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.

45. Chapter 45 A Dwarven Heart

Chapter 45 A Dwarven Heart

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As dusk nears, casting an eerie, dim grey hue to the wintery world, we come upon some woods with strangely shaped trees. They're tall and ivory, like bone, with rings of smooth rippled bark reaching up the trees' trunks. The trunks and branches are curled and twisted, kind of like the curls I used to wear in my hair before I was imprisoned.

"What unique looking trees," I say, my hand still in Eric's warm one as we enter into the woods.

"This is Palehorn Woods," Eric says. I look up at him. He peeks down at me and nods at the trees. "They look like giant, pale rams' horns comin' out of the ground. See how they spiral up?" He lets go of Ylva's reins and traces an upward, spiraling path in the air with his second finger. I giggle at him. He looks funny doing that. He gives me that silly, toothy grin of his as he grabs Ylva's reins again.

"Yes, I see that." I look up at the tops of the trees as we trudge through the snow. "They indeed look like giant rams' horns...that are pale."

Eric chuckles. I peek up at him, meeting his amused gaze. A painfully sweet smile pushes into my cheeks.

"These trees remind me of the Kocerats of my homeland," Locke says. I look down at him, meeting his dark eyes. Kocerats? "They are…unlike anything you know of in this land."

"The Kocerats?" Torrance asks. He looks back at Locke as we continue threading ourselves through the trees. "You've told me all about the fauna of your homeland. How come I've never heard about the Kocerats?"

"Maybe ye were no' payin' attention," Eric says with his grin.

Torrance turns to face Eric as he keeps walking, now trudging backwards in the snow. "So you know about them? Seems like something you'd be interested in."

"Nae, I've never heard of them. No' until now." Eric scrunches his face suddenly and he looks at Locke, nodding his head towards Torrance. "Wait, he's right! How come ye've never told me about these animals!?" His face relaxes. "They sound like big game."

I raise my brows at the hunter. Of course he'd say something like that.

"They are a well guarded secret," Locke says. I look back at the easterner as he points sternly at each and every one of us. "I expect the four of you to guard this secret with your lives! Take it to your tombs, as you say."

"Pyres," Wessel says while Torrance turns around to walk straight again. Locke drops his hand and looks at Wessel. "The expression is 'take it to our pyres' because we burn our dead. We don't bury them."

"Interesting," Locke says dismissively.

"If it's alright, could you tell us more about your Kocerats?" I ask the easterner.

Locke shifts his piercing dark eyes to me. "So long as what I tell you enters no one else's ears."

"Of course," I say solemnly and incline my head to him.

Locke inclines his head to me. "I believe you. The Kocerats are many times larger and stronger than any beast of burden you know. They consume greens from the ground and berries from bushes and smaller trees. My people tame these creatures from their infancy and use them to plow our farmlands." I peek up at Eric. Whether he realizes it or not, he has leaned towards Locke, attentive to the easterner's words. "The males are larger and, how do you say…" he tilts his head in puzzlement "...more decorated than the females."

"Like birds?" Eric asks. "Or more like deer?"

Locke bobs his head, considering Eric's words. "Like birds…and deer."

"Mm," Eric hums to himself, fascinated by these creatures.

"If the males are bred and trained correctly, they can be fearsome warmounts."

"What!? Warmounts!?" Torrance asks, shocked.

Locke merely looks at the healer and nods. "Yes. They have very thick and scaly hides. Your arrows could not pierce let alone scratch them!" He gestures to the quiver of arrows strapped to Torrance's back.

Torrance flinches and grabs at his quiver with his free hand. "You're jesting me!"

Locke shakes his head. "I am not. The males have larger horns, but both sexes have many horns on their faces. These horns have impaled man and beast alike. They have perfect, twisted horns up here." Locke throws his free hand over his head in a large arc. "Their heads are like…beautiful shields of bone and hide, and many beautiful colors and patterns. Any tamed Kocerats have each of their horns marked with my tribe's and my God's images. That is how you can tell the wild ones from ours."

"Kocerats," Wessel muses. "They sound like…Rhinos or Hippos…or Elephants."

Locke shakes his head. "These are not Rhinos, Hippos, nor Elephants! The Kocerats put those creatures to shame! They have tails like trees and they are born from eggs!"

"So, like birds or like fish!?" Torrance asks.

Locke nods at the healer. "Hard shells, like birds."

"Wow," Eric says under his breath, drawing my eyes to him. His eyes dart down to me.

A tender smile lifts my mouth, my heart softening for the hunter. "These creatures really fascinate you."

He smiles down at me and squeezes my hand with his gentle strength. "Aye, they do."

"Hey Eric! Does this look like a good spot to make camp!?" Wessel asks.

Eric's smile lessens as he tears his eyes from me and looks ahead. I look ahead, too. We all slow and stop in a small clearing of the twisted trees.

I glance up at Eric. He looks about, evaluating the site. He purses his lips as he nods. "Aye, looks good as any."

"Then let us set up camp," Locke says.

We all work to make camp. The men tether their horses to the horn-like trees, but Eric leaves Ylva free, as he has done every other night before.

"We'll take care of the horses," Torrance says, motioning to Wessel and me.

"And we will gather the wood. Come help me, lover boy." Locke pats Eric's back as he passes by on his way into the trees. My heart skips a beat. Lover boy!?

Eric snorts at the easterner and looks down at me, our fingers still interlocked. "Ye can rest. I'll take care of Ylva when I get back—"

"Eric, you go help Locke with the wood," I say sternly, yet I pull my hand from his against my will. "I'm going to help Torrance and Wessel with the horses."

He looks down at my hands and frowns. "Ye sure?" His eyes dart up to me. "Ye jus' started walkin' on yer feet again."

I roll my eyes at the hunter and grab his shoulders, forcing him to turn about. "I'm not a cripple anymore! Now, go help Locke." I give him a gentle push towards Locke who is already a good stone's throw in the trees.

We both laugh as he ambles into the trees. "Alright, lass." He spins back around to me. "Dinnae strain yerself!"

I roll my eyes at him again, earning his laughter. "Go!" I say.

He holds his hands up in surrender as he turns back and treks deeper into the trees. "Alright, alright, I'm goin'."

I help Torrance and Wessel unload and unsaddle the horses while Eric and Locke hack at the trees, gathering wood for the fire. As I unload Ylva, I keep glancing into the trees. More often than not, I catch Eric looking at me. My heart flutters with every glance, and smile after smile keeps pushing into my cheeks. He, too, grins at me each time before our chores force us to look away.

I spot a horse brush in Eric's packs and grab it. The horses could use a quick brushing. "I've got the horses," I tell Wessel and Torrance.

"Alright. We've got the packs," Torrance says.

While Torrance and Wessel set up our spots about where the campfire will be, I give Abasi, Phoebe, and Sundance a quick brushing and toss thick woolen blankets over each of their backs. The three horses tolerate me, but I make sure to let them know where I am by keeping my hand on their flanks the whole time. The last thing I need is to be kicked by a startled horse.

I reach Ylva's flank and stroke the side of her thigh. "Hey, girl." I lean back to look at her face. "I'm just going to give you a quick brushing. Is that alright?"

Ylva snorts and turns her neck, moving her long snout to look back at me. Her brown eyes meet mine. My hand slows in stroking her side. I've…never seen a horse like her. None of my father's prized mares nor his war stallions can compare. Not even Duncan II with his golden coat. There's kindness in her eyes, but also an intelligence—perhaps comparable to man.

I smile at her and start brushing her flank. "You're a smart girl, huh? You look like it."

Ylva nickers and stretches her snout to me. She nudges her muzzle against my head and sniffs me with loud puffs, blowing clouds of white mist my way. My nerves buzz in my neck and back. I can't help but squirm and laugh against her muzzle. "What are you doing!?" I ask her, though I keep brushing her. It's not like she's going to talk back to me, but I think she understands me.

Ylva lets up with her sniffing and merely watches me. I finish brushing her left flank and step around her to brush her right flank. She turns her head to look over her other shoulder at me, though she does so lazily. I stroke her body with my free hand while I brush down her right side. I glance at her in the midst of my brushstrokes, meeting her brown eyes. Even in the dim grey world, I can see the fine white hairs spattered in her ebony face. She's an old girl…an old girl that saved Eric and me. If it wasn't for her finding Torrance, Wessel and Locke…Eric nor I would be here now.

My heart swells with gratitude. This horse saved our lives. Eric's dear friend who he hadn't seen for three years before saved our lives. I give her one final brushstroke and take two steps towards her, resting my free hand on her neck.

"Ylva, thank you." I smile bigger and stroke her neck. "Thank you for saving Eric's life and my life. I can never repay you."

Ylva nickers softly and extends her head, bumping her snout against my cheek. I giggle and stroke her cheek.

"She says, 'Yer welcome'."

I pull back from Ylva and look. There Eric stands before me with a bundle of chopped, twisted branches in his arms, smiling down at me.

"Awe!" I look at Ylva and stroke her snout, my heart melting. "I knew you were a smart girl! And you're sweet to boot!" She may be old, but she is so sweet!

"Aye, she's smarter than most people," he says.

I snort. "What a sad state of affairs when animals possess higher intelligence than most of man."

Eric chuckles and nods. "Aye! Sure does seem like it."

I let go of a breathy laugh. "God help us."

Ylva pulls her snout from me and nuzzles Eric's neck. He chuckles and leans his cheek against her snout. "And I ye, lass!"

My heart melts more. I've never seen such a bond between a man and his animal. "What did she say?" I ask.

Eric lifts his head as Ylva withdraws her snout an inch. "She said, 'I love ye'."

My smile falls. "What?" Did he just tell me that he loves me?

His smile lessens. "She told me she loves me, and I told her that I love her too." He glances at Ylva.

"Oh!" I heave a breath of relief and force a smile for him. Hell, for them both! "I see."

He tries to smile more, but it falls. "Thank ye for brushin' her."

I nod, my heart turning cold. "Of course."

Silence comes between us, filling the chilled air with discomfort—and the sting of rejection.

Eric clears his throat and nods once more. "We're gonna get a fire started. Join me when yer finished."

"I will." I watch him as he passes me by and joins the other men at the center of the camp. I shake my head and stow Eric's horse brush back in the pack I found it in. Damn me! Leave it to me to hurt him and drain him of his high spirits. With a heavy heart, I grab the last large blanket for Ylva and toss the heavy woolen thing over her back. I trek through the snow to Wessel's packs near his bedding and root through them, finding the horses' food and water. Wessel looks my way.

"I'm going to feed and water the horses." I lift the two pouches of waterskins and dried grain.

"Thank you!" Wessel smiles and nods. I spring to my feet and feed and water Abasi, Sundance, Phoebe and Ylva. The four of them eagerly eat and drink to their satisfaction.

As I finish with Ylva, I give her one last gentle stroke. "Night, girl."

She snorts and bobs her head. She's bidding me a good night in return. I smile at her and return to the center of camp. The fire is already roaring and the men are sorting through and packing away the last of their things. I go to Wessel's packs and store the horses' grain and water back in them. The fire's heat touches my chilled face as I look at the men. Locke, Torrance and Wessel chat with each other, but I don't hear them. My eyes fix on Eric.

He reclines back against his saddle, stretching his long legs towards the fire. He doesn't participate in the men's conversation. He folds his hands over his belly and looks about the camp until his eyes find me. A small but heavy smile shapes his mouth. His body sags on his bedroll and saddle. I watch him as his smile falls and his eyes grow heavier with each blink. My heart reaches for him, but my ribs keep it prisoner inside my ribcage. Either he hid it well before or I didn't realize it, but he's exhausted. Shame on me if I didn't realize it before. I pray he hid it well. Regardless, he takes the first watch most every night. He is always up before me to start the day. Not just that, but what happened this morn…that's been weighing on him all day. Hell, it's been weighing on him for much longer than that! It makes sense. I've never experienced it, but it makes sense. He has lost everyone he loves. I found light in the darkness. I found hope. That light, that hope—that's ye. Eric's words echo in my mind. My chest constricts. Tears sting my eyes. When he learns the truth…I can't think about it now.

Eric's eyes finally flutter shut. The least I can do is care for him. He has cared for me and protected me ever since he found me in that dark forest.

"My dear, you should eat," Torrance says, pulling my eyes to him. He offers me some unleavened bread.

I force a smile for the healer and shake my head. "Let me cook you all something. Locke, do you have any more barley?" I spring to my feet and go to him before he answers.

He leans back and nods once. "I do, but that barley made you retch before."

I swallow. "It wasn't the barley."

Locke shrugs and reaches into one of his packs beside him. "Suit yourself, woman." He pulls out a pouch of grain and hands it to me.

"Thank you! Torrance!" I spin to face him. "Do you have leaves or pots? Maybe I can brew a tea."

Torrance perks up, a smile growing on his face. "Really!? Yeah, I got some herbs that would make a great tea!" He roots through his herbal satchel.

"And I've got a pot that you can brew the tea in!" Wessel says. He pulls an iron pot with a handle out of his rucksack.

"Perfect! Thank you!" I collect the pot from Wessel and Torrance drops a handful of dried leaves into it.

"I'll warm up some of my nog, too!" Wessel grabs a skin out of his rucksack.

"Oo, this is sounding good!" Torrance rubs his hands together. "I haven't had a home cooked meal in a year!"

"She has cooked us the barley back in the tunnels," Locke tells Torrance.

Torrance scoffs and waves off Locke. "Within the past year, Locke. It's the New Year."

Locke rolls his eyes and mutters something…in his native tongue, I think.

I pour water from one of our waterskins into the pot with the leaves and set it near the fire to warm. As the men continue chatting, Wessel provides me with another pot to cook the barley in.

"I want to try cooking it in your nog, actually," I tell Wessel.

His eyes widen with surprise, but he hands me the nog. "Alright, but don't use it all. That nog is expensive to mix."

"I won't," I assure him and return to preparing the men dinner. I don't have much knowledge of cooking aside from roasting bits of rat meat over a fire, but this is…different and refreshing. I pour the barley into the pot and pour equal amounts of Wessel's nog and water into the pot and set that near the fire to cook. Wessel also provides me with a ladle to stir the barley with.

"Thank you," I tell him.

"You're welcome." He smiles at me and returns to conversing with Locke and Torrance. I sit just inches from the fire, soaking in its heat while I stir the barley and steep the tea. I peek over at Eric every now and then. He stays asleep, his chest steadily rising and falling with his breaths. If I can feed him, it might ease my guilt some. I grit my teeth and stir the barley quicker, scraping the bottom of the pot with the wooden ladle. That's so damn selfish of me! I should want to feed Eric only because I love him—but I do not love him. Not with my mountain of lies.

The barley soaks up the water and nog, softening up. "Hmm," I hum to myself as I stir the creamy porridge. My mouth waters. It looks tasteful. Hopefully it tastes as appetizing as it looks.

"Wessel, do you have some bowls in your packs?" I lift the barley porridge from the fire.

He grins. "Yes, I do! Thank you for making that. It looks good!"

"You're done!?" Torrance asks, leaning forward to peer into the pot. He grins when he sees it. "Oh, that looks good!"

Pride swells my chest, making me jittery. Wessel helps me split the porridge into five wood bowls while Torrance pours the tea into five cups that he had stashed in his packs. Each man grabs his own bowl and spoon of porridge and cup of tea and they begin eating dinner.

"Hmm," Locke hums, chewing the porridge in his mouth.

I swallow. I can't tell whether he likes it or not. "How is it?" I ask. Locke's eyes dart to me. God, I pray it's not gross. "I apologize if it's not good. I'm not an experienced cook."

"It's delicious!" Torrance says with a grin and a mouthful of food. Wessel laughs, but I keep my eyes on Locke. He's bound to give the most honest assessment.

He swallows and inclines his head to me. "It is sufficient."

"Oh." My chest deflates. Well…it could be worse.

"That's mean!" Torrance says with another mouthful of food. "Ignore him, my dear. He downplays everything!"

Locke merely looks down at his bowl of porridge and scoops another spoonful into his mouth.

"It's alright, Torrance." I smile at the healer as I grab one of the remaining two bowls and a steaming cup of tea. "Though I appreciate your kindness."

"Sure, but it is delicious!" Torrance says and resumes scarfing down his dinner.

I smile at him as I stand up and carefully make my way around the fire to the one man I really did this for. I reach his feet and stop there. My eyes drift over his bear-sized body. He's still fast asleep, his head propped against his saddle, his hands still resting on his stomach. I carefully step to his side and crouch before him. I part my mouth to wake him…He's as handsome as ever, his stubble thicker than the day before, but his mouth is stiff and his brow is tense. His eyes flutter back and forth beneath his eyelids. He's dreaming—no, he's having a nightmare. A pang enters my heart. I pray I'm not even a hint in his dreams.

I hate to wake him, but he needs to eat. Not just that, but he can get that second chance to find some restful sleep. God knows I would have given nearly anything during my imprisonment to have someone free me from my nightmares.

I set down the bowl of porridge and blow my breath onto my fingers to warm them for him. I run out of breath and reach for him. He doesn't stir even as my fingers near his cheek. I frown. God, he really is exhausted, but he needs to eat dinner at least.

"Eric?" I call his name softly and ghost my fingertips over his cheek. He flinches awake, startling me.

He blinks his groggy eyes a few times and sits up suddenly. "Ye alright?" he asks with concern, so close to panic.

"Eric, I'm fine. We're fine." I brush my fingers across his cheek and pick up the bowl of porridge off the snow.

"Ah, I dozed off!" He scrubs his hand down his face. "I didnae mean to." He drops his hand in his lap and notices the bowl of porridge and the cup of tea in my hands.

"I think you were more tired than you realized." I say as he lifts his heavy eyes to mine. "It makes sense you'd be tired because you usually take first watch, and you're always starting the day before me, but that's all beside the point." His eyes drift to the porridge and tea in my hands, a smile slowly lifting his mouth. "You should get some sleep, but first you should eat. I, um…" My nerves buzz, nagging me to squirm. Instead, I force out my breath with pursed lips in a billowing white cloud. That damn smile of his! I can't speak because of it!

He lifts his gaze to mine, his smile tender, grateful, and very tempting to kiss. "Did ye cook this for me?" he asks.

"Yes. The others supplied me with the pots and food, but I cooked it." I wince and offer him the porridge and the tea. "Torrance likes it. Locke says it's sufficient…" Eric smirks, briefly closing his eyes in amusement "...so I'm not sure how it tastes."

Eric opens his eyes and accepts the bowl of porridge and the warm cup of tea from me. "He likes the taste of crickets and big spiders, so his opinion's moot."

I can't help but cringe. "Ugh," I grumble only for Eric's ears.

He chuckles as he sets his cup of tea down on his bedroll and spoons some porridge into his mouth. I watch him closely as he chews. The others chat away behind me. The heat of the fire blankets my back. God, I pray he likes it. His eyes widen with pleasant surprise as he chews and swallows. "It's good!" He looks up at me and smiles that same damn smile that stole my words before. Just as it does now!

He clutches the back of my neck with his free hand and leans towards me. I gravitate to him, our mouths meeting for a gentle kiss. The moths flutter about in my belly. My heart thumps harder and harder with each beat. He hasn't kissed me since this morn. That kiss was sudden and brief. I didn't get to enjoy it. This kiss…I savor it. Forget your guilt, Snow. Forget everything you have done to hurt him. Forget how you will wound him. Forget all of it in this moment. Relish the way his lips warm against yours. Savor the life and excitement with which they move against yours. Remember that though they're chapped, they're tender and soft beneath.

He ends our kiss too soon and rests his forehead against mine. The cold nips at my tingling lips. "Thank ye," he says, his words gentle and bursting with praise and reverence for me.

I flinch. When he learns the truth—no, don't think about it now! I just want to kiss him once more. Then I'll let him eat. I grab the sides of his neck. "One more kiss," I say and pull him to me, his smile turning impish just before his lips touch mine.

"There you lads are!"

Eric and I both whip our heads to the new voice! Locke, Wessel, and Torrance go silent. Snow crunches louder and louder with each quick, light footstep. A black figure materializes in the night, becoming easier to see the closer he draws to our fire. He reaches the edge of our fire's glow and stops there, the golden light falling on the stranger. My eyes widen.

"Beith!" Torrance says, shocked to see him. "What are you doing here!?"

There the same dwarf from Vilgard stands knee deep in the snow, his oversized pickaxe slung over his shoulder. His iron grey hair is more unkempt than when I last saw him. His clothes are different from what he wore in Vilgard, too. He swapped out his richer colors for brown trousers and boots and a dark green woolen coat lined with fur. The only rich thing on him is that same golden chain with emeralds stretched across his chest—the chain of a king.

The dwarf looks from man to man as he speaks. "Business, as usual! I didn't come here to pay all you lovely people a visit!" He stares at Locke for a few breaths and points at him. "Is that…paint?"

Locke gives Beith one nod. "Yes. It is for the woman's sake. I put on this paint to draw less attention to ourselves."

"I see," Beith says slowly and looks at Wessel. "There's something different about you." He bobs his finger at Wessel.

Wessel motions to his hair and his shaven jaw. "I shaved my beard and dyed my hair for milady's sake."

"Ah, that's it!" Beith says, his eyes widening with the realization. I sigh. He may be a dwarf, but he's as typical as men come. Beith turns his beady brown eyes to Eric and me. He looks at the two of us for a few breaths, thinking…something. I cannot help the growing discomfort beneath his scrutinizing gaze. He suddenly smirks. "I've got information on that supply train you were asking about!" Beith looks back at Locke.

"Supply train? What supply train?" Torrance nudges Locke's side, looking at him with confusion. "You know about this?"

Locke sets down his cup of tea on his bedroll and looks Torrance straight in the eye. "Yes," he answers.

Torrance's brows furrow. "And you didn't tell Wessel or me about this? Did you know!?" He looks back at Wessel.

Wessel shakes his head, confused himself. "No, I'm just as in the dark as you are."

Beith scoffs. "Let me tell you about it, then." He waddles through the snow towards our fire and stops before my empty bedroll. He looks straight at me and inclines his head to my spot. "May I?" He knows it's my spot…and I'm nearly straddling Eric's lap.

I swallow and sit down on Eric's bedroll beside him. "You may," I say.

"Thank you, lassie." Beith plops himself down on my bedroll and sets his heavy pickaxe down beside him, making himself comfortable…Perhaps a little too comfortable for my liking. "Eric! First things first…" Beith pulls a large, weighted satchel off his shoulder and holds it in the air by its strap "...what you asked for! This is everything I could scrounge up on the matter."

Eric tenses beside me and sits up straighter. I look at him. He eyes the suspended satchel—like a hawk eyes his prey. "How much?" he asks. My brows furrow. What's in that satchel? What did Eric ask Beith for? What matter is Beith talking about?

Beith grins. "Ten gold pieces, but!" —he holds up a finger of his free hand— "I'll give this to you in good faith" —he lowers his hand and the satchel to the ground— "if you assist us with our raid."

Raid? What raid? Unease twists my gut. "Wait," I say, drawing every set of eyes to me. I shake my head at the dwarf. "It wasn't that long ago you did your heist!"

The dwarf nods. "Your point?"

"We—" I bite my tongue. Does he know Eric and I are fugitives from Ravenna? God, how much does he know about us!? About me!? My stomach knots. Muir knows who I am. He could have told Beith!

"Ye know we're fugitives of the Queen!" Eric says. "Ye dragged me into one of yer heists! I cannae help ye with a raid, too, especially if it's one of the old hag's supply trains! I need to keep my head down for her sake!" He tips his head to me. "That heist was risky enough! I'm no' takin' anymore risks, no' while the Queen and her brother are breathin'."

"Eric," Locke says, drawing our attention to him. He leans closer to the fire, the crackling flames writhing between us. "This raid is different from any other raid we have done before. I need your help."

"Is the supply train the Queen's?" Eric presses, the flames catching in his icy eyes.

Locke inclines his head once. "Yes."

"I'm no' doin' it." Eric sits back, his free hand reaching behind him for me. I grab his hand.

Locke starts, "Eric—"

"You heard him!" Torrance says. "And neither am I, nor Wessel, nor you!" He points at himself, at Wessel, and at Locke as he speaks.

Locke turns his head to the healer, his face collected and impassive. "This raid will be very profitable for all parties involved."

Torrance scoffs. "You know me better than that, brother! I'm not going to put gold over any of our lives! You just pulled off a heist! It's too soon to do a raid! On one of the Queen's supply trains no less!"

"Locke, it's too risky," Wessel says.

Locke shakes his head at the former redhead. Ah hell, he's still a redhead! "Hear Beith and me out before you decide! Please." He looks from Torrance, to Wessel, to Eric and me.

"This supply train will be passing through the valley across Grifton Bridge in five days time," Beith says. "The Queen has ordered the establishment of five Culling Camps further East up on the Granite Flats." My stomach twists. Culling Camps? Beith goes on. "This supply train will be aiding in the construction, set up, and supply of those camps. She's hired…," Beith's words drift from my ears as I grab Eric's arm, getting his attention.

"What are Culling Camps?" I whisper.

Eric frowns as Beith drones on. "They're camps the old hag establishes to carry out her raids on settlements. Remember Hymark?"

The fires and screams of Hymark rush back to me. "How could I forget?"

His frown deepens. "That raid was carried out from one of those damn camps."

I swallow, horror torturing my nerves. "Oh…Why are they called Culling Camps?"

Eric gives me a look of pain and pity. "It's what yer people named them. The Queen culls yer people like a hunter culls deer and wolves…It's selective slaughterin', lass."

His words hit me like a punch to my chest. My hand slips from his arm as I slump back. Ravenna…did I ever truly know her? She's—selectively slaughtering my people! Culling them! It makes sense now. Soon, there will be none of us left if Ravenna doesn't stop this slaughter…this genocide.

Beith's words reach my ears again. "This supply train will be supplying the five Culling Camps with weapons, armor, food, water—"

"Food and water?" Wessel asks, confused. "Her phantom soldiers don't need to eat and drink."

Beith looks at the redhead across the fire. "Have you not heard the talk going around? All the Queen's supply trains have been escorted by men this past month! Mercenaries, sellswords, and thugs," Beith says that last word with a sharp tongue. "Not one phantom soldier has been spotted in the past month!" Beith regards Wessel closely. "What do you think about that?"

I look at Wessel. His brows slowly relax as he ponders the dwarf's words. His eyes open more, his resistance to the raid waning. My resistance to this raid is waning, too. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. For the first time, I do not find the sparking hope in his eyes nauseating and angering. My resistance to it is weaker. Something sparks in my heart—hope…for my people.

"I don't know," Torrance says, shaking his head. "Are you certain there have been no Phantom Soldiers escorting her supply trains!?"

Beith nods once. "Positive. You know my lads have been tailing her supply trains for the last fourteen years! We know her habits like the backs of our hands."

"I don't understand," I say. Everyone's eyes weigh on me, but I keep my eyes on Beith. "What does the absence of her Black Gla– her Phantom Soldiers. What does their absence have to do with this raid?"

Beith raises his brows at me in disbelief. "Haven't you ever heard of her Phantom Soldiers!? Have you seen their abilities!?"

"I'm…" my heart beats harder with trepidation "...familiar with them." What more I can say without giving myself away?

"We used hit and run attacks," Locke says, setting his bowl of porridge down. "We rush the enemy, shatter them and keep shattering them while the others loot as much as they can before we make a full and hasty retreat."

"Hit 'em with overwhelmin' force." Eric turns his face to me. "Then we disappear as soon as we appeared. It worked well for us and Beith's merry band." He nods at the dwarf with the king's chain.

"Yes, it did," Beith says and leans towards Eric. "So Eric, what do you say to reliving those glory days? You can charge in like the berserking bear again!" He holds his fists up in triumph, grinning. "Just like old times!—"

"Nae." Eric shakes his head

"Eric, come on!" Locke says, drawing the hunter's hard eyes. "I cannot do this without you!"

"I?" Torrance gives Locke a suspicious look.

Locke turns his head to Torrance. "I meant we. Us!"

"Ye got my answer!" Eric spoons a fast bite of porridge into his mouth and sets his bowl down. Locke shoulders drop as Eric grabs his bear satchel and roots through it. "I'll pay ye the gold," he tells Beith with a mouthful of porridge and gulps his food down. I watch him dig through his satchel for the gold, worry stirring in my gut. I was never a very studious child, but I recall a few names from all those afternoons papa spent drilling his maps of Tabor into my mind. Granite Flats is one. Granite Flats was not the most fertile ground, but the rocky flats allowed for the largest and strongest city to be built there—Sunstrum. Tabor's capital, the gleaming city, the Sun's first song. Those are the few fascinating bits I remember about the city. If memory serves me, there were dozens of towns that surrounded the granite walls of Sunstrum, and ten times more villages than towns. If Ravenna plans to establish five of her Culling Camps near there…many of my people will die.

Gold coins clink in Eric's hand as he pulls several out of his satchel at a time, counting them. "Ten," he says under his breath and holds his hand out to Beith. "Here, ten gold pieces."

Beith tosses the weighted satchel Eric's way. It lands in the snow with a thud at Eric's feet. "Keep your gold, you puttock! Help us!" Beith holds his arms out. "This raid will be far easier than any other raid we have done! The bastards you cut down will stay down! If you help us, you'll be helping the poor people of Tabor." He holds one of his child-sized, wrinkled hands to Torrance and his other hand to me as he speaks.

"Eric," Wessel says carefully, "if Ravenna establishes those Culling Camps, thousands will die. Tabor…if we lose Sunstrum, we lose Tabor forever."

"How so?" Those words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Wessel looks directly at me from across the writhing flames. "That city was, and in some ways still is our lifeblood. Back in its glory days, it was the center of diplomatic relations and trade for the whole Kingdom. Almost half of our armies were trained and housed there. The city itself is nigh impenetrable from the outside with its granite and iron walls and watchtowers."

"So thousands do live there?" I ask him, my words barely louder than a whisper.

Wessel nods somberly. "Yes." An immense weight comes over my heart and nearly crushes it. He heard me.

"I don't get it," Torrance says, looking at each of us with confusion. "Ravenna has control of Sunstrum. Why would she want to cull the very city that supports her?"

"Have you not heard what's been happening there?" Beith says.

"Nae, it's kind of hard to hear the latest rumors goin' round when yer on the run," Eric says, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Beith only looks at the hunter and smirks. "Right. There's a resistance forming there, and it's growing by the day." He looks from man to man as he speaks. "Word is the long thought dead Princess, King Magnus' only child, is alive." My body stiffens. I stop breathing. My heart nearly stops beating. Beith turns his face to me, looking me straight in the eye. "What's more is that she's fleeing to Hammond's fortress with the intention of rallying the men there to fight against the Queen."

Terror seizes me. I keep my eyes fixed on Beith, but I see Eric look at me out of the corner of my sight. I barely see the look on his face, but I swear I see the suspicion furrowing his brow!

"That's a false rumor going around," Wessel says. To protect me. "My Princess was in the castle the night my King was murdered. All who were in the castle were slain that same night. Beith, we're all desperate. We'll believe anything to give us a glimmer of hope." Eric's brow relaxes as he finally looks away from me! Fear loosens its grip on me almost immediately, allowing me to breathe easier. That was close. His suspicion has been eased…for now.

"A false rumor it is, but a useful one for you and your people…and mine," Locke says. "You might find a woman and make others believe she is your dead Princess. Like her!" Locke throws his hand my way. Eric looks at me again! My heart shoots up and thrums in my ears. My eyes cross his blue ones against my will. I want to run from here—but to run would be to give myself away.

There's no suspicion contorting his face this time, but rather disapproval. He shakes his head and looks at Locke. "That's a bad idea. It'd put her in far more danger than she's already in!" Eric grips my hand tighter—almost reflexively. "No' only would Ravenna pursue her with even more vigor, but if her people ever learned the truth, she'd be accused of treason."

"Whatever you all plan to do is your business, but healer," Beith looks at Torrance, "to answer your question, the growing resistance in Sunstrum is the reason the bitch Queen wants to cull them. She's going to wipe them out. And…" the dwarf bobs his head, uncertainty filling his face "...I have a vested interest in stopping this attack aside from the profit. Sunstrum has tunnels running nearly a mile beneath it…They connect directly to one of my ancestral homes." Beith holds his hand to his chest. "That bitch Queen cannot get into my home. I cannot allow it."

"I did not know that," Locke tells Beith and looks back at Wessel and Torrance. "It seems you two are not the only ones who want to fight for your home."

Wessel nods, resolute, and shifts his gaze to the dwarf. "You have my arm, my bow, and my sword for this raid."

Locke grins, his teeth stark white even against his painted skin. "Wessel, thank you! Torrance! What about you, brother?" Locke scoots about to face Torrance and rests his hand on Torrance's shoulder. "Will you fight for your people and for your home, too?"

Torrance looks back at Wessel, his dark eyes soft and open with concern and hesitancy. He spares Eric and me a glance before he turns his face to Locke and to Beith. "Locke…why do you want to do this raid? What's in it for you?" Torrance asks.

Silence comes between them that lasts for two of Locke's breaths. Though I can only see the side of Locke's impassive face, I see his eyes shifting slightly…almost as if he wants to look away from Torrance, but he cannot. Why?

"Torrance, brother…" he squeezes the healer's shoulder, breaking the silence "...I came with my father to your homeland not to defend your people, but to defend my father. My father came here to stop the evil in this land so that it does not spread to mine. To honor my father's memory, I have decided to take up his cause." Locke takes his hand from Torrance's shoulder and presses it flat to his heart. "I want to help stop the evil here so as to spare my people from it." He lowers his hand from his chest. "That is why I have asked Beith and his dwarves to aid me in this quest of mine. We have heard the rumors before that the Phantom Soldiers have disappeared. That gave me hope. It is more fortunate that this morning Eric brought us the water from the glacier. That is not coincidence."

"Ravenna is weakening," Wessel says.

"Yes!" Locke tells Torrance, his eyes burning with resolve. "Now is the time to strike at her, brother! If you lose Sunstrum, if the dwarves lose Sunstrum, and if I lose Sunstrum, that could be all our dooms." I drag in a shaky breath, tears stinging my eyes. Whether it be Locke's people or Beith's doom or not, it will be the deaths of thousands of my people.

"What's this about water from a glacier?" Beith asks.

Locke looks back at the dwarf. "Eric found water this morning from a glacier…that was wet."

Beith's eyes widen. "I don't believe it!" His disbelieving gaze goes to Eric. "You weren't drunk when you found this wet water?" he asks Eric with mockery.

Eric glares at the dwarf and nods. "Aye! Believe it or no', I've been more sober as of late."

"Tsk!" Beith scoffs. "Why the change of—" his eyes dart to me. "Ah," he says, nodding his head with the realization. "I see." His gaze shifts to Eric. "Well, I hope you stick with the change of heart."

Eric looks back at me and squeezes my hand, his eyes earnest and determined. "I intend to," he says, his words more for me than for anyone else here. Guilt stings my heart. I barely manage a smile. That will change.

"Fine. Yes," Torrance says, breaking everyone's attention from Eric and me. ""I'll help, but Eric should not be part of this for his sake and Greta's sake."

Locke's eyes widen in shock as he looks at Torrance. "We need him!" Locke says.

"The more archers we have for this raid, the better," Beith says. I perk up. They need more archers? "If Eric does not join us, Wessel will have to be in the skirmish with us." My heart goes to the edge. The thought of Wessel being put in danger's path unnecessarily so—

"My only concern is for her." Eric nods at me. "If she were no' here, I'd join ye, but she's here. I've got to get her to Hammond's. Count me out of yer raid and take yer gold." He tries to push the gold into Beith's hand, but Beith keeps his hands to himself.

"Really?" Beith raises his brows at Eric. "I'd think if your concern was only for her, you'd join us in a heartbeat. You love her, don't you?" Wessel and I both look at Eric for his answer— "If you love her, maybe you should make sure she still has her home if and when we ever rid ourselves of Ravenna," Beith says, not giving Eric the chance to respond.

Eric opens his mouth—"It's just as well." My heart throws the words out of my mouth. Everyone looks at me. "I don't want any harm coming to Eric. He's suffered enough. You need more archers?" I pull my hand from Eric's. God, I once feared letting Eric know of my past with the bow, but my heart gets the better of me. Perhaps this will not tip Eric off to any of my lies. "I'm a full blooded Taboran, and I practiced with the bow for two years when I was a child despite me being a girl. I don't want to seem proud or haughty, but my shot was decent. If I had a few days to train, I might recall my skill. I want…" I cannot face Ravenna herself, but if I can help stop her from wiping out Sunstrum and keep Eric out of this altogether, I'll do it. "Let me help you with this raid," I say.

Most of the men's reactions happen at once. "What!?" Torrance says. "Nae!" Eric says. Locke grins with satisfaction.

"I can vouch for her skill," Wessel says, looking between Torrance and Eric. "I believe she's being modest. Her shot was actually exceptional."

Heat flushes my cheeks. Wessel always paid me high praise when it came to my shooting. Even now when I haven't touched a bow in fourteen years.

Torrance looks at Wessel, flabbergasted. "You're jesting me!"

Wessel gives Torrance a proud smile. My heart softens. He's proud of me. "I'm not. She even put our dear Prince to shame in several shooting games."

"Ye off yer head!?" Eric glares at Wessel from across the fire. "She's no' helpin' with this raid!"

"Why can't I!?" I look at Eric, my face tensing. "They need archers! I can help!" God, my fear is long forgotten.

He looks at me, both stunned and angry. He doesn't seem any wiser to my lies. "This will be a fight against men! These men abuse women, rape 'em, then murder 'em! If they capture ye—" He shuts his mouth and looks over my form, his face softening as he does. His words almost shake my resolve to help. Almost, but my guilt for turning my back on my people for so long…

"My dear, women are weaker than men," Torrance says, sympathy in his eyes. "I'm glad to hear you want to help, but Eric's right. If you come face to face with one of the supply train's guards, they will overpower you and subdue you. None of us want to see any harm come to you."

"I appreciate your words and I understand that," I say. "I'm not asking you to give me a sword, but a bow! Let me help you from a safe distance!"

"A safe dist…," Eric trails off with a sardonic laugh. That cuts me to my bone. "Yer ignorant and foolhardy! There is nae such thin' as a safe distance!" Fire wells in my chest and presses on my restraint, numbing the deep wounds his laughter left. I glare at Eric, mirroring his contorted face.

"Eric, I accept Wessel's vouch for her," Locke says. Eric turns his blazing eyes to him. "She may be a woman, but she is a full blooded Taboran. You know they have eyes like no other people. I believe she will be almost as invaluable by the wayside as you will be in the thick of it."

Eric glowers at Locke. "Ye dinnae care for her. Yer usin' her for yer own gain! Whatever that is!"

Locke's eyes harden. "My gain is to defend my people!"

"Eric, she wants to help her people!" Wessel says, moved with a zeal that was not there before. "I'm not thrilled about her fighting beside us, but let her! I will protect her with my life, I promise you that. Not only that, but she was an exceptional shot in her childhood!" He holds his hand out to me. "With some training, I know she can be again."

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark here and guess she hasn't even touched a bow in fourteen years," Torrance says, pulling Wessel's gaze to him. "Not only that, but it'll take weeks for her to build up her strength just for her to get a decent draw! And we only have five days til the raid! Not even that!"

"Torrance, I will train tirelessly for this raid!" I say. "I'm aware my draw won't be as good as yours, but I promise you I will never lose an arrow that I'm uncertain of."

"Yeah, but how good will your shots be?" Beith says. The camp's eyes go to him. "If we let you join us, I'm not going to end up with one of your sure arrows in my ass, am I?"

Locke snickers. I give Beith the sincerest nod I have ever given anyone. "I assure you, Beith, I make sure of my shots."

Beith regards me carefully. His chest falls, white smoke billowing out of his nose. He draws in a breath and exhales, another steady stream of smoke flowing from his nostrils. "Alright," he says with a nod. "Even if you kill only one man, it's one man less I have to kill."

"Damn it, Beith!" Eric says through gritted teeth. My heart stutters. Kill!? I…of course. What did you expect, Snow? To be picking off swinging bullseyes and straw dummies!?

"So that only leaves you, Eric!" Beith shifts his gaze to the hunter. My heart picks up. Eric keeps his hard eyes fixed on me. "Are you going to sit this one out?"

"Of course he's sitting this one out!—"

"The lass disnae speak for me!" Eric says, cutting me off.

I look at Eric, panic gripping me. "Eric!—" He holds his hand up, shutting me up.

"I'm in!" he says and drops his hand on his knee. I open my mouth, ready to stop him…what can I say? My mouth falls shut. He cannot tell me what to do, just as I cannot tell him what to do.

"Wonderful!" Beith grins and rubs his hands together. "Now the plan's simple enough." Beith stops rubbing his hands and holds them near the fire. "This supply train will have five loaded wagons, one for each camp. They'll be traveling the main road in a single file fashion. That opens up their sides. Locke, Eric, me and my lads will split into two groups and strike them from both sides. Torrance, Wessel, lassie," he looks between the three of us, "we'll have you placed in three separate vantage points to pelt the front, middle, and back of the supply train with arrows. My lads and I staked out a good spot to hit them."

"Where's this spot?" Eric asks, sounding less angry.

Beith looks at him. "It's on the forest side, on the main road, about thirty yards back from the bridge."

"Good," Locke says. "If they reach that bridge—"

"It'll be as if we never tried to stop them," Wessel says.

"We know that," Beith says. A smug grin spreads his mouth. "That's why we're going to drop a giant tree right in their path. Torrance, why don't you throw in one of your firewalls for the fun of it?"

A smile slowly creeps across Torrance's face. "I'd love to!"

"This is a good plan!" Locke says with a grin and he looks at Eric, Wessel and Torrance. "Jerome may not be here, but this will be like old times."

Wessel and Beith chuckle, but the smile falls from Torrance's face. I swallow and peek at Eric. There's no smile gracing his face, but only stiff displeasure and residual anger. His gaze snaps to me with an almost imperceptible flick of his head, his eyes dark and hard around the edges. Though he doesn't touch me, his anger radiates from his body and presses on me with a frightening intensity. I cannot stop myself from shriveling beneath his gaze.

"It's decided then!" Beith says and grabs his knees. "In five days' time, we'll hit the bitch's supply train!" Beith pushes himself to his stubby legs and grabs his pickaxe from the ground. He rests the shaft of his pickaxe across his shoulder and looks at each of us as he says, "My lads and I will meet you at your cabin in four days time. We'll leave from there and take you to the ambush site."

Locke nods. "We will see you then."

"Good eve, lads! Lassie!" Beith inclines his head to me as he turns about—he halts midturn and eyes Eric and me. He smirks and laughs to himself as he turns and treks off into the night. His quick footsteps crunch less and less in the snow until they fall silent.

Torrance sighs. "Well…that's not how I was expecting this night to turn out."

"It is a good end to our night, though!" Locke drops his hand on Torrance's shoulder and looks at the four of us. "This moment here" —he points at the fire with his free hand— "this is the birthplace of your people's fight. Your people's rebellion." He looks Torrance square in his eyes. "Remember that, brother." He pats Torrance's shoulder and withdraws his hand from him. "Let us finish dinner and get some sleep. We all have a pressing day ahead of us when the sun breaks." He picks up his bowl and spoons bite after bite into his mouth.

"Yeah…," Torrance trails off, his eyes lingering on Locke.

"Milady, Torrance and I will wake you and get you started with the bow before we head out," Wessel says. "It might be a good idea for you to try and catch some sleep on Ylva while we're traveling tomorrow."

I nod. My fingers tingle and twitch. I haven't touched a bow in fourteen years. To run my fingers along the wood, to tighten my hand about the grip, to feel that pull in my arms, in my shoulders—"What about yer shoulder?" Eric asks.

I look at him and force a smile. "My shoulder's fine. That lamia balm you gave Torrance really sped up my recovery. Right, Torrance?" I look at the healer. God, I pray he says yes.

Torrance frowns as he picks up his bowl of porridge. "Yes, it did, but I'm still uneasy about you committing yourself to rigorous training with the bow." He dips his spoon into his porridge over and over, a troubled look plaguing him.

Eric sighs and looks at me. "Lass—"

"Eric, my shoulder is fine! Great, actually! Watch!" I roll my right shoulder in tight circles and lose circles and throw my arm straight over my head. He winces, his eyes tracing from my fingers to my shoulder.

My right arm sinks to my side. "You're still not convinced," I say, frowning.

"Nae," he says, his face stern. "Yer no' comin' along for this!"

"Eric, I already committed myself to this raid just as you have! If you're going, I'm going!"

He groans and scrubs his hand down his mouth. "This is dangerous and foolish!" He holds his hand out to me. "If anythin' happens to ye, I…" A look of forlorn twists his face.

My heart aches and softens for him. Will he feel this way at all when he learns the truth? Or will he hate me utterly? "Eric…you know it's futile to dissuade me just as I know it's futile to dissuade you. Please, let me convince you!"

He watches me with bewilderment as I jump to my feet and bound about the fire to Wessel's side. "May I borrow your bow for a moment, please? I won't dry-fire it, I promise!"

Wessel gulps down his tea and sets his cup down. "Of course!" He pulls his bowstring over his head and offers me his bow—a common longbow, probably with a draw weight of sixty pounds. Eighty at the most. It's coming back to me. "That's a sixty pound draw weight, so be careful," Wessel says. "Just remember, don't lean back as you draw."

"Alright." I nod and take his bow in my hands. The—enormity of this nearly knocks me to the snow. The bow's wood is chilled from the winter, but waxy smooth. My chest swells. My nerves tingle and jitter. I cannot tremble in front of Eric. I must convince him I can do this even after fourteen years, if only to ease his worries. I grab the leather grip of the bow with my right hand. It's been fourteen years. God, Ursus, Maker, whoever will hear me! Please guide me. Let my body remember how to do this. Let my body be strong enough to do this. I had to scale that cliff when I escaped the castle. I had to push Eric's comatose body through the snow for several days. I plant my feet beneath my shoulders. Knowing creeps into me. I just have to remember not to lean back as I draw. That was a tough flaw to break.

I catch a glimpse of Eric's worried face. Don't focus on him. Just focus on this moment. I draw in a breath and raise the bow with my right arm. The bow is surprisingly lightweight, yet familiar. Dare I say right? I curl my three left fingers about the bowstring. Ease seeps into my arms as I start drawing. The tension grows in my arms, my shoulders, my back, and my chest. The bowstring presses into my fingers. I steadily draw back further, my muscles tightening with every inch. As I near my anchor point, I keep my right shoulder relaxed and my chin level. My muscles tighten even more, nearing their breaking point. The bowstring digs into the first bends of my fingers. I grit my teeth. I'm almost there! Just an inch more! I draw the string back to my anchor point—the corner of my mouth.

"There!" I ease the string forward slowly and gently back to its resting place. "Wooh!" I roll my shoulders and stretch my arms out, working the tautness out of them.

"Ye alright?" Eric asks, that same worry weighing on his face.

I smile as I let my breath go. "I feel great! I…it feels like I have a bit of my old life back!" Those words strike me. Grabbing Wessel's bow, drawing back its string…I have something of my old life back.

Eric's face softens as he looks down at Wessel's bow and back up at me. A small smile lightens his mouth. "That makes ye happy."

"Oh yes, very much so!" I nod, beaming like a fool.

His smile leaves him. That steals half of my smile. He pushes himself to his feet and starts about our fire, drawing closer and closer to me. My heart beats harder and faster with each step he takes. He stops one stride from me and looks down at me with a heavy face, towering over me. "I'm sorry, lass." He takes my face in his large, warm hands. "I'm no' goin' to take this from ye…" he searches my eyes and sighs reluctantly "...and there's nothin' I can do to stop ye from helpin' with' this raid, is there?"

The last half of my smile drops. "No." That one word fills his eyes with so much, mainly worry. "Eric, I have to do this. For my people. And for you. I can shoot—I mean…" Shame forces my eyes to his chest. "I used to be able to shoot fourteen years ago!" I scoff at myself. Fourteen damn years ago!

"Your skill is still there, milady," Wessel says. My eyes shift to him. "It's buried and asleep, but there. With some practice, you'll uncover it and remember it."

Eric takes his hands from my face. "Aye, but will she remember it in four days!?"

I look at him, meeting his dim eyes—dim from his lack of faith in me. That cuts straight through my bones.

"I believe she will," Wessel says. "I believe in her."

"Eric, you know Taborans make some of the world's finest archers," Locke says. Eric turns his head to Locke as he continues, "That is the reason I am welcoming her help for this raid. That, and she has prior training and tests with the bow."

"It's been fourteen years!" Eric holds his hand out to me. "She said it herself!"

"Eric, you…," words leave me when he looks at me. His lack of faith in me brings hot tears to my eyes. His face falls as he drops his hand.

"She has split arrows with hers!" Wessel says. "She had split so many, I lost count! If my words hold any weight for you, I'd rather she watch my back than Torrance."

"Hey!" Torrance says, sounding hurt, though it's not as painful as it should be.

Eric sighs and looks at Wessel. "I trust ye, Wessel, but I'm no' happy about her joinin' us for this raid. My only concern is for her."

"As is mine," Wessel says, his voice barely reaching my ears.

Locke sighs loud enough for us all to hear. "Eric, we will let her join us. How about you give her these four days to prove herself to you? Now, let us all eat and go to sleep."

Eric huffs. "Aye, sure." He gives me a lingering look as he makes his way back to his bedroll. His lack of faith in me…I'm not sure if anything else he has said and done has hurt me more than this.

"Here." I reluctantly hand Wessel his bow, glimpsing his sad eyes and his frown. I stoop to the last bowl of porridge and the cup of tea sitting on the snow and pick them up. Both are chilly. I sigh as I straighten and trek around the fire to my spot. Thanks for my cold dinner, Beith.

As the five of us eat and drink, I catch Eric looking at me more than once. I barely can meet his gaze each time. From the glimpses I catch, his face is soft, though I see no regret, no pity. No faith in me.

The men finish their meals before me.

"I've got first watch," Eric says.

Locke nods and says, "Wake me when your watch is done." He lies down and pulls his pelt up to his chin.

"Aye." Eric nods and drags the satchel Beith gave him closer by its strap.

"I saw the way you were looking at that before," I say, keeping my voice quiet so the others don't hear me. Eric looks up at me, something heavy weighing on his face and shoulders. I frown. "What's in there?" I nod down at his new satchel.

"Goodnight!" Wessel bids everyone.

"Goodnight, Wessel," I say and tear my eyes from Eric to look across the fire. Wessel pulls a blanket over himself as he lays back on his bedroll and saddle. Torrance and Locke are already fast asleep, furs and wool blankets tucked up around their chins. Wessel gives me a faint smile before he closes his eyes. I watch him for a moment. His chest soon rises and falls slow and steady. Faint puffs of smoke leave his nose with each exhale.

A few more moments pass. His eyes stay closed with sleep.

"I've got to take watch," Eric says and pushes himself to his feet. I tilt my chin all the way back, meeting Eric's sad gaze. His eyes linger on me, mulling over something…battling with it. He swallows and nods. "How about ye come with me for a wee bit? I'll tell ye what's in here, but no' around them." He scoops up Beith's satchel by its strap and slings it over his shoulder.

Unease twists my gut as I set down my bowl. Why not here? The others are sleeping.

"Here." He offers me his hand. I take his hand with no smile. He frowns at me as helps me to my feet and turns. "This way."

I follow him reluctantly out of the clearing and into the trees, leaving behind the warmth of our campfire. The snow crunches beneath our boots as he leads us deeper and deeper into the trees. I glance back at our campfire. It shrinks with every stride we take, the black pressing on the golden light more and more. The dancing flames lessen to the size of my thumbnail. I look at Eric's broad back and shoulders and at the weighted satchel. Something with a square edge shapes the bottom of the satchel—like a book. He keeps a firm hold of my hand and keeps his eyes focused ahead of us.

We come to a grouping of three lofty horn trees, their trunks broad enough to hide us from most of the world.

"Here's good," he says and stops with me at the three trees. He lets go of my hand and goes to the base of the middle tree. I fold my coat about me and hug myself to keep it closed, watching him. He takes the satchel off his shoulder as he crouches before the base of the middle tree and sets the satchel down carefully on the snow. He unties the satchel, pulls it open, and sticks his hand inside, searching through—whatever is in there.

Impatience pricks at me. I open my mouth—If I practice patience, he will tell me what's in there, and why he couldn't tell me back at our campfire. My toes wriggle and curl in my boots—I don't have toes. In their place are the wood ones that Eric made. For me.

Eric pulls his hand out of the satchel and sighs slowly. Reluctantly. He's stalling…like he stalled in that abandoned mining settlement when I begged him to show me his back. Impatience snaps that last string.

"Eric, what's in there?" I start to him. He looks back at me. The look on his face stops me a short yard from him. Anguish and forlorn warps his face into a man I barely recognize. Tears torch my eyes. I hug myself tighter, my arms aching to have him in them instead of me.

He stands and turns to me, looming over me like a mountain. "I cannae lose ye," he says, his voice hoarse. My heart goes to the precipice. Where is he going with this? "Ye cannae be a short sentence in my saga—"

"Eric!—"

"Because yer no'!" He closes the distance in one stride and takes my face in his hands.

"Why!?" I sob and press my hands against his chest to push him away, but I cannot summon the strength in my arms to do so. "Why can't you accept this? I've begged you to accept this! I've begged you to not pin all your hopes and dreams on me!" He flinches, pain pressing on his face, but I keep going. "This world will suffer greatly if it loses you too soon!" Something frozen and bitter claws deep into my heart. "I thought we were going to take each day together."

"We are!" He catches my streaming tears with his thumbs.

I shake my head. "I might be…but you're not! Eric, I…" I cling to his arms. My heart cries to love him…but I do not. "If you can't…" I must say it for his sake! "If…" I…I can't do it. I can't bring myself to let him go…as he cannot let me—a lie go. Though if he knew the truth, he would abandon me.

"I know how to save yer life."

I… "W…what?"

He nods, resolve lifting the anguish from his face bit by bit. "Remember what I told ye about the dwarves?"

I frown at him and sniffle. "Yes, I remember some things. You told me their knowledge was their gold. They were healers, architects, astronomers, miners, inventors," I ramble off some of what I remember and shrug my shoulders. "What do they have to do with any of this!?"

He moves his hands to my shoulders. "They found a way to prolong their lives."

"Uh…How?" My mind is addled nearly beyond speech.

"Ye know the machination Ylva and I have in our heads?"

I barely nod.

He swallows. "There's another machination that my mother put in Ylva to prolong her life…It's like a dwarven heart."

"A…dwarven heart?" I say those words, so foreign on my tongue.

"Aye," he admits slowly…reluctantly. "That's what they're called, in fact…I had done some research from a few books Beith gave me back in Vilgard. That's how I learned about Dwarven hearts."

"Uh…" I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around all of this. Is this some dream? Did I fall asleep back at the campfire? So a dwarven heart, or something like that, is prolonging Ylva's life? And this—machination, a dwarven heart prolongs life? "I don't…understand." Yes, this must be a dream.

He nods, empathy in his eyes. "I know. It sounds like I'm off my head, but hear me out. The machinations the ancient dwarves put in their animals were different from what they'd put in their past Kings. These machinations, these dwarven hearts, would be fused to their Kings' fleshly hearts to—" he huffs "—The dwarven people were the keepers of these hearts. Their King, whoever he was at the time, would serve one hundred years on his throne. If his people liked him and wanted to keep him around, they would give him their heart and it would fuse to his. That way, his own heart is doin' barely anythin' to keep him alive. This machination extended his life exponentially. One of the kings I read about, King Phelim of Blidgaz," he nods once, "he reigned over his people for a thousand years!"

"Woah!" I can hardly believe it!

He forces a laugh and a smile. "Aye, right!? It all sounds insane, but it's history! It's no' some tale a mother tells her daughter to help her sleep." His smile leaves him as he speaks. "Sounds like somethin' Ravenna would want to get her hands on, eh?"

"Yes…yes, it does." I bob my head and scoff. "That'd be preferable to my heart."

"Aye." He presses his hand against my chest, against my heart. "Yer heart stays right where it is."

I chuckle, but I can barely lift my mouth. This does not feel like something to laugh about, but I'm not sure how else to react. "I'm glad you agree with that sentiment."

He laughs, his discomfort clear. "I could never disagree!"

That steals my feigned laughter and smile. His laughter dies and his face falls a breath after mine. If you knew the truth—"Beith gave me books and maps to help me locate one of those dwarven hearts." He looks back at the satchel Beith had given him. "There's only four or five of those hearts that exist." He turns his gaze to me, several things stirring in his eyes. Hesitancy, love, determination—his plan. His plan to save my life. "Lass, I can save yer life—"

"With one of those hearts," I can barely manage the words. "Did you…" realization slowly dawns on me "...did you tell Beith about my weak heart? Even after I begged you to not go to Torrance about this?"

Unease and guilt twist his face. "Aye."

"Eric, I can't believe you did that even after I begged you not to!" I strike his chest. "You bastard!"

His eyes widen. "I never went to Torrance about this, as ye told me to!"

"But you went to Beith!" That dwarf knows who I am! Why he never spouted my true name back at the campfire, I don't know, but what Eric did—he went behind my back! The anger wells to a boiling point in my chest. Nevermind that he didn't go to Torrance! I see it in his guilt ridden face! He knows exactly what he did!

"Lass, I'm sorry, but I—"

"You bastard! You selfish bastard!" I wrench my shoulders from his hands and step back out of his reach. "You knew I didn't wish for the world to know I will be dead by this time next year!" I hold my hand out to the world! "And you still went and told the world!"

"Beith is no' the world!"

I drop my hand. "Really? I don't trust that dwarf. You don't seem to either!" I throw my hand his way—He catches my hand in his and holds fast to me! "Let me go!—"

"Listen to me, please!" He shakes my hand in both of his, desperation dimming his eyes. My heart softens too much and my hand goes limp in his. "Aye, I dinnae trust that pint-sized bastard, but I know him! He cares for himself and his band, he cares nothin' for us and the world, and he hates Ravenna. He's no' goin' to tell anyone about yer heart. It'd only help that bloody hag, and the last thin' he'd ever do is help her. Please, lass." He takes a bold step to me, closing the space once more. "Trust me. I'm sorry. Aye, I was selfish. I went behind yer back, but I…" He takes one hand from mine and cradles my cheek. "Ye can have a long and fruitful life. I can give that to ye! All I need to do is find one of those hearts and…" His face shifts as he takes his hands from me.

My brows furrow, something knowing and unsettling nagging me, putting me on edge. "And what? What do you need to do with that heart?"

He draws in a slow, deep, reluctant breath, delaying as long as his lungs will allow him. "Once I have the heart, I need to cut open yer chest and put the machination inside ye so it can fuse with yer heart." My jaw drops. "The sooner I do this, the better. The weaker yer heart becomes, the more likely the fusin'…it'll be too much for yer heart—"

"It'll kill me." Somehow, I found my voice. I'm…not sure how. I…God, I cannot believe this! This is all crazy! This is something only my mind would make up in its dream state! I have to be dreaming!

Pain contorts Eric's face. He doesn't open his mouth…He doesn't refute me. He gives me a single, stiff nod. "Aye. The sooner we find a dwarven heart and put it inside yer chest, the more likely the fusin' will take…and ye'll live for much longer." He reaches for me, faltering halfway, but he grabs the sides of my neck and stoops to me, putting his gaze nearly level with mine. "I see it in yer pretty face. Ye dinnae believe me."

"I'm having a nightmare." I shake my head at him. "Right? This is…"

He frowns, a glint catching in his eyes. "Yer no' sleepin'."

"So…you would actually…" This…is actually happening. "You're willing to gamble my last days on this?" I shake my head at him, that anger boiling over along with a sense of horror—and growing disgust. "You're willing to put me at risk…for something that might not save me, but kill me far sooner than my ordained time!"

His eyes widen with horror. "Nae! I would never think about this if I thought there was a chance it could—" he bites his tongue, his eyes glistening more "—I know it will save ye. If I put the machination in yer chest tonight, it would save ye, but the longer we delay, the more likely it will…it willnae work."

"You mean the more likely it will kill me!" Another wave of tears burst forth and spill down my face. I rip his hands from my neck, leaving him shocked and pained. The fire inside is raging. His plot to save me—I thought he loved me! How could he gamble my life like this!? "I can't believe you did this! I can't believe you want to do this! You schemed! You—" A tear starts down his left cheek. My gut wrenches. Seeing that tear fall…

"Agh!" he growls and scrubs his hand down his face, erasing the first tear I have ever seen escape his eyes. Guilt hits me in the chest. If I tell him my true name now, his tears will dry. He will forget this scheme and the raid…At the same time, I cannot let him go yet, just as he cannot lose me. How I could forget that fact, I'm not sure, but I did.

I gulp down all my spit and wipe away my tears with my coat sleeve…perhaps he will find his purpose in fighting for my people instead of me? He will find his light and his hope in them, and not in me? A pang enters my heart. There is something about that desire that I do not want to happen. I should want it to happen, but I don't.

"Eric…" I look up at him, my heart yearning to be rejoined to the life spurring his heart on. I cross the space between us and wrap my arms about him. He embraces me and buries his face into my neck as he did this morning. "I'm sorry." I rest my chin on his shoulder, his leather coat chilly beneath my jaw. "My words were cruel. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

He pulls his face from my neck, stealing his shoulder from under my jaw, and touches his forehead to mine. I meet his sea blue eyes, the whites marred with red cracks. Whether that's from weeping or exhaustion, I'm not sure. "Same, lass."

I sigh, my smoky breath billowing with his. I lean back from him, putting that damn chilly air between our brows. "Have you ever heard the proverb of the drowning man?" I ask.

He frowns and his eyes sadden. "Nae."

"My mother told it to me repeatedly. Over and over, day in and day out. She said, 'When you're passing on the beach, if you look out at the ocean and you see a man drowning, do not go in after him. He—'"

"He'll drag ye down with 'im."

My brows furrow. "How did you know the end of it?"

He shakes his head. "That's what a drownin' lad does. He'll grab anythin', he'll grab a sinkin' rock!" Pain fills his eyes. "Are ye sayin' that's what I've done? With this scheme of mine?"

I wince, guilt lashing my heart. "No. It's what I've done to you. You saw me drowning and you leapt in to save me. You should have stayed on the beach. I've dragged us both too far out to sea."

His eyes harden. "Yer wrong. I was lost at sea for two years. I was damn close to drownin', but then, by the grace of some god, he or she sent me a boat." He gives me a heavy smile and touches his forehead to mine once more, banishing the cold air between us. My eyes fall shut as I savor the warmth growing and spreading across my forehead. "I have to keep that boat afloat. It's the only way I'll make it to land. Ye understand?"

I force my eyes open, meeting his tender gaze. My heart grows heavy. What if…what if he does find one of the dwarven hearts and—successfully fuses it to my heart? I don't want to think about him taking a knife to my chest! But, if he succeeded…I want to live. If I could have some kind of life with Eric, perhaps then I could love him. Maybe, if there was enough time, say more than a year, then he might come to accept me as I truly am. He might love me and not the lie…Perhaps someday he will forgive me. "How long will this take? To get this heart?" Damn it, I shouldn't be asking this! Yet I've fallen prey to hope's trap.

He exhales and lifts his chin, stealing his forehead from mine and leaving it exposed to the cold. "It'd be a detour from our journey. A few weeks, I figure."

"A few weeks!?" My heart sinks as pain fills his eyes for the thousandth time. "Oh, Eric!" Guilt batters me from every direction. "I promised Greta! I promised her I'd come back for her! Those few weeks would be the difference of life or death for her!"

He grips my arms. "Lass!—"

"We've squandered too much time as is! We cannot stray from Hammond's! After we free Greta, then we can go search for one of those dwarven hearts!"

Desperation contorts his face. "But it might be too late by then!"

"I know, but I…I can't do it!" I shake my head, tears shaking my voice. "Eric…" I take his face in my hands as gently as I can. "I cannot choose myself over her! I…I'm not sure I could live with myself if she died because of me."

"Alright," he says quickly. Too quickly. "Then ye go with Wessel and Torrance and Locke, go to Hammond's!" He steps back out of my reach. "I will leave after the raid to go find one of the hearts—"

"No!" Panic surges through me. "Eric, no! I need you by my side all the way to Hammond's!"

His face twists with anguish. "Why!? Wessel, Torrance and Locke will protect ye! I know they'll get ye to Hammond's alive and well!"

"Because I know Ravenna! She will send demons to stop us. Only you can push them back and give us the chance to win!"

"I will come back! I will find ye again, ye have my word!"

"And what if we lose that one fight? Because you were not there?" I ask.

He opens his mouth, ready to refute me…silence. His resolve drains from his face with each chilled breath he takes. Us losing that one fight…it's a real possibility.

I frown and reach for him. "After we free Greta…" I cradle his face in my hands "...then I want to leave with you to search for one of the dwarven hearts, but not before Greta is free."

For several of his breaths, he looks down at me with anguish and forlorn. If he could, he would take me back to camp and leave right away to search for one of the dwarven hearts. My heart goes to the edge. Is that what he's going to do?

Slowly, the resignation comes, paining him more. "Aye, fine." He lets go of a shaky breath. "Fine. After we free Greta, we're leavin' right away to find one of the hearts. It'll have to be a heart that's closest to the castle."

I sigh, relief reining my heart back from the edge, though it does nothing to numb the pain. "Thank you."

He frowns, but he nods. "Aye…" His eyes linger on me, searching my eyes and drifting to my mouth…When he learns my true name, will he still search for one of those hearts? God, I could never steal life for myself! It's an evil power, and that would mean me killing someone for it. I…I will have to kill at least one man with an arrow, but never with this power. If I ever do, this power will consume me as it has Ravenna. That cannot happen.

Eric takes my hands in his and stoops to me, pressing his lips to my chilled ones for an almost still kiss. Just as I return his kiss, he pulls back. Damn it! I wrench my eyes open, meeting his. I open my mouth to protest—"Ye should get some sleep. Torrance and Wessel will be gettin' ye up early."

I sigh, my chest and shoulders deflating. "You're right." I look down at our hands, my hands enveloped in his.

He chuckles above me. I look up at him, catching his impish grin and the mischief gleaming in his eyes. "What are you laughing at?" Even as he quells his laughter, it pushes a smile into my cheeks. It's a sharp change in his mood, but I'd be the fool to not welcome it with open arms.

"Ahh…" he gives me a half cautious, half curious look "...I jus' had a thought about ye that—" he purses his lips and shakes his head "—I better no' tell ye. It's ah…" he smirks and presses a kiss to my cheek at the edge of my scarf, putting his mouth near my ear "...it's no' fit for yer innocent ears." His stubble grazes my skin with every word, sending tingles down my neck and into my chest.

"Oh!" I breathe. His hands escape mine and grab my hips. Fire rushes to my face and sparks that nagging ache between my legs. "Innocent ears? Hardly!" I gulp and suck in the wintery air, trying and failing to cool my lust.

He eases my pelvis to his hard thighs, turning that nagging ache to a demanding throb. He begins kissing his way along my cheek, drawing closer and closer to my mouth. Each beat of my heart comes quicker than the last. The temptation to press my loins against one of his hard thighs crosses my mind, but my lust has not impaired my shyness yet. "Please tell me," I force out. My cheeks burn hotter.

He stops at the corner of my mouth and smiles against me. "Nae."

I grab fistfuls of his coat and groan, frustration pricking me in all the wrong spots. "Please!"

He pulls back and looks me straight in my eyes, the pain in his nearly gone. "I said nae."

"Agh!" I smack his chest and glower up at him, earning his laughter. "It's hardly amusing!"

He quells his laughter, but keeps his impish grin. "I'm no' goin' to deflower' yer ears nae matter how much ye beg me to."

I scoff and shake my head at him. Deflower!? That's the word he picked? "Yet you intend to deflower the rest of me. Right?"

He chuckles down at me, his eyes burning into me. "I'm no' goin' deflower any part of ye." That wipes the scowl from my face. What? He stoops to me, putting that mouth of his so close to mine. His warm breath touches my lips. My eyes fall shut. "I intend to touch and kiss every inch of yer body." He slides his hands up to the middle of my back and presses me into him. "I intend to cherish every part of yer soul, yer mind, and yer heart." He kisses me and rests his forehead against mine.

I drag in a breath, my nerves flittering everywhere. My jaw quivers, nearly chattering my teeth. Every word of his—that's his goodness. That goodness that I have been dying inside for since…since the moment I welcomed Maacthis' evil into me.

He brushes the tip of his nose across mine and sighs. "Ye really should go to sleep." I force my eyes open, meeting his sad ones. He straightens his back, stealing his forehead from mine—for the final time this night. "Ye want me to walk ye back?" he asks, his arms still tight about me.

I swallow and shake my head. "No, thank you. I can walk myself back. You should keep your watch." Though God knows I would give my remaining days to stay here in his arms.

His shoulders fall as disappointment crosses his face. "Aye." He takes a heavy step back, pulling his arms from me. "Then I'll watch ye walk back."

My brows furrow. "Why?"

He smirks. "To make sure ye make it there safe."

"Oh, right." I nod and take a step back, my foot as heavy as a boulder. "Goodnight, Eric."

He gives me a faint smile as I turn. "Night, lass."

I glance back at him with every other stride I take, meeting those icy eyes every time. The further I get from him, the more darkness covers him until he disappears in the night. Before I know it, I'm at the fire with the three snoring men. I drop down on my bedroll, exhaustion suddenly hitting me. God, just like Eric, I did not realize how tired I was. And I have an earlier morn than Locke and Eric! I better sleep. I grab my blanket and pull it up to my chin. The fire warms my cheeks. My eyes grow heavier with each blink. I roll my head to Eric's empty spot and keep my eyes there. His goodness…I wish I loved him. If I wanted to love him, I'd tell him my true name…but my fear is necessary. My fear may have guaranteed my people their savior. If he can help save my people from their genocide…I could never repay him. Never.

My eyes close one more time, too heavy to open this time.