The man did not lower his blade.

He was long-boned with a wide mouth and a somewhat cross-eyed stare. When he opened his mouth to smile she saw a row of greenish teeth and a few rotting black mounds where the rest ought to be.

She had no time to contemplate Elyon's absence as every nerve in her body stretched and twisted with panic. Panic she was determined not to show these men.

'You're our princess?' The man scoffed, wide-eyed as he looked over his shoulder at another. In fact, all eyes now drew to the same figure; shorter in height than the one holding the blade to her throat, but more muscular in build and with a slight gait to his walk as he came toward her.

She'd been wrong in her assumption —this man was the leader. This man was the one she would have to convince.

As he drew closer to her, his mouth lifted into a smile. His teeth were white but slightly crooked and his eyes sparkled a meridian green-blue. His face bore a nut coloured beard that she guessed hid a somewhat handsome face beneath it. He ran his cool gaze over her, slow and calculating.

'Hmph. The Princess, you say?' A Southerner, she noted. 'Strange, considering we spoke the graces for you not...' he counted quietly, 'eight moons ago?' When he took a step closer sweat rose to lick the back of her neck. The tall man took a slow side step to allow the leader to move directly in front of her. 'Strange, considering we are now preparing for a war in retaliation for your death at Leoth's hands?'

She swallowed. 'Yes. And if you will escort me to Prissia, to the King, you will not only help avert this war, but you will also be greatly rewarded.' She looked around at each of them. 'All of you.'

'Is that so?' said the leader, entirely unconvinced.

'The men who return the king's beloved sister to him alive and unharmed? Of course. In fact I would say you could likely state your own reward and the king would meet it.' She was afraid of sounding too desperate, and so closed her mouth and said nothing more. A princess would not lower herself to pleading.

Some of the men's imaginations had certainly been piqued for their eyes widened, hungry with possibility. They looked at their leader; whose expression had grown curious certainly.

However when he lowered his eyes to her throat she knew it was not the promise of reward that had drawn him. Her heart sank.

He curled his fingers under the collar and pulled her head toward him, gently. 'And what might this be, then?'

She met his stare. 'Leoth steel,' she told him.  It caused a glimmer of interest to spark in his sea-green eyes. He widened them, expectant.

What information should she give him? How much to tell these lawless rebels who held her life in their hands? She decided on the truth.  With one sole omission. Theodan.

'I was not killed by the Leothine; I was taken,' she said. 'Collared and transported to Leoth, as a spoil. No one knew my identity.'

His head reared back as he considered this, his eyes never leaving her. She could hear his mind tick loudly, the scurrying around of doubt and suspicion. In the silence one of the other men spoke up. One she'd noticed had also been unmoved by the promise of their king's gratitude.

'And what, they simply let you go? The beasts of Ethis? A spoil as pretty as you? Cause I ain't believing you managed to escape them. Not a filly's chance.'

She looked at him. 'One of their kind took pity upon me, and released me.' She felt a twinge at the thought. Of Theodan, pitying her. She did not like it. Instead she thought of the night she'd surrendered herself to him for the promise of release. A trade she'd called it. A lie, the ache in her soul told her.

She heard one of the other men laugh. 'Mace, step aside and let us at her,' he grunted. 'She is but some wench from Haetia lost in the woods. Playing games with us.' He moved toward her and she tensed, fear churning in her gut.

The irony of it struck her then. That this was where she would meet her end, here in Calate at the hands of men sworn loyal to her blood. She had survived Zybar's attack, Torrik's inquisition, the High Visier of Leoth, the Court of the Moon, but here, here by the blade of her own realm was where she would die. It was hopelessly unfair.

She wanted to blame Elyon, Elyon who it seemed had abandoned her the instant she was safe on her own lands but she didn't truly blame him. She blamed her own weakness. She blamed the hearts of men. Rotten with need and want and evil. What she did blame Elyon for was for leaving her without a single weapon with which to defend herself.

Two of the men took a step toward her but were halted by a gesture from their leader. Mace she knew his name to be now — raised his hand to stop them coming closer but did not take his eyes from her, watching her still with that same unfaltering curiosity.

'Maybe... but a wench from Haetia wouldn't have a Leoth Steel collar around her neck, now would she?' Mace drew his eyes to it once more, sea green gaze sharp and keen. 'Okay, let's say I believe you, princess,' he smiled. 'Tell me, how did you get from Leoth to Virheim. Leoth is at least one moon cycle away by ship.'

She glanced briefly at the spot where she'd last seen Elyon of Lethane, armed and asleep, then back at Mace.

As she did her heart almost stopped.

Relief flooded her and she let out a soft breath. Elyon, without any noise at all, silent steps as though gliding atop the forest floor, moved behind the man furthest from her.

When he met her eye and held a finger to his mouth she had to bite back a smile.

'We flew,' she replied.

A look crossed Mace's face then, a realisation. A slow bleed of understanding. He took a step back, then another. The gathered men, neither as quick nor as clever as he was, looked at each other, confused.

Then a quiet, bloody, chaos erupted all around her.

Elyon brought his arms around the soldier furthest from her and neatly sliced open his throat, his extended black claws making quiet work of the giving human flesh.

A soft, slick, thud and the man who had first held the blade to her throat was staggering forward, gasping for breath. The decorative steel handle of a black dagger protruding through his throat as blood sputtered garishly from his mouth. He sank, stunned, to his knees. She hadn't even seen him throw it.

Elyon spun and leapt to his right, his black longsword driving quick and quiet through the air to sever the head of the third; the man who'd called her a wench of Haetia.

From a holster in his calf, she saw him pull a second Leoth steel dagger and throw it with blinding accuracy across the grove to pierce the heart of the fourth Calatian soldier who she had not noticed had begun to move toward her. He dropped to the grass, dead instantly. Mace turned and reached for her, pulling her to him. In a moment the cold metal of his own dagger was pressed against her throat.

'Apologies, princess,' Elyon said as he moved toward the first felled soldier. 'I find the element of surprise to be the best form of attack in circumstances where the numbers are not in your favour. Though with humans, it is hardly worth the effort.' She watched as he placed his foot on the soldier's head and yanked the blade free from the dead man's throat. It gave off a sickening squelch as it released. The man gargled his last breath and expired.

As Elyon moved to retrieve his second dagger, a slight tremble moved through Mace as he angled them both backwards away from the Leoth's advance.

Wiping the second blade on his thigh first, Elyon sheathed it and stood to face her. She gave him a look of accusation though in truth she had never been so glad to see him. He offered her a small smile before his eyes slid to her captor, and hardened.

'It would be wise of you to let the princess Fara go.'

'Would it now?' Came the bravado-fuelled reply. 'So you can take my head too?'

Elyon of Lethane smirked in a way that made her blood run cold. She marvelled at how easy it was for the Leothine to transform into the monsters all of Ethis feared. Or perhaps it was only that her view had been so irrevocably changed that she no longer saw them as everyone else did.

This; here, now, was how the world saw them.

She felt another tremor move through the grip that held her.

'Oh, you will die either way, human,' Elyon told him. 'But if you do as I have asked, and let her go, it will at least be quick.' He took a step closer. 'Harm her and I will keep you alive as I tear the flesh from your bones with my teeth.' Elyon licked his tongue over his sharpened teeth. A promise.

'For what it is worth, Leoth, I had no intention of harming her.'

'But you do now,' Elyon pointed out, eyeing the knife at her throat.

'Because you've given me little choice.'

'Perhaps I have indeed forced you into this unfortunate position,' pondered Elyon. 'But it matters little, for they were going to harm her,' he looked around the bodies dead on the grass, his mouth turning up in disdain, 'I could smell it from the river.'

'I wouldn't have allowed it.'

Elyon sighed. 'Human males have such fanciful ideas of their own influence, I've always found.' He took another small step toward them. 'Now let her go. There is no way out of this for you.'

Mace did nothing for many moments, his body shaking from tension and indecision. Then, she felt something change in him, a release. Letting out a weary breath, he lowered his blade and released her from his hold.

She chanced a quick glance at him, his shoulders and head hanging low, before moving quickly toward Elyon. The Leoth moved immediately to put himself between her and the beaten soldier.

'Drop the sword,' Elyon commanded. 'Or shall we settle this like soldiers? We are at war after all.' His Leoth steel sword glinted from a shard of sunlight spilling through a break in the trees above. For a moment she was reminded of how Theodan's had glittered from the gold of the throne room moments before he had taken Galyn's head.

'I am a blacksmith, not a soldier.' Mace said as he threw his sword onto the grass. 'And I would not have harmed her.'

'You held a knife to a female's throat — to your princess's throat— as a show of strength. You are without honour, human.' Elyon raised his sword. 'Now kneel and I will make it quick, as I did for your friends.'

He scoffed. 'They were not my friends.'

'No? Then you should have taken more care over the company you kept,' Elyon said. 'Now I give you the option again, blacksmith, to kneel. Or I will take your head where you stand. It is of no consequence to me.'

Swallowing, Mace sank to his knees and Elyon closed the short distance at once, stopping briefly to kick away Mace's dropped sword. Fara glanced around at the bloodied bodies soaking the grass and back again to Elyon, who stood ready to gift the forest floor another.

'Any last words? An apology to your princess perhaps? A few words to your God?' Elyon's manner, as with all things, was light. He began to raise his sword.

'Wait!' Fara called out, lurching forward. The kneeling soldier raised his head, his eyes shining with apology as he looked up at her.

'The men who were not your friends called you... Mace?' she said. 'This is your name?'

'Macen. My name is Macen Balthier, of Kania,' he hesitated a moment before adding: 'your highness.'

She gave him a weak smile. 'When I first saw you I suspected you to be deserters. Was I correct?'

He had the grace to look partly ashamed, but held her eye as he nodded.

'Why? Why have you deserted my brother's army, Macen Balthier of Kania?'

'Many reasons,' he said tightly.

'Tell me one.'

He raised his chin proudly. 'Because I will not give my life for a king who allies us with barbarians and takes counsel from sorcerers.'

'That was two,' muttered Elyon.

'What do you mean, sorcerers?' She shook her head, ignoring the Leoth.

Macen Balthier's mouth pinched with contempt. 'They say his closest advisor is a witch. From the ruins of Nerven.'

'An Irhith?' Fara gasped as a cold sweep of dread crept across her. Valdr despised sorcery of any kind, more fervently than father had. Valdr despised anything of power which he did not have and could not understand. If this was true then he had lost himself. Completely and absolutely.

But there was something that frightened her even more than that: Valdr would only consider something like this if he thought it might work.

Had he a chance? Could he really defeat Leoth? Was the power of an Irhith —if that's indeed what this witch was—and two armies enough to crush Leoth?

Hopelessness cleaved a hollow through her as she stole a glance at Elyon. His eyebrows drew together with concern at whatever he saw on her face.

'How many more think like you?' She asked, turning back to Macen. 'How many more refuse to fight for the king?' A glimmer of hope shone in the dark void of despair growing within her.

He gestured behind them at the fallen bodies. 'Less now,' he threw a look at Elyon. 'But many are afraid. Afraid of Zybar, afraid of Leoth, afraid of dark magic returning again to rule Calate. They want vengeance, but aligning ourselves with Zybar —the barbarians that left Azura bloodied and broken — in a war against the ones that helped them do it?' He shook his head. 'It's not right. Any man with sense knows it's not right. Knows too that the Gods won't favour a realm who wages war with curses and devilry and sides with disloyal bastards like Zybar.'  He looked down at the grass, wearied from his outburst.

He seemed to realise something then, something which caused him to raise his head and look at Fara anew. 'But if you are her.. If you're really the princess... and you're alive... then...'

'Then there is no cause for war against Leoth,' she finished for him with a gentle nod. 'No need for witches or war pacts either.' She took a deep breath. 'Stand, Macen Balthier of Kania.' His shoulders low, he did as she bid him. 'Go home to your family. Or go to the nearest town and tell as many people as you can that this war has been sold to you on a lie. That it was sold to the king on a lie. Tell them that the princess Fara lives.'

He blinked, shocked. Then nodded slowly.

'Princess,' objected Elyon. 'I really think you should reconsider. This male threatened you. At knifepoint I should add.'

'Which, as I see it, would not have happened had you not left my side.' She rounded on him. 'Would Theodan have done the same to demonstrate his preferred method of attack, I wonder? Mayhaps I shall ask him when I see him again.'

She had no intention of doing anything of the sort but Elyon understood the message all the same. Beaten, he let out a sigh and smiled at her. It almost looked as though he was impressed by her method.

Then, from his belt, he took a small wooden device and brought it to his lips, causing a shrill sound to snap and burst through the trees. He did it once more before sliding the device back into his belt.

'It seems your princess has pardoned you, blacksmith,' he said turning once more to Macen. 'Though you will leave without your sword.'

'Lenient punishment for treason, I suppose,' he said turning to offer Fara a short bow. 'The people will be jubilant at the news of your... return.. princess, truly.'

She smiled. 'I hope to give them far more than that for which to be jubilant. Go, do as I bid you.'

He nodded, casting a final look at Elyon before he began to turn from them.

'One last thing,' Fara said, remembering. 'I know that we are in Virheim, but can you tell us where exactly? My bearings are not... well... I do not know.' She brushed a hair from her face, embarrassed. A princess who knew nothing of her own home, he would surely think.

The soldier merely pointed behind him, 'That way is Calateia.' Calateia was Calate's most ancient city. Calate himself had built his first residence on the banks of the Adina river, where the sunset turned the depths purple. 'Prissia is to the south, though you will have to meet the river again and follow it east until Haetia,' he gestured behind Fara. Of course. The river which cut through the forest was the River Nirax which would lead her all the way home. 'But the King and his armies gather at Alathy. They say he is to marry the Zybarian princess there.' He pointed south. 'Then they will take to the sea toward Leoth.'

'They'll sail to Leoth from Calate?' She had assumed they would travel to Azura first. Launch their ships or wait for Leoth to attack there. Had that not been what Panos told her? That Azura was to join the fight too. They will fight or they will die, he'd said dispassionately.

Macen nodded. 'Lord Dacian of Trystath brings five thousand ships and fifty thousand men from the isles, the king brings the same from Prissia. From there they sail to Leoth.'

A sea battle? She had not foreseen such. How useful would Leoth's inhuman strength and speed be in a sea battle? Theodan had once told her that the waters around Leoth were poisonous to humans. Did Valdr know this? Would she tell him? How would the Varveh fare carrying their soldiers to war upon war vessels in the middle of the sea? She imagined hundreds of the great beasts falling from the sky to drown in the depths of the ash sea. A renewed surge of fear shot through her as she turned to gauge Elyon's reaction.

Just then the sound of hooves shattered the silence of the wood, the snapping of branches and the crushing of grass echoing loudly through the trees. Elyon's Varveh thundered toward them at a pounding gallop. Macen staggering back in shock as the great silver beast came to a stop at the edge of the grove, her mane shining like starlight in the gloomy forest.

'Then we will go east, to Alathy,' she told Elyon, who nodded and moved to smooth a hand over the Varveh's flank. 'We may not be in time to prevent my brother's wedding, but mayhaps we will yet prevent him from taking ten thousand ships to sea bound for Leoth.'