In the full daylight, Morana finally had a chance to study Tarion's features in their entirety. He looked significantly better now than he had when he left last night and the tangy scent of blood was stronger around him. She raised no questions. Voiced no accusations.

    She wasn't keen on picking another fight, and if he had killed Fae or Humans, she didn't want to risk finding out if it had been someone she knew. She refused to even think about whether or not he might have come across Lonan and Arlon and killed them. But feeding wasn't the only thing he'd been up to while she slept.

    It seemed he had found somewhere to bathe and scrounged up a change of clothes. Every now and then, a slight gust of wind would send the scents of fresh spring water and earthy clay drifting towards her, aside from the metallic scent that would forever cling to him. But at least the stench of the dungeon was gone.

    His dark hair framed his face in a few tight braids while the rest of it hung over his neck. As she had observed in the painting and in the firelight yesterday, Tarion's features were very sharp and angular, but graceful. His eyes were rounder than her own with thick, dark lashes perpetually shrouding his red gaze. His lips were thin but perfectly bowed and his jawline was square and proud.

    His new clothes looked just as worn as his old ones and were similar in make. He wore a black leather vest that hugged the lean angle of his waist and covered his broad shoulders. The vest buckled all the way down the center of his chest, but he'd left the top few buckles undone, revealing a plain white linen shirt underneath.

    His pants were made of a thicker brown cloth, only a few shades lighter than his vest. The top of his boots reached his knees and leather vambraces covered his forearms. His hands remained bare. There was a belt buckled around his hips, but Morana saw no weapons or scabbards attached to it.

    There were, however, twin scimitar daggers sheathed in between his shoulder blades. Judging by the length of the sheaths, their blades had to be at least as long as his forearms. They would perfectly suit Tarion's height.

    Which, she noted with some surprise, did not hinder him at all as they traversed the forest. Tarion moved on silent feet without even a rustle of grass disturbing it. He effortlessly picked his way through the terrain, never faltering, as though he knew every ravine, every tree, and every hidden knot as well as he had known the castle ruins.

    She was not having such luck. Morana gritted her teeth as she tripped over yet another tree root that had to have appeared out of thin air. Tarion paused up ahead and glanced back at her. "Need some help?" He asked once more.

    "No," Morana snapped. "But would it kill you to slow down?"

    Tarion was already walking. "I want to be at least eight miles from this point before we find a place to camp for the night."

    "Why?"

    "Because this area is frequently patrolled by Corrupted Fae, and once someone learns I'm not at the palace, those patrols will increase. We have three days, maybe four, before that happens. We need to put as much distance between us and Arcan as possible."

    Morana eyed his back as she mulled over the words. "You hold no loyalty to them?"

    Or he was pretending not to and simply playing her. To what purpose, she couldn't guess. If he meant to kill her and drink her blood, he surely would've done so by now. Unless he had no intention of killing her and was instead taking her to Rhidian, or perhaps Astaroth himself.

    Tarion let out a wry laugh. "Would you hold any loyalty to them if you became one now?" She was silent. "The only bonds of loyalty they share is a true devotion to Astaroth or hatred in what they've become."

    "Is that even possible? Every Corrupted Fae I've met seems to enjoy their new life." Neeri's petrified face flashed before her eyes. "And taking the lives of others." Where was Neeri now? Was she still alive or had Rhidian killed her already? Claws of guilt dug into her chest, all but crushing it.

    "Yes. When the initial madness and bloodlust passes, and you start to regain your sense of self, it's entirely possible."

    She didn't miss the growing note of irritation in his voice, likely brought on by all her questions, but she still had one more thing to ask. "Why bother helping me?"

    Morana froze when Tarion stopped walking, half expecting him to attack her again. But he merely looked at her, a flicker of emotion in his eyes before it was masked by determination. She couldn't quite tell what that emotion had been. Guilt, or perhaps grief?

    "Because you might be my only chance to save my people." Then he was walking again and she knew no matter what she asked, he would tell her nothing more today.

    She pondered over his answer instead. Who were his people? Were they the citizens of Asterria, Fae and Human alike? Or did he refer to the Corrupted Fae? But oddly enough, each time he spoke of the Blood Fae so far, he hadn't grouped himself with them.

    Did he still consider himself Asterria's Prince and thus responsible for its people even after all these years? Would they even accept him if the day came when Astaroth was defeated, leaving his throne empty?

    No. If the people of Asterria knew their beloved Sleeping Heir was actually a Corrupted Fae, Morana was certain there would have been many more attempting to reach Arcan in the hopes of killing Tarion rather than freeing him. Perhaps that made them wiser than her, or maybe she was more desperate to help Neeri than she was afraid of Tarion.

    That was her priority right now. Learn whatever Tarion had to offer about her magic and her fate, and find a way to rescue Neeri. Or if she was already dead, find a way to avenge her, and everyone else she'd lost. She didn't intend to fight a war she couldn't hope to win, no matter who her allies were.

•༻☽☾༺•

    They ended up putting fourteen miles between themselves and Arcan in the space of one afternoon, not even counting the distance they'd covered that morning. Morana was exhausted, her legs groaning with every step, but Tarion kept up with his grueling pace.

    She sought no sympathy from him, knowing she would find none. Instead, she just kept up as best she could and relished the too few and too short breaks Tarion occasionally allowed them. By the time they made camp for the night, Morana no longer cared what he really planned to do with her.

    She was too worn out to even come up with a retort when the male snarkily said he'd feed her that night, but that she'd eventually have to help provide for herself. She'd been too tired to show her disgust when he returned with a fresh deer carcass, almost entirely drained of blood.

    Still, she'd eaten the meat after it was roasted over a fire and Tarion ate everything she didn't. Whatever was left, they planned to preserve into dried venison. But she was not too tired to put up a fight when he announced that she would help keep watch throughout the night.

    Morana had argued that if they cast protective shields around their camp, it'd be safe enough for both of them to get some sleep. Tarion remained unconvinced, claiming it would be better to have someone actually watching too, just in case.

    She begrudgingly agreed only when he deigned to give her two hour watch intervals while he took four hour ones. That small gesture wasn't enough to earn him her gratitude though. The next day passed with little variation, and the third day began the same.

    It was late in the afternoon. Hours had passed since their last break and Morana's insides were beginning to twist around themselves. She managed to catch up to Tarion and shot him an almost pleading look. "Can we take a break yet? I'm starving."

    "If you'd drop that shield you're perpetually holding around yourself, your body wouldn't be burning through your energy so quickly," he replied, not looking at her. Morana scowled and faced forward.

    She'd formed the shield on their first night, and like he said, she hadn't let it down since. Though the shield was invisible, magic perpetually hummed beneath her skin and the mark on her chest was glowing. Not as brightly as other times, but enough that if her neckline shifted when she moved, she caught a glimpse of its light.

    "My magic has never affected me like this," Morana bit out presently.

    "Have you ever used it long enough to find out how it will affect you?" Now he faced her, raising an inquisitive brow. Her scowl deepened. "I didn't think so. Tell me, Phoenix, just how much training have you had?"

    "Enough to take care of myself," she answered.

    "Can you mold it into weapons and accurately attack with them? Can you make small, concentrated, and materialized shields, unlike the one you currently have? Can you conjure illusions of yourself or others? Can you warp someone's perception of their surroundings? What about..."

    "Okay, enough!" Morana interrupted. "I can't do those things, but there are plenty of things I can do."

    "Things that will only bide you time, not save your life."

    "My magic has saved my life many times! Besides, all those things you mentioned; I've never met anyone who could do them."

    Tarion halted and faced her fully. Morana met his gaze and immediately found herself resisting the urge to look away again. The way he was watching her... He was examining her as if she were supposed to be some prize horse, yet he expected to find too many flaws to actually make her valuable.

    "I can do nearly all of them and more besides. The ones I can't, I was unable to finish training for," Tarion said. Morana was about to ask for his excuse not to continue training, but he carried on talking. "You don't have a small trickle of magic like everyone else. Your power is an ocean compared to theirs."

    "You've been doling it out a cupful at a time. What will you do when it doesn't come lapping at you gently, but crashing down in monstrous waves? I don't know what reason you have to be afraid of your power, but I will tell you that if you don't learn to embrace your potential sooner rather than later, it will overwhelm you and be your undoing."

    "I've spent my entire life being warned to hide my magic," Morana spat in return. "I was told that it was a curse and would bring destruction everywhere I go. It's already cost me too many friends and people I considered family."

    Tarion took a step closer and Morana backed away. Still, he bent slightly and met her at eye level. "What if you hadn't been running from your power during those times? Do you think you could have saved them?"

    Her heart constricted as her mind drudged up the image of the onyx shard gleaming from Vesna's chest, and the horrible sound that came from Koen after Rhidian ripped her throat out before he wound up in a puddle of his own blood. Could she have saved them? Could she have saved Neeri? She saw the thin line of crimson light that had severed a female's head from her body.

    What if she could project multiple blades like that? What if she could make actual weapons as Tarion suggested? Swords or daggers or spears? If she could make shields like he said, could she direct them in front of someone besides herself? Would they be easier to form and cast over another person than the full-body domes she was accustomed to?

    She blinked the thoughts away, realizing Tarion had already resumed walking. Morana swiftly caught up to him and skidded into his path. "You'll teach me, then," she said. If there was even a chance that developing her skills could help Neeri, she'd do it.

    The corner of his mouth tilted up. Not quite a smirk, but certainly amused. "Yes. We're going somewhere it will be safe for you to train. And hopefully it will have the knowledge we seek."

    Morana knit her brows. "You still haven't told me where we're going."

    "The Library of Drenusha."