A/N—Ok, I have two more sections typed up and waiting to be edited then posted after this. It'll probably be a few days. Please, read (of course) and review. I'll try to be good about updating for at least a little while.

Royal Forest, Tortall

Summer 458 H.E.

Roald could easily say that he'd never been in worse shape in his life. Not even directly after the Conquering had he been this sore, hungry, and dirty. Now he was crouched in the Royal Forest between two massive trees watching a doe graze. His stomach clenched in hunger and he tightened his hold on his rusty dagger. They needed food—him and the Gennature guard, Maron—but he doubted he could catch the doe. He also doubted the food would be worth the pain it would cause in his wounded shoulder. Watching the doe, he silently cursed himself. If only he'd been able to resist going to her room. Him and Maron could have gotten easily out of the palace and Maron could have gone back without anyone knowing. They would have both been fine now instead of hurt, hungry, and filthy. But when they'd reached the passage that led to her suits he hadn't been able to pass by. He winced now, remembering how he'd pleaded to convince Maron. "She's my mother. I just want to see her, just see her."

The doe took a few steps forward, finding a choice patch of grass. Roald shifted so he could see through the brush in front of him and winced as he accidentally brushed his shoulder against the rough tree bark.

Stupid, he thought. He'd been so stupid. He closed his eyes, forgetting about the doe and going over the horrible events detail by detail.

The hallway was very dark but his feet remembered the way. Maron followed uncertainty in his wake. They crouched at the end of the passage and she was just sitting there in a large chair. She was all alone in the room and she had a hand-written, leather-bound book on her lap. She looked just as Roald remembered her, except her black hair was shorter. Before he knew what he was doing, he opened the passage and stepped into the room. Maron grabbed at the back of his shirt but he pulled away. Thayet jumped to her feet, tense and defensive. They both froze, staring unbelieving at each other.

"Roald." She said but he sensed another's name had died on her lips and he felt weary.

"It's me, mother." He said. He was suddenly aware of how ratty he must look. She came across the room and gently brushed her hand against his cheek. There were tears in her eyes.

"You're real." Thayet whispered. "You look so much like your father." Roald felt himself drawing back a bit. "You've grown into a man and I wasn't there. What happened to you?" She took his hands and, glancing down at them, her expression changed. The first word that came to mind when Roald saw that look in her eyes was horrified. He looked down at his own hands, wondering, and saw the "X" between his thumb and forefinger. He hadn't thought about it since the day he'd been branded a murderer. He pulled his hands away but not before she saw his other brand—the large "B" on the underside of his wrist. He started to wish he hadn't come.

"I'm fine." Roald said automatically and defensively.

"You…" She said but couldn't finish. She threw her arms around him and pulled him against her in a tight hug. "I love you, Roald." She said. There was a sound from one of the adjoining rooms and all three of them tensed. Thayet let him go and he stepped back towards the passageway. "Gary has an inn called Cythera's Home. He'll be able to help you, Roald." Thayet said in a rush. "You must go see him."

Roald nodded then turned around and ran, Maron once again following him. And things had just gotten worse from there. Maron had been seen so he could never go back either and they'd both been wounded, Maron badly. If Thayet had been distressed to see him dusty, thin, and branded she would be appalled to see him now. He was covered in mud, dirt, and dried blood, most of which wasn't his. His clothes were in tatters, he hadn't eaten in days and his brands could still clearly be seen. More then anything else, what was bothering him was how she'd reacted to those brands. He'd never thought about them before; they'd never bothered him before, but they'd so easily upset her. And the problem was, while he could remedy filth, hunger, and injuries, he could never change those brands.

"Stupid." Roald said, not meaning to speak out load. The doe lifted her head, all her senses focused on where Roald was crouched. He hardly breathed until she lowered her head again. Roald waited for her to relax then jumped through the bushes, dagger ready. His twisted ankle screamed at him and he ripped open his shoulder wound again. The doe jumped away from him but his dagger caught her shoulder and ripped through to her chest with her movement. I'll be able to follow her trail. Roald thought, happily. She took another two leaps then froze.

A huge, black spidren lowered itself from the tree, watching them. The doe's muscles rippled then she darted away again. Roald stepped backwards into the trees and before he knew what was happening he was tumbling down a steep hill, going too fast to get his bearings. His already hurt left shoulder slammed into a rock, tearing through clothing, bandage, and skin. The contact whipped his body around so his whole left side was thrown against the rock. He felt bones break in his arm and ribs and a scream was ripped from his throat. He rolled over the rock and on down the hill. He reached out with his good arm and his fingers closed around a tree root. The momentum of his fall yanked his arm straight and pain exploded in his shoulder. Mercifully, he finally passed out.