the occasional word. I'm more focused on carefully tearing away strips of meat, checking up on Sarielle's progress periodically to ensure I'm not racing through it too fast. I still finish first, however, and toss my empty stick onto the fire. It's rather satisfying watching it catch alight.

Eventually, a voice breaks through my sphere of peace, sharp enough to make me tense. "So, what's your story?"

My fingers curl over a clump of grass as I look up to meet Nash's gaze. He's paced around the back of the logs and now crouches next to one of the brothers. Firelight picks out the hazel spark in his narrowed eyes.

"My story?" I'm conscious of the tremble in my voice.

"You must have one, with your circumstances being so..." He tilts his head. "Odd."

Snatching at scraps of what he might want to hear, I find myself glancing at Sarielle, uncertain. Her smile helps to calm the squirm in my veins. "You don't have to tell us much," she says. "Where are you from?"

"I..." Frantically, I sift through any names of places I know. I can't say Polevis. I certainly can't say Aorila. "Threskeld. I come from Threskeld."

"That isn't too far from here, is it?" Dalton asks.

I shake my head. "A day's travel or so."

Apparently, that isn't enough for Nash. "And you were in Katamen for a leisurely stroll, I presume?" He leans back into the end of the log, tugging the nearest brother out of his conversation to glance over. I shrink further towards Sarielle.

"I'm travelling south." I try to press surety into my words. After all, these are a rare form of truth. "I stopped in Katamen for supplies and got... caught up in things."

He rests his hands behind his head, studying me. A painful pang echoes in my chest as I recall Finlay sitting in a similar fashion. "Why south?"

Before I can answer, the sandy-haired boy whacks him in the back of the head, forcing him to jolt upright. He shoots a glare over his shoulder, but the boy is focused on me. At least his gaze is less piercing than Nash's. "Because the south is safe. Why does anyone go south?" He grins. "Well, besides us, but we're crazy."

"Ah." Nash rights himself, shifting so his back is to the boy. "A coward running from the fight."

I flinch. "No. No, of course not."

"Is that why you're so eager to get south?" Sarielle snaps at him, twitching in her place on the stump. I draw in a sharp breath. The venom wound through her voice doesn't feel natural, its claws scratching at my skin.

Dalton lays a calming hand on her thigh, briefly meeting her eyes, before he peers around her at me. "You mentioned the royals. What do you know about them?" He's not as probing as Nash, but I sense the dig of curiosity under his tone. A few grass blades come loose in my grip.

"Not much. Just that they... need protecting." I force my fist to open, rubbing the grass between my fingers. It's almost a surprise that it doesn't wilt. "And that they're in Akurin, of course."

"That's what we hope." Dalton sweeps a hand through his hair. "If we're going to ask you questions, it's only fair that I explain our situation to you. You might have noticed we're a rather depleted regiment."

I nod slowly. So my earlier comparison to Neyaibet was a correct assumption.

"There were originally twice this many, maybe more." His head drops, tilting in such a way that the light is leached from his eyes, leaving them darkened by flickering shadow. "A little less than a month ago, there was a large battle at the Oscei. The battle to end the war, some called it, the final showdown. As it turns out, they were right."

I realise the camp has fallen quiet. A solemn silence stretches amongst the others, one even Nash complies to. He has his head bowed. Sarielle slides a hand over Dalton's back, pulling herself closer to him. He doesn't react, though he does direct his gaze at me again.

"The worst of the fighting happened in the port at Tamoc. Thankfully, we were stationed south of the river rather than north, but it was still pretty bad." He chuckles lowly, no humour in the sound. "It became clear we weren't going to win. Our former captain, Strudwright, ordered a retreat, but Neyaibet gave chase. We weren't all going to make it out, so... so Strudwright told me to take the team and run. I was lieutenant then." His voice cracks. "Some of the others stayed behind, but he made us run."

I'm back in the cell, grasping at a fragment of the world outside, regretting the knowledge the moment it settles inside my heart. My fire stirs faintly. I swallow, unsure what to say.

"But we got out," Sarielle says firmly, loud enough to aim at the whole regiment, although her gaze doesn't leave Dalton.

He laughs again. "Until we ran into trouble in Chiva and lost Dale as well. Around the time Polevis was being ransacked." Chills weave deeper in my chest. He's saying it all matter-of-factly, but it isn't difficult to sense the thick emotion buried underneath.

"And still we got out." Sarielle's voice is made of steel. She glances at me. "As long as we're alive, we're going to keep fighting, even if that means heading south."

I nod eagerly, determined to hold onto her fierce hope. "I'm with you on that."

- ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ -

We don't stay out for much longer. Darkness descends rapidly, chasing away the last of the sky's blue swathes and drawing out the few silver specs that can sneak from the cloud cover. The fire burns low, pulsing embers adorned by the smallest amber flickers, as the others part for their tents.

I know I should join them, but I find myself lingering in the grass, fixated on the dying flame. Its fading heat is some relief.

The stretch of the empty shadows in place of people further settles my comfort. I feel a tension in my shoulders I hadn't even realised was there trickle away as I sag forward, fingers flexing close to the flames. Even the strongest will can't make them dance and leap, but I can pretend for a moment that such a feat is nothing special, that the natural flicker is of my own doing. It isn't the same.

I'll let a little black fire escape when I return to my tent. Just the tiniest bit, to satisfy starved senses. But for now, I let the night's breeze cool my flushed skin. I've been on edge the entire time, waiting for a question I can't answer to come. Thanks to Sarielle, much of Nash's aggression was beaten away, but it won't be long until he finds a crack. He's already searching for one. He knows something isn't right about me, and he can't possibly be the only one. They wouldn't stare so hard if they didn't think of me as out of the ordinary.

A breath of wind cowers the fire lower still. It's battling for life now. I tug absentmindedly at the cuff of my glove, weighing up the risk of slipping it off and tossing a spark of my own into the charred remains of logs. That would spur it to life again in an instant.

"Are you not going to your tent?"

Inhaling sharply, I yank the glove back into place. Sarielle's voice carries over the rustle of leaves like a streak of daily birdsong trapped in the dark. I twist around to see her standing a couple paces away, all but the faint glow of her hair and the light in her eyes swallowed by shadow.

"I will in a minute," I tell her. "I just..." I hesitate, gaze drawn back to the flames. "I want to wait for the fire to burn out."

"I'll wait with you." She steps into the faint light, fire playing warmly over her face as she slips past and perches on the log. She pats the spot beside her. It takes me a moment to realise she means for me to join her.

"Don't you want to go to your tent?" I ask as I sit slowly, not quite an arm's length between us.

She shakes her head. "I'm taking first watch."

"Watch?"

"You know, in case Neyaibet decides to lynch us in the middle of the night." Her laugh breaks apart as it forms. "Which is worryingly possible."

My gaze drops back to the fire. They're on the run, hunted just as I am, if not more so. And they've been at this far longer. My hands itch with the desire to do something to fix it all, but I've never had such an ability.

The fire gives a muted crackle. Sarielle shifts, hugging her tunic. "I always find the death of a fire a sombre occasion, don't you?"

Her eyes remain fixed on the fire, and so I force myself to follow suit, as strong the pull is to pick out every glint of gold I can in the dark. I linger over my answer. "Yes. The light disappears, and all you're left with is ashes. But it's a beautiful death."

"Kind of like the sunset?"

"Exactly like that." A faint smile tugs at my lips. The lateness of the hour must be loosening my tongue, letting my wandering thoughts cascade along it. Or perhaps it's simply the ease of sitting beside her. "Maybe light likes to die with grace, so that we'll remember it when we find it again."

In the corner of my eye, I catch her head drop. "Maybe."

Silence filters into the night, broken only by the wind's soft keening. Barely a minute later, the last flame lunges into the air, torn apart as it falls into the throbbing pit of embers. They throb scarlet, casting the faintest glow that just about grasps at Sarielle's form. She shivers with the breeze. I get the sudden urge to huddle into her, wrap my arm around her middle, hope that my presence can restore some of her warmth. Instead I look away, swallowing the thought like I have a thousand others.

My fingers are still outstretched, twitching. I curl them in, pulling my hand against my chest.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked about my father," she says eventually. I jump, tossing her a frown.

"Why would I?"

"It's the first thing most people ask. If I'm looking forward to being the king's advisor, if I've met the princes, what the castle's like, whatever." She sighs, breath shuddering as if buffeted by the wind. "Though I suppose things are a little different now. You're more likely to ask if my father's alive."

The same claws that grip her tone in a tight embrace must also reach into my chest, constricting my lungs. I snatch a hesitant inhale. "Is he?"

Another sigh. "I don't know."

The urge to move closer strengthens. I grip the log, watching her. "Was he at the castle when it..."

I can't bring myself to finish the sentence, but she nods all the same, the darkened outline of a girl curled reluctantly under the weight of the truth. "He might have escaped with the king. Or he might not." She glances up at me. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

The will sweeps me up before I can stop it. Reaching out, I grab her hand from where it rests on her lap, tugging it towards me. She unfolds, startled. Shock barrels through me just the same. Even with her shivers, her hand is still warm, sliding beneath the glove as if it isn't there.

"If he's alive, I'll help you find him," I tell her. Just like I found you. "I promise."

A pause sits between us. Just as regret begins to crawl up my spine, her fingers curl over my palm, returning a gentle squeeze that flutters under my skin. "Thank you, Nathan."

Her thumb rubs over the leather. Moonbeams grasp at the lace better than firelight does, drawing out its silver shine. I feel her eyes pierce them and fear cools the warm delight coiled around my heart.

Better I say it that she does. "You think I'm from Neyaibet, don't you?"

Her grip loosens, but she doesn't release my hand. "The concept has crossed my mind."

"I'm not." More bite escapes than I intend. I draw in a breath, steadying myself, searching for the right words. A learning curve from my interactions with Rovena would be nice. "But the gloves are, and my old tunic. I was captured."

Her gaze shoots up. "You were? How did you escape?"

My fingers tighten over her palm as if touching her will wipe the memories. "That's a story I don't think I'm ready to tell yet." That isn't a lie. I don't want to talk about Finlay -- Fiesi, whoever he was at that moment -- with anyone. Not even her. "But I've been running ever since. That's why I was travelling alone."

She nods, still examining the gloves. In the embers' glow, I catch her lips quirk. "They captured you and made you tailored clothes?"

I offer a helpless shrug. Hopefully she'll interpret the gesture as something other than my lack of ability to come up with a plausible reason.

Her grip shifts, tracing the glove's curve into my palm. More warmth trickles through. I hold my breath.

"I'm surprised you kept something they gave you," she mutters. The venom is back, faint but armed with a meaningful prick. I manage not to flinch this time. It isn't aimed at me.

"Well." I smile. "They're pretty."

She laughs, and properly this time, bending over as the sound bursts loud and raucous. Satisfaction explodes in my chest. I produced that. She yanks the laughter back after a moment, but her voice is still tickled with amusement. "The leather is excellent quality."

"I could hardly let it go to waste."

I can just about make out her smile, so genuine and perfect, achingly familiar. Perhaps not as much has changed as I let myself believe. She's still the same girl formed of light, chasing the shadows away. Being in her presence is still as easy as breathing. Maybe I was wrong to assume the past year had ruined everything we once had.

The words lodge at the back of my throat, tangled in dusty memories and writhing nerves. I focus on the tenderness of her touch, the echo of her laugh. "Sarielle..."

"Hey, Sarie!"

I stiffen. Automatically, I snatch back my hand, cradling it against my chest, scraps of warmth fading like a dying flame.

Dalton emerges from behind a tent, lit by the thread of light his upheld torch casts. A patched grey cloak is bundled under his arm, and a sheathed sword dangles from his hand. Our eyes meet as I whip around. I sense his surprise at seeing me there, the question of why flitting through his expression, but he says nothing. His attention returns fully to Sarielle as he jogs over.

"You'll need these," he calls, darting around the campfire. She rises. I do too, though far more abruptly, tension snapping me straight. I have to force my fists to unfurl.

"I'll go get some rest." I don't mean my tone to wind so tight.

Sarielle casts me a bare glance. "Okay. Goodnight, Nathan. Thanks for your company."

Swallowing, I nod. "Goodnight."

My steps march me away too quickly, but I don't care. I even regret the single look back I allow. Dalton is slipping the cloak over her shoulders. The sword he carries is curved, identical to his own, something they share that I have no part in.

I duck behind the tents and obscure them from view. I was kidding myself. Everything has changed. And isn't that a good thing? Our relationship shouldn't be confined to secret whispers in the dark. Now we can be friends out in the open, talk without fearful distance. I held her hand today. I touched her.

Yet still, as I stare out at the bleak greyness of tonight's sky, I'm sure I taste ashes in my mouth.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

Fun Fact: At the very start of planning AToD, Sarielle was going to be an actual princess. But, as you can see, I changed my mind and made her the advisor's daughter. Which still makes her very important but hey, she's not royalty at least--

I just... Sarielle and Nathan interactions will never not be cute. There's literally no way out of it. And I love them both *bulbacries*

Also insight into what the regiment's had to contend with, which is less fun. It's honestly a miracle this lot are still alive xD Poor Dalton :/

Plus I swear Nathan gets more dramatic around Sarielle and it is very fun pfft--

- Pup