The Source (Creasan #1)

The next morning, Merek helped Thea check her gear in her bedroom. Unlike what Thea imagined the king’s or prince’s rooms to look like, Thea’s room was very minimal. A thin mattress laid on the floor behind her. A desk to the left with some paper and a quill. A bar just below the ceiling held Thea’s clothes and beside it stood a mirror. There were no decorations, no physical signs of personality. Thea couldn’t afford such luxuries.

In preparation for the trip, the Council had debated heavily about whether or not they should wear armor. They’d ultimately decided against it. The climb up the mountain would be difficult enough without the added weight of all that metal.

Merek pulled the sheath on her back tighter then dropped her sword into it. She reached down and looped the strap of her crossbow around the other shoulder. Two daggers were holstered to each of her thighs. Merek was dressed similar with the sword at his back and daggers around his waist.

Maerwynn handed Thea her quiver of arrows. While her mother hadn’t argued further about their journey, it was clear from her somber expression that she did not support it. Even though Thea knew Lief would have agreed that the plan was a good one, her heart ached for her mother.

“Merek,” Thea said, “would you mind checking on the others?”

His eyes moved between Thea and Maerwynn, knowing what Thea was really asking. He nodded and left.

“Mama?” Thea gestured to the mirror. “Would you mind helping me with my hair?”

Maerwynn smiled warmly. “Of course.”

Thea dragged the chair from the desk to the mirror and plopped down on it. Her mother ran her fingers through Thea’s strawberry blonde hair, and Thea savored the way it felt, the memories it brought back.

When she was a child, Maerwynn used to braid Thea’s hair every night before bed. It was the only time they were truly alone in their tiny house, and it was when Thea could pour out her secrets to her mother without fear of being overheard. Whenever Maerwynn did this…it felt like home.

Maerwynn started at the top of her head, gathering even the tiny wisps of hair from around her face.

“I know you’re scared,” Thea whispered. “But I promise I’ll be careful.”

“I understand why you’re doing it. Truly I do.” Maerwynn collected more hair as she moved down Thea’s head. “It’s just…with your father…it’s an impossible quest, Thea.”

“Nothing is impossible,” she recited.

Her mother’s lips turned up at the corner. “That’s a nice sentiment. I’ve always thought so. But this journey—“

“I’ll be all right, Mama.” Thea smiled at her mother in the mirror. “Papa went alone. I am taking my best warriors. There is nothing this world could throw at us that we can’t handle.”

“Fine, then I’m coming.”

Thea shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“I am not sending you out there when I have no idea what could happen to you.” Maerwynn reached her neck.

“If anything were to happen to me—which it won’t,” Thea quickly said as her mother’s eyes seared into hers in the mirror. “But if anything does, The Source will need you. They respect you. They’ll listen to you. You have to watch over them.”

Maerwynn worked in silence for a time, braiding the rest of Thea’s hair and then twisting it into a bun at the base of her head. She set her hands on Thea’s shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror. “I will watch over them. Until you come back.”

Thea smiled and stood, facing her mother. “Thank you.”

Maerwynn pulled her into a tight hug, pressing her cheek into her daughter’s bound hair. Thea held her just as tightly, burying her face in her shoulder and inhaling her scent. “Please,” her mother whispered, “please, be safe.”

She nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Maerwynn pulled back and Thea saw there were tears in her eyes. She tried to blink them away. “And for the love of Aestus, don’t do anything stupid.”

Thea chuckled as she headed for the door. “No promises.”

“Thea,” she said louder, “that’s not funny.”

She crunched her nose up at her as she was leaving. “I wasn’t joking.”

“Thea!”

Favian was scribbling at his desk, doing his best to ignore his wife’s presence as she paced the room. He eyed one of the drawers, knowing that sweet relief from his headache was held in them but fearing Ana’s reaction if she saw him indulge in illegal substances.

When they’d first been married, Favian had done everything he could to please her. Although his parents hadn’t been in love, he’d hoped to be so with his own wife. It wasn’t long—perhaps a year—before Favian realized she was not the woman for him. Ana apparently had never come to the same conclusion.

A soft knock tapped at the door and Favian eagerly called, “Come in.”

Destrian slowly glided in, head bowed and eyes downcast in respect. “Good evening, sire. Your Majesty.” He nodded in Ana’s direction.

“Good evening, Destrian,” Ana greeted with a smile.

“How can I help you?” Favian set his quill down and folded his hands over each other, giving Destrian his full attention.

The old man cleared his throat. “The Guard has just returned from their search. Empty handed, I regret to say.”

Favian fumed. He’d had her! The Source’s leader, their queen, had been in his grasp, and he was stupid enough to let her go. That girl’s words echoed in his mind: The King of Creasan looks a fool. Looks weak. And what does that pave the way for if not for a younger, perhaps more adept king?

He gripped the edges of his desk and softly said, “Bring my brother here.”

“The prince…did not return.”

Favian blinked. “What?”

“Nor did the Guard whose presence he requested.”

Ana looked between Favian and Destrian. “You mean to say he—what? Was kidnapped?”

“I could not guess, Your Majesty.”

Favian stood. “Well, ask the rest of The Guard. They must’ve seen—“

“They have been questioned.” Destrian licked his lips. “They’d split up in the woods. That was the last time any of them recall seeing His Highness.”

“They’d been ordered to split up?” The king looked at his advisor beneath his brows.

“Yes.”

Ana frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

Favian’s head pulsed painfully and his breathing picked up speed. Your crown taken by your own brother. “Destrian,” the king said, “gather The Guard. I have a new assignment for them.”

The group of seven stepped out into the daylight, and Thea drew a deep breath, feeling lighter and more determined than she’d ever been before. Finally, they were going to do something that would actually help. Thea imagined if Lief were there, he’d be more than proud of her.

Carac eyed the prince and his Guard suspiciously. “Shouldn’t their hands be bound?”

Thea said, “They wouldn’t try anything foolish.”

“If they do?” Isolde asked as she gave the two strangers a wide berth.

Thea looked at the prince, baring her teeth at him in a menacing smile. “Then we’ll have some fun, won’t we, Highness?”

She could tell that Fendrel was holding back a glower. She was clearly rubbing at his nerves, but he was smart enough not to attack back. She’d given both him and his Guard swords—which had sparked another argument with the group—but she knew exactly how it would come across to the prince: It was practical to give them weapons since no one knew who or what they’d encounter along the way, but it also communicated how little she feared them. She had no qualms giving her prisoners weapons that could easily be turned against her because she knew they never would.

“Perhaps we should just get going?” Fendrel suggested, walking straight ahead. Brom followed.

Taking the lead, Thea recognized, as he probably had done his entire life. “Hey, genius,” she called after him.

He paused.

“We’re going this way.” She hooked her thumb in the opposite direction of where he’d been heading.

Fendrel clenched his jaw as he looked away. Embarrassed yet again. Thea felt a small thrill. A few more thousand of these moments and perhaps she’d start to feel bad for him. Perhaps. Maybe. Probably not.

“And,” Thea added as he rejoined the group, “before you take charge again, you will remain at the back of the group.”

For the first time, Brom spoke up. “Are you not frightened we will run off if left in the back?”

Isolde leaned in to whisper in Thea’s ear. “Perhaps we ought to place them in the middle.”

She was already shaking her head, locking her eyes with the prince. “They won’t run,” she proclaimed with total certainty. “Plus, last place is where the prince is most comfortable.” Thea spun around and plunged into the woods. “Right, then, let’s go.”

Merek, Carac, Peronell, and Isolde all hesitated for a moment, staring at the prince. They were by no means a friend of the royals nor did they hold respect for them. Perhaps it was the very title of “prince” that made Thea’s words seem much harsher than they’d have been if directed at anyone else.

Peronell placed his hand on Carac’s arm and ushered him after Thea. But both of them had wide eyes brought on by the awkwardness of the situation. Then Merek and Isolde followed.

Fendrel and Brom stayed put for a moment. Brom told the prince, “We do not need to stay with these people, Your Highness. We have weapons and we know how to find our way back to the palace from here. Let’s just—“

“No.” Fendrel’s eyes were fastened to Thea’s retreating back. The woman he’d met at the palace seemed strong but sad. Someone in need of his sympathy and compassion. But this woman…didn’t need anyone or anything. She was daring him to leave, daring him to make a run for it. Daring him to be a coward. “No,” he said again. “We follow her.”

Ulric stuck his dulled sword against Althalos’ chest. The little boy growled in annoyance and threw down his weapon. “I’ll never be as good as Father,” he whined.

Ulric shook his head. He wanted to tell the young prince that his father was a rubbish swordsman, that on every occasion that Ulric had been asked to spar with him there had been a conscious effort not to beat him. But who was Ulric to crush the idealization of a son? “Let’s take a break,” Ulric suggested, sitting on the grass.

Althalos plopped down beside him, looking very glum.

Ulric gazed out at the spectacular view. He could see nearly the whole kingdom from here and beyond it, the tall mountains and shimmering trees. “Can I ask you a question, Young Highness?”

The boy shrugged. “Okay.”

“Why do you want to learn how to use a sword?”

“That’s a stupid question.” Althalos gave him a funny look. “Because I am a prince and going to be king.”

“What does that mean?”

“Princes and kings know how to fight. Obviously,” he added.

Sometimes Althalos was the most charming kid Ulric had ever met, which made his job as a trainer less of hassle. But other times—like when Althalos didn’t get his way—he reverted to that of a spoiled brat, the kind Ulric had expected all the royals to be. It was very difficult to be around Althalos when he was like this. Ulric drew a deep breath and tried again. “Do you know the purpose of making sure the king and prince can fight?”

At this, the little prince smiled and brandished the sword high in the sky. “To be heroes!”

Ulric chuckled. The child really had no clue. “No, Young Highness. It is in case of danger.” He put his hand on Althalos’ shoulder and the little boy looked up at him. “You and your father are the two most important people in the entire world. We have to be sure nothing happens to you. So, we teach you to fight.” Ulric gestured to the prince’s sword. “As the heir to the throne, you will probably never have to fight a day in your life. But if you do, it is not to be a hero.”

“Oh.” Althalos looked down sadly.

“Young Highness, it is very important that you listen to me.”

He glanced up again, the innocent face of a child that had not even an inkling of the threats the world holds.

“You must only brandish your weapon if you are attacked or hurt. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly.

“When you are king, you will be tempted to use violence even when it is not necessary.” Ulric thought of the current king, of what Ulric knew to be happening out in the real world. “But you must only do so when you’re attacked. All right?”

Althalos looked at his sword again, his gaze heavier than it’d been a moment ago. It pained Ulric to have to take away some of his naïveté but part of his job was to prepare him for kingship. Loss of stars in his eyes was part of that.

“Only if I’m attacked,” Althalos repeated, nodding again. “I understand.”

Thea trudged forth, using her sword to slice through the branches in her way. The woods of Creasan were a mixture of a forest and a jungle—tall pine trees stretched into the sky in some places and tropical plants extended their large leaves horizontally in others. She cut the branches away easily; she had a single goal in her mind and damn anything that tried to get in the way of it.

The rest of the group chattered away behind her. Carac and Peronell walked so close together that their shoulders brushed with every other step. While Carac was slightly reserved, hesitant to speak when there were so many others around, Peronell was a big talker. “She only made it once a year,” he was saying just then. “Both her and my father would save up throughout the months to be able to afford it, and somehow they always managed it.”

“I tried it once,” Carac offered, smiling brightly up at Peronell.

“What did it taste like?” Isolde asked. She was completely enthralled, her eyes wide and fastened on Peronell.

Peronell drew a deep breath as his gaze became distant. “As soon as you bit into it, the meat would fall off the bone like butter and the juice would just flood your mouth. Mama always added spices to it so there was this little bit of heat mixed with this delicious saltiness that just…” He made this slurping sound as if he were savoring the meal right there. “It was so good.”

Isolde’s stomach growled loud enough for all seven of them to hear it. Her cheeks flushed. “That sounds wonderful, Perry.”

“It was.” His smile dulled a bit as he said, “After she passed, Papa wasn’t able to afford the ingredients.”

Carac rested a comforting hand against his lower back. “Her cooking was so good, I bet it could rival that of the king’s chefs.”

Peronell laughed softly. “I don’t know about that…But she was definitely the best cook in Vuterra.”

“What do you think, prince?” Merek asked, glancing at Fendrel over his shoulder.

He blinked in surprise, not expecting to be included in the conversation. “I…never tasted her cook—“

“But you must’ve dined on countless delicious meals,” Merek interrupted. “Does that sound like something good enough for you to eat up there?”

Fendrel met the eyes of all of them except Thea who continued straight on, possibly not even listening. “I, uh…yes. It sounds fantastic.”

Carac beamed up at Peronell. “See? Your mother could’ve worked in the palace.”

Merek gave a smile that was anything but genuine. “Except she didn’t, did she?”

“Merek…” Isolde said, a warning tone in her voice.

“What? It’s true. And because of that, Peronell and his mother and the rest of his family grew up only knowing the taste of bread and beans. Lucky bastard was able to taste meat once a year—“

“Merek,” Isolde snapped, her eyes hard as she met his. “That is enough.”

Thea finally spoke and it took everyone by surprise. “Why don’t you tell us the last thing you had to eat before you joined us?”

Fendrel’s gaze hardened as he looked at her back. She hadn’t even deemed to look at him as she spoke. “I don’t see the relevancy of—“

“Come on, Highness,” she prodded, slicing through another branch. “We’re having a fun conversation. Tell us.”

Brom spoke to Fendrel out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t answer her.”

Fendrel nodded, happy to take Brom’s advice. But then Thea did turn back, making eye contact with Fendrel, and there it was again. That dare. He wasn’t sure how she managed to say so much without saying anything at all, but he read it loud and clear in those brown eyes. She was mocking him. He ought to listen to Brom and just keep his mouth shut, but his mind begged him to answer her. Mixed with his resentment of her was a need to see how she would react to his answer, how her face would change, how her eyes would— “Soup.”

She snorted, not even flinching. “And what else?”

“Nothing.”

Merek laughed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“The prince does not have to prove himself to you,” Brom answered angrily.

Fendrel felt gratitude at Brom’s loyalty but he shook his head. “It’s all right, Brom. They can believe whatever they like.”

“Right,” Thea said, turning forward again. “I choose not to believe you.”

Fendrel shrugged. “It might not fit into the narrative about the royal family that you tell yourselves, but it’s true.”

“You hear that, mates?” Merek said, an amused smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “We’ve misjudged the poor prince.”

“All right, Merek, he gets it.” Isolde rolled her eyes. “We hate him.”

Brom bowed his head to her. “Thank you.”

She scoffed at him. “I’m not defending either of you. I’m just trying to keep us focused in case of danger.”

After an awkward beat of silence, Fendrel wondered, “How do you even know where we’re going?”

Thea pointed at something far in the distance that it was almost beyond their range of sight. A mountain as wide as the whole horizon stretched so high up in the sky that its summit was hidden by clouds. “That is The Forbidden Mountain.”

The others went back to speaking among themselves, ignoring the prince.

Fendrel frowned as he studied their route. He spoke softly to Brom. “We will be going through both Gentis and Hyt.”

The Guard nodded. “Your safety is still my only priority, Your Highness.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He glanced at the group again, making sure he wasn’t being overheard. “If I’m spotted, they’ll alert my brother. That cannot happen.”

Brom looked at the prince with worried eyes. “Is it possible,” he began hesitantly, “that these people merely wish to turn you over to the king as a traitor? Perhaps a trade for their own immunity?”

He shook his head. “Favian wants The Source more than anything. He’d never accept that deal. No, I believe them to be genuine in their goals.”

“Let’s hope you are right, Your Highness.” Brom fixed his gaze ahead again.

Fendrel stared at Thea’s back. He had no doubt in his mind that Thea would happily slice off his head. Though that was a frightening thought, it also filled him with intense anger, an anger he’d never experienced before. It rivaled only that of the betrayal he’d felt when he realized the orders Favian had given in Vuterra.

As night fell, Ana stood in her room, staring absently ahead as her maids dressed her for bed. Her mind had been spinning since her discovery about Fendrel. He was more devoted to her husband than even her. There was no scenario she could imagine that would lead him to betray Favian. He’d told her many times how little he wanted to rule, and he knew the crown would go to Althalos if anything should happen to Favian. He couldn’t have run off. He simply couldn’t have.

But if he did…If the most loyal of all Favian’s followers had abandoned him…

Ana thanked the maids as they finished and stared at herself in the mirror. She was pretty, she knew that. It was the only reason she’d been chosen by the last king and queen to marry their son. She was pretty and young. Those were the only qualifications needed to make a good Queen of Creasan.

She worried her bottom lip as she thought it through. Favian refused to discuss it with her, but she’d only given him one son. While Althalos was healthy right now, who knew what the future held. She ought to have another one, just in case. Before she was too old to do so.

And, of course, there was another reason why Althalos could be in jeopardy—

She cut off that line of thought before it fully manifested. For the past several years, she’d become very good at ignoring any such thoughts and she most definitely was not going to start to indulge them now.

Ana drew a deep breath to steel herself. He was her husband. She could do this.

She crossed the room and softly pushed open their adjoining door.

Favian sat on the edge of his mattress, dressed for bed. The sun had fallen below the horizon and candles had been lit, the fireplace roaring powerfully behind him. The dim light painted him in shadows, making him look more like a silhouette of a man than a whole one. His face was turned up to the ceiling and his eyes were squeezed shut, a line running between his brows.

“The pain’s getting worse?” Ana asked softly.

Favian opened his eyes and looked at her. He looked so different just then. Less the commanding, domineering King of Creasan and more like Favian Lance. “Yeah,” he choked out, closing his eyes again.

Ana went to his nightstand and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. Then she crouched in front of Favian and held up the pipe. “Here.”

He cracked open an eye, but when he saw what she held, his eyes popped open. “Ana, I didn’t—“

“It’s all right.” She smiled gently. “You need it.” She offered it more insistently.

He hesitated a moment before he accepted it.

Ana watched as he expertly put the pieces together and hovered it over the candle. He puffed a couple times before he took a long drag of it, holding it for a beat as his lids drifted closed. Then he released it like a pent up sigh, relaxing against the post of his bed. Glancing at Ana, he said, “Thank you.”

She nodded and sat beside him.

He took another long draw.

Ana smoothed her hands nervously down her nightgown. “There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

Favian groaned. “Can’t I have one moment of peace?”

“It’s just—“

“Do you not think I have enough to deal with as king of a country without the meaningless concerns of my wife? Whatever it is, I’m sure you have enough brains to figure it out for yourself. Leave me.”

She tried to push his cruel words out of her head. “Fav—“

“Get out!”

“I want another child!”

Favian blinked at her, lowering the pipe from his mouth. He looked genuinely stunned. “Why?”

She licked her lips. “Althalos is well, thank Aestus, but what if something happens to him? I think it would be smart, for the security of your throne, to have another.”

He met her eyes and laughed once. “Ana, we’ve not laid together since Althalos was conceived. Eight years—“

“I know, Favian, I know. That doesn’t mean we can’t.”

Favian sucked on his pipe. Ana could see his eyes were becoming slightly dazed and his pupils were starting to expand. “What’s brought this on?” he asked.

“Nothing specifically. I’ve just been thinking—“

He laughed fully at that. “Your first mistake, I suppose.”

Ana gritted her teeth. “Is it that I disgust you? You don’t find me attractive?”

“You are very pretty, Ana.” He rested his hand on top of hers. “But if it’s just about having a baby, why don’t you ask one of your suitors? Surely, you would enjoy it more—“

“I don’t have suitors!” Ana exploded, chucking Favian’s hand off hers. “I’ve told you before! I am not unfaithful, and I wish you would stop saying otherwise.”

“Watch yourself,” he warned, his features becoming hard. “You are still addressing your king.”

She shook her head sadly. “I do not just want a baby. I wish to give you another prince.”

“And if I should not desire one?”

Ana paused a beat to think of her next response. She knew whatever she said would make the decision for him and it had to be a yes. It had to be. “It is no secret that your position is tremulous at the moment. Your people are unsure that you are the king you had once been. But when you had Althalos, the people respected and loved you more than they ever had. Should you have another, that love will return. They will see your strength and virility. It would behoove you to have another son.”

Favian’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she spoke, and she could tell that he had seriously listened to her. He took another draw of his pipe as he thought it over. “Surprisingly,” he finally said, “you pose a good argument.”

She ignored the jibe and cast her eyes down submissively. “But, of course, it is your choice, my king.”

He nodded and she knew she had him. “Very well.” He stood and put his pipe back where it’d been. Favian stumbled like a drunk man as he turned back to Ana. “Get under the covers.”

They were led entirely by the moonlight. Thea struggled to spot the mountain in the dark but it had become impossible. She felt her toes curl in annoyance as she realized they’d have to stop.

She sighed. “We’ll make camp here. Peronell and Carac, gather some firewood. Merek and Isolde, see if you can find anything to eat. Prince, Guard,” she pointed to the ground by her feet, “sit.”

Everyone dispersed to do as she said. Fendrel and Brom stared at her a beat, as if they were waiting to see if she was joking which she very clearly wasn’t. She cocked her brow at them as she waited. Fendrel moved first, lowering himself to the damp earth at her feet. Brom followed.

She lowered herself to sit on a log just a few steps away. She stabbed her sword into the ground in between her legs and stared at the two men.

“What are you doing?” Brom asked.

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“I’ve already vowed to help you,” Fendrel said. “You do not need to babysit us.”

“That is true. There’s just one problem.” She leaned forward and her teeth glinted in the moonlight as she smiled. “I don’t trust you.”

Frustration bubbled up inside Fendrel. Here he was, risking his life and his brother’s wrath as he tried to help his people, and yet Thea sat there, contempt glimmering brightly in her eyes. “We have a common goal,” he told her, keeping his voice carefully level. “Is the enemy of your enemy not your friend?”

“But the king isn’t exactly your enemy, is he?” She shrugged. “You said it yourself, you cannot kill him. He’s more of an inconvenience to your conscience than anything else.”

Fendrel leaned back on his hands. He felt as if every muscle in his body was tensed in preparation for battle and had been that way since he’d left the palace. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything he might regret.

She cocked her head to the side. “Speechless?”

Brom let out a rough breath as he struggled to follow his prince’s lead.

A corner of her lip turned up as she smirked. “So in control, Highness. Polite, etiquette reigning above all else. I wonder what you are like.”

Fendrel frowned. “What?”

“This is the Prince of Creasan. Calm. Reserved. In control of his thoughts and words.” She leaned even closer so he could see the amusement and excitement in her eyes. “What would it be like to see you just let it all out? Let go of some of that control.”

He laughed shortly and locked his eyes with hers. “You’re a hypocrite. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Is that so?”

“I am willing to bet your head would explode if you weren’t in control.”

“I was your prisoner,” she retorted. “How much control did I have then?”

“All of it. You played both my brother and myself. You manipulate people. You become the person you need to be in order to stay in control. Your friends probably don’t even know who you are. As a matter of fact, I doubt anyone ever has.”

Just at that moment, Carac and Peronell returned with arms filled with wood. “We brought back as much as we could find,” Carac said. “When the other two return, we could roast whatever they bring back.”

Thea didn’t answer them. She was staring hard at Fendrel, not a glare exactly but her anger burned near the surface of her gaze. Her face betrayed no emotion, but it was his turn to smirk. Though she didn’t say so, he could tell he’d gotten to her. His smug face was doing nothing to quell that rising fury.

Carac tried again, “Thea?”

“Great, thanks,” she said sharply. “Get a fire going. I’ll be back.” She rose quickly and disappeared into the trees.

They all watched her go, confusion decorating her friends’ faces and satisfaction running over her enemies’.

“Do you think she’s all right?” Carac asked.

“Oh, you know Thea,” Peronell said with a wave of his hand. “She’s always all right.”

Merek held the two tiny rabbits Isolde had caught. He hadn’t been able to catch anything which Isolde knew frustrated him. Merek liked to excel at everything he did, but stealth was a very difficult thing for a man of his size to master.

“Do you think it will be enough for seven of us?” she wondered. “Maybe we ought to stay out here a while longer so I can try to catch one more.”

“We’ve already ventured pretty far from the campsite. Any further and we could get lost.” Merek eyed the animals again and grimaced. “Could we tell the others we each caught one?”

She laughed. “Sure. Can’t let them knowing that the strong, perfect Merek couldn’t catch a bunny.”

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” But he was laughing too.

They walked side by side back to the camp and an awkward silence slithered its way between them.

Merek had been a member of The Source since before Isolde had joined, but she hadn’t met him until Thea had urged her to learn how to use a sword. As the resident healer, she’d never seen the reason behind it, but Isolde knew better than to argue with her. She’d always gotten along with Merek, liked him, but as of a few years ago, she’d made a conscious effort to stay away from him. Thea had picked up on the odd behavior and asked her about it, but Isolde had sidestepped the question. She didn’t know how to tell her it was because—

“How is your fiancé doing?” Merek asked.

That. Because of that.

“He’s well,” Isolde said politely.

He nodded. “Good chap.”

“Yeah.”

An another uncomfortable silence.

“Rubbish swordsman, though.”

Isolde laughed. “Definitely. Probably the worst we’ve got.”

“Worse than Carac?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Ooh,” Merek whined like a child, “I’m telling!”

She shoved him. “Stop that.”

They both chuckled. A little ways away, Isolde could make out the light of a fire. “What do you think of the prince?” she asked.

“He’s a prick.”

“Are you saying that because that’s what you resolved to believe before you met him or are you saying that based on the interaction you actually had with him?”

“If this is about to lead to a lecture about how I need to give people a chance or some bullshit, you can stop right there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t think he’s that bad.”

Merek stared at her. “Izzy, if you’re going to try to convince me—“

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything!” she exclaimed with exasperation. “I’m merely suggesting that perhaps this alliance may not be as ridiculous as we initially thought. He seems genuine.”

He nodded but changed the subject. “How long do presume it will take us to reach Aestus?”

Isolde thought about it for a moment. “Well,” she said, “we can already see the mountain. It shouldn’t take us too long—shit!” A bat shot out of the tree above her and she launched herself to the side, ramming into Merek as she did and dropping her rabbit. The animal hissed at her and she covered her head, burying her face in Merek’s shoulder.

Merek shouted at it, waving his arm. The bat hissed again before flapping away, disappearing into the night sky. “Okay, it’s gone.”

Isolde didn’t move for a second, her eyes squeezed tightly.

“Izzy.” He rested his hand against her back. “It’s gone.”

Her eyes popped open and she slowly craned her neck to meet Merek’s gaze. Her whole front was pressed tightly to his side and she was clutching his arm hard enough that she could feel the sturdiness of his biceps and the heat of his skin. A fluttering started up in her stomach and she was sure that if there had been light, he’d have been able to see the blazing in her cheeks.

She nearly leapt away from him, pushing her hair back into place with shaking hands.

Merek covered his mouth to hide a grin as he bent to pick up her rabbit. “What happened to you to make you that afraid of a bat?”

“Nothing happened to me.” She pulled her shirt straight. “I just hate bats.”

“Are there any other fears I should know about?”

She paused a beat, looking into his amused face. She knew he was making fun of her but she didn’t hate it. “Rats. Mice. Bugs. Snakes. Essentially anything that crawls.”

“Or flies.”

“I’m not afraid of birds.”

Merek laughed. “No. Because that would be ludicrous.” He handed her rabbit back to her and started walking again.

“There is nothing wrong with being afraid of rodents or serpents. It’s survival.”

“And bats?”

“Flying rodents,” she answered easily.

“Okay, but bugs?”

Isolde crossed her arms. “Are you trying to tell me that if you woke up and a spider was crawling on you, you wouldn’t be terrified?”

“Definitely not.” He puffed out his chest a bit. “Just shake it off. Maybe even keep it. We could use all the protein we can get out here.”

“Ew!” But she was laughing again. “That’s disgusting.”

They were almost back at the campsite when the sound of a twig’s snap broke through their conversation. They stilled, ears straining to make out any other movement. If it was a snake, Isolde thought she’d faint. But she spotted a figure and pointed it out to Merek.

It was Thea. She was leaning against a tree, head bowed. Her back was to them. There was something about the way she stood that made her look very small in the moonlight, something she never seemed to be. For a moment, Isolde considered approaching her to ask what was wrong. She could see the same thought drifting through Merek’s mind. But they met each other’s eyes and came to the same conclusion: They shouldn’t disturb her. If it was a moment of weakness, she’d hate to be caught.

Isolde gestured toward the fire and whispered, “Come on.”

Fendrel watched the group interact with a mix of wonder and envy. There was such ease between them, such familiarity. The prince didn’t think he’d ever felt such a way with anyone at all. Not father, brother, not even Rowan. The behavior before him was alien; he wished it wasn’t.

Carac and Peronell skinned the rabbits Merek and Isolde caught within minutes, experts at it. Peronell kept watch over them as he turned them above the fire. Fendrel couldn’t remember ever being as hungry as he was just then, but he couldn’t let them know that. Whether he liked these people or not they’d clearly known intense hungry for much of their lives. And while he’d hardly eaten anything that day, he wouldn’t prove himself to be the prissy prince they thought him to be.

Carac laughed. “It was just a bat, Isolde.”

“Bats are abominable creatures,” she snapped back good-naturedly.

Peronell said, “Whatever we’re to fight in these woods is bound to be worse than a bat.”

She narrowed her eyes at all the men as they giggled. Then she turned her gaze to Merek sitting beside her who was nearly beside himself with laughter. He leaned heavily on Carac as he said, “You should’ve seen her face! It was just—“ He mimicked a look of utter terror, mouth gaping wide open.

Isolde punched him in the arm. “I did not look like that.”

He pulled her in close, squeezing her too tightly. “I know, I know.”

She rolled her eyes at his pacifying tone. “Merek couldn’t catch a rabbit.”

He released her instantly as Carac and Peronell choked on their spit. “You said you’d—“

Now it was she who pulled him in tightly, rocking him gently as if he were a child. “I know, I know.”

Peronell hung onto Carac as his face turned red from laughing so hard, and Carac laid back against him as he gripped his stomach. Carac said, “Who’d have thought Merek was a rubbish hunter?”

Merek’s jaw sent indignantly as he pulled out of Isolde’s grip. “I am not!”

“Evidently, you are, mate.” Peronell reached over and gave Merek a slap on the arm.

Thea entered the camp at that moment, and all conversation came to a screeching halt. Laughter died awkwardly. Eyes averted from her as if they’d go unseen if they didn’t make eye contact. Fendrel didn’t miss the exchanged glance between Merek and Isolde.

Peronell cleared his throat. “Food’s nearly done.”

She nodded and sat beside Isolde, back straight, face betraying nothing. Strong, unmoving. A boulder of a woman.

While impressive, there was something about her strength in that moment that made Fendrel feel sad. She stared straight ahead into the fire. Fendrel resolved not to feel guilty about anything he’d said. She’d said much worse to him. She’d deserved what he’d said.

“What about you, Guard?” Merek asked, turning to Brom. “You any good at hunting?”

Brom’s expression didn’t change, but he sat up straighter in surprise. “I am.”

“Really?” Peronell was curious. “What’s the most impressive thing you’ve caught?”

Brom thought for a moment. “A buck.”

Merek whistled low and Isolde nodded in approval.

“What about you?” Carac asked Fendrel. “Is a prince allowed to hunt?” There was no arrogance or sarcasm to his question. He genuinely wanted to know.

Fendrel nodded, eyes flicking to Thea. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Perhaps some sort of reaction. Some combativeness.

“Well, what’s the most impressive thing you’ve caught?” Isolde pressed.

Fendrel didn’t even have to think. “A hind.”

Blank stares all around and a single blink from Thea.

“Bullshit,” Merek said. “They’re impossible to catch.”

Peronell nodded in agreement. “I’ve heard they’re faster than an arrow in flight.”

“They are,” Fendrel said. “I still caught one.”

“How?” Carac wondered.

“Stealth. Patience. And perfect aim.”

“Then that settles it.” Isolde smiled at him. “Next time, you’re coming with me instead of Merek.”

Merek held up his arms. “I’m not even going to argue with that.”

They all laughed, and even Fendrel chuckled softly.

“Did you get to taste the buck?” This came from Thea. Their laughter was halted awkwardly again. She brought her eyes to Brom’s. “The buck you caught. Did you get to taste it?”

Brom glanced around the circle uncomfortably, eyeing Fendrel out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

“Why not?”

The prince glared hard at her.

Brom coughed clumsily. “It was meant for the royals, miss. Not The Guard.”

“Of course. Always meant for the royals.” Thea leaned her forearms on her knees as she turned her searing gaze to her friends. “It’s always meant for the royals. Perhaps it’s easier for you lot to forget that when sat beside the charming prince.”

There was a long silence in which they looked a mixture of chastised and furious.

“Sorry, Thea,” Carac said first, bowing his head.

Merek met her eyes. “We all lost Lief. We all miss him. But we’ve lost more than just him, too—“

Thea snapped, “Do not finish that thought, Merek.”

Though his eyes flashed angrily, he clamped his mouth shut. Another chilling quiet ensued. Brom and Fendrel shot each other a look.

Peronell reached for the spits the rabbits were on. They were now a delicious golden brown. “Rabbits are done.”

“Not hungry.” Thea stood abruptly. “I’ll take first watch.” Her gaze landed on Fendrel for a split second, and he was surprised by the level of hatred there. “No food for the prince.”

“What?” Isolde shook her head. “Thea, we need him to be in best fighting condition in case—“

“He ate only soup before he joined us so he can know what it feels like to be us. Let’s show him.” Thea turned to leave.

“Thea,” Carac tried in his timid voice, “it doesn’t make sense to—“

She whipped around, jamming her finger in Fendrel’s direction. “I don’t care! No food!”

Carac shrunk away from her and Peronell put an arm around him, shooting Thea a nasty glare.

She seemed to deflate slightly at that before she spun on her heel and marched out of the firelight’s reach.

They all exchanged looks, Merek letting out a deep breath as the tension slowly drained out of him.

“What crawled up her arse and died?” Peronell demanded as he snuggled Carac against him protectively, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Fendrel winced. He’d known the fragility of his own brother’s temper. He supposed he should’ve been more careful of taunting Thea’s. An eighteen-year-old girl did not become leader of the most dangerous rebellion group in history without there being a reason behind it.