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.

39. Chapter 39 Risk for Promise

Chapter 39 Risk for Promise

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Day thirty-four since I escaped hell. I should feel relief, but I don't. A shiver goes down my spine. I pull my coat tighter about me and nestle my cheek against Eric's chest. His warmth soon touches my numb cheek, making it tingle. The chill today is not the cruelest, but it has an edge. It's strange to not be looking at everyone's backs. Eric rides beside Torrance and his buckskin stallion. Locke follows closely behind us on his grey horse while Wessel leads the way on his chestnut. The men are unusually quiet today. The last three days, all they did was chatter about the old times they shared. A frown weighs on my mouth while unease stirs my stomach. Why the silence? I look up ahead at all the snowy, icy mountains that surround us.

My eyes widen. The white path ahead splits into three ways, carving narrow passes between four towering mountains!

"Three paths," I say aloud. Just as Eric said there would be.

"Aye," Eric says above me. "That's the start of Red Salt Canyons. We take the left one."

I tilt my chin back, meeting his gaze. As he said, the men steer their horses towards the far left pass—or slot canyon.

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I stare up at the grey sky above the gap of the slot canyon we are passing through. This slot canyon is so narrow that we end up falling into single file, Wessel leading the way, then Eric and I, then Torrance, and Locke taking up the back. The snow crunches beneath the horses' hooves, their steps resonating up the icy rock walls. A horse nickers. His nicker shoots up the rock walls and resonates like thunder rumbling. My stomach stirs more. I look at the top of the canyon, the right side, then the left. If anyone is up there, all they'd have to do is look down to see us. How easy it'd be for them to send an arrow our way. There's nowhere to take cover. There's little chance to fight back seeing as the enemy would only have to step back from the chasm's edge to evade Torrance's arrow.

Ah, perhaps I am worrying for no reason. Yes, I hate how narrow this canyon is, pinning us in here like trapped rats, but perhaps I am worrying for nothing. Polliard is the only real risk. I force my eyes down to Wessel. My heart sinks. He is looking straight up. Though I cannot see his eyes, I can imagine him looking back and forth at the edges of the canyon praying that no bounty hunter sees us.

I look back at Eric. He, too, is looking skyward, his hard eyes scanning the tops of the rock walls. My mouth opens and breath fills me, his name coming to the tip of my tongue, but I stop it. I want him to look down at me, to feel that protection and safety that only he has made me feel in fourteen years. I press my gloved hand to his chest. He looks down at me. Seeing his blue eyes, so vibrant in this colorless world—it swells my chest with fuzzy warmth, but my heart constricts. I hated seeing those eyes closed when he was trapped in his coma. First one's eyes are closed for days and nights on end...then her eyes peel open part way, glazed over with...death—God, I cannot think it lest I break down into bitter tears before Eric!

The corners of his mouth spread, pushing into his cheeks, but it is caught somewhere between a smile and a frown. He takes my hand from his chest and squeezes my hand with his gentle strength. Disappointment sinks to my stomach like a rock. He wants to smile down at me, to comfort me and assure me that I am safe from all harm so long as he is here with me, but I see it in his eyes. He knows something is troubling me. Fear spikes in my stomach. God forbid he ever learns it is my guilt!

My mouth parts again, the words wanting to spill out of me. I want to confess to him how...how cruel I was to mama that bitter night. If I could just confess this to him with the assuredness that he would not turn his back on me—I would never ask him to accept me with such a wicked sin staining my soul, nor ask him to forgive me in my mother's stead. None of that I want, but only that he see me for who I am...and accept me. I would never ask him to do so, but if he could do that...I doubt he could do that. He loves Sara because she is a spotless lamb. If she had any sins, they were trivial. The worst she could have ever done was tell someone their newborn was beautiful when in reality she thought the babe was a bit too scrawny.

I look down at our joined hands, the wind toying with the dark fur of my glove about his bare fingers. He deserves better than my lies and my cowardice. He senses something is wrong, whether he knows it is my guilt or not, so why does he put up with it? Why is he still holding my hand? A pang passes through the left side of my stomach and dissipates. My chest constricts further. If he knew just one of my dark truths, any of them, he would not be holding my hand. If he knew how I butchered—what I did to his beloved's body...I'd be surprised if his hands didn't wrap around my throat. I wouldn't blame him for it.

"Lass?" Eric whispers so softly that my ears barely pick it up. His frown deepens. "What's wrong?"

I shouldn't be holding his hand. I don't deserve his care, his affection. How right Wessel is. None of this is fair to Eric. Sara asked me to consider Eric's heart, to be kind and gentle with it. Is this what she meant when she asked that favor of me? God, but to lose that care, that concern for me...I cannot look at him anymore. I avert my eyes to Ylva's ears and pull my hand from his. "Nothing," I whisper, my whisper resonating against the rock walls. My heart beats faster. I wince. That was louder than I intended to speak. Wessel peeks back at us, worry in his face. I stiffen. It's not because of any bounty hunters looming over us. He sees straight through my lie.

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The only sounds are the horses' hooves crunching in the snow and a soft nicker here and there. We keep squeezing through the slot canyon, the canyon having grown so narrow that the horses cannot turn around to flee back the way we came should any bounty hunters spot us and attack us. My stomach knots horribly. I look from Wessel to Torrance and to Locke, catching Eric's eyes as I purposely pass over him. All the men have drawn their hoods over their heads. For good reason. I pull my scarf over my frozen nose and numb mouth, protecting my healing cheeks and my nose from the cold, but also hiding enough of my face so all anyone can see are my eyes. I'm not the only woman to have dark eyes, so surely that will help when we reach Polliard.

Those blue eyes weigh down on my head. I shouldn't look at him. I should just look at Ylva's ears, at the chestnut's copper-colored tail, at Wessel's back, at the pass ahead—I have some choices. Yet the tug on my heart, the pull on my eyes...I find myself looking up into those sad blue eyes. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. He wants to speak with me. Whenever we find ourselves alone again, he will ask what is troubling me. The tension that is in his body is the same tension he had when we were in that room in Vilgard with Torrance. He knows I lied to him when I said nothing was wrong.

He tears his eyes from me suddenly and looks ahead. My heart flutters and my stomach flips. I look ahead, too. The sight does little to calm me. This slot canyon opens up ahead, but beyond the open space the canyon splits into three—no, seven ways. There are three level paths to travel, but diverging off the three level paths are four steep ridges leading upwards. There are two steep ridges down one level path, one down the level path in the middle, and one down the last level path to our right. Each ridge looks barely wide enough for the men's horses to travel up. Some parts of the ridges look to be naturally formed while other parts had been hewed out of the canyon walls. Running along the open sides of the ridges is a poor excuse for a railing; rotted wood beams anchored in the stone and tethered together with frayed, frosty rope. Parts of the railing are missing, having crumbled away with old age, harsh weather, and apathy to maintain it...perhaps not apathy, but lack of men who would have kept these paths in good condition.

Eric flexes his hands about the reins and pulls back, bringing Ylva to a stop. Wessel pulls back on his reins, halting his chestnut. I glance back at Torrance and Locke. They also have stopped their horses. My brows furrow while worry stirs in my gut. Why did we stop? I look back at Eric—"Ye'll stay on Ylva," he says, keeping his voice quiet. He leans over me as he swings his leg over Ylva's rump and lands squarely on his feet. I look at the other men as they dismount their horses, too. Why are they dismounting their horses!? I look down at Eric as he grabs my waist and lifts me over the horn of his saddle to sit in his saddle.

"Why have you all dismounted?" I lean towards Eric, keeping my voice as quiet as he did.

His hands linger on my waist. "We'll be goin' up that path." He nods toward the slot canyon ahead. I glance at the slot canyon straight ahead—he means not the level canyon, but the narrow ridge going up the left rock wall. My stomach twists. "It'll be easier on the horses," he says. He gives my waist a gentle squeeze and releases me, sending a pleasurable tingle up my sides and spine.

My heart aches for the men and Eric as he lifts the reins over Ylva's head and steps ahead of her, clicking his tongue. Ylva nickers and follows Eric. I sigh and look at Wessel leading his chestnut. I glance back, catching Torrance's eyes and faint smile as he leads his buckskin and Locke leads his horse. It hardly seems fair that the men have to walk while I have the luxury of staying on Ylva's back, nor anymore fair to Ylva that she's the one who has to carry me. Though, she is a few hands taller than the other horses. She is slender, built for speed and stamina, but her powerful muscles are defined beneath her full black coat. She is a hardy creature. Her mane and tail are thick and long, the black a deep, rich color. I grip the horn of Eric's saddle and lean over without falling off to see Ylva's hooves. She lifts her leg out of the snow with her stride, flashing that beautiful feathering of fur covering her hooves before she places her hoof down in the snow. She is bred for a wintery world. I smile to myself and sit back in Eric's warm saddle. She may be old, but she's beautiful and strong. God, she does not look as old as she is. She looks to be in her prime.

My smile leaves me when Wessel starts his ascent up the narrow ridge with his horse, his chestnut's hooves clopping loudly against the exposed stone. I swallow and fix my eyes on Eric's boots. He steadily leans forward to keep his balance as he starts the climb up the steep, narrow ridge. As Ylva goes up the incline, my body pulls backwards, my stomach dropping! I grip the horn of the saddle tighter and hunker over the horse.

"Hold on tight. It's a steep climb," Eric says, pulling my eyes to him. He's looking back at me, worried.

My face falls flat. "Really? I didn't notice." An ache touches my heart, making me wince. That was needlessly cruel. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

He smirks at me, taking no offense at my sarcasm. He leans towards me, his smirk growing into a smile. The air between us shifts towards something pleasant, exciting. My heart beats harder while that bubbly feeling rises in my stomach. I lean closer to him. Anything to grant my aching heart some relief.

He looks ahead, minding his footing on the steep ridge, and he looks back at me. "It's very cold, too," he whispers, grinning that silly toothy smile of his.

I snort and shake my head at him, barely suppressing my stupid grin. So it's a game of stating the obvious, is it? "These Red Salt Canyons have yet to show their red salt."

He cocks his head, chuckling quietly. "Aye, really?" He checks his footing before he looks to the canyon wall and runs his fingers along the rockface. He glances back at me and shows me his fingers. My eyes widen. There on his fingertips is glistening red dust! That must be the red salt, but it looks more like ruby dust.

"It's beautiful," I say and lift my eyes to him.

His smile softens. "It tastes better than it looks. Try it." He offers his hand to me.

My brows furrow, my smile nearly gone. "I'm not licking your fingers!"

His eyes pop open and he bursts into breathy laughter, trying to keep his voice quiet. "Nae, I was thinkin' ye'd taste it off yer fingers."

"Oh, I understand now."

He chuckles at me while I pull my glove off my left hand and gingerly brush my fingertips across his, collecting some of the red salt onto my fingers. My heart speeds up with that fuzzy warmth as my nerves tingle and the moths in my stomach stir. I drag in a shuddery breath, trying in vain to ward off that sinful heat from pooling in my loins. I quickly bring my fingers to my mouth, yank down my scarf, and take the most discreet lick from my middle fingertip. Sudden sweetness and saltiness blooms across the tip of my tongue. "Oh wow!" I murmur.

His smile grows. "How does it taste?"

"It's…" I swirl my tongue around my mouth, spreading the bit of salt to the rest of my tongue "...it's good, if strong!"

He nods. "Aye. Ye only need a pinch of this to flavor yer food." He takes a small lick from his fingertips and brushes his hand across his trousers, sprinkling the red dust onto his boot and the stone ridge beneath us. "Now, back to sayin' the obvious," he says, casting a playful look back at me. That look alone builds up the bubbly feeling. I barely suppress my giggling.

He giggles, too, as he says, "Ye may no' see it, but the sky is really blue," that silly toothy grin of his pushes into his cheeks, "jus' like my eyes." He touches his finger to his temple, pointing out his eyes.

My heart stirs, pushing that stupid, toothy grin into my cheeks. I find myself leaning even closer to him. "I must say it's the loveliest shade of blue I've ever seen."

His eyes widen briefly before his smile pushes into his eyes. "Thank ye, but there's someone here who's got prettier eyes than me."

"Oh!" I cannot stop my giggling, my heart swooning. This is all so corny, so silly. There was a time I guffawed at these romantic gestures, but now...I find myself caught up in the very game I laughed at. "Pray tell, whose eyes are you referring to?"

He raises his brows at me. "I'd think in a game of sayin' the obvious, it should be obvious."

"Hmm," I hum, a smug look creeping into my face. "Do you mean Torrance's eyes?"

His eyes spring open. "What!? Nae!" he whispers with a grin, snickering and laughing in a failing attempt to keep quiet.

"Then do you mean Ylva's eyes?" I look down at the mare and stroke her neck, the strength of her muscles so palpable that it travels up my arm.

His chuckling ebbs. "Yer gettin' closer."

Heat creeps into my cheeks. My nerves buzz terribly. I cannot bring myself to look at him fully. I manage to look at him out of the corners of my eyes, catching his softer smile and gentle gaze.

I swallow. It's in the air. This short-lived game is reaching its conclusion. Anything to extend its life just a moment longer. Hell, even a breath longer. "Eric," I whisper his name, my heart growing so tender that it hurts, "I'd think in our game of saying the obvious, you'd say the obvious."

"Aye, yer right." He nearly stops where he is, but his smile leaves him and he forces himself to keep going. He wanted to stop. I want him to stop so he can draw closer to me, to kiss me, but Torrance and Locke's eyes weigh on us. Wessel's ears are tuned to us. That steals the smile from my face.

Eric loops his reins about his hand four times, bringing Ylva as close to his side as possible without stepping on her hooves. He barely glances at the ridge ahead and looks back at me. I find myself wrapping my right arm about Ylva's strong neck, gripping the saddle horn so tightly, and leaning towards Eric as far as possible without falling out of the saddle. Our faces come so close that our chilled breaths mingle.

He gives me a small, soft smile. "I love yer eyes," he says for only my ears. A pang enters my heart, more intense and fiery because of its tender state. Love? My stomach churns. It churns more and more until nausea starts creeping up my throat. Many have said I have my father's eyes—so dark that they are the color of night. More like the color of hell. How can Eric say he loves my black eyes when I have the eyes of his brother's killer? How does he not see Magnus' eyes staring back at him right now!?

Not just that, but for him to say that word again—Love...I tear my eyes from Eric and look ahead at Wessel's horse. How bitterly this sweet, corny game has ended. I should have seen it's ending when he brought up his eyes. "I don't think you mean that," I say. Another fiery pang pierces my heart. I cannot bring myself to look at him. "Sure, you like my eyes. You find them pretty. You must like the dark eyed ladies." I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth and push my shaky hand back into my glove, hiding every bit of me from him—except my eyes. God, I think I'd rather be standing before him naked with all my scars and wounds and my pasty skin stretched over my bones than for him to see my eyes right now.

A weight presses on my left thigh—his hand! I stiffen, heat stirring in my loins. "I mean what I say. Always," he says only for my ears. He squeezes my thigh gently, the sensation shooting up my thigh, churning that sinful desire too much. "I've told ye this before." His pitch drops to a near grumble. "Dinnae ye believe me?"

My heart twists about itself so much. I heard it in his words, his voice. I feel it emanating from him like a fire's warmth. I hurt him. How deeply I hurt him...do I want to know? I mean what I say. Always. He cannot really mean love. God knows...I would rejoice if he loves me. God knows I would, but for Eric's sake alone, he cannot! And if you keep up this lie with Eric, he will end up loving a lie. Wessel's warning strikes me like a punch to my chest. I shake my head, trying to shake Wessel's foreboding words out of my head. Panic surges in me. My heart beats harder, faster. My fingernails dig into the horn of Eric's saddle, leaving marks in the stiff leather wrap about the wooden horn. If Eric loves me to any degree, any at all, then how much greater his hate for me will be when he learns my true name! If he doesn't lop my head from my shoulders there on the spot, that will be a shock to me.

"We're near Polliard," Wessel says softly, but loud enough for all of us to hear. His voice echoes a few times up the slot canyon—that we are so close to the top of! I daringly lean back enough to peek down below. My stomach lurches. We are so far up! The ground below is nothing but a razor-thin, wavering strip of white against the grey stone of the canyon walls! I can just see a fall from this height splitting a horse in two...or one of us in two. I gulp down my excess spit and retreat to the safety of Ylva's back. I may have enjoyed scaling many furniture and apple trees before my imprisonment, but that always came with the safety of nanny's hands or the soft grass below. This...all that lies down there is rock. Cruel, cold, cutting rock.

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One by one, we come out of the slot canyon onto a snowy road. My eyes widen as I take in the road. It's a well traveled road, the snow matted down from frequent traffic. The road is wide enough for carts and wagons to pass each other by. I lift my eyes further up the road. There, not too far ahead, is a collection of dark buildings and snowy rooftops. The settlement is at least ten times the size of Vilgard and the buildings are larger and much closer together. Perhaps so close together that two neighbors can reach out their windows and shake each other's hands. More people fill the streets of the town, perusing merchants' stalls and going into and out of shops. Coming the opposite way down the road are five men on horseback, their plan to head into town clear, while a common looking man is driving his mule wagon out of town.

"That's Polliard!?" I ask.

"Yes, milady," Wessel says. I glance down at him, meeting his gaze. He offers me a small smile. "It used to be crowded with life and commerce before the black Queen. It's died down a lot, but…," he looks to the town, "...they're still holding on."

Died down? My heart drops. I look up at the town. Vilgard was by no means nearly as busy as this town, but there is a lot of open space in the streets. Too much open space. A heavy force comes over my heart, pushing it down so far. There is an emptiness to the town that should not be there. Despite the number of people in the streets, there is a solemn quiet to them even from this far away. The emptiness, the quiet...there are far more women than men. The missing men...husbands, fathers, brothers, sons...something stirs inside me, the knowledge there deep down.

"Where are all the men?" I ask aloud to anyone who will answer.

"The dead King took alot of lads from 'ere," Eric answers, bitterness tainting his voice. I look down at him and frown, though he cannot see my frown behind my scarf. He glances up at me, a scowl distorting his face. His eyes soften and his brows relax, smoothing those angry wrinkles. "They died durin' the War." He looks ahead at Polliard. "It was the battle of Calaster. The ole hag raised up her phantom army from the ground like the dead from their graves. They came right up and skewered the lads where they stood." He looks back at me, his blue eyes heavy with the terrible memories of that battle. "Most of the lads in that infantry were from here."

"That was a terrible day," Torrance says. I want to look back at him, but I cannot take my eyes from Eric. "Those who survived the first wave and made it off the field...I was only able to patch up two men." I finally manage to tear my eyes from Eric and look back at Torrance. He frowns up at me, leading his buckskin by the reins. "One of them died a week later from infection in his blood. I missed the signs, his fever, his fast breathing, his pounding heart, his delirium…" Torrance shakes his head. "I should have seen it."

My heart aches for the orphaned healer. "Torrance, you did the best you could with the knowledge you had then. That's what matters." If I could, I would leap down from Ylva and embrace him.

Torrance's frown lessens. "I...I never looked at it like that…Thank you."

"Of course," I say softly.

Torrance nods—he stops mid nod and looks right suddenly. I twist in the saddle to look behind me. Not too far down the road are the five men on their horses. Now that they are much closer, perhaps a good stone's throw from us, I can see their layers of thick furs and black leathers. Two of the men have crossbows strapped to their backs, but they all have swords and knives and looped ropes tied to their belts. My heart beats faster. That rope is for tying people. Bounties! One of the men locks his dark eyes with mine. His brows furrow as he scrutinizes me. The man reaches out to his companion riding beside him and taps his arm, drawing his companion's attention. The man throws his finger in my direction, drawing his companion's black eyes to me.

My heart skips a beat. "Eric," I call him quietly, my voice shaking.

"I see 'em," Eric says as he comes around to Ylva's other side, putting himself between me and the bounty hunters.

"This way," Wessel says. I look ahead at Wessel while he starts veering off the main road with his horse.

"Good day there!" a man calls. My heart lurches, jolting me in the saddle.

"Good day," Torrance says, managing to sound nonchalant, but it's not hard to miss the tight throat the greeting came out of. I glance over my shoulder.

The bounty hunter who was eyeing me starts guiding his horse closer to us. My body tenses, making it harder to draw in full breaths. "What brings you into town?" the bounty hunter asks as he reaches us and steers his horse right so he can ride beside us. His dark eyes go from Locke to Torrance to Eric and to me. Excessive spit gathers in my mouth. I swallow hard. How I want to look away, to hide my eyes from the bounty hunter, but would that be worse? I dare a glance down at Eric.

"Supplies," Eric says, sounding amiable and without a concern. That's a front. "There's plenty of rams up in the mountains. My friends and I came to hunt a few of 'em. My wife nagged me to tag along, so here she is too." He nods up at me. Wife!? "What about ye?" Eric asks the bounty hunter.

"We've come to hunt too," the bounty hunter gestures back to his four companions, "but my friends and I are after a different quarry. Men. Criminals, more like. I do beg your pardon, but you haven't seen a native woman in the company of a blonde-haired foreigner, have you?"

I cannot stop my eyes from widening.

"Ah, I'm afraid no'." Eric shakes his head, still so casual. He walks with a relaxed swagger, his strong shoulders hanging without any apparent burden on them. "I hunt animals, no' men. Ye might try yer luck at the tavern." Eric points at the town ahead and stops Ylva in the middle of the road. "Give the keeper a coin and he might have somethin' useful to tell ye."

The bounty hunter stops his horse beside us whilst his four companions pass him up on their way into town. "I might just do that. Thank you, Sir. Milady." He tips his head to me and spurs his horse on after his companions. "Good luck with your hunt!" he calls back to Eric and waves at us. I can only stare after the bounty hunter, fear churning my stomach to near nausea.

"Ye as well!" Eric gives the bounty hunter a single wave and starts off the road after Wessel, Torrance, and Locke who have gone ahead a small stone's throw. They must have went ahead to keep appearances up, but Wessel and Torrance keep looking back at us, both sick with worry.

I glance back at the bounty hunters and watch them venture into town. They are out of earshot now.

"Oh my God." I release a shuddery breath and look down at Eric, meeting his worried eyes. "You can't go into town! Not with them there!" I say, keeping my voice low.

Eric frowns at me. "They're all the more reason for me to go into town."

"What!?" I hiss. His frown only deepens as we reach the other men. Wessel leads us around the outskirts of town a small ways to a back road where there are some hitching posts and feeding troughs for the horses.

"I have to say this," Torrance says and stops his buckskin as we pass him up. Wessel, Locke, and Eric stop their horses and look back at Torrance. Torrance stands there slowly shaking his head, the wintery world and the vast snow-capped mountains behind him. "Locke, I'm sorry, but this is a stupid idea!" Torrance looks from Locke to me. "My dear, your intention is heartwarming," he throws his hand out towards the town, "but for those bounty hunters to call us out like that!—"

"This is for my father!" Locke speaks for the first time today.

Torrance groans. "I understand that, but—"

"If we dinnae make an appearance in town now, they will suspect us," Eric says.

"He's right," Wessel says reluctantly. God, he is right. How the tables have turned. Eric now wants to go into town, but Torrance is the one resisting.

"Torrance," I say, pulling his dark eyes to me, "I promised Locke I would light a candle for his father. I promised!"

Torrance frowns and drops his arm, smacking his leather coat. "Are the risks really worth your promise?" I open my mouth, desperate to cling to my promise to Locke, to start my penance...I have no words. The risks? Wessel's life, Locke's life, Eric's...

"Eric," Torrance drops his eyes to Eric, "you didn't want to come here before."

Eric sighs. "Aye, but we're here now, so let's do what we came to do and get out of here as fast as possible. Alright?"

Torrance stands there and looks at us with forlorn while the others bring their horses to the hitching posts and tie them there. Locke sits down on the edge of the feeding trough and grabs a handful of hay. He says something, some foreign word, as he holds the hay up to his horse's mouth. The horse nickers and wriggles his lips onto the hay while Eric comes around Ylva to my side, running his hand along her flank.

His eyes catch mine as he stops at Ylva's side and unties his saddlebag to dig through it. "Hey," he says to me.

My brows start furrowing, but my heart quickly softens for the hunter. "Hey," I say softly.

A small, almost—sheepish smile turns up his mouth as he looks down at his saddlebag to rummage through it.

"Torrance, Locke, you two will stay here with Greta," Wessel says as he roots into his saddlebag and pulls out a leather pouch, something metallic clinking in it. It must be gold coins. "Eric and I will head into town." He closes his saddlebag and looks up at me. "I'll go see the candlemaker."

I pull down a small piece of my scarf so he can see my grateful smile. "I cannot thank you enough, Wessel," I say softly. Those bounty hunters—that steals what smile I have. My heart stirs with worry. "If I could, I'd go into town with you. Or better yet by myself."

"At that point, I think we'd all follow you in," Torrance says, finally leading his horse to the hitching post beside Wessel's and tying his buckskin to it.

I frown at Torrance and turn my eyes to Wessel. "Please be careful and be quick," I say.

Wessel offers me a faint smile as he ties his saddlebag. "I will," he says. He looks to Torrance and Locke and nods to them. His eyes shift to Eric. "Eric, you want to walk with me?" he asks.

"Aye, sure." Eric ties off his saddlebags and looks up at me, his small, almost sheepish smile returning. "Keep an eye out. I'll be back."

My frown grows and my hand twitches dearly with the want to touch Eric somewhere—his shoulder, his arm, his cheek, I care not. But I keep my hands to myself. "Eric, you don't—" I sigh. I'm beating a dead horse. He's going into town and nothing I can say will change that. Is Torrance right? Are the risks really worth my promise to start penance? Hell, is this true penance considering I will be sitting pretty here while it is Wessel and Eric who are risking their lives going into town!? "Just be careful," I say. It's all I can say.

His sheepish smile leaves him. "Ye have my word." He takes my hand in his and squeezes it with his gentle strength.

"Always?" I ask him.

That faint, sheepish smile returns. "Always." His eyes flit down to my mouth. My heart beats a little harder. He reluctantly lifts his eyes to mine and lets go of my hand.

"Eric?" Wessel calls. "You coming or not?"

"I'm comin'," he grumbles as he steps back and tears his eyes from me. He goes around the trough and hitching posts and joins Wessel's side on the back road.

"See you in a bit!" Torrance calls after them.

"Yeah!" Wessels waves back at us.

"Wessel!?" Locke calls suddenly, speaking for the second time today. Wessel and Eric stop on the road and look back at Locke. I glance at Locke, his eyes on Wessel. The easterner bows his head deeply. "Thank you for this, my friend," he says and lifts his head to meet Wessel's gaze again. "My brother."

Wessel smiles a little bigger. "You're welcome."

Eric catches my eyes once more as he and Wessel turn and stroll down the back road into town. I snort to myself. Stroll! As if they are just strolling into a town that has five bounty hunters in it right now. God, for all any of us know, there could be fifty bounty hunters in there! I swallow hard. There must be someone I can plead with. Someone I can implore to keep the two men safe and hidden.

I bite the inside of my lip. As discreet as I can, I fold my hands in my lap.

A bittersweet memory comes back to me.

It was a rare moment and a rarer day than this rare moment. I followed after mama as we went up the center aisle of the chapel, drawing closer to the marble statue of the Maker. He wore that usual austere countenance, one that demands humility and a repentant heart. He looked like he had no room in his heart for tender feelings towards his creations. No love.

Mama stopped before the shrine and so did I. She dropped to her knees and looked back at me, her heavy, bejeweled gold crown glinting in the candlelight. "Kneel with me, Snow." That beautiful smile of hers spread her blood red mouth, warming and soothing my heart like no other smile could. She held her hand out to me. "Let me teach you how to pray to our Maker."

I frowned at her and scowled up at the statue, but I took her hand and kneeled beside her on the red carpet. "All I see is a statue of a mean man," I remember telling her.

Her smile shrunk some, but it failed to leave her. She looked up at the statute and bobbed her head. "He does look rather mean," she said and peeked a glance at me out of the corners of her eyes, the corner of her smile twitching. At the same exact time, we both bursted into laughter. The warmth that touched my cheeks, that enveloped my hand, that flooded my heart...I tightened my hand about mama's.

Our laughter died at the same time. Our smiles lingered on our faces like a mirror reflection. It was mama who broke the synchrony when she turned her dark eyes up to the statue. She reached up and took her gold crown off her head, the emeralds and diamonds glittering as she set it down on the ground before the statue of the Maker.

I felt my eyes grow big. I thought then that no King nor Queen ever took off their crown.

Mama then spoke. "Maker, who's love and kind heart is rarely felt. Rarely known. Yet it is your love, your heart, your will that begets me here today in this moment with my daughter." Mama looked at me out of the corners of her eyes, such a sweet smile on her mouth. "Thank you for this moment. Thank you so much for my daughter." A glint grew in her eyes then.

My eyes began to prickle as my heart softened. "Thank you for today, for this moment," I said. So much warmth and tenderness and love filled me then that I...I could not hold myself back. I threw my arms around mama's waist and hugged her as tight as I could. I turned my head and pressed my ear to her heart, savoring the warmth of her skin against my cheek, bringing back something sweet and raw. It made me think of how newborn babes rested their cheeks on their mother's skin. I clenched my eyes shut, squeezing out a few tears. "Thank you for mama, Maker! Thank you so much!"

I suck in a shuddery breath. That was no proper prayer mama uttered. There was no ablution prior to approaching the Maker, no proper approach to the shrine. She just walked up the red carpet with me, kneeled before the maker, took my hand, and put her crown down on the floor. Had a priest seen any of this, especially mama taking off her crown, he would have reprimanded us severely. He didn't catch us that day, though. I sigh. I'd like to think that God, the Maker...that he isn't so distant as everyone believes him to be, including me. Eric is fortunate to have a god who he can pray to spontaneously without any proper ceremony. Mama...she treated the Maker the same way. She took off her crown out of her own humility. She saw herself not as a queen in that moment, not as a mother to all her people, but she...she treated me as if I was her only child. No one else mattered to her in that moment except for me.

I drag in another shuddery breath and raise my eyes to the dreary grey clouds that darken this day more than they should. I drum my fingers inside my gloves. Maker...thank you for Wessel. For Torrance and Locke...and for Eric. Protect Wessel and Eric. Keep them safe. Return Eric to me safe and well. For Eric...I thank you. If you even hear me.

I snort to myself and pull my hands apart. I look down at Ylva and stroke the bare side of her neck. She nickers to my touch and dips her head into the trough to eat more of the hay.

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

"Call me insane, but I believe that if you make alternative routes for a man's shit and piss to exit his body in a clean manner, he can survive being cut in half!" Torrance says as he slowly paces back and forth, crossing his arms.

I cringe while Locke laughs and leans back on the trough, gripping the trough's wood edge with his ebony hands. "I will call you insane then!" Locke says with a grin. "What man would want to live like that? How long could he live for in that state?"

Torrance stops pacing and faces Locke. He shrugs. "I think a few years at least. Granted, he is always at greater risk of infection and I predict he would have some pain spells, phantom limb feeling, that sort of thing, but think about it!" He pulls his arms apart and holds his hands out. "Think of the lives we could save. Take a–a soldier who is half crushed beneath a trebuchet or a catapult or even his own horse!" He gestures to Ylva, his eyes wide with wonder and sick fascination. "We could save his life. I could!"

"By...cutting a man in half?" I ask, the grimace still on my face.

Torrance looks up to me and nods eagerly. "Yes! I believe that if I made a cut somewhere between the vertebrae within here," he turns to his side and presses his hand into his lower back, "I could reroute the nerves, spare the intestines,—"

"What about his – intestines!? Are they just going to be hanging out of him!?" I cannot help the shudder that goes through me.

Torrance grins and holds his finger up to me. "That is the genius part of this. I strip the flesh from the thigh bone," he gestures to his own thigh and brings his hands up to his abdomen as he says, "and bring it up like a sling to close him up! Simple as that!"

"I doubt this...radical idea would be as simple as that," Locke says.

Torrance's face falls. "Well, yes, that is right." He scratches his temple. "There is the rerouting and restructuring of the intestines and the ureters to consider." He holds his hand out and drops it. "I believe the nerves in the spinal cord would be the hardest part to tackle."

"Good God," I mutter and look back at the town. It's been a little while since Eric and Wessel went into the town. Worry stirs my gut more and more. They haven't been gone too long, but...what is taking them so long!?

"Torrance, a man could not live without his ass and his cock," Locke says finally.

"Agh," I grumble to myself, trying to ignore their inane conversation.

"You know what one man told me before I had to cut off his leg?" Torrance asks Locke. "He said, 'If I am nothing but a head on a platter, do what you can to save me. I cannot leave my wife behind. Not yet.' He told me that."

I keep my eyes on the back road, watching the people move about within the town, waiting on the edge of Eric's saddle for him to return. Wessel, too.

"That is nice," Locke says dismissively, done with the conversation.

"Well," Torrance grumbles. Silence falls on us briefly. A tense, pensive silence.

"What's taking them so long? Shouldn't at least one of them be back by now?" Torrance asks.

"You would think," I say and look back at Torrance. "Should it be taking them this long?"

"Perhaps not this long," Locke says somberly, pulling my eyes to him. A guiltful look twists his face. He pushes himself off the trough. "Perhaps I should go into town and check on them."

"No, don't do that!" Torrance holds his hand up. "You'll draw eyes for sure! It'll be better if I go." Torrance drops his hand and takes a step for the road.

"Torrance, no!" I say, halting him.

He looks back at me and frowns. "I'm getting really worried about them, my dear."

"As am I, but I don't want you going in there now! In case…" The thought of Eric and Wessel in the hands of those bounty hunters—no, Eric wouldn't let himself get caught like that. He guided me through the dark forest so well that I never laid eyes on a blighted man. He fought a lamia and left the battle unscathed. He got Eliza, Guinevere, and me out of Hymark. He took on a whole pack of wolfmen and came out victorious even though the last wolf poisoned him! As much as Eric teases Wessel, he would never leave Wessel in the hands of the bounty hunters if they caught him. Wessel can handle his own too.

Torrance sighs. "I suppose you're right, but if they make us wait any longer, I don't think I can stop myself from going into town—"

"Here comes Wessel!" Locke says suddenly.

Torrance and I look to the back road. I heave a sigh of relief. Indeed, there is the hooded red beard walking out of town with a candle-shaped package in his hand. My heart sinks some. There is no hunter with him. The closer Wessel gets, the more I see the worry in his eyes and the faster strides he takes.

"Wessel! What's wrong!?" Torrance asks as Wessel finally reaches us, breathing fast and heavy.

"Nothing at this moment, but that could change," Wessel says, still out of breath as he comes up to me and hands me the linen wrapped candle.

"What do you mean? Where's Eric?" I ask, gripping the candle tighter.

Wessel shakes his head. "I was hoping he'd be here with all of you ready to go!"

"Wessel, you haven't said what's wrong!" Torrance grabs Wessel's arm, drawing the redhead's attention to him.

Wessel frowns. "When I went in to see the candlemaker, she asked me if I noticed all the black birds that are frequenting the town more."

"Black birds!?" Torrance and I both ask at the same time. I look at him and he looks at me and we both look at Wessel.

"Why should more black birds concern us?" Locke asks.

Wessel frowns and looks between the three of us. "You know what they say about the black Queen and her ravens, how they are her eyes and her ears out here! We should leave now!"

My heart leaps into my throat. "We can't leave without Eric!"

Wessel's eyes widen with horror. "Maker no, that's not what I meant! Of course we cannot leave without Eric!"

"Then I'll go in after him!" Torrance says and starts for the town, but Wessel grabs his arm, stopping him.

"Torrance, don't be so brash! If Eric's on his way out and you go into town, now you're in there and we'll have to come in and find you!" Wessel says. Something small flits across the sky. I look up. A small black bird flaps his way to one of the many rooftops and perches on the edge of the one. "I'm sure Eric's on his way out," Wessel says.

The black bird turns about on the roof's edge until he is facing us. The black bird looks down at us...at me. He calls out with short, deep squawks. My heart beats harder and faster as my stomach knots. That's a raven. Much like those two ravens that would come visit Ravenna most everyday, Corbin and Mallory.

"A raven," Torrance scoffs. "I hate those birds."

"They are very intelligent," Locke says. "In Al-Nejud, they make the best spybirds."

"Spybirds!?" I ask and look back at Locke.

He merely nods at me. I swallow and look up at the raven again. The black bird cocks his head at me and lets out another deep, short squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Ylva nickers and stirs beneath me, lifting her head out of the trough. She neighs and paws at the snowy ground with her hoof.

"Easy, girl," I tell her and stroke her neck. God, please don't let her throw me off her back.

"Is she alright?" Wessel asks me, concerned. I glance at Wessel, meeting his worried gaze.

"Either Eric's on his way back or he's in trouble," Torrance says. "I'll give him a moment more. If he doesn't come out, I'm going into town to find him."

"Torrance," Wessel says, imploring Torrance to not go into town without having to say it. Torrance shakes his head at Wessel and starts pacing back and forth again, a far cry from the man who was going on about his dream to cut a man in half just a few moments before. I frown at the healer and sit up straighter to better see the people moving about within the town. I look harder, searching the sea of hoods and heads of black Taboran hair. An unusually tall man comes out from between two buildings and steps into the crowd. I perk up, my heart beating faster.

"There he is!" I say. "He's coming!" A smile spreads my mouth, relief flooding me. He weaves his way through the crowd, his eyes looking my way. The closer he gets, the more I see his tense shoulders, his longer strides, the worry twisting his face. My smile grows heavier and heavier until it leaves me. He's alright, but something must have happened. Some encounter perhaps? Something to concern him. He finally emerges out of the crowd of people and strides quickly down the back road, a new rucksack beneath his arm that he did not go into town with.

"Eric, there you are!" Torrance says with relief, nearly looking like he is about to run and hug the hunter.

"What took you so long!?" I ask Eric as he strides straight to Ylva and straps the new rucksack to the back of his saddle. "What happened?" I ask him.

He glances up at me as he ties off the last strap. "The bounty hunters were at the tavern as expected, but they came up to me again, started askin' me questions. Too many questions. We have to go now."

"Yes, let's!" Torrance says. Wessel, Torrance, and Locke spring to their horses while Eric lifts me out of his saddle and seat's me on Ylva's shoulders. I shouldn't frown, but I frown from the uncomfortable seating arrangement once again. I do not like the horn of the saddle pressing into my hip. Nor do I think me sitting on her shoulders is the most comfortable for her. Eric frees Ylva's reins from the hitching post and pulls the reins over her head as he comes to her side and mounts her. His arms go about me as he takes the reins in his other hand.

"We ride outta here easy, nae faster than a trot," Eric says as he steers Ylva to the right and spurs her into a strong trot.

"Alright," Wessel says, barely nudging his chestnut's flanks before the horse springs into a trot. Torrance and Locke spur their horses to the same gait, following after Eric and me as he leads the way. My gut stirs, warning me to not look back at Polliard. I shouldn't look back…I find my eyes going to the town as it bobs and steadily shrinks with Ylva's trotting. Another black bird flaps its way across the town to the closest roof and perches itself on it. The raven looks me in my black eyes with his black eyes despite the growing space between us. The bird grows unusually still…like stone. The raven keeps silent, his black eyes burning into me. I cannot help but swallow. Even across this great distance, I feel the hate his little heart beats with. My stomach stirs more. Those delvir men could change into wolves. What if that raven is actually a spy of Ravenna's!? A spy that can change from his human form into that wicked black bird!?

The other raven flaps his way to perch beside the stonelike raven. This raven, the first one, cocks his head and neck at me in all sorts of directions, letting out those low, belly deep squawks across the snowy expanse.

I shrink behind Eric's bulk and try to hide myself from the two ravens. My eyes widen. Oh God. The two ravens that would come visit Ravenna almost everyday, Corbin and Mallory—are they them!?

"Eric!" I whisper and tilt my chin back, meeting his worried eyes. "Those two ravens, I think I know those birds!"

His eyes widen. "What!?" he hisses, keeping his voice low.

I open my mouth, my fears nearly spilling out of me, but my breath hitches. Is this something I should tell him? He knows I was close enough to Ravenna that she taught me about her power. Surely this won't tip him off. A scowl starts twisting his face. My heart takes off. I don't want to tell him, but God, I must tell him! Not just for honesty's sake, but for both our sakes—"Why yer silence!? What were ye gonna say!?" he snaps.

Speak Snow! Speak! If only to abate that growing suspicion in his eyes! "You saw those two ravens, right!?"

"Aye."

My frown deepens. I must be careful with these next words. "You remember how I know about Ravenna's power. I spent much time with her to gather that information, naturally. She trusted me. She had these two ravens that would come visit her almost everyday! One day, she introduced me to them. She called one Corbin and the other Mallory. I tried to pet Mallory first, but she bit me! See, I have the scar!" I tuck the candle securely under my arm and yank my glove off my left hand to show him the raised, small crescent scar on the knuckle of my thumb. I make a fist and fold my thumb under my fingers, stretching out the scar to make it more visible. I dare a glance up at Eric. He narrows his eyes at the raised crescent scar marring my thumb knuckle.

I gulp down the excess spit in my mouth. "Ravenna chased Mallory away that day, but she let Corbin stay," I say, pulling his hard eyes to mine. "Corbin was always the nicer of the two. He was always the more lively one. And she…" To tell Eric that I think a raven hates me…he would only laugh. "I think Corbin liked to dance and talk, while Mallory was always silent and barely moved. I think those ravens were them!"

The scowl steadily leaves him as his eyes brim with concern. "If those two crows—ravens are them, they better no' have recognized us!" His brows twist with that ugly scowl again. "If I see those birds again, I'll tear their wings off! Ah, we should never 've gone to Polliard!"

I raise my brows at him. "Eric, they're just birds, and I needed this candle to do penance!" I push my hand back into my glove and grab the candle from under my arm to show it to him. "To do some right by Locke's father!"

He shakes his head at me. "Those two birds are no' jus' birds, and that candle wasnae worth it! I'll be surprised if those bounty hunters dinnae attack us tonight!"

Fear shoots through my stomach, twisting it and my heart.

"Eric, maybe we should take another way!" Wessel says, spurring his horse to ride alongside us. "We can throw those bounty hunters off our trail if they really are after us." I look at Wessel, meeting his worried gaze.

"Aye. Follow me!" Eric tugs hard on the reins, forcing Ylva to make a sharp left. Ylva neighs in response. "C'mon!" Eric calls back to Torrance and Locke and kicks Ylva into a hopping gallop through the snow, heading straight for the mountains. The men spur their horses to match Ylva's pace, drawing a few neighs and whinnies out of their steeds.

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

Eric leads us out of the bottom of the valley to go up the mountainside. As the climb grows steeper, Eric halts Ylva and leaps off her. Wessel, Torrance, and Locke follow suit and lead their horses on foot.

"Another climb!?" I ask Eric as lifts me off Ylva's shoulders and seats me in his warm saddle.

Eric shakes his head at me, his anger still simmering in that faint scowl like low boiling water. When we are out of danger's eyes, no doubt he will let loose. "There's ol' dwarven tunnels we can travel through for two days. It'll take a wee bit longer, but it'll keep us hidden. At least from a bird's eye view." He looks skyward with hard, searching eyes. My stomach flips and I look skyward, too. I look all over, searching for any little black dots flitting across the dimming sky. The grey clouds roll across the valley like the sea's waves. Eric takes his hands from me and leads Ylva by her reins. Even as the climb grows steeper, I do not take my eyes from the dimming sky. I see no black birds riding the mountain winds. That…means nothing. It is the prey that never sees a predator coming for them until it is too late, like I did not see the hunter until he was standing before me in that dark forest.

The higher we climb, the darker the world becomes and the colder it grows. It becomes so cold that it sinks into my bones. I cannot stop my body from shivering and my teeth from chattering. I grip the saddle horn and hunker over Ylva for some cover from the bone-biting wind.

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

We climb higher still up the mountainside, the wind growing fiercer and the cold growing crueler with each step. The sky darkens with the coming night.

"DAMN, IT'S COLD! HOW MUCH FURTHER, ERIC!?" Torrance calls from behind us.

"WE'RE HERE!" Eric calls back.

My brows furrow. "Wha…," I trail off. As Eric and Ylva clamber up over the ridge, a gaping black hole in the mountainside greets us. My eyes widen. Fear churns my stomach. "A cave!?" I ask and look down at the back of Eric's hood.

He looks back at me, frost clinging to his brows and to his stubble. "No' a cave, but the tunnels!"

"Oh." I look at the gaping darkness ahead.

"Thank God!" Torrance says. "My arse isn't made for this cold!"

"Nor is mine!" Locke says, his voice shaking.

Torrance laughs as we near the gaping cavemouth. "That much is obvious!"

The inky black cave churns my stomach more, but the promise of some shelter from the harsh wind...it's enough to lure me in. Eric leads Ylva so close to the mouth of the cave, the black reaching out to us eager to consume us. He steps into the darkness with Ylva. The wind dies down quite a bit, taking away that bone-biting edge. He stops Ylva at the threshold of the cave and turns back to the three men and their horses as they step into the brink of darkness.

"We need torches," Eric says as he lets go of Ylva's reins and approaches Locke and his grey horse.

"You light them," Locke says as he untethers some cut logs from his horse's rump.

"Aye."

A burly figure moves in the darkness, drawing closer to my right side. My heart flutters. I look ahead. Wessel clambers through the knee deep snow, leading his chestnut by his reins. I exhale slowly, soothing my buzzing nerves and knotted stomach.

"Are you alright?" Wessel asks, stopping before me with his chestnut.

I nod as my eyes drift to the shadow of his chestnut. "Yes…" I reach out and stroke his horse's snout. "Wessel, I'd hate to think that I put all of you in danger…and I'd like to think that it was not a mistake going to Polliard. This is for Halif. For Locke." A frown weighs on my mouth while my heart twists. This is also for me to start penance. I cringe. Damn, how selfish that is.

I feel Wessel's frown weighing on my shoulders. "Polliard was my idea," he says. "If anyone is to blame for what happened today, it is me."

"Wessel, no!" I look down at him with a growing ache in my heart, taking my hand from his horse. "You're not to blame!" A fire blooms in me and swells my chest, pushing against the walls of my restraint. I hate seeing Wessel like this, guiltful and remorseful when he was doing this for his friend—for Locke. For me! I cast my hard eyes at Eric. He stands beside Locke striking the back of his knife across his flint, throwing sparks after sparks onto the end of a cut branch that Locke is holding out towards Eric. "If memory serves me, it was Eric who the bounty hunters singled out." I turn my head to Wessel. "Not you. His hood only does so much to hide him!" I hold my hand out to Eric. "His unnatural stature alone turns heads!" I drop my hand in my lap. A yellow light crackles and grows in my periphery. "Did I not entreat him to go on ahead to the cabin while you and I make a quick visit to Polliard? Would not we have left sooner if Eric did not go into the town!?"

"Aye, ye would've," Eric says, his voice as cold as this bitter winter. I flinch, a pang entering my heart. I keep my eyes fixed on Wessel despite the snow crunching beneath Eric's boots as he approaches us. The crackling fire grows louder as yellow light touches Wessel and his horse. Wessel turns his head to Eric and frowns deeply as he accepts one of the torches from the hunter. Eric turns his gaze to me in my periphery, his torch lighting up his face. I've no need to look at him fully to see his scowl, to feel his glare scorching my cheeks. "If memory serves me, ye wanted me along before ye entreated me no' to go," he says as he steps forward and takes Ylva's reins in his right hand, his torch in his left hand. His hard eyes catch mine. He does not step deeper into the cave, but he keeps his eyes on me. "And if memory serves me, Wessel said it'd be good if I went into town and scoped out the local word."

I cannot help the scowl that turns my face. "I remember him saying that and I remember first asking you to come to Polliard with us, but after I considered your – appearance, I realized it'd be better for all of us if you did not tag along!" His eyes widen, but the fiery words keep spilling from me. "Memory serves me well, hunter. Wessel did not beg you to come along! He did not force you to go into that town! God, at one point he was willing to go by himself and you were willing to let him go alone! He made a suggestion to you after you decided to come, that's it! I hate how you made him feel guilty and remorseful when he was doing something selfless! He did this for Locke and for his father! He did this for me!" I press my hand to my heart.

Eric's mouth parts and he draws in a sharp breath. He almost spits out some angry words, but he stops them.

"As entertaining as this argument is," Locke says, the snow crunching beneath his boots and his horse's hooves as he passes us to go deeper into the cave, "I would like to set up camp, have some dinner, and get some good sleep."

Eric closes his mouth and breathes out through his nose, white mist escaping him to swirl as it rises up between us.

"Hear, hear," Torrance says as he follows Locke deeper into the cave.

"Eric, I understand your anger," Wessel says. Despite the sound of his voice, I cannot take my eyes from Eric's no matter how much I want to. A pang enters my heart. I said some cruel words to him. Words he did not deserve. "But what's done is done. We've reached the dwarven tunnels without any sign of those ravens or the bounty hunters. I think we're alright." He daringly rests his hand on Eric's shoulder.

Eric stiffens beneath Wessel's hand, but he does not shake him off. "We're alright," Eric says as he looks out into the valley, searching the black skies and the dim snowy sea. "For now."

I frown down at the hunter, my heart growing so heavy that it sinks to my stomach.

Wessel sighs and pats Eric's shoulder. "How about we do what Locke suggested and go make camp? I think we all just need some food and some sleep."

"Aye, best to hide our fires," Eric grumbles. He finally looks from the valley and turns to Wessel, Wessel's hand falling from his shoulder with the movement. Eric nods towards the way that Torrance and Locke had gone. "After ye," he tells Wessel.

Wessel nods and casts me a glum look before he starts deeper into the cave. I manage to lift my heavy head to the cave. Locke and Torrance's torches give a short view ahead of the deep, wide tunnel. My eyes widen. The tunnel is strangely domed shaped, too perfect for any act of nature. This tunnel must have been hewed out by the ancient dwarves!

"I went into that town for ye," Eric says. My brows furrow and I look down at him. He looks up at me, his eyes nothing but open and somber. Another pang pierces my heart, worse than before. There's no trace of his anger. Just sadness…hurt. I hurt him. Again. He steps closer to me, the tips of my wrapped feet touching his hard stomach. "Lass, I went into Polliard for Locke and for Wessel, but more than them, I went in for ye." He swallows and looks down at my chest and my wringing hands. "Ye wanted a good thin' and I'm tryin' keep ye safe."

My eyes start to burn. I swallow hard. He went in for me. Yes, I knew that, but…no, I didn't know that. My hands tense and cramp more. I want to pull on my fingers harder, to stretch out the taut joints and tendons, but I manage to pull my hands apart.

He swallows again and lifts his heavy eyes to mine. "I want nothin' more than to keep my word to ye and get ye to Hammond's alive and well…When those wolves attacked us, when they dragged ye out of that tree well, I failed to keep my word to ye. I failed ye! They hurt ye because I failed ye! If I had been one step too late, they would've!—"

"Eric!" I reach out to him and cradle his cheek with my hand at my heart's urging. "Stop saying these things! You did not fail me!" If there's anyone who has failed the other, it is I who has failed him with my deception, my lies…I cannot stop the painful hum in my throat. I should not be touching him. It can only be tempting him further down this path! I snatch my hand from him and press it to my stomach. His face falls deeper at my stolen touch. "We've made it this far." I pull down my scarf to show him my forced smile. "That's not your failure, but your success."

He does not smile. He only sinks deeper into his depression. It grows too hard to keep my false smile up. Now he can tell when my smiles are lies!?

"Together?" he asks suddenly. "I thought we agreed to that in Vilgard. We've made it this far, aye, but no' because of my success. We've made it this far together."

My heart thrums against my sternum, paining me with every beat. God, how I crave him now. That togetherness he speaks of, that unity. To have him with me, beside me, carrying me when I could not uphold myself…how much greater his hate for me will be when he learns just one of my lies.

His eyes flit down to my mouth, longing mixing with the sadness in them. My heart stutters while the moths stir in my stomach. That tingling heat appears between my legs. "It's been almost two days since I felt yer lips," he says and lifts his heavy eyes to me, reluctant to do so. "I miss them. I want to kiss ye, but ye seem unwillin' and distant…," words leave him as his face falls. Horror grips me. He's going to ask me what is troubling me! I cannot let him! "Some—"

"I want to kiss you too, but here!? Now!?" I whisper and cast a quick glance at the men some ways ahead. Locke turns the bend, disappearing past the rockwall with his torchlight and his horse. Torrance follows after him. If Eric ever gets the chance to ask me what is wrong, it will lead us to a worse place than now. A place where I could very well lose him.

Eric chuckles softly, drawing my unwilling eyes back to him. "No' here," he says, his smile lingering even though his chuckling ebbs. There's his light hearted spirit that I miss so much! How I succeeded in turning this around, I'm not sure, but anything to keep that spirit alive! Remember those good feelings he created in you, Snow! The bubbly fun in your stomach, the excitement spurring your every heart beat, the tingling nerves, your uncontrollable giggling pushing into your cheeks. If I can just remember all these, revel in them, savor and cherish them and forget about the dangers out in the valley…I force another smile for him, this one easier.

His smile grows. "I've missed that smile." My smile almost falters. Almost. This right here is where I want to be with him. His ribbing, his light hearted spirit, his anger gone, the worry and fears of today forgotten—damn me if I siphon his joy now!

"Eric!?" Wessel's voice bounces off the domed ceiling of the cave—or tunnel. The smiles leave both our faces as we tear our eyes from each other to look down the tunnel. Wessel stands next to the bend in the tunnel with his torch in one hand and his horse's reins in the other, worry etched into his face. Not worry for our safety, but worry for why we are lingering here. He's seen us kiss at least once and heard our banter plenty.

"We're comin'!" Eric says, his exasperated voice resonating down the tunnel.

"...Alright," Wessel says, sounding unsure.

Eric sighs and starts down the tunnel. Ylva nickers and walks beside him, no tension in her reins. Her hooves clop loudly against the stone. I lean over the saddle and watch Eric's boots and Ylva's black feathered hooves speckled with snow. She steps with Eric so well that he probably has no need to hold her reins, but he keeps a firm grip of them. I look up at Eric, meeting his backwards glance at me, the corner of his mouth raised with a mischievous smirk. That familiar bubbly feeling rises in my stomach. He intends to kiss me tonight one way or another. I shouldn't—no. Thoughts like that will drag us both down. I want him to forget about Polliard, the bounty hunters, those ravens, and about his concern for what is troubling me. Hell, I want to forget about Polliard, the bounty hunters, those ravens, and my guilt! My lies, my deceit—Forget it, Snow! Forget it for now lest they drag us both down! We are hidden in these old dwarven tunnels. We have some security for now. I must enjoy it while I have it. I won't have it forever no matter how hard Eric fights to keep me safe.

Eric looks ahead at the tunnel. I let my smile falter this time and fall. I won't have this safety forever.

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

The five of us sit around the crackling fire on furs and bedrolls soaking up its warmth. The horses have been unsaddled, their leads strung to a rope that Locke had somehow anchored into two points on the rocky wall of the tunnel. Ylva lies down with the three horses, free of any tethers.

I push the last piece of dried deer meat into my mouth and chew it slowly. The salty tang slowly spreads across my tongue, so unlike the red salt that I tasted in that slot canyon. I pull my deer pelt tighter about me as I look from man to man. They quietly chat amongst themselves, minding their voices.

"It could have turned out worse," Wessel says. "A lot worse."

"I guess," Torrance says, but he shakes his head. "Let's just not do something that risky again, shall we? At least for a while."

Locke chuckles from across the fire. "For a while? We will see if you have the same determination a few days from now."

Torrance frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He means it'll be the day when you stop your thieving ways altogether," Wessel says as he picks up his waterskin and pours his warmed seasoned milk into a mug. My mouth starts watering. God, that milk's creamy texture, the sugary cinnamon, and that tang of nutmeg—I would like some tonight.

Torrance casts Wessel a smug grin as Wessel goes to take a sip from his wood mug. "You know, it's my thieving ways that get you your sugar, your cinnamon, your honey—"

"There's no honey in here," Wessel says, stopping his cup just short of his mouth. He lowers his mug and counts off his fingers. "There's sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, three bits of vanilla bean that's been split and scraped out, the whites of eggs that must be whipped to the right consistency—"

Eric chuckles as a sweet memory of Wessel comes back to me. "So ye finally perfected yer sugar milk?" he asks Wessel.

"Sugar milk?" Wessel frowns at Eric. "I have a better name for it than that."

So he finally gave his recipe a name? "I remember you sneaking into the kitchens at night when the cooks were fast asleep," I speak for the first time this evening, drawing everyone's eyes to me. My smile leaves me as quick as it came. Eric's eyes weigh on me. I think the horses are looking at me too! I must choose my words carefully. Eric knows that I knew Wessel from before my imprisonment, so that should explain how I know this about the redhead. I let go of my breath, trying to loosen my stiff body. I keep my eyes on Wessel's. "You had so much trouble separating the yolks from the whites." A single, breathy laugh lightens my mouth, letting me smile again. "How is it that I knew the way to crack an egg better than you!?"

Wessel's eyes widen with pleasant surprise as he laughs at the memories of both of us in the kitchen. Indeed, how did the King's daughter know how to crack an egg better than a knight's son? "You helped me to invent this drink!" He points at his mug and looks at Eric, beaming with pride. "She suggested that I put nutmeg in here! That ingredient makes this recipe!"

"Really?" Eric smirks and casts his sideways glance at me, mischief glinting in his eyes. My heart beats harder, pushing warm blood into my cheeks and into my loins. My stomach twists. He still intends to kiss me tonight, one way or another. "So yer an inventor, too?" he asks me with a smug and, dare I say, proud grin? "Ye've got a very bright mind."

My eyes widen and soften. My heart grows still and too tender. He…does he really think I have a bright mind? He keeps going on about my heart, how pretty he thinks I am, but he thought me stupid back in that dark forest. He said as much. "You really think that?" I ask him, unable to keep my hope from tainting my voice.

His eyes dim as his smile lessens, his mischief leaving him. "Aye, I do." His smile drops more as his eyes soften and open up. "I'm sorry I've no' told ye that more. The sled, the nutmeg…and yer right about my height and my hair." He gestures to himself, his smile growing as his mischief brightens his eyes once more. "I stick out really bad."

"Eric," his name leaves me, guilt sending a pang through my heart. Those were such cruel words. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

Eric's smile softens as he shakes his head at me. "There are worse thin's to take offense at."

"I like forgiveness. It's very heartwarming," Torrance says, his voice a cruel reminder to the other three sitting with Eric and me. "Going back a bit about sticking out really bad, I have some ideas of how to remedy our situation."

"Really?" Eric asks, reluctantly taking his eyes from me to look at Torrance. It takes everything in me, but somehow I manage to tear my eyes from the hunter to look at Torrance, too.

Torrance nods eagerly, his eyes alight. "Aside from Eric's unusual height," I wince, "I can fix our problems! All of us stick out save for me!" He holds his hand to himself.

"Torrance, I've never met someone so enthusiastic as you," I say, pulling his eyes to me. "I think we all stick out."

Torrance merely gives me a proud grin. "I appreciate that, but I meant our appearances, my dear. We've got blondie here," he points at Eric, Eric's ticked grumblings reach my left ear, "that ebony-skinned easterner there," he points to Locke and then to Wessel, "this firehead, and you," he points to me and drops his hand, "a woman!"

I frown at Torrance. He wants to remedy my appearance?

"Ebony-skinned easterner?" Locke asks from across the fire. He shakes his head at Torrance, his brows raised. "I would like to see how your skin fares against my Al-Nejud sun."

Torrance snorts loudly. "I'd burn to a crisp before the crack of dawn! But you know I'm right about you! Everyone stares at you here just as everyone would stare at my pasty skin if I showed up in your homeland!"

Locke purses his lips and nods. "That is true, taboran. Very true."

"Right," Torrance says slowly and shakes his head. "Here are my proposed remedies." He points at Wessel. "Wessel, lose the beard."

Wessel's eyes pop open. "What!?"

"I'm going to make a black dye for your hair and for Eric's."

"What!?" Eric asks, his voice gruffer. I peek at Eric and his fair hair. He looks at me, wide-eyed. I snort at him. What would he look like with black hair?

"Locke, I'm going to make a white paste for your skin," Torrance says.

"A white paste!?" Locke asks, sounding truly offended this time. I glance at Torrance and Locke.

Torrance shrugs his shoulders. "Just think of it like warpaint! You don't have to paint the top of your head at least. Your skin can pass as black hair from afar."

Locke hunches forward, glowering at Torrance from across the fire.

"And you, my dear," Torrance says, snapping my eyes to his, "we'll make you into a man!" My eyes widen and my stomach knots. "You can cut your hair short, paint your lips with the white paste I'll make for Locke, bind your breasts, and put on some men's clothes! There!" He grins proudly and holds his arms out, looking at all of us sitting about the campfire. "My proposed remedies! What do you all think?"

"You can be offensive at times, Torrance," Locke says.

Torrance shrugs. "I speak my mind. What can I say?" If I bound what breasts I do have and Eric sees my horribly cut hair…He told me back in that tree well how Sara's breasts and hips and pretty face aroused him.

"My beard keeps my face warm, but if it will help keep Greta safe, I'll shave my beard and dye my hair," Wessel says. I wince. There is that false name again.

Torrance glances at Wessel and nods his gratitude to the redhead. Hell, before Sara died, she had full breasts, supple hips, and a beautiful face. She drew Eric's eyes. She aroused him.

"How long will the dye last?" Eric asks Torrance.

"Hmmm," Torrance hums as he bobs his head. If I put on men's clothes too—"A couple of months, give or take a week or two depending on how often you wash."

"And this paste for my skin?" Locke asks. "Is that permanent?"

Torrance shakes his head. "No, it'll be like your warpaint. It'll wash off with a good bath."

"Good," Locke says, nodding once.

"Torrance, I…" I touch his arm gently, pulling his eyes down to me. I swallow, feeling those blue eyes pressing on my backside.

Torrance's face softens. "What's wrong?"

I sigh and take my hand from him. "I want to look like a woman, not a man. I enjoy wearing dresses and—" I stop myself. Torrance has seen my cut hair and healing scalp. He knows why I cut it, but Eric cannot know.

Torrance frowns down at me and rests his comforting hand on my arm. "I understand, my dear. I was only proposing some temporary remedies to hide us better, that's all. Whether anyone takes my suggestions or not is up to them. If only one of us altered his appearance like I suggested, we'd be better hidden!" He offers me a small smile, easing me some.

"I'll dye my hair," Eric says. I cannot stop my eyes from turning to him. He looks from Torrance to me. "The sooner the better." His eyes dart to Torrance.

Torrance pats my arm and lets go of me. "I can start mixing the dyes tonight when it's my watch."

"I'll shave my beard tonight before I go to sleep," Wessel says.

Locke groans. "I will put on this wretched paste for her." His words snap my wide eyes to him. He looks at me, a kindness in his eyes that I have not seen. "Wessel bought the candle out of his own purse and you will light it at the cabin. I owe you this, at least."

My heart softens for the easterner. "I would never ask you to repay me for that…" To say these words…God, they'd be honest at least. How I want to be honest, to not lie just for once—I can be honest with this. This must be another part of my penance. "In honesty, Locke, I'm not doing this just for Halif and for you. I'm – also doing it for myself. I am seeking to do penance…in any form."

Locke nods, no judgement in his eyes. "That is admirable, Greta." He bows his head to me. My stomach knots up to the near point of nausea. To have these men address me, a wretched liar, by her name—it's wrong. It's a disgrace to Greta! She is so much better than me. I would confess my true name to Locke and to Torrance. God, perhaps with the ease that I utter lies, if not for the hunter sitting beside me…I would.

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

I nibble on the inside of my lip. Soft snoring and steady breathing encircles the dying fire. Wessel must have finally fallen asleep. Excitement mounts in my stomach, filling me with enough energy to prop myself on my elbows and glance at him. God, seeing his round, shaven jaw…I snort to myself. It's almost scandalous. My heart softens for my brother. He really did not want to shave his beard, but he did it for me.

My eyes drift to Locke, his back to me as he sleeps soundly. A yawn comes up my throat and pries my mouth open to escape. My yawn dies, letting me close my mouth. Locke…he seems quite grateful to Wessel, to me, to Eric, and even to Torrance. It is such an odd thing to see come out of him—my heart stings in the corner. It is like when Eric first gave me his coat to wear in that dark forest. I could not reconcile compassion with him at first. I once thought compassion was not woven into his being, but after all we've been through to have made it here…I have been proven wrong. Thank God or the maker or Ursus—no, not them. I should thank Eric for…for who he is. For who his trials and tribulations have made him to be…though I cannot dismiss his free will. He made choices in those tribulations. He chose to drink himself to oblivion, to lie with prostitutes and whores, to steal and kill regardless if they were wicked men…but he chose to leave his homeland to aid a people not his own. He chose to love Sara—I try to ignore the jealous pang in my heart. He chose to marry her and to give her a better life than what she had known.

Wessel chose to be who he is. Selfless, steadfast, loyal…So has Locke and Torrance. So has Sara. And Eliza. Surely Greta. And so have I. We choose who we become—who we are—faint footfalls tease my ears. They grow louder with each step.

I sit up and look down the inky black tunnel past the writhing flames. My heart beats harder. My nerves buzz. A dark figure materializes from the inky blackness, growing bigger with each familiar stride he takes. My stomach tightens and my nerves buzz more. Eric.

He strides into the dim glow of the fire, his eyes and his smile on me. He steps quickly and silently around the fire to reach me. "Yer up," he says softly as he crouches before me, his grin growing.

I raise my brows at him. "It's hard to sleep when I can now gawk at Wessel's naked jaw without getting funny looks."

Eric and I laugh hard, barely suppressing it enough to not wake the men.

"This is a first," I whisper as we both fight to quell our laughter. "You're not nagging me to go to sleep, but rather you seem happy that I'm awake." I manage to quell the last of my laughter, but he still has some residual, breathy chuckles.

"Aye, I am," he whispers, getting out his last chuckle. A bigger smile spreads his mouth and he holds his bear sized hand out to me. "I want to show ye somethin' if yer no' too tired. Ye up for it?" he asks, hopeful.

My smile wanes some as I glance down at his hand and up at him. His eyes are soft and alight with hope. He wants to go back to that place with me where we both forget about the world and its dangers, about the pains of our pasts, and we are just together in each other's company. I will not dim his eyes nor drain his joy and his hope. Not now. The fire grows between my legs. My heart flutters. Just lose yourself in him, Snow. Think of nothing else but the here and now. Think of no one else but the man offering you his strong, protecting hand.

My smile grows painfully tender as I place my hand in his. "A kiss first? Then I'll happily go with you."

A small glint appears in his eyes. I almost close my eyes, but I stop when he brings my hand to his mouth and presses a warm, lingering kiss to the back of it, his bristly stubble scratching me. A tingling sensation travels up my hand and arm and wanes in my chest. I cannot stop the moan that escapes my closed mouth. He lifts his mouth from my hand, but not his bristly chin. He rests his chin on my hand for a few breaths, his tender eyes not straying from mine. My heart pounds against my sternum.

His jaw tightens against my hand as his smile turns into something both sweet and mischievous. "Will ye come now?"

My smile leaves me. "I thought you'd kiss me here," I whisper and press my finger to my lips. "Not there." I point at my left hand in his and drop my free hand in my lap.

His smile doesn't wane, but rather pushes into his cheeks. "Ah, I plan to," he leans in closer to me, his warm breath touching my numb lips and cheeks, "but no' with those three lyin' around." He nods to the three men all sleeping soundly about the campfire. "C'mon." He grabs one of the torches that had been placed in the campfire and stands, pulling my arm above my head. "Take yer stick. Let's see how far ye can walk this time."

I perk up, new energy surging through me. "Gladly!" I snatch my walking stick and brace it beside me. Eric barely helps me as I draw my knees to my chest and pull myself to my feet. My weight presses into my feet, tugging at my stitches, reawakening that fiery ache, but the pain is so much duller than before.

Eric smiles proudly as he starts walking with me around the fire. My cheeks flush as I hobble along with my crude walking stick. I look down at my feet—the bound stumps that Torrance left. God, I am like some elderly woman hobbling about on her cane!

"At this rate, ye'll be dancin' come morn'!" Eric whispers as we finally make our way around the campfire and start down the inky tunnel he had come down.

I force out one breathy laugh and barely lift my eyes to him, hiding beneath my lashes. "I'm not too sure about that."

Eric takes slow, patient steps with me. "Have some faith in yerself."

I manage to lift my eyes to him, a frown threatening to drag down my mouth. His soft smile stops my frown. I'll be damned if I drain his joy! Especially now! Think instead of the fact that he is reassuring me, smiling with pride—pride in me, I think. My heart softens too much for him. I smile, this one not too much of a lie. "Thank you, Eric. I…" This man walking with me, taking each patient step with me, wearing his handsome smile, all that tenderness in his eyes for me…all he has done for me, sacrificed for me—when he asked Torrance how long the dye would last in his hair, he wanted to know how long he had before he would have to dye his hair once more for my sake. A weight drapes itself over my heart, threatening to crush it. How am I repaying him? With lies and deceit. My smile threatens to abandon me. "You don't have to dye your hair, Eric. Just wear your hood when we find ourselves with others we do not know."

His smile lessens. "It's alright, lass." His smile grows again, soothing me some. "I sometimes wondered what I'd look like with black hair, so it works out."

I hum. "But I like your hair the way it is."

His expression softens and he looks ahead. "Enjoy it while it lasts, then," he quips.

I laugh, lightening my heart and the air between us. He glances back at me, showing me that silly, toothy grin of his. He laughs with me as he walks leisurely and I hobble further down the dark tunnel, his torch providing a small bubble of warmth and light for us.

"Left," he says, stretching my left arm some as he turns left.

"Where are we going?" I hobble after him willingly, though with a touch of worry in my gut.

"To what I'm goin' to show ye," he says with a grin. He casts me a backwards glance, showing me a glimpse of that toothy smile. "Trust me. I think ye'll like it."

Further we go down the chilly, dank tunnel, the domed-shaped ceiling still there. "Wow," I murmur, the magnitude of these tunnels starting to sink in. "How far do these tunnels go?"

"There's different theories on that. The commonly held opinion among scholars and laymen is that there are many tunnels like this throughout the world. As far as I've seen, these tunnels weave throughout the valley. My mother…" He casts me another glance, his smile gone. My smile leaves me. No doubt he is recalling sweet memories of his mother, missing her dearly. He draws in a breath and looks ahead. "She believed that all their tunnels connect around the world and that they run under the seas."

My eyes bug out. "What!? You're…you're jesting!" I look about the tunnel, taking in the small part of it that is illuminated by Eric's torchlight. For a nearly extinct, ancient people to have carved out all this…it's impossible.

Eric shakes his head, not sparing me a glance this time. "That's the conclusion she drew from all her studies," he says, no smile shaping his words this time.

A sting touches my heart and weighs on my mouth. "What do you believe?" I ask him softly.

He lifts his chin a little higher and peeks back at me. "I believe her. All her studies and her research are sound."

My heart beats harder for him, begging to be as close as possible to him. I nod, a benign memory surfacing. I want to share this with him. There were common folk at court too. "There was a man who came to court once from Flores."

"From that far?" Eric asks softly, casting his wide, surprised eyes back at me.

I nod. "Yes. I believe it's in the south?"

He nods as his surprise steadily leaves him. "Aye, sounds right."

"Hmm…well, this man from Flores called himself Vincenzo. He said he was a student of Galileo's and he wanted to show us evidence that the earth is not the center of our universe. A blasphemous idea as you can imagine, but some of us were willing to listen. He brought in all these models and – contraptions—now that I think of it, they were golden like your mother's compass. They might have been dwarven in nature, or at least inspired by the dwarves."

Eric glances back at me and nods. "I know who yer talkin' about. My mother admired Galileo and compiled all his works, too. Galileo used the dwarves' contraptions to look at the sky and study the stars. Most of the dwarves were so busy in their tunnels and their underground cities that they never bothered to look up. Speakin' of which, we're here." He veers to the left of the tunnel, leading me to the rockwall. Spread out on the floor against the wall are some thick pelts. "Sit," he says.

I look at him as I turn around and slowly sink to the pelts with his helping hand, a sneaking suspicion bringing a coy smile to my mouth. "Why did you put these pelts here?"

He shrugs nonchalantly as he pulls his hand from mine, but that glint in his eyes contradicts his innocent demeanor. "The ground is cold and I thought we might be here a wee bit, so I figured the furs would be better to sit on."

"So thoughtful," I tease, my cheeks and my loins flushing with hot blood. I want to draw his eyes…to arouse him. "I appreciate your chivalry, but…" My nerves buzz terribly as I set my walking stick aside and scoot towards him on the furs so that I can lean back on my hands, putting sharp tension in my shoulder blades. I push my chest out some more, trying to accentuate my meager breasts without seeming so…libidinous. I pray he forgets how I was hobbling like an elderly woman a moment ago.

His eyes slowly drift down me, a smile sneaking across his face when he looks at the swell of my breasts for a few breaths. "Ye appreciate my chivalry, but?" He tries to lift his reluctant eyes to mine, but they end up lingering on my mouth.

I swallow hard. Here goes nothing. "I'd like to enjoy your – sunkissed hair while it lasts."

His eyes widen suddenly with breathy laughter and he looks up at me. Heat sears my face. My head starts spinning and I cannot keep from squirming to escape that awkwardness creeping beneath my skin like insects. "I'm bad at this," I mutter. I draw my right knee closer to my chest, wanting to hide myself from him.

"Ah!" he groans amidst his laughter. "Ye think yer bad at flirtin', but I'm worse!"

A hard giggle escapes me. The crawling awkwardness starts to ebb with his laughter and mine. I sit up and hug my knees to my chest, tipping my chin all the way back to keep my eyes with his. I cannot wipe away the smile plastered to my face, nor do I want to at this moment. As the last of our laughter dies, I say, "You say you're worse than me, yet you've won me over sometime ago." My smile turns painfully sweet. "You're still winning me over."

His grin softens. "Good…now, ye were talkin' about Galileo and his student."

"Right," I say and nod slowly, raising my brows at him.

His smile grows bigger, his eyes alight with something as he starts stepping back from me. "Like I said, most of the dwarves were too in love with the earth to look up," a snort escapes me as he keeps stepping back, heading for the opposite side of the tunnel, "but when the sun went down, some of them came to the surface to look up at the night sky." He presses his back against the opposite rockwall, his torchlight barely reaching me across the space. "Do ye like the stars?"

My smile lessens as I…just look at him across the black void. He leans back against the wall in the golden glow of his torchlight, his handsome face lightened with…hope. Where he is going with this, whatever he is going to show me, I'm not sure, but I cannot steal his hope from him. This time, I can be honest with him and not drag him down.

"I do like the stars," I say softly, my voice echoing across the void which separates us. I wish he was beside me. "Vincenzo said that our sun is a star just like all the stars we can see in the night sky…I miss the day sky and the night sky. Some nights I'd check to see that the sky was clear. If it was, I'd sneak out of my bedchamber and go down to the orchard. If I could have, I would have gone down to the beach, but…" The guards would have stopped me if I ever tried to sneak out beneath the portcullis, but I never dared to test them. How I wish I could share this with Eric, but that is not a detail that would make sense for the daughter of a scullery maid. "I did not wish to frighten my mother. She'd let me go down to the orchard, which was in sight of her windows so she could keep an eye on me. Though, I would go to the orchard and lie on the cool grass and just…look up at the stars and the moon." I lift my eyes to the inky black rock above me, sweet memories of the moon glowing in the vast black expanse crossing my mind. "To think that the moon has mountains and valleys on it…" I can just see the darker grey patches spreading across the ivory rock like clouds. "...It mesmerized me."

"Aye," Eric says softly. I lower my eyes to him, his face soft with appreciation. "The dwarves that looked up at the night sky wanted to bring it down here." My brows furrow, his words addling me as he looks up and raises his torch to the domed ceiling.

"What are you…" Several dots start to glow around the flame of his torch. I squint my eyes to better make out the miniscule dots. Are those embers from his torch…The dots start to glint and burn brighter, spreading its light to more dots that flicker until they burn brighter. Like the ringed ripples that spread across still water, myriads of those glowing dots spread across the black void. I slowly tilt my chin back further and further, following the ripples of light as the dots flicker and burn brighter. I tilt my chin back until I can tilt it back no more. The dots glint and twinkle like polished gems, most of them alight with a soft yellow glow, but some of them burn a pinkish-red and some of them glow with a cool, glittering blue. Those are…those are stars!

"Oh…oh my God," I murmur. My eyes drift across the sea of twinkling stars. The stars dim and fade into the walls, but they burn bright across the domed-shaped ceiling…like the sky. Down both ends of the tunnel, the stars reach as far as I can see. My heart beats harder, hurting more and more with such a sweet, tender feeling. My chest grows heavier, making it harder to draw in breath. I…just like the blue sky that I miss so much, I haven't seen the stars for fourteen long years.

"Oh my God," I whisper. My eyes and the back of my nose sting. My throat tightens while my sight of the stars blur and quiver with tears. "Oh my God," I utter, my voice shaking. A sob escapes me. I cover my mouth with my hand and hug my knees tighter, trying to muffle myself.

Soft footsteps draw closer to me. I manage to drag my eyes down to Eric as he crosses the space between us. He slowly crouches before me and props his crackling torch against the wall.

"Ye alright?" he whispers, cupping the side of my neck with his warm, calloused hand.

Am I alright!? My heart swells with so much for him that it threatens to burst. Out of everything he has sacrificed for me, given to me…this…this…I throw my arms about his shoulders and pull him to me and press my mouth hard to his. He breathes out against my chilled cheek, making it tingle as he moves his hand to the back of my neck to hold me against him. I lighten our kiss and bring my hand to his cheek, wanting to show him what's in my heart that no words can convey. The soft gold glow of the stars lights my world even behind my closed eyes. My lips tingle with warmth and life. A salty tang touches the tip of my tongue, but it is like the salt of the earth. It feels as if I am floating in the warm sea on my back and he is above me embracing me with every fiber of his being.

He pulls back and breathes faster and heavier against my mouth. I force my teary eyes open, the light of the stars above casting a warm glow on his face. All his scrapes and bruises that were inflicted on him by those delvir wolves are smaller and fainter. He is healing. He is here with me, his cheeks glistening with my tears, a small glint in his own eyes.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling. "I didn't realize," I gulp down excess spit past the lump in my throat, "how I missed this. Thank you." I bring my other hand to his cheek, holding his face as gently as I can. "Thank you!" Another wave of tears well in my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut and weep softly. This…I have never felt such bittersweet bliss. I refuse to let the worries and threats of the outside world enter into here and come between us. I refuse!

"Yer welcome," he says with the sound of a smile, his deep voice almost ethereal. He pulls his face out of my hands and sits beside me, taking me in his arms. "I take it ye like it?"

I wrap my arms about his waist and bury my face into his chest. "I love it," I say into his chest and kiss the place where his heart beats, the thick linen of his shirt cool and smooth against my cracked lips. I cannot help but weep more with joy. He cradles the back of my head with his hand and lets me soak his shirt with my tears.

I weep and weep and curl up beside him, drawing as close to his warmth and life as I can possibly get. The tears keep flowing, but my weeping grows quieter. Time both crawls by slowly and flies past us. I want to look at the beautiful stars for as long as I can. God knows…God knows that this won't last. My tears start to lessen and my breathing starts to even out.

Finally, I lift my head from Eric's chest and look up at the stars, just…I cannot look away from their ethereal glow and shimmering colors. Eric rests his hand on my arm and slowly strokes it. No more words need be spoken. No more lust need be coursing through me now. This is exactly where and how I want to die. In this place in his arms. Yet I want to embrace the life we have now and think no more of the end.