Claire and her husband Vincent loved little critters. Back in their hometown, Claire would often sit outside her kitchen window and watch as sparrows drank from the sill and squirrels chased each other through the fir trees. Vincent loved them less because they were cute and more because his wife loved them so much. Vincent worked as a stone mason, particularly a carver of more ornate pieces, like paperweights and marble brooches. Demand for his trade was scarce where he and Claire lived, so once every three months, Vincent would take his wares, load up their wagon, saddle their horse, and lead the way to Corona's capitol. Claire insisted she come each time, leaving their two children in the care of her sister. The trek lasted about two long days, and most of the way was uphill.

At about noon on the second day, on the first snow of the season, Vincent halted the wagon when he saw a hare leap out in front of his horse. For an instant, he hoped his wife wouldn't have noticed, but his hopes were quickly silenced when he heard her squeal with delight. "Oh Vincent, it's a hare!"

Vincent couldn't help but chuckle at the sound his wife made. "So it is, dear," he mused.

Claire leaned out from her seat on the wagon bench, trying to get a closer look. "Oh, it's so cute! I didn't think hares lived around here."

"They don't," Vincent agreed. "They tend to live further south." He stared as the hare came cautiously up to the wagon wheel, its nose twitching and sniffing. Then it leapt up onto the bench and started to scratch behind one ear with its large foot.

"Oh Vincent, it likes us!" Claire beckoned to it, making clicking sounds with her tongue. The hare stopped scratching and slowly sniffed its way into her lap. Vincent's wife squealed again. "Oh Vincent, can we keep it?"

"What? No, we can't keep it," Vincent protested. "It's a wild animal!"

"Oh," his wife said again as she stroked the hare's downy head. "So soft! Well, I'm not about to throw it back out into the snow, Vincent."

Vincent sighed. "Alright. I do think it's strange that it doesn't seem afraid of us. But don't be surprised if it runs off later." He snapped the reins, and the horse continued forward. A few minutes later, they scaled the hill towards the main road, and the castle island came spilling into view below. The snow finally settled down, and the tiny forms of bustling people through the city streets became visible, like ants marching to and fro. The ocean surged around the island like a grey blanket, silver waves crashing gently on the shore.

"I always forget how beautiful this place is in winter," Claire marveled out loud.

Vincent hummed a note of disapproval. "It's not winter just yet."

"Ah," Claire reached for the hair at the nape of her husband's neck. "I know you don't like the cold. At least you don't have a field to worry about."

"We'd have more money if I had a field," he grumbled.

They made small talk down the bank, winding their way carefully down the freshly-blanketed path. The hare in Claire's lap seemed to fall asleep; she could feel its little heart beating through her woolen skirt. Soon, the capitol bridge spanned before them, and Vincent urged his horse to a stop as the guardsmen moved to check his wagon. "I hate that they do this, now," Claire muttered under her breath. "Ever since that alchemist boy kidnapped the queen –"

"Hush, darling," Vincent warned. "They're just doing their job. They're trying to protect us as much as the next person."

Claire hummed a note of disapproval, but she said no more.

The guards didn't take long to glance into the back of the wagon; all they saw were Vincent's carefully-cut merchandise and an old, ceremonial broadsword. The guards shrugged, agreed the wagon was clear, and allowed Vincent and his wife to cross. Claire let out a sigh of relief as they entered through the wide gates, gazing lovingly at the pale, friendly masonry. "It's always nice to see the capitol."

"Yes," Vincent nodded with a small smile. "It means we get to make money."

"Oh!" Claire exclaimed as the hare in her lap woke up and scampered down from the bench. "Wait!" she called out to it, but the hare didn't seem to hear, and she watched it disappear into a stream of human feet.

"Don't worry, love," Vincent assured her. "I'm sure it had a reason for coming with us. It can take care of itself."

Distracted as the hare vanished into the cobblestone streets, Claire and Vincent did not notice a very frightened-looking girl and a hooded figure sweep out from the back of the wagon and flee down the nearest alley, clutching a large sword in the girl's arms. They ducked under a vacant shop sign and paused to catch their breath.

"Do you think anyone saw us?" Varian asked, glancing back and forth down the alley. He felt Rudiger wriggle his way up past the clasp of his cloak, almost snapping it off as the racoon breathed in a gulp of fresh air. "Sorry, Rudiger. You're going to have to stay down just a little longer."

Shay didn't answer; she'd managed to cast an invisibility spell when the guards had come to search, but the spell had dissipated the instant she'd picked up the sword. She pressed her back into the wall of the empty shop, as if she was trying to melt into it.

Varian's stern expression relaxed into a relieved smile when he saw Killy race down towards them. "Nice work," he complimented the hare; the creature responded with a firm thump of his foot and a twitch of his nose. "Now then, let's see if I can get my bearings." He made a nervous chuckle. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I've actually come through this side of the city before. I don't suppose you happen to have a map of the capitol in your mother's journal, do you?" When no answer came, he looked over. "Shay?"

Dread flooded his veins when he saw that Shay had shrunk to the ground, crouching low and clutching her father's sword to her chest. She was shaking from head to toe, her breathing quick and shallow, and her eyes were wide and unblinking. Killy stepped over to paw at her foot, but Shay didn't even seem to notice. "Shay," Varian tugged his hood off and knelt down in front of her. "Hey, come on. Look at me. Look at me, Shay."

Shay swallowed hard. "What am I doing?" she whispered out loud. "What am I doing here? What were we thinking?"

"Shay, stop."

"They'll find us, they'll find us and throw us in prison…" Panicked tears started to stream down her pallid cheeks. "Oh, dear God!"

Varian snapped his fingers under her nose, and she gasped with a start. "Listen," he hissed. "We are not going to prison, okay? We're going to find Xavier, get the answers we need, and then we'll leave harborside and go back to the Haderon Forest. We'll go back, and it'll be like you never left." He gripped her shoulder, and her frantic eyes finally focused on him. "Come on, where's the girl who helped me fight the undead last week? You want to save your mom, right?"

Shay took a moment to process the question. She nodded shakily. "W-what if we…what if we –"

"It's not going to happen," he shook his head. "I'm here, Shay. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He reached for Spellbane and tugged it out of her grip, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he reached for her hand and pulled her up to her feet. "You don't let go, okay?" he instructed, squeezing her fingers. "You don't let go, we won't be separated. Got it?"

Shay said nothing; her face was still alarmingly pale, and Varian was worried she would retch. But she set her jaw tight, and she pressed her lips together in a firm line as she gave another nod.

"Good." Varian stuffed Rudiger back down into the pocket of his apron and pulled his hood back up over his head. "If we can get out to the main street, we should be able to narrow it down from there. Come on." He led her down a few more alleys and around a few more corners, the cold stone biting back at the anxious heat in his blood. "There," he said with a forced note of cheeriness as a stream of people became visible up ahead. "I recognize that road. That's east, towards the bakers' district, which means the castle is to our left." He frowned. "Now to find Xavier. It would help if I knew what he looked like, or what he does for a living."

"I…" He heard Shay give a shuddering exhale, and she used her free hand to wipe the clouds from her vision. "Let me look." Her mother's journal appeared, and she peered down at the pages as she searched. "I think he's a blacksmith. Yes, he is! It says here he forged my parents' wedding bands."

Varian frowned; a smithy would be found wanting for decent cover, away from prying eyes. "Let's hope he's in a hospitable mood," he grumbled to himself. "Alright, I know where a smith would be." With the sword on his back, it might even prove as a good cover story, in case the man tried to ask questions. He carefully led Shay out into the street, blending quietly in with the people as they milled about, gossiping to each other and bargaining with shopkeepers.

"So many," he heard Shay breathe.

"It's alright," Varian coaxed her along. "They're just people, like you and me, like the people in Ghislaine."

"Right. Okay." He felt Shay hesitate as the full view of the castle emerged ahead, its slender towers and flickering purple banners soaring against the cloudy sky. "It's beautiful," she whispered in awe.

Varian knew it was risky, but he let her pause and appreciate the sight. "Yes, it is," he agreed. "It's even better on the inside." He glanced at her and flashed a wry grin. "But we'll break into the castle another time. Come on, we're almost there."

Shay gasped before he could turn around. "The guards!" she hissed.

The word snapped Varian to attention, and he quickly yanked Shay forward at a double pace. They ducked around the closest street corner just as the guards turned their helmeted heads in their direction. Varian's face grew hard as they took an unplanned shortcut through a back alley and underneath a woman's line of laundry; he narrowly avoided a pair of paisley-printed bloomers latching onto his nose.

They emerged out onto a jeweler's street corner; a good sign. Jewelers sold their wares in the same area as the blacksmith, since they often collaborated with each other. Varian looked for the telltale sign of steam and red-hot metal and was rewarded with the sight of a swarthy, broad man with a thick, grey beard, carefully placing his latest creation into a slack tub, the metal cooling instantly with a sharp hiss and a bloom of vapor.

Varian was just about to lead Shay towards him when he felt a very cold, gauntleted hand clasp his shoulder. "Just one minute," he heard the guard's voice, icy and stabbing in his ear. "Where do you think you're going with a sword like that?"

Shay's grip on Varian's hand was numbing. He could feel against his chest that Rudiger had stopped breathing. He had a millisecond to think of something, anything. His free hand darted under his cloak, reaching swiftly for a gas compound, an arrowhead, anything he could use to escape –"

"Ah!" He heard a warm, loud voice proclaim. "A customer! Come, come! My grindstone has been longing for a masterwork to sharpen!"

"Coming!" Varian heard Shay cry, and she nearly tore his arm out of its socket as she surged forward. Miraculously, the guard's grip on his shoulder slipped, and he was free.

The blacksmith beckoned with a frying-pan-sized hand, a wide beam spreading across his dark face. "Come," he said again as they approached. "Let us step inside for a moment. It looks like you require my services."

Varian let Shay lead this time; she followed the blacksmith past the yellow fires of the forge and through a mahogany door. He almost tripped over Killy as the hare darted inside; they found themselves inside a modest living room with a bench, a large table with three chairs, a mantelpiece filled with numerous vials and trinkets, and an old fireplace with an empty spit. It looked almost like the Crimson Caster's cabin, except the blacksmith's home was much warmer and full of life. A peace seemed to push at Varian's soul, and he fought the urge to relax in this pleasant place.

The blacksmith closed the door behind them and dusted his hands off. He said nothing at first as he tugged off his leather apron and draped it with care on a wall peg. He turned and took in the sight of his guests, his deep eyes staring at the blade on Varian's back. "If I may?" he finally asked, stretching his hand out.

Varian looked to Shay. Shay gave a single nod. Varian unbuckled the strap and carefully handed the sword over. The blacksmith unsheathed the blade, observing the runes and tempered metal with an expert eye. "I have seen this weapon before," he mused thoughtfully. "It belonged to Captain Cain, a priceless gift he received from the Keeper of the Spire." He placed the naked sword on the tabletop with the care of placing a child in its crib. In the same thoughtful tone, he continued, "I believe he hoped to pass it down to his firstborn son, but I know for a fact that he and his wife were blessed with a daughter instead." A sad note made his next words lukewarm and somber. "His life was ended before he could have another child. An unfortunate turn of events."

"It is you," Shay sighed with relief.

Xavier nodded slowly. "Strange that Cain's daughter is traveling with a traitor to the crown." He focused on Varian's frozen face. "You do know that housing a traitor is a…well…a treasonous offense?

Varian felt alarm flare up his spine. He gestured openly to Spellbane and managed to speak in a calm tone. "You were friends with the Crimson Caster. Something tells me it wouldn't be the first time for you. Besides, if you know who I am, then why did you just help us?"

Xavier gazed at the blade and sighed, "Touché, son of Quirin. You have a quick tongue, which you certainly didn't get from your father. Quirin has always been a man of few words, for as long as I've known him. He is a good man, a good friend. Of course, you have my sympathies, but that does not mean I condone your actions against the crown." He shot Varian a split-second glare, white-hot and tranquil with fury. "The princess is dear to Corona. Six months in prison will not suffice."

"I know," Varian answered firmly.

They stared at each other for a protracted, painfully quiet moment. Then Xavier returned to staring at the blade. "To answer your question, the only reason why I stopped the guards is because I know they would charge the young lady as an accessory." His eyes fell upon Shay. "And since I am unaware of any criminal activities she may be involved in, I will give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, if you are traveling alone, it means something has happened to Lyra." He gestured to the red eye hidden under Shay's hair. "I would recognize that eye anywhere, child. You needn't hide it from me."

Shay tugged her stiff fingers out of Varian's and reached to tuck her hair out of her face. Varian removed his hood and pulled Rudiger out into the open, setting the racoon on the floor. Rudiger yawned and curled himself around a table leg, his ring tail twitching as Killy settled down next to him.

"Sit," Xavier offered, his voice regaining the warmth from before. "For now, at least, you have nothing to fear. Now, tell me, why has the son of a knight and a witch's daughter come to see me?"

It was evening by the time Varian and Shay had finished explaining. Varian had done most of the talking; he could tell that Shay was still shaken, and she was probably tired from the journey. The streets had emptied as citizens returned to their homes for the night, and the smell of home-cooked meals filtered in through the cracks of Xavier's door. As the blacksmith listened, he fixed them a simple dinner of yeasty bread and flaky cheese; Varian was astonished at the man's hospitality towards him, and he struggled with a loss for words as he gratefully accepted his food.

After a few minutes, Xavier noticed Shay's uneaten plate. "Eat, child," he told her. "You need your strength."

Shay reluctantly took her bread and ate a very small bite. Her eyes hadn't left her father's sword the entire evening.

Xavier sighed, leaning back in his chair with his hand laced over his stout belly. "It seems you will not be satisfied until you know I won't betray you." He traced a cross over his left breast. "As I live and breathe, no one will know the son of Quirin was here this night. Or in the morning, since you both will need a place to sleep. For now, I must ask you both to be patient." A kind smile tugged at the corners of his bearded mouth. "I think I have an idea of how to help you. I will tell you when the dawn comes, when your minds are sharp and you're well rested."

Rudiger and Killy darted up the stairs as their host led them into a side room. He gave them blankets and a single candle to light in the darkness. He turned to Shay and placed a gentle hand on the crown of her head. "I have another room, if you'd like," he told her.

Shay shook her head under the weight of his hand. "No, I…" She glanced hesitantly at Varian. "I'd like to not be alone."

Xavier smiled. "Very well. I'll leave you to your rest, then."

Varian, who had knelt to spread the blankets down, jumped up as the blacksmith turned to leave. "Wait," he followed him out onto the landing. "I…" He stared down at his feet. "Thank you," he whispered. "You didn't have to do what you did for us. I recognize that."

Xavier reached out for Varian's shoulder. "It is what your father would do for me, boy. Though, perhaps you are not so much a boy, anymore."

Varian felt his eyes water; for an instant, it felt like his father's hand was resting on him, and the hollow pit in his chest flickered with an ache he could hardly bear.

Then Xavier pulled away, and his hand fell back to his side. "For what it may be forth," he said, "I hope you will be given the opportunity to atone for your actions."

Varian swallowed thickly. "That makes two of us."

"I hope to believe it, in time." Then the blacksmith disappeared down the stairs, the candle flame in his hand casting flickering shadows along the wall.

Varian returned to the side room, leaving the door ajar. He saw that Shay had already folded herself into an agitated bundle on the floor, curled up next to Killy with the back of her thumb pressed to her mouth. He could see dry tracks of saltwater stained across her cheek. He wondered if she had already fallen asleep, but he could see her red eye wide open and staring at the opposite wall.

"Shay."

She twitched.

"You need anything?"

He heard her swallow. "It's so strange," she breathed. "From the minute I left home, every second of every day, I've been terrified. I've tried so hard to keep it hidden. I suppose I haven't done a very good job of it. But now, I…I think I'm excited."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because we're finally here." Her red eye swiveled and stared at him. "We actually made it. We stopped Caius. We escaped guards and bandits. We found Xavier. For the first time, I believe. It's such a wonderful feeling." Her red eye closed, and she almost seemed to melt into the floor. "Thank you, Varian."

Varian understood. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. They really had come a long way. For some reason, he had a feeling they still had a very long way to go. He knew he did, at least. But she was right; by some miracle, they were here. They were safe. And, for now, at least, they had someone on their side. He nudged Rudiger out of the way as he knelt down carefully and swept the girl's face clear; she didn't even stir. Varian realized he was just as fatigued, as he lowered himself down next to her and almost immediately lost consciousness. Just before slipping away, he prayed that no phantoms would come visit him as he slept. In twisted answer, his rest was assailed by vicious nightmares: dreadful visions of death and anarchy, of the tree he had seen in flickers within Haderon's tomb. The stream he had glimpsed was ablaze with white fire, and instead of a little girl's laugh, he heard a wretched scream.

As he turned towards the sound, he saw a blue stone, opalescent and blossoming with light. He tried to reach out for it, but his arm wouldn't respond. There was an arrow in his shoulder once more, blood dripping down to his fingertips. He saw his reflection in a mirror, saw the blue light in his hair, his eyes. Then, like a candle flame, it died, and he finally awoke in a cold sweat.

The sound of a guard's footsteps echoed on the other side of the door.