Maren had never been so excited to see a cot. She actually wasn't sure she had ever seen one outside a photograph before, but she was so tired, it looked like the most luxurious bed in the world.

The soldiers had set up two cots with blankets for them and put the bags with their few belongings there too. They had a lantern and a bucket of water for washing. All in all, it was the best accommodation she had had since Worthingham.

She didn't bother with the lantern, instead she left an orb of Light hovering at the top of the tent. It was easier.

They put the cots close together, but couldn't be as close to each other as they wanted to be. They contented themselves with facing each other and holding hands over the edges of the cots. Maren realized it was the first time they were truly alone together in days.

"You told the story really well. They loved it," Donovan said.

She smiled. "I really didn't feel like telling it, but I knew I needed to after the third or fourth man spoke. But I'm glad I did. It was nice."

He chuckled, "Did you really threaten to haunt me?"

She laughed. "Yes, I did."

They fell silent for a while before Donovan asked, "Do you think you'll be able to help Heather?"

Maren knew that she would not remember all the men's stories, but she thought it likely that everyone would remember Heather.

"I hope. I'm not certain how much I can teach someone without powers about teaching someone to control powers, but something will help her more than nothing," she said.

She had known she was lucky to have found a teacher, but she had not known how lucky until hearing the stories from the men. None of their Wielders had a teacher, and they all died for it.

She thought about the execution she'd attended when she said she'd have been blasting everything in sight trying to escape. From what she heard, none of the other Wielders would've known how to do anything of the kind.

She sighed and put the thought aside. It was too depressing.

"Maren, I need to ask you something and I swear to you that whatever the answer is I can live with, but not knowing is killing me," Donovan said.

Maren thought that sounded distinctly ominous, but she also thought she knew what he wanted to ask about.

"All right," she said.

"And I promise it is the only question I'll ever ask you about what happened," he said.

"All right," she said again. She definitely knew what it was about.

She considered stopping him. She really didn't want to think about any part of her time with Kieran, but she also did not want to leave Donovan without knowing.

"Did he touch you?" he asked.

She knew what he meant.

"He did not," she said.

A silence fell between them. She knew neither of them knew what to say. She thought about elaborating on what had happened, but didn't have the energy.

Instead of speaking, he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. That was better than talking.

-

They left early the next morning. Sergeant Phillips, Heather's father, rode in the speeder with Donovan and Maren while Captain Beven drove.

Donovan knew Captain Beven did not have to drive, but he thought it likely that he wanted to continue his role as chief liaison to the King and Queen. Donovan also thought a good number of the men were a bit afraid of him and Maren.

He sometimes forgot that "regular people" were not used to being in such close proximity to nobility, much less royalty, and were likely to be unsure how to behave. The only "regular people" he interacted with were servants and other staff who were accustomed to that sort of thing.

He realized, as he watched the countryside rush past the windows of the speeder, that he was about to be a "regular person." He wasn't particularly bothered by that-there were a great many other things to be bothered by-and he thought it might be interesting. But he also thought it likely he was woefully unprepared for that sort of life. He would need to ask Maren if she knew how to cook. He had absolutely no idea.

She was busy at the moment though, talking to Phillips about the Light.

"I know it sounds a bit mad, but I think-and after hearing everyone's stories last night, I am more sure of this-pretending not to have powers won't help at all. She's got to learn how to control them, and she can't do that if she's just pretending not to have them," she explained.

Philips looked mystified. Donovan thought it likely that he had not expected Maren to actually speak to him about wielding. Donovan was glad of it though and loved to hear her speak so freely about her powers.

He had learned a lot about her powers over the last year, but it was cobbled together from bits and pieces of conversation. It was very different from hearing her give a sort of lecture on them.

"One of the very few things any of the pamphlets gets correct is that the Light is within us, it's part of us. So, the very first thing Heather has to do is find that part of herself and sort of... I'm not sure what the right word is. Donovan? I think it might be similar for you."

He thought for a moment. It really was difficult to explain the sort of interaction you had to have with your power. He understood now that his power to control the Darkness was within him, even though the Darkness wasn't. He thought perhaps it wasn't as easy for him to connect with his power as it was for Maren, since hers seemed to be one and the same with the force she controlled, but the principle was the same.

Finally, something came to him.

"You have to make friends with it," he said.

He was gratified to see Maren nodding vigorously.

"I know that sounds rather odd," she said, "but that is what it is. She should sit in a quiet place, a safe place, and close her eyes and look within herself. She'll find the Light easily enough, it...wants to be seen, and then she needs to spend some time just being with it. She'll understand what that means when she tries."

Phillips nodded, and Donovan could tell he was trying to commit everything to memory.

Maren talked to him almost the entire day. She told him about some of the various exercises she'd done with Karlyn, and spent a lot of time talking about the importance of meditation. However, Donovan thought the most important things she told him were not about using her powers at all.

"She likely feels as though there's something deeply wrong with her. I grew up in a house that rarely talked about 'witches' but I still knew all the stories and how terrible they were. So, I say this because no matter how you raised her-and I'm sure you've done a lovely job of it-but no matter what, she still knows all these things. She has to unlearn them, just as you or anyone else here has done," Maren explained.

Donovan thought maybe he had something useful to add there, so he looked at Maren for permission-it was her lesson, after all-and she gestured for him to speak.

"It will be harder for her to accept that there's nothing wrong with her than it will be for you, or your wife, or anyone else. To me, it felt more or less like flicking a switch. I mean, the reality is it was a realization over a few months, but still, it was fairly simple. Perhaps it's the same for all the men, I don't know. But it will be much more difficult for Heather. It will take years, even decades, for her not to just think there's nothing wrong with her but to truly believe it."

Maren looked at him with a small smile and nodded. He had hoped not to lay bare too many of her inner struggles, but he did think it was important for Philips to understand how very different it was for people who were not Wielders. Even he hadn't truly understood it until he had to convince Maren he really wanted to marry her.

It was late afternoon when Maren finally declared she could think of nothing else to tell Phillips to help Heather. They were only an hour or two from Clifton, where they would part from the soldiers in the morning.

Donovan found he had mixed feelings about the end of their trip with the soldiers, or as they had styled themselves, The Witch's Guard.

Donovan had no idea how it had happened, but
everyone knew about the brand and Maren's insistence on keeping it. The men had wanted to take up some name for themselves, and "The Witch's Guard" was suggested as a tribute to her for that decision. Captain Beven had been very delicate about asking her permission to call themselves that, knowing that "witch" was at least off-color if not outright offensive, but Maren had loved it.

"I expect they'll all get tattoos to match you now," Donovan said dryly. He loved the moniker less than she did.

"If they do, I hope it's somewhere less conspicuous," she replied.

He did wish that if she had to keep the mark that it was somewhere less conspicuous too. Really, he wished she had let the Wielders fix it at Blackstone but knew that was a battle he could not win. He recognized that his issue was more to do with how she had been branded with the term than her decision to keep it, so he held his tongue on the matter.

He hated to see the bandage on her chest, though. All he could think about was how much it must've hurt and who had done it to her.

He tried not to picture what had happened to Maren while she was in Kieran's clutches, but he was finding that very difficult. He was glad to have heard that he did not sexually abuse her-he knew that would have been very hard for both of them to bear-but he knew his brother had done a great deal of damage.

Maren had tried to hide her back from him, but he had seen the bruises and the welts. He knew she was still very sore because she was still taking the pain medication Alec had sent them with, and he saw how delicately she moved. And, as much as he hated seeing the physical injuries on her, he thought the injuries he couldn't see were far worse.

He wished he knew how to help with those, but he really didn't. For the time being, all he could do was respect her desire not to discuss it, and she did seem fine for the most part. It wasn't as though there was time to discuss it anyway. Perhaps when they were in the mountains.

—

Maren knew there was trouble when the convoy slowed to an unplanned stop. All their previous stops had been pre-planned via radio before actually stopping, but not this one.

Maren heard the voice of one of the soldiers come over the radio. "Trackers have a checkpoint. They want to search the convoy. Orders, Captain?"

Maren's heart started racing, and her mouth went dry. Trackers. Trackers meant Kieran was on to them. Was Kieran there? Would they take her? Could she convince one of the men to shoot her if they did?

She heard without really hearing Donovan's answer.

"Let them search. They won't see us."

And then he said to her, "I'll hide us, can you make it look like there's some equipment or something here?"

Could she? She had no idea. She'd have to try, but she felt far too panicked to do that.

The Captain spoke over the radio: "Hold your positions, I'll come to talk to them. We're going to let them search. We're just transporting military personnel to Clifton, nothing to hide here."

Donovan wrapped them both in a cloud of Darkness. She knew it would hide them from anyone else. It felt awful, it was so cold it made her shiver. Or possibly, she was trembling from fear. Or both.

She was fairly certain she could safely use her powers in the proximity of his, as long as neither of them was trying to do anything you might do in a fight. She hoped. An explosion of lighting would give them away, though. And then the Trackers would put her back into a collar, and she'd be back in Kieran's office, and he'd torture her and -

"Breathe. Breathe slowly," Donovan murmured in her ear. "You can do this."

Maren hadn't noticed she was hyperventilating until he said something. She tried to force herself to breathe more normally, but it was difficult.

She focused on counting her inhales and exhales, which didn't make her feel any less panicked, but at least kept the hyperventilating at bay for a moment.

But then she heard men talking down the line of speeders. She tried to tune them out, but she couldn't and the sound of the men's voices was coming closer, and she just knew they were going to take her.

"I can't," she whispered to Donovan.

She really couldn't. She might've been able to make something appear, but she was not at all confident in her ability to make it stay put properly.

Donovan spoke very calmly to her, like someone might talk to a frightened animal, "It's alright. They won't see us."

Maren could tell they were coming closer and closer. They'd look into the cabin and see her and take her. She couldn't go with them. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out of the speeder. She had to run.

As though he read her mind, Donovan pressed her more firmly to him. That helped some.

"-don't know why headquarters has us up here. We've only ever caught local witches, they never run north, there's nothing here!"

"Not a problem, we understand following orders," Captain Beven said.

Maren bit hard into her hand to stop herself from making any noise. She knew they were close.  She closed her eyes as tightly as she could. Tears fell down her face. She couldn't ever remember being so terrified.

"Nothing back here?"

"Nah, we had spare tires, but we already used them. Damn roads are terrible."

"Too right, you are."

She could tell they were walking away, but it did nothing to abate her terror. She trembled and whimpered and cried and thought she might die of fear even after the convoy pulled away from the checkpoint. And she was still trembling and crying when Donovan let go of the Darkness surrounding them.

"We need a stop once we're about five miles out," Donovan told Captain Beven.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the Captain said and then announced it over the radio.

Maren had not improved in any way once the convoy stopped. Donovan helped her out of the speeder and a little ways out into the meadow beside the road, where she collapsed to the ground, crying.