Chapter 23

The jungle was a sprawling, tangled web of distorienting groves. With leaden feet Bella trudged, hunched with strain and aching with tiredness as they moved, plodding through the thick, tropical undergrowth, treacherous and hot. The world around her teemed with life. Flies, black and biting, nipped at her face and neck, raising red, itching welts on her skin. Frogs, thriving in the humid trees, danced on the trunks of trees. They shone in the gloom, green and crimson. As she walked, Bella saw their throats bubbling, their sticky feet peeling up from wet leaves, tongues darting out to sneak a bite from the veritable swarm of insects that seemed their constant companion. Spiders, large and ominous, dangled down from low-hanging branches, legs like twigs scintillating in the low light filtering through the canopy. Those spiders made Bella shudder— she had always hated insects, spiders most of all, but as deep into the wild as they were, she knew there were far greater dangers than wayward arachnids. They walked over moss and ferns, each step sending a musky perfume wafting to the sky as the flora was crushed underfoot, and Bella, lagging only slightly behind her guide, took care to place her steps away from the hidden crevices and holes that lurked beneath their feet, primed to turn an ankle.

Bella's feet ached with strain. Unused to such activity, especially in the hard-soled, wooden sandals she'd donned for the funeral service, each step panged and throbbed in protest. Her legs felt like jelly, so stiff and sore they were almost numb, and though the heavy pack on her back dug into her shoulders, Bella said nothing, and did not complain.

Rosalie walked ahead of her, her eyes raking the trees for any signs of trouble. Bella was grateful for the silence— at Rosalie's urging, they did not converse, listening carefully for signs of danger. Bella's blood ran cold when she thought of those pursuing men— those men whose aim Bella did not know— and it ran even colder when she considered the quiet, almost silent padding of paws through the undergrowth, which would be their only signal of the menace of a great, wild cat.

They had set out before dawn. Rosalie, rousing Bella with apologetic greetings, had tidied up their camp with swift efficiency. Bella, drowsy with sleep, had helped her fold the furs, pushing pelt after pelt into a large, sewn sac of brown burlap, folding them small and compact until the sac was full, its bulk bulging threateningly against the carefully knotted rope at the mouth. Rosalie had not asked her to take it— indeed, Bella had seen how she had begun to sling the furs, the food, and her child onto her slender frame, but Bella could not, in good conscience, let her new companion be thusly burdened.

And so, with quaking arms that ached with strain, Bella had hefted the heavy sac of furs onto her back, taking care to keep her bruised and swollen wrist out of the struggle.

They had erased all signs of their stay in the small cave. The remnants of their fire— nothing more than hot, black ash staining the sandy floor, had been shovelled and tossed into the small stream that trickled down the hill. Their footprints, soft and clear in the fine, dusty sand, had been erased. The vines, which had been expertly hung by Rosalie's deft fingers when she'd arrived two days prior, were torn down and tossed, and any remnants of food that could not be salvaged was thrown to the birds, who swooped greedily from their treetop perches to squabble over the prizes for their nests. Bella had watched, squinting through the inky, predawn blackness, as two large, dark, feathered creatures squawked and nipped, each chasing the other before the victor made off with a meatless rabbit bone clutched tightly in his beak. The vanquished had screamed his displeasure into the night, wings flapping and neck hunched, until Bella, following closely behind Rosalie, had strayed out of earshot.

The child, wide-eyed and frightened, had not spoken one word to Bella or his mother since their departure from the cave. He had broken his silence only once all day, whimpering a heartbreaking protest when Rosalie had carried him, sleepy and tousled, into the wild.

"Dark!" was what he'd said, his voice a tiny squeak. "Dark, mummy!"

Rosalie had said nothing in return, but had allowed him to cling to her like a monkey, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She'd tied a wrap around them, freeing her hands to carry the food, and there he had remained, unspeaking and trembling to this very minute.

The child watched her with an unnerving steadiness. Bella, making up the rear, had tried not to stare— already the child was too fearful, too wary, and she would not make matters worse— but it was difficult to keep her gaze down when she sensed those eyes on her, so clear and so wary. If she made a noise, he sniffled. If she stumbled over vines and leaves, he flinched. When she'd scowled, cursing to herself as her foot was soaked with stinking, tepid water from a dark, brackish puddle, he had gripped the back of Rosalie's tunic with white-knuckled worry. He was a quiet, pensive little thing, small though he was, and Bella wondered with unspoken curiosity just what had happened to make the poor thing so petrified of her, who could never have harmed a child even if her own life had depended on it.

He didn't smile when Bella grinned at him. He didn't wave when she wiggled her fingers playfully at him. He didn't blink when she winked, and he didn't answer when she spoke, and only when his mother whispered to him, letting him down to walk a while every few hours, did he move at all.

He ate what was given to him. He drank, sipping carefully from Rosalie's water pouch when she held it to his lips. His feet, bare and filthy by midday, slipped over soft moss and grass with a trepidation that made him seem far older than his tender years, and Bella, try though she might, could not figure him out.

He regarded her with barely visible tolerance, and though Rosalie had said nothing more on the subject, Bella was careful to avoid upsetting the boy.

When the light began to wane again, the unseen sun dipping down to leave them in a haze of murky, grey mist, Rosalie came to a halt and sighed, glancing back at Bella.

"We must stop soon," she said softly. The trees, which had thickened and thinned at various points on their journey, had grown thick again, and they leaned against the trunk of a wide, tall palm. "It will not do to move in darkness."

"No," Bella agreed. They had not spoken a word all day. "No…"

"Come," she said quietly. The boy tightened his hold on her neck. "We've made good time today."

Bella, following meekly, did not complain when her aches and pains flared again. They walked, mindful of the slick algae that coated the stones beneath their feet, until they came across another alcove dug deep into a stone cliff face, its belly black and ominous against the white rock.

Rosalie glanced back at Bella, her face hard and pensive.

"This might do," she hedged, glancing up towards the west. A faint glow lit up the sky beyond the mountain cliff, though even through the thick canopy of leaves and branches, Bella knew the sky was overcast. "But I must check first…"

"Check?" Bella spoke quietly. "Check for what?"

"Animals," Rosalie said. "Or men."

The black maw seemed even darker as the sun retreated, and when Rosalie untied the child, setting him carefully on a stone seat, Bella was surprised to see her pull a long, roughly-hewn knife from her waistband.

"Stay with Bella," said Rosalie to the boy, who paled. "Mummy will be back very soon."

"Dark!" The boy's whimper echoed in the gloom. Rosalie shushed him quickly. "No, mummy! Dark!"

"Hush…" Rosalie kissed him quickly. "Be a good boy and wait right here."

The boy eyed Bella with helpless terror.

"Dark!"

"I'll be back," said Rosalie. The boy pawed at her trousers, his little fists white and shaking. Rosalie turned to Bella, her face grim. "Don't let him scream."

Bella, glancing nervously at the terrified child, said nothing as Rosalie disentangled his grip from her clothes and smiled at him, waving him off with a little waggle of her fingers.

"Be quiet, Finn," she said gently. Bella filed the name away for later. "Be good."

"Dark!" The child's whisper wasn't much quieter than his squeals. "Dark, mummy!"

"The dark doesn't scare me," she said. "Wait here."

And before the child could protest further, she disappeared into the mouth of the cave leaving Bella, their packs, and the child alone in the burgeoning twilight. The boy stared after his mother in evident horror, and to Bella's dismay, she caught the glint of tears on his pale, soft cheeks.

"Hey…" The boy wheeled around to her, eyes wide and wet. "Don't cry."

Her voice was soft, as inviting as she could make it, but it had no effect on the child. Wiping his cheeks with the back of his fist, he brought his thumb to his mouth and chewed it roughly, his shoulders shuddering with suppressed emotion.

Bella sat on the cold, wet earth some ten feet from him, her fingers dug deeply in the dirt.

"Mummy will come back," Bella promised quietly. "She won't be long."

He gnawed nervously on his thumbnail.

"Do you want a biscuit?" she asked quickly. A glance in Rosalie's pack produced one of the hard, tacky, salty rations she'd choked down at noontime. The child said nothing, but shivered in the wind.

"Are you cold?" she queried.

Again, he remained still.

Bella scooted closer to him, ignoring the stiffening set of his spine and the increased wariness in his gaze. She smiled at him again, taking a careful bite from the biscuit. She choked down the nibble and offered the rest to him. Carefully, as if she might snap at him if he moved too quickly, he reached out to snatch it from her, stuffing the entire thing into his mouth and chewing, crumbs falling liberally to the ground.

Bella counted this as a small victory.

"Safe," said Rosalie's voice, making both Bella and the boy jump. Rosalie grinned when the child beamed up at her, face messy with tears and biscuit, and held up his arms to be held.

She took him up at once, and Bella, dragging the fur pack behind her, followed Rosalie into the darkness of the cave.

This cave, unlike the one from the night before, was not a dry, sandy alcove in which a friendly fire flickered and glowed. The hollow was pitch black— so dark that Bella, despite her wide eyes and careful footsteps, could not make out even the slightest figure in the wide, damp hole. She felt Rosalie's fingers twining with hers, a wordless anchor in this unknown space, and Bella allowed herself to be led, wondering by what light Rosalie drew them further into the dark, away from the quickly vanishing light of the outside world.

Bella ran her fingers along the walls. Cold and slimy, she felt the dripping moisture that made its way in rivulets to the cold, stone floor. Rosalie led them down a bend, Bella's eyes scrambling to make sense of the change, stopping only when the floor began to dip down, and as suddenly as they'd started, they stopped, the rear cave wall not two feet before her.

"There is no creature here that calls this place home," said Rosalie. Bella, startled by her closeness, felt the long, warm fingers tighten on her own. "We will go undisturbed tonight, I think."

"How do you know?" Bella asked wonderingly. Blinking in the inky dark, she followed Rosalie's lead and lowered herself to the cave floor, reaching blindly for the furs at her back. The cave was cold, chilly and damp as the mist set in, and she wrapped one carefully around her shoulders. She wrapped the boy next, reaching her hands blindly to feel for him where he rested between the two women, and the child, unseeing and unknowing, did not shy away from her hands, which might have been his mother's, for all he knew.

"It does not smell of beasts," said Rosalie, "and there are no bones."

"Bones?"

"Cats eat meat, Bella," chuckled Rosalie. "They leave bones as a warning."

Bella felt surreptitiously around her, her fingers gliding wetly over stone. What Rosalie said was true— Bella did not smell the dank, meaty reek of rot, and there had not been so much as a stray pebble to trip her on their way down to the end of the cave.

"We will not be disturbed, I think," she said mildly. "Though there will be no fire tonight. There are no convenient vines to hide us, and I should not like to be found out by the men who pursue us."

Bella's lip disappeared between her teeth. Her legs, though glad for the reprieve from their endless walking, grew restless at the very thought. Where were those men, who had followed her so brazenly through the trees? What did they want with them, apart from the sport of chase?

The cave was silent for a long, pregnant pause. Bella, gathering her wits, fought to form the right questions and Rosalie, suddenly shy, offered no more.

"Who are they?" Bella asked softly. Reaching back down into the sac of furs, Bella rifled for one that would be big enough to keep her companion warm. "Where are they from?"

Rosalie was silent.

"What do they want?" Bella asked again. She found a suitable fur, thick, and long, and warm, and she handed it carefully to Rosalie.

Rosalie traded it for a hard biscuit and Bella, though her stomach rebelled at the thought of the salty, briny taste, brought a morsel to her lips.

Her stomach, growling with hunger pangs, thanked her for her troubles.

The cave was silent for a moment longer. Bella heard the sounds of the child eating— not the hard, tacky biscuit again, but the dried game meat Bella had nibbled at the day before, before her exhaustion had taken over and she'd been forced to sleep.

"They're hunters," said Rosalie slowly, breaking the silence. "Brutes and cowards, but hunters nonetheless."

Bella felt anxiety brewing in the pit of her stomach, but she did not show it. The darkness was complete now— the sun, what little of it could reach them so far in the trees, had dipped completely behind the wall of mountains, and even the faint, grey glow from the foggy jungle had disappeared from the mouth of the cave.

"I…" Bella heard a tension in Rosalie's voice, though she could not see her face. "They…"

Bella said nothing, listening hard.

"They're evil men," she said quietly. The child, content enough to snuggle close to his mother, even in the dark, began to drowse. Bella could hear the soft, snoring breaths over the burgeoning drizzle outside. "Cruel and evil men…"

"Do you know them?" asked Bella. "Do they know you?"

"Yes," sighed Rosalie. "I know them, though not well, but they do not know me. Not really."

Bella frowned.

"They're looking for me," said Rosalie. Bella heard a new hardness in her voice. "They're looking for me, and my son."

"But they grabbed me," Bella said quietly. She could almost feel the man's hands on her, pulling and pinching. "They didn't hesitate."

"No, they wouldn't," sighed Rosalie angrily. "They are not good men, Bella. Not honourable. Though they do not seek you, they would not hesitate to take you, should they find you. Although…"

"What?"

Rosalie sighed.

"Tell me about you," she said quietly. "Enough about me. Where do you come from? Where are your people?"

And Bella, laughing, leaned back against the cave wall.

"Where do I come from?" Bella chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," said Rosalie dryly. "Are you a farmer?"

"No."

"Fisher?"

"No."

"Courtier?" teased Rosalie in a whisper.

"No!"

"Royal jester?"

"No!" Bella giggled. "Nothing of the sort!"

Rosalie laughed.

"What then?" she asked. "Healer? Weaver? Merchant?"

Bella, shaking her head in the dark, heaved a tired sigh.

"No," she said. "Not that…"

Rosalie went quiet.

"Your accent is strange," she said quietly, after a long moment of silence. Outside the cave, the rain began to fall heavily, echoing noisily in their hollow. "I noticed it the minute you spoke."

"Is it?" Bella felt self-conscious.

"And your clothes are fine."

"I…"

"Or, should I say, were fine," Rosalie corrected. "They were filthy and torn, but I know good craftsmanship when I see it…"

"Where are you—" Bella interrupted, her face suddenly hot, but she fell silent when Rosalie continued.

"... and even in the West, we've heard the stories."

Bella, blinking, felt her indignation die on her tongue.

In the West. In the West. In the West… we've heard the stories. Not they've heard them. We've heard them…

We. In the West.

Her heart hammered in her breast.

"Please say something," said Rosalie softly. The silence grew thick around them. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"What stories have you heard?" Bella asked quietly. She did not know just how dangerous the Westerners were, but with vivid recollection made even more colourful by the blackness in her eyes, Bella recalled the hideous sight of Samuelo, tumbling headlong down the path, his body riddled with arrows like pins in a cushion. They'd stuck him hard, and buried deep, and she remembered the white stillness of his face, the way his mouth had twisted in his final, gasping, painful cry…

She thought of Rosalie's knife— that long, hidden, silver blade— and recoiled in involuntary fear.

"Stories of you," said Rosalie softly. "Stories of your… origins."

"My origins?" Bella's throat was dry, but she dared not ask for water. "What origins?"

"Divine origins," said Rosalie, almost too quiet to be heard. "Godly origins."

"All lies," Bella croaked. She could feel her pulse in her throat. "All wrong…"

"So they say," she murmured. "The leaders— my leaders— call it hogwash."

Bella said nothing.

"They call you a liar and your king, a fool," she continued. "They say the people are misled, and your Counsellors, captive…"

Bella bit her lip. She had no defense, no rebuttal to the claims of her divinity which she had, since the moment she'd woken, disputed with vehement opposition. She had only words, which felt like feeble protection in this place, with this stranger, but she used them nonetheless.

"I'm not divine," she said lamely. "Not even close."

Rosalie said nothing.

"I'm not… from here," she said carefully. "Not from the East, nor the West."

Rosalie grunted.

"Nonsense," she said softly. "Absolute nonsense, and yet…"

Bella waited.

"What else could have made the fire?" she asked. "We saw it, too, you know…"

The airplane. Falling. Screaming. Crying.

The boy, in his red t-shirt, his fingers slicked with blood.

Bella felt sick, as if she might vomit, but as quickly as her nausea rose, anger bristled sharply to drive it out.

"It nearly killed me," she said harshly. "That fall. That fire. And it did kill the others on board."

"Others?"

"Who do you think we were burning in Terosankta?" she asked angrily. "It wasn't villagers, or farmers. It was the passengers!" The English word ran across her tongue like a barb. "Other people on the fiery thing," she clarified awkwardly, "who didn't live."

Rosalie said nothing.

"We were burning them," said Bella, dejected and furious. "We were burning the bodies, and when we were waiting for the smoke to clear— for the pyres to burn to dust— it was your people who attacked and drove me into the trees…"

"They are not my people," Rosalie snapped, and for the first time, Bella thought she heard a lick of true anger in her voice. "We may be from the same land, but we are not of the same mould."

"They came with bows," Bella went on hotly. "And arrows. And great, metal swords… they attacked the King, they attacked the soldiers. They even attacked the Prince, though he's just a boy, and the healer, who hasn't hurt a soul in all his life without great duress…"

Rosalie made an impatient noise, but Bella went on.

"And I was knocked into the trees, and fell right off the path," she continued. "It's very narrow, you see, and I couldn't climb…"

Her wrist, still bruised and purple, smarted angrily at the reminder of her fall.

"And then, if you please, I find myself chased by lunatics in the jungle," she growled. "Maybe murderers, maybe rapists, for all I know…"

The word made Rosalie hiss.

"And then I find you," she said. "You and your boy, who is so terrified of me— me!— that he cannot even look me in the face!"

"He is…"

"And so I'll ask you, this time," Bella grumbled, her mood black and sour, "and I beg for an honest answer. You know me now, as well as you can in this place, and so I ask you: Who are you, and where do you come from? For if you are from the West," her stomach flipped anxiously in her belly, "I've heard naught but warnings of great danger."

Bella wished she could see where the other woman had put that long, glinting blade.

Her chest heaved with emotion. Her heart, heavy and sore, throbbed painfully in her breast. Her tongue felt sharp and barbed, and she could not yet discern whether or not Rosalie was truly deserving of her ire, but that threatening word she'd spoken— West— had drawn all manner of visions and fears from the recesses of her mind. The West had been an abstract and nebulous terror— a distant hypothetical that lingered only in tales and myth, untouchable by the safe bubble erected around her since she'd been discovered on the beach. The healer had kept her safe. Esme had kept her well. The King had tried his best to make her happy, and the Prince had tried bring her good company, and yet here she was, in the untamed wilds, with a woman from that nebulous West, whose very presence in this dark, stygian cave was the most dangerous threat she had known yet.

"I…" Rosalie's voice broke, as if she had been crying, and Bella felt a pang of regret. "I am Rosalie," she said haltingly, "as you already know. And this is Finn, my boy."

Bella said nothing, her sniffle echoing off of the high, stone walls.

"We are from… the Camp," she said, and Bella, though she could not see her face, thought she could imagine the blotchy, red embarrassment on her cheeks. "The Home Camp, as it's known by us."

Bella remained silent.

"I was born there," Rosalie was quick to add. "Most of us were. My parents were poor, farmers who had nothing but arid, stony land to till, and they died before I could know them."

"I'm sorry…"

"I was raised in the Camp," she said. "Children without parents are always brought there, and I was no exception. Myself, and my brothers."

"Brothers?"

"Two," said Rosalie. "Twins. Older by about a year."

Bella nodded in acknowledgement, though Rosalie could not see.

"I don't know how it is where you're from, but in the Camp, girls only have two choices," she continued. "When you come of age, you can join the militia, or you can find a husband. You're a fighter or a breeder… nothing more, and no less."

Before Bella could protest, Rosalie went on.

"I chose the latter," she said. Her voice was small now, as if she were trying to whisper, but couldn't. "I chose to marry. I was never a doughty fighter…"

"You seem doughty enough to me," Bella said. "You…"

"I have no great skill," Rosalie replied. "No finesse in swordcraft. I never took to archery, and my form is awful."

Bella chewed her lip.

"I married high," said Rosalie. "My brothers arranged it, as is custom…"

Bella felt ill.

"My husband was the leader's son," she said gently. "His father, Bruno, was a formidable man. Strong, commanding— a true leader, in every way…"

Bella thought of King Edward, of the true leadership she'd seen in him, and shuddered. Strong and commanding was his way, too, though Bella had a not-so-sneaking suspicion that the Western leader's aptitudes were more reliant on fear than love.

"He died from a scratch, if you'd believe it," Rosalie snorted. The child, Finn, began to snore, and Bella waited while she kissed his sleeping cheek. "He got it in the training yard— no one knows who really did it— but the wound festered, and he died in the night, not two weeks after the spar."

"His oldest son, Jamos, took over, as is custom. Much like your King Edward took over after his father perished."

Bella bit her tongue to keep quiet. Rosalie fell silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts, and Bella asked a hedging question in the interim.

"Did you marry him?" Bella asked. "This… Jamos? Is that why you left?"

"No," Rosalie barked a laugh. "No, I didn't marry Jamos. I married Rojce, the second brother."

Bella listened carefully.

"Bruno was cruel," said Rosalie simply, "but his sons are crueler. Bruno ruled by fear, but he was apt, and skilled. Jamos rules by fear alone— no skill, no reason, no order— and Rojce, well…"

The child shifted on her lap and Rosalie, shushing him gently, waited until he settled to speak again.

"He was a terrible husband and an even worse father, and I couldn't abide it any longer. His swordsmen call him King, as if he had any power at all, and he ruled me as if I were nothing more than a kitchen maid. He wanted a pretty wife, for his brother has none at all, and he wants nothing more than to be his brother's superior. Once he got it— once he got me— he became fixated on having a son. Every father wants a son— a daughter is just a liability— and once Rojce got his, he grew covetous."

"He wanted a strong son," she spat angrily. "A healthy son. Finn was born early— he was too small, and too thin— and he has always been terrified of his father. Rojce asks too much of him… he is just three summers old!"

Bella could see, even in the short time she'd spent with her companions, that the child at Rosalie's hip was a gentle thing. Not a fighter, nor a bully, but a small, impressionable, and sensitive child who loved his mother with the entirety of his small, tender heart.

"He's struck me many times," continued Rosalie. "Oh, I dreamed of striking him back. Sometimes, I'd lay in bed beside him and imagine just how easy it would be to strike him dead," she hissed, "but he had never laid a hand on my boy."

Bella stayed very still.

"So when he did," said Rosalie coldly, "I knew I had to make a choice. I could stay there, in that godforsaken house, where my husband would beat me and my child into oblivion, or I could flee into the wilds of the East to beg mercy from the fabled Eastern King, who my husband called weak. Rojce has no idea about true weakness, about the weakness of spirit to harm a child— his own child— and to strike his wife, who carries his second child yet within."

And Bella, fighting to make sense of her final pronouncement, felt the weight of it settle on her at once, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"You're pregnant?" she stuttered, reaching out blindly in the dark. She found Rosalie's hand, worn and warm, on the cool, smooth stone.

Rosalie let her take it, and did not complain when Bella squeezed.

"Yes," she said, "though the Gods only know for how much longer."

"What?"

"Travel is not… recommended," she said softly. "Not when Finn came so early."

Rosalie brought their hands, joined together, to her middle. There Bella felt the telltale signs of burgeoning life— the skin pulled tight around her belly, still too small to be seen through her tunic, but beneath which ran a taut, hard globe.

Bella pulled away, feeling invasive and awkward.

"So there you have it," said Rosalie grimly. "That is my person and my purpose. I hope you find them satisfactory."

A cold shard of ice had entered her voice and Bella, abashed by her loss of temper, felt her cheeks redden in the dark. The rain, which was falling liberally, continued to drop, and a loud thunderclap rolled through the cave.

"I'm sorry," said Bella softly, "for…"

Rosalie sighed.

"Don't think on it," she said wearily. "It is no matter. We both have secrets to keep, and it is not wrong to be wary. I only pried for the sake of my son. I could not lead him into further danger… not when we're so close to safety."

"So those men…" Bella cleared her throat. "They're trying to…"

"To take me back, I assume," said Rosalie darkly, "although I can't be certain. I'm sure the raiding party that overtook Terosankta was part of the force sent to retrieve me. Rojce has good fighters in his retinue, and they know how to track."

"But…"

"I've been careful to cover my tracks," said Rosalie. "I only light fires when we have dire need. Three nights ago, my boy was almost blue with cold, and so I had no choice. The cave, luckily enough, was able to be hidden."

Bella felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, who snored softly on his mother's lap.

"He's terrified of being found," said Rosalie. "He hates the dark, and he worries about those men who chase us…"

"I've no doubt," Bella soothed gently. "He's just a child."

"But we will be safe soon," she said, "Gods willing."

Bella said nothing for a long breath.

"How far are we from the Capital?" Bella asked gently. "I do not know the way."

"That depends," said Rosalie, "on how we move."

"How we move?"

"As it stands now, I travel north," she said. "The shadow of the mountain is rough terrain, as you well know…"

"Yes."

"But it is our best bet to escape unnoticed," she continued. "The hunters do not believe I have the gumption to travel so, and so they look for me on the most direct paths. That's how they found you."

Bella grunted, displeased.

"What they wanted with you, I can only guess," she sighed. "They are vile men, and no doubt would have found some use for you."

Bella shuddered.

"When I found you," she continued, "I was checking traps. I heard you shout, and I heard them shout, and so I hid. Finn was safe— the cave was far, and well-hidden— and when I saw them chasing you, I knew I couldn't just leave."

"I'll thank you every day of my life for that," Bella said shakily. "I don't know what I'd have done otherwise…"

"It would do me no good to deny you," said Rosalie gently. "It is not our way."

Bella frowned, confused.

"Everything happens for a reason," said Rosalie, with a quiet confidence that gave Bella pause. "Everything. I was orphaned for a reason, I met Rojce for a reason. I have my son for a reason, and this unborn baby for another. I fled for a reason, and held camp in that particular cave for a reason, and I've no doubt… I met you for a reason, too."

Lightning flashed and Bella, startled by the brightness, caught sight of her companions in the brief illumination. Rosalie sat, just as Bella had imagined her, with her back curled protectively over her son, her fingers teasing his hair. She was not looking at Bella, but stared down at her sleeping boy, who rested fitfully in her lap.

"But to answer your first question, I believe it will take us some days to clear the trees," she said. "I want to go to the Miner's Cave… it is some miles north of us now, and there is a road there that leads to the Capital."

"How do you know all this?" Bella breathed. "If you're not from here?"

Rosalie laughed quietly, and Bella caught a glint of her golden hair in another flash of lightning.

"I'm not from here," she conceded, "but nonetheless, we have maps. Greatly detailed maps, which I've had plenty of time and occasion to study. They are old, it's true, but the landscape remains unchanged."

"Is the road… open?" Bella felt cold and jumpy. "If the trees protect us here…"

"They would not dare strike there," said Rosalie. "Not even if they could see us going. Not in King Edward's very shadow, where his might and strength is at its height."

"They struck in Terosankta," said Bella doubtfully. "What's to stop them?"

"Terosankta, while sacred, is not well-guarded," she explained gently. "Even with the guards the King would have brought…"

"There were at least twenty," said Bella softly. "More than I've seen in one place."

Lightning flashed again, and Bella caught sight of Rosalie's wry grin.

"Armies are greater than twenty," she said, amused. "Much greater. And if the rumours are true, King Edward's army is greater than any that has come before it."

"I've not seen an army," said Bella dubiously.

"Nor would you," chuckled Rosalie. "Why would you? But believe me… they are there. When we get to the Capital, you'll see."

Bella, frowning, hitched her shoulder up. For the moment, she had run out of questions, and the two women listened to the pattering of rain on the leaves outside.

"Once we reach the King's road," said Rosalie, breaking the silence, "we will be safe. We will have a long walk ahead, it's true, but we won't be in danger from hunters or militia."

Bella, clenching her eyes shut, said nothing.

"But for now," sighed Rosalie, "we should rest. We must move on tomorrow, as soon as this storm clears, though we might have no choice but to walk in the rain."

Bella grimaced.

"The cold will be your friend, once we start moving," said Rosalie. She reached past Bella, who had begun to shiver, and pulled out more furs from the sac. Bella heard, rather than saw, as she made a small, makeshift nest, laying herself and Finn in the warmth. Bella, curling her bare toes beneath her for warmth, added to the pile on Finn's other side, and together, they sandwiched the boy between them.

Bella lay awake for a long time, listening to the thunder and the rain, before she fell into a light, troubled sleep.

Pronunciation Guide:

Jamos — YAH-mose
Rojce — Royce

A/N: As always, let me know what you think!

UPDATE: Many people are asking about what language Rose is speaking. Rose and Bella are both speaking Maronese, not English. Hope this helps.