"So which plant is this?" Prince River asked, mumbling.

Nick inhaled sharply to drown out the previous scent he had guessed correctly—trailing arbutus or Charity's flower. While his companion was growing tired of the game they had been playing every day for precisely five weeks and an afternoon, he found it the perfect way to pass the time on the road and keep his mind and senses sharp. He sniffed again. The riddle came in the form of an earthly scent with a sour after-smell, as though the Prince had lifted his mud-stained socks from his boot and was waving them into Nick's direction. He opened his right eye, squeezing it halfway shut again to endure the sharp light—Prince River's vague outlines revealed he was sitting bent over, the reins clutched in one hand and a bottle in another.

He took a sip, then said, "You're slow, Nick."

"The son of Sloth reborn," Nick murmured in thought. He shuffled sidewards on his blanket as the horse slowly clip-clopped along an incline. He set his hand not to lose his balance. The aroma of the plant was oddly familiar, and not just because it reminded him of dirty and sweat-filled socks. "Is it the same flower as the one we passed right outside of Nether Wallop?"

"Upper Wallop," the Prince said. "No, not orchids. Think smaller and higher."

"Now you're making it difficult."

"As will your future teachers when giving you an assignment. Not all information will be relevant."

"But plants smelling of feet are?"

A short-lived snort. "That's your call to make."

"I think it is," Nick thought out loud. "Smelly, yet something useful that you want me to know. A plant higher than an orchid—smaller is irrelevant because subjective. That can almost only be valerian."

"Val-what?" asked the Prince.

"Valerian, to cure all sorts of pain and help the sleepless sleep, with except for King Thomas— he's a lost cause."

Prince River hummed. "Valerian is such a mouthful. In Ice, we call it All-Heal."

"That's a strange name. Isn't the plant toxic in large amounts?"

"Yeah, but nothing a good bout of vomiting can't cure."

Nick scratched the valerian off his mental list of methods to kill the King of Ice undetected.

At the back of the waggon, the last remaining raven cawed and fluttered its wings. Four there had been when they had left Sunstone. One had been sent to Bigtown right after crossing the border into Silvermark, the second when they had been stuck in a shed for more than a week to hide from pouring rain turning the roads into either swamps or rivers of mud, or both. And a third not long after when a rumour floated around Redbury that King Ariel and Prince Felix had been killed.

Nick had cheered in silence, but not for long. The death of one king meant the coronation of another, not a son wanting to honour his father's name but a younger brother trying to outshine his older sibling. History had taught Nick it would be no halt to the state of semi-war with The Greenlands, and it was a big question how Prince Caracal would react to the Icians attacking from the north if his eyes were fixated on the south. What if he allowed the Icians to take the boreal lands to gain Sunstone Castle? Who he even consider that?

Nick's head spun. His mind filled with more ifs and maybes as a thud landed on his right. Paws retracted their claws, a tail flicking against the crates. Water trickled down. Little puffs of breath approached fast and brought the strong aroma of a pup who had spent many hours playing in the rain, running through the forest, never losing track of the waggon.

Though 'pup' was no longer the appropriate word to describe the thirty-pound ball of fur that Bear had become. They were at an awkward stage where Bear had become too big to fit on Nick's lap yet he wasn't big enough yet for Nick to start riding him; that would only start in three to four moons.

Nick couldn't wait.

The collar rattled; Bear was shaking himself dry.

"Had a good hunt, Bear?" Nick asked.

"Arr," the mountain dog said between his teeth. Drops still dripped onto the floor.

"What did you catch this time?"

 "Yirr."

"Yeah, bird... I know you like catching birds. You're still too much of a pupper to take deer all by yourself. But which one... a pheasant, a grouse, a lost chicken, a swanling or gosling?"

"Njarf."

"The dog can take over my duty to entertain you," Prince River said.

"Train me," Nick corrected him.

"Same difference."

Nick couldn't tell whether the man was serious or joking.

"Yick-yick," Bear caught his attention.

A shadowy mane loomed over him, then dumped a lump of wet meat onto his lap, soaking his pants. Half-torn feathers brushed against his skin. The metallic blood and rain mingled with Bear's tendency to soak their uncooked dinner in drool. 

Nick felt the dead animal. Smaller than a goose yet larger than chicken, about the size of a raven. A flat, unsharp beak, then a long neck with soft and tiny feathers that continued along the bite marks on its stomach. The ones on the back, at least those that were still there, were larger. And very wet.

"It's a duck," he told Bear as he continued to study the feathers with his fingers. A long, thin feather in the back that curled slightly upwards. "A drake to be more precise."

"Yep-yep-yep!" 

Bear jumped up, too much excitement for the rattling waggon, and Nick's poor legs receiving the pounding paws. 

"That's enough," he said firmly. "Sit!"

Bear let out something between a yelp and a final yep, then squatted down on his hind legs. Twice more his tail swished back and forth, then the dog appeared like a statue, albeit a panting statue.

Nick clamped his arms around the animal's shaggy neck and hugged him tightly. "You're one smelly Bear, but you're a good one. I dare even say you're the best."

"Arr."

While Nick plucked the drake, Bear settled down by his side, persistent to at least share a corner of the blanket. Whether the acidic smell of wet dog faded or Nick grew accustomed to it was hard to tell. Far easier was the disembowelling of the duck with an eager pup practically inhaling the animal's insides Nick handfed him.

The Prince halted the waggon not much later and assisted him in roasting the duck above an open fire. He couldn't rely yet on his senses and the occasional blurry image to gather wood, but he no longer feared the flames that had blinded him. Smoke entered his nostrils ten heartbeats before the first sparks popped, and a burnt fingertip was not a disaster. From time to time, Prince River let it happen, to teach Nick a lesson; it had worked.

The evening settled in as he filled his stomach with a large piece of duck breast and half a wing. For dessert, Bear came with a prickly branch full of soft fruits that resembled multiple miniature berries squished together in one giant berry. The juice was a mix of sour and sweet.

"Bearberries." The Prince licked his lips. "The dog has good taste."

Nick ruffled Bear. "Of course, he's..."

There came a sudden cracking followed by softer crackling. No flapping of wings or small paws crunching the forest floor; too loud for that. The darkening colours of dusk didn't allow him to use his right eye. His left one was still worthless.

"Hello?" Prince River asked.

A soft female voice stammered, "He... hello... I heard voices... saw the light from... from the fire."

"Yeah," he said, not sounding interested.

"You have food."

"Yeah."

"How rude of me... my name is Finch. I live in close-by with my brothers."

"Yeah," the Prince repeated.

"We're travellers," Nick said, knowing very well Prince River preferred hiding his identity, to avoid attracting unnecessary attention.

"Oh..." She seemed dazed, but only momentarily. "Can I perhaps interest you in a story?"

"No," the Prince barked just as Nick wanted to utter yes.

"I don't require any silverlings—times are tough for everyone," she said.

"Then what do you require?"

"The food you can spare." She sounded ashamed.

"Don't your brothers know how to hunt?" Prince River asked.

"They do... but... we ran out of sinew to make bowstrings, and not a single animal fell into one of our traps. I came here to pick berries for dinner, again."

Nick didn't want to be impudent but couldn't sit down and do nothing while a young girl (at least he thought she was young) was begging for food. Not when she offered a story as payment. She could have the last wing and the leftover bits that stuck to the drake's carcass.

"I've had enough," he said. 

"So have I, but I'm not interested in stories," the Prince spoke words of blasphemy. "By the time you reach my age, you've heard them all, originals and the varieties people created when they can't remember the version they were taught. But I am interested in any news you may have, particularly from the capital. Surprise me with something I don't know yet and you can have the duck and a bowstring from my collection."

Finch exhaled a deep breath. "That's very generous of you, Mister..."

"... Lake," the Prince said, though the way he pronounced the 'a', he might as well have said 'Lark'. He continued the habit of going by a different name each road.

"Silvermark has a new King," she said eagerly.

"Old news."

"Not just because King Ariel passed away, but also Prince F—"

"Yeah, the young lad is dead too, and his half-brother as well. Heard that one fifty leagues ago. Next."

"Ah... but did you hear yet about the reason King Caracal had come to Moonstone Castle?"

Nick stroked Bear as Prince River remained quiet for a moment, then the man said, "Please, join us. You can eat while you inform us."

"Thank you."

The drake's smokey flavour wafted over as she sat down on Nick's right. He cursed not being able to see her. She sounded as though she was pretty, though he could also be missing Princess Alana's kisses and the gentle touch of her fingers on his skin. The Goddess of Lust wasn't far away.

Bear whimpered, even whined as she took a juicy bite and smacked her lips, thanking them again. Nick pulled him close.

"It's fine," he whispered to his friend. If Bear didn't have enough, he would have to catch a nightingale, a mockingbird, a night heron—if he was really hungry—while he and Prince River were sleeping away the night.

"Yip-yip, Yick."

"Yeah, she's people too, Bear. It's all good." He rubbed the dog behind the ears, which calmed him down.

Finch started recounting, "He heard this story from the miller who heard it from his cousin whose husband had a friend who was in Moondale when it happened. He found it peculiar that His Majesty and the little prince traded their mortal life for the life eternal just as Prince—now King—Caracal came to visit, to show off a weapon that would change warfare forever."

"A new weapon?" Nick asked.

Finch took another bite, mumbling some kind of yes. She munched a while longer then said, "I forgot the name but it sounded like a cannon so small one could hold it in their hands, supposedly shooting faster than arrows. A more brutal war—an easier victory."

"But that is not how His Majesty and Prince Felix passed away—those were not the rumours I heard," Prince River remarked.

"No..." Finch stopped as Bear let out a low growl, followed by an arf.

"Don't be silly." Nick softly bopped the dog's large, wet button of a nose. He ignored the four yips that followed.

"So..." she said hesitantly, "What I heard is that this miniature cannon didn't work properly, which makes it even more suspicious. Why was Prince Caracal really there? Many agree it must have been a decoy."

"Hmm, these are strange tidings for sure," the Prince mused. "A handheld cannon... it sounds impossible, a sham indeed. But if it works, perhaps not now, but one day..." He whistled.

"You seem like a clever man," Finch said. "I know nothing about weapons."

"I've learnt a thing or two in nearly fifty years."

"Fifty!" She sounded impressed. "Wouldn't have guessed you a day older than thirty-five."

"That's because it's dark, missus."

"Only in darkness, one can distinguish a man from a boy," she breathed.

He laughed mockingly. "Is that what your brothers have taught you?"

"No, it's what I found out for myself."

Prince River sniffed as he pinched another berry off the branch Bear had fetched and popped it into his mouth. Nick stood corrected—whatever game of Lust they were playing with their eyes and lips, he was glad he could not join. A shiver ran down his back. Anyone older than thirty should not be allowed to get tempted by the Goddess.

Bear yowled.

"I'm sorry," Nick said. He wasn't at all. "He's very agitated tonight—I don't know why."

"Don't worry, I should go," Finch said, sounding uncertain. Her knees cracked as she stood up. "My brothers... they must be wondering where I've been. I still need to pick berries too."

Her abrupt departure took the Prince aback as well. "Err... I promised to give you some bowstring too. It's down in the waggon... I'll have it in a moment."

"No, please. I must go. Thank you so much for the meal," she said. "Best duck I've eaten in ages."

And thus her footsteps disappeared in a crazed flee. If it weren't for Nick having an arm around Bear, creating a more mental than a physical barrier, his friend would have chased after her, uttering yaps, arfs, and all sounds in between.

"Women never say what they really want," the Prince said when she was truly gone.

"So what did she want?"

"I don't know... one can never know."

The answer came later that evening when they returned to the waggon and weren't greeted by the raven's sharp screeching or fluttering of wings too large for the small cage. The same earthly odour of the valerian flowers lingered in the corner where they had left the bird.

"It's gone." Prince River scratched his hair. "She stole it."

"Raw-yowl-yaw-yo," Bear said.

He had indeed told them so, or at least, he had tried to warn them something had been amiss.

"She couldn't have," Nick said. "Her brothers... I think they sneaked in while she was keeping us busy with the story."

"She alerted us... the story of Caracal being a decoy. This was also a decoy." The Prince rummaged through the crates. "I think she was sincere though, for the most part... few blankets are gone but none of the silverlings. Half of the bread I bought in Liquorwell, and a bottle of dark ale. This is how desperate the Silvermarkers have become."

"But to steal a raven? They're not even tasty."

"No, but they go for a fortune." Prince River mumbled some more. "It's a shame, we're getting close to the border. Now that the rumour of the Silvermarker royal family is confirmed, it would have liked to have sent a heads up home that Storm will undoubtedly remain in Moonstone Castle."

Nick gulped. "Why would he?"

"With her husband and son dead, Queen Cobra is going to need a shoulder to cry on... I can only wonder..." The man didn't finish the entire thought, the next taking a leap. "I always expected the next royal marriage to be Princess Alana, to the General or the Scorian lad, but perhaps my brother will beat her to it."

"But he's old."

"Doesn't mean he's not madly in love." The Prince patted him on the back. "These are strange tidings, Nick. It will become harder and harder to remain Ician."

And impossible to kill King Alder and blame it on Prince Storm.

#A/N While I try to tell the story as chronologically as possible with four different timelines, this Nick chapter jumped a few weeks ahead of the adventures of Seb, Alex, and Fox. This to prevent having three sequential Nick chapters near the end of the story. Next up, we travel back in time and return to the Horseshoe Mountains to see what Seb is up to.