A Promise Through The Bars: The First Series

by Lemon Leopard

Princess Snow White, a title dead to her, is imprisoned one fateful night. For twelve years, she struggles to survive in her cell, slowly losing her faith, her hope, and finally her will to live. Just as she is about to end it all, a woman named Sara is thrown into the cell near hers. Sara asks Snow White to do her a favor. A favor that may change everything.

32. Chapter 32 A Healer's Heart

Chapter 32 A Healer's Heart

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The bed shifts and sinks beside me. I clench my eyes, wishing the unpleasant sensation away. The heavy arm draped over me vanishes and the strong shoulder pulls out from under my head. Eric's getting up! I drag myself out of the deep, black pit of sleep and open my eyes as the bed creaks. It's still dark, but first light slips through the holes of the tattered curtain covering the window, giving just enough light to see. Eric sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me. I glance at the candle on the bedside table. The flame no longer burns, yet the blackened tip of the wick is still tall. Eric must have extinguished it sometime while I was asleep. The bed creaks beneath me, drawing my eyes back to him.

"Eric?" I stretch my bandaged hand towards him, brushing the back of his arm. He stops leaning forward to grab his boots. Fear churns my stomach. "Why are you getting up?"

He turns his body and looks down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. A sad smile turns up his mouth. "It's nearly morn. I'm sure Wessel is goin' to come in here to check on ye. If he finds me in this bed with ye..." His mouth ticks up into a smirk. "Ye asked me to keep this secret."

My heart wrenches painfully. I hate seeing him think of this as a game. I hate all this so much. God, if I come clean now, he'll walk out that door probably never to return. That day will come. It must come. If it came now, I know Wessel would take me the rest of the way to Hammond's fortress, but God, if that day comes now...I find myself forcing the fakest smile. "I did say that," I withdraw my hand from him, though every bit of my flesh is begging me not to. "I did say that," I whisper to myself. What a harsh reminder.

His smirk grows into a devilish grin when his eyes leave mine and drop to my mouth. My heart takes off, driven wild and mad. He turns about and comes over me, bracing his forearm on the bed beside me. That warning voice inside me tells me to stop him, to send him away. I find myself rolling onto my back and snaking my left arm about his neck, my right arm still supported in the sling. Our gazes meet, his eyes dark with desire and mischief. I feel my resolve slipping from me as the thrill blooms in my stomach. It builds, pressing against my walls until it spills out of me as uncontrollable giggling. He drops his mouth to mine, catching my giggling in his kiss. My giggling ebbs to the warmth of his lips. I clutch the back of his neck as best I can with my bandaged hand to keep his mouth on mine.

He tears his mouth from mine. I gasp in protest, wanting his mouth back on mine. "Eric!—" he stoops to me and kisses my jaw, cutting me short. I still beneath him like stone, my eyes growing bigger while he starts kissing his way down my throat. The bristles of his beard poke and scratch me as he leaves a blazing trail down my throat. He reaches the base of my throat and presses his parted mouth there. Something soft, warm, and wet barely touches me, striking my nerves there like he has struck his flint against his iron. I whimper and squirm beneath him. My eyes flicker shut as he kisses and suckles up and down my throat. The realization hits me hard. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.

"You ass!" I curse, nearly breathless.

He stops abruptly and pulls back, his eyes wide with surprise, but he's still grinning. "I'm an arse!?"

I shake my head at him. "You're teasing me!"

He laughs hard and lowers his face to me. I close my eyes, waiting for his mouth. He bypasses my mouth and breathes out hot air onto my ear. "Just somethin' to whet yer appetite."

My eyes fly open, my cheeks blazing. "Eric!"

He laughs again and presses a wonderfully hard but all too brief kiss to my mouth before he sits up. "Try to sleep, lass. Ye need it." He turns his back to me and pulls on his boots. He stands up, grabs his belt off the chair and fastens it about him.

"How am I supposed to sleep after that!?" I push myself to sit up.

He only laughs as he grabs his coat and searches for the sleeves. I can't stop my eyes from travelling down his back. My eyes want to go all the way down to his arse, but they stop where he was stabbed. I open my mouth to ask him about his stab wound, but the question dies on my tongue when he pulls his coat on and turns to me.

His face falls. "What's wrong?"

I frown. "Your back—"

"It's fine!" he says, exasperated.

That pricks my nerves. "No, I mean your wound! Your flesh had turned black around the wound and it reeked of death! I know one cannot keep blackened flesh without risking infection." God, I feel sick just thinking about this. I swallow hard and brace myself for his surely gruesome answer...whatever that will be. "How did Torrance treat your wound?"

He returns my frown. "How do ye think?" He holds his hands out, looking down at me with expectant eyes. I don't want to say it. I don't. He sighs and drops his arms. "He cut it out."

"Mm," I hum, my stomach churning more. Horrible images flash across my mind; horrible imaginings of this big, gaping hole in his back, his red muscle and the ivory bits of his spine visible. "Does it hurt?" I croak. The corners of my eyes start to sting.

He shakes his head. "Nae."

My heart sinks. He said he hates lying...but how can it not hurt? "Did you just lie?"

His eyes harden and his shoulders stiffen. "I wouldnae lie to ye!"

A pang enters my heart. Hypocrite. Snow, you damn hypocrite. "Can you feel again? You said the poison numbed you."

His anger leaves him with his exhale, his gaze growing gentle. "I feel again." He stoops to me, bracing his hands on either side of me, and he presses his lips to mine. Just as I kiss him back, he breaks away. "I feel everythin', lass." I force my eyes open, meeting his tender gaze. "'Specially yer mouth," he murmurs, burning me alive with his icy gaze. My eyes prickle and my sight of him blurs. I close my eyes as gently as I can. I do not want him to see me cry. He has seen me weeping enough already.

He presses a lingering kiss to my cheek before pulling away. "Lay down and try to sleep."

The floor groans beneath his slow footsteps. The door clicks and creaks as it is pulled open.

I barely open my eyes and watch him step out into the hall through my black lashes. "You'll come back?" I ask him.

He stops in his tracks and turns back to look at me. "Aye," he whispers. He lingers in the doorway for a few breaths before he slowly pulls the door shut, leaving me alone. Try to sleep. I scoff and roll my teary eyes. How am I supposed to do that now!? Wessel will be in here shortly. I can't sleep now.

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A gentle rapping on wood startles me awake. My eyes fly open and snap to the bedroom door. The rapping stops. Despite Eric telling me the next one to visit would be Wessel, I can't help but be disappointed. Eric would not knock at my door. He'd come in on his own terms. The knocker is either Wessel or Torrance.

I prop myself on my left elbow and clear my throat. "You can come in," I call softly.

The door clicks and creaks open, revealing the redhead Eric knew would come.

"Good morning," he greets me, looking at me from my head to my bandaged toes to my head. He smiles down at me, relief filling his face. "How are you feeling today?"

A tender smile lightens my mouth. My hands are still burning, my feet are tingling, my toes are numb, and my shoulder still aches, but there's no point in bringing that up and casting a shadow over his day. "I'm warm and in a safe bed. Other than itching to stand on my feet, I feel great."

We both chuckle, stealing the stuffiness out of the air.

"Good," he says as our laughter ebbs. "I'm relieved to hear that."

I push off my elbow to sit up in bed and rest my burning hand on the blankets covering my lap. "Come in. Sit please." I hold a wrapped hand to the empty half of the bed.

Wessel lights up, standing up straighter and grinning more. "Let me bring in breakfast first. Then we can visit…like before."

My heart lightens, softening the edges of my smile. "Just like before." Just like fifteen years before that fateful night.

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"Then," Wessel leans toward the bedside table and sets his empty drink on it, trying to stifle his laughter, "he threw the ring in his mouth and swallowed it!"

"What!?" I laugh so hard that my stomach hurts and tears sting my eyes. "Oh my God!" I wheeze. Wessel tries to contain his laughter, but he ends up laughing so hard with me that he holds a hand to his stomach.

"And he," I fight to speak, but bouts of laughter keep escaping me, "don't tell me," I laugh more, though it's less severe, "he never gave it to her, I hope. I mean, it was," I shudder from the thought, "inside him."

Wessel snorts so loudly in his failed attempt to quiet his laughter that both our eyes widen. More hard laughter escapes us both. A few tears trickle down my cheeks. My lungs burn from the lack of air. My God, based on Wessel's hard laughter, the unfaithful man must have relieved his bowels and—I can't help shuddering again in disgust.

Gruff laughter joins ours. My ears tingle and my heart beats harder. My eyes turn to the open door. There Eric is leaning against the doorframe with his strong arms crossed, his shoulders shaking with his far more tempered laughter.

"Eric!" Wessel greets between his laughter.

Eric barely takes his eyes from me to nod at Wessel before refocusing his attention on me. "If ye really want to know, that cheatin' lout dug through his own shite to get the ring."

"Ah!" I grimace and wriggle beneath my covers, my skin crawling.

Eric laughs at me. He manages to rein in his laughter before Wessel. "He cleaned it off in the river and he went to the lass he was havin' the affair with!"

"Oh no! No, no, no!" I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, willing him to not utter it!

Eric snickers at me while Wessel finally quells his laughing spell. The redhead chimes in. "Thankfully, Michelle found the lady her betrothed was having the affair with and told her everything before he could get to her! She even told the lady about the ring he ingested."

"And shat out," Eric mutters. He unfolds his arms and strides to the remains of our breakfast on the bedside table.

"So disgusting!" I shudder again. "I pray she didn't touch that ring."

"She didnae," Eric says as he plucks the last slice of bread off the plate and tears it into two unequal halves. His eyes dart up to me and he offers me the bigger piece while he puts the smaller piece into his mouth.

"Oh no thank you." I shake my head with a lingering smile, my stomach aching from laughter and full from breakfast. "I've had my fill."

He grins while he chews and swallows. "Good," he says, pleased. "Ah," he glances at Wessel, "the dwarves are lookin' for ye, Weasel."

My eyes widen and go to Wessel. "Weasel!?" I question aloud.

Wessel frowns at me. "It's his way of poking fun at me." He turns his attention to Eric. "Eric, really?" he asks, his disbelief flattening his voice. "They've had their fill of you?"

"Mhm," Eric hums, pulling my eyes up to him. He has turned his back to Wessel to scavenge our leftover breakfast. He doesn't spare me a glance, but I see the mischief gleaming in his eyes. He is focused on the food as a pretense. My stomach tightens and that sinful ache appears between my legs. I shouldn't want Eric to get us alone...but I want him to. I want to banter openly with him, to hold him, to kiss him. He won't bed me. He held back last night. Hell, I laid in his arms all night and nothing happened! Surely no terrible sin will come from this...though am I giving him false hope by entertaining our whims?

"Maybe you better go see the dwarves," I find myself saying. Dwarves I have yet to meet. I tear my eyes from Eric to look at Wessel. It's not the easiest task to do. Wessel looks down at me and frowns. I shrug my good shoulder as nonchalantly as possible. "It must be important. Right, Eric?" I glance up at the man, tilting my chin all the way back because of his stature.

He looks at me out of the corners of his eyes without turning his head. A slow grin spreads his mouth, silently conveying his playful intent for me. "Nae, no' important, but vital!"

It takes everything in me to not grin back, the corners of my mouth twitching desperately.

Wessel sighs reluctantly. "Alright…" The bed springs up as he stands and goes slowly to the door. I tear my eyes from Eric once more to look at Wessel. He has stopped in the doorway, his worried eyes going from Eric to me. His eyes still on me, a frown on his mouth. I frown at him while worry stirs in me. Even though he didn't press it more, the fact that he had asked me how much I care for Eric...Wessel has always been so observant. A good judge of people. He has seen through the most thought out lies. He has caught me in my lies before.

Wessel narrows his eyes on Eric's back. "Those dwarves better be expecting me," he warns. I can't help but swallow. God, I hope he didn't hear me swallow.

Eric snorts and shakes his head. "They will be. They want to discuss the details with someone more...agreeable." He shrugs his shoulders. More worry stirs my stomach. The details of what? "I was pissin' 'em off with all my questions."

"That sounds like you," Wessel mutters and goes out the door. He looks between Eric and me once more before he finally disappears down the hall. Eric continues picking at the leftover food, but I see and feel his tension and impatience while we both listen to Wessel's slowly receding footsteps. Thankfully, each step is quieter than the last. I perk up when I hear the front door open. Eric brushes the crumbs from his fingers and looks at me fully with his cheeky grin. My suppressed grin finally breaks free and pushes into my cheeks. I barely hear the front door close.

"Finally!" he breathes and crawls onto the bed, bracing his hands on both sides of me. I can't help giggling as I wrap my good arm about him and welcome his eager kiss. I tingle and burn all over. That sinful ache intensifies between my thighs. I brush my legs together for some relief. He kisses me several times, each kiss harder and deeper than the last. My giggling dies when his tongue mingles with mine. The fact that he sought to get me alone so soon after he snuck out at dawn—he breaks away and brushes his mouth along my jaw to my ear lobe, scratching me with his cut beard. Pleasure trickles down my neck and spine, wringing a soft moan from me. He presses a gentle kiss to my ear.

"Why did you chase Wessel out?" I ask. His mouth lifts from my ear, but his hot breaths strike my flesh. "It's not as if we've been apart for days." But God, it felt like it.

He pulls back to look at me, the corners of his mouth falling. "Aye, it wasnae days, but leavin' ye this morn…" His eyes shift back and forth in mine as they fill with so much I cannot discern. He sits back on the bed, his eyes not straying from me. "Before the phantom soldiers found me face down in the mud…" He swallows, the apple of his throat going up and down. His gaze drops to my chest. "...I had nothin' to live for. Tsk," he scoffs suddenly and looks up at me, so full of scorn for himself, "'cept for my next drink."

I swallow hard. She threatened to kill me if I refused to hunt ye. I begged her to kill me. What a bitter reminder of the man he was when he first found me in that dark forest. God. The man he was…How can someone change so much over such a short span of time!?

"Until ye," he says softly. Terrible guilt torments me, haunting me with the disgusting implications of my lies. He presses his mouth closed and draws in a deep breath through his nose, swelling his chest with something strong. He parts his mouth, ready to spill all his guts out to me.

"Sara gave me her ring to give to you!" I throw out the words that will strike his heart. Whatever he was about to say hitches in his throat. He tries to speak, but no words leave him.

I shake my head at him. "You may have felt like you had nothing to live for after Sara…," anger fills me; anger over her murder, revulsion over how I desecrated her body long after her death, "...but surely you had something to live for. Even before our paths crossed! Why else would she want to give you her ring if not as a reminder that this world would suffer greatly if you—" God, I can't say it "—if it lost your heart?"

He finally breaks out of his stunned state. His mouth stiffens as he sits up straighter. "Yer wrong about that, lass. Sara had this amazin' sense. She could look at the clouds in the sky and tell ye the moment it would start rainin'. She could look at the leaves on the trees and tell ye when winter's comin'. She could speak with someone for a wee bit and tell ye how his life is gonna turn out. I know that when ye and Sara spoke, she knew ye would escape." He sighs. "She knew our paths would cross," he murmurs more to himself than to me. He shakes his head and focuses all his attention on me, piercing me through with his gaze. "She knew."

He truly has lost himself down this path. It would be laughable if it was not I who led him down it. "I'm sorry, but Sara was not some clairvoyant!" His eyes harden, but I continue, "She probably had a good sense of people, I'm not denying that, but she entrusted me with her ring as a last ditch hope! No more than that. All she wanted to do is remind you that you're a good man and you cannot lose your will to live!" He almost glares at me from across the bed, his body stiff. If I know him at all, his anger is masking his hurt. That voice inside me shouts at me not to, but I tentatively reach across the space and rest my wrapped hand on his knee. His eyes drop to my hand resting on his knee. Slowly, his shoulders sink as his anger cools.

I swallow hard. I don't want to say it. My heart begs me to not say it, to not push him away...but if I love him at all, I must utter it. "You have so much to live for. So much more than me. You can't…" Say it, damn you! Say it! "...You cannot live for me. I'm not worth it."

He lifts his eyes to me, shaking his head. "Why are ye sayin' all this!?"

My heart sinks so deep beneath the weight of my guilt. God, I do not want to. It takes everything in me, but I drag my heavy hand from him and tuck my hand into the folds of my covers. How did we go from such giddy mischief to this? "Eric..." I lick my dry, cracked lips. How he could ever want to kiss these is beyond me. "Hope is beautiful. It really is. Sara gave that to me two years ago," I choke up, my eyes stinging with tears. "But I hate false hope. I hate it more than anything...perhaps as much as you hate lies. I'm just a messenger to you." I gulp down my spit, hurting the lump in my throat. The worst pang runs through my heart like a double-edged sword. My sight of him blurs. Damn it, I'm going to cry again! He cannot see me cry. I drop my head to hide myself from him. "I should be nothing more than that to you," I say, my voice quivering.

That same bitter air from Delaney Lake settles over us. I sniffle back the wetness trying to drain from my nose. Tears slip down my cheeks. What I wouldn't give to take it all back. I certainly don't believe Sara was some clairvoyant, but Eric is right. She had an amazing sense. She said I would escape. She asked me to deliver her ring to her husband...as if she knew our paths would cross. What I wouldn't give to go back in time, to still be embracing him, kissing him, but if I hold one ounce of love for him, I will not let him hope in any future between us. He has already lost himself too far down this path. I cannot let it continue. Hell, I shouldn't have begged him to lay with me last night. I shouldn't have let him kiss me on our way to Vilgard.

"Yer belittlin' yerself," he speaks up.

God, I wish that's all it was. I force myself to shake my head, though I cannot bring myself to look at him. "That's not it," I say hoarsely.

"Then what is it?" he asks pointedly.

That question...the perfect answer for that would be the truth. It'd be not just the perfect answer, but the right answer. Yet it would shake and shatter everything that has grown between us. When I utter the four words I am Snow White, he will be angered so much that he may walk out that door, out of Vilgard, and out of my life for the rest of my days. I would never see him again. I choke on a sudden sob. We haven't even known each other for a month, yet it feels as though we have been through hell and back together. He cares for me with only one expectation; that I do not keep my heart from him. For someone to treasure another's heart so much—the front door creaks open.

"Hello?" Torrance calls down the hall. "Eric, you here!?"

Eric sighs, torturing my ears and my heart. "Aye, we're in here!"

My cheeks flush. Why would he say that!? I scrub the tears from my eyes with the backs of my sleeve as Torrance shuts the door and walks down the hall. I accidentally scratch my frostbitten cheeks with my dress sleeve, causing sharp pain to shoot into my cheekbones, but I soak up the last of my tears and look up at the doorway. Torrance steps into view and stops at the threshold, looking at us both. Hot blood sears my face. What must this look like!? Eric sitting on the bed with me!?

Torrance frowns at me. "Are you alright, milady?"

I sniffle back the water trying to drain from my nose. "Yes," I manage to say, my voice mostly even.

His frown deepens and he looks to Eric. "Are you making her cry?"

Eric says, "We were just—"

"I was crying over Eric!" I jump in, drawing both their gazes to me. God forbid Eric admits to Torrance what just transpired! My eyes sting with another wave of tears, blurring Torrance. "I'm just overjoyed he's alive and healing. Tears of joy." I choke up. A few tears trickle down my cheeks. I hide my face in my left hand. "I'm sorry," I say into my wrapped hand, muffling myself. God, I wish I could use both hands!

A comforting hand rests on my shoulder. "There's nothing to apologize for," Torrance says. He rubs my arm in a vain effort to comfort me. I fight with myself to stop my weeping. I manage to quiet myself, but my tears still flow.

"The dwarves are looking for you," Torrance speaks up. Me?

Eric groans. "What do they want now!?" Oh, they are looking for him. Did he purposely anger the dwarves so they would drive him away and he could come here?

"They want to go over the final details with you. I think they want you to go with them to scope it out."

"Go with them?" I lift my face out of my hand and turn my blurry gaze to Eric. My stomach knots with worry. "What do you mean? What's going on? What are you two planning!?"

Despite my tears, I can see Eric's face fall. "How we are going to pay Hector," he says. "We're plannin' a heist."

"A heist!?" My jaw drops. "I thought you said you weren't thieves anymore!"

"Uh," Torrance starts, pulling my teary eyes to him, "we didn't really say that we were done stealing. I said we haven't stolen for awhile. I assure you our target is not a saint, but a rapist and a murderer."

"The bastard deserves far worse than what we plan on doin' to him,'' Eric seethes through his teeth, sending a chill down my spine.

I look at him, worry swelling my heart so much that it makes it difficult to beat. "And what do you plan on doing to your target? Who is your target? Are you going to kill him!?"

"Easy lass." Eric reaches out and takes my wrapped hands in his, careful to not squeeze them too hard. "Ye've a good heart, but this bastard is no' worth yer concern! He's a fat noble who supports the old hag's claim to the throne all because he gets to satisfy his sick desires."

I shake my head, my tears flowing more. "You still haven't told me what you plan to do to him!"

Eric shakes his head, his brows furrowing hideously. "He rapes and slaughters his own people! He's a traitor!"

"The worst kind," Torrance adds.

I barely look at Torrance. My heart beats so hard that it might burst out of my chest. "You speak as if you plan on going!" I try to grab Eric's hands, but pain strikes my fingers like a blacksmith's hammer as soon as I bend them. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. My sight of Eric blurs so much that my tears distort his face into a tan blur.

He cradles my jaw in his hands and wipes my tears away with his thumbs, minding the injured parts of my cheeks. "Aye, I will be goin'." My heart plummets. "And I will come back to ye."

Sudden anger builds and presses against the walls of my chest. "You said you wouldn't leave me. You gave me your word!" More tears flow down my cheeks. "Does your word mean nothing?"

He takes his hands from my face. The cold air instantly nips at my warmed skin. Though my sight is too blurry to see his face surely twisting with anger, I see him shaking his head. "I told ye before I will come back and I have! I've given ye my word before and I give it to ye now. I'm leavin' in a few days to help the others pull off this heist so we can pay that arse of a healer! After we get the coin to pay 'im, I'm comin' back to ye." He sighs, his shoulders dropping with the release. "Ye have my word...ye always will," he says, his voice much softer.

What remains of my heart wrings itself with guilt while my stomach knots. I hate him saying that. I doubt he would be uttering such sweet words if he knew just one of my lies. Not to forget him uttering words too sweet for friends before a witness! I sneak a look at Torrance as discreetly as I can. It's difficult to tell from this view of him, but he is still looking Eric's way. The knots in my stomach barely loosen, but they loosen enough to let me turn my chin up to Torrance. His sad eyes shift from Eric to me and back to Eric.

"The dwarves are waiting for you," Torrance tells Eric. I drop my teary eyes to Eric.

"Aye," he grumbles and lowers his gaze to me. The look on his face sends a stinging lash across my heart. His hurt is showing now; his hurt over my lack of trust in him. I told him I was done with this back and forth, between trusting him and not trusting him. Surely he knows that was a lie now. I didn't mean it as a lie at the time. I was so sure in him then.

"I'll see ye later," he tells me and gets up off the bed. That little warning voice inside me tells me not to watch him leave, but my eyes follow him as he takes slow, reluctant steps to the doorway. He steps out into the hall and starts down it, catching my eyes one last time. I can only watch him disappear past the doorframe, the sound of his receding footsteps tormenting me.

Torrance sighs and closes the door. My stomach tightens for what's to come. He turns about and crosses the small space to sit on the edge of the bed. "I need to take a look at your hands and feet, milady." He holds out his hands. "May I?"

Time almost slows down. I can just imagine this earth spinning about slower, suspended in the black sea of stars and suns and planets. I almost feel like...I'm not here. I don't feel like I'm on this bed in Vilgard. For all I know, I'm still lost out there somewhere in the cold freezing to death. All this has just been some grand illusion to comfort me while I die. I nod and rest my stinging left hand in his. I felt so alive a moment ago, giggling and embracing Eric—giggling and embracing life. Despite the fiery pain consuming my fingers and the tingling in my feet, my being feels as numb as my toes. Numb and dead.

"Thank you," Torrance says and pulls out the tucked end of the wrapping. He unwinds the wrap quickly and skillfully from my hand, taking care to not jostle my burning flesh too much. He finishes with my hand and gets to my fingers, each having been individually wrapped. As he starts unwrapping my first finger, I glance down at my hand. My hand is swollen and bright red. It starts to throb painfully. I can't help but hiss from the pain.

"Am I hurting you?" Torrance stops unwrapping my fingers.

I look up at him, meeting his worried gaze. I shake my head. "No, you are not hurting me. I know there's supposed to be pain, but my hand is throbbing. Is that normal?"

Torrance frowns. "Sometimes there can be a throbbing sensation that hurts. If you would like, I can give you something for the pain right now."

His offer soothes my heart, but taking something for the pain now seems excessive. A smile lightens my mouth. I shake my head. "Thank you, but the pain is tolerable right now. I was just wondering if this throbbing is normal." Wait, this isn't normal! My cheeks flush. Why am I saying this pain is normal!? "Not normal, but to be expected with this kind of injury. That's what I meant."

Torrance chuckles. "No, no, you were right! Your pain is normal for this degree of frostbite."

A few breathy chuckles leave me as he continues unwrapping my finger. My chuckles leave me fast when he exposes my finger. A bulbous, shining red blister consumes the whole top half of my finger! I gasp, horror gripping me. I look up at Torrance. "Is that normal!?"

Torrance stops unwrapping my fingers and lifts his sympathetic gaze to mine. "Yes," he answers simply and returns to the task of unwrapping my fingers. "I will warn you. Sometimes with frostbite like this, your fingernails may fall off as—"

"What!?" I gasp.

His frown deepens, but he doesn't look at me this time while he continues unwrapping my hand. "I just wanted to warn you that as you heal, your fingernails might fall off. If that does happen, try not to worry or be frightened. They will grow back."

"Oh God." My heart beats harder. "Just tell me I won't lose my fingers."

He shakes his head firmly. "You will keep your fingers, I can tell you that now." Seeing him shake his head so firmly, hearing the certainty in his voice...that is comforting.

I suck in a deep, controlled breath and try to relax into the bed. I try, but the pain keeps my body tense. Yes, the pain is tolerable, but it does a damn good job of not letting me rest. I watch with half the horror that originally gripped me as he pulls my right arm out of the sling and unwraps my other hand. Both my hands look almost alike with how swollen and red they are. Even the huge blisters that consume the top halves of my fingers and thumbs look alike.

He finishes with my hands and scoots around on the bed to see my feet. "I'm going to start with your feet, milady. Would you like to wait a moment before I do so?"

I don't look at Torrance but rather at my hands, slowly turning them over. No wonder they hurt so much when I tried to clench them. I shake my head. "No, there's no point in delaying. Go ahead."

"Alright," he says softly. He begins unwrapping my feet. Thankfully, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as my hands did. Somehow, my muscles start to loosen. They loosen more and more until I can finally sit back against the headboard. Though my hands are unsightly, this is a rather cheap price for Eric to live. Besides, my hands look worse than they feel. That is a consolation itself. Also, Eric is alive. Not just alive, but on his feet, in his saddle, and carrying firewood into town. I assume he trekked out somewhere to collect the wood. He probably chopped the wood. Perhaps he even felled the trees the wood came from. His quick recovery...it's a miracle. I'm sure Torrance gave him a concoction of herbs to speed up the healing. Eric said that Torrance purged the poison from him. However he did that, I'm not sure, but I know that to go from the brink of death to abounding with life in just a few short days...that poison would have put down any man for much longer than it did Eric. Hell, it probably would have killed any other man within moments, whereas it took nearly two full days for Eric to...I don't want to think about it anymore. It's done with now. Now we both just need to heal.

"Mm," Torrance hums with concern. My gut stirs with warning to not look up, but my eyes look to my feet. Despite the knowledge that I have lost my toes, my heart still sinks at the sight of them. The parts of my feet that tingle are pasty white, but my seven toes are mottled grey and blue and covered with blisters. My toenails were pink with blood back at Jerome and Annabelle's farm, but now they are all a deep grey. Colorless. Lifeless.

"My dear," Torrance starts, his hesitancy stirring more worry in me. I swallow hard and look up at him. He looks back at me, his features soft and full of pity. "I'm so sorry to have to say this, but your toes—"

"I know." I have no tears to shed. This is the price for Eric to live. I'd happily pay the price a hundred times over. "I knew there was nothing you could do for my feet even before we met...all except help me to avoid infection from them."

His forehead wrinkles as his frown deepens. "Do you know what that entails?"

"What that entails?" I echo, my brows furrowing. I shake my head, my mind addled. "I'm...not sure I understand what you're asking me."

He clears his throat and wriggles on the bed, sitting up straighter. "I'm going to give your feet another day, maybe two, but to reduce your chance of infection...I have to remove the dead flesh."

"Remove…," words leave me. It hits me hard. Of course he will have to. I knew it in the back of my mind, but to hear him say it...that's a whole other matter. "Will it hurt?"

He shrugs. "It's hard to say. Everyone's different, though cutting through the bone seems to be the most painful." I jolt. Cutting through the bone!? Torrance's eyes widen. "Of course I'll give you herbs for the pain before I start!" He gestures to me with his hand. "If you want, I'm sure Eric could get a hold of some ale or wine to give you." He drops his hand in his lap. "Inebriation helps to ease the nerves."

"I just…," I trail off, my head slowly shaking on its own, as if I can somehow shake away what awaits me in the near future, "...can't we just let them fall off on their own? That's how I lost my other toes!" I gingerly set my burning, swollen hands on the blankets, barely touching the blisters to the top blanket.

His frown deepens again. "I'm not going to make you go through it, but I'd hate for you to get an infection. Getting an infection from dead flesh is very, very hard to cure, especially when it infects your blood and your heart. You've come too far from your imprisonment. I'd hate for an infection that's completely avoidable to be your end."

My eyes widen some while my stomach knots. "You know about my imprisonment!?"

Torrance nods, his face glum. "Eric and Wessel told me about it. I'm sorry you endured that. I wouldn't wish fourteen years of wrongful imprisonment on my worst enemy."

I hum to myself. A bit redundant. Of course wrongful imprisonment for anyone is wrongful imprisonment, but what Finn did to Sara...God, I cannot think it. I can't break down in front of Torrance. "Thank you for your sympathy," I murmur.

He nods slowly, his face relaxing some, though his concern lingers. "You don't have to decide now, but please let me know as soon as you can what you decide to do with your toes."

"Alright," I say, nodding.

Torrance pushes himself off the bed. "I'll prepare a soak for your hands and feet. Then I'll pat them dry and wrap them up." He strides out of the bedroom in four steps, leaving me to myself for the moment.

My eyes drift back to my mottled toes, my mind caught between my feet and Finn. I try to bury the memories, but they come to surface and play in my head. It took me days before I could bring myself to look at her frozen corpse lying there beside me. Her right hand was missing. Finn either took it with him or he managed to shove it all down my throat, frozen piece by frozen piece. My stomach churns and my throat tightens, threatening to bring my breakfast back up. I fold my arms about my stomach and curl up. It takes the edge off my nausea.

I fight to bury the nightmare from two years ago, but Sara's crushed throat surfaces. The bits of bone that had pierced the muscles of her arm...Finn must have broken her arm before he took her to Ravenna. Her crushed throat...he also strangled her, but that's not what killed her. Ravenna drained all her life from her...or did she? I had persuaded myself then that I was seeing things when she sat up in her cell and stared at me with those two gaping black holes where her beautiful eyes once were. Though now with the revelation of Greta being alive...Ravenna did not—could not reduce Sara to ash. Did she even take Sara's eyes and skin? I stole that dwarf's sight, so perhaps Ravenna did take her sight, but Sara...she almost looked flayed and eviscerated. She still had her liver, her womb, her lungs, her heart, and a handful of other small organs that I could not identify, but her bowels were gone...like a hunter gutted his kill.

The old floor creaks beneath Torrance's boots as he comes back into the bedroom. I gladly look at him and focus on the large wood bowls he carries in his hands.

"Here we are, my dear." He sets one bowl on the bedside table and stoops low, carefully setting the other bowl on the floor next to the bed without spilling its contents. I lean over the bed to get a good look at the bowl on the floor. The bowl holds a milky mixture still lapping at the sides from its recent movement, bits of crushed herbs floating around in it. I glance over at the bowl on the bedside as Torrance pulls up a chair beside me and sits down on it. The other bowl contains the same milky mixture.

Torrance grabs my blankets. "I'll pull your blankets back so you can dip your feet into the soak on the floor."

I nod numbly and lift my hands up, awakening the ache in my right shoulder. Torrance tosses my blankets off me. The cool air soaks through my skirts almost instantly. A chill courses down my back. My legs tingle as my hair stands up. As gingerly as I can, I bring one leg over the edge of the bed. Torrance grabs my arms, providing me the needed balance while I lift my other leg off the bed and sit on the edge.

"Thank you," I say and look down at my mottled toes hovering just above the surface of the milky mixture. A brief image of the milky substance I drank that fateful night enters my mind. I grit my teeth and force the nightmare out as best I can. "What's in the soak?" I ask, glancing up at Torrance.

"Water, frost thistle to help open up your veins, and dried listrus for the pain. I also mixed in some aloe and lamia balms to help encourage heal—"

"Lamia balm!?" I blurt out, my eyes wide. Guilt pricks my heart. "Sorry for interrupting, but I lost the balm Eliza made for me! I'm sure of it! Unless you had some!?"

Torrance chuckles. "Eric happened to have a lamia bone on him!" He grabs the other bowl off the bedside table and balances it on his lap. "He gave the lamia bone to me to use for you when he saw that you had lost your lamia balm."

My heart aches and softens for Eric even more. He must have taken more than one lamia bone from that tavern keeper. My stomach knots. He shouldn't have given his lamia bone up. Does he have any lamia bones left? I thought he had returned the remaining seven bones to the tavern keeper's pocket for fear of the tavern keeper's murder being connected to us, but he snuck at least one for himself.

"You can dip your hands and feet in the soaks. They're warm." Torrance holds the bowl over my lap and props his elbows on his knees.

A smile pushes into my tingling cheeks. "Thank you, Torrance. For all your help." I slowly submerge my feet into the bowl on the floor and dip my blistered fingers into the bowl hovering over my lap.

"You're welcome, my dear. You really should thank Eric for giving me the lamia bone. That is going to speed up your healing, especially with your shoulder."

"Indeed," I whisper, nodding. I can tell Eric how grateful I am to him for giving up his lamia bone with every breath I have until the day I die and it still would not be enough. The warmth of the soak touches me, causing a harsh stinging in my blistered fingers. My wrists twitch, wanting to snatch my hands out of the soak, but I force my hands to stay submerged up to my wrists. I can't help but hiss from the pain.

Torrance's grin drops to a frown. "The pain should go away in a moment. The listrus needs to soak into your hands."

"Right." I nod and keep my gaze on the milky soak rippling about my trembling wrists. Silence comes over us. It's not an uncomfortable silence. There's no pressing need to break it with ramblings. It's almost...companionable. I'm not sure how this silence can almost feel companionable as I have only known Torrance for a little over a day, but knowing that he only wants me to heal...it's nice to sit with someone who cares selflessly like that. I sneak a peek at him from under my thick lashes. His soft, watchful gaze goes from my hands to my feet. He has a healer's heart. That much I can tell from this silence alone.

"Do you enjoy healing?" I ask him, breaking the silence.

He looks up at me and gives me an earnest smile. "It's the only good thing I do. Besides," he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, "any friend of Eric and Wessel's is a friend of mine."

I chuckle softly. "I'm sure there's other good things you do."

"Mmmmm," Torrance hums and bobs his head in thought. I can't help but laugh. "Well, maybe…," he shrugs his shoulders, grinning, "...maybe there's a few good things that I do, but if you knew half of my deeds and thoughts, you might be inclined to say that I enjoy life too much."

A small smile turns up my mouth. "Somehow I doubt that. We are all only given one life."

"That's the truth of it!" Torrance scoffs suddenly. "Then it's the grave and judgement. All we can do is pray we don't end up in hell."

My lips grow heavy with a frown. "The grave and judgement…," I trail off, the thought that I have less than a year to live...it will not be a joyous three hundred fifty-eight days left to live. It will be spent travelling, trying to reach Hamond's, then trying to free Greta...but perhaps all that will only take eight months. That will leave me with four months left to live out the rest of my days. There's no way my lifetime of sin will ever be forgiven to allow me eternal rest, so if I'm bound for hell anyways...how do I even live my last four months on this earth? It's the only life that I will have.

I dare a glance at Torrance. His dark eyes bounce back and forth between my hands and feet. He suddenly looks up at me. "Is the pain better?" he asks.

"Oh...yes." I nod, the throbbing in my hands gone. My heart swells with gratitude. "Thank you, Torrance."

Torrance chuckles and nods. "You're very sweet, my dear, but you don't have to keep thanking me."

I smirk. "I will tell you my thanks when I feel it's warranted. There's nothing you can say to deter me from doing so, so you'll just have to live with it."

A big grin spreads his lips. "Such a commanding woman!" He laughs and drops his head to look at the soak my hands are still in. "I don't blame Eric for liking you so much."

A sudden load drops on my shoulders while my stomach churns, stealing my small smile from me. Is it that obvious!? Not only that, his words are a harsh reminder of the greatest sin I have committed thus far—leading Eric down this path.

"Torrance…," I start, nearly losing my damn nerve to say more. He looks up at me, his smile gone. I shake my head, desperate for the resolve to continue. "I doubt—" I sigh "—Eric is my friend. Nothing more. You can ask him! I'm sure if you do ask him, that's what he'll say."

Torrance frowns. "Have you asked him?"

"Eric told me as much! I'm his friend, and he mine!"

"But did you ask him if likes you more than as a friend? Before I even met you, I could tell he cares for you. It...it reminded me of when he was so caught up on Sara," he says, growing somber. "Poor Sara. I still can't believe…," he trails off.

My brows furrow. "What?" Realization hits me like a punch to my gut. "You didn't know that Sara had…," words leave me as they left him. Eric must have told them about Sara's murder when they found him out in that winter wasteland, or perhaps shortly after.

Torrance can only nod. Silence comes between us for a moment. Silence for Sara. To remember her. To honor her. God, what I wouldn't give to have traded places with her that night. For her to be here now reunited with Eric while I am nothing but bits of bone lost to the sea, my corpse having sustained her through the rest of that brutal winter...to give her that chance to escape.

"At least Jerome still has Annabelle," Torrance murmurs to himself and lifts gaze to me. "Eric's a good man. If he hasn't told you yet, I know it's in his heart. He cares for you. You both seem to get along, so the next time you two are alone, you should ask him. Well, only ask him if you care for him more than as a friend. Don't give him hope for someone he can never have." My heart wrenches with more guilt. Torrance continues, "But you said it. We are all only given one life. Eric understands that, too. He and Sara came to realize that together."

I frown. I probably should not tell Torrance this...but he is a healer. Perhaps he would understand somehow...someway? "That's exactly why he shouldn't waste his life on me." I drop my chin to look at the milky soak still rippling about my wrists. My eyes sting with the threat of tears. "I...I won't live as long as him. I wish he understood that."

"So he told you about his Ursus blood," Torrance says softly. "My dear, ask Eric yourself, but I can tell you now that he would rather live part of his life knowing you than to not have known you at all."

"What?" It's all I can say. I find myself staring at Torrance, just...his words just so...plain.

He merely returns my stupefied stare with a calm nod. "Eric's my brother. In friendship, not in blood, obviously." Torrance laughs and shrugs. "But," his smile fades, "I know him well. He's not going around telling everyone his feelings, but I have a pretty good sense of what's in his heart, and you're in it."

My head grows so heavy with all this that my chin drops, my eyes fixating on each ripple that forms from my trembling wrists, disturbing the calm milky sea. If what Torrance says is true...could this be possible? Even though he knew he would outlive Sara, he still wanted to be with her. What they went through together, getting to know each other, saving each other—that forged a bond between them that still lives on despite her death. He still loves her. That thought stings my mangled heart. My cheeks heat up. His love for her shouldn't sting me. I love her, too. She became a sister to me despite only having known her for a day, yet what we went through together forged a bond between us that still lives on. So in that way, I suppose I can see how he still loves her. It may not be a love that stems from unhealed wounds or an unhealthy obsession, but rather one that is pure and honest...though he only agreed to hunt me down because he believed Ravenna would bring Sara back from the dead in exchange for my life. Another sharp sting torments my heart. Perhaps his sudden desire for me...I could just be a substitute for her.

But what if I'm not a substitute for her? What if what Torrance says is true? Part of me loathes the fact that Eric has found his will to live through me, but the other part of me—the selfish part longs to embrace it and nurture it. He knew he'd outlive Sara, yet he still wanted to be with her despite the grief he knew he'd endure when her life would come to an end. Perhaps he had prepared himself for when her life would come to its natural end. He would have fared far better if she had been allowed to live her life out, but her being tortured and murdered nearly killed him. That is why he was the man who wanted to die when he found me in that dark forest. He has changed now. He is filled with life. And when I'm with him, my lies and deceit forgotten for a brief moment, I am...happy.

My breath leaves me. He makes me happy. All I have known for these past fourteen years is hell and misery. We are all only given one life. Could I...is a few months of happiness possible before I die? If Eric can accept that I will die before him, and if I seem to pass from natural causes...well, then wouldn't that grief be far easier for him? Compared to the two and a half centuries Eric has left to live, would not my life be but a short sentence in his saga? Surely after my death, he'll grieve, he'll heal, and he'll find another woman. He will have no trouble finding a wife with his heart and his looks.

My heart picks up and my stomach tightens. God, could this be possible? Could I die happy in the arms of someone who cares for me with the only expectation that I do not cut my heart off from him? To be spared of such a painful death, to know that what's left of my heart can stay in my chest!?

I want to see Eric. I need to talk to him, to clear the murky waters that we're neck deep in. God, how do I even bring this up? What if Torrance is wrong? What if I am nothing more than just a dalliance? Or what if I am only a substitute for Sara? Would he truly accept me passing before him and still want to live on after me?

God, if I tell him how short my life truly is...I don't want him to believe I'll live to have seventy or even eighty years, but if I tell him I know I have less than a year left to live, that would raise far too many questions. I cannot ever tell him that I welcomed evil into my heart, nor how I desecrated Sara's body. My true name—my mind stops racing. My excitement drops dead. That is the only obstacle that stands between him and me. The other two lies he can never learn, but my true name...I don't want him to be calling me her name for the rest of my days. God forbid I ever hear her name from his mouth if he ever beds me. What I wouldn't give to hear him say my name without anger or hate or grief or remembering that it was my father who murdered his brother. It is a relief that he calls me 'lass' far more than he has called me Greta. It still remains that he believes me to be Greta. I do not want him believing that for the rest of his days. I want him to know who I am. He deserves more than anything to know my true name, but his response...I fear what it will be. He hates lying. He probably hates it more than I hate false hope, and there is nothing more I hate than false hope.

My brows furrow. Damn it all, I can sit here all day mulling over all the possible repercussions for my sins against Eric. It still remains that so long as I can forget my other lies and past sins, if I can spend my final days with Eric and he accepts me for who I am with no grief that the blood of his brother's murderer flows through my veins, then I have that chance of happiness and freedom. Even my life before my imprisonment was a prison. I had to live by rules and etiquette. My betrothed was handpicked for me. My life was plotted for me, down to the clothes I would wear and the bedsheets I would sleep on as Queen. God, not only do I have a chance of happiness now, but freedom seems within my grasp. It is not just happiness I find with Eric, but also a chance for freedom.

The corners of my eyes tingle. They tingle more and more until they burn. The rippling soak about my wrists blurs with my tears. I must speak with Eric. He is my one chance for happiness and freedom. How am I going to even broach this? There will be tears. He may even grow angry with me, but having freedom and happiness dangling within my reach...They are both forbidden fruit, but how sweet they will taste after knowing nothing but imprisonment and misery for my sorry twenty-four years of existence. It's not only happiness and freedom that I long for, but also for Eric. Just him. I must speak with him. Somehow, someway, I must. At least before he leaves with the dwarves for that damn heist.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It's a pretty lonesome afternoon. I try to pass it by with napping, but my buzzing nerves and tense muscles keep me awake and alert. I sit up in bed, desperate to fold my stiff legs and stretch out my right arm, but I don't want to risk further damage to my feet and to my shoulder. I glance at the closed door for the hundredth time. The tips of my frost nipped ears tingle with heat, waiting to hear that front door open and to hear his footsteps come down the hall. I'll welcome any visitor at this point, but I want Eric to come see me again more than anything. I need to talk to him, to know if what Torrance says is true.

Eric will come see me again. If not now, then tonight he'll sneak in when the others are asleep. When he does...how will I even start? Do I tell him right away that my life is cut short? How will he react to that? He will ask me how I know my life is cut short. God forbid I ever tell him the truth. A pang pierces my heart. To keep the dark truth of welcoming evil into my heart from him, I must tell him one more lie. One more lie and that's it. This one last lie will set everything straight and make it possible to clear the murky waters between us. I'll tell him that I am ill. It is a disease that I was born with that weakens my heart. The healers from my youth said I would not live beyond my twenty-fifth year. Yes, that is plausible. That will explain why I tried to push him away before. It may not be an answer he likes, but it will answer his question that I could not answer before Torrance came into the room.

Iron hinges squeal loudly. BANG! I startle, my heart skipping a beat and racing with fright. My eyes snap to the bedroom door. It's still closed. Was that the front door!?

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU TRICKED ME!" a man curses, a horde of footsteps pounding down the hallway! I scramble back to the wall, desperate to be as far from the bedroom door as possible.

"YER EXTORTIN' US!" My heart stutters. Eric!? The bedroom door flies open and Eric comes striding into the room with a blast of freezing air, his face tightened with anger.

"Eric!?" His name leaves me before I can fully register what's happening.

"Pardon my friend," Torrance says pointedly, stepping into the room as well.

"Hey lass." Eric looks down at me from his towering stature, his face softening as looks me over.

"Your friend!" the third man sneers, pulling my eyes to him. He glares at me with rage. My fright eases immediately. The only threatening thing about him is his glare. He is an elderly man with a severely hunched back, his long grey hair disheveled and his beard scraggly. "You barge in here," the old man points at Torrance, "take my supplies!—"

"HE WAS DYING!" Torrance snaps, throwing his hand towards Eric. Sudden silence fills the room. I glance at the elderly man. His burning eyes cool and his hunched back slumps more. The elderly man grips something tight in his fist. I look down at his clenched fist. He leans heavily upon a wooden walking stick. Torrance drops his hand, hitting his side. That small sound pierces the silence like a knife. I look at Torrance. His face has softened considerably. He looks...sad.

"Hector…," Torrance shakes his head, "...what happened to us?" My eyes widen. That old man is Vilgard's healer!? The extortionist? My eyes go to the old man, Hector.

Hector returns Torrance's sad gaze with his own glum expression. For what seems an eternity, the two men do not look from each other. I look between them, my brows slowly knitting more. There is history between the two, that much I can gather. The sadness in their eyes...that's grief. Regret. Grief and regret can only be born from something that was once good. Torrance and Hector must have been on good terms in the past, but something happened to change all that. Betrayal? Wrongdoing? Loss?

Hector's wrinkled face twists more and more until he is burning with ire. "I want you out of my bedroom." He points at the hallway, his finger trembling with the pain of his swollen joints. "I want you out of my house!" He jabs his finger into Torrance's chest. "You threw your lot in with that deserter!" He points harshly at Eric, his hand shaking with barely restrained anger. "You are a traitor to our true King!"

My heart constricts suddenly. Our true King? He...he means Papa. No matter what sins my father has committed, nor the mistakes he has made, there is someone who still remembers the good Papa brought about.

Torrance shakes his head, looking almost desperate. "Hector, he was falsely accused!—"

"Lie all you want, I will tell the guards that you are here if you and those two fugitives don't leave! You know, Torrance, I find it interesting," the old man's tone shifts to something that stirs unease in me when he points at Eric and me, "that there's a bounty out for a large foreigner and a native woman in his company!"

I can't help the gasp that escapes me. My heart picks up, fear gripping me.

Eric laughs suddenly, drawing all our eyes to him. "Aye, I heard about those two, but yer failin' eyes fool ye! We're no' fugitives. We're jus' travelers on our way to Hammond's fortress for refuge. Our village was raided and burned." Eric looks at me, composed and relaxed. He nods to me, his eyes saying it all without speaking aloud. I am to go along with him.

"It–it was horrible," I stutter, suddenly finding it hard to lie. I look at Hector, meeting his suspicious glare. "The screams...the people being murdered around us...we lost our home to the fire. Eric and I were fortunate to escape—"

"Get out," Hector says through gritted teeth, his warning clear and final. He shifts his anger to Torrance. "I won't say it again. You have three days to pay me back. You fail to do so, I will tell the guards about all of you."

"Alright!" Torrance throws his hands up and takes a step back. "We're going. You'll have your gold in three days' time."

"Com'on lass." Eric pulls back my blankets and scoops me off the bed into his arms. I sling my left arm around his neck and rest my head against his chest. I take a deep breath to prepare myself to go out into the blistering cold again. God, I wish I could rest my ear on his heart just to hear it beating. The three of us leave the bedroom and go down the hall in silence. I huddle closer to Eric while my eyes shift to the world beyond the open door. The world is still white with snow, but the chill is not nearly as terrible as it was outside of the valley.

We step outside into the dying light of evening. The front door slams shut behind us, jolting me in Eric's arms.

Eric turns to Torrance. "He's wrong about everythin'. Ye know that," he tells Torrance, his words strong yet sympathetic.

Torrance just looks down the road, only God knows what plaguing his mind. He shakes his head suddenly. "I don't want to think about it." He tears his eyes from the road and looks down at me, forcing a smile onto his stricken face. "I'm sorry you got kicked out of a warm house."

"No, no, don't apologize. Please." I force a smile for Torrance. I'm not even sure what more to say. This—whatever it is or was between Torrance and Hector has nothing to do with me, but there is morbid curiosity filling my mind with a litany of questions.

"Let's get her out of the cold," Eric says, already starting down the road with me in his arms.

"Yes, let's!" Torrance agrees a little too quickly and follows close after us. "We'll try the Inn first."

My stomach knots and my nerves buzz. I look all about me, catching a few curious onlookers peeking at the three of us. I curl up and try to bury my burning face into Eric's chest, but I can still see them looking out of the corners of my eyes. Here I am, a full grown woman being carried in Eric's arms like a helpless babe. I should be walking. I should have boots and gloves on, not these big wads of linen. God, I hope that's what they're thinking, and not of the bounty that has been put out for a large foreigner and a native woman in his company. I peek up at Eric. He's the only large foreigner wandering around here with his fair hair and unusual stature. He's a large foreigner—and I am a native woman in his company. I bite the inside of my lip. How I want to pull up Eric's hood to hide his hair, but would that raise more eyebrows? Did Eric not say we should have our hoods up when wandering through Vilgard? I bite down on the inside of my lip harder, my stomach knotting more. Eric stands out like fresh blood on the snow.

I tilt my chin back to look up at Eric. "It's too cold for bare heads," I say loud enough for those nearby to hear, but not too loudly. My words pull Eric's eyes down to me. As best I can with my blistered, bound hand, I grab his hood and pull it over his head, casting its shadow over his eyes.

"Aye. Thank ye," he says, nodding, silent understanding in his blue eyes. I let go of my breath, relief letting me sink into his arms. He still stands apart from the crowd because of his stature, but now he numbers among those who have their hoods drawn.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The Inn hums with chattering and the occasional laugh, harmonizing with the soft tune the bard strings on his lute. It's not overly crowded, but most every table has at least one body sitting at it eating or drinking. A large hearth sits against the opposite wall, the centerpiece of the Inn. A big fire writhes within it, providing much needed light and warmth as the last of day fades outside. Torrance and Eric slink close to the wall with me, trying to not draw too much attention to ourselves.

"I'll go ask Ansley if he's got any rooms, though I'm doubting he does," Torrance says.

I look up at Eric to see him nod as he scans over the room. "Aye. Looks to be a lot of travellers here."

"More than usual," Torrance mutters as he goes off and weaves his way through the tables to reach the bar.

"Much more than usual," Eric mutters to himself and drops his gaze to me. "Let's sit down and try to blend in."

I perk up in his arms. "Really!?"

He laughs heartily and leaves the safety of the wall. "Really," he says with a grin. Seeing his grin and hearing his laughter both soothes me and feeds my excitement. My mouth lightens with a smile. We only pass by two tables when we come across an empty spot at a long table with benches on either side. Two men sit at the other end of the table absorbed in their own discussion and drinks.

"This'll work," Eric says. He sets me down on the bench with my legs stretched across it. My smile pushes harder into my cheeks as he lifts one leg over the bench and sits down, facing me with his legs on either side of the bench. He tosses back his hood and props his arm on the table, relaxing himself. It feeds my excitement more. I'm not sure what is causing this sudden excitement. Whether it's the Inn, the patrons' chatter, the music, or it's simply being with Eric in this place, I'm not sure, but I want to add to the chatter. I want to laugh, perhaps even hum along should the bard strike up a tune I know.

"Why're ye so giddy?" Eric asks me, still grinning at me.

My excitement swells so much that I giggle to relieve some of it. "I'm not sure why. I just…" I look about the humming Inn. Men, women, and children sit at their own tables enjoying their evening meals. Most everyone here is thinner than they should be. The food on their plates is rationed carefully and not very diverse; some bread, dried meats and bits of cheese. I'm sure the ale in their mugs and the soup and broths in their bowls are heavily watered down. Despite all this, there are smiles on many of their faces. I return my gaze to Eric and shrug. "Honestly, I don't know. I think it's a bit of everything."

He raises his brows at me. "A bit of everythin', eh?" He smirks. "What is each wee bit that makes up this everythin'? Is it the fireplace? The music? The people?"

I shrug my good shoulder again and nod. "I suppose it's all of that mixing together…" my cheeks heat up with the next words to come "...though it's mostly you."

"Aye, is that right?" He simpers and sits up a little straighter, suddenly haughty. "All I have to do is sit here to make ye so giddy."

A snort escapes me, scorching my ears and cheeks with its terrible sound. He chuckles deeply from his chest. My body tightens so much with anticipation that I could leap off this bench, but I cannot do that on my frostbitten feet. I keep my left hand in my lap and my legs stretched out on the bench, my feet almost tucked between Eric's spread legs. His laughter starts to ebb.

"Tell me about yourself," I say, the words so spontaneous, spilling out of my mouth without a second thought.

That kills his laughter instantly while his brows furrow. "Really!?"

That steals my smile. Did I say something wrong? "I'm sorry, did I offend you? I didn't mean to."

His eyes widen as he shakes his head. "Nae, ye didnae offend me! It's jus' ye've no' been too keen to tell me about yerself, but ye still want to know more about me." Guilt of all my lies wrings my heart, weighing down upon my mouth.

Eric shakes his head at me again, his smile gone. "Let's make a deal, then."

My eyes widened, my panic growing. "A deal!?"

"Aye. Ye tell me somethin' about yerself and I might be convinced to share somethin' about myself in return."

I swallow hard. There are plenty of reasons I have not been too eager to tell Eric much about myself. I fear telling him anything will tip him off to my lies. Even something that's benign could spell an end to what has grown between us. Is this a deal I really want to accept? Perhaps if I tell him something I've already told him, he has forgotten about it already.

"Alright," I start, stepping onto uncertain ground. I'll start with the fish. "I hate fish. They're too slimy."

Eric raises his brows. "I know that. Ye made that clear at the lake. Tell me somethin' I dinnae know about ye."

Damn it! So he remembers that. "I, uh…" the abandoned doll I had found in Kalobarrow surfaces. Surely bringing that up will not give him any clue about my lies. "When I was a small girl, I was visiting Kalobarrow for the day with my friend. I found this abandoned doll on the roadside. It was an old doll stained with mud. I picked it up and went around asking all the little girls I could find if the doll was theirs." I watch his face carefully to see if anything tips him off to my lies. He wears a small smirk, his eyes soft and such a rich blue against the orange firelight. Something clatters on the floor suddenly, startling me. My eyes snap to the source of the disturbance. A half drunken man laughs as he stoops low and picks up his mug off the floor. I breathe in the relief and turn back to Eric.

He is still looking at me, his smirk bigger. "Jus' a drunk lad. Nae need to worry. Ye were sayin'..." He tilts his head to me, urging me to continue.

God, I do not want to tell him one more lie—except for the lie I concocted to explain my shortened life. That weighs on my heart more. Don't think of it, Snow. Just continue with your story. "Right. Well, I never found the doll's owner, so by sunset I decided to keep the doll despite my friend's disapproval. I took her home, cleaned her up, and named her."

"What'd ye name her?"

I snigger. "Why would you care about that!? She's just a doll!"

His smirk leaves him. "'Cause I care about ye. What'd ye name her?"

His words touch my heart, softening it beyond what any words can properly express. He truly wants to know what I named my doll. Something so trivial, yet it matters to him. God, I can hardly believe this. "Delilah," I say.

He only nods. No more words need be said about it. I obviously do not have the doll anymore. He stops nodding and asks, "Ye miss yer doll?"

"I…yes," I stammer. Did he really just ask if I miss her? I thought there was nothing more to say about it, but for him to recognize that as a possibility…

"I'm sorry about that," he says, frowning. He glances at the hearth, mulling over only God knows what. He looks back at me suddenly, his eyes brighter. "When I was a wee lad, I had a favorite game I carried around with me. I played it with my friends any chance I got."

His words almost enrapture me, easing my guilty heart. "Really? What was the game?"

He says something short, only two syllables long, in his native tongue. My brows furrow, earning his amused chuckle. "Runes," he says.

"Oh!" I nod, the dark cloud that was hanging over us starting to dispel. I perk up once more, my curiosity growing. "How do you play it?"

His mouth parts to answer—"Hey, so…," Torrance speaks up. Eric's face falls as does my excitement.

Eric tears his gaze from me to look back at Torrance as he comes up to us. "What is it?" he asks Torrance, sounding irritated. I frown at both men as Torrance pulls up a chair and sits down on it.

He leans forward, shaking his head. "There's no open rooms. The Inn Keeper said he cannot kick out paying guests to make room for her even after I explained our situation," Torrance says, gesturing to me.

Eric groans. "The bastard. I'm no' surprised."

"Eric," I scold him gently, drawing his hard eyes and furrowed brows to me. "The Inn Keeper is merely running his business. I wouldn't expect him to take a room from someone who has paid for it, nor do I want him to."

Eric growls while Torrance says, "Yes, that is understandable. It's just frustrating, my dear. Ansley said we're more than welcome to put our heads down here, or sleep by the fire. He says he'll keep it burnin' strong tonight." Torrance looks to Eric who only shakes his head, still scowling.

"That's more than I can ask for," I say.

Eric turns his eyes to me again, his brows starting to relax. "That's good of ye, lass, but ye cannae sleep every night out here!"

"Yes," Torrance adds, looking between us both. "Ansley said many of the travelers are only here for the night, so if a room becomes available, he'll let us know."

"That's more than fair," I say and look at Eric. He returns my gaze, his scowl slowly relaxing. His eyes soften and open up, filling with something tender.

"Eric! Torrance!" a man calls, his voice loud and deep. My eyes dart to the mysterious man and grow wide. He's a towering, burly man with a relaxed swagger as he passes between tables, his arms held wide open as if to embrace someone. My heart jumps in my chest. He bears a grin, his white teeth stark against his obsidian skin!

"Locke, there you are!" Torrance greets. I cannot take my eyes off this—obsidian colored man as he rounds the long table and comes up behind Eric, dropping a large black hand on his shoulder.

"Hey Locke," Eric greets, looking back at him.

The obsidian man's equally dark eyes lift to me, his white teeth still beared in his grin. "You are Greta!" he says, his accent thick and so different from Eric's. The firelight catches his shaven head. My heart pounds, my eyes flitting over his intimidating form. A shortsword of some kind sits by his hip, the blade thick and slightly curved. That blade looks as if it could cut someone in half with one swift stroke. I swallow and look up at him. He seems friendly, but he wears furs and leathers that are...foreign on him, especially with the strange wood plaques strung about his neck and the piercings of fangs and silver rings in his left ear.

"Why do you shake so?" Locke stoops towards me, his wolfish grin lessening.

Eric chuckles and pats my knee. "It's alright, lass, he willnae bite." His hand lingers on my knee for a breath too long. "She's a nervous one. Probably ne'er seen an easterner."

"An easterner?" I ask, my voice nearly a squeak. "M-men live that far? Is-is it not too hot? The sun too harsh? Is that why your skin—!?" I stop myself, cringing and burning up all over with shame. I do not wish to be rude to Locke, but is it even possible for a man's skin to be so dark!?

Locke chuckles deeply as he straightens, taking his hand from Eric's shoulder. "The sun is not too harsh where I am from. And yes, my skin is that of my parents. I am not dirty."

My eyes widen, my stomach knotting instantly. "Nono, that's not what I was going to say! Not at all! I just never seen someone – like you."

Locke laughs. "I understand. When I first stepped foot into this land with my father, I had never seen a people so pale. I asked my father if they had no blood."

My eyes grow impossibly big. "You thought that!?"

He laughs again, flashing his stark white teeth. "Yes, that was my first thought! But where I come from there is a saying. Better to be unborn than untaught, for ignorance is the root of misfortune."

Ignorance—the root of misfortune. I suppose I see that, but ignorance can also inspire fear of the unknown, distrust of the foreign...then hate. Surely I'm not the only one gawking at Locke. I look about the tavern. There are a few curious onlookers glancing our way, but none of them are so blatant as two children a few tables over who stare at Locke, their eyes wide and their mouths gaping. The girl pokes a man sitting beside her, getting his attention. She pulls on his arm, bringing his ear to her mouth so she can tell him something. The man's dark eyes glance at Locke before returning to the girl, who I presume to be his daughter. No surprise widens his eyes, but rather suspicion furrows his brows as he whispers something to his daughter. Guilt grips my heart. I once was like them, so distrusting of foreigners that I shook like a leaf with fear whenever I caught sight of one from afar. Only Wessel and William did I feel comfortable with because at least half of their blood was Taboran by their fathers. But this distrust of foreigners among my people...it turned to hate. That hate cost Eric's brother his life and almost killed Eric.

I look back at Eric and Locke. Locke is speaking with Torrance, wearing a faint smile, but Eric—the look on his face churns my stomach so much that my throat tightens with nausea. Though anyone else would only see a relaxed man engaged in the discussion of his companions, I see the heaviness in his eyes. I've no doubt memories of his brother are haunting him now. Perhaps even anger and hatred for my father are swelling his heart.

My eyes sting with the threat of tears. There must be something I can say to ease his heart and his mind...to at least show him that I am not my father. Eric will learn my true name. It's inevitable. At least when we reach Hammond's, my true name will be uttered for many ears to hear. No doubt Eric's ears will be close by when that happens, but I don't want that to tear us apart...nor the years of anger and hatred for my father for...what he did. God, I don't want Eric seeing my father's eyes when he looks at me...though how is that possible when I have my father's eyes? Perhaps he can see my heart, then. My heart is not my father's heart. If I can make him see that, then all will be well between us.

I lean forward and place my wrapped hand over his hand that is fisted on the table. He turns his gaze to me, that heaviness still in his eyes. I swallow hard, fighting with myself to keep my tears at bay. "Eric, I...I just want to say that—" I falter, my fear almost chasing away my resolve "—I'm...I'm not sure how to—"

"There you are, hedge-pig!" another man calls nearby, light, quick footsteps drawing nearer.

"Beith!" Eric says, rolling his eyes. I tear my eyes from Eric to—I can do nothing but gawk at the stout, child-sized man waddling his way to our table. "Ye cannae leave me be, can ye!?" Eric asks, exasperated.

"You keep running off!" the new man says as he climbs up onto the opposite bench and folds his arms on the oversized table. His curly iron-grey beard, his thick head of hair, his beady eyes—my God, he's a dwarf! He must be one of the dwarves I've been hearing about! "Is this the one you keep running off to see?" The dwarf, Beith, eyes me curiously. My heart skips a beat and my stomach knots. What would give him cause to say that!? "Hmph. She's a pretty thing," Beith says and looks at Eric, "but you need to think with your head and not your cock!"

"What!?" I gasp, my whole body aflame. My loins swell and throb painfully. Why did the mere mention of Eric's—why is my body reacting this way!? Why won't the dwarf shut up!?

"Watch yer mouth around her," Eric warns. "I thought our plans were set. What do ye want now?"

Beith clicks his tongue and shakes his head while he raps his knuckles on the table. A chain of thick gold links encrusted with three emeralds sits on his shoulders; the chain of a king. "If you had stuck around for a moment longer, you would have heard from my son's own mouth that our target's on the move tonight," Beith speaks in a hushed voice.

"Shite," Eric curses. He leans towards Beith, keeping his voice low. "Which lad of yers came back with this news?"

"Coll," Beith says.

I look at Eric, watching his face fall. "Then we've gotta leave now." Eric gets up from the bench! My heart beats harder.

"Thank you!" Beith says, hopping off the bench. "My lads are ready! Wessel too! The only ones staying behind are Muir and Gus."

"Aye. Locke, ye comin'?" Eric lifts his leg over the bench and turns to Locke.

Locke nods, bearing a stark white, eager grin. "Let us hit that bastard."

"You're leaving now!?" Torrance asks, as shocked as me.

"Coll came back with word. It's now or never," Eric says.

"Oh...you think he's on to us?" Torrance asks.

Eric sighs. "I pray no'." He turns to Beith and Locke. "I'll go ahead, scout it out."

"Sounds like a plan," Beith says as he rounds the table to join Eric and Locke, so diminutive beside the two towering foreigners. "Wessel and my lads are outside waiting. Wessel's got a gift for you before we leave." Beith taps Eric's thigh before waddling his way to the Inn's front door.

"I hate to leave you so soon after meeting you," Locke says, turning his face to me. He smiles kindly and tips his head to me. "I hope you have a restful night, Greta." He looks to Torrance and gives his shoulder a firm shake. "I will see you later."

"Just come back alive," Torrance says.

"We will come back with more than our lives," Locke says and finally strides off after Beith, leaving Eric, Torrance, and me. My eyes go to Eric, unwilling to look at anyone else.

Eric lets go of his breath and turns to Torrance, his eyes almost going to me, but he...refrains from looking at me. "She's yer charge now, Torrance. Keep her safe," Eric says softly.

"Of course," Torrance says.

Eric nods slowly. "Thank ye."

Tears scorch my eyes and blur my sight of him. Why won't he look at me? Will he not at least spare me a glance before he leaves? My body tightens more. My stomach churns to the point of nausea. God, I cannot keep silent anymore! "Eric?" I call him, my voice shaking.

Finally, he turns his face to me, but I cannot see him clearly because of my damn tears! I sniffle hard and scrub my eyes with my left sleeve, scratching my frostbitten cheeks until they burn. I don't care how much they hurt! I want to get rid of my tears! I need to see him clearly! Just once more before he leaves so suddenly!

"Lass." Eric grabs my wrist and pulls my arm from my face. I force my eyes open, seeing his blurry form crouch before me, putting his face level with mine. "I'm sorry. I wasnae expectin' to be leavin' this soon...but the sooner I leave, the sooner I can come back!"

"Is it too soon?" I croak, my heart so far up in my throat that it nearly chokes me. "With your back?"

He shakes his head. "Nae." He lets go of my left wrist and rests his hand on my cheek. He strokes the stinging bit of my cheekbone with his thumb. "Try to eat some dinner and get some sleep, alright? I should be back by tomorrow night, maybe two days dependin' on how fast those pintsized bastards can move their legs."

Torrance chuckles to himself. Annoyance pricks my nerves. If I wasn't so focused on the man before me right now, I would at least give Torrance and Eric a reprimanding look.

I shake my head. "You should be back? What if something goes wrong? What if he is on to you, whoever this noble is!?" I ask, keeping my voice hushed for fear of someone overhearing us.

Eric shakes his head. "I know how to cover our tracks. That's why Beith and his merry wee band want me to come along."

I sigh. What I would not give for a more sure answer from him, but what am I supposed to do? Tie him down? There's so much I wanted to speak with him about, but now he must leave.

Familiar footsteps draw near us. "Eric, we must go," Wessel's stern voice slices through the air. I look up at Wessel with my teary eyes as he stops before us. Though my sight of the redhead is blurred with my damn tears, I feel it in the air coming from his stiff form. He witnessed this tender, almost intimate display between Eric and me. Hell, he is witnessing it now! If strangers are making comments about Eric and me, no doubt Wessel sees it as clear as day. The fact that he approached us so stiff and so stern...it stirs anger in me. He wants me to fight Ravenna, to free Tabor, and to unite House Hammond and Augustus—through marriage to William. Did my safety not cross his mind? Hell, my own life!? My life is in peril as is with Ravenna chasing me! Why would he want to put me in more peril by having me attempt to reclaim my father's throne!? If I somehow, by some strange series of miracles, manage to free the kingdom from Ravenna's grip, I will have countless others trying to stick a knife in my back just so they can claim the throne for themselves! Not just that, but he knows that I care for Eric more than just as a friend. Why would he not want me to pursue this? If he believes Eric to be a good man, why would he not want me to seek happiness with him? Why stop me? Why stop us!?

"Alright, Wessel," Eric speaks up, breaking the tense silence I did not realize had come over us. "Lass," he says, pulling my eyes back to him, "I will come back. Ye have my word."

I swallow hard, a strange mix of resentment and nerves stirring in me. I want happiness. With Eric, that is possible. Only with him that is possible. Why can I not have it? "Always?" I ask him.

For one breath, two breaths, he looks at me, something stirring in his eyes that I cannot discern. As I draw in my third breath, he nods. "Aye."

My resentment towards Wessel, my yearning for Eric, my desperation for that happiness that is within me—I press my mouth to Eric's for an almost still, soft kiss. Eric doesn't respond at first, his body tensing. Only a breath's time passes when he moves his hand to the back of my neck and tilts my chin back. He strokes the flesh beneath my earlobe with his thumb. There's a strength behind his mouth that begs for a deeper kiss, but he holds back, keeping it soft and almost still.

He pulls back before me, leaving my mouth tingling and my body wanting. He breathes out warm air onto my mouth and chin. I force my eyes open, meeting his soft gaze. "Now I have to come back," he jests softly, chuckling. A small chuckle leaves me, mingling with his. Our chuckling ebbs too quickly. He strokes my cheek one last time as he rises to his stature and steps back from me.

Eric turns to Wessel and looks at him, stilling. "What?" he asks warily.

Wessel shakes his head at Eric. "Nothing, Eric. Nothing at all." He looks down at me, his face stern, though his eyes are heavy with sadness...disappointment. "We'll be back, milady. Try to rest and heal."

A pang enters my heart. Did I wound Wessel? My brother? "Be careful, Wessel. Return as soon as possible."

He nods. "We will. Goodbye, Torrance."

"Travel safe, both you and Eric," Torrance says.

"Yeah…" Wessel gives me a lingering look before following Eric to the tavern door. Just as they reach the door, Eric looks back at me one last time. He gives me a faint smile. My face feels so heavy, but I force my mouth up for him.

My heart clenches when he tears his eyes from me and goes out that door into the night. Wessel follows him outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Torrance sighs, though it barely pulls my attention from the shut door of the Inn. "They'll come back," he says. It takes everything in me to tear my eyes from the door to look at Torrance. He returns my gaze and nods some. "Well," he braces his hands against his knees and pushes himself up, "let me see what I can scrounge up for dinner." He makes his way to the bar.

I sigh and look about the Inn. It has emptied out a lot since I last looked around. Only a few souls remain. Some have settled on the floor on blankets and furs for the night. I look at the hearth. The girl who had drawn her father's attention to Locke earlier is sitting with her father and her little brother before the hearth. Their father tells them a bedtime story, helping the two to drift to sleep in their father's arms. I need Eric to come back safe and unharmed. Not just Eric, but Wessel too. He is my brother. It does not matter that we do not share the same blood. He is still my brother. A brother I may rebel against, but still my brother that I love.