
Table of Contents

Cursed

Cursed Magic Series: Book 1

Casey Odell

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Website

## Cursed

## Cursed Magic Series: Book 1

## Casey Odell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Casey Odell

Editing by Caitlin Carpenter

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

To my mom and dad for always believing in my crazy dreams.

#

Marriage proposals. Many women dream of them, but not during the middle of the night by some drunkard. They were a common occurrence for her—her mother that is.

Claire Tanith stood at the bottom of a flight of rickety wooden stairs in her kitchen and yawned. She really didn't get enough sleep for this. It would be different if _she_ was actually the one being proposed to for once, and if he was a prince coming to whisk her off her feet. But she wasn't, and they never were. They were always the bottom-of-the-barrel men, the ones no woman wanted to court, let alone marry.

Her mother Marion was a legend in their small town of Stockton. She was the sole owner of the Blazing Stallion tavern, and a single mother, raising Claire up all on her own. With hair the color of flames, an hourglass figure, and porcelain skin, not to mention a lively spirit to go along with it all. She was the most beautiful woman in town, and the most sought after. All her life Claire had been woken up in the wee hours of the night as drunken men would come back and try their luck, asking for her mother's hand in marriage, but they would always leave empty-handed, sometimes with a bruise or two. Or on even rarer occasions, a bloody nose and a night in the town jail. If there was one thing Marion was above anything else, it was proud. Her and Claire didn't need to be taken care of, they were doing just fine on their own.

Orange light bounced off Claire's tired hazel eyes. A lone candle burned on the thick pine table to her left. The worn edges told of countless late nights spent telling tales and sharing gossip between mother and daughter over their evening meals. The tiny kitchen had been one of the few private spaces they could escape to after long hours of working in the tavern.

She'd gotten dressed in a hurry after her mother had stormed into her room, slipping a white shirt and tan linen slacks onto her petite frame before following the older woman downstairs. Her fingers quickly finished off the braid in her long brown hair, the task automatic. She stifled another yawn.

"Can we just get this over with, Mother? You know I don't like dealing with those drunks." It was odd in the first place that her mother had woken her up. She was usually able to deal with them on her own. "Mom?" Claire asked when she didn't reply.

Instead, her mother was busy flitting around the kitchen, her flaming red hair piled on top of her head in a haphazard way and a long dark cloak thrown over her nightgown. Her movements were quick and erratic, unlike her usual ease and grace.

That was odd.

The first hint of fear quickly chased her drowsiness away. Claire glanced around the kitchen, looking for any signs of trouble. Had someone broken in? But her fears were quickly put at ease when she saw that the door separating the tavern to their living quarters was shut and barred as usual. Marion drew the curtain closed over the small window above the sink, making the room dimmer than it already was. She then came around the small island in the middle of the kitchen towards Claire and shoved something in her hands.

"Take this," Mother said in a hushed voice.

It was a dagger, the one she'd kept under her bed for years. But why was she giving it to her now? "Mom, what is going on?"

"Hush, Claire! Now listen to me," she said as she threw a cloak over Claire's shoulders. Worry lines had formed around her green eyes, making her seem older than her thirty-seven years.

She couldn't figure out what had gotten her mother so spooked. The only time she'd ever seen Mother scared was when Claire had gotten lost in the woods when she was about ten. The look seemed foreign on her face and it was immediately followed by the scariest look she'd ever seen. Needless to say, Claire never got lost in the forest again. She happened to value her life, no matter how mundane it may seem at times.

Faint noises finally registered in Claire's ears, distracting her from her mother's words. It sounded like people, crowds moving with an occasional shout or scream. But it was the middle of the night, what could they possibly—

It was then that she saw it, glancing out the back door window. The bright orange flames reaching high into the sky a few houses down. Claire froze as a cold sweat raced over her skin. That was Mr. Martis's house. She'd never liked the man, but still—

"Do you understand?" Mother's voice snapped her back to the present.

Claire just nodded, knowing her mother wouldn't repeat herself. She hated to repeat herself.

"Stick to the shadows and stay close to me," she said as she tied the cloak securely around Claire's throat and pulled the hood up over her head. "And whatever you do, don't let go of the dagger."

Claire nodded. But what would she need a blade for? It was just a fire.

"Come." Marion took Claire's hand and pulled her towards the door that led out into a narrow alley.

They slipped out into the night, and that was when Claire realized it was much worse than she'd thought just moments before.

Townspeople filled the street ahead, horror clear on their faces. Many carried small children while others had their hands full of clothes, food, and random objects that may have held some sort of significance to them. Smoke filled the air, making it hard to breathe and causing her eyes to burn. Sounds seemed muffled and far away. Almost dreamlike.

A dream. That was all this was. A lucid dream she would wake from at any moment.

She felt the pull of her mother's hand and reality came crashing back down around her. As much as she may have wished it, she wasn't asleep, this was real. Her feet stumbled after her mother, a mixture of adrenaline and fear had turned her muscles into jelly, making her shake all over. She hadn't inherited her mother's courage, that would be impossible, after all.

Marion plunged into the crowd and worked her way toward the other side of the street, pushing through and shoving aside anyone that got in her way, until they were in another narrow alley. Dark and empty, they moved quickly down the alley unimpeded, only pausing for a moment at the end before diving into the chaos again. Over and over they did that, following the same routes Claire had grown so familiar with over the years. Only there was something strange: they were heading in the opposite direction of everyone else.

Surely her mother couldn't be lost. She knew Stockton better than Claire did. She was the one who had taught her all the shortcuts, after all. No, Mother didn't intend on following the fleeing townspeople, but why?

Claire struggled to keep up with her mother's longer strides, her breath becoming heavy, her throat stinging from the smoke. And just when she thought her lungs were going to burst, she slammed into the back of her mother who'd stopped short.

They had reached the town center, but what was once a bustling marketplace, was now a burning wasteland. A wall of orange and red flames stretched across the center, emitting a fierce heat and dreadful flickering light. Shop stalls lay overturned, their contents strewn across the street. A sad looking doll lay in the dirt with half of its ceramic face smashed in, its lone eye left to witness the devastation.

Claire peered around her mother, who stood unmoving, and followed her gaze to the center of the square.

Huddled behind two overturned wagons were a handful of soldiers from the town's defense squadron. Each of them took turns rising up to shoot an arrow off into the flames.

The townspeople had fled more than the fire, it seemed, but what had they fled from?

Claire grasped the dagger tighter. She wasn't sure if she was brave enough to find out. Marion stirred finally, grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her into the shadows. Her pace was slower as she edged north along the town center, picking her steps more carefully, throwing wary glances at the men from time to time.

Metal clanged in the distance, barely recognizable over the roar of the fire. Claire jumped at the sound. They were being attacked, but by who? Stockton was a small town, not very rich, but peaceful. Who would want—

But before she could complete the thought, something crashed through the barricade the soldiers had set up. Claire and her mother stopped dead in their tracks at the thunderous sound. A large beast reared up before one of the men and stabbed him through the chest with a crude wooden spear. But it wasn't just any beast, it was a centaur.

Claire stared, her eyes wide in shock. She recognized the beast from the tales she'd heard as a child, but she never once believed that they actually existed. She would have sworn it was all a dream again if it weren't for the physical pain her body was suffering from, and for the spine-chilling scream of the dying man. The beasts were real. But they looked like the stuff of nightmares rather than anything found in a fairytale.

Almost twice the man's height, the centaur's body was thick and muscular, devoid of armor, and smeared dark with mud and other things—things she didn't want to know about. The lower half of his body looked like that of a horse, the solid kind used for plowing fields with hooves that could easily crush her head. An ugly scarred face twisted into a snarl as he drove the man to the ground with his spear.

Her heartbeat in her ears, Claire stood as still as possible, desperate not to be noticed. Her knees shook, threatening to give out from underneath her. She didn't have the strength for this.

The men scattered as two more centaurs burst through the flames. The beasts smiled as they started to chase the men, swords drawn as if it were some sort of game. Screams echoed throughout the plaza as one-by-one the men fell.

Claire felt her breath stop. She knew those men once, had served drinks to them in the tavern before. To see them get slaughtered right before her eyes was too much to bear.

Marion pulled on her hand once more, gently at first, but when Claire didn't move, she yanked her violently back into reality. Claire stumbled on her feet, almost falling to her knees. They slipped down another alley away from the gruesome scene. Claire could only hope her friends and the rest of the townspeople had gotten away safe before anything like that could happen to them.

When they reached the end of the alley, they didn't stop. Her mother ran out into the deserted street, dragging her along at a furious pace, not bothering to stay in the shadows. Claire clutched the dagger tightly to her chest, holding on to it as if it were the last real thing in the world that was crumbling down around her. She lost track of where she was going. Images became a blur through a wall of tears gathering in her eyes. Everything had been fine earlier. The day was like any other, sunny and warm. How could things have changed so suddenly?

Moments felt like an eternity as they ran. Claire could have sworn she heard hooves pounding on the dirt behind her, but she didn't dare look back. She just had to keep going. Mother was there, after all. Everything would be fine.

Her mother started to slow as they reached the end of another alley. They had reached the north side of town with the wide open fields and beyond that the forest. Marion stopped, her shoulders heaving. Claire wavered slightly, her head light. She struggled to catch her breath. A sharp pain pierced her side. She was grateful for the break, but not at the expense of their lives.

"Mom," she whispered. "Why are we stopping, we need to go!"

Her mother remained quiet, her gaze sweeping over the field. But her eyes seemed more sad than scared.

The field was oddly peaceful compared to the chaos behind them, but the forest loomed in the distance, dark and uninviting. She'd never stepped foot in _that_ forest, forbidden by her mother and feared by the townspeople. Many believed it to be cursed, so much so that's what they started calling it, The Cursed Forest. Children would play games, seeing how far they dared to enter before rushing back out again. Why would Mother take her here when they should have fled with everyone else?

"You'll be safe in there, Claire," she said finally, her voice oddly calm. "They'll protect you."

"What—?"

Mother cut her off with a fierce embrace, her arms wrapping around Claire tight. "My little Claire, my dear little Claire. I will see you again, I promise."

The realization hit her then: her mother didn't intend to come with her.

"No!" Claire pleaded, clinging onto her mother. "Don't leave me! Why are you doing this?"

"They'll kill me, Claire."

"The centaurs will kill you if you _don't_ come with me!"

"It's not them I speak of." She began to pry Claire's arms from around her. "Now go. I will be fine."

"No!" Claire shouted, not caring if she was heard. She was not leaving without her.

Marion shoved her forcefully into the field. "Go!" she yelled. "I will catch up with the others."

"Then I'll come with you!" Claire stepped back toward her mother. "I don't know why you brought me here."

"No!" Marion shoved her back again.

Claire staggered and fell into the grass, the dagger falling from her grip.

"You mustn't get caught, Claire!" Mother said. "Go to the forest, you'll be safe there."

"But—"

"Go!"

A piercing howl cut through the night before her mother could say anything else. A centaur barreled along the edge of town, hooves hammering the earth under him. He was coming for them. Claire looked up at her mother. Why was she sending her to the forest alone? And what did she mean by _they_? Were there people living in the forest?

"No matter what happens, just remember that I love you, Claire." A solemn smile touched her face. "Don't worry. This ol' broad can handle a centaur or two." Then she began to wave her arms in the air to draw the beast's attention.

Claire's voice caught in her throat. She wanted to call out, but the words never reached her lips. All she could do was watch. Watch as her mother turned away to disappear into the town once again. Watch as the beast dipped into an alley further down to follow. Watch as the only life she had ever known burned to the ground. Her friends, her home, and the only family she had left had suddenly been ripped away from her. It all happened so fast, she wasn't sure what to do. How to feel.

A fine tremble spread through her body as she sat unmoving in the field. Tall grass swayed just over her head. Tears started to stream down her cheeks in a sudden rush. She wanted to chase after her mother, but her body was frozen, from fear, from shock.

Smoke began to seep out onto the moonlit field. The flames from the town flickered against the growing cloud of smoke above in a nightmarish visage.

Another howl cut through the air, shaking her from her trance. Quickly, Claire scanned the field, her heart racing. Her breath caught when she saw the beast several paces to the west. It looked like he hadn't spotted her yet, but she didn't want to wait and find out.

Claire glanced around for the dagger, finding it a few feet away in the grass. She reached for it slowly, careful not to disturb the grass around her, then climbed to her hands and knees and began to crawl towards the dark forest. The grass rustled softly in her ears as she pushed her way through, the earth felt cool and soft.

Wet drops fell onto her hands, the tears sliding silently down her cheeks. She had tried not to cry. She wanted to be strong, like her mother, but the stress proved to be too much. Everything was happening too fast. She felt helpless. Weak.

"Is tha little bird tryin' ta escape?" boomed a deep voice from behind her.

All the muscles in her body froze up as stiff as a board. She'd been so absorbed in her thoughts she hadn't heard the beast approach. Slowly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder. The centaur loomed above her with a smirk across his lips. Everything about him screamed 'thick': thick body, thick neck, thick accent. He carried a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, which he tapped against his shoulder. His upper body was dark and glistened wet in the moonlight; she wasn't sure she wanted to know with what.

Her arms collapsed from underneath her and she sat on the ground, trembling, waiting at his mercy. There was no use in trying to run now. She would be good as dead even if she tried. She was caught—the very thing Mother had risked her life in order to prevent. And so soon after she'd left Claire on her own. Mother would have been so proud. That is if she was to ever see her again, but that didn't seem likely anymore. Mother's plan had failed, and it was all Claire's fault.

The centaur threw back his head and laughed, his long black hair sweeping across his bare shoulders. She waited, watching the large beast with wide, terrified eyes. She sure didn't find her situation all that funny.

"Let's have a little fun, shall we?" he said with a hint of amusement. "Tha hunt is much more excitin' than a massacre." He pointed the arrow in his hand at her, the sharp metal tip inches away from her face. "You'll live if ya can escape from me. If not, I'll have my fun."

Claire looked up at him, a glimmer of hope returning. She could feel her limbs shake with anticipation. There was still a chance, however slim it may be. But she had to try. At least for her mother's sake. Something dripped off the arrow onto her knee and she jerked away. He drew the tip up to his mouth to lick the dark liquid, then closed his eyes for a moment as if to savor it.

"I'll even give ya a head start." He then swung the arrow down at her, but she was able to dodge at the last moment, rolling away as the tip dug into the ground next to her. The beast's laugh boomed from behind her.

Gripping the dagger in her hand, Claire struggled up to her feet, her heart pounding. Her legs threatened to give out on her, but she pushed on. This may be the only chance she would get. With a last burst of energy, Claire ran towards the woods, the beast's laugh following on her heels. Cursed or not, anything seemed better than to be at the mercy of a crazed centaur.

Moonlight filtered in through the treetops as she plunged into the forest. Claire wove her way through a maze of shadowy trunks, hurtling deeper and deeper into forbidden territory, her cloak catching on branches, brush scratching at her boots. The ground started to slope up, making the run for her life that much more difficult. The sharp pain stabbed through her side again. She wouldn't be able to keep up such a pace for much longer. Her steps grew heavier and heavier.

She went flying after her foot caught on an exposed tree root, and she hit the ground hard, sending a resounding _thud_ throughout the forest. The dagger landed several feet away, lost in the dark.

Claire stayed motionless on the ground, trying to keep her breathing even, and listened. It was quiet. Too quiet. But she knew he was out there. Somewhere. He'd probably heard her too with all the racket she had been making. The lack of sound in the forest around her was unnerving. How could such a big beast make so little noise?

Carefully, she got to her feet and leaned against a tree. She peered around the trunk into the forest. Still nothing.

"Come out my little birdie."

Claire jumped at the centaur's voice. She spun around, her eyes searching. His voice bounced off the trees, making it hard to pinpoint exactly where he was.

Something struck the trunk behind her with a loud _thunk_. Claire froze. Slowly, she turned her head and found an arrow lodged into the bark mere inches away.

He'd missed.

And she had a feeling he'd meant to. He was toying with her. She had to get away, or next time she might not be so lucky.

Claire ducked to the other side of the tree and took a deep breath before taking off again. This was it. If she didn't get away this time, then she would be done for. She left her mother's dagger. It would be useless if she were caught, anyway. She didn't really know how to use it. Not against a fearsome beast.

The ground gave way and Claire stumbled down a sudden decline, the momentum propelling her forward. It took everything she had not to fall and to avoid the trees in her way. Her arms and cloak flailed out around her, her boots sliding on the dirt and leaves. She collapsed to the ground when she reached the bottom of the hill and crawled over to a rotting tree lying on its side.

She curled up in the shadows, making herself as small and hidden as possible, and covered her mouth and nose with her hands so her breathing wouldn't make so much noise. With her eyes clamped tight, she listened. The heavy sound of hooves came closer, pounding the earth on top of the hill.

"Where did my little birdie go?"

Claire's heart spiked. She was so close to being found. So close to a horrible death. She could feel a sob start to grow inside of her. No, she couldn't start thinking like that. She thought of the song then. A silly little tune her mother had always hummed to her whenever she had been afraid as a little girl. It still comforted her to this day. Slowly, the sob died away, her nerves easing a bit. She listened for the centaur again. The beat of his hooves sounded like they were moving away deeper into the forest.

When she couldn't hear the beast anymore, Claire took a deep breath, careful not to make too much noise. There was no telling where exactly he was. The smell of mold and rotting wood filled her nose, almost overwhelming her. After a few seconds, she got to her knees and peeked over the tree. No sign of the centaur.

With another deep breath, she pushed back to her feet and urged her body on. Her steps were light and cautious. She couldn't be found again. Her body was at its limit.

The forest grew still once more. Almost peaceful. The trees seemed to grow bigger the further she went, their tops soaring overhead. Brush became sparse and green mold covered the massive trunks like a carpet. Pools of silvery moonlight dotted the forest floor. A sweet smell teased at her nose as she passed by a small clearing filled with wildflowers. It was as if she had entered a different realm. Quiet, beautiful, but strangely eerie.

Dread filled her once again. This _was_ the Cursed Forest. She may have evaded the centaur for now, but here was still a curse to contend with, whatever it may be. Claire wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. She had already come this far. What was a curse compared to a mad beast? One problem at a time. She would deal with the curse later.

After a little while, Claire leaned against a tree and rested her head back against the rough bark. Fresh air of the forest filled her lungs as she took long deep breaths, allowing her body to relax. Tension seeped away as she closed her eyes and listened. The forest remained quiet. The only sound came from the treetops rustling overhead from a slight breeze.

But just as she was thinking she may have gotten away, the centaur's howl cut through the forest.

Claire jumped back to attention, her muscles trembling with the sudden rush of fear. She turned and looked around the trunk in the direction of the noise. It sounded distant, but not distant enough. The beast was still out there and he wasn't likely to give up so easily.

The centaur howled again. Her fingers dug into the tree bark. Why was he howling like that? The beast's cries turned into blood chilling screams, and then they were cut short altogether.

The forest fell unnervingly quiet once again. Claire's heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Something had happened to the beast. Something, _or someone_ , had gotten him.

But before she had time to think about it anymore, she heard a branch snap behind her followed by a strange whooshing noise. Claire whirled around, pressing her back up against the tree. It took her a moment to comprehend what she saw. The tip of an arrow hovered inches away from her face, seized at the last instant. She'd forgotten how to breathe at that moment. A second later and she wouldn't have had to anymore. Her eyes followed the hand holding the arrow up to a figure obscured by shadow.

"Hold your fire," said a deep voice, and then the figure dropped the arrow onto the ground.

The shadow grew blurry as her body finally gave in to fatigue and then there was darkness.

#

Claire stirred awake from a deep sleep. The sheets were soft and silky against her skin as she stretched. So, it _was_ just a nightmare. She lay in bed half-asleep, relishing in the fact that she was safe, that the town still stood around her.

She turned over to her side, her body sore. Although her mother never let her wait on tables in the tavern, she still had to serve from behind the bar, wash mugs, tap wine and ale casks, clean, and all of the other work to make the tavern ready and keep it running. All those hours of standing and running around took their toll, and a maiden they'd hired was sick the past week, keeping her on her toes even more than usual.

Warm light fell onto her face and she stretched again. But something was off. The window wasn't on that side. Claire's eyes snapped open and she bolted up. Her head swam at the sudden movement.

A strange new room greeted her. Sunlight filtered in through thin white curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Small but inviting, it was filled with simple elegant ash wood furniture with the plush bed taking up half the room. A vase filled with white flowers sat atop a narrow table, which ran along the far wall by the door.

The night before was not a dream. She was alive, but where? And why was there a bandage on her right hand? Long strips of white cloth wrapped tightly around her hand and past her wrist to end halfway up her forearm. Strange, she didn't remember injuring it. She also didn't remember changing into the silky white nightgown. The thin straps and material were much more revealing than she was used to.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled to the open window. Her muscles cried out, sore in places she had never been sore before.

The courtyard below was beautiful and completely different than the one in her small town. The buildings were elegant, made of marble and granite with curved archways and elaborate latticework. All weathered like it had been there ages. Flowered vines climbed up walls and columns. Trees sprouted out from buildings, but seemed to have grown too large, cracking walls and roofs, roots splitting the bricks apart. Soft light filtered in through the high treetops and captured leaves rode the breeze before they spiraled down to the stone pavement. A fountain lay in the center, sprinkled with lily pads and flowers, the water cascaded down an elegant stone tier in the middle. People filled the plaza, lounged by the fountain, strolled languidly like they had no place to be. Long colorful robes clung to their slender frames, with hair that fell straight and smooth past their shoulders.

"Where am I?" she whispered as she took the scene in.

The door behind her slammed open then, with a loud crack as it hit the wall. Claire spun around as a tall man strolled into the room. A woman clung to his arm, pleading with him in a strange language, but he brushed her away. His deep blue eyes settled on Claire as he stopped before her and bowed with elaborate flourish, his long honey blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Tall, lithe, and dressed in a cerulean silk shirt with several buttons undone at the collar, he was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

"I am Aeron Enionedhe Echersech Lyel the Third, Captain of his Royal Majesty, Ryaenon the Second's Guard," he said in an accented voice. He rose from his bow, and looked her up and down, his lips curling into a grin. "You may call me Aeron."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the man. Long blond hair, slim build, fair skin, pointed ears, stunning looks. Wait, pointed ears? She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"You're an elf!" Disbelief filled her voice. She spun back toward the window, her eyes wide with the sudden realization. There were stories about the Elvin race, but she'd never seen one before, hardly anyone had. She'd even begun to think they weren't real, legends or tales people spoke of in the tavern, but never really knowing if they were true or not. She turned back to the elf waiting patiently in the center of the room.

Claire approached Aeron, looking him over, examining him. She walked around him as he stood still with arms crossed. He seemed amused by her curiosity.

"My lady, His Majesty has requested your audience," Aeron said. "You may continue to examine me later in private, if that is your wish."

"That won't be necessary!" Claire's face flushed red. "I have never seen an elf before, so..." she muttered, only getting more embarrassed with each word.

Was this why no one entered the forest? Have the elves been here all this time? And if so, why did they remain hidden? Too many questions flooded her mind at once.

"His Majesty is very impatient, so if you will just come with me," Aeron said with a sigh. He grabbed Claire by the arm and pulled her toward the door.

"Wait, I can't go dressed like this!" Claire protested as she tugged her arm out of his grasp to cover herself.

Aeron sighed again and muttered a foreign word, " _Stacten_." He snatched a scarlet silk robe that hung on the wall by the door and flung it around her shoulders.

"Good enough." He grabbed her arm again and pulled her out the door.

He dragged her down a hallway, her steps barely able to keep up with his. The floor was cold and hard under her bare feet, the stone gleaming from the light of elaborate lamps that lined the corridor.

She had managed to get her free arm through one sleeve of the robe and clutched it closed around her body until they could stop.

"Why does the king want to see _me_?" Disbelief filled her voice.

"It is the polite thing to do when you enter someone's home."

"That may be true, but why do I have to go dressed in a robe?"

Aeron only laughed.

Elves watched with curious eyes as they burst out into to courtyard. Gasps and whispers reached her ears as they passed by and her face flushed even more. She had never been so embarrassed. It wasn't exactly how she would have imagined being introduced to a new culture or her first time meeting royalty.

They climbed up a set of steps that led to an enormous pair of carved mahogany doors. A guard stood on each side, their sparse metal armor gleaming in the sunlight, looking more for show than function. They bowed before pushing the doors open.

The room inside was elaborate to an excessive degree. Floors shined like water, timber beams cut across the high ceiling, and stained glass was everywhere. Tapestries hung on the walls, framed by a deep crimson cloth that swept down to the floor. Metal chandeliers dangled from the beams, each a different shape with tiny cutouts that cast playful shadows across the room. Claire gazed in wonder at it all, her mouth forming a silent 'oh'.

Aeron slowed his pace, his footsteps clicking on the floor, echoing loudly through the large, quiet hallway. He stopped halfway down at a little wooden table where a vase filled with red flowers sat on top. The area served as a crossroads of sorts. Hallways stretched out in four directions, the ends closed off by huge doors like the ones they had just passed through.

Aeron let go of Claire's arm and plucked a flower from the vase. She used the opportunity to slip on the rest of her robe, tie the sash tightly around her, and run her fingers through her hair. She sure wished that she had the time to clean up before meeting royalty, but it would have to do. Why _would_ the king want to see her, anyway? Was it really because she'd entered their land?

In any case, she would apologize and thank them for their hospitality. She had to get back to Stockton and find Mother as soon as possible. Her chest tightened at the thought. The town, Mother, her life. Were they really all gone?

"This way, my lady," Aeron said, and offered his arm.

Claire took it hesitantly and they walked to the end of the hallway. Aeron sniffed at the red flower with an amused look on his face. He knocked three times and the doors opened, the hinges creaking as they swung slowly inward.

The throne room was small and intimate. Musky incense slithered into her lungs as they entered. A cluster of tiny metal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dangling at different lengths and casting the room in a soft, warm glow. A mahogany throne sat atop a platform, draped in burgundy fabric with intricate latticework carved from redwood making up the wall behind it. Light from the candelabras that dotted the walls bounced off the gleaming marble floor.

The large doors closed behind them with a definitive clunk after they entered. A hush swept through the group of elves that stood scattered across the room. Claire could almost feel their eyes on her, intense, studying, curious, like she were a rare specimen newly discovered. There was something a little cold in that look, though, and she got the feeling she wasn't exactly a welcome guest.

Aeron stopped in front of two elves and bowed. Not knowing what else to do, Claire followed with a curtsey. At that moment she was glad that Mother had taught her how all those years ago.

The male elf in front of them was magnificent to say the least, dressed in silk robes of a deep red hue with long sleeves that swallowed up his hands. A magnificent gold necklace hung around his neck, adorned with purple jewels. Black hair fell well past his shoulders and framed a beautiful but emotionless face as Lapis Lazuli eyes examined her closely. He stood regally, tall, proud, his status unmistakable.

This must be the King. Her cheeks flushed hot again as she averted her gaze to the floor. What she would have given for clothes at the moment.

The King said something in another language, the words rolling off his tongue in a deep clear voice. He turned to the elf beside him, but this one was much older. Wrinkles had formed around his eyes and his long hair had grown gray with age. White robes draped on his withered looking frame. Thin fingers shook slightly as they unrolled a yellowed scroll, and held it up in front of the King.

Unable to understand any of the conversation, Claire looked around the room to examine the others. A female elf stood silently to the right side with blonde hair framing charcoal rimmed green eyes that were fixated on the king. A cerulean silk dress formed to her body and in her hands she held a black ceramic jar. Something seemed off about her, but then again Claire didn't really know anything about court customs, especially Elvish customs.

Claire turned back to Aeron but he had wandered away, abandoning her in front of the King to fend for herself. A gentleman that one, she thought. It was because of him that she was in front of the king in such a state. And if it were up to him, she'd be wearing even less. She watched him as he strolled over to another elf that stood at the other side of the room with his arms crossed.

This elf's appearance was striking, much different than any of the others she'd seen so far. Platinum blonde hair was pulled back from his face, leaving the bottom half to fall freely just past his shoulders. Ice blue eyes stared daggers at the approaching Aeron. He wore a similar outfit to the other elf's, with a sword attached to a belt that encircled a slender waist.

Aeron bowed and offered the flower he'd picked up earlier. The silver haired one smacked the flower out of Aeron's hand to the floor.

Aeron's laughter suddenly filled the room, drawing everyone's attention. Claire had to hide her own smile. He may not be a gentleman, but at least he knew how to laugh it seemed. Unlike many of the other solemn looking elves she'd seen so far.

With a scowl on his face, the elf with the silver hair marched over to the King. He pointed to Claire, speaking in the same flowing language the others had used. Whatever he was saying, she was sure it wasn't the friendliest of words.

Confusion started to brew inside of her. She had been brought here to meet the king, but it seemed that he was not very interested in meeting her. He had barely even nodded in greeting when she'd been introduced. He may be royalty, but at least he could display good manners.

The King gestured with a wave of his hand to the statuesque female elf Claire had spied earlier. She sauntered up to them, hips swinging wide, before bowing to the King. Claire eyed the jar in her hands suspiciously. She was starting to have her doubts that it was anything good.

The elves gathered close around her then. Her stomach dropped as she scanned their faces and the first hint of genuine fear swept through her. This wasn't just a simple meeting after all. They weren't smiling and neither was she. Perhaps she was going to be punished for entering their territory, for trespassing on their land without their permission. She'd escaped one horror only to stumble into another. Mother's assumption that they'd take care of her was true so far. But why bandage her up only to punish her later?

"Sorry, _mon lainí_ ," Aeron whispered as he grabbed her from behind. One arm circled around her waist while the other snaked around her shoulders. He held her tight against his body, his grip strong and firm.

"What are you doing? Let me go!" Claire shrieked. She struggled, her nails digging into Aeron's skin as she tried to pry his arms away. "It was an accident! I didn't mean to come here! I was just trying to escape!"

The silver-haired elf grabbed her bandaged right hand and drew a dagger from behind his back. The sight stopped her voice in her throat, her eyes growing wide.

"Please don't," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Her body writhed as she fought to break free, but Aeron's grip tightened around her, holding her steady against him. She thought for sure they were going to cut off a finger or two as punishment, but the silver-haired elf slipped the blade under the bandage instead, managing to avoid her skin entirely, and cut through the layers of cloth with ease. When the bandage fell to the floor, he sheathed the dagger again and Claire breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

All at once, the group gathered closer around her to peer down at her newly exposed hand, their faces curious, eager.

Claire grew still as she looked down at her hand to see what exactly was so fascinating. Thin black lines traced across the back of her hand and up her wrist like a vine. Its tendrils spread out in all directions, twisting and swirling to form intricate flower-like shapes. She stared at the mysterious new mark in disbelief. That'd never been there before.

The old-looking elf held the scroll up next to her hand and spoke to the King, but it sounded slightly different, more harsh and guttural than before, like he was speaking a different language altogether.

The elf with the silver hair gripped her arm just above the mark. He glanced at Claire, his unsettling eyes piercing into her. He studied her face for a moment before shifting his gaze back to her hand. A hint of sadness crossed his face as he looked down at the mark, but then it was gone, swept away by an emotionless mask.

The female elf uncorked the jar she'd been so patiently holding, and began to smear a clear ointment onto Claire's hand. Not at all what she had expected, the acidic smell burned her nostrils and stung at her eyes. It grew warm where it touched her skin, the heat steadily growing in intensity.

"What—" she began to ask, but that's when it started.

Light smoke drifted up from the liquid and Claire gasped as her hand began to burn, like flames themselves were licking up her arm and across her skin. She began to writhe once more and pried at Aeron's grip with her free hand, but it was no use. His hold remained strong and solid around her. Shrieks climbed up her throat as the pain shot up her arm and throughout her body until she was completely engulfed.

A faint blue glow appeared around the edges of the mark, and the group of elves gasped as the lines began to move. The female elf dropped the jar and it shattered on the floor. The sound rung loudly throughout the silent room. The vine-like design twisted up Claire's wrist as the tendrils wound around her arm. The silver-haired elf released his hold on her before it reached his hand, as if he was afraid to be touched by it.

Claire's arm fell limply to her side. She collapsed to her knees when Aeron released her and sat hunched over in the middle of the room, the stone floor hard and cold beneath her.  She started to wipe away the ointment with her robe, ruining the fine red silk. What was going on? There was never a mark there before. Surely she would have noticed an enchanted vine growing up her arm. Was it the curse of the forest?

The soft blue glow gradually faded as the pain eased. Her head hung low above her lap as she clutched her arm close to her chest. The sweet smell of the incense became stifling. She didn't want to see the faces of the elves, and was afraid to show hers as she began to sob quietly, her shoulders trembling.

She hadn't asked for any of this. She just wanted to return home and see her mother again, to know that she was safe, or even alive.

A deep laugh cut through the heavy silence then. She looked up at the King, who'd collapsed onto his throne. His laughter trailed off to leave a smirk in its place. It was nice to know the King found torture amusing. But Claire took slight comfort in the fact that none of the other elves were smiling.

The female elf approached Claire again, only this time she had a damp cloth instead of the jar. Her confidence from before had faded. The elf's thin hands trembled as she started to wipe away the burning liquid, her eyes avoiding Claire's as best they could.

The King summoned the old elf to the throne where they conversed in a hushed manner.

The silver-haired elf retreated to the side of the room, his face set in deep thought.

After a few moments, the King motioned to Aeron with flick of a hand. The elf obeyed, bowing silently at the foot of the pedestal onto one knee. The King spoke to him and Aeron nodded and rose. He walked over to Claire, still hunched down on the floor, took her hand, and in one fell swoop, picked her up off the floor.

Claire closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her back toward the entrance, the energy sapped from her body. She lacked the will to move, to protest, to do anything. The stress of the past couple days had taken its toll on her body and mind. She still had so many questions, but didn't know where to start or whom to ask. Or even if they would answer her. To be treated like this, after all she had been through... it was just too much.

"I am sorry, my lady," Aeron said, his voice soft.

She bet he was. He had probably known what was going to happen all along, whatever it was that they did. So much for trusting the elves. And her mother's judgment for that matter.

#

Claire's body jerked awake, her eyes wide, her body covered in sweat. Her dreams were filled with the events of the past couple days. The centaurs raiding through her town, her mother in the middle of it all. She had tried to get to her, to rescue her, but no matter how hard she ran she could never get any closer. She felt drained. Sleep seemed more exhausting than reality lately.

The room was different from the last. She sat up in a four-posted bed with a light sheer curtain strung between the pillars. The large bed was miniscule in the new room, a deserted island lost in the stone sea of the floor. Flowers of all different shapes and colors blanketed the chamber, filling the air with their sweet aroma, and a cool breeze wafted in from the open window to the right that raised goose bumps on her arms.

She looked down at the crimson silk gown that clung to her body. The straps were thin and the top plunged down to her breasts. What was with all these revealing nightgowns? And who kept changing her? She really hoped it wasn't that Aeron fellow. She shuddered at the thought.

She got up out of bed and stretched. The nightgown slithered around her legs as she made her way to the window.

Flower-shaped cutouts at the top of the frame splashed hundreds of tiny shapes across her face as she approached. A different view of the plaza greeted her, but the scene looked the same as before: soft golden light, pretty fountain, elves lounging around in colorful robes. Beautiful but lifeless, it certainly lacked the energy that the plaza in Stockton had during midday.

She turned from the window, trying to ignore that last thought, and noticed a pair of glass doors across the room. She walked over, opened the doors, and stepped out onto a small balcony.

Trees spread out as far as the eye could see in all directions, their tops reaching high to the heavens. The building hung over a steep drop on top of a cliff, solid ground too far down below.

Quickly, she spun back around, her head reeling. She had never been afraid of heights before, but then again she'd never been this high up either. Claire closed the doors behind her and drew the curtains closed. She'd deal with the view later.

Across from the bed was a curved archway that led to a little seating area. Paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, lit by a great metal chandelier above. Claire tip-toed to the wooden doors that led out of the room and laid her ear against the smooth surface, where it was met with silence. She tried the handle next, turning it slowly, but it was locked.

Claire sighed, walked back to the bed, and plopped down across the middle. She held her arm up before her and started to trace the vine-like mark with a finger, the skin still a little pink from the burning ointment.

What was going on around here? It was as if she were a prisoner—though a pampered one—but a prisoner nonetheless. She hoped this wasn't how they treated all their guests. However, it _was_ better than a dungeon. She was anxious to return to her town and start looking for her mother, her friends, or anyone else she knew. If they were still alive. She banished the thought from her mind. Must not think like that.

A knock at the door startled her, but before she could answer a female elf entered. Her long copper hair was twisted in a braid down her back and a plain white gown draped on her tall, slender frame. She carried a tray of food and set it on a table in the far corner.

Claire remained still. Should she say something? The elf didn't exactly look like the sociable type. So, unsure what to do, she sat in the bed and quietly watched the elf. The servant bowed to her, never once meeting her eyes or speaking a word, then was gone.

How very odd. It was almost as if she was afraid of her.

Claire stumbled off the bed and crossed the room to examine the food. Steam rose up from the dish of noodles and sauce, filling her nose with a sweet smell. Her stomach growled. She couldn't remember the last time she ate. She grabbed the fork and began to eat at a voracious pace, barely tasting the food as she stuffed it into her mouth, washing it down with the sweet red wine that filled an elegant silver cup.

The days passed. The servants came and went without speaking a word, ignoring her persistent questions. Her meals arrived three times a day. How many days had it been since she arrived here? Two? Three? Six? They all seemed to melt together with each hour passed.

She couldn't stand it anymore. She had to get out. Her sanity wouldn't last much longer. There were only so many ways she could rearrange the flower vases scattered around the room.

She began to memorize when her meals would come, studied the halls when they took her to the baths. A single elf stood guard at her door at all times. She could have climbed over the balcony, but her stomach flipped at the thought. She wasn't that desperate yet. Her best bet at escape would be when she was escorted to the baths. The halls were winding, but she would be out of the room and past the guard. The servants should be easy to slip away from, they hardly ever looked at her anyway.

The same two female elves arrived as always, their beautiful faces solemn, always quiet, always avoiding her gaze. She was beginning to feel like some sort of freak, the way everyone kept shunning her.

Silently, she followed behind, slowing her pace to look down the adjacent hallways. Which one? Which hallway was it? It seemed like a maze, but she only had one chance. If she were caught they would no doubt increase security or move her to a different room altogether. And that one may not be so pleasant. She had to make a break for it now before she went mad.

She glanced down a hallway to her left. Sunlight bounced off the floor at the end where it turned at a corner. That one! It was as good a guess as any. Sunlight meant the outside and possibly a door.

With her breath held, she ducked into the hall and ran on bare feet toward the light, her robe fluttering out behind her. She turned the corner and, to her luck, burst through a pair of doors out onto a wide patio.

Huge trees loomed up before her. She'd come out on the forest side. Another stroke of luck, perhaps. She rushed to the edge of the patio overlooking the cliff below. She wasn't getting down that way. She turned around, her eyes following the stairs that wound along the cliff side in both directions. Left led up, back toward the palace it seemed; the right side led down. Right it was then.

She ran toward the stairs, her feet moving hastily down the steps; her hand lifted the hem of her robe up to prevent tripping while the other gripped the stone railing. The stairs circled around the building as they climbed lower along the cliff edge. She reached another patio area with a pair of doors to the left. The rest of the stairs were straight across. She leaped over the last few steps and started to sprint to the other side.

But when she was halfway across, her body froze instantly, her pulse leaping up to her throat.

The silver-haired elf from the throne room leaned back against the wall. His eyes were wide with surprise. They stood looking at each other for a few moments, neither of them moving.

Claire's hopes dropped. She was caught.

Shouts rang out in the distance and she glanced back toward the stairs.

No, she couldn't give up yet. The fact that he made no move to stop her yet meant that she might have a chance, might be able to convince him to let her leave. It was worth a shot, what other chance did she have? A fearless, desperate wave washed over her, filling her veins with fire. She turned back to the silver-haired elf and rushed up to him. Her hands grabbed onto his shirt as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

"Please, just let me go!" She kept her voice low. "I just want to go home and find my mother!"

His cold eyes stared back at her, unmoved. "So you're the cause of all this commotion."

She gaped up at him as the said commotion drew nearer. Perhaps she had been wrong. He didn't seem to care what happened to her.

"Farron, that is no way to treat a lady in need."

She knew that voice. Claire spun around to face Aeron as he stepped through the pair of doors with a smile across his lips. Her hopes sank even further. There was no chance of escape now.

"I just want to go home!" she cried. "I'm tired of sitting in that room!"

"I am afraid that is not possible, _mon lainí,_ " Aeron said. His face grew solemn.

"It may be."

Claire turned to look at Farron, her hopes lifting a bit. He stared at Aeron with an insolent spark in his eyes.

Aeron's face twitched. "It is not part of the plan."

"What plan?" she asked, but was ignored.

"A little detour couldn't hurt, it _is_ on the way."

"His Majesty will not allow it." Aeron frowned.

"Who said he has to know?"

She could feel the tension rise sharply between the two.

"Will you answer my question?" Claire yelled. The tension eased a bit as their focus switched to her.

"My lady," Aeron said. "His Majesty has ordered for us to go on a mission. An important one that does not have time for any detours." He gave Farron a pointed look.

"A mission?" she asked. "With me?" Claire looked between the elves. They stood silent, not offering the answers she wanted. She turned to Aeron. "What kind of mission?"

"I cannot say."

"Why not?" Anger began to well up inside of her. "Well if you won't tell me, I won't go." She crossed her arms.

"I am afraid you do not have much of a choice, my lady."

The terrace grew quiet. Claire looked at Aeron, his face was serious, his eyes cold. She was tired of this, tired of being a captive. They wanted her for a reason. Could it be the mark? She looked down at her right hand. He was right, however: she was currently in their possession and she would have to play by their rules if she ever wanted to see her mother again.

"Fine," she said and a defiant look took over her face, her hands rested on her hips. "I'll go on your mission. No questions asked—under one condition."

"And what would that be, my lady?" Aeron's eyebrows rose.

"You help me look for my mother," she said, her voice losing a little bit of its edge. "I'll do whatever you want if you'll help me."

Aeron took a deep breath and let it out, his gaze shifting to the ground.

"You need me for something," she said. "I'll help you if you help me."

"Done," Farron declared behind her.

She turned and looked up at the tall elf.

His gaze met hers for a brief moment before he looked back at Aeron. "His majesty never needs to find out."

"Fine, but that is _it_ ," Aeron replied sharply. "Be ready to leave in the morning." He turned and went back through the doors, flinging them open wide.

The shouts from before slowly died, leaving the palace quiet and peaceful once again. Claire turned to Farron.

"Thank you," she said.

"No need." His eyes studied her. "Just keep up your end of the bargain. Besides," a smirk curled the edges of his mouth, "there's no way out on this side of the castle." He strolled away and disappeared down the steps.

She stared after him in disbelief, not knowing what to say to that. The two servants from before rushed through the doors, anger on their faces. Claire felt uncomfortable as the subject of their ire, although it was a relief to see some sort of emotion from them finally.

#

Y _aederrí_.

That was the only word the female elves spoke to her, still avoiding her gaze as much as possible. No matter how many times she asked, about what it meant, about the mission, about _anything_ , she never got a reply. They didn't speak her language. Either that or they were really good at ignoring her.

Claire yawned as she pulled on a soft purple over-shirt. The servants came early in the morning with a pile of folded clothes and, to her surprise, her mother's dagger sat neatly on top. She didn't remember what had happened to it that night. The events already started to blur together.

The elves waited in the little sitting room after she refused their help getting dressed. It really wasn't _that_ hard of a task. She tied the purple shirt on the side just above her hip. The neck plunged down into a V-shape to reveal a snug black undershirt. The fabric was thin, almost transparent and form fitting. The sleeves reached her elbow with ties on the cuffs. She pulled on a pair of knee high, dark brown leather boots over snug black slacks and sat on the floor to tie the laces.

Claire grabbed the dagger sitting on the bed and drew it from the simple leather sheath. The blade looked new and polished. The elves must have done that. A weak smile crossed her lips as she examined the knife. Her stomach was full of butterflies, both excited and terrified for the upcoming journey. She didn't know what awaited her or what the elves wanted with her, they hadn't revealed anything more about the mission. She was just eager for the chance to search for her mother. And get out of this cage. She snapped the dagger back into its sheath and slipped the belt around her waist.

If only she had stayed with her mother, she wouldn't be in this mess. She would know that her mother was safe. She would not run away anymore. A fiery surge of confidence swept through her. She had to become stronger, more courageous. Marion had a strong fighting spirit, her strength and confidence tamed the toughest of foes, overcoming any obstacle. She had been well respected, and a little feared, in Stockton.

"I'll make you proud, mom," Claire muttered before she faced the servants.

Hushed whispers floated on the cool morning air as Claire stepped through the large mahogany doors. Elves filled the square. Claire scanned the crowd with wide eyes, her pulse quickened, shocked by the strange reception. Guards held back the mass to form a walkway to the center. The two servants stayed by the doors and bowed their heads as she took an unsteady step down the stairs, her legs turning to jelly. She wasn't used to this kind of attention. Why had they gathered there? Did it have to do with her mission? If so, did they know more about it than she did?

The King stood imposingly in front of the fountain in the center of the plaza. His red and purple robes swept down to the ground. Aeron stood next to the King in a similar outfit as the day before: deep blue shirt, brown slacks and black boots. A sword handle peeked up above his left shoulder, a bow and arrows above the right. Farron stood next to him. His appearance was intimidating and a complete transformation from what he wore before. The stark black of his clothes contrasted sharply against his pale skin and silvery hair. Black fingerless gloves wrapped up his forearms while black leather straps crossed over his short-sleeved black shirt. Silver hilts glinted past each shoulder, the top of a bow and arrows over his right. They weren't expecting a fight, were they?

Claire knelt down onto one knee before the King, figuring that was what she was supposed to do in this sort of situation. Though she could've just made a fool of herself in front of the entire Elvin population.

The King motioned for her to rise, grabbed her right arm, and lifted it up, showcasing the mark for the crowd to see. He spoke in that smooth rolling language he used the day before, his deep voice ringing through the plaza. Claire scanned the mass of elves as they gasped and whispered among themselves. What was she to these people? She had promised not to ask questions, but curiosity welled up inside of her. She would have to wait until later. Maybe if she could get one of the elves alone...

The King let go of her arm, interrupting her thought and sending her stumbling. Aeron caught her before she could hit the ground and helped steady her on her feet. He bowed to the King, exchanged a few words and straightened up again.

The crowd parted on the other side of the fountain and formed a path to an archway across the plaza. Aeron grabbed her by the arm and started to walk. A wide smile was plastered on his face, a little too tight around the edges. Farron trailed behind, his face solemn and somewhat embarrassed. Claire remained in awe.

She examined the tall buildings as they made their way down a winding cobblestone avenue. The two, three, and sometimes even four-storied structures were mismatched and tightly packed together. They jutted out over the narrow street in places, forming archways and bridges. It was as if they had run out of room to spread out and instead started to build up.

Elves stopped what they were doing to gawk at her as she passed, whispering the same _yaederrí_ word as the servants had.

"What does that mean?" she asked Aeron.

"Little hope," he told her, his smile faltering a bit.

Little? She threw a glare at a pair of elves. Who were they calling _little_?

They passed under another stone archway and over a wooden drawbridge that spanned a deep rift in the earth. Aeron released her arm as they stepped onto a dirt path that led into the forest. He sighed and rubbed his cheeks with his hands as the fake smile disappeared.

She wanted to ask, about the reception, about the mission, about everything, but it was probably too soon.

Farron walked ahead into the forest without saying a word.

"This way my lady." Aeron gave her a kind look as he motioned to the path.

Claire walked quietly between the two elves as they made their way through the forest. They crossed wood plank bridges spanning creeks and rivers and climbed down ancient looking stairs carved into the rock. Even in the light this forest seemed odd, _felt_ odd. There was a sense of history about it, almost as if the trees had been there since the beginning of time itself. But what the forest had in beauty, it lacked in life. She spotted very little wildlife on their journey so far.

The two elves remained silent. She noticed that they carried small packs on their backs over their weaponry and wondered why she didn't have one. Maybe she'd left it behind? She hoped it wasn't too important if she had.

"Tell me more about the elves," Claire said, tired of the silence.

"What would you like to know, my lady?" Aeron asked.

She jumped, startled by his sudden closeness. "Have you two always lived in the forest?"

He just laughed.

"I mean, if you've been in the forest for all these years, how come I've never seen any of you before? Are you afraid of humans? Is that why the forest is forbidden?" she muttered the last one to herself.

"It seems my lady leads quite a sheltered life." He looked amused.

"Perhaps," Claire replied and looked down at her feet. "Mother was always a little over protective."

"Well, if you must know then," Aeron began, taking a deep breath as he crossed his arms, "we have lived in this forest since the Great War. No, we are not afraid of humans. And His Majesty forbids any unknown entity—especially humans—from entering the forest. You are actually quite lucky Farron spotted that mark on your hand. Our scouts are ordered to shoot any intruders."

Claire's face flushed and she looked at Farron, who walked several paces ahead. So, he was the one who saved her that night. Would he have let that arrow hit her if the strange mark hadn't shown up? The thought made her stomach churn. Was that what her mother had meant by her comment that night? And if that was true, then her mother must have known about the mark all along. And about the elves. If she knew, why hadn't she told her? Her head began to hurt. Each question only led to more questions. She shook her head to clear the thoughts from her mind. There's no way Mother would have kept a secret like this from her.

"What was that you said before, about a Great War?" she asked.

"I charge for history lessons, you know," he answered with a sly grin.

"Oh really." She smiled back. "Then I'll just have to go ask our silent friend up there." She nodded her head toward Farron.

"Good luck with that!" Aeron chuckled. "I was sure everyone knew about the Great War. You have got a lot of catching up to do. Why don't we talk about something more exciting instead?"

"Like what?"

"Like me!"

Claire laughed. She hoped he was joking.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed in the thick forest; the light didn't seem to change as it filtered in through the high treetops. Aeron had been rambling on about some old army tales and about his promotion to Captain of the King's Guard.

Guess he hadn't been joking after all.

She stopped listening halfway through, nodding along every now and then to be polite. Meanwhile, she studied the still silent elf that walked in front of them. She would have to thank him later, although she didn't really know if being captured would be something to thank someone for. But at least it was better than being at the mercy of a crazed centaur.

Light caught her eye in the distance then. There! The edge of the forest! Claire rushed past Farron, her feet seemingly moving on their own, and ran toward the glaring light. She emerged from the sea of trees and out onto the grassy field, her eyes narrowing at the sudden brightness of the sun, high in a cloudless sky.

Stockton stood to the south like a lifeless, almost ominous, beacon on the horizon. A trail of light gray smoke cut through the blue sky from the center of town. The tall grass of the field stretched out before them and swayed gently in the breeze, just like it had on that horrible night. Claire's stomach dropped. What exactly did she expect to find there?

A hand clamped down on her shoulder when she moved forward. She froze mid-step, goose bumps racing up her spine.

"Wait." Farron's eyes narrowed as he examined the town. "Stay between us."

With bow at the ready, Farron walked toward Stockton, tense and alert. She followed close behind. Aeron brought up the rear, his bow drawn as he watched the field behind them.

They approached the north end of town that bordered the field and dipped into a narrow alley. Claire stepped carefully over the debris that littered the streets. The putrid air burned through her lungs, unsettling her stomach. It looked different during the day; the damage that had been done was all the more apparent in the bright light. The streets and buildings lay empty, devoid of life. It was eerie, and sad, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to see any more.

Farron stopped at the end of the alley at the corner. He looked up and down the street, waiting for Claire to catch up.

"Which way?" He kept his voice low.

She pointed south along the street, her other hand covering her nose and mouth. Her spirit sank as she walked down the once bustling street, now in ruins. The buildings' contents were strewn out onto the road. It was a nightmare come to life. How could they do this to such a peaceful town?

"This way," she whispered and ducked into another alley, away from the elves.

The shortcuts she'd taken dozens of times before seemed foreign to her now. She swiftly crossed another street and jumped over a broken crate of rotten vegetables. She picked up her speed, anxious to find her mother's tavern, her home. Was it still intact? She passed by the burned out shell of her favorite spice store and hoped Mrs. Tallum got out of town safely. The two elves struggled to keep up as she made her way through the twisting streets and back alleys.

She stopped abruptly when she reached the marketplace where the defense squadron fought so bravely that night. A pile of bodies lay in the center of the open plaza. Smoke rose from the bottom. Her breath caught in her throat, her body stiffened in place. Two large, rough looking centaurs stacked broken furniture and wreckage on top of the corpses. Smiles decorated their faces as they talked casually, their language as harsh as their appearance. The scene burned itself into her memory, sure to come back and haunt her dreams.

A hand covered her mouth then, while another slipped around her waist and pulled her back into the alley. She looked up and Farron put a finger to his lips to signal for her to keep quiet. He released her and she collapsed against a building and leaned her forehead against the brick wall. She took deep breaths to calm the nausea rising in her stomach.

Aeron appeared at the end of the alley and motioned to them.

"This place is crawling with 'em," Aeron said in a hushed voice as they approached. "We should leave."

"Not yet," Claire uttered her, voice breathy. "She might have left some sort of clue or note where she went." She raised her chin, looking him in the eye. "I'm not leaving yet. We had a deal."

"Fine," he sighed. "Is there another way?"

"Yes." She started down the street that ran parallel to the plaza.

"Hold it." Farron grabbed her arm. "Stay between us this time."

He crouched low and stepped lightly along the wall, stopped at the corner and looked both ways. Claire and Aeron followed. She whispered directions to him at each corner. The rough voices of the beasts echoed from the plaza through the streets. The scent of burnt flesh drifted through the air.

Her stomach wrenched as familiar faces flashed through her mind. She recognized the men in that pile; defense squad members that had died protecting the town. But she refused to believe her mother accompanied the miserable corpses. Claire took a deep breath. She had to remain strong; she couldn't lose it now.

The once proud bustling tavern stood empty and lifeless. Glass shards still clung to the window frames. The sign that had once swung above the door lay on the ground, covered in dirt. The Blazing Stallion was her mother's pride and joy, and the only tavern in town owned and operated by a woman. But not anymore.

She pushed against the heavy wooden door that led into the tavern, but it was locked. She hurried around the back and glanced in the windows. With no intruders in sight, she pushed open the door to the kitchen. Farron followed close behind, bow and arrow in hand while Aeron kept watch outside.

Broken dish shards and glass crunched under foot as she entered the small kitchen. Debris littered the counter tops, jars full of spices and herbs lay on the floor, their contents dusted across the room. Claire rushed up the stairs, her steps ringing loud through the empty house.

Her room was untouched. Perhaps the big brutes couldn't fit up the narrow stairs. Her hands shook as she searched the room. Nothing. She ran across the hall to her mother's. The modest room was neat and tidy, everything still in its place. Just the way Mother liked it.

Her shoulders slumped as the search yielded no results. She walked across the room to a dresser and ran her fingers across a delicate jewelry box, tracing the bumps and lines of the flower carved into the wood. Memories of when she was a child came flooding back. Mother would always scold her when she found her digging through her jewelry box, trying on the colorful baubles and dangling earrings. She'd always yearned to look like the fine ladies that came through town in their fancy carriages, but never owned any jewelry herself. Her wages usually went to more practical things.

The contents glittered in the light as she lifted the lid. Her fingers dug through the jumbled mess, half expecting her mother's scolding to begin. The bracelet had always been her favorite, an exotic piece acquired on one of Mother's many adventures before she opened the tavern—adventures she never liked to talk too much about. She pulled the familiar shape from the box. The bracelet's chain was rounded and formed the shape of a snake; the silver worn with age and use. The head served as a clasp, swallowing its own tail. Its eyes sparked red with tiny rubies. The piece was as mysterious as its origin. But perhaps that was why she had always liked it.

"Anything?"

She jumped, dropping the bracelet on the dresser.

"No." Her voice was heavy with disappointment. She picked up the bracelet, put it around her left wrist and played with the clasp.

Farron walked over and set his bow on the dresser to help her fasten it. "We should get going then." He glanced out the window.

"Thank you," Claire said. It was strange. Although he had been mostly quiet on their journey so far, something was different about him. He didn't seem like the other elves in the forest—and not just because of his looks. But his whole demeanor was different, the way he talked, dressed, carried himself.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

She meant to thank him for not shooting her that night she had entered the forest and for agreeing to help her find her mother, but she didn't exactly know how to thank someone for not killing her.

A loud howl broke through the silence.

"Time's up," Farron said, snatching up his bow and her arm, then pulled her toward the door.

They flew down the stairs and out the door into the alley where Aeron waited with an urgent look on his face. The three of them ran south, away from the thunder of hooves. Farron dragged Claire along, his hand gripping her wrist tightly, her feet barely able to keep up with his demanding pace.

One of the beasts appeared at the end of the alley they were halfway down, blocking their escape. He brandished a spear covered in dried blood, a sneer forming on his thick brow.

Farron stopped abruptly and Claire crashed into him. Aeron drew his bow and swiftly let off an arrow. It struck the centaur in the shoulder, but he stood his ground. He let out a deep laugh as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder and cast it aside. Blood streamed down his arm from the gaping wound.

A snort from behind drew Claire's attention to the other end of the alley. A second centaur appeared, his face twisted into a snarl.

They were trapped.

Farron drew an arrow and aimed at the creature while Aeron focused on the other.

Claire stood in the middle of the two elves, her head snapping back and forth between the beasts. She was helpless. Without any training she would be useless in a fight. A sense of guilt mingled with her fear. She hoped that the elves didn't get hurt or die. There was no reason anyone else should have to risk their lives to protect her.

The second beast charged toward them and drew a curved sword, the metal of the blade glinting in the sunlight.

Claire's heart pounded in her chest. She drew her dagger with shaking hands and held it up before her in a vain attempt at defense.

Farron remained calm as he aimed, feet unmoving.

The centaur raised his blade high above his head ready to strike.

In one swift motion, the elf released the arrow. It struck the brute in the eye, sinking deep into his skull and the great beast tumbled in a lifeless heap at their feet.

"This way," Farron shouted and grabbed Claire by the arm once again.

They leapt over the mass of muscle and flesh and sprinted back down the alleyway. The one at the other end howled as he charged after them. They turned the corner onto the street, Aeron lagging behind followed by the rumble of hooves on dirt.

Claire glanced back at the beast. His face was clear with rage as he drew the spear up above his shoulder.

"Look out!" she shrieked.

Farron quickly dodged to the right and the spear soared past them. The tip slammed into the dirt in front of them with a heavy thud. He let go of her arm and she stumbled to the ground. He drew two arrows at once as he spun around in one fluid motion, taking quick aim before shooting. The centaur doubled over as he gripped the arrows lodged into his chest. Dark blood flowed through his fingers and down his torso as he yelled after them in his harsh native tongue.

Farron grabbed Claire again, pulling her to her feet and down another backstreet. They ran south toward the crop fields, Claire's feet barely touching the ground. Aeron trailed close behind, bow still in hand. Deep shouts followed them through the streets and narrow passages.

They crossed one of the wheat fields and plunged into the bordering forest. The forest grew thick, vines and brush scraped Claire's legs as they hurtled their way through the trees. Her chest grew heavy with exertion, and the pain in her side spread, sending sharp spikes through her ribs.

"Wait!" she cried as she gasped for air.

Farron slowed his pace before releasing her arm. She hunched over as she tried to catch her breath and glanced up at the two elves who seemed barely winded. She rolled her eyes and sheathed her blade.

"Give me a break," she muttered between gasps.

Her chest heaved furiously. A mixture of fear and excitement sent a slight tremble through her body. Of course, they would be in good shape. She cursed herself for not exercising more. The work at the tavern usually wore her out and kept her figure slim. But since running for her life seemed to be a rather common occurrence lately, she thought about practicing for it. Sprinting and running. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. Just thinking about it wore her out even more.

"I could carry you, my lady." Aeron offered with arms spread out wide, grinning.

"I'll manage." Claire stood up straight. She held onto her side as her breathing began to slow.

Shouts from the town faded into the distance as they continued deeper into the forest. This one was different from the forest to the north. Vegetation grew rampantly and small animals scurried away as they approached. It seemed full of life, unlike the eerie calm of the Elvin domain.

The trio remained quiet as they hiked through the trees for what seemed like hours. Her legs carried her forward tirelessly, as if they had a mind of their own, away from her home. Tears stung at her eyes, always on the verge of spilling over. Random thoughts played through her mind as she tried to keep from thinking about the ruined town and the faces of the dead. She couldn't change what had happened, couldn't even control her own fate.

"We will rest here for the night," Aeron declared as they entered a small clearing.

The sun had begun to set and dusk crept through the trees, accompanied by a chill breeze. Claire collapsed in the center of the clearing onto soft grass. Her body felt sore. So much abuse in such a short time took its toll.

"I will patrol the area. Farron, you get some rest as well." Aeron set his pack near Claire before he disappeared into the trees.

Claire's eyelids grew heavy, fast. She gave up trying to fend away the horrifying memories and visions and they came crashing down on her, flooding her mind. She turned over on the grass, curled into a ball and wrapped her arms around her knees. The weight of the memories was suffocating. Tears slid down her cheek as she began to weep quietly. Exhaustion eventually swept through her, pulling her down into the comforting dark depths of sleep.

Soft voices interrupted her dreams. Warm heat caressed her back. She listened to the muttered conversation for a moment before she opened her eyes. The two elves were talking in that pretty language of theirs. She sat up and an itchy woolen blanket that covered her fell to her lap. The elves stopped their conversation and looked at her from across a little campfire. She wondered what they were talking about as she rubbed her eyes, sore and swollen from crying.

"Good evening, my lady," Aeron said. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for some sort of reply.

Claire felt numb. Her body and spirit were tired, crushed. Visions of the earlier events had plagued her dreams. She'd tried to keep them away, but they leaked in whenever she let down her guard. It was exhausting.

She stared into the fire, the wool blanket wrapped around her. The orange glow was mesmerizing. She refused to believe that her mother was still in that town. She couldn't be. She had to remain strong, to have hope. But, what would she do if she never found her mother? The few friends that she had most likely fled with the rest of the townspeople. Or at least she hoped they had. The town was lost now, seized by the savages. There was no going back. Not to the way things were before. The thought made her stomach sink as it finally dawned on her. She would have to start a new life, find a new home and a way to survive. Nausea swept through her, the stress twisting her stomach into knots. All this time she had thought that she could return to her old life as if nothing had ever happened, but that was foolish. To be suddenly thrust out of her normal life into an unfamiliar world all alone was too much for her to handle. Perhaps she _was_ too sheltered.

"I'm sure she got out."

Farron's voice stirred her from her thoughts. She looked across the fire at him. He sat atop a log and inspected an arrow closely. Aeron sat across from him, his hands busy with a knife as he carved at a stick.

"I'm sure she did too." Her voice was soft. "It's just—" She struggled to find the words that explained how she felt. "I don't know what I'm going to do now. I've lost my home, my only family, my friends, my job. I don't know where I should go. I can't go back to Stockton and I can't go to where my mother is because I don't know where she is. I have this weird mark on my hand and you two won't tell me where we're going or what you want from me. I'm stressed, I'm tired and I'm scared."

She took a deep breath, feeling a little better after getting some of her thoughts off her chest. The two elves remained silent, looking a little uncomfortable. She hadn't meant to take it out on them. After all, they had saved her life and treated her well ever since she'd entered the forest, although that could have something to do with the strange mark.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm not blaming you. I should be thanking you two."

"Do not worry about it, _mon lainí_ ," Aeron said. "Here, eat this." He tossed a small wrapped object to her across the fire. "We will set out for Lendon in the morning. It is a human city. They might have fled there for shelter."

She'd heard of Lendon before, seen it on maps a couple times. Travelers and merchants would usually rest in Stockton before or after their stop there. It was, she'd heard, a city and a kingdom unto itself. Slowly its reach would expand as small villages and towns came under its rule, joining of their own volition. An offer the citizens of Stockton have refused many times over the years. Though the ruler, King Harold was thought of as being just and peaceful, the people of Stockton had their own way of doing things, and were not so willing to give up their freedoms so easily.

She unwrapped the object that Aeron tossed to her. It was a loaf of bread.

She had never been out of her hometown before and the thought of seeing a foreign place lifted her spirits some. Aeron was right. There could be some survivors in Lendon. If anything, it was a ray of hope and a much needed distraction from her own mind.

"Try not to worry too much. What happened is in the past. Take one step at a time or else you will feel overwhelmed. We will make sure that nothing happens to you," Aeron said.

She thought about Aeron's words. He was right. There was no point in worrying about the past. She had to move forward, to come up with a plan. For now, she would go along with the elves and worry about where to go after they were done with their mission. She closed her eyes and summoned her mother's strength. She didn't have time to sit around and mope. Mother had taught her better than that. She should make the best out of the situation, put the past aside for now and look forward. It was a good opportunity to see the world and discover new places. A dim flame lit inside of her, giving her a much-needed surge of confidence. She couldn't forget what had happened to her, but she could channel her sorrow into something more productive than sulking.

#

Chill morning air nipped at her exposed skin as they walked through the dense woods. Claire carried a small pack. She wanted to feel useful, so she offered to carry one and Aeron quickly obliged. What a gentleman.

Morning dew coated the forest and dripped off leaves as they passed underneath. Claire yawned, stretching her arms out above her head. Her body was sore, her legs ached with every step.

Farron took the lead again, silent as ever. Maybe he wasn't a morning person.

Aeron walked behind her, strangely quiet as well. Had she said something to offend them last night? She turned to look at Aeron, but tripped over a tree root, falling onto her hands and knees. Her body cried out in pain at the sudden jolt.

Aeron offered her a hand as a smile formed on his lips.

"Thanks." She brushed off her knees. "Did I happen to say anything to offend you last night?"

"Why would you say that, my lady?"

"Well, you're so quiet. It's usual for him, it seems," she nodded toward Farron, "but not for you."

Aeron laughed. "He is not used to mornings, you know. He may be a little irritable, so watch out."

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question.

"You see, Farron is on the night patrol. His normal, ah, disposition is actually quite pleasant."

"Oh," she replied, not knowing what to say. That could be the reason for all the black.

"As for me," he continued, "I am just thinking."

"About what?"

"His Majesty would never approve of us straying from our mission. He will have my head for sure." He covered his face with his hands and sighed heavily as he dragged them down it.

Claire was speechless again. His emotions were just too erratic. Guilt played at the edge of her mind, about them straying for some reason, even though she didn't know anything about their so called mission. She was just grateful to finally be out of that room. Searching for her mother helped keep her busy, and being busy kept her from going crazy.

"Does the king have to know?" she asked.

He sighed again. "We may have no choice. It depends on how the people react when they see us. We do not exactly have a glowing reputation with humans."

"Why not?"

Aeron chuckled. "I guess I have no choice." He crossed his arms as he walked. "You see, back before the Great War, about a hundred years or so, us elves were the rulers. Back then magic flowed through the land."

"Magic? You speak of tales, my friend." Children's tales, legends, stories. She'd heard them all, but never once thought any of it to be real.

"Magic existed. It may still in fact." His eyes flicked to the dark mark. "What exactly do you think that is on your arm?"

"A curse."

"And what do you think a curse is?"

She opened her mouth, but stopped and narrowed her eyes instead. If she hadn't seen it herself, the mark bursting to life, she wouldn't have believed any of it.

Aeron smiled before continuing on with his tale. "We were able to harness the power, building great cities and monuments." He spread his arms out wide, his eyes sparkling as if he remembered a great past. "Humans flocked to the cities, ruled by the powerful, ethereal beings. But soon the humans began to resent us, envious of our ability to use magic."

"Humans couldn't use magic?" It was her first time hearing such a tale, so she remained a little skeptical.

"Not at first. Tensions began to rise between the two. Humans wanted power; elves did not want to share. Any uprising was quickly suppressed. Over time, humans somehow learned how to use magic and war broke out, spreading quickly between cities. The magic devastated both sides, killing thousands, leaving civilization in ruins. Until one day... it stopped."

"It just stopped?" she asked.

"Yup," he said and splayed his fingers out wide. "Poof, it was gone. The magic just suddenly dried up, disappearing overnight."

"How can that happen?"

"No one really knows," he said, and held a finger up to her like a teacher. "But it did."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, the elves were outnumbered by the humans. Our kind does not procreate as fast as humans do, you know." He grinned at her.

Claire rolled her eyes. Of course he would work that into the story somehow.

"They panicked at the sudden loss of their powers and fled their cities, seeking shelter where the magic still flowed in the land. Like the forest, for example. It is faint, but magic still lives on there. _Ciana et Yaederre_ we call it. The city of hope. Humans eventually took our other cities and now rule supreme."

"But that was ages ago. Surely they can't still hold a grudge against you."

"That would be good. We have been locked up in that forest for so long no one really knows how things are now, how the people will react. His Majesty closed the forest off years ago, allowing no one to leave or enter. With a few exceptions, of course." He glanced ahead at Farron.

"He's not from the forest?" That could explain some things.

"No, and he refuses to tell me where he is from," he said rather dramatically. He sighed. "It is like he does not trust me."

"And to think elves have been in the forest all this time. I had no idea." She wondered if anyone in Stockton knew of their presence. And if so, why keep it a secret? That must have been why it was forbidden to enter, not because of wild beasts or some curse. "Why would the King close off the forest like that? Wouldn't it be better to get along with everybody?" She paused for a moment. "And how is it that you can speak our language for that matter?"

"We weren't always apart from your world, so of course we can speak your language. Most of us, anyway. Not all of us learn, or wish to speak it." Distress flickered across his face. "The magic is fading in _Ciana_. I can feel it. We all can. Soon we will be forced out, to live somewhere else, amongst the humans. The forest cannot provide all of our needs. Most of us are still too proud, clinging to their old beliefs, the old ways. Us elves, we may live longer, but I believe that makes us more averse to change. Or maybe we are just scared. Change can be scary, especially when you are used to," he paused, looking sideways at her "... being on top, as you would say."

"Well, I don't have anything against you." She sighed, her head ached trying to sort through all the new information. She'd never heard of the Great War before. Why hadn't Mother told her about it? Did other people know? It didn't seem like something people would just forget. "Besides, you can't control the things that your fathers before you have done. I've never even heard of the Great War before. I didn't even know your kind really existed until a few days ago. You seem mostly pleasant so far."

"That is kind of you, my lady." Aeron bowed slightly to her as they walked.

"Do you hate humans, Aeron?" So far, he didn't seem to, but he could have been nice to her because the elves had some need of her. And it couldn't hurt to ask, right?

Aeron took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No. Like you said, my lady, not even we can control what our ancestors did. There are a growing number of us who are starting to think that way. Perhaps they are getting tired of the forest. There are those who have spent their entire lives in _Ciana et Yaederre_ , never laying eyes on the outside world."

Pain stabbed though her chest. She supposed the same thing could have been said about her and Stockton. "Have _you_ ever left the forest?"

"Yes." Aeron looked up with a nostalgic air. "A long time ago, when I was young and daring, and even more handsome, a group of us left the forest to experience the outside world. But we avoided the humans and their towns. Years of being told humans were evil could have that effect on you, you know?" He glanced at her. "But we grew bored and got homesick, and eventually went back to the forest. That was the first unhappy encounter with His Majesty." He chuckled.

"The first of many, right?"

"How did you know, my lady?" he asked.

"Let's just call it a hunch."

It didn't make any sense, she thought. If they were so averse to humans, then why did they take her in? They treated her wounds and gave her a place to stay. And not just any place. If she were really just a prisoner, they would have kept her in a dungeon. She rubbed the mark on her right arm. It must have been because that thing showed up. The mark definitely wasn't usual. What is it they weren't telling her? Everything became a jumbled mess in her head in what was becoming an increasingly familiar feeling as of late.

They stopped to rest around midday. The sun burned high overhead and trickled in through the dense treetops. She sat on an overturned tree, the leaves on it somehow still green, unwilling to give up life just yet.

Aeron passed her a flask filled with water. She took a long gulp and handed it back. She examined the horizontal tree. It didn't give up just because it was knocked over. It fought for survival in its own way.

"Teach me how to fight," she blurted out. The thought struck her like a lightning bolt.

Aeron choked on the water he was drinking. "What was that?" he asked between coughs.

"I want to learn how to fight." She stood up and put her hands on her hips. If she could learn how to fight, she wouldn't feel so defenseless, so _helpless_. If she knew how, then she could have saved her mother. Could have protected her.

Aeron's amusement faded when she didn't back down. "You are serious?"

"Yes." Fire filled her. She wanted to become strong so she didn't have to rely on anyone anymore.

Aeron looked to Farron who leaned against a tree. The silver-haired elf just shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright," Aeron said with a smug, slightly amused look on his face. "Let us see what you have."

He stood a few feet in front of her, knees bent, hands out in front of him. She looked up at him, unsure of what he wanted her to do.

"Come on." He gestured with his hands in the air. "Draw your weapon and attack me."

"I don't think—"

"Just do it!"

She did and held it out before her in her right hand, although not quite sure of how exactly to hold it.

"Come on!" he shouted. "I am a centaur that invaded your town. Show me what you have!"

Claire charged at Aeron, raised the dagger above her head with both hands and sliced down at the elf. He easily dodged the small blade, stepping to the left. Claire lost her balance and tripped over a fallen branch. The blade flew out of her hands as she hit the ground hard.

Aeron laughed, a loud hearty sound. She glanced at Farron and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. She got up, brushed the leaves and dirt off her and marched over to Aeron.

"It's not funny!" she cried. "I'm serious. I want to learn how to fight!"

"That is what we are here for." Aeron spread his arms out in a flourish.

She turned around to begin the search for her blade. "I can't just rely on other people anymore." She picked up the dagger buried beneath some leaves and walked back to Aeron. "Besides, you two aren't going to be around for the rest of my life."

"Fine." Aeron sighed heavily. "First of all we need to work on your footing, and your stance is all wrong." He walked around her, like a butcher examining a cow. "You are too tense and your grip is weak. You cannot hesitate or be afraid to hurt your opponent. And you are not intimidating at all." He stopped in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. "It will take a lot of work, but I think I can teach you some basics."

Claire sheathed her dagger and bowed to him playfully. "I'll try my best, master." She glanced up at Aeron just in time to catch a flush of red on his face.

He ran his hands through his long hair. "Let us get going," he said before he turned and started to walk ahead. The teaser had become the teased it seemed.

Claire collapsed in front of the warm fire. Sweat dripped down her skin as she took deep breaths and leaned back against an old tree stump; its earthy smell filled her lungs. She stripped off her over-shirt down to the black shirt underneath, the thin straps leaving her shoulders bare.

Aeron had kept his word and worked her like a slave.

After walking all day, they set up camp and her training began. His demeanor changed from his usual easygoing self into the serious King's Guard that he was. His training was brutal and wore her out to near exhaustion, though she never once drew a blade. He was starting her out easy, he had said, building up her balance and strength with simple drills. It was going to take much longer than she'd thought. But, she wouldn't give in now. She had asked for it after all.

The sun had sunk low on the horizon and cast deep shadows throughout the forest, giving them a much-needed break from its harsh rays.

Aeron plopped down next to her. He was calm and cool, barely even breaking a sweat during the whole thing. He began to carve a long stick he had found out in the woods with a small knife.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"After I build up your strength and stamina we will start practicing with these." He held the stick up in front of him like a sword. Twigs still sprouted out from it, ruining the effect.

"With that?" She was unimpressed.

"Well, you cannot start practicing with the real thing just yet. You will get yourself killed, or worse, a limb cut off." He smiled and returned to his carving.

She glanced around the fire.

"Where's Farron?"

"He is probably off sulking."

"Really?" She hadn't known he was that unhappy about the mission. Perhaps that was why he hadn't spoken much since they left. Or since they'd met, as a matter of fact.

Aeron smirked. "You are too easy, _mon lainí._ "

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Perhaps she was.

"He actually volunteered for this mission, you know."

"Why?"

"Who knows?" Aeron shrugged. "No one really knows much about him. He is not exactly forthcoming about himself, as you can tell. He came to the forest a couple years ago seeking shelter, joined the guard and worked his way up the ranks. He is on the night patrol and mostly keeps to himself."

"So, you're his superior then?" She was shocked. That explained some of the friction between the two.

"Of course I am." He looked offended. "Although he is the better archer— the best shot in the forest, in fact."

"And what about you?"

"The most charming, of course." A sly grin spread across his lips.

Claire got up and stretched, rolling her eyes again. She should thank the other elf properly for everything he had done for her. Also, she was curious why he'd volunteered for the mission. Why would he volunteer but then seem so unhappy about it? She picked a direction at random and headed toward the trees.

"He is to the north." Aeron called after her. "Tell him to stop sulking and cheer up."

She paused and turned right. That Aeron just didn't know when to give up.

She tried to think of how to start a conversation with the aloof elf while she trudged through the trees. She couldn't just start out with a 'thank you'. Where would it go from there? It would end before it even started. That would be awkward, but it was really all she had at the moment.

She found Farron in a small clearing. His daggers and equipment lay in the grass along the edge of the tree line. She watched quietly as he drew an arrow and aimed at an unseen target. His movements were slow and precise, almost ritualistic.

"Would you like to try?" He released the arrow and it flew through the trees. A moment later he lowered the bow and looked over his shoulder at her.

She hesitated at the edge of the trees, surprised he had heard her approach.

"Sure," she said as she stepped into the clearing. He held the black bow out to her and she grasped the soft leather grip that spoke of countless firings. Geometric designs crawled up the sides, carved into the wood with great care. Nothing but the best for the elves, she guessed. "What am I aiming for?"

"You can try to beat my best score."

She came closer and followed his gaze. Several arrows protruded out of a tree deep into the forest.

"That!" she cried. "You really are a good shot." She turned back to him and pointed at the target. "There's no way I can hit that."

"You're not even going to try?" He raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you wanted to learn to defend yourself."

Claire's face flushed. What was with that? "Fine," she said as she thrust out her hand.

She'd show him she could do it. He handed her an arrow and she drew the string as far back as she could, aiming for the tree. She had never shot an arrow, but had watched the town's defense squad practice a few times before. The string slapped her wrist after she released it, stinging the skin. The arrow flew high through the air but buried itself in the dirt just short of the line of trees.

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. They had made it look so easy.

Farron chuckled behind her. "That was terrible."

She turned and glared at him. He did that on purpose, making her feel like a fool. Were all elves so sly? She rubbed her wrist; the welt from the bowstring was beginning to swell. It was the first time she had seen him laugh however. Maybe he wasn't the cold distant elf she had assumed him to be.

He offered her another arrow and she snatched it from his hand.

"Here." He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

She could feel a slight flush rise to her cheeks at his closeness. He was tall. Real tall. The top of her head just barely reached his shoulder. But then again, she always was a little challenged in the height realm. And he was strong, though more svelte than bulky. And striking, too. She couldn't deny that he was attractive, though his newly revealing attitude might make her do just that.

"Keep your feet shoulder width apart, back straight. When you draw, push with your bow hand as well as pull." He demonstrated the motion. "Remember to roll your bow arm in a little to avoid injuries. You want to keep your hand close to your chin to help you aim better, and then just release your fingers." He let go of the imaginary bow's string and looked down at her, waiting for her to try.

She drew the arrow and aimed at the tree, and he adjusted her hands and arms a bit. After a deep breath, she let the string go. The arrow flew into the trees, but her excitement dissipated as the arrow dug into the ground halfway to the target tree. Her arms fell limply to her side. It was better than the last one, at least.

She handed the bow back to Farron. "I don't think archery suits me well."

There was a slight uplifting at the corners of his mouth. He went to where his daggers lay in the grass, knelt down and started to dig around in his pack.

"Anyway," she said, "I came here to thank you."

He continued to dig through his pack, ignoring her words. She put her hands on her hips as she waited for a reply. Any reply.

He got up and walked back to her with a tiny vial in his hands. Claire's eyes grew wide. She remembered the last time an elf had a container with liquid. The results were not pleasant. He grabbed her left hand, turned it palm up and gently rubbed a light green liquid over the welt on her wrist. To her relief, the liquid was cool and soothing, tingling slightly where the skin was red and beginning to swell.

"You have already thanked me," he said. "You don't need to thank me every time I save your life. Besides, you're helping us; it's only fair."

"I thought I had no choice to come."

A smirk flashed on his lips as he turned away to put the vial back in his pack. He sat down on the grass and dug a cloth out of his bag. The elf then picked up one of his blades and started to wipe it down. The long curved sheaths were wrapped in black leather, the ends capped with a dull silver metal.

He wasn't going to make this easy.

Claire knelt before him and picked up the twin dagger. Black leather wrapped around the grip, topped off with a round pommel and guard.

"May I?" she asked.

"Be my guest."

The blade glimmered as she carefully drew it from the sheath. Sharp on only one side, the blade was thin and curved up into a point at the end. She held the weapon up in one hand, the sheath in the other. Simple and elegant, it was as long as her forearm. It was lighter than she expected, but still had a solid feel to it.

"Why did you save me that night?" The question had burned at the back of her mind ever since she'd woken up in the Elvin city. She sheathed the blade and laid it down between them in the grass.

"It's not every day you see a glowing tattoo."

"Do you know what this is?" She held her arm out in front of her.

Farron ignored her, his gaze fixed on his dagger as he cleaned it.

"Is this the reason why you saved me that night? You know something about it, don't you?"

He remained silent.

Irritated by his inattention, she grabbed the blade from him. "It's rude not to look at the person talking to you." She scrambled to her feet with the dagger clutched tight in her hands.

Farron rose to his feet slowly. His eyes pierced hers. He didn't seem amused. Claire took a few steps back. She wasn't so sure she wanted his attention now.

"That's what we want to find out." He held his hand out.

She clutched the weapon closer to her body and took another step back. He wasn't getting it back until she got some answers.

A cocky grin flashed across his lips. "You won't win." He took a step toward her.

"I think I have the right to know."

"I think you're right."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

He glanced at the mark on her hand. "There's really not much to tell."

There was something in that look. Back in the throne room he had had the same expression in his eyes when he had seen the mark. A flash of sadness or regret. It was hard to tell since he hid his emotions well.

"You're lying."

"I was ordered not to disclose the details of the mission."

"You've disobeyed orders before."

He just smiled. She clearly wasn't getting anywhere the way things were going.

"A challenge then." She held the dagger out before her. "If you catch me before I reach the tree with the arrows in it, you can have your precious weapon back. If I win, you tell me the big secret."

He took a step toward her. "You might as well just hand it over now."

Annoyance started to bubble up underneath her skin. Perhaps it _was_ better if the elf was quiet. This new side of him was rather surprising. Dark, brooding, even sulky she expected, but never arrogance. It didn't suit his ethereal looks one bit.

Her rising irritation gave her a boost of confidence. She glanced toward the line of trees to the target. "Deal?"

"Fine." He shrugged and let out a long breath.

Claire sprang for the forest. Her feet moved at a furious pace as she weaved in and out of the trees. If she ran in a zigzag pattern, she might be able to win. Resorting to games seemed rather immature, but she had to know.

About halfway to the tree, she glanced behind her. The elf was nowhere to be found, but she wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad. She turned at the last moment before she slammed into the elf in question. He grabbed the dagger and her hands slipped from the sheath as she lost her balance and fell back onto the ground.

"I told you, you wouldn't win." He leaned above her with a pleased look.

He offered her his hand, but she just glared up at him instead.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asked. "You're the thief."

How did he get in front of her so fast? She got up and brushed the leaves and dirt from her clothes. Embarrassment swirled inside of her. He didn't have to mock her.

She turned and started to walk back toward the clearing, suddenly ashamed by her childish antics. Mother would surely have scolded her if she were around. Unfortunately, she had never learned how to use her feminine wiles, although she had observed it nightly in the tavern. She'd just have to get her answers somewhere else then. Aeron might cave if she asked enough.

The sting of tears started in her eyes and she struggled to hold them back. She wasn't going to cry. Not over this. She'd been through enough these past few days; she didn't need this now. She wanted answers, progress, hope—not mocking comments or secrets. He'd been nice before—even earlier. It was like a different side of him just suddenly appeared out of nowhere, like some sort of defense. It was hard to figure out.

She reached the clearing and started to head in the direction of the campfire.

"Wait." Farron grabbed her arm, but he hesitated when he saw the tears running down her cheeks.

Claire yanked her arm out of his grasp. And then she was annoyed all over again. Annoyed that she couldn't control her feelings better.

"Just leave me alone." She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hand. "You can do whatever you want with me—it's not like I have anywhere else to go anyway."

Aeron sat in front of the campfire, still carving, still smiling. The bark was shaved off halfway down the stick and the twigs were missing, making it look a bit more like the fake sword it was supposed to be.

Claire sat down in front of the fire in silence. She had wiped away the tears before she reached camp. Aeron didn't need to know she was upset. He'd probably be overbearing if he did.

She stared into the fire. The warm glow was inviting and somewhat soothing. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

"I see you have discovered his charming personality," Aeron said.

"Who said I had to be charming?" Farron sat down on a rock across the fire from Claire. He set his weapons down by his feet, avoiding her gaze.

"It is not nice to make girls cry, you know."

"I didn't mean to."

Her efforts to hide her tears were in vain. She didn't want to even look at Farron at the moment. Why did he have such a bad attitude? No one had forced him to come along on this mission.

"You have been so quiet lately, I was starting to worry," Aeron said.

"I didn't want to miss all your exciting stories."

Aeron laughed. "Oh, Farron, you always have been my favorite."

Claire stretched out onto her side, and turned her back to the flames and the elves. She fell asleep in a sour mood that night.

#

Tension hung stagnant in the air.

Claire had been in a bad mood since the night before and her eyes were puffy once again. Crying and no sleep took their toll on her body. She felt tired and ragged.

The sun was low in the sky. They had walked all day through the seemingly endless forest. She had hoped for a change in scenery. Instead, all she got were the same old trees.

Aeron tried to lighten the mood by telling some more of his stories. This time they focused on his adventures in the forest patrol. Claire half listened and nodded along dutifully to the tales. Farron remained several steps ahead of them as usual, quiet as ever.

She wondered when they would reach Lendon. A bath would be nice, a soft bed glorious. Although not a princess, she'd grown tired of sleeping on the hard ground. It made the bones ache and the joints stiff. She felt older than frail Mrs. Wilfred, her neighbor who was still alive and kicking after seventy five years. If there was ever proof that magic still existed, then she was it. That is, if she'd gotten away that night.

The soil had slowly turned thin and rocky over the course of the day. Gray boulders sprang up from the earth between the trees, giving a little bit of variety to the scenery.

The seemingly boundless forest finally ended late in the afternoon, giving way just before a sheer drop. Farron stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing out at an expansive valley below as he waited for Claire and Aeron to catch up.

Claire gaped as she stepped out from the forest. Now this was more like it.

The sky burned with shades of orange, red, and yellow. Clouds spread through the sky, ablaze with the vibrant hues of the setting sun. The valley below was golden. The fields of tall grass and crops swayed in waves, starting at one end and sweeping down to the other in a mesmerizing pattern. Mountains stood across from them, their imposing stature silhouetted against the colorful sky.

It looked like a painting. She'd never seen anything like it before. But Claire made sure she stood well back from the edge of the cliff as she took it all in.

Farron pointed down into the valley. "There's Lendon."

She stepped slowly toward the edge and craned her neck to look where he pointed. Tiny dots of light glimmered deep down in the valley, behind immense walls of dark gray stone. The city already looked inviting. And a little bit intimidating.

"We will camp here for tonight," Aeron pronounced.

Disappointment dulled her excitement. They were so close. "Why stop here?"

Aeron sat down on a large boulder by the edge of the trees. "Climbing down the side of a cliff gets tricky in the dark."

She glanced back at the cliff and hoped he was joking.

"Besides, we need to come up with some sort of story or cover. Two elves strolling into town in the middle of the night would be a little suspicious."

"He's right," Farron said, though he didn't seem happy about the admission.

They set up camp a little ways into the forest so the fire didn't attract any unwanted attention.

After dinner, Claire wandered through the dark forest to the cliff side overlooking the valley. She stepped carefully through the trees in fear of falling blindly over the edge. When she reached the clearing where the trees stopped and the valley began, she climbed up onto the boulder Aeron had sat on earlier.

The night sky was crisp and clear, the moon's bright glow illuminating the valley with a silvery light. Millions of stars peeked out from behind scattered clouds and a cool breeze raised goose bumps down her arms.

She sat silent on the boulder as she stared out at the valley, and let her mind wander. Her body was too tired and worn out to train with Aeron, lacking the spirit and energy for fighting. He seemed a little disappointed when she'd declined.

She looked down at Lendon. It glittered like a new set of crystal wine glasses deep in the valley. Claire closed her eyes and made a wish: that she would find her mother in that town or at least some sort of clue. Although none of her wishes have ever come true, she hoped this was the one that stuck. The survivors had to go somewhere.

After a few moments Claire opened her eyes and gasped.

Farron leaned back against the edge of the boulder, his back bare of the weaponry he usually carried.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people." Her voice was breathy. She laid back on the rock and clutched at her chest, waiting for her heart to slow its furious beating.

"I didn't want to interrupt." He looked back at her over his shoulder.

Her hand squeezed the bridge of her nose. "What do you want?"

He took a deep breath and released it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to act like that the other day. I know you've been through a lot—"

"Stop." She sat up, holding her hand up in front of her. "I'm trying not to think about it; I'll break down if I do. I didn't inherit Mother's strong spirit, I'm afraid."

He waited quietly.

"Aeron was right," she began, "I can't change the past. There's nothing I can do about it now, no matter how much I cry. I can only change what I can do _now_." She made a fist in the air with her right hand. "And if that means traveling with a pervert and an elf with an attitude, then so be it."

Farron climbed up onto the rock next to her. "I'm not as mean as you might think."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Claire took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting some of the tautness ease from her body. The elf was different from before. The cocky pretense was gone, replaced by a calmer air.

They sat in silence for a while. Claire looked up at the night sky again, trying to find the star she'd made a wish on. Legends say that if the star went out, then the wish would come true. She'd stopped believing the tale when she was still a small child, but now, she was willing to try anything, no matter how silly it seemed, to get her old life back. It'd only been just over a week since that dreadful night. Somehow, it felt like ages. Her hopes were dashed when she spotted her star, still bright and glowing. It wasn't too hard to find, the third brightest from the horizon.

A deep sigh escaped her. There was a reason she stopped believing in those legends.

"I just feel so lost," she said, breaking the silence. She had to glance over to make sure he was still there. "All my life she's been there by my side. And now she's gone. Now I have to choose my own path. It's a little overwhelming. And scary." She wasn't sure why she was telling him all of this. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to, and he'd just so happened to be the closest around. Or maybe it was because there was a calmness to him—unexpected, but entirely welcome—that made it easier to talk to him. "It may have not been much of a life, but I was... happy." She straightened up and smiled to try and hide her growing embarrassment. "I must sound so silly."

"Not really," he said. "Some would give up everything for a peaceful life."

She mulled that one over, somewhat surprised at his words. She knew she would, not that she had much to give up these days.

"May I?" He held his hand out, the black gloves gone.

It took her a second to realize what he was asking for. She held her right hand out, the intricate mark dark against her skin in the low light. "Be my guest," she replied, imitating the way he said the words the day before.

He took her arm gently, but his hands avoided the mark. "It's strange." His eyes had the same faraway look from the day before.

"What is?" she asked.

"That a magical mark would show up on a human."

"But, I thought humans could use magic too."

"They could, but not naturally. They only obtained the use of magic through special objects, talismans, things of that sort."

"Really?" She looked down at the mark, her brow furrowing in confusion. Aeron forgot to mention that part. If that was the case, then it really _was_ strange that it had appeared on her.

"Does it hurt?" His hand hovered over her arm just above the skin.

"No, not now at least."

He brought a finger down and traced the design, his touch as light as a feather. Claire gasped lightly and he quickly jerked his hand away. She laughed. She couldn't believe she actually got him. Revenge certainly was sweet.

"Why would a magical mark show up on me of all people? Or at all for that matter?" Her voice had a twinge of amusement to it. This whole magic and war thing was new to her and she had a hard time wrapping her mind around it.

"I do not know." He didn't seem as amused as she was. "That's what we're going to find out." He dug a long strip of cloth out of his pocket, took her arm again and started to wrap it around her hand.

"What are you doing? It doesn't really hurt, you know."

"It's probably best if we keep this hidden for the time being. We'll be suspicious enough the way it is," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"What that fool said before was true, although he left out an important fact." He tied the ends of the cloth together in a bow just before her elbow.

"Like what?"

"Humans weren't just jealous of the fact that the elves could use magic. They were tired of the way they were treated. Most humans were second-class citizens, used and looked down on. The Great War is often called The Revolution."

Claire's mouth dropped open. Aeron had left that part out as well. "Why didn't he add that to his little story?"

"He probably didn't want you to hate him... us."

She sighed. "I don't. It's not like you've hurt me. Not yet, at least." She looked down at her newly bandaged arm. "Do you think Mother knew?" The thought had bothered her for a while now. Why else would she send her into the forest alone that night?

"It's possible." He looked up at her, then glanced away. "It's also possible that she just wanted you to survive at any cost. Who knows?" He shrugged. "You can ask her yourself when you find her."

The corners of her mouth tugged. She was surprised at his uplifting words. She played with her mother's bracelet on her left arm, running her fingers over the worn silver. "Why did you come with us?"

He looked down. "Curiosity," he said, "and maybe a sense of duty. I feel somewhat responsible for getting you into this mess."

"How very noble of you." Claire laid back down on the boulder and stared up at the night sky. "That wasn't so hard, was it? It's not much of a secret if you don't really know anything yourself."

"I told you there's not much to tell. Even I don't know all the details. I'm just the hired help to keep that fool out of trouble."

"Why do you hate Aeron?"

"I don't hate him. He just drives me crazy. Can you believe he's my superior?"

The thought amused her. Their personalities were at the opposite ends of the spectrum. "You should try to get along at least, or else this trip will seem even longer."

"Yeah, yeah." He dismissed her remark with a shrug.

Claire closed her eyes. The hard rock beneath her was unpleasant but she was too tired to care. Tomorrow they would be in Lendon and one step closer to finding her mother.

She peeked one last time to check if Farron was still there. The elf remained silent next to her as he stared out across the valley. He looked deep in thought.

She wondered if he told her everything, but had the feeling that he hadn't.

She closed her eyes again and curled up on her side, using her arm as a pillow.

Maybe he wasn't so mean after all. Everyone must have their bad days. Even elves.

#

"Oh, no. I am not doing that!" Claire pointed back at the cliff. She thought they were just kidding last night. "Can't we just find another way, like a road or a path? Steps even?"

The valley below looked much more real in the bright morning light. And deeper. And wider.

Farron unraveled a long rope, the end pooling at his feet.

Silently, she cursed her decision to sleep on a boulder. Bruises were already forming on her back and she was not looking forward to adding more.

"You are not afraid of heights, are you, my lady?" Aeron asked with a thinly veiled look of amusement.

"I don't know. I've never dangled over the side of a cliff before." She took a step toward the edge and peered down. It was a steep drop, leveling out after twenty feet or so. The valley made it seem deeper than it was.

"It's the fastest way down. We'll have a straight shot to Lendon down the valley. We'd have to back track in order to reach the pass," Farron said, straight to the point. He tied one end of the rope around a tree and yanked on it to check for any weaknesses, then gathered the loose end up and threw it over the edge. "Besides, it's not that far down."

Claire's mouth gaped open. She couldn't believe they were making her do this. The last seconds of her life started to count down.

"Do not worry. You will be fine." Aeron put his hands on her shoulders. "I hope."

She watched as Farron leaned back over the edge, rope in hand. Then he rappelled swiftly down the face of the cliff, making the task look easy.

A cold sweat broke out over her skin.

"Do I have to do it like that?" She turned to Aeron with a pleading look on her face.

"Well, maybe not as showy, but you get the basic idea, right?" He led her to the edge and put the rope in her hands. "Just hold on for dear life and let your feet walk you down."

He had to be kidding. She sighed. That was advice from Aeron. She gripped the rope in her hands so hard it threatened to become a part of her and peered over the edge. Farron stood at the bottom and motioned for her to come down.

"I think I'll just take the pass and meet you two in Lendon."

Aeron grabbed her by the shoulders. "You can do this. I know you can. Think of it as training. It will build strength and courage." He talked like a father trying to convince a child.

"Fine." Claire took a deep breath. "I better get to sleep in a nice soft bed after this."

Aeron helped her down over the ledge. Claire's feet struggled to find a foothold on the steep rock wall.

"Lean back a little, push with your feet."

She followed his instructions and her feet felt a little more solid against the steep wall. Her descent was slow and torturous as she began to slide down the rope. She refused to look behind her. Instead, she kept her focus forward, concentrating on each step she took and the rough rope in her hands. Just one foot after the other—

"Just a little bit further."

Farron's voice broke her concentration. Immediately, she froze and started to panic. She looked behind her and her vision spun; the valley below seemed to swallow her up. Farron stood a couple feet below her and motioned for her to hurry up with his hands.

"I can't." She closed her eyes for a second to stop the spinning.

"Just let go."

"What?" Her voice was shrill. "You're insane!"

"I'll catch you."

"No!" She clamped her eyes shut and began her descent again. She took slow, careful steps, until her foot slipped on a loose rock and sent her dangling from the rope.

"Just let go!"

This time she did, putting her trust in the elf. She fell, crashing into Farron and onto the ground.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He got up, dusted himself off and offered his hand.

She took it and the elf pulled her up with ease. "Well, at least I know I'm afraid of heights now." She looked up to the top of the now looming cliff. Aeron had begun his descent and finished in a quarter of her time. "Show off," she murmured.

The rest of the trek into the valley was easy. The gentle slope proved to be a much more pleasant journey. Claire stepped carefully among the boulders that jutted out of the side of the mountain. The only vegetation consisted of shrubs and grass, with the occasional small twisted tree.

Claire caught up to Aeron. Farron walked ahead as usual, although the distance seemed less, she noted.

"So tell me," she began, "what exactly do the elves think I can do for them? I mean, why the showy send off?"

He seemed startled by her sudden question. "Well..." he paused and took a deep breath. "You see—"

"I already know about the mark," she said.

"You told her?" he asked the elf walking ahead of them.

Farron shrugged. "It's better if she knows. Besides, it's easier to keep a secret if you actually know the secret to be kept."

Aeron sighed and mumbled a few words under his breath in his native tongue as he ran his hands through his hair. "The King will have my head for sure. Never follows orders..." he muttered more to himself than her. "Well, now that you know, are you going to abandon the mission? The King wants to use you to help the elves."

"I don't think that it will be in my best interest, or humanity's," she said with a slight grin.

His face fell. "You told her that too?"

Farron just shrugged again. "It's a part of history, she'd find out sooner or later."

Aeron's shoulders slumped, distress clear on his face.

Claire smiled. How dramatic. "It's alright, I don't hate you. It's not like you were there, you can't control the past any more than I can. I'm just upset that you left that part out."

Aeron lightened up a bit. "Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, I really don't have anywhere else to go at the moment. I'm quite curious about this thing myself." She held up her bandaged arm.

Aeron smiled and looked ahead into the distance. "They think that you can save them. They have been huddled in that forest for years, and then all of a sudden you showed up. The girl with the magic mark." He glanced down at her. "Even though you were just escaping from your town, they look at it as destiny, like you were sent to us for a reason. That is the way we think. Our belief. Most of us anyway. _Eaven has fe á reanno._ Everything happens for a reason. Magic disappeared as a punishment to us. But now we have repented enough. Have hidden away from the world enough. It is time to return to the world. That is why they came to see you off."

"But why do you need me to return to the world? Why not just do it?" She had a feeling he wasn't telling the whole truth again.

"Because you are our hope. Whether you were sent to us for a reason or not, you are the first spark of life we have had in years, decades even. Already there has been talk of change. If magic has chosen a human, then they cannot be that bad, can they? You have caused quite the stirring, _mon lainí._ " He glanced at her. "There are those that wish to take back what is ours, and then there are others that believe we can reason peacefully. But all are waiting for your return. Our little _yaederrí."_

The weight of his words sat heavily on her shoulders. She didn't like the idea of the elves placing so much responsibility and hope in her. She was just a girl from a small town who knew nothing of the world until a few days ago. "It's foolish to put all your hopes in me. We don't even know what this is yet. What can I do that you two can't? I can't fight, I'm not worldly, and I'm not very brave."

A hint of sadness touched his face. "We shall see." He stretched his arms out in a flourish. "Meanwhile, just relax and take in the sights. Let me be your guide!"

Claire sighed. Honestly, Aeron's emotional ups and downs were very tiring. "By the way, where's the stick you were carving?"

Aeron took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "That thing just was not suitable for you, my lady."

"Meaning he overestimated his carving abilities," Farron chimed in.

Claire smiled and looked at Aeron. He had an annoyed look on his face.

"Yes, well, we cannot be good at everything now, can we?" he said and turned to Claire, "I will search the markets endlessly for a suitable sword for you, my lady." He bowed to her as they walked.

"Please do, kind sir." She bowed back, giving in to his flamboyant behavior. "And what about our disguise?"

"I was so distressed over the ruined sword I completely forgot." He sighed rather theatrically.

"Also meaning that he drank too much and passed out in front of the fire."

Claire looked up at Aeron surprised.

"Well, you cannot deny an elf his simple pleasures now, can we?"

Claire laughed. She was starting to wonder how he'd managed climb up the ranks. Scenarios raced through her mind. Maybe he had some dirt on someone high up, or maybe he had had an affair. She studied the tall blonde elf. There had to be something he was hiding.

"If you stare at me any longer you will make me blush." He grinned from ear to ear.

She snapped back to the present and blushed herself. They had reached the bottom of the valley and now trekked through the tall grass that covered the fields. Lendon's stone walls loomed in the distance.

"How about traveling musicians?" She brought the subject up again. Musicians would often come to play in Mother's tavern. The atmosphere became lively, full of people singing and dancing, forgetting about their troubles for a night.

"I like it!" Aeron brightened.

"Can either of you sing or play instruments?" Farron slowed his pace and waited for them.

"No," she said. She didn't have a musical bone in her body. The idea just seemed fun. "Can you?"

"No."

"So there is something you are not good at!" Aeron seemed a little too excited at the revelation.

Farron ignored his outburst. "We need something a little more plausible."

"How about I am a prince, traveling with my servant and mistress?" Aeron wriggled his eyebrows at Claire.

She rolled her eyes.

"I said plausible, not idiotic." Farron crossed his arms.

"Well then, what is your idea, my liege?"

"Diplomats traveling with their human attendant."

"Like that is believable!" Aeron started to laugh. "You, a diplomat!"

"Why not?"

"You are likely to cause more wars than stop them."

"Wait a minute!" Claire interrupted their little dispute. She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Why am I always the servant?"

The two elves looked back at her in unison.

"I will be Lady Claire DuBonte from the north, traveling with her two Elvin servants." She held her chin high and motioned in the air with her hand before laying it lightly on her chest.

"So now we are the servants?" Aeron asked. "There is only one type of servant I would be."

"Guards then," she corrected, quickly. "The best that money could buy."

Farron nodded. "It's fairly believable."

"Fine, then it is settled." Aeron brightened again. He seemed to like the prospect of a double life. "I will protect my lady with all my might and wisdom." He offered her his arm and she took it.

"Now I just need to figure out how to act like a lady."

"That is easy," Aeron said, "just hold your head up high and act like you are better than everyone else."

"You have those too, huh?" All too well, she knew how most of Stockton viewed her and her mother, but however much she despised those kinds of people, she always dreamed of being one. Their lavish dresses and parties, to be waited on and be someone important; all of it just seemed so far out of reach. This charade may be the closest she could get to that dream.

The dirt road that led into Lendon stretched far into the distance to wind its way up through a pass, a chip in the impenetrable vastness of the mountains. A few wagons pulled by oxen made their way slowly toward the town; most likely farmers or traders coming to sell their wares.

Claire stepped onto the path and brushed the hitchhikers off her pants. She looked up in amazement at the great stone walls, weathered gray with age. Huge, thick oaken doors swung inward to reveal a lively market just inside.

She gripped Aeron's arm tightly as they approached the immense gate. Her heart beat faster with anticipation, nervous and excited all at once. Aeron patted her hand in a reassuring gesture.

Guards stood at the gate, one on each side, dressed head to foot in gleaming metal plate armor. Their interest piqued as the trio entered, but the two elves kept walking, ignoring their stares, and the guards remained in their positions. Claire breathed a sigh of relief, she thought for sure they'd be stopped.

The market bustled with activity. Crowds surrounded brightly colored booths as the owners shouted out their wares for sale. A few people stopped to stare at the elves, trying to hide their whispers and pointed fingers, but Aeron stood tall with an amused expression, looking like he enjoyed all of the extra attention.

Claire gazed up at the two-storied buildings, wood and brick, not too different than the ones in her hometown. Plain and simple, just like the people. The women wore dresses in muted colors, the men dressed in pants and shirts of the same nature. She was a little underwhelmed—she had hoped for something a little more—exotic. She glanced down the street, and that's when she spotted it in the distance, just the exotic fare she was hoping for. A great palace stood atop a hill, gleaming bright like fresh white linens in the sun. A huge domed roof sprouted up in the middle of the long flat building. Tall spires stood at each end, topped with roofs that curved to a point. It was magnificent, but seemed a little out of place in the surrounding town.

"Ladies do not gawk," Aeron murmured to her.

"Oh, sorry," she whispered. She had almost forgotten her new identity. She put on an air of importance that she had seen so many ladies do before.

Aeron chuckled at her attempt.

They wound their way through the throngs of people further down the main road. Farron stopped in a little area between shop stalls.

"I'll go find a room for the night." He scanned the street. "You can start asking around about survivors and see the sights. Just try not to raise too much suspicion." He looked at Aeron.

"Yes, my lord." Aeron bowed to the other elf.

Farron disappeared without another word.

"Wait, how are we supposed to find him?" She'd already lost the elf in the mass, which she'd assumed would be next to impossible to do.

"Just follow the trail of crying women." Aeron offered his arm once again. "Shall we?"

They strolled along the market and stopped at a few booths to examine their wares and admire jewelry and trinkets she could never afford. Aeron quietly obliged as she looked, soaking up all of the extra attention he was drawing. She knew she should ask about the refugees, but she didn't know where to start. Each stop she made was a procrastination. She didn't see any familiar faces, no signs of displaced people. Everyone just bustled about with their everyday lives. Did they even know what had happened to Stockton?

She looked around the teeming market. A solitary man leaned against a wall between booths. That could be a good start. Aeron followed close behind her as she made her way across the street.

"Excuse me." Her voice was unsure but polite.

The scruffy man looked at her. A pipe dangled from his mouth and his plain clothes hung loose on his scraggily frame, skin tanned to a leathery brown.

"Yeah." His voice was hoarse and had a twinge of an unfamiliar accent. He looked her up and down with a suspicious glare in his brown eyes.

"I was wondering if you knew anything about any refugees in this town or anywhere." She decided to keep it short and to the point.

"Nope, little lady, I sure don't. Just got here from the south myself. Mayhaps you try some of the townsfolk here." He gestured to the street behind her with a sweep of his hand.

"Thanks." She turned and looked at Aeron.

"The first of many," he said with a reassuring smile.

The elf followed close behind her as she asked various people in the market. Some answered politely, others refused to talk, a few were offended she even approached them. The only thing any of the responses had in common was the fact that no one knew anything about any refugees. The few that asked why she was looking seemed surprised to hear that Stockton had been attacked at all and said that they had never heard anything.

"It's strange," she said as she collapsed onto a bench in a central square. The road circled around a small patch of gardened land in a roundabout with streets that stretched off in all directions. Horses clopped noisily on the cobblestone as they pulled carriages along, some elegant, some simple.

"Indeed it is." Aeron sat next to her.

"It's like the whole thing never even happened. You'd think that at least some survivors would have made it here." She gazed out at the busy road, her eyes seeing everything and nothing. "Or at least some news. Anything."

"Did your town have good relations with this one?"

"I think so. No, I'm sure of it. We used to get travelers all the time in the tavern, many of them were traders from here." Her shoulders slumped and she rested her elbows on her knees.

"Well, why don't we continue this tomorrow in another part of town?" He rose to his feet in front of her. "We will get some rest, have a nice warm bath, and start fresh. What do you say?"

"Do I have to bathe with you?"

Aeron laughed. "You catch on fast, my lady."

She rose to her feet. The disappointment of the day weighed heavy in her heart. "Lead the way, my gallant knight." She took his offered arm and they plunged into the chaos once more.

He led her down a narrow side street off the busy roundabout. The crowds grew sparse, the buildings more residential and quiet with fewer shops and businesses dotting the street. A small group of men hovered around a window several paces down. The sign above read 'Brawner's Inn' in bold black lettering.

"That should be the one," Aeron pronounced.

"How can you tell?"

"I know how he thinks." He seemed sure of himself.

The men around the window dispersed when they saw Aeron approaching. They meandered down the street, watching the elf with curious, suspicious eyes.

Aeron smiled as he opened the door and gestured with his other hand. "After you, my lady."

Lively music drifted from the back of the room, mixing with laughs and conversation from the crowd. The doorway was cramped, but opened up to a high ceiling, dangled with modest black, wrought iron chandeliers. Booths covered the left wall and a small dance floor filled with people sat in the middle, beyond a sea of tables and chairs. A bar stretched the length of the wall to the left. The modest interior was mostly oak and pine: the tables, the chairs, the floor. A poor man's bar.

Claire stood near the entrance. The feeling of the tavern was familiar and the energy brightened her mood a bit.

"Ah, there." Aeron pointed to the bar.

Farron sat atop a barstool, hunched over a drink, his weapons and pack gone. A woman with an ample bosom leaned in close to him. She wore a low-cut deep green dress and had a mess of russet ringlets on top of her head.

Claire was impressed at Aeron's ability to find his partner so efficiently. "So, what did you mean about that comment earlier?"

"Watch and see." He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Despite what it may seem, Farron is actually quite popular with the ladies."

The woman leaned in closer and brushed her bosom up against his arm. He took a drink and whispered something in her ear. A look of disgust showed on her face and she quickly hopped off the stool and stormed away in a huff. He smirked as he turned back to the bar.

Aeron sighed. "Unfortunately he is just not that good with them. How come they do not flock to me like that?"

Claire remained silent at that.

"Aren't I just as good looking?"

"Sure," she answered plainly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, "but he's got the whole dark mysterious thing going on. Women love that—they see it as a challenge. Saw it in the tavern all the time."

"Really? So if I act like him, I will be swarming with women?"

"Yes, well, maybe." The prospect just seemed too amusing to pass up. "You should try it."

"I will show him who is mysterious," Aeron mumbled as he walked off into the crowd. He plopped down at a small table in the center of the room, his face solemn and cold, and took off his sword and pack and laid them on the table in front of him. An anxious bar maiden sidled up to his table and he tried his best to act like his partner.

Claire shook her head and made her way across the room to climb onto the recently vacated barstool next to Farron.

"Any luck?" He took a swig from the mug in front of him.

She could barely hear him above the noise of the crowd and the music. "No." She glanced back to check on the other elf's progress. Aeron sat huddled over his drink with a distressed look on his face, clearly overplaying the sulking part. Laughter burst out of her lips at his ridiculous attempt, and she covered her mouth with her hand to try to stifle the sound.

"What's so funny?" Farron asked.

Claire nodded toward Aeron and Farron looked over at the depressed-looking elf. "He's trying to act like you."

Farron sighed heavily. "And why is he doing that?"

"It's an experiment."

He turned back to the bar and took another sip from his mug.

"What did you say to that woman before?"

Farron choked on his drink and coughed as he set the mug down on the bar. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand as an amused look crossed his face. "You saw that, huh?"

Claire waited for an answer.

"Maybe I'm just not good with women."

"I don't believe you."

He chuckled and she instantly felt the eyes of every woman in the bar on her. Yikes. She glanced back again at Aeron. A brave ash-blonde woman sat next to him and leaned close over the corner of the table as he continued with his act. Claire turned back to face Farron, her eyebrow cocked expectantly. He wasn't dodging this one. Sure, their first encounter had been a little rocky, but she knew he wasn't mean.

"Do you really want to know?"

She waited.

"I'm certain you know quite well what she wanted." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Claire smiled; she did.

"I just told her that my services weren't cheap. She was offended I wasn't swayed by her feminine wiles and stormed off."

"You do that sort of thing?"

"I didn't always live in the forest," he reminded her. "Had to survive somehow."

She was speechless for a second, having unraveled a piece of his past. Now she knew why he wanted to keep it such a secret. "I can't believe it, you of all people."

"And I can't believe you bought it."

She gawked at him. "Very funny. Did you tell her that story?"

He just grinned and downed the last of his drink.

A loud slap cut through the noise of the bar then. Claire spun around and scanned the room. The woman that had been talking with Aeron stormed away. The elf sat at the table, rubbing his cheek with his hand.

"It looks like he has the same talent with women as you do," Claire said. "Well, time to send in the reinforcements." She hopped down off the barstool and wound her way through the tables. She sat in the seat adjacent to the elf. Farron sat across from her. "Do I even want to know what you said?"

Aeron took a lengthy gulp from a wooden mug, tipping it up high to finish it off. He threw his arm up in the air for the barmaid. An older woman with gray streaks in her blonde hair and a skip in her step hurried over and he held up three fingers to her. She nodded and made her way toward the bar. Curious onlookers snuck glances in their direction; it was a surprise the people remained so calm about the strangers, not starting any trouble—so far, at least. Claire was grateful. She already had too much on her plate the way things were.

"Farron, my friend, I just do not know how you do it. Being all sulky, it is exhausting."

"For the last time, I don't sulk."

Claire patted Aeron on the arm. "It's alright, I'm sure you'll do fine being yourself."

"There is just no hope for me." His sigh was exaggerated. "How about you, my lady? I am sure all the boys flocked to you in your little town."

She looked down at her hands that played nervously with a strap on Aeron's pack. "Adopted barmaid isn't exactly an appealing prospect. Even in my little town."

There was a moment of silence at the small table.

"You were adopted?" Aeron asked as his eyebrows shot up to the ceiling.

"Yes. It's not that strange these days, is it?"

The two elves exchanged looks.

"Look, I know what you're thinking. Even though she's not my real mother, she's the closest thing I have to one. She raised and took care of me. As far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me."

There was another pause at the table.

"Did you have any luck this afternoon?" Aeron turned to Farron.

The barmaid came back with a tray full of drinks and carefully set the mugs down on the table. The older woman looked up at the two elves and smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing, and then she glanced away. She turned and made her way to the group of barmaids huddled in the corner by the bar. Claire could faintly hear their shrieks and giggles, no doubt gushing about the newcomers.

"None." Farron gripped the handle on his mug tight, avoiding Claire's gaze.

"You didn't have any luck either?" she asked. "Don't you think it's strange? What could have happened to everyone? Where did they go?" She looked down into her mug and took a sip of the dark ale. Her face twisted at the sour taste.

"It's possible they could have fled to Alexos," Farron said. "Unfortunately, it's the other way."

A port city to the east, Alexos was not under Lendonian rule, though it was one of their main traders, Stockton being an almost midway point along the route. A place she'd always hoped of seeing, a great city along the sea, but it looked like that dream would be quashed as well. "So you're saying we can't go there?"

"You might have forgotten, but we're still on a mission." Farron's icy eyes bore into her from across the tiny table. She returned his look, not willing to back down so easily.

"Now, now." Aeron waved his hands in the air between them. "We can still look around tomorrow. Someone in this town might know what is going on." He held his mug up in the air. "Here is to finding your mother. And not getting mauled by the people of Lendon."

Claire shifted her gaze to Aeron. She was grateful that he was there to lighten the mood. She held her mug up and they both looked at Farron, waiting for him to do the same.

"Yeah, yeah," he caved.

They clanged their mugs together and drank.

"Besides," Farron continued, "there's no guarantee that they even went to Alexos. There are several small towns in the outlying region."

"Yeah, I guess." She was just anxious to find someone, anyone that she knew. She wanted to see a familiar face. Someone she could connect her past to. The present felt all too much like a dream. Mother was a tough broad and it would take a greater enemy than the centaurs to bring her down. Her mind wouldn't let her believe anything else.

"Something's bound to turn up sooner or later," Farron said.

It must be his version of being nice. At least he tried. She took another sip of the sour drink. She had always preferred the sweeter wines and liquors. The bitter ales seemed to be a man thing.

"Do you dance, my lady?" Aeron asked.

Claire looked up to the couples that moved to the lively music. She didn't recognize the dance.

"Why not," she shrugged. Most of the people in the tavern would be too drunk to notice if she messed up. She undid her belt and set her dagger on the table along with Aeron's things.

Aeron bowed, offered his arm, and led her to the little dance floor. A few women eyed her maliciously, but they'd already had their chance.

"Go easy on me, _mon lainí_. I am afraid I am not too familiar with this sort of dance." He stopped on the edge of the dance floor in an empty area.

"Me either."

"Shall I teach you how to dance like a lady then? After all, you _are_ a lady now."

"I suppose you shall." She stuck her chin up in the air and held her hand out for him to take it.

Aeron grabbed her hand, pulled her close and put his other hand on her waist. "Try to follow my lead for now." He stepped back slowly, then to the side. She followed his steps as he formed a small square. "I will have to teach you all sorts of things now that you are a lady. Sword fighting may have to go."

"No!" she cried. "I need to learn that!"

"Yes, yes." He laughed and repeated his steps, slowly increasing the speed. "Not bad. You have not stepped on my foot once."

"I _have_ danced before."

Aeron turned, the sudden move taking her by surprise, and she stumbled. The elf caught her, his hands gripping her shoulders tight before resuming their dance again. She looked up to find a smirk plastered on his face. He did that on purpose.

"I must apologize for my partner," he said. "I am afraid he does not emote very well."

"I haven't noticed."

"He means well, though. I think." He added the last part tentatively. "It looks like we have some company," he murmured, glancing up past her head. He turned so she could peer around his shoulder.

Three men approached the table Farron sat at, two of them wearing the light armor she'd seen earlier in the day when they passed through the town gate. Their heads bare and faces grim, it didn't look like any official business. Which could mean trouble.

Claire sighed. And they'd been doing so well. Although they've been getting strange looks all evening, no one had taken that first step. But all that could change, and usually did in her experience, when they got an ounce of alcohol in them. Only this time, she couldn't seek the town guard for help like she or her mother used to. Not when they were a part of the problem.

The two guards stepped up behind Farron while the other leaned over the table in front of him. The elf seemed to remain calm, raising his mug to take a swig of ale.

Aeron and Claire stopped dancing, both turning their attention to the other elf. They remained standing on the dance floor while other couples danced around them, seemingly oblivious to the growing problem. So far at least. Aeron's hand squeezed her shoulder, but he didn't move otherwise. His jaw clenched tight as he stared at his partner.

"Should we go?" Claire asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No. I think I would only make it worse."

With dark features and normal clothing, the man that leaned in closer over the table didn't look all too threatening. No weapons were visible at least. The same couldn't be said about the guards. Each wore a sword around their waists, and each more than likely had some sort of combat training. How much and what rank they were was hard to tell. All she knew was that this could get ugly, and fast.

Her hands went to her waist instinctively, but it was bare. The dagger lay on the table between all of them, along with Aeron's arms. Farron's back was bare, but he was in close reach, not exactly safer, but at least it was something.

Claire watched as Farron set the mug down on the table with slow and precise movements, his mask set into place as he looked up at the man, emotionless and cold. That's when she knew they were definitely in trouble.

The guards behind him grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him forward across the tabletop, pinning the elf down in place.

Aeron's hand on her arm halted her steps. The music stopped abruptly, leaving the room quiet except for the hushed whispers spreading through the crowd as they turned toward the commotion.

A hand slammed down on Aeron's shoulder, but the elf barely paid it any mind, his attention still on his partner.

"You might want to remove that, kind sir," Aeron said, his voice composed but low, lacking any hint of his usual amusement.

Farron remained still on the table, trapped under the two guards with his arms behind his back. His cold eyes returned Aeron's look. They were calm, but were planning something. She could tell. Or at least she hoped they were. She just wished she would be included in on it. Were they reading each other's minds? Could elves do that? Although handy, she'd be afraid to see what was in Aeron's head.

Now there was a scary thought. She shivered. One scary situation at a time.

When she looked back at Farron, his eyes met hers. Hard to read and a little unnerving, they didn't leave her face. Was he trying to tell her something? Why did they seem a little sad? Perhaps he was embarrassed to be caught unaware. But she had a feeling that wasn't quite it. There was a struggle behind those icy blues, but she wasn't quite sure over what.

Thick fingers wrapped around her arm, breaking her concentration. She looked up into a burly red beard, the face behind it as thick as the hand gripping her. The rest of the body matched. Round and big, but strong. Very strong.

She swallowed as she glanced around. They were outnumbered. Three on Farron, two behind Aeron, and one really big one for her. They were really overcompensating, for her sake, anyway. Did they really need to send the bear after her?

"You will leave my lady out of this," Aeron said, turning his eyes on the beast of a man.

"I'd think we'd be doin' her a favor," barked the man behind him, his hand still on the elf's shoulder. With hair a dusty blonde and a rather attractive face marred by pock marks, the man didn't look any more threatening than his friend across the room. But his eyes spoke a different truth. They wanted trouble, and there was no talking him out of it. Any of them.

Nevertheless, it wouldn't stop her from trying. "Please," she said. "We don't want any trouble. We're just passing through; we'll be out of your town tomorrow—"

"Hush girl," the bear man bellowed, his voice gruff. His hand tightened around her arm, and then he yanked her away from Aeron, pulling her out of his reach.

Claire whirled around to smack, punch and kick at him, but her efforts were in vain. He barely budged. This really wasn't fair. What would happen to her if they beat the elves? Would they just let her go? Somehow she doubted it. She knew all too well what a band of men like them would do to a lone woman.

The crowd grew painfully quiet, all eyes were on them. No one made a move to stop any of it. No one probably _would_ either. They were afraid, or at least didn't want to get involved. And she couldn't blame them, much to her distress.

Aeron looked at Farron again and said, " _Ahgis threik non_."

There was a slight pause before both elves sprang into action. Aeron spun around, grabbed pock mark's hand and twisted it up and around in a way that brought the man to his knees. The second man sprung for the elf, fist drawn back. Aeron ducked under it to bring his own fist up to meet the skinny man's stomach, causing him to keel over.

Many of the patrons left, running for the door. A few raised their mugs and cheered while the rest gasped and shouted. For a moment, a few of them looked like they were going to join in. She was glad when they didn't.

A loud crash brought her attention back to Farron. Somehow he had managed to wriggle out of the guards' hold. He grabbed his mug and struck the dark-haired man across the table in the face with it. The impact sent the man staggering backwards, his hands covering his face as red dripped between his fingers. One of the guards latched onto Farron's back, trying his best to wrestle his arms back behind him while the other guard drew a fist back. But before the guard could land the hit, the elf kicked both his legs out, using the other guard as balance, and struck the man in the stomach. The guard stumbled back and doubled over. The elf then wrenched the other guard's arm out and around, breaking his hold, then twisted it behind his back, making the guard cringe. Farron pushed the guard down on the table, pinning him down like he was before.

Stunned, Claire was motionless. He made it look so easy, it was a little frightening.

The room grew quiet again. The excitement over a little too quick, for their tastes anyway it seemed.

Aeron knelt above the fair-haired man with the pock marks, his knee pressed down on his back to pin him face down on the floor. The rest of the men hung back, now a little more hesitant to fight than before it seemed. And after that display, she really couldn't blame them. Her fears could be put to rest. Or could they? Just who were the dangerous ones here?

"Let her go," Farron said, his voice dripping with ice. He looked at the man behind her, his eyes weren't much friendlier.

She wasn't sure if she should be relieved, or to turn tail and run away with the bear man.

"And if I don't?" asked the gruff voice behind her. The big man took a step back and positioned her in front of him more.

Claire's eyes went up involuntarily. What a man. Big, certainly. Brave, most definitely not.

Farron drew a knife from the guard's belt, and in a flash threw it in her direction. Her heart stopped for a second, her breath along with it, only returning when the man shouted out behind her. He let go of her so suddenly, she staggered forward. When she turned around she saw the small blade lodged into the man's shoulder. Blood trickled down his arm as he grabbed for it, eyes wide.

"You bastard!" The big man's scream filled the room.

The door to the tavern burst open then and a stream of armed guards poured in.

Claire froze. Not again. There had to be twenty of them, at least. Against those numbers, even the elves, nimble and fast as they were, didn't stand a chance. She backed up a few steps toward Aeron, her eyes never leaving the guards. These ones were different though. They wore helmets made of bronze, their armor sparked in the low light, made of a copper-like metal distinguishing them from the two that had attacked before.

And, instead of coming for them, the new shiny guards grabbed hold of their attackers, hauling them up to their feet. Even the town guards. They pulled the men off to the side to leave the center of the room clear.

It was then that he entered. A wave of whispers swept through the crowd.

Dressed in finery, the man was striking. He strode into the room, barely glancing around at his surroundings as he removed a pair of black leather gloves. He stopped in front of Claire and bowed. He reeked of high class and status and looked terribly out of place in such humble surroundings. Black boots stretched up to his knees with light tan slacks tucked into them. A formfitting jacket of deep maroon hung open over a beige vest and shirt. Gold detail trimmed every visible hem. He looked young with long hair the color of rich mahogany pulled loosely back in a low ponytail.

"Forgive me, I hope I am not interrupting anything." The man glanced at the two elves.

Farron remained by the table, Aeron stepped up close behind Claire.

"Just having a little evening fun," Aeron said, amusement back in full force. "And to whom do we owe the pleasure?"

"My name is Brennus Errolle, General of the King's special forces." Gray eyes peered out above high cheekbones, a stunning contrast to the dark brown of his hair.

"G-good evening," she stammered and forced herself to do a curtsy—a little clumsily, but it would have to do. She was still a little shaken.

"I am sorry," he paused and motioned around him with a hand, "for this. I truly hope no one has been harmed. I will see that they are punished, especially our guards. I'm sure their captain would love to hear of this." An apologetic smile crossed his lips, and although nice to look at, it was a tad bit troubling.

With just a snap of the General's fingers, his guards dragged their attackers from the tavern, leaving only a few of the shiny ones to stand by the entrance. The General then looked at the musicians and circled a finger up in the air and a light musical tune filled the room again. He motioned to a few of his men standing at the edge of the area and instructed them to put it back together like it was before the fight.

As they did, the bar patrons resumed their evening, the maidens taking drink orders by the dozen. The tension in the room didn't ease, however. Many of the men in the crowd cast uneasy glances at the General and his guards. But at least things were peaceful again. For now, anyway.

The General motioned toward the table where Farron stood and followed Claire and Aeron over to it.

"I have heard strange rumors in the city today, I never thought that they would be true," the General said.

"Thank you for your help," Claire said.

"It is the least I could do. I am deeply embarrassed by the actions of our people. But you must understand, we have not seen," he paused, " _your kind,_ in quite some time."

Aeron nodded. "Yes, I had hoped for peace, but did not expect it."

"Given the past, there are those that would suspect that you mean harm, and although I'd hate to think like them, I have to wonder the same thing. Do you?"

Farron crossed his arms, but remained quiet.

Aeron said, "Of course not!" before adding one of his wide smiles. "Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Aeron, this little lady here," he placed his hands on her shoulders, "is Miss Claire DuBonte, daughter to the great Lord Derryl Heyn DuBonte."

Claire fought to control her face. Where did he pull that one from? That certainly wasn't her father's name that they'd agreed upon earlier. But it was now, she supposed. She did another slight curtsy.

"And that irritable one is Farron, fighter extraordinaire."

"It's a pleasure." The General took her hand and kissed it, a light brush of the lips. "You may call me Bren."

Claire's cheeks burned madly. He really was quite handsome.

"And what brings you to Lendon? It's quite unusual for a lady to be traveling with two elves."

"We are simply the hired help," Aeron replied before she could.

"Hired help?"

"The best that money could buy," she confirmed and straightened her back. She had to appear more confident. She was no longer Claire Tanith the barmaid; she was now Lady Claire DuBonte. "You can't expect a lady to travel alone in these turbulent times."

"They're your guards then?"

"What else would they be?" She shrugged her shoulders.

The General glanced down at the weaponry resting on the table. "I see. And to where would your destination be?"

They hadn't discussed that little detail. She glanced around the room in a hurry. A notice hung on the far wall that announced some sort of tournament in Rodem. "To Rodem." She'd only ever seen the city on a map before, long ago.

"Rodem?" He cocked an eyebrow. "And what would a lady like you want to do in Rodem?"

"To see the tournament, of course." She wondered what kind of city it was judging by his reaction.

The General laughed. "The Strongman competition?"

"My lady has peculiar tastes," Aeron said.

"Indeed she does." The General looked around the tavern with a curious eye. "Even the lodging is unusual for a lady."

"That would be my guard's doing." She glanced at Farron. He just shrugged. "He thought it best to be more discreet while traveling."

"I don't think your plan worked," Bren said.

"Indeed it didn't." She crossed her arms, growing impatient with the General. She wished he would stop prodding with questions. And she hoped he bought their story. It could be trouble if he didn't.

"Please allow me to make up for this little indiscretion by accepting my invitation to a ball in honor of Prince Philip's birthday. I think your presence could be just the exotic fare it needs." He looked between the two elves. "Besides, with a pardon from the King, you shouldn't face any more of these little... scuffles."

Claire's attention was piqued. She'd never been to a ball before, only to a few local dances here and there, let alone one in honor of royalty, and to King Harold's son no less. She turned to look up at Aeron, excitement in her eyes, her hands gripping the front of his shirt.

"I suppose we could make an appearance." He looked down at her and then up to the General. "Besides, it could be a good opportunity to establish foreign relations."

Claire turned back to the General. "I would love to go, but we don't really have anything formal to wear." Embarrassment took her. A lady should always travel with fine clothing, right?

"That can be arranged." He looked her up and down with a thoughtful eye. "The ball is in two days and starts at sundown. Come to the palace beforehand. I'm sure we can rummage something up."

She smiled, her eyes alit with visions of grandeur. A royal ball, never in her wildest dreams did she think she'd ever attend one.

The General reached in his coat and drew out a small square piece of parchment with a red seal of wax and handed it to Aeron. "Just show this to the guard at the gate. He'll have instructions for you. Until then." He bowed gracefully and made his leave, his stride confident as he made his way through the tables to the entrance. The guards followed him out the door, taking the tension in the room with them.

Claire collapsed onto the seat next to her. She wondered if she might have answered too fast. Would they be able to keep up their act in such a situation? Well, the elves probably could. She looked up to Aeron for reassurance.

"I'm sorry, I just got excited," she said. "I've never been to a ball before."

Aeron sat down next to her. "It will be fine." He put an arm around her shoulders. "Besides, it will help take your mind off of things. Right?" He looked up at Farron and waited for him to say something. They exchanged looks, their faces serious.

"What?" Claire looked between the two, but they ignored her. "What is it? I'm getting really tired of all the secret keeping."

Aeron's arm dropped from her shoulders. "You do not really think he would invite us just for the fun of it, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

Farron sat down finally. "A man like him, I don't trust him."

"And why do you say that?" Claire asked.

"With a smile like that, you just know he's hiding something."

"Like you?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Farron fixed her with a cold gaze.

"At least he is polite about it," she said with a slight smile.

The elf shrugged. "We can't turn him down, or it would seem that we are slighting the king. He wants something."

Aeron just nodded.

Her stomach sank. The grand visions faded before her eyes. It did seem a little curious that a General would just invite them to a ball like that, even if it was to make up for the skirmish. "So what should we do?" She looked across the table at Farron.

"Keep up our little charade." He shrugged his shoulders.

"He is right, for once," Aeron said, and Farron shot a glance at him. "You do not need to worry. I will teach you everything there is to know about being a lady." He wriggled his eyebrows at her.

"I think I'll take a bath," she declared, ignoring Aeron to the best of her ability. Grimy, sore, and tired, a warm bath seemed like the perfect cure. She rose from the table and grabbed her dagger. It didn't seem like there would be any more trouble, for tonight anyway. She'd just make sure to lock her door and sleep with her blade beneath her pillow. Besides, it was the elves they had quarreled with. Not her. At least that was what she kept telling herself. "Which way?"

Farron tossed a brass key up to her with a white ribbon tied to it. "Up the stairs to the right. There's a bath at the end of the hall."

"Where is my key?" Aeron held out his hand. Farron dangled a single key from his finger. Aeron's shoulders slumped. "Oh great, I get to share a room with grumpy."

"Have fun, boys." Claire turned and made her way through the crowd to the narrow stairs against the wall just past the bar.

The sounds of the music and people faded as she entered through a faded blue curtain at the top of the stairs. Two hallways broke off from the short main corridor, dimly lit by oil lamps along wood paneled walls. A dark blue rug lined the pine floorboards to further dampen the sounds.

Room twelve was down the second hall, the number dangled on a tag attached to the brass key. A single bed filled the tiny room. A bedside table, an oil lamp and a chest at the foot of the bed completed the minimal decor. She crossed to a little square window and opened the white doily curtain. A flat expanse of wall greeted her across a narrow back alley.

"A room with a view," she mumbled and closed the curtain.

Claire laid her dagger on the bed and sat on the edge, the metal frame creaking under her weight. She collapsed back on the thin, lumpy mattress and the weight of the day crashed down on her. The disappointing results of her search crushed her spirit and hope. Somehow, she didn't think that finding an entire town's worth of people would be so hard. Something strange was going on. She couldn't have been the only one to escape with her life.

She covered her face with her hands as exhaustion swept over her. Her arm began to itch under the bandage, so she unwrapped the cloth to expose the intricate tattoo-like mark. A nice warm bath would help clear her mind. She got up and opened the chest at the foot of the bed. A stack of worn towels and a robe filled one side. She lifted a towel and smelled it. Clean at least.

The robe was almost twice her size but would have to do. She bundled the robe and a towel in her arms and scurried down the hallway. The bathroom was small and outdated, but the water was warm and it was just what she needed.

#

The dim hallway was eerily quiet in the morning, the constant hum of the tavern below gone until the evening when the festivities would start all over again. The feeling was familiar: waking up to a quiet house, doing chores and preparing for the night to come in Mother's tavern. Being in the inn filled her with a warm feeling of nostalgia, and a little bit of emptiness. Perhaps the elf chose this establishment for a reason. She smiled at the thought, but shook her head to chase it from her mind.

With freshly cleaned clothes, she meandered down the hall, her waist free of the dagger. She decided against taking it. Didn't want to scare people away, especially if she wanted to ask them questions. Although, it could be quite the persuasive tool—even if she wasn't quite so sure how to use it yet. She ran her fingers through her hair and mulled on the thought before dismissing it.

Her joints were stiff. The lumpy bed proved to be not much better than the ground outside, but at least there were no bugs. That she knew of. In fact, she'd rather not know.

She descended the rickety steps, each one seemed to groan under her weight. Sunlight exposed the lifeless tavern. Everything looked more worn and old in the bright light, the paint cracked and the dust piled in the nooks and crannies, all invisible in the warm glow of oil lamps and candles. Farron sat at one of the small wooden tables by himself, his back to the stairs, devoid of his weaponry. The only other people in the room were a few workers preparing for the onslaught of people in the evening. The distant cling of metal-ware and dishes being washed sounded in the distance.

Claire approached Farron. He was hunched over, his elbows rested on the table to prop up his head.

"Hangover?" she asked, causing him to stir.

"No." He rose to face her and leaned back against the table. His face showed signs of fatigue. "Aeron kept me up all night. Get a little alcohol in him and he _really_ won't shut up."

"Where is he?"

"He said he had some errands to do." Farron shrugged. "It's my turn to babysit today."

"You don't have to sound so excited." She put her hands on her hips. "So, what's the plan?"

"You tell me. You're the one asking the questions. It's my job to just stand in the back and look menacing." He glanced down at her exposed right arm but said nothing.

"I don't even know where to begin."

"Only one way to find out." He grabbed her by the arm and led her through the door and out onto the street. He dug a coin out of his pocket; the silver glinted in the sunlight. "Alright, we'll flip for it."

"Is this how you make your decisions?" She put her hands on her hips again.

"Just the important ones." He smirked and threw the coin up in the air. He caught it, slammed it on top of his other hand and hid it with his palm. "Call it."

"I don't even know what kind of coin you used. Who knows what kind of stuff you elves have on your money?"

"A tree and a king's head."

"Which king?"

"Just pick one."

"Fine, tree we go left," she said. He lifted his hand up. Tree. "I can't believe you don't know your kings."

"Do you?" He pocketed the coin and looked down at her, eyebrow cocked expectantly.

"I don't have a king." She stuck her chin up and began walking down the street.

She couldn't believe Aeron had abandoned her. Now she was stuck with Farron for the whole day. She looked back at the elf trailing close behind. He was sure to attract unnecessary attention. All black clothing topped with platinum blonde hair. Maybe she could convince him to buy a scarf.

"Well, don't just be a creepy follower, come on." She motioned for him to walk next to her. It was a great opportunity for bonding time. She almost laughed at the unlikely prospect. In any case, it would make her feel better not to have such an intimidating shadow.

Few people wandered down the cobblestone street in the morning. Most of the businesses that lined it would open later in the evening.

Farron strolled next to her and he eyed her right arm again. "No bandage, I see."

"It was itchy." She continued walking, looking straight ahead.

"We can search for something more suitable if you'd like."

Claire sighed. "Does it really matter? I mean, we don't even know what this is." She held her arm out in front of her. "What are the chances any of these people know? If anyone asks, I'll just tell them it's a tattoo or something. You know us crazy people from the north."

Farron frowned. He seemed a little displeased.

"You're too paranoid," she said, though after last night she could hardly blame him.

"And you're not careful enough."

Two blocks down and three streets over was another bustling marketplace. Filled to the brim with colorful stalls and people, but devoid of the answers and the truth she was seeking. What was going on? Someone in this town had to know something. How could an event so terrible not be big news? Not a single warning about rampaging centaurs had reached these people.

She turned to Farron but he was a few stalls away from her, haggling with an old shop owner. With arms crossed, she waited as he meandered in her direction with a small brown bag in his hands.

"You're much help," she mumbled.

He picked out a little ball, fried to a nice crisp golden brown, popped it in his mouth and held the bag out to her.

"What are they?" She peered into it.

"Lewts, I think they're called. I haven't had them in years."

She looked up at him and waited for more explanation.

"You know, the little fried balls of bread. They're dipped in some sort of spices." He waited for her to pick one out. "Just try one, they're good."

Carefully, she picked a ball out of the bag with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. It was crunchy and salty, followed by a hot, spicy aftertaste. Her face twisted in disgust. A warning would have been nice.

He chuckled at her reaction. "That bad, huh?"

"You have surprisingly bad taste."

He shrugged his shoulders. "More for me then."

It was the first time she'd seen the elf so relaxed. The usual tension faded away as the day went on. Perhaps being around Aeron really was stressful for him. It was for her at times, as well. Nobody could be that happy all the time.

"I need a break." The constant disappointment was tiring. She walked along the street and looked around at the different stalls and their wares.

"Me too."

Claire spun around. " _You_ need a break?" She could feel the annoyance rise in the pit of her stomach. "All you did was stand there!"

"Oh, you think it's easy to look tough and intimidating?" he said with a sly smile and a dash of arrogance.

She crossed her arms and looked up at him, eyebrow cocked. For him it _was_ easy, especially after seeing him last night. The way he handled those men, it was just a tad bit scary. But that didn't mean he didn't have to help.

"Alright, let's see you try then." He motioned with his arms.

"Fine." Claire took a deep breath and straightened her back, her chin held high. She glared up at the elf, summoning her darkest thoughts, and hoped the threat would show in her eyes. Mother had mastered the look, sometimes making grown men cry, albeit mostly drunk men, but still grown men.

The elf stared back at her with a blank expression, then popped another brown ball into his mouth. "I'm shaking in my boots." He brushed past her and started to walk down the street.

"Hey!" She stormed after him. He continued walking and ate another lewt. "Don't just walk away!"

"I'm afraid you don't need my services anymore."

"I was scary, damn it!"

He turned and looked her up and down. "You couldn't be scary if your life depended on it."

"I can too! What are you trying to say here?" She stopped. Her hands were angry balls of fury at her sides. She may not have been able to stop the bear man, but she didn't really get a chance to either. At least that's what she kept repeating to herself. The man could have easily squished her between his meaty thumb and forefinger.

A smirk washed over his face. "My lady, you are just too easy."

Her mouth dropped open. It was all a ruse. "You're not funny."

"You get riled up so easily, I couldn't help myself." His expression faded into a more serious one. "You're still not scary, though."

"Fine." She shoved past him. "I'll scare you someday, just you wait."

"I won't hold my breath." He caught up with her.

"You could at least help me ask questions."

"I really don't think anyone here would talk to me."

Claire glanced at the surrounding people. They shot glances at the tall elf, and they weren't exactly friendly. She looked up at Farron, but he seemed unfazed. He was probably used to it by now. And at least none of them did anything. A look couldn't kill, unless it was one of her mother's...

"I guess you're right." She took a deep breath and released it. No luck today either. "Why do you wear all black anyway?" she asked. Another color palette could do wonders for his complexion. And for the way people saw him.

He looked down at her; the question seemed to catch him off guard. "To keep people away. Trust me, if you look like I do, you're bound to attract attention, and most of it is unwelcome."

Wasn't _that_ the truth. "So, you _want_ to look mean and intimidating?"

"I prefer dark and mysterious."

Claire flushed. Had he heard her last night? With a shake of her head, she dismissed the ridiculous notion. Surely the elves' hearing couldn't be that good.

She stopped at a stall with various objects made of pewter scattered across a worn red tablecloth. Claire picked up a miniature jewelry box with little intricate flowers molded along the top and sides. Farron picked up a mug and started to examine it while he talked with the short man behind the table. She put the box back and wandered around the corner where he had another table set up.

A brooch caught her eye. It was in the shape of a snake and its eyes sparkled with rubies, just like her mother's bracelet. She picked it up to examine it closer. How odd it was to find something so similar.

"Psst."

Claire jumped at the sudden sound, and dropped the brooch on the table, her heart racing. A man stood in an alleyway behind the booth, his face cloaked in shadow under a gray hood. He took a step in her direction, maneuvering around a wooden crate to do so. Already she could feel Farron's presence close behind her. That was quick. If their sham were actually true, he'd be well worth the money.

"Are you the ones searching for survivors?" The man's voice was hoarse and deep.

"Depends on who's asking." Farron gripped her shoulder and pulled her slightly back from the mysterious man.

"How 'bout a survivor?" He dropped the hood to reveal a middle-aged face, tan from years in the sun and hard labor, his dark hair slowly being overtaken by gray. "Follow me." He turned and hurried down the alley.

"Wait!" Claire turned back to Farron. "What do you think?"

"Best lead we've gotten all day. Might as well." He started to walk down the alley.

"What happened to not being careful enough?"

"Only applies when you're unarmed, of course."

"You're armed?" Her eyes widened in surprise.

He grinned before he turned.

Where was he hiding weapons? She looked him up and down before following him down the narrow passage. They turned a corner into another alley with a dead end. There the man waited for them as he leaned against the wall in the shadows. Farron walked in front of her as they approached like the good bodyguard he was.

"Do I know you?" she asked as she stepped out from behind the tall elf.

"No, but I think we might have somethin' in common." He glanced down the alley. "You're town was attacked, yeah?"

Claire's pulse quickened. "Yes, by centaurs."

The man nodded. "Seems like there have been attacks all across the region. Small towns and villages attacked out of the blue."

"And what about the survivors?" She rushed up to the man and grabbed his shirt. She looked up at him, her eyes raw and urgent, desperate for any type of information.

"That's the strange part." The man peered down at her with a dark, wild expression. "It's like the survivors just vanished into thin air. The night my village was attacked, I was separated from my wife and son. Been searching the surrounding towns and kept gettin' the same answer. Like the whole thing never happened. I tried to go back to my village, but those beasts leave lookouts." He gripped her wrists and tried to pry her hands from his shirt. "I've seen men, however, stationed outside the towns. They looked like some sort of patrol or small army."

"Do you know who they were?" Farron asked, his voice sharp as a knife.

The man shook his head. Claire loosened her grip on his worn gray shirt. It looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks, stained and rough with rips and tears all over.

"Didn't recognize the colors or uniform they wore. It's strange, if you ask me." His eyes narrowed. "It was as if they were followin' the beasts. Waitin' like vultures in the woods to pick at the rottin' carcasses."

"Why?" Claire asked. "Didn't they help?"

The man shook his head. "Don't know. Was too afraid to ask."

"Too afraid!" She grabbed his shirt again and pulled herself close to the older man.

"Claire!" Farron gripped her shoulder and pulled her back.

"I'd like to see you try strollin' up to a strange army and come out with your skin intact. For all I know they could be the ones behind it all." He paused and glanced down the alley again. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "Somethin' fishy is goin' on. I found a small band of survivors here. We're tryin' to get to the bottom of it." A loud clang echoed through the alley and the man jumped. "You should join us if you can." He eyed the elf before he took off.

"Wait!" Claire started to chase after the man. He hadn't told her how to find him or the other survivors. Farron grabbed her by the arm and she spun around. "What are you doing? Let go!" She struggled to free her wrist from his grip, but it was too late. When she turned back, she could only watch as the man vanished around the corner.

"We should get back to the inn." His voice was calm but his eyes were worried. Something had spooked him. "He told us all he was going to anyway." He released her arm and started to walk down the alley. "Stay close."

Claire hurried after him. They finally had a breakthrough, but she wasn't sure she liked what she heard.

Aeron sat at the bar. A few people had started to trickle in. The main room was quiet, filled only with the murmur of the small group of people; the musicians probably wouldn't start until later in the evening. Farron headed straight for Aeron as soon as they walked in the door. He had been mostly quiet on the way back to the inn, his pace hurried, and Claire struggled to keep up.

"Welcome!" Aeron spun around on his bar stool and raised his mug in the air. "I trust you two had a fine day?" His smile was broad and a little mocking.

She guessed that he never saw the relaxed side of Farron. He thought that Farron had been sulking all day, and based on the expression the silver-haired elf wore at the moment, she couldn't blame him.

Aeron looked between the two of them when neither of them spoke. "So, how did it go?"

"I'm afraid the situation is worse than I thought. We need to talk."

"Alright." Aeron remained on the barstool and waited for Farron to start.

"In private."

"Oh." Aeron's face sobered up. He set his mug down on the bar and left a few coins.

Claire followed the elves up the stairs and down the first hallway to their room. Aeron opened the door with the key. The room looked the same as hers, only slightly bigger. A strange feeling of relief washed over her when she saw the two little beds. For some reason she had imagined them trying to squeeze into a single bed. They would kill each other before that ever happened. Farron's daggers leaned against the far wall under a tiny window, his bow propped up next to them in a neat, orderly fashion. Aeron's arms were sprawled out across the bed in front of her in a haphazard way.

She sat on the foot of the closest bed and listened carefully as Farron told Aeron about the mysterious man. Aeron listened with crossed arms, his face serious, until the tale was done. He stood quiet for a moment as he considered the information and then he started to speak and it took her a second to realize it was in another language.

Claire glanced between the two. Their conversation grew more and more heated and neither of them looked very happy. She had no idea what they were saying when they talked in their Elvin language. It was as if she wasn't even in the room. Aeron raised his voice at Farron. A whole different side of him rose to the surface; his usual happy face replaced with one of anger. She hadn't thought he was capable of the emotion.

Farron just stood there, face unreadable. The conversation had taken a turn for the worse and she'd had enough.

"So I can understand, please!" she finally snapped. The tension in the room had become suffocating. They both looked at her as if they just realized that she was still there.

Aeron gathered himself up a little. She could tell he was embarrassed that she saw this side of him. "Then what do you propose we do?" He glared at Farron. The look sent shivers down Claire's spine, and she wasn't even the recipient of it.

"Continue on with our little charade." He took a deep breath and rested his hands on his hips. "If we run now, we'll have the whole Lendonian army after us. We'll go to the ball as planned."

The elves stared at each other for a few moments. Then Aeron smiled, the familiar look slipping into place. He glanced at Claire, then back to the silver-haired elf. "You're too soft, my friend." He patted Farron on the shoulder and strolled out the door.

Farron collapsed on the other bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. He took a long breath. Claire remained seated, not knowing what to say or what really happened.

"Somehow, I imagined that being the other way around," she said.

Farron gave her a knowing look. "He didn't rise to such a high rank on his good looks."

"But I thought you said he was a fool?"

"There's more to that fool than meets the eye."

Had she gotten Aeron all wrong? She figured he had gotten his rank due to some sort of fluke, or blackmail. Maybe there really was more to him than she'd originally thought.

"What's going on? I'm tired of always being left in the dark."

He looked up at her and glanced away. "Claire," He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "I don't think these are a series of simple attacks. We can't rule out the possibility that Lendon is involved somehow."

"But—"

Farron held up a hand. "I'm not saying they are. It's just a suspicion right now."

"But why would Lendon do something like that?" She sat unmoving on the bed, her mind racing with questions.

"There are many reasons why they would; let's just make sure that you're not one of them." His gaze held hers steadily.

She was still for a moment before she looked down at the mark on her right hand. If the elves wanted her for something, then that could mean others might want her as well. And that was more than a little unsettling.

Claire remained silent as she mulled over her thoughts. She didn't like where this little adventure was going one bit. "So, what should I do?" She could feel her strength start to falter.

"I suggest you learn how to dance."

#

"Keep your head still, my lady!" Lucinda the maid, an older woman with stark black hair and an attitude to match, pulled Claire's hair tight. She was armed with a comb in one hand and pins in the other.

The small backroom bustled with women. A battlefield of the finer sex. Dresses and shoes were the casualties of war. Claire sat at a tiny vanity area after waiting almost an hour for her turn. Ever since she'd arrived at the palace it had been a whirlwind, having been rushed away to a room deep in the palace, separated from the two elves. Racks of dresses lined pale pink walls, and shoes and accessories were spread out in every available space. She would have liked to look more, never having seen such fine things close up before, but the maids hurried her from one area to the next.

Claire sighed, the most she could in the tight corseted dress. She'd always admired the slender waists of the wealthy ladies, tugged tight into tiny corsets. Although slim already, it didn't stop the maids from stripping and stuffing her into one. Fashion wasn't always about comfort or the ability to breathe easily, it seemed, but she had to admit: it was the best she'd ever looked.

With nowhere else to look at the moment, Claire stared into the mirror in front of her while the woman worked on her hair. Her face always had a more delicate look, innocent some called it, young others. The light sprinkle of freckles from her youth had all but faded away. Pretty, but plain, she'd always considered herself. But not tonight. Tonight she looked truly like a woman. Rouge on her cheeks, black around her eyes; she hardly looked like herself. The coppers and the bronzes in her dress brought out the darker tones in her hazel eyes, which she'd always thought were—at least when they were at their greenest—her best feature. She'd always wondered who she had gotten them from, her mother or her father? Perhaps she would never know.

The dress was simple but it was still the finest thing she'd ever worn. Rich brown velvet made up the bodice and swept down into a full skirt. The middle parted to reveal a gold silk skirt underneath. The back was gathered up into a small train, with tufts of material held in place with tiny gold pins, a nifty trick to adjust for her shorter stature. Her shoulders felt cool and naked, the straps of the gown draping off her shoulders, down around her arms, meant more for style and decoration than practical use.

The maid finished with her hair and handed her a mirror so she could examine the elaborate up-do full of soft curls and pins before she quickly ushered her out of the seat. Her dreams of a grand entrance were dashed the instant the door to the room slammed closed behind her.

Polished stone floors gleamed under the illumination of oil lamp chandeliers down the center of the ceiling, their flames encased in round glass globes. Paintings and tapestries decorated beige walls. Layers of petticoat swished from underneath her skirt as she walked a little unsteadily, the click of her heels echoing through the strangely barren hall. The faint sound of music drifted down the hallway as an orchestra wove an elegant lighthearted tune together.

The corridor opened up to a large foyer. Two staircases on either side led to a lower level, where couples mingled under the biggest chandelier she had ever seen. Millions of tiny crystals glowed brilliantly and bounced the light passing through them in all directions. Claire walked over to the railing and gazed down at the people below, dressed in their finest eveningwear.

Butterflies started to flutter in her stomach. Would she really be able to pull this off?

"This way, my lady."

Wrenched from her daze, she spun around to find an older man that stood to one side of a crimson curtain dressed in a fine suit of black and white. He bowed to her and pulled open the drape to reveal the ballroom beyond. She stood motionless for a moment. The scene past the curtain was like a fairytale. She quickly curtsied to the man and walked through the entrance, where she emerged atop a grand staircase.

Music from the orchestra filled the grand ballroom and couples twirled on a marble dance floor in the middle of it all. The night sky was visible through a glass dome that made up nearly the whole ceiling and below it hung the _new_ biggest chandelier she had ever seen. The massive light cast a brilliant glow throughout the entire room, putting the previous chandelier to shame. Flowers decorated every space imaginable, their sweet fragrance drifting on the air. Glass made up the wall to the right of the stairs, with doors out to an open terrace.

Claire's mouth gaped open as she tried to take it all in. Never before in all her life had she seen such opulence and grandeur. She gripped the white marble banister and started to descend the stairs with her skirts held up. She gazed up at the ceiling and the spectacular chandelier in awe. She could get used to this lifestyle. If luck was on her side, she would meet a rich, handsome noble... But even before she could finish the fantasy, she knew that it would never happen, and it was shattered.

Just then, her foot slipped on a step and she lost her balance, snapping her back to reality as she started to fall forward. Her hand fumbled for the rail, but it was too late. But before she could go tumbling down the stairs like a fool, she collided into something solid. A pair of hands gripped her shoulders tight, cutting her fall short and saving her from potential doom and, even worse, embarrassment.

Claire's face burned red as she peered up to discover the identity of her savior.

Farron stared down at her, eyes unblinking. Finally he said, "Watch your step, Claire." His voice somewhat soft. His hands still gripped her shoulders tight.

Why was he looking at her like that? Did she really look that strange? She knew she wasn't used to dressing up, especially like this, but at least she thought she looked good. Better than usual at least. Slowly, she regained her footing, straightening up and patting down her dress to make sure everything was still in place.

He shook his head and lowered his hands. "I mean, my lady." A slight grin took over his mouth as he bowed on the stairs below her.

She looked at him, finally standing even with the tall elf. "You clean up nice."

He looked down for a moment in an almost shy way. Nice was an understatement. He was striking, dressed in a tailored silver jacket and black slacks tucked into knee high black boots. The collar of the white shirt underneath hung loose, unbuttoned to reveal a hint of gold glittering around his neck. He looked surprisingly, dare she say it? _Dashing_.

"You look lovely as well, my lady." He took her left hand into his and started to unclasp her mother's bracelet. "But I'm afraid this doesn't go with the dress."

She had forgotten that it was there, although the mark on her right hand stood out more. The maids must have missed it in the chaos of dresses and hair. Farron tucked the bracelet into his jacket. She found it odd that he noticed such an insignificant detail, but brushed the thought aside. Perhaps he knew high society fashions better than she thought. Overlooking such a detail could ruin their whole cover, and she felt bad for not noticing it.

"And remember not to gawk so much."

"Sorry." Her cheeks flushed again. "I've never seen anything like this." She glanced past him to the dancers.

"You haven't, but Miss DuBonte has." He offered his arm.

She took it and descended the stairs more carefully this time. "Where's Aeron?" she asked, scanning the room.

"It seems he's finally found his audience." Farron nodded to the left.

A group of women surrounded the blonde elf, dressed in a similar fashion as Farron but with a deep blue jacket instead. A large smile decorated his face as he no doubt regaled the women with his elaborate stories.

"And where are your admirers?" she asked.

"I think they're scared of me."

Her amusement faded when she glanced around. A few women stared at her, their eyes piercing her like knives. "I think I should be the one afraid." She sighed and averted her gaze up to the marble columns that held up the glorious ceiling. Golden vines wound up their length in an intricate manner.

"They say flower petals used to rain down from the ceiling."

"Really?" She looked up at the glass ceiling and tried to imagine the air filled with floating petals.

"This palace was built by the elves, you know."

Claire looked up at Farron. "How do you know that?"

" _Everyone_ knows that." He glanced sideways at her.

Well, she sure didn't. "Are you here to look after me again?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't kill yourself on the stairs." He smirked at the last part.

"It's these heels." She walked carefully as she held on to his arm. "I'm not really used to them." Heels were not a luxury she could afford, and not practical for the extensive hours of standing in the tavern. She had worn them a couple times before, borrowing a pair from a friend for local gatherings and dances, but they still felt awkward and took a little while for her to get used to walking in again.

"Have you ever been to a ball like this before?" she inquired. He seemed surprisingly at ease, although he didn't seem to be the type easily rattled. The way he looked, how he held himself as he walked, she had a feeling this wasn't his first time dressing up.

"Yes," he said softly, and she was surprised how easily the answer came. "A few, long ago."

Claire gaped up at him silently, not able to help herself. Just where in the world had he come from anyway that he was able to attend such extravagant affairs?

He led her to a long table covered in white in front of the glass wall. Various snacks and drinks sat neatly on tiered silver trays in between colorful flower arrangements. Servants bustled behind the buffet as they restocked and refreshed at a dizzying pace. Farron grabbed a tall stemmed glass filled with a clear liquid and handed it to her before taking one for himself. She brought the cup up to her nose to smell it before taking a tiny taste. Sweet and light, just how she liked it.

Farron sipped at the drink as his eyes swept the room.

"See that man over there?"

She followed his gaze across the dance floor. A young man, not much older than herself, stood surrounded by ladies and gentlemen dressed in their finest. Golden cane in one hand, he had a sort of regal posture, confident, but at the same time relaxed. Everyone around him laughed, while his face held only a glimmer of amusement.

"I do," she said, examining the man. He looked important, but she wasn't exactly sure why the elf was pointing him out.

"That is the king. Philip of House Harston."

Claire could feel her jaw drop open for the second, or maybe the third, time that night. She had heard of him, Prince Philip, even saw his father's likeness stamped on gold and silver coins, a proud, regal profile. But never in her life had she thought that she would see him in the flesh. The royal family was simply a tale told by travelers and traders alike, never something tangible in her world until now.

"Well, almost. The next in line. His father, Harold, is not long for this world, I hear. His great grandfather helped lead the attack that took Lendon during the war."

"But he's so young," she said, still in awe. So much power and responsibility at such an age. She didn't think she could handle it.

"Responsibility does not wait for age. Nor does wisdom. Do not let his youth fool you, though. I suspect he has his own agenda already in place."

She looked up at the elf. He had that faraway look in his eyes again. He was a world away, but she didn't dare to ask him where. She was beginning to think there was a dark side to the elf that she just didn't need to know about. But that didn't stop her from being curious about it either.

"But I wonder, just who the General truly serves," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Her heart fluttered slightly at just the mention of that man. What was wrong with her? She looked up at Farron, confused. "What do you mean?"

He glanced down at her. "He says he's the king's man, but which one exactly?"

She thought on that for a few moments. Did it matter who he served? The prince or the king, father or son. The prince will be the king shortly anyway.

She let her eyes wander back to the dancers, their movements blurring in a wash of colors.

"It's like a dream," she sighed, off in her own little world this time. "It's all a girl like me could ever do. I just wish..." that Mother could be here, she finished silently. She would have died to see her daughter all dressed up like a lady. Her gaze sunk down with her heart to focus on the floor.

Farron's hand popped into view. "Perhaps we should make the best of it then."

She narrowed her eyes at the elf. "You know how to dance?"

"Never said I didn't." He set his glass down on the table and a servant whisked it away.

Claire watched the dancers with a growing sense of dread. The music was in full swing and she didn't know this dance. Aeron's lessons the day before surely hadn't prepared her for this.

"The great Claire DuBonte isn't afraid of a little dance, is she?" His hand hovered before her, challenging her to take it.

She glared up at him. "Of course not." She gulped down the rest of her drink and slammed the glass down on the table before she grabbed his hand.

He led her through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor, then turned, pulled her close to him and put his hand on her waist. He held her other hand out, cupping her palm in his.

"Just follow my lead."

He stepped toward her and she stumbled as she hurried to step back. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder and looked down at her feet so she could watch the movements.

"Don't look down," he chided. "It's the same as that fool taught you." He stepped slowly forward and she stepped back. He stepped to the side, softly counting aloud and she followed the beat of the numbers. "See, not so hard."

Claire could feel the stiffness in her shoulders start to ease and the dance seemed to flow more naturally. She stared straight at his chest as she concentrated on the steps, and the slight glimmer of gold tucked into his shirt caught her eye again.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached over with her free hand and pulled the gold chain out from his shirt. A pendant swung on the end. Gold wire wrapped elegantly around a large, teardrop shaped, sapphire—almost the color of his eyes, and very feminine.

Farron turned suddenly and the movement caught her off guard again. She dropped the pendant as she gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He'd done that on purpose. Perhaps it was something from his past he wanted to hide. She'd never seen it on him before and it was definitely from a woman. Claire smiled as they resumed their dance. The more he tried to keep his past hidden, the more she wanted to know.

"So who is she?" She looked up at him.

"Who's who?"

She knew already she wouldn't get any answers, but she'd try anyway. "The woman who gave you that." She looked down at the pendant.

"I found it."

"You're lying."

She studied his face, but his usual mask of amused arrogance was firmly in place. He wasn't going to give his secrets up willingly.

"Fine," she said, "I'll just make up my own theory."

He turned again, pulling her along swiftly this time.

"A woman gave you that necklace as an everlasting symbol of the love you shared. She then died, leaving you with only that to remember her by. So you fled to the forest in grief and to this very day you mourn her loss, your heart belonging only to her."

Farron's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?"

"It makes perfect sense. And it's tragically romantic." She sighed, looking into the distance, and just so happened to spot General Errolle from the day before standing across the room. He toasted with a small group of people gathered around him, and he looked very dashing. She could feel heat rise to her cheeks. Farron turned sharply, snapping her attention back to him. "Besides, that would explain why you turn away all those women."

"I think your imagination is very bright, my lady." He smiled but his eyes held a hint of sadness. A crack in his mask. He spun her around then, causing her skirts to swirl about her. He caught her by the hand at arm's length before he pulled her back in close. He paused with a serious look on his face. "Or maybe I'm the heartbreaker." A grin crossed his lips before he swept her along with him again.

"I like my story better." She returned his smile with a bright one of her own.

"Fine, but that stays between you and me. If that fool finds out, he'll never let me hear the end of it."

"And what do I get in return?" she asked.

"Assistance with stairs, of course."

Her smile faded as his grew broader.

"The other night," he said after a few moments of silence. "I didn't mean to scare you. Those men... You shouldn't have had to see that."

Claire looked up at him, a little surprised at the sudden serious tone in his voice. "It's not anything I haven't seen before. Do you forget where I come from?" She gave him a reassuring look. Tavern brawls were a rather common experience in The Blazing Stallion. Though, she'd never actually been a part of one before.

He seemed to relax a little.

"Besides, I was more afraid of what those men would do to us if they had their way. I was just shocked at how efficiently you two disposed of them. The forest must have trained you pretty well."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. His smile returning, he said, "Yes."

The music wound down and she decided it was time for a break. They wandered back to the banquet table. She picked up another glass of the sweet tasting drink and browsed along the length of the buffet to taste whatever caught her eye. She picked up a small cake, round and bite-sized, covered in a purple jam-like glaze, and took a bite. Her eyes closed as she savored the delicate sweetness. She popped the rest of it in her mouth and moved on to the next treat. Before she knew it, she had finished her drink and had another in her hand, this time a light orange one. Sweet, tangy, and very tasty.

Farron remained at the other end of the table by the salty foods and tried each piece with a thoughtful look. Claire grabbed the nearest sweet, marched back to the elf and shoved the cake at him. It was time for vengeance.

"Try it."

He looked down at it and shrugged his shoulders before popping the whole thing in his mouth. She waited patiently for the disgusted reaction that never came.

Instead, he just nodded and said, "Not bad."

She rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. She thought for sure he'd hate it.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Claire's stomach fluttered at the familiar voice. She spun around to find the General with one of those long stemmed glasses held delicately in hand. Heat rose to her cheeks again. She didn't know what to say. It was strange that she reacted like this; she didn't know anything about the man.

Except that he looked remarkable in his uniform. Burgundy tailored jacket, black shining boots, and beige-colored slacks and shirt completed his ensemble. His long brown hair was pulled loosely back. On a less confident man it would have looked sloppy, but he managed to pull it off with grace.

General Errolle took her hand in his. "Good evening, Miss DuBonte." He bowed, brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it lightly.

Her cheeks burned madly. She curtsied in returned and lowered her head to hide her face. "G-good evening, General."

"Please, call me Bren." He nodded to the elf behind her. "I hope you are enjoying this evening."

"Yes, very much so." She had a hard time looking directly at him, so she decided to keep her gaze to the ground in a demure fashion. "Thank you for inviting us."

"I trust you are having fun as well." He looked past her at Farron again. "I know your friend is." He took a sip from the tall glass. "Although, I feel I must inform him that he is dancing with a married woman."

Claire glanced behind the General to the dance floor. It seemed that Aeron had found a dance partner in a giggling young blonde woman. But for some reason, she didn't think that finding out the woman was married would have stopped him.

"Would it be too bold if I asked my lady for a dance?" Bren offered his arm.

Claire's attention turned back to the General, her throat tight. "O-of course not, General." She set her drink down on the table, after she took one last sip for courage. She took his arm hesitantly as he handed his glass to a passing waiter.

"I promise to take good care of her," he said to Farron and turned on his heel to lead her out to the dance floor.

He stopped in the middle, bowed to her, and she curtsied back. He took her hand in his and slid his other arm around her waist to pull her in close. His dance was slower than the elf's, his steps more refined as the other dancers spun around them in a blur.

The General was almost as tall as the elves, so she had no choice but to stare at his chest and the fine cloth of his jacket. The shirt underneath was buttoned high with ruffles of white lace cascading from around his neck.

"His majesty seems quite thrilled to have an audience with the elves," he said.

Claire looked up at him finally and gazed into his gray eyes. She didn't know what to say, or what she was _supposed_ to say. So, she remained silent, not wanting to look like a fool who spewed nonsense. She had to remember the role she had to play as well, which added another layer of nervousness.

"Of course, they formally introduced themselves and told all about your situation." He smiled down at her and her cheeks flushed again. "It was quite the spectacle. I thought His Majesty would die of shock when he saw them descending the stairs."

She needed to get a hold of herself. With a deep breath, she summoned her new persona to the surface, holding her head high. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"So tell me about yourself, Miss Claire."

"What would you like to know?"

"We'll start with your hometown."

"Banton," she began sharply, "a small village far to the north. My father is a trader who specializes in fine exotic cloths and other supplies." She was grateful that the elves sat down with her the night before to work out all the details of their little charade.

"And how did a lady like you become interested in fighting? It's an awful long way to travel for a tournament."

"News travels far. My father deals with traders from all over and they would bring stories of the tournament with them, all the way from Rodem." She beamed up at him. "I guess I just thought it would be interesting. And, I figured it would be a good excuse to get out and see the world."

"Not ready to be shackled down yet?"

"Never." Partly true—Claire missed her hometown, but she had always felt an urge to get out and see the world and live a life full of adventure. Unfortunately, the driving force was too high a price to pay. "So, after months of begging father, here we are." She motioned with a hand to the room in a carefree motion. She began to feel a little light headed. Perhaps she had drunk more than she thought.

Bren gave her a delighted look. "I must say, you are very peculiar. And what of your exotic companions? It's not every day you come across an elf."

"Maybe not here, but in the north they are quite common. Perhaps you have scared them away." She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. "Father used to trade with the elves and insisted on hiring them. He wouldn't have let me go otherwise." She carefully studied the General's face, hoping that he bought her story.

Bren quickened his pace and pulled her even closer as they danced. "Speaking of which, your beautiful companion doesn't seem too thrilled with me," he said in a lowered voice.

Claire glanced past the General's shoulder to where she'd left Farron. He leaned against a stone column with a drink in one hand as he scanned the room with a frown on his face. Not too thrilled indeed. She knew he was keeping an eye on her, no doubt making sure she kept up her end of their disguise.

"Overprotective is all." She looked back up to Bren. "He _is_ still on duty."

"I see." He glanced down at the mark on her hand clasped in his and brought it closer for inspection. "This is a rather unusual decoration."

"Do my customs surprise you?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise then looked down at the mark again as his thumb traced along the intricate design across her skin. His touch sent shivers down her spine.

Claire shook her head and suddenly found it harder to remember her story. Had they gone over that part? "It's an ancient tradition in Banton for young brides to get such a tattoo. It's a symbol of blossoming love. And also a shackle, as you've called it."

"So you're betrothed then?" His surprise grew.

"Not quite." With each question, she dug the hole she was in even deeper. She felt more lightheaded, the lies getting mixed up and confused. She couldn't clearly remember what they had discussed the night before. Was she supposed to be married? She was now, she supposed. "This is sort of my last hurrah before the marriage."

"I see," he said with a touch of disappointment in his voice. "A break, perhaps?"

"That would be wonderful." He had read her mind and led her like a gentleman to the opposite wall where a group of white linen-covered tables sat. A waiter came with a silver tray of the sweet drink she'd grown so fond of.

Bren took two glasses and handed one to her. "To your last hurrah." He lifted his drink to her.

Hesitantly, she mirrored his gesture and they clinked their glasses together. She turned away from him as she gulped down the wine, cursing herself for telling him she was married. Maybe she had read too much into the slight disappointment he showed when she told him of her betrothal. She shook her head and glanced back at the General. There was no way he'd be interested in her, lady or tavern maid. It would never work out anyhow. She couldn't keep this act up for too much longer. She sighed and downed the last of her drink. The sweet liquid slid down her throat much easier than it had before.

"What are we toasting to?" Aeron strolled up, drink already in hand with a big smile plastered across his face.

Relief mingled with a different sort of anxiety at his arrival.

"To her betrothal, of course," Bren replied.

Aeron's face was taut as he tried to decipher the news. She glared back at him, urging him to play along.

"Oh, but of course." Aeron recovered, turning the shock into gleeful surprise. He grabbed another glass from a passing waiter, handed it to her and held his own up in front of him. "Here is to missed opportunities and the lucky sap of a groom."

They each took a sip from their glass. Claire quickly downed the rest of hers, wishing desperately for a distraction from the topic.

In a surprising answer to her wish, an older man approached Bren and whispered into his ear. He nodded to the man and bowed to Claire and Aeron. "If you'll excuse me, it seems I'm being summoned." He took Claire's hand in his. "I hope to see you again, Miss Claire." He kissed the back of her hand before he took his leave.

Claire let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She wasn't so sure she should see the General again. She became a bumbling fool around him. It took her a moment to look at Aeron, afraid of what his reaction would be. The elf looked down at her with obvious amusement.

She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to start his relentless teasing. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." He sipped his drink casually. "I just wanted to ask Miss Claire for a dance. Or should that be Missus?"

She ignored the last part. "I thought you'd never ask." She took his arm after they set their drinks down on one of the tables and he led her out to the dance floor. The room started to spin a little as the alcohol caught up to her. "I'm surprised you were able to break away from the swarms of women." She changed the topic to his favorite subject: him.

Aeron's smile broadened as he took her hand in his and placed the other on her waist. "It seems like the tables have finally turned, my lady. Refined ladies find it hard to resist my charms, I am afraid." He swept her along, his waltz more free flowing than the other two. "Is there any other wonderful news that you would like to share with me?"

He looked down at her. His usual pleasant look was in place but his eyes grew serious. He wanted to know how much she told the General. She shook her head, but that was a mistake. It only made the room spin even more. "No. I was only trying to explain the customs of my village, and then suddenly I was betrothed."

He sighed. "I guess that means my chances are ruined."

She was relieved that he didn't seem too mad at her. "I'm sure you still have your pick here."

"That is true, my lady."

A few dances and drinks later, Claire collapsed onto a chair by one of the tables, giggling uncontrollably. Drunkenness had finally caught up to her. Aeron caught her as she started to lean to one side and almost fell out of the chair, which only made her laugh even more. The elf had taught her a different, faster variation of the waltzing dance that made the room spin in a mish mash of colors. The second she sat down, the throbbing in her feet began. She had so much fun dancing her mind ignored the blisters forming on her feet. The alcohol may have helped as well.

Claire stopped giggling for a second as she reached out to a glass set atop the table. Half empty and abandoned, she didn't know whose it was, but didn't care either.

Aeron snatched the drink from her hands just as she was about to take a sip. "I think you have had enough of this, my lady." He set the glass down on the table out of her reach. "Perhaps we should call it a night." He stood next to the chair, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

"But we're having so much fun," she pouted like a child. She didn't want to leave the ball. Not yet. She had dreamed of this very thing her whole life—who knew if she would ever have the chance again?

"I am afraid my lady cannot even stand on her own right now." He glanced around the room, no doubt looking for their companion.

"Am I embarrassing you?" She brushed his hand off her shoulder.

Aeron leaned in close with his hand on the back of the chair. "A lady always knows her limit. I think we should leave now before you blow our whole cover." His eyes narrowed and the smile vanished, his words harsh and sharp.

A lump rose in her throat, the kind that was inevitably followed by tears. She swallowed hard and tried her best to keep a strong face. He'd been happy just a moment before. The fact that he could change his emotions so fast frightened her a little. She remembered Farron's words from the other night. She was beginning to see the side of Aeron that may have raised him to a position of power.

"Now, stay put while I find our other guardian." The smile returned in full force as he straightened up.

The incident sobered her up a little. Fear can do that to a person, even a drunken one. She watched as he disappeared into the elegant crowd. A sense of shame overwhelmed her, sinking to the pit of her stomach. Maybe he was right to get upset with her. The charade was not a game, nor was it as fun as she'd thought it would be. It was downright exhausting pretending to be someone she wasn't, especially from a different social class she hardly knew anything about. If anyone were to find out who they really were, the repercussions could be great, deadly even. She shuddered at the thought.

She covered her face with her hand as she fought the sting in her eyes, while the other balled itself into the soft material of her skirt. She took a deep breath. Then another. And another, until the lump in her throat subsided. Glancing to either side, she gripped the edge of the table and hoisted herself up onto blistered, unsteady feet. She wasn't sure where their inn was, but she didn't feel like staying to suffer the wrath of Aeron either. With her head held high, she walked through the crowd to the set of stairs she'd entered on. She'd descended a curious, excited girl with her dream come to life. Now she climbed as a woman in defeat. The realities of her life were just too different from the shining one behind her.

Each step was a mountain to her aching feet. A hiss of air escaped between clenched teeth each time she stepped down. Her right hand gripped the stone banister and held on for dear life while the other held the voluminous skirts up and out of the way. Tripping down the stairs wouldn't be the best way to end such a beautiful night. The corset had become unbearably tight and she felt like she was going to suffocate. How did these women survive? Perhaps they were used to the torture. When Claire finally reached the top of the stairs, a triumphant victory in her book, she glanced back at the ballroom to take in the scene one last time, then limped through the entranceway, steadying herself with a hand against the wall.

The older gentleman from before pulled the thick red curtain back and bowed silently as she came through. She curtsied back, her knees shaking from the effort. A hiccup burst through her lips, surprising both her and the older man. Her cheeks flushed as she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Embarrassed, she turned and walked to the railing across from them, and leaned on it with both hands. The room spun around her, images blurring if she moved her head too fast. She gripped the railing and placed one foot in front of the other toward the next set of stairs. This time going down. She crossed her fingers and hoped that she wouldn't have a twisted ankle in the morning.

She'd managed to make it halfway down when a voice rang out from behind her. "It's rude to leave without telling anyone, you know."

Claire glanced back over her shoulder. Farron stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed as he looked down at her in disapproval.

"Add it to my list of faults." She turned back to her task and gathered her skirts in her hand. She already had one disappointed elf, might as well add the other while she was at it.

The night was spiraling down faster than a depressed drunk on a binge. The comfort of a warm bed called out to her. Even more, she wished for solitude. And for the spinning to stop. She closed her eyes as she waited for the world around her to stop whirling and the nausea in her stomach to ease.

An arm snaked across her shoulders before her feet were suddenly swept out from under her. She gasped in surprise as Farron swiftly picked her up off the stairs in one smooth motion.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was shrill as the world spun wildly around her. The nausea in her stomach returned in full force and she clamped her eyes closed again.

"Assisting you with stairs. It was part of our agreement, if you remember. In exchange for your silence."

She couldn't see it, but she knew the grin was there. She gripped his shoulder, her fingers digging into the soft material of his jacket. "I think I'm going to be sick. Please put me down." He started to descend the stairs. Each step felt like a free fall down the side of a cliff.

"You are a lightweight for a bar maid, surprisingly."

She leaned her head against his shoulder and kept her eyes tightly shut. She didn't have the will or the energy to argue with him at the moment. He carried her through the palace in silence, his footsteps clicking loudly through the halls. The music from the ball faded away into the distance and left only faint traces of the melody to float through the corridors to tease the ear before it was gone. Her grip on his jacket relaxed as she reveled in it. The throbbing in her head eased to a steady ache.

"I think he hates me," she blurted out in a weak voice.

"And whom are we speaking of?"

"Aeron."

"You act like that is a bad thing."

She remained quiet, wishing to hear more comforting words.

After a few steps, Farron took a deep breath. "He doesn't hate you. He's just scared." He paused before he continued in a soft voice, "We're not exactly in friendly territory. Even you would have to know what would happen if we were found out."

Claire didn't say anything. What could she say? His words had been somewhat comforting, but proved all the more reason for Aeron's anxiety.

It felt like they had reached another set of stairs, and the elf descended them carefully at a slow pace to help reduce the impact. Cool air nipped at her. The sensation wonderful and wholly welcome as her body burned from the alcohol and caused a thin layer of sweat to break out across her skin. She could hear the carriages and the noise from the city in the distance: hooves on stone, the occasional shout, music from a distant tavern. The ambiance of human life.

"Excuse me, sir!" shouted a heavily accented male voice at the top of the stairs.

Farron stopped and she could feel him turn to look. Claire finally gathered the courage to open her eyes and peered over Farron's shoulder to the man standing atop the stairs. They stood outside under the main entrance they had arrived through earlier that day. The great curved archway, carved from a single block of white stone, had shone blindingly white in the afternoon sun. Now it was cast in an orange flickering glow by rows of torches that lined the stairs.

"Do not worry, we are only borrowing them," Farron told the man. "You still have our belongings, remember?" He turned and started to descend the stairs again. "You will get them in the morning."

A carriage pulled up to the bottom of the stairs. Simple and white with only one long seat behind the driver, it still seemed too fancy for her. She'd only ever ridden in a friend's carriage, never in one for her own use.

"Please put me down now. This is getting rather embarrassing," she whispered to the elf. He set her down carefully; her hand gripped his sleeve as she steadied herself in the heels. She started to climb up into the carriage, but stopped halfway and turned back to Farron, "Shouldn't we wait for Aeron?"

He just smirked and helped her into the carriage.

She plopped down on the plush bench seat and scooted to the other end. The soft red velvet felt similar to her dress. She leaned her head back against the rail and closed her eyes.

"Come on, my lady." Farron shook her by the shoulder lightly.

Claire opened her eyes in a daze. She didn't remember dozing off. The carriage stopped in front of their inn and she could hear the muffled noise of the crowd and music from inside the tavern. She looked down at her dress. They were sure to be noticed in their fancy attire. Her shoulders slumped; she didn't want to face yet another embarrassing event this evening.

Farron stood outside the carriage and held the miniature door open. He started to pull on her hands in an effort to get her up. "I'm sure this fine gentleman would like to go home sometime this evening."

Claire looked up at the driver. The middle-aged man simply tipped his hat to her and turned back around in his seat. She sighed and stepped out of the carriage. Farron closed the door behind her and the carriage took off down the street, the horse's hooves echoing off the cobblestone before they turned around the corner.

She stood unmoving in front of the bustling inn. "Do you think they have a back door?"

"Not embarrassed, are we?"

She raised her chin at him. "Of course not."

Farron opened the door to the tavern, blasting them with the loud boisterous noise from inside, so different from the music she had heard earlier in the evening.

"After you." He bowed and motioned with his hand.

"Thank you, kind sir." She gave a brief curtsy before she strode into the room. Curious eyes turned to look at her one by one.

Keeping her stride, she walked quickly to the stairs with her head held high and proud. She gripped the railing to the stairs and looked up. They seemed to be twice as tall as she remembered. She took a deep breath and managed to climb the first step. Her feet cried out in pain. One step down, a mountain more to go.

"Would you like my assistance?" Farron leaned casually against the railing on the other side, down on the level floor.

"I can do it myself." She glanced out into the tavern. A handful of people watched them. She climbed another step and winced. See, she could do it. It would just take her awhile.

"This is painful to watch." He stepped on the bottom step.

Claire whirled around. "No one told you to watch!"

He smiled up at her before he charged up the stairs toward her, grabbed her legs and threw her over his shoulder.

Claire shrieked in surprise. "What are you doing? Put me down this instant!" Scattered claps and whistles rose from the crowd in the tavern. Heat rose to the surface of her entire body. This was exactly the kind of embarrassing thing she wanted to avoid.

He bounded up the steps and through the hall, all while she pleaded with him, balling her fists up to beat on his back. Neither seemed to break his stride. He stood in front of her door and dug a key out of his jacket. It sure was comforting to know he had a spare to her room. He kicked the door open and threw her onto the tiny bed, the metal frame squealing under the stress.

Farron stood at the foot of the bed and dusted his hands off. "My job here is done."

"You're evil!" Claire shouted as she turned away from him to face the wall. "I've never felt so humiliated!" She covered her head with a pillow and buried her face in the scratchy sheets.

"And you're stubborn," he countered. "In all fairness, it would have taken you all night."

"Please just go away." Her head seemed to spin even more lying down. All she wanted to do was to go to sleep and forget this night ever happened. Well, the latter part of it anyway.

The door clicked closed, and then it was silent. After a moment, she lifted her head from beneath the pillow and looked around the room, now elf free. The bedside oil lamp had been lit. The inn staff must have done that. She turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. A twinge of regret stung her in the chest. Farron had been nothing but nice to her this evening, in his own way. She would have to apologize to him in the morning. Her heavy eyelids slowly slid closed and she dozed off.

A sudden light tap on the door lassoed her consciousness back to the surface. What now?

"May I come in?"

Just the elf. Her shoulders relaxed a little. She wondered for a brief second when they went tense. "Yes." She rolled over to face the door, grabbed the other pillow and hugged it close to her chest.

Farron entered with a cup in his hand and set it down on the table by the bed. Claire peered up at him, the lower half of her face buried in the pillow. He seemed to avoid her gaze. Was he mad at her? He'd every right to be.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was muffled by the pillow. "I know you were just trying to help."

A slight smile tugged at his mouth and he turned to leave. "No need. I do tend to get a little impatient."

A surge of sadness swept over her. For some reason the sight of his back to her dug up a feeling of loneliness deep in her chest. There was no one left for her to go home to. No one she could share her feelings with or tell the excitements of her day to. She felt utterly alone at that moment and for some reason, his quiet presence had become soothing to her. When he wasn't being arrogant, that is.

"Stay," she muttered, tears teetering on the edge. Farron glanced back over his shoulder with a look of surprise. "Just for a little bit."

He closed the door to the room and sat at the foot of the bed, wisely not saying a word. The bed squeaked ever so slightly as he leaned back on his hands. His gaze drifted down to his boots stretched out before him.

"Did you have fun tonight?" she finally asked to break the silence.

"Yes, and yourself?"

"I found it exhausting."

"I thought you would have liked playing the part." He turned to face her, curling a leg up on the bed.

"I did. But you know what I found out?"

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Being a lady is actually quite painful."

Farron chuckled, then slipped one of her shoes off and threw it behind him where it landed on the wooden floorboards with a loud thud. Claire winced as he grabbed her stockinged foot. He began to feel around, prodding with his fingers, as he checked for bumps or sprains like a doctor.

"I think you're going to have to get used to it," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"It looks like we'll have to keep this farce going for a little while longer."

Her foot jerked out of his grasp. "Ouch! Watch it!" He'd found a sweet spot. "Will you just spit it out already?" She didn't feel like playing these games tonight.

He removed the other shoe and threw it behind him to join the other on the floor. "The General will be joining us on our journey."

Claire sat up straight, her eyes wide. "What did you just say?"

"I received an offer while you were dancing with that fool. The General wants us to take him to Rodem."

"What? Why? And you said yes?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "The money was good."

"Doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"

"Of course it does."

"Does Aeron know?"

"He will."

Claire laid back on the bed, her hands covered her face. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"You wouldn't be the only one."

"Then why did you agree?"

Farron sighed. "It's not like I had much of a choice. I'm sure he would have come one way or another. At least this way we can keep a close eye on him."

"Keep your enemies closer?"

"Exactly."

"And why are you just telling me this now?" She rubbed her eyes. The headache was starting all over again.

"I figured you'd find out soon enough." He paused. "We leave in the morning."

"Tomorrow?" She sat up again and met the elf's gaze. "But what about my mother? You heard what that man said. There are others in this town." She pointed toward the tiny window and could feel the heat rise up to her skin.

"I'm afraid we'll have to put that on hold for the time being."

Claire bristled with rage. She yanked her foot out of his grasp and sat up on her knees in front of him. "We had a deal. How do you expect me to just abandon my search?" She crossed her arms. "I refuse. The only reason I signed up for this little adventure was so I can find my mother." She glared at the elf, her brow furrowed furiously. "And I'm not going anywhere until I do."

"We can't let you do that." His eyes pierced hers. A hint of anger burned deep in the icy blue depths, yet his voice and manner remained calm and in control.

"We'll see about that." She stared back.

"And so what are you going to do? Stay here in this town all by yourself, following a lead you got from some crazy man in the streets? With no money or a place to stay on top of that? We don't know anything yet and we've already got that damn General sniffing around our heels." His voice began to rise. It was the first time she'd seen him genuinely upset. "You're our responsibility, whether you like it or not. We already stuck our necks out and risked coming here for you. I think it's time you grew up and stepped out into the real world. Sometimes things don't always go the way they're planned."

Claire stared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. He'd found the chink in her armor. It was the second time in one night she was being chastised by an elf. That had to be a new record. She struggled to hold back the tears in her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. Tears wouldn't help; they rarely ever did.

"Could you please leave?" She looked away from him and closed her eyes. The corset began to suffocate her again as the lump returned to her throat.

The room fell silent, the only noises from the tavern below. The sound that had made her feel more at ease the past couple of nights only made her feel worse now.

The metal frame creaked and she could feel the extra weight lift off the bed as the elf stood. She waited quietly, listening for the soft click the door made when closing.

"I didn't mean—" Farron began, but stopped.

Claire stared out the window on the other side of the room. She refused to look at the elf.

"Look, I have an old acquaintance in Sanre Du Lore. She may be able to help you in your search. We can stop on the way to Rodem."

She kept her eyes on the window. He'd made a valiant effort but the damage had already been done. Deep down, she knew he was right. The stubborn girl inside of her just didn't want to admit it. She heard the soft click of the door, then collapsed back on the bed and let the tears fall freely from her eyes. Tears seemed to be her constant companion and her new worst enemy. She had to become stronger than this. Her eyes couldn't take much more.

Sleep came quick. The corset remained laced around her, tight and uncomfortable, but she was too tired to care at the moment. Besides, she wasn't so sure she could get it off without any assistance. That would be her next big challenge, and for the first time in a while she was relieved that the problem seemed so small.

#

A loud tap on the door caused Claire's eyes to flutter open. Somehow she had ended up on her stomach, her limbs splayed out in all directions, her right arm dangled over the side of the bed. It took a moment for the pain to register as it rushed in from all throughout her body. Her feet and legs were sore from the heels and the dancing, her ribs from the corset, and the steady ache in her head from the alcohol. She winced as she tried to raise herself off the bed. The morning was off to a great start.

Another round of tapping at the door broke her train of thought.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." She tried to raise herself up off the bed once again, but the corset she still wore made the process even harder.

Summoning all the strength she could, she pushed up off the bed and rolled onto the floor with a heavy thud, knocking what breath she had left out of her chest. She cursed to herself as she struggled to her feet and the pins and needles started in her right arm, completely useless at the moment. That would have been helpful to know just a moment before.

She hobbled over to the door on stiff legs and opened it a crack to peek out. Aeron stood about to tap at the door again, looking nice and refreshed.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said with a great big smile.

Claire glanced down the hallway behind him to make sure no one was in sight before she grabbed the elf by the arm, pulled him into the room and closed the door quickly behind him. He was already dressed in his usual outfit, his weaponry strapped to his back.

"My lady, there's no need to be so rough. I would have entered willingly," he said.

"I need you to help me with this." She turned around. "I think my ribs are bruised."

"With pleasure, _mon_ _lainí_." He cracked his fingers as he stretched them out in front of him.

"Just hurry up." She frowned. She didn't like the idea, but he just happened to be the first helping hands she saw.

Aeron started to undo the lacings on the back of the corset. Her hands gripped the front so it wouldn't fall and give him a show. She looked at the chest at the end of the bed. Her clothes were folded neatly on top along with her dagger. Well, that was a relief at least.

"What does that mean, that thing you call me?" she asked, curious.

"My little lady, of course."

She sighed, too tired to get annoyed. Just who was he calling little? But even if she asked him to stop, she knew he wouldn't.

"I guess Farron told you about our situation?" She remembered the unpleasant argument she had with the elf the night before.

"Yes, yes," he replied as he concentrated on the laces.

And nothing more, she hoped. "You're not mad?"

He let out a breath behind her. "Of course I am, but what can you do? At least this way we can keep an eye on him."

"That's what he said." She could feel the corset loosen up a little and already it was easier to breathe.

"Besides, it will be better to travel with him than to be on the run from him. He does not suspect us yet. Well, not for the real reasons, and we would like to keep it that way."

"I understand," she said with a solemn note. He was talking about her keeping up her part. A small pang shot through her chest as she realized the elf still didn't fully trust her, although she couldn't really blame him.

"I am sorry about last night," he said after a moment. "I said some harsh things, I know."

"It's fine." She tried to shrug her shoulders as much as she could. "I'm sure you were just worried or scared."

Aeron chuckled behind her. "Worried maybe. However, I assure you, my lady, I have never been scared in my entire life. Did you not listen to my stories?"

"I think I must have missed that part."

"Then I will have to tell you all over again."

A prospect she did not look forward to. The corset had been loosened enough so it could slip up over her head. She held her hands up in the air as Aeron lifted it up and she quickly covered her chest in the thin slip as soon as she was free of the binding beast.

"Thank you." She looked back at him.

"I could be of more assistance if you would like." His eyes wandered down her body.

"I think I can handle it from here." She opened the door and hid behind it.

"Oh, that is right. I almost forgot that you are a married woman now."

"Just go!" She pointed out the door.

Aeron strolled into the hallway laughing and she slammed the door shut behind him. At least he found himself amusing.

Claire quickly undressed, splashed her face with water to rinse off the remaining makeup, and put on her normal clothes. The lighter material felt great against her skin. She winced as she bent down to slide on her boots. Perhaps sleeping in the corset hadn't been the brightest of ideas. She took out the pins in her hair to unfasten the elaborate up-do, already ruined by last night's sleep, and wove a single braid, low and to the side so it fell over her left shoulder.

With the dress folded neatly in hand, she opened the door and stepped out into the dark hallway. She limped down the stairs, taking each step one at a time, her feet and legs still throbbed, the muscles sore and stiff in her calves. She wondered if being a lady was really worth all this pain.

Aeron stood by the bar and she squinted at the harsh morning light that streamed in through the windows. The tavern was barren as usual in the mornings. Two packs sat on top of one of the little tables along with a map unfurled and held open with one of Farron's blades. She glanced around the room and breathed a sigh of relief. The elf was nowhere in sight. She was still angry at him about last night, even if he was right.

Claire walked to the bar and set the dress on top by Aeron, where he stood eating from a plate filled with eggs and sausage. Usually the smell would be mouthwatering, but this morning it was nauseating.

"Want some?" He held a sausage out on a fork to her.

Her stomach lurched. "No thanks."

"You should eat something."

Her body stiffened at the sound of Farron's voice behind her. "I don't feel like it." She turned to glare at the elf.

He stood a few feet away in his usual black get-up, adjusting the leather glove on his left forearm.

She turned back to Aeron and sat down on the barstool beside him.

"We do not have this type of food in the forest," Aeron said between mouthfuls.

Curious, she asked, "Then what do you have for breakfast?"

"Fruits mostly. Breads. Cheeses occasionally. Nothing this rich, by far."

Claire raised her eyebrows in wonder. Perhaps that was why they all appeared so thin. "Then you should watch out, or else you will return twice your size."

Aeron just smiled and said, "I take full advantage of the opportunities I am given, my lady. And engorge myself I will."

She couldn't stop the laugh from bursting through her lips. An obese elf. _That_ she would like to see. Especially if it was Aeron.

"Oh, here." Aeron reached beside him and handed Claire a long, slightly curved stick. A pink ribbon was tied around the middle in a bow. "I got this for you."

It was painted black with a small guard, and black leather wrapped around the end for the grip. "It's a sword." She examined it closely, admiring the craftsmanship. The carved wood was smooth and tapered to an edge on one side. The end was rounded, blunt. She looked up at Aeron and smiled. "Thank you." Her eyes narrowed. "Is this the errand you went to do the other day?"

"Yes, yes. It is nothing much. It is a children's sword after all, for your small hands and all." He shoved an egg into his mouth. It was the first time she'd seen him be truly bashful about something.

"Well then, it seems like it's perfect for me then," she quipped, more at the elf behind her than him. "Thank you."

Aeron glanced up at her, then back to Farron and smirked. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" She looked at him questioningly.

"I saw you two lovebirds leave the ball last night." He leaned in closer to her. "Did Farron work his magic on you?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

She threw a glare over her shoulder at the elf in question. "You could say that." She hopped off the barstool with a frown, walked to the table with the map, and set the practice blade on top of it.

Aeron laughed. "You truly have a gift, my friend. You really do know how to charm the ladies." Aeron said behind her. "If you want, I could give you some tips. But I must warn you, _mon_ _lainí_ is a married woman now."

Claire could hear Farron choke on his drink back by the bar, coughing. She rolled her eyes and looked down at the map, tuning the elves out. She'd seen many maps in her lifetime, but none of them were quite like this one. The names of the towns were written in a different language. Elvish, probably. The map was worn and old, the edges torn and bent. She spotted the forest first. A symbol was elaborately decorated with a palace and the King's coat of arms. Her village lay to the south. She snorted at the tiny house-shaped symbols used to represent it. Lendon lay to the southwest surrounded by mountains. Her eyes glanced over the map and spotted a symbol with a picture of a coliseum far to the west. That must be Rodem. It looked like the journey would take even longer than she'd thought.

She sighed, leaning above the map, and closed her eyes, wondering if she was truly up to the task.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Claire's eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. Her pulse automatically began to quicken and she spun around toward the entrance.

General Errolle strolled into the tavern dressed in dark brown pants tucked into knee high black boots and topped off with a beige shirt that fit close to his tall slender frame. A floor length brown cloak completed his toned down look. The glint of a golden pommel at his waist caught her eye as he approached. Two guards waited by the entrance on either side of the door, both staring off into the distance.

Bren stopped in front of her and bowed. "Good morning, Miss Claire. I'm sure your guards informed you of the situation and I hope that it is not a bother."

Claire curtsied back to him. "Of course not. I'm sure it will be a pleasure to have you along." She beamed up at the General. His hair was tied back in a low, loose ponytail, his gray eyes and high cheekbones were striking in the morning light. She could feel her cheeks start to flush and turned back to the map to look busy. Well, maybe the journey wouldn't be so bad after all.

Farron stood on the other side of the table and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he began to strap on his weaponry. She kept her eyes down on the map, trying to read the foreign words above the towns and landmarks. A small clink on the table drew her attention up to the edge of the map. Farron had set her mother's bracelet on the table. The ruby eyes caught the bright light brilliantly. She glanced up at the elf before snatching the bracelet off the table. He avoided her gaze to pay extra attention to the straps of the quiver he was putting on.

Claire sighed and slipped the bracelet onto her left wrist. "Thank you." The elf didn't respond. Not like she had expected him to. Still, it would have been nice.

Bren tossed Farron a brown pouch. A light jingling noise came from the bag as the elf caught it.

"There's the first half, as we agreed. You'll get the rest after we arrive in Rodem. In one piece, hopefully."

Claire turned around to look at the General. He wore an amused look, pleased with himself for his little joke. Humor must not be his strong point, but she forced a smile up at him anyway. At least he was easy on the eyes. And charming, can't forget that one.

"I'm sorry, Miss Claire. I don't usually discuss business matters in front of ladies."

"There's nothing to apologize for. I'm used to such dealings." She shrugged her shoulders and brushed the matter aside. "Although, I am curious as to why you'd pay for our services when you have two strapping young guards at your disposal."

The guards at the door shifted and glanced at one another.

Aeron walked over, finished with his breakfast, and stood to the side behind the General. He glared at her with eyebrows furrowed together in warning. Somebody had to ask the question; might as well be her.

"Ah, yes. It does seem quite strange, doesn't it?" Bren said politely. "You see, Lendon is in the middle of trade negotiations with Rodem and I have been tasked to deliver a message, sign some documents. Trivial stuff, really. Why waste an army when they could be of better use protecting the city? It is quite dangerous out there, you know."

Claire's eyes widened. Did he know about the attacks? She opened her mouth to speak when Aeron clamped a hand on her shoulder.

"I am sure he has his reasons. Official ones he is not at liberty to disclose." Aeron glared down at her.

"Of course. I apologize." She curtsied to the General.

They left that morning richer than the day before. The sun shone high in the sky and its warm rays kissed along her skin. The dirt path crunched underneath her feet as she walked, the road rising gently to the mountain pass she'd seen the other day. A fresh cool breeze blew through the valley, rustling the tall green grass on the sides of the road, and carrying with it the first signs of fall. Claire breathed in and closed her eyes. Autumn was her favorite time of the year. Though still weeks away, it was something to look forward to. The hangover started to dissipate, the headache and nausea fading away, pushed aside by such a beautiful day.

The new wood sword dug into her side, tucked into her belt. It hadn't come with any type of sheath or strap. Should've known. Aeron didn't seem like one for details. She glanced up to the elf that walked before her. He'd gotten a matching one. The handle stuck out from behind the quiver of arrows on his back, like hers, only bigger. To match his ego maybe?

The elf was busy regaling the General with his tales, who just smiled kindly as he listened to his words. At least he wasn't telling her, she thought with relief. Although interesting and informative, his stories were mostly self-absorbent and almost always exaggerated.

With Aeron and the General busy, Claire was surprisingly bored and a little lonely. Farron led the way as usual, walking several paces ahead of the rest of them. He hadn't said a word to her since they'd left. Claire brought up the rear, her legs and feet still sore. Walking was unpleasant—walking uphill, even more so. They decided to take the road up through the pass and although taxing on her body, it was still more pleasant than climbing down a cliff side.

They passed an older man in a cart pulled by two oxen. A farmer by the looks of it, with a floppy straw hat pulled over his face to shield him from the sun. Hay and bushels of vegetables piled high in the back of the wooden cart, the wheels squealing as he passed, in need of a good grease. The old farmer nodded to each of them in turn as they passed. Claire fought the urge to hop in the cart and bombard the man with questions. Where was he from? Had his town been attacked? If not, perhaps he'd heard news of others.

She sighed. The act would surely blow their cover. She hadn't even made it past the first day and already she struggled with her new identity. Although, the look on Aeron's face would've been priceless.

The climb up the pass proved to be easier than she had dreaded from down in the valley. Trees lined the road and the earth beneath them flattened once they reached the top. The road continued in a straight line for several paces before it forked off in two directions.

"We'll cut through the forest." Farron waited by the split in the road for the rest of them to catch up.

"May I ask why?" Bren asked, even then he was polite.

"My lady has suggested we stop in Sanre Du Lore." Farron crossed his arms across his chest. He made lying into an art. Even she was convinced it was her suggestion. "It will be quicker that way."

"Sanre?" Bren turned to her, his eyes wide in surprise. "Miss Claire, you surprise me more and more. What could a lady want in Sanre?"

Claire was speechless for a second, her mouth hanging open as she searched for an answer. She finally shrugged and said, "Why not? I'm curious to see it all, good and bad."

Bren laughed and shook his head. He turned back to Farron and motioned with his arm to the forest on the left. "Well then, lead the way."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. What kind of town was Sanre Du Lore anyway?

"We will rest here for the evening," Aeron declared several paces ahead of her.

Claire snapped out of the daze that she'd been walking in for the latter part of the day. With no one to talk to, she had tried counting the trees but gave up after she reached two hundred. What was the point, anyway? The forest seemed to stretch on forever in all directions.

Light streamed through the treetops and faded as the sun made its final descent from the sky. Her feet and legs ached from the night before, and with today's trek it was surprising her legs didn't give out from under her.

"I'll patrol the area," Farron said before he took off into the trees.

Aeron turned to Bren. "How are you at building fires?"

"Not bad, I suppose." The General shrugged.

"Great!" Aeron exclaimed. He turned to Claire. "Us men will go build a fire. I want you to get a feel for that fancy new sword of yours."

Claire raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. "And what exactly should I be doing with it, teacher?"

"Work on your swinging of course." A wide smile crossed his mouth. He put an arm around Bren and led him through the trees. "Come find us when you are done," Aeron shouted over his shoulder.

She looked at him, baffled. So much for being a teacher. It seemed he didn't want her spending too much time with the General and had kept him occupied for the most part of the day. He still didn't trust her to keep up their charade. Although, she couldn't really blame him. After all, it was her fault that she was now betrothed.

Claire sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. She stood alone in a small clearing in the trees. Aeron's loud voice and laughter faded into the distance and the forest became quiet except for the occasional bird cry. She stripped off the deep purple over-shirt, down to the thin sleeveless black one underneath. She folded it up and laid it on the ground out of the way, along with the belt and dagger. Then she stretched to loosen her stiff muscles and joints.

Alright, that was done. She gripped the handle to the practice blade and held it up with both hands in front of her. Unsure of what to do, she felt a little silly. She glanced around. At least no one was around to see her.

She lifted the sword above her head and swung it down in front of her with all her might. A rush of satisfaction swept through her. She swung it horizontally, the wooden blade cutting through the air. A feeling of empowerment took over. Who needed Aeron anyway? She could practice without him. She stabbed the blade in front of her and lunged forward. Who did he think he was? Did he really think he could keep her separated from the General the whole journey? She swung the blade again, anger surging through her veins now. Why didn't he trust her? It wasn't like she had told him anything that would ruin their little farce. So what if she was now to be married?

Her breath began to quicken and sweat broke out as she swung the sword furiously. The forest around her became a blur. Each swing gave her a feeling of gratification as she channeled her stress into the physical action and slashed away at her problems. She could get used to practicing with the pretend blade. It was a great way to relieve stress.

She swung the blade back over her head with both hands, ready to swing it with all her might, but something suddenly caught it. Claire gasped and let go, whirling around, backing away instinctively. Farron gripped the sword, holding it up where he'd stopped it. He looked at her with wide eyes.

"Don't do that!" Claire shrieked. Her hand clutched her chest; her heart beat furiously as if it were trying to escape. She'd been so wrapped up in her practice she hadn't noticed the elf.

"I didn't want to interrupt," he said, "but I had no choice but to defend myself. I could have been knocked out cold the way you were swinging this thing around." He gripped the handle and examined the fake weapon.

Her pulse began to calm but was replaced by a growing sense of irritation. She was still mad at the elf. Her stubbornness wouldn't let her forget so easily.

"Have you come to make fun of me, or did you come to apologize?"

"Neither." He swung the sword, paying more attention to it than her.

What was with him and weapons? Maybe it was a male thing.

She crossed her arms and waited for an explanation. She was too tired to probe for answers.

"I have come to propose a truce." He pointed the blade at her.

"For what, might I ask?"

"What I said before. I don't think I was wrong and I'm not sorry for saying it." He kept the point aimed at her. "I made a valid argument. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

Claire's mouth dropped open, exasperated. That took some nerve. "I am not a child!" She lunged forward and grabbed for her sword, but he pulled it back out of reach at the last moment.

"No?" A look of amusement spread across his face.

"I think you're the one being childish here."

Farron laughed. "And I wonder where I learned this technique from?"

Claire flushed, reminded of her similar tactics from earlier in their journey. She crossed her arms again in a huff. "Fine. If it's a truce you want."

He flipped the sword around and held it out to her handle first. Claire glared at him for a second before snatching it back from him. She fought the urge to beat him and his smug expression with it.

"I'll admit that I sometimes rush into things before thinking it through." She gathered up her shirt and dagger and slipped the belt around her waist. "But you didn't have to be so mean about it." She focused the wooden point at him this time. "I may not know much about the world, but I'm not dumb. Just inexperienced."

"Look, I didn't mean—"

She held up her hand to stop him. "It's fine. I'm learning, even if the lessons are harsh and unrewarding." She could feel the fire return inside of her. "So it's a truce you want, huh?"

She held her hand out in front of her. He took it and gave a firm shake.

"Fine. I'll show you that I'm not a child, just you wait."

"I look forward to it."

"Well then." She looked around her to make sure she didn't leave anything. "I've had enough. How about we go rescue Bren from Aeron's awful storytelling?"

"Although I don't really trust him, there is no need to torture the man."

Claire laughed, a weight lifted from her shoulders. They trudged through the forest; Claire led the way in the direction Aeron took earlier until she spotted the orange glow of the fire flicker through the trees.

Aeron and Bren looked up as she walked into the clearing. They sat near each other on an overturned tree. She could see the happy look of relief in Bren's eyes. He must've reached his limit with Aeron's stories. There's only so much one can take in a day. His expression faltered a bit when he saw Farron behind her, but then returned again, a glowing brilliant look. It made her heart skip.

He really was charming. Her stomach fell as she realized how it must have looked to him, to see her emerge from the forest with the elf. She swallowed hard. There was nothing she could do about it now. She sat on the ground in front of the fire with her legs crossed. Farron sat across the fire from her.

"Miss Claire also has an interest in sword play?" Bren broke the silence.

She looked up at him, surprised. "Why, of course I do. A girl can't always wait for a knight in shining armor. She'd be dead long before he ever shows up, if at all."

Bren laughed. "Indeed, my lady."

Aeron exchanged a glance with Farron.

"How very peculiar." Bren's face was alit with amusement. "Tell me, Miss Claire, about your hometown. Are all the women there as bold as you?"

Her eyes widened and she glanced at Aeron. Had she said something wrong again? Aeron returned her look with one of disdain. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for her response, daring her to say something.

"Of course. We Bantonians are very prideful. The women even more so than the men at times." She glanced back at Aeron with a satisfied look. She'd show him that she can play this little game.

Bren chuckled. "I see. Your fiancé must be a very strong man."

Claire could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and she averted her gaze to the fire. "Some might say that."

"You don't sound too happy about it."

Claire sighed heavily. She was too tired for this. All she wanted to do was climb out of the marriage hole she had dug. A thought popped into her head then. "A girl is never happy about an arranged marriage."

Aeron buried his face in his hands. She glanced up at Bren and his expression was frozen in surprise. He looked like he was about to say something but stopped. A glorious smile took over a moment later and his shoulders relaxed.

"I see," he said, his voice softer. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No need." She stuck her chin up. "Just doing my duty as a daughter."

Silence fell on the camp. She gazed into the fire, not knowing what else to say.

"How about some food?" Aeron asked.

Claire's stomach growled at the mention of it. She'd barely eaten all day; her stomach still reeled from the night before. Aeron tossed her a roll of bread and some cheese wrapped in a cloth. She had hoped that he'd picked up something different in the marketplace back in Lendon. Maybe it didn't bother him what he ate. She sighed and took a bite of the bread. So much for exotic cuisine.

#

Aeron had seized Bren early in the day; they walked ahead, talking and laughing like old buddies. It seemed he was unhappy with her performance the night before.

The brush of the forest rubbed up against Claire's boots. Her fingers worked through her hair as she untangled the braid she had the day before to let her hair hang loose around her shoulders. She believed her performance had been rather good. The General still seemed to believe her. Wasn't that what mattered?

The forest looked the same as always: an endless sea of green and brown. Ash and oak and pine all mingled together, all looking the same after a while. Farron walked a few paces to the right of the group. He relinquished his place in the front to the new friendly duo and had a faraway look on his face, no doubt remembering his lost love.

Claire smiled as she thought of her made up story. It could have been true. It's not like he had denied it to be. She glanced at the elf. Why did he keep his past so locked up?

Her eyes narrowed as she looked over at Farron. She wondered how easy it would be to sneak up on a dazed elf. He made it look so easy. It was time for vengeance, and also a way for her to relieve her boredom.

She slowed her pace and waited for him to get ahead some more. He didn't seem to notice. She moved briskly to avoid the brush, stepping where the leaves were sparse. Her hand held onto her dagger so it wouldn't slap against her legs as she moved. She managed to sneak around behind the elf where he walked several paces in front of her. It was a straight shot. Moving quick and light, she held her hands out in front of her as she approached for her final attack, grinning as she anticipated the scare. She couldn't believe she'd been able to get so close without him noticing.

Claire held her breath as she lunged forward, but Farron dodged to the left before he quickly wound an arm around her neck, trapping her in a chokehold.

"It's really not nice to sneak up on someone," he whispered in her ear from behind.

Stunned, Claire reached up and tried to pry his arm away. "Just returning the favor," she muttered. His grip was strong but loose enough not to hurt.

Farron laughed and released her suddenly. She stumbled forward but he kept his grip on her arm to catch her before she could fall.

"How did you know it was me?" She steadied herself and brushed his hand away.

That cocky look spread across his face. "It wasn't that hard to guess, my lady. You move with less grace than a man who's been drinking all night."

Claire's teeth clenched, her fists balled tight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That was uncalled for. She'd tried so hard too. He could've at least acknowledged her effort.

"Is this what you meant when you said you'd show me how un-child like you would become?"

She could see the steam rise in front of her eyes. "Why can't you just act scared for once?"

Farron chuckled. "It's hard to be scared of someone that looks like you."

Claire charged at the elf with fists in the air, ready to strike, but he caught her by the wrists to fend off the attack. "I will strike fear in you! Just you wait!" She struggled as she tried to free herself from his grip.

Farron just laughed.

"Is everything alright, Miss Claire?"

Immediately, her struggles stopped and the irritation drained instantly. Her entire body grew hot in embarrassment. Slowly, she turned her head. Bren and Aeron stood a few feet away. Aeron had his arms crossed with a look of obvious disappointment written on his face. Bren looked genuinely worried, his eyes wide in surprise.

Farron released her wrists. "Just defending myself is all."

Claire tried her best to recover. "We just had a little disagreement."

"About what?" Aeron asked.

Farron shrugged and began to walk ahead. "Ask my lady. She's the one who started it."

She glared after the elf, knowing that he wore that cocky grin. Her cheeks flushed all over again as she looked at Bren. He waited patiently for an answer.

"Just a trivial matter," she said and gave him a reassuring smile.

Aeron's laugh was a little too high. "They do this all the time!" He spun on his heel and grabbed Bren by the shoulder before leading him on through the trees.

Claire waited for them to walk a few paces ahead to let out the breath she'd been holding. How humiliating. Maybe she wasn't so good at this acting thing. She trailed a little ways behind the group. Her thoughts drifted to ways she could get the silver-haired elf back, scheming and planning. Most of the ideas were too ridiculous or too difficult to pull off, however. He seemed to always be on guard.

She sighed and glanced out into the forest. A dark triangular object caught her eye deep in the trees. She stopped in her tracks. What is that? Curious, she started to wander out into the forest. The sounds of Aeron and the General drifted further in the opposite direction. She paused and looked after them. Should she call out to them? No, it would probably only aggravate Aeron even more. He hadn't wanted to stray from the mission in the first place; and now that the General was with them, he may not want to even more. So, she proceeded on her own.

A breeze swept through the trees, rustling branches, and sent leaves falling around her like raindrops. Her only companions were the heavy breath and pulse in her ears. A dreadful feeling crept through her from the pit of her stomach, but curiosity drove her feet forward. She had to know what it was.

When the object finally came into sight, Claire froze. It was the top of a roof. A tiny square house stood below her at the bottom of a small outcropping.

A little village stretched out below her with roofs thatched of branches and straw and walls made of mud brick. Normally she would have been ecstatic to find a new town. But something was not right. The village was eerily quiet. There was an overturned cart, its contents spilling out across the street.

Sweat instantly broke out across her skin. She glanced frantically around the village for any signs of life. A buildings charred remains sat on a corner; another's windows gaped open, the shutters broken in. Contents of houses littered the streets. She knew what had happened here.

Quickly, she looked around for a way down the ledge. A tree extended out past the edge, its roots exposed. She gripped the roots, climbed down, and snuck around the back of the small house, hugging along the back wall.

What had made her want to investigate the village? What did she think she would find here? All of her senses told her to run the other way, but her body wouldn't listen. She had to know if there was anyone still left, if there was a clue as to where they had gone. She wanted answers.

She peered around the front of the small building. Its shutters hung off the hinges and the door was busted in. The street appeared empty. The stiffness in her shoulders eased slightly. It didn't seem like anybody or anything was left. It was lifeless. A ghost of a town.

She crossed the street and ducked between two buildings into a narrow alley. Her feet took slow steady steps toward the end, trying her best not to make a sound. Every fiber of her being shouted at her not to go, not to look around the corner. She should have listened, should have turned around and walked the other way.

The sight that greeted her sent shivers down her spine and made her stomach wrench. Charred corpses lay in a pile in the middle of the street, their faces barely identifiable. She covered her mouth to keep from breathing in the putrid smell. Memories of that night flooded her mind, turning her knees into jelly. She collapsed back against the building as the air escaped her lungs. The sight of those beasts stacking bodies in her town square came rushing back, overwhelming her. Did they do this to these people? Why was this happening?

Hands gripped her shoulders and began to shake her.

"Look at me!"

The voice seemed so far away, drifting in through her memories at the back of her mind. Her mother's face flashed in her mind, framed by smoke and flame. It was the last sight of her mother before she disappeared back into the town. The voice drifted in again, this time more forceful and clear. The pair of hands moved up to both sides of her face, forcing her chin up, her head tight in their grip.

"Claire, look at me!"

Her eyes flew open, breaking free of the fiery vision that racked her mind. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed into the pair of light blue eyes that hovered inches from hers. Farron kneeled above her, his hands gripping her face.

"This is not your town. These are not your people." His voice was firm but remained calm, bringing her back to the present.

Claire gripped his wrists and closed her eyes. Her breath was shaky and uneven. She knew this wasn't her town or her people, but that fact didn't stop the memories from invading her mind. She'd lost it. The sight had shaken her to her core, broke down the defense that surrounded her sanity. She took another deep breath; her heart still pounded in her chest.

"I'm alright now," she replied weakly and opened her eyes again. "Thank you." She pulled his hands away from her face, suddenly aware of his closeness.

Aeron rushed down the alley, with Bren following close behind.

"What happened here?" Aeron looked down at her with a worried look on his face.

She looked away from them, ashamed she had let them see her in such a state and tried to rise to her feet, but her legs wouldn't cooperate with her yet. Farron gripped her shoulder to help, but she brushed his hand away.

"I can do it," she snapped. He looked somewhat hurt, his eyes filled with worry. That was something new and almost shocking in itself. But she didn't want his pity or his help at the moment. If she accepted any of it, she would lose it again. She pushed with her legs and used her hands to crawl her way up the wall until she was standing.

Aeron peered around the corner and then back to her, his eyes wide with shock. "Get her out of here."

"This way, Miss Claire." Bren offered her his hand.

She took a deep breath. There was no avoiding it. She took his hand and let him pull her back down the alley and away from the gruesome scene. She leaned heavily on his arm as she walked; her legs _were_ still a little unsteady.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this." She tried to smile and her voice came out shaken.

"I understand, Miss Claire." He patted her hand on his arm. "Not everyone can handle these types of situations."

He didn't know the half of it. A thought suddenly occurred to her and the muscles in her shoulders tensed up again. "Say, General," she began carefully. "Why hasn't Lendon done anything about these attacks?" She stopped and gripped onto his shirt, her eyes pleading. "Surely you can do something about it? You're a General, for goodness sake!"

Bren's eyes grew wide and he gripped her wrist to pry her hand from his shirt. "My lady, calm down." His face and voice grew solemn again. "I don't have any more control over this situation than you do. These remote towns are not under our rule or our protection."

"So too bad, is what you're saying?"

"Unfortunately, it's not my decision. I only follow orders. My unit lacks the power and the resources to go around trying to protect every small village in the region. However unfortunate the situation is, it's the harsh reality. Besides, by the time we would have heard about the attack, it would have been too late anyway."

He was right, she shouldn't hold him responsible. Or anyone from Lendon, for that matter. "I'm sorry." She let go of his arm and looked down at the ground. "I shouldn't have blamed you."

Bren put a hand to her chin and gently lifted her face up. He gazed down at her and gave her a reassuring smile. The look was full of pity. "I will try everything in my power, however, to make sure this doesn't happen again."

She closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. "Thank you."

"Let's keep moving." Farron strode up. His face was an unreadable mask. He walked past them without another word, his eyes scanning the town for any threats.

"Let's get going, Miss Claire." Bren waited for her.

"I'll be right behind you."

He put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before turning to follow the elf.

Aeron appeared at her side, as silent as the other elf. How did they do that?

"Don't worry, I didn't give anything away," she mumbled and looked up at him.

Aeron snaked an arm around her shoulder and started to lead her through the town after the other two. "I know."

She was getting tired of the pity party. "I'm fine, I promise. I just had a momentary lapse in confidence." She straightened her back. "There's nothing I can do for this town now." She looked up to fight the tears growing in her eyes. "Say something funny."

"Like what, my lady?"

"Anything."

"The General suspects you are having an affair with Farron."

Claire choked. It was the last thing she expected. "What?"

"Is that not funny?" He looked down at her with an eyebrow raised.

She looked up at the elf in question, cold as ever as he led the way. The laughter bubbled up inside of her and swelled out into a rich laugh. It _was_ rather amusing. He seemed so distant most of the time, closed off, or arrogant. She couldn't imagine wanting to have an affair with him. It was a shame, though, because he really wasn't quite bad to look at.

"In all seriousness, it would look rather suspicious to an outsider," he said. "It might be best to keep your distance from him for the time being. You are a married woman—albeit an unhappily married woman—but married nonetheless."

"That won't be hard to do." She shrugged. "Thank you. For lightening the mood, that is." She wanted to forget about what she had seen.

They walked in silence for a while down a dirt path once used as a road, leaving the village behind them. She wished that she had never stumbled upon it. Ignorance _is_ bliss sometimes. She could feel the tears gather in her eyes once again as images of her mother crept into her consciousness. She needed another distraction, and quick.

She looked up at Aeron, who'd been strangely quiet next to her. "So," she began, searching for a subject. He waited. She knew he still pitied her. There was no way he'd have remained this quiet otherwise. Her cheeks flushed as the question spilled out of her mouth: "You and the General talk about me?"

"His questions are incessant," he revealed. "It is the other reason I try to keep him away from you."

Claire's eyes widened as she glanced up at the General, who walked several paces in front of them. He hadn't spoken a word to her since they left the small village.

Maybe he was shaken by it as well.

Aeron covered his face with his hands. "I cannot have another man steal _mon lainí_ away."

Claire couldn't help but smile.

"Do you like him?" Aeron's question caught her off guard.

"Um, well," she stammered and took a deep breath. "He's like a prince." She gazed up at Bren. "Sure, I like him, but I've only just met him."

"And what about the other one?"

Claire laughed and took Aeron's arm. "I'd be more willing to have an affair with you than the Ice Prince."

Aeron looked at her, slightly amused. "I may hold you to your word on that, my lady."

Claire laughed again. She was sure he would. Calm settled over her. Laughter may not always be the best medicine, but it sure helped.

"Why do you think that village was attacked?" she asked.

"I do not know, my lady."

She glanced around into the forest. There had been no signs of any army like the man in Lendon had told them about. Maybe he really was crazy. It was hard to believe a man they had followed down a back alley and then ran away at the slightest disturbance. Perhaps he was delusional, or wanted to take advantage of a girl in a time of weakness. It wouldn't be hard to guess what they were looking for, seeing as how she'd asked people all through the city about the attacks.

Claire sighed. She was still no closer to solving the mystery. She hadn't found any clues in that village. Only a skeleton of a town and the charred remains of some of its inhabitants. And a new memory to add to her mountain of horrific events. She'd seen enough to last her a lifetime.

"Do you need to rest, my lady?" Aeron changed the subject. He didn't have any more answers than she did.

"No, I'll be fine. I just want to get as far away from here as I can."

"Understood, my lady."

Aeron patted her hand and they walked in silence down the lonely dirt road. No villagers would travel down this path again, and she hoped they never would so they wouldn't have to witness the gruesome remnants of the tiny town.

She thought of silly things to keep her mind busy. Wondered how many trees really did make up the forest. Perhaps she should start counting again, making it her life goal to tally every last tree in the forest and mark them with a knife as she went. It would certainly give her something to do after their journey was over. Although, it could drive her mad. The children would cry about the crazy old lady of the forest, legends would be created about her, folk songs sung, tales written.

Yeah, that seemed like a good plan to her.

#

"You will be twenty one." Claire muttered as she dug her blade into a tree to carve the number into the bark.

She'd escaped into the forest while Aeron and Bren set up camp. Farron offered to scout the area as usual. They had left the small dirt path of a road late in the afternoon to set up camp away from potential passerby and prying eyes.

Tired and emotionally drained, she didn't have the heart or the energy to tell Aeron she didn't want to practice. Instead, she counted the trees and carved numbers into their trunks. The simple silly task helped keep her mind busy and the tears at bay. She didn't want to have another breakdown like the one she had earlier in the day. She had moved past that, or at least she thought she had.

On to the next tree.

"And you will be twenty two." She brought her blade up to the tree to begin the carving process. She put her weight into it with both hands gripping the handle.

"What are you doing?"

Claire's heart jumped out of her chest. The dagger slipped on the trunk and flew out of her hands. She knew who it was without even turning to look. She collapsed against the tree, her arms hugging the trunk, and she leaned her forehead against the rough bark. Farron's bad habit was seriously detrimental to her health; her heart just couldn't take it anymore.

She glanced over her shoulder at the elf. "Why do you do that?"

He simply shrugged his shoulders and waited silently for an answer to his question.

Claire waited for her pulse to calm before she collected her dagger off the ground. "Just getting a head start."

He raised an eyebrow and the start of his cocky grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the carving behind her.

The words caught in her throat as she began to tell him about her plan. She didn't know whether or not she _should_ tell him. It could only lead to disaster. "Never mind." The idea suddenly seemed too silly. After wiping the blade on her pants, she sheathed it.

"I want to show you something." He held his hand out to her.

She hesitated and thought of the words Aeron had told her earlier in the day. It would be better if she said no. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "This isn't revenge for me trying to sneak up on you earlier, is it?"

He looked up, considering the thought. "I had not really thought of that, but thank you for reminding me." He looked back down to her, amusement clear on his face. His hand hovered in the air in front of her.

Hesitantly, Claire took it, curiosity getting the better of her. He wouldn't do anything to her, right? He took off as soon as her hand touched his, quickly winding his way through the trees.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her legs struggled to keep up.

"You'll see."

The tree line abruptly stopped before a bluff that stretched up and out in both directions. Sparse plants clung to the boulders in a futile attempt at life. It was a sudden rocky gash in the endless sea of trees. Farron stopped before the steep outcropping looming up before them and Claire snatched her hand away from him.

"Oh no." She shook her head and held her hands up in front of her in protest. "I'm not bored enough to climb that thing."

"It's not so bad down there." He pointed to the right.

Boulders from a previous landslide piled up along the side of the bluff, making the incline less steep. It still looked unsafe.

"I think I'll pass." She turned to head back into the forest. Heights weren't her favorite thing, as she'd recently discovered.

"Is the almighty Claire afraid of heights?"

She stopped in her tracks, tensing. She turned around to find that smirk again, an arrogant mask meant to bait her. She knew this trick, but she couldn't help but retaliate, to prove him wrong.

"I'm not afraid to conquer my fears." She glared up at him before she spun on her heel and marched to where the rocks spread out onto the ground. She stripped off the purple over-shirt, down to the sleeveless black one. Her eyes traced up the rockslide and her pulse began to race once more, her nerves standing on edge. She undid her belt and laid her dagger and wooden sword next to her shirt on the ground. Didn't need those anyway. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the slope in front of her. She could do this.

Farron stood off to the side, watching her.

"What?" Claire snapped.

He shrugged. "Just waiting for the conquering to begin."

Anger drove her feet forward up the rocks. She stepped carefully on the boulders, steadying herself with her hands as the slope grew steeper. His attitude was insufferable at times. Whatever it was had better be worth it. Although, erasing that smug look from his face would give her far more satisfaction than anything else would at the moment.

After several minutes, the top of the bluff fell within reach. Almost there. She refused to look down to see if the elf had at least decided to accompany her on this little adventure. If this was all a ruse, he'd be sorry he'd ever even met her. She set her foot on top of a stone jutting out to brace for the last push to the top. Her hands found a rock on the edge higher up and gripped it tight. She took a deep breath. Just a little bit more. She pulled herself up with her arms and stepped onto the rock. Not strong enough to hold her weight, it gave out from under her foot. Claire gasped, her hands starting to slip from the ledge above as her feet struggled to find purchase.

A hand pushed against the center of her back to steady her enough for her to find a foothold. She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength.

"Having troubles, my lady?" Farron asked.

She wouldn't look at him for fear of seeing the ground behind her. "I'm fine."

She could hear the elf climb up beside her as he passed by and hopped up over the edge to the top.

"Come on."

Claire glanced up. Farron leaned past the edge with a hand outstretched.

"I can do it." She remained motionless.

"You don't need to die to prove me wrong." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up.

She snatched her arm away when her feet felt solid enough beneath her and brushed herself off. "I could have done it, you know," she snapped. She looked up and froze. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

A field stretched out beneath them, filled with tall golden grass. Trees edged the other side of the great expanse. Peaceful and somewhat pretty, but not worth the torture. She collapsed to the ground and stretched her legs out in front of her. The other edge of the outcropping dropped steeply by her feet. Well, she might as well enjoy it while she was up there. The thought of the climb back down seemed even less appealing than the climb up.

"Although I appreciate your thought, and the fact that I've seen enough trees to last me a lifetime, I must say I am underwhelmed." She closed her eyes, breathed in the cool air, and leaned back on her hands. The excitement slowly seeped from her body, leaving a trail of tense, tired muscles in its wake.

"Watch." Farron picked up a stone and tossed it out into the field below where it disappeared in the grass. Ripples spread out in rings around where it landed, like water.

Claire shook her head. Wait, _ripples_? She must have been delusional from the climb. She leaned forward, rising to her hands and knees to peer over the edge of the cliff. It looked like a normal field. She glanced back at the elf, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Do that again."

Farron picked up another stone and threw it into the field. She carefully tracked the stone with her eyes, focusing on the little black dot. It landed in the field and ripples radiated out across the grass in its wake. Gaping, she leaned over the ledge to try and get a closer look. What was going on here?

Farron's hand clamped down on her shoulder. "Careful, my lady," he said in a firm voice.

"Sorry." She leaned back and propped herself up on her knees. "Can I try?"

"Knock yourself out." Farron shrugged and sat down on a boulder nearby.

Claire picked up a pebble and heaved it as hard as she could into the tall grass. Again, she marveled at the waves it caused. "What is that?"

"It is a curse."

Her attention snapped to the elf. "A curse?"

"Yes." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Waiting for him to elaborate, she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She felt uneasy after hearing it was some sort of curse. However, it did pique her interest.

"There was a battle here between the elves and the humans during the Great War, and the magic mingled with the souls of the dead." He glanced at her with an evil grin. "It's a trap to fool travelers and all who enter."

A shiver went down her spine. "What's in there?"

He shrugged. "No one knows." His eyes narrowed. "No one's ever made it out."

Claire gazed out at the field. It seemed so peaceful.

Farron started to chuckle, softly at first until it grew into a full out laugh. Her shoulders slumped and the dread in her body faded. She rolled her eyes and glared at the elf who was doubled over in laughter. She rose to her feet and marched to him, fists balled in rage.

"Do you enjoy torturing me?" She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment.

"There is a certain amount of enjoyment, yes." He smiled up at her. "Although the story is true."

Her jaw dropped. "Then why are you laughing?"

"Your face was so serious. You looked like a child listening to a ghost story."

"You're lucky I don't throw you in." She crossed her arms so she wouldn't lash out at him. Yes, insufferable. Why did she even bother talking to him?

"But seriously." The amusement faded from his face. "This place is haunted." He picked up a stone and threw it into the field.

"But I thought magic disappeared." She sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees again.

"It didn't disappear. There is still magic in the world. Most of it was just..." He glanced at the mark on her wrist before looking up at her. Every hint of laughter and amusement abandoned his face. "It was just hidden from us."

She stared up at him and her eyes narrowed. "What did you do before the forest?" She had a feeling that he knew a lot more than he let on. "Why would you choose to close yourself off from the rest of the world?"

There was a moment of silence. He stared back at her, eyes emotionless, not revealing anything. Then a smirk crossed his lips and he looked away.

"My lady, I think you already know what I did before I entered the forest."

It took her a moment. "Ha! If you were a man for hire, you'd have starved long ago!" It was her turn to laugh. "Fine." She sobered up. "That's fine. I'll get it out of you one of these days."

He looked down at her, skeptical. "What makes you so sure?"

Claire shrugged. "That's fine too. I'm sure I'd rather not know anyway."

Farron turned back toward the field as he laughed softly.

She stared out at the great expanse. After a while she said, "My mom pulled me out of school when I was nine. Most girls in my town stop going around that age anyway. Why didn't she teach me about it? The Great War? She taught me everything else, how to read, how to run a business, how to cook."

"Maybe she didn't want you to know." His voice was solemn, serious.

She looked at him, about to ask him why, when he recovered with a shrug.

"It was a hard time. Not something many people want to remember. Maybe she wanted you to start fresh, free of the feelings of hate."

She mulled that over for a bit. It was possible, his answer. But it just didn't seem like her mother to do that. She felt it was important to be well educated, especially for a woman. Then why omit something so significant?

With a sigh, she tossed another rock into the field and watched the ripples form and then fade again.

A curse. How sad for those souls to be stuck in such a place, never to be reunited with their loved ones. Would that happen to her? Would she ever find her mother? A pain struck through her chest as she imagined her mother somewhere alone and scared. Well, maybe not scared. Was she searching for her as well? She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on her knees. Must not think like that.

"Hey," Farron said.

She felt his hand rest lightly on her head. Jerked her out of her thoughts, she looked up at him.

"Are you alright?" There it was. A flash of worry in his eyes. She had seen it earlier in the day and like lightning, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, disappearing beneath his careful mask.

"Yes, I'm fine." So the elf _was_ capable of more than two emotions.

"Good." He leaned closer and pointed his finger in her face like a parent scolding a child. "It's not good to cry around such a cursed place. You'll attract evil souls."

"Alright." Claire knocked his hand away and stood up. "Now who's being childish? I'm starting to think you brought me up here just to make fun of me."

"I figured you could use a distraction." His expression grew more serious and he looked out over the field again.

She stood silent for a moment. "Thank you. For earlier, I mean." She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I shouldn't have wandered away in the first place."

"Everyone has a weakness. Curiosity just happens to be yours."

"Did you know that village was there?" She stepped closer to him, wanting him to look back at her.

"Yes."

"Did you know it had been attacked?"

He paused to consider his answer. "I saw the smoke earlier."

"Did you not want me to see it?" Her voice grew soft.

"My lady, some things are best left unknown. There's nothing we could have done for them anyway." He finally looked up at her, eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "Did you honestly feel any better after seeing what you did?"

It was her turn to look away. "No. But I'm tired of running away. I feel like I have to do something, even if it's just finding out the truth." She turned to look back at the elf. "I'm not saying I can save anyone, nor do I have the power to stop the attacks. I can only do what I can do. I'm not going to run away anymore."

Farron buried his face in his hands. Was he laughing? She was being serious.

After a moment he peered up at her, then looked quickly away. His eyes seemed sad. Well, at least he wasn't laughing.

"That makes you stronger than me, my lady." He glanced back at her. "Perhaps you've grown up a little."

Claire put her hands on her hips and straightened her back. "I told you I'd show you."

"I said a little."

"Too late, you already said it." She pointed at him.

He brushed her hand away. "Never mind, I take it back."

"Still counts though." Claire smiled broadly. She was going to rub it in as much as she could.

"It must have been a lapse in judgment."

"I think I'll tell Aeron." She looked up at the sky and feigned a faraway look in her eyes.

Farron laughed, but it was soon replaced by a mischievous grin. "And I'm sure Aeron would love to hear that you are afraid of evil spirits."

Claire gulped. "My lips are sealed." The thought of giving Aeron yet another excuse to tease her was enough to keep her quiet. "By the way, you found out one of my weaknesses, what about yours?"

"Why beautiful women, of course," he stated, pleased with himself.

Well, that was unexpected. She figured he'd say weapons or awful snacks.

"Miss Claire!" Bren's voice called out from the trees.

Every muscle in her body tensed. She couldn't let him find her with the elf if she didn't want him to get the wrong idea again. She glanced up at Farron and her cheeks flushed.

The arrogant mask slipped into place, the amusement in his face disappearing. "Your prince is calling for you, my lady."

Heat spread across her entire face. Had he heard her and Aeron earlier? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Impossible. Bren called again, his voice drawing nearer.

"I should have him teach you some manners."

She spun around and walked back to the ledge she had climbed, sat down and swung her legs over the edge. She lowered herself slowly down the side of the bluff, testing the rocks with her foot before she stepped on them. The climb down had been easier than she'd thought. Anger worked wonders on fear.

Quickly, she slipped the purple shirt on and the dagger back around her waist, and tucked the wooden blade neatly back under the belt. She ran her fingers through her hair and started to make her way back through the trees. Her heart beat faster in her chest. Was that from the climb down, or due to the General?

"There you are, Miss Claire." Bren's smile lightened her mood as soon as it flashed across his handsome face. The brown cloak was absent from his shoulders. He still looked anything but ordinary, even in the muted plain clothes he wore. The golden hilt of his sword glimmered at his waist in the shrinking light. "I got worried when you didn't come back to the camp."

Her stomach filled with butterflies. "That's very considerate of you, General." She curtsied. His charming personality was a breath of fresh air after dealing with that damn elf. Her nerves relaxed a little but she still had to keep up her appearance as Lady Claire DuBonte. Just another layer of stress to add to the growing pile.

"I also wanted to apologize for earlier. I should have been more considerate to the situation and how you were feeling," he said.

"No, I should be the one to apologize."

He looked at her, surprised.

"I shouldn't have blamed you for what happened." She smoothed her hands down her shirt and adjusted the belt around her hips.

Bren took her hand in both of his. Gray eyes gazed down at her. "I will try to do everything in my power to help stop attacks like the one on that village."

Claire swallowed hard. "Thank you. But please don't feel like you have to do anything on my behalf."

"I have to do it for somebody." He gave her a hopeful look.

She looked down, embarrassed. What could a girl say to that?

"Come." Bren offered her his arm. "We should get back to the camp before it gets dark out."

Claire took his arm. What a gentleman, even out in the middle the forest. She let him lead her back to the campfire, her stomach aflutter the whole way. He'd asked her how her practice had gone and even said he'd like to show her a few moves himself. If she wouldn't mind, of course.

She definitely wouldn't mind. Not one bit.

#

"Again!" Bren shouted.

Claire raised the wooden sword in front of her as she charged at the General and swung it down at him. He blocked with the practice blade he'd borrowed from Aeron, sending a shock down her arm as they clashed. Quickly, she swung again but he blocked with ease as he evaded, knocking her sword away with his and brought the point up to her chin. Claire froze. Not again.

"You lose once more, my lady." Bren's eyes sparkled in amusement.

She let out a deep sigh as he lowered the fake weapon. They'd been practicing in the clearing for a little over an hour. Even though he was a gentleman, he wouldn't let her win. Not even once. She wouldn't learn if he did—according to him, anyway.

"How about a break?" she asked. All this losing wasn't good for her confidence.

"I suppose." He followed her to where their things lay on top of a fallen tree. "You know, when I trained, my teacher wouldn't give me any breaks. Warriors don't need breaks, he would say."

Claire looked up at him and took a swig of water from a small flask. He'd joined the army as a young boy after he lost his parents to the red pox, rose through the ranks and eventually became an officer in the royal court. That was when he'd met Prince Philip, and according to him, the two became fast friends, spending hours sparring together. A detail she'd found particularly interesting. Aeron had given up trying to keep her away from Bren. Maybe he felt bad for her? Whatever the reason, she was grateful that he'd finally eased up a little. All afternoon the General had entertained her with stories of his past and the city of Lendon. He'd just recently been appointed the title of General after the position had suddenly become... available, as he so eloquently put it. He wanted to spare her the gruesome details.

"You forget, General. I am a lady, not a warrior."

"Of course, Miss Claire." He smiled at her. "That could explain why you keep losing."

She glared up at him. She hadn't expected that from him. Was she that easy of a target? "Were you this harsh on the prince?"

"Philip was always an adept opponent. He has a particular knack for fighting, a mind for it really. Something his father was never fond of."

"Maybe King Harold wanted peace. Perhaps he just wanted to instill that into his son before he, uh... went."

"This is true," Bren nodded. "But there is nothing wrong with wanting to learn how to fight, to strategize, to defend your kingdom. A king that doesn't know how to fight, will not remain a king for long. Sooner or later someone will try and take your kingdom. The elves learned that the hard way."

Claire stared at him for a moment, studying him. Perhaps there was more to this man than meets the eye. To reach the honor of General at such a young age, there had to be. He couldn't have just charmed his way to the top, though that was what she liked to believe. "Are you saying that I _don't_ have a knack for it, General?" she asked, bringing the topic back to the present to lighten the mood.

Bren laughed. "I do have to admit that you give it your all. You definitely have spirit."

"Well, I'm sorry I don't have years of training already." She put her hands on her hips.

"It's not only that you lack training, but you just charge at me without thinking. There's more to sword fighting than strength and speed. If you don't have a plan or some sort of strategy, you're as good as dead."

Claire relaxed, the irritation draining from her body. Well, now that he put it that way... Her hands fell from her hips as her shoulders drooped slightly. She certainly had a knack for being scolded, though.

"Isn't that right, Farron?"

Claire's attention snapped up to the General and she followed his gaze across the clearing. Farron leaned against a tree as if he'd been there all along. She could feel the irritation start in her stomach again. He'd avoided her the past few days, ever since the cursed field, and she'd tried her best to ignore the elf. What did he want now?

"I think strategy is a foreign concept to my lady," he stated bluntly, as if it were a fact.

Heat spread over her, all the way up to her cheeks. She marched to the elf, fighting every instinct inside of her not to lunge at him. A million unpleasant phrases came to her mind, but she had to remember to be a lady. The General was present, after all.

"All right, if you're so tough, why don't you show me what you've got?" she challenged him.

"I don't think that is such a good idea, my lady." A smirk slid into place as he crossed his arms.

"Actually, it could be good for her to watch a friendly match."

Farron shot an unfriendly glance in Bren's direction. "I definitely don't think that would be a good idea."

Claire could hear Bren chuckle behind her.

"You're not afraid, are you? I'm rather curious to see how the elves fight."

The cold undertone in Bren's voice made her look back at him, but his expression remained pleasant. Maybe she'd imagined it, although the tension in the surrounding air rose sharply. That wasn't good. Men and their pride.

"Alright. Let's see how good you really are, General." Farron's eyes had a sparkle in them. Definitely not good.

"Look, I was just kidding..." Claire began to protest, but it was too late.

Farron brushed past her, his right hand reaching over his shoulder to grip the hilt of one of the daggers strapped on his back. Her eyes grew wide. Should they use real blades?

Bren laughed nervously at the approaching elf with his hands held up in front of him. "Perhaps we should use the other kind."

Farron paused, his hand hesitating on the handle. Then he shrugged and dropped his hand. Claire let out a breath at the same time, tense muscles relaxing. Well, that was a relief at least.

Bren handed Claire's sword to the elf. Farron took it and started to test it out, swinging it around lightly.

"Now watch carefully, Miss Claire." Bren bowed to the elf.

Farron just stood there, waiting for the General to begin.

This wasn't going to end well. She had a feeling. It seemed like her woman's intuition was finally kicking in. She backed up to the edge of the small clearing. There was no stopping it now, so she might as well enjoy the show.

The two pride filled males stood in the middle of the clearing. The forest around them had grown painfully quiet. Bren held his weapon up in front of him, both hands gripping the hilt. Farron still just stood there, sword hanging limply at his side in his right hand. They stood motionless for a few moments to stare each other down and size up each other's egos. She hadn't thought Bren had an ego, but she'd forgotten that every male had one. And Bren was no exception, no matter how charming he seemed to be.

Claire glanced between the two of them and waited for one of them to make a move. So, this was strategy. Exciting so far...

"Now, I want you to charge at me, like Miss Claire would," Bren told the elf and held his blade out in front of him in defense.

Farron gave a short laugh. Claire crossed her arms. What was so funny?

"With pleasure." Farron lunged forward suddenly and stabbed at the General.

Bren blocked Farron's attack, evaded to the left and swung his sword at the elf. Farron dropped to his knee underneath the horizontal slash of the General's weapon, then drove his up toward Bren's chest, slipping past the General's defense.

Bren leaped backwards, his eyes wide with surprise as he smacked Farron's blade away with his. He backed up a few steps as the elf rose to his feet.

Claire tensed. Something didn't seem right. Farron smirked at the General as he brought the sword up and pointed it at the other man.

"You got me," Bren said, and the laughter faded from his face.

Farron glared at him, holding the blade in front of him, ready to go again. It was Bren's turn to lunge forward. He swung at the elf but was blocked, the crack of the colliding wooden swords echoed throughout the clearing. Bren swung again, stepping toward the elf and forcing him back to the line of trees, attacking with a relentless vigor, his movements swift and quick. Farron blocked the attacks, parrying the blows away with little effort and an amused expression. He was enjoying this a little too much.

The fighting duo disappeared into the trees, the lesson quickly spiraling out of control.

Worry gnawed at Claire's mind. She was beginning to think that this wasn't just a friendly match anymore. It was clear that the elf didn't like the General, but he didn't have to go this far.

The clacks of wood grew further away into the forest. Her feet lurched forward and carried her in the direction of the fight. She had to stop them before it escalated into something more serious. What was Farron thinking? He was in as much danger of exposing them as she'd ever been. It didn't seem like him to lose control like that.

Claire rushed through the trees, following the loud cracks of the swords. She found them easily; Farron pursued Bren now, each swinging and parrying blows at a dizzying pace. She watched helplessly, not knowing how to stop them. Rushing in seemed too risky. She shouted at them, but was ignored. Their focus was lost to the fight, their attention locked on one another.

Farron knocked Bren's sword away suddenly and sent it flying through the air. Bren stumbled backwards, shocked at the swift disarmament. His hand quickly grabbed for the gold hilt at his waist, but before he could draw it Farron threw his weapon to the side and kicked the General in the stomach, sending him backwards to the ground from the force. In a blur the elf drew both his daggers as he stepped on Bren's chest, drawing one up to Bren's throat while the other hovered above his chest. The movement was quick, effortless, and sent chills down Claire's spine. He could have ended the fight long ago if he really wanted to. What was he trying to prove?

Farron gazed down at Bren with ice cold eyes, his face emotionless. Each of them remained still, waiting for one or the other to make a move.

"Farron!" Claire shouted in a shrill voice as she rushed to them. She reached out and gently placed her hands just below the elf's elbow. She kept her eyes on his face as he stared down at Bren. He didn't seem to notice her, even when she tightened her hands around his arm. "Farron," she repeated in a calmer voice. She didn't want him to make any sudden movements that could hurt the General.

Farron finally looked up at her and the tension eased out of him, muscles and shoulders relaxing a bit. He raised himself off Bren, lowered the blades and stepped to the side. He transferred the dagger in his right hand to his left and offered Bren a hand. Claire glanced down at the General for the first time. She'd been too nervous to take her eyes off of the elf before to notice his reaction. He wore an uneasy smile as he took Farron's hand and was pulled to his feet.

Claire grabbed the elf by the arm and dragged him away while Bren brushed himself off. When they were at a safe distance, she stopped and spun toward the elf.

"What was that all about?" She glared up at him.

Farron grinned and shrugged his shoulders, daggers still in hand. "Just a little friendly competition."

Claire sighed. He wasn't as charming as he thought he was. "You could have hurt him."

"To be fair, he was going to draw his weapon first." The amusement faded from his face as he leaned in closer and pointed a dagger in Bren's direction.

She jumped a little at his reaction, her eyes glancing nervously at the blades in his hand. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, but his little display moments before had been frightening. Who knew what the elf was really capable of doing?

"I see." The emotionless mask slipped back into place as he sheathed his weapons. "We should arrive in Sanre tomorrow." He shot one last glance at Bren before he brushed past her into the forest.

Claire relaxed and let out a long breath before she made her way back over to the General, who was searching through the leaves for the practice blades.

"Sorry about that." She laughed nervously. "He can get a little carried away sometimes."

"I'm alright, Miss Claire." Bren looked up from his search to flash her a wondrous smile. "I was just a little shocked. I hope you learned something from our little duel."

"A little." Not really, but she couldn't tell him that. They put so much effort into it, after all. Even if it hadn't truly been for her benefit.

She began to look around for her sword. It was a few paces away, buried beneath some leaves and dirt. She bent to pick it up and examine the damage done. Splinters stuck out from the edge and the black paint was rubbed away in several places. At least it was still in one piece. Either way, she'd better not let Aeron see it in such poor condition.

Bren had found Aeron's, which had suffered a worse fate than hers. The end had split from the rest of it and hung on by a thin sliver. She took the pathetic looking stick in both hands. It was going to be fun explaining what had happened to it to Aeron. She sighed again. It was going to be a long night.

#

Sanre Du Lore looked like a normal town. High walls sat on the edge of a river, covered in white plaster. A gate sat in the middle of the wall, the doors open to welcome travelers. A wooden drawbridge spanned the water to meet the dirt road on which the group traveled since early in the afternoon.

The muscles in Claire's shoulders ached, stiff from practice and the comforting sleep the great outdoors had to offer. As predicted, Aeron was upset about the sword and had barely said a word to any of them—especially Farron, who'd walked ahead of the group as usual. She guessed Aeron really could hold a grudge. As expected, Bren had been the first to apologize for his actions and for the ruin of the sword. He even offered to replace it. Which Aeron gladly accepted, a little too quickly.

Farron was the first to cross the drawbridge over the river, followed by Aeron. Her stomach tensed as she approached the bridge. The river drifted peacefully underneath. However, it wasn't a fear of bridges that made her uneasy. Bren had seemed surprised that she would want to stop at this town and she was nervous to find out why.

"Wait, Miss Claire." Bren held out his arm in front of her before she could step onto the bridge. "We have a tradition in Lendon. Before we enter another country, we must first say goodbye to our own."

Claire looked up at the General. "What do you mean?"

Bren spun around to face the empty road behind them. "We leave the country by stepping backwards into the new one. That way, we don't offend the land or his majesty and have good fortune on our return."

She studied his face. He was serious. No matter how silly it seemed, she'd heard of stranger traditions. Who was she to judge? So, she spun around to face the empty road as well, hoping the two elves weren't watching.

"Like this." Bren bowed in the direction of the road. "This is farewell, but not goodbye. Please grant me good fortune upon my return." He glanced down at her and waited for her to say something.

"And me as well," was all she could come up with at the moment. She felt silly enough curtsying to an empty stretch of road.

Bren stepped backwards and Claire did as well. She closed her eyes and hoped against all hope Aeron didn't see what they were doing. She walked backwards, taking slow, even steps, not wanting to fall into the river below. That was a whole different fear all in its own.

"Bren? How far do we have to walk backwards?" she asked but was replied with only silence. "General?"

Her back bumped into something and her eyes flew open.

" _Mon lainí_ , I really hope that you have not gone crazy already."

She tilted her head back to see Aeron with a worried look on his face, then back down to find Bren still on the drawbridge, doubled over in silent laughter. She crossed her arms as Bren straightened up to join her and the elf.

"I'm afraid Miss Claire is as gullible as you say, Aeron." His eyes glittered with amusement as he fought to control his smile.

"So it seems," Aeron agreed from behind her.

Claire sighed loud enough so the others could hear it. Even Bren was starting in on the teasing now. And here she had believed he was a gentleman. Aeron planted his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.

"We only tease because we are fond of you. Even Mr. Grumpy over there." He motioned with his head to Farron standing across the street with crossed arms. "Now come, let me show you the wonders of Sanre." Aeron spun on his heel, grabbed Claire's hand, and planted it on his arm as he began to walk down the street.

"Have you been here before?" she asked. She didn't think he was allowed to leave the forest. Unless this was where he came all those years ago on his little excursion.

"Unfortunately, no." Aeron feigned sadness. "That is why I must take full advantage while we are here." He glanced over his shoulder and leaned in close. "I will keep your prince busy while you go seek out that contact."

Claire calmed a bit. She'd almost forgotten why they came to Sanre. Farron had mentioned that he had a friend here that could help her in her search for her mother, but would he still follow through? They weren't exactly on the best of terms at the moment.

The streets of Sanre Du Lore weren't as lively as Lendon's. No market stalls stood along the main street. The mobs of people and farmers were absent as well, which left the dirt road devoid of life, save for a few scattered people wandering about. According to Bren, Sanre sat right on the border to the Lendonian Kingdom and was famous for the nightlife it offered. Gambling and prostitution were just a hop, skip, and a bridge away.

The buildings were modest with clean lines and white plastered walls. Colorful signs swung out in front of them, the windows blocked-out or shuttered on most. She counted three gambling holes and two brothels all conveniently placed on the main road into town. Sanre sure didn't disappoint.

They came to a crossroads, filled with the most people she'd seen so far. Taverns lined the street, their patrons spilling out into the road, the loud music from each blending together into an incoherent mash. Claire swallowed hard. What had she gotten herself into? And what kind of friend did Farron have here? She couldn't imagine him loafing about in such a place. Or maybe there was a hidden side to the elf. She glanced over at him. His arms were crossed, his face an unreadable mask. Maybe he really was a night worker. There were surely plenty of perverts in this town that would pay for even his company. She smiled at the thought.

"Well, General." Aeron spun around to face Bren. "I believe you owe me a sword."

Claire peered at Bren, her chest tight, afraid to see his reaction. Aeron didn't have to be so direct.

Bren's eyes went wide but he recovered with his dazzling smile. "Of course."

Aeron put an arm around the General's shoulders and squeezed tight. "Do not worry, my lady. I will show him a good time!"

A pang of worry hit Claire. His idea of a good time was a little unsettling. Especially in a town like this one.

"I would hate to leave Miss Claire all by herself," Bren said as he glanced at Farron.

"Oh, no!" Claire chimed in. She waved her hands in the air in front of her as if to brush away his concern. "I'll be quite fine! I'll just wander around a bit and find a suitable inn. Besides, I have a guard." She glanced at Farron, who seemed to be ignoring them. She knew what the General's real concern was, but the idea was just too ridiculous.

"Alright, my lady, we shall see you later. Try not to have too much fun!" Aeron grinned before he turned to the General. "So tell me, Bren, have you ever gambled before?"

Claire crossed her arms as she watched the two disappear down the street. Bren glanced unsurely back at her with Aeron's arm still planted firmly around his shoulders. She hoped _they_ didn't have too much fun by themselves; she sure wouldn't. She glanced at her quiet companion. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since yesterday after his little scuffle with the General.

Awkward tension set in as she looked out at the crowded street. Would he actually follow through on his word?

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

Farron's voice made her jump. The mention of food made her stomach growl. She'd forgotten that she'd only eaten a light meal earlier in the day.

"I suppose I am as well. What do you suggest?" She turned to the elf.

"How 'bout some local cuisine? I know a place." He looked at her sideways.

Anything would be better than what they've been eating. "Lead the way."

He held a hand out to her and she looked up at him, eyebrow raised high.

"It's not a good idea for a woman to wander the streets alone in this town."

Claire put her hands on her hips. "I think I'll pass."

"Fine." Farron shrugged and took off down the street in the opposite direction that Aeron and Bren had gone.

This was going to be fun. She glanced one last time down the tavern riddled street, hoping Aeron wasn't really going to show Bren a good time. Then she hurried after Farron, who was already several paces away, almost lost in the crowd, but at least he wasn't hard to find.

"Hey, Miss, what's the hurry?" A hand caught her by the arm suddenly, pulled her back and spun her around. A man wound an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, his breath reeking of alcohol and other unsavory things. Bald of hair and round of belly, he surely wasn't a catch, which could explain his presence in such a town.

"To get away from you of course," she said curtly. She had never been too fond of dealing with drunks. Alcohol gave even the shyest of men confidence. Most of it unwelcome.

"That's not very nice of ya," he slurred and leaned in closer.

"It's not nice of you to commandeer a lady, either." She began to pry his arm away from her waist but his grip tightened.

"What's the big hurry?" He smiled, exposing browned teeth. "We could have some fun."

Hardly likely, she thought, but decided not to share it. Making the man angry would only worsen the situation. "Please, sir, remove your hands."

"And let _you_ get away? I don't think so."

"What makes you think I would want to go anywhere with you?"

"A tiny little thing like you shouldn't be wanderin' around here alone, didn't anyone tell you that?"

Unfortunately, they had. "I believe I can take care of myself, sir."

"I wouldn't even charge ya—"

"Is this how your mother raised you?" she shot at him.

The man's expression faltered a bit.

"I would hate to think that this is the way that you would woo a lady, kind sir." She kept her voice even and summoned up a glare that would have made her mother proud. "I am _not_ a lady for hire, and even if I were, I'd think she'd receive a certain amount of respect, or at least warning before you so ungratefully seized her. You should be glad that this town offers such services, because that may be the only way _you_ could get a woman. Now if you would, please remove your hands before I bury my dagger in your belly."

The man's hands grew slack and she used the opportunity to push away.

"And for future reference, I want you to remember this. I'm sure women in your path will thank me." With that, she spun around to look for her silver-haired companion.

Farron stood off to the side, waiting, with a mixture of surprise and amusement on his face. When she drew nearer, he stretched his hand out.

"Come on then," she caved, snatching up his hand before she dragged him away through the crowd. She didn't know where she was going, but anywhere was good if it was away from that drunken lard.

He tugged her to a stop in front of a two-story building. The sign out front read Tillie's Tavern. A boisterous crowd cheered inside, the music drifted out into the street through the open doors. She transferred her grip to his arm. Holding his hand just felt awkward.

"Is this it?" She wasn't impressed.

"Well, it was here. I think." His eyebrows gathered in concentration. He spun around and looked further down the street. "Or maybe there."

He took off down the street and she struggled to keep her grip on his arm. This time he stopped in front of Miranda's Haven. The atmosphere seemed quieter than the previous one. A glass window provided a glimpse to the building's innards. Small tables were scattered about most of the room with a bar along the back wall.

"Ah, here it is." Farron gazed through the window, his eyes far away, as if remembering a fond past.

Claire wondered if Tillie or Miranda were real people, muses honored with the name of a tavern. She dropped her hand from Farron's arm and followed him in through a pair of swinging doors. More of a restaurant than a bar, music was absent from the space. Instead, it was filled with the constant hum of people and the help. Much of the light came from the window facing the street, supplemented by oil lamps on the walls and simple candlelit chandeliers from above.

People around the room glanced at them as they entered, but didn't seem to give them too much thought. Perhaps they got more elves here in Sanre? In this type of town, he probably wasn't the strangest thing they'd ever seen.

A perky young woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail approached them, and gave Farron the eyes, looking him up and down. Claire sighed, rolling her eyes. If only she knew. But it seemed awfully presumptuous of the girl. Claire was right _there_. Would it be so out of the realm to think that she and the elf could be together?

They were led to a sunken area by the window to a table with two chairs.

"My name's Miranda." She giggled and averted her eyes down.

Claire's attention quickly turned to the young woman. Was this the muse? Her eyes narrowed as she studied her. Mother never would have named the tavern after her daughter. Some things were just so unfair.

"What can I getcha' to drink?" Miranda eyed Claire nervously.

"I'll have the Sanre Ale." Farron beamed up at Miranda as he undid the straps to his weaponry and pack and set them down on the floor underneath the table.

"Just the same," Claire snapped. He really had no shame.

Miranda hurried away to the bar.

"I think you frightened her." Farron rested his chin on his hand. The smile faded from his face.

"Just trying to figure out if she's _the_ Miranda." And she was growing tired of the girl's obvious flirting. Not that she cared, but it seemed a bit disrespectful.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her suspiciously. "I thought you didn't like ales."

She shrugged. "Why not try it? Maybe I'll like _this_ one."

"I never met a tavern maid that didn't enjoy a good brew every now and then. Are you sure that's what you really are?"

"Of course!" she said the words almost as if she were proud of the fact. Which she hardly ever was. Or perhaps she really just couldn't help but rise to the occasion. Especially if it was Farron that rose it. Why did he seem to have that effect on her? "Well, maybe not exactly," she recovered in a softer tone.

His hand dropped to the table, limp as his attention focused on her.

"Mother never really let me serve. Not truly anyway. I mostly just stayed behind the bar, helped with the basic chores and things like that. She hired other girls to serve, no matter how many times I asked her to let me."

"Consider yourself lucky then, Claire."

She sighed. He didn't need to tell _her_ that. She really wasn't even sure why she was telling him in the first place. Somehow, he had that effect on her as well. One moment she wanted to shout at him, the next she was pouring out her life story. "It was strange though. But I suppose she always was a little overprotective."

"As mothers are wont to do."

A candle in a clear glass globe burned in the center of the table. "So, what's good, lady-killer?" she asked, changing the subject.

Farron smirked. His appreciation of Miranda's attention had been obvious. "Well, you seem to like sweet stuff. How about their specialty?"

She glared up at the elf. "You better not be tricking me."

"My lady, would I do that?"

Miranda arrived with the drinks before she could answer, set them on the table carefully and took the order. She gave Farron one last smile before she took off again.

"I almost feel sorry for her." Claire took a sip of ale from the hefty wooden mug in front of her and screwed up her face. This one she didn't much like either.

"My lady, I think you've got the wrong impression of me. I am much more charming than you think." He leaned back in his chair.

She decided to ignore the statement. She'd believe it when she saw it. "So, did you spend a lot of time in this town?"

"Not too much." He shrugged; the answer short and hardly helpful.

"Why are you so afraid to reveal anything about your past?"

"And what about you, my lady?" He leaned forward on his elbows.

Claire eased back from his imposing presence over the tiny table; her hands fell to her lap. "I think you have a good idea of what mine was like."

"Why are you so curious about it?"

"I'm not."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"I'm only curious because you try so hard to hide it." She looked down at the table.

Farron rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Everyone has a few skeletons in their closet. Even you, I'm sure."

The gesture made him seem almost normal. Coy even. Had she reached a soft spot? She grabbed her mug with both hands. Skeletons, he said...

"You want to hear something funny?" She took a sip from her drink, her eyes traced along the wood grain on the table. "I really was betrothed once." She glanced up to see his reaction.

Farron leaned forward, a look of genuine surprise on his face. He waited silently for a moment for her to continue. When she didn't he said, "I'm on the edge of my seat already, my lady."

"Oh, so now you're suddenly interested in my past?"

"Never said I wasn't."

She could feel heat rise to her cheeks. Miranda came with their food just in the nick of time. She set the plate in front of her, filled with noodles, chunks of meat and vegetables. The sweet smell made her stomach growl impatiently. She thanked Miranda and the girl was back on her way to another table.

"So, what happened?" Farron asked.

Claire picked up her fork and examined it. Two metal prongs were attached to a wooden handle. Sanre sure was weird. She began to poke at her food, regretting having dug up her past. Again.

"As I've said, an adopted bar maid isn't all that appealing of a prospect, not appealing enough anyway. He disappeared about a month before the wedding. No explanation, no warning. He just left." She stabbed a piece of meat with the odd fork a little forcefully, popped it in her mouth and began to chew; the sweetness tingled across her tongue with a slight salty aftertaste. It was good.

He was quiet for a moment and she looked away, unsure what to say next. She'd rather say nothing at all than talk about that sorry lout. The only thing she was glad about, was the fact that he'd gotten out before the centaurs attacked. Or maybe she wasn't so glad...

"Ah—" he said softly. "Here, try some." He pierced a small piece of meat with his fork and held it out to her.

Claire eyed it suspiciously.

"Just try it," he urged. "I don't have a disease."

She took the fork tentatively and bit the meat off. She chewed it slowly, surprised by the sweetness at first. Then heat started to grow in her mouth that soon overpowered the sweet taste. She quickly swallowed but the spicy hotness remained, so she grabbed her mug and gulped down the sour ale until it washed away the burn.

Farron laughed. "Not to your liking, I see."

Claire glared at the elf. He'd done that on purpose. "You've just lost your sharing privileges, my friend." She slid her plate closer to herself.

Farron quickly reached over, snatched a piece from her plate, and popped it in his mouth. "It's good," he said after chewing, nodding with approval.

"You're so civilized," she snapped.

"Likewise, my lady." Farron grinned.

"Fine." She took another bite. Irritation swelled up inside of her. "Tell me about this so called friend. When do we get to meet her?"

Farron chuckled. "We?"

"Of course. I'm coming along."

"I don't think so." He looked down at his plate as he took another bite.

"And why not? They are doing the favor for me, essentially." She twisted the fork hard in the noodles.

"I do not think the place is suitable for a lady of your standing."

"So what do you expect me to do? Just sit by myself in an inn all night while you and the other two are out having a good time? Oh, no. You're not getting off that easily." She took a sip of ale and slammed the mug down on the table. "You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

"I think my concern is whether you will like it." He pointed his fork at her. "I don't want to hear any complaining. And if you come, you will not, under any circumstances, tell Aeron or that prince of yours about my friend and what she does."

Claire swallowed hard. He'd gotten so serious so quick. "Agreed." Now she was even more curious.

"You know, if you were nicer to girls you wouldn't have to pay."

They stood outside a brothel called The Red Curtain and she dearly hoped the name didn't have a double meaning. The two-storied white house was set back from the road. A small manicured garden stood out front, filled with flowers of all shapes and colors. A path of stepping-stones led up to the front porch, sprinkled with giggling couples that nuzzled each other in plain sight.

There really was no shame in this town.

The sun had set, leaving the city of sinful pleasures in its twilight glow. Fire torches lit the path to the dwelling. The house itself buzzed with energy. The windows in the front glowed crimson, the curtains illuminated from behind to block the actions inside from public view.

"Could this be where you worked previously?" Claire asked, feigning innocence.

Farron shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know—why don't you ask Miranda?" He dug out a folded square of white cloth from inside his shirt.

Claire's jaw dropped open in shock. "She didn't!" She snatched the hankie from his hand. A bright red kiss mark decorated the corner of the white handkerchief trimmed with dainty lace. "When did she slip you this little treasure?" She held it out in front of her, dangling it between thumb and fore finger.

"When you went to watch the men at their game." Farron smiled, pleased with himself.

Claire looked at the hankie considerately. She _did_ have to admire the girl's brazenness, at least. She'd only left the table—for a few moments at the most—to look over the shoulders of a group of men playing a lively game, betting copper coins and golden rings, shouting foreign words whenever one had a certain hand of the colorful cards. She still wasn't sure how it was played.

"Face it, my lady. I'm more charming than you think." He leaned in close and pointed his finger at her chest before he spun around and walked up the path to the house.

Claire was taken aback. But still not convinced. It would take more than another bar maiden to convince her otherwise. Though for some reason she was a little irked. "Hey, you forgot your hankie!" she shouted after him as she waved it in the air.

He just gestured a hand in the air in a dismissive manner without turning around. Fine, she'd just keep it for herself. She folded the dainty white cloth into a small square and tucked it inside her shirt, into her bosom. It was tough not having pockets.

She hurried after the elf who'd reached the porch already and tried not to look around at the couples scattered about. Farron opened the front door filled with an intricate stained glass window of purple and blue. He bowed and motioned for her to enter first. She curtsied back and entered.

Red carpet lined the enclosed hallway and a staircase climbing the right wall. The walls were white and decorated with paintings and tapestries featuring beautiful women in various states of undress. A chandelier filled with crystals glowed radiantly above them. A young woman stood behind a podium by the stairs, her bosom pushed up to her ears and waist cinched tight by a dark blue corseted dress. Long, curly black hair was pulled back into a messy up-do.

"Welcome, good sir. How may I help you this evening?" Scarlet lips curled into a smile below bright sapphire eyes. She leaned forward as a finger played with a ringlet of hair.

Farron strolled up to the desk. Claire rolled her eyes and wandered to a pair of doors to the left of the entrance. She peeked through the stained glass and caught glimpses of the raucous scene held within. Upbeat music hummed against the panes, begging for her to open the door and set it free. Small tables were scattered haphazardly about the room, accompanied by plush seats filled with cheering men. Claire craned her neck to see further into the room but the view was obscured by the door.

"Curious, my lady?" Farron hovered close behind her. His hand gripped the handle of one of the doors.

She glanced up at him; he wore that cocky grin she'd grown so fond of. He pushed open the door suddenly and she stumbled into the room. The noise hit her like a wall, shocking her senses.

A stage framed by red curtains stood at the end of the room with a line of women standing upon it. They held their colorful skirts up and kicked their legs high into the air to expose bright undergarments for all the world and lecherous eyes to see. Claire's eyes went wide. They didn't have this type of entertainment where she was from. Not that she frequented these types of places.

Farron placed a hand on her back and led her across the room to the bar. She plopped down onto a stool, her back to the bar so she could watch the show. She couldn't help but feel cheerful as the energy of the room surged through her. Farron stood next to her with an amused expression as he shook his head. Claire elbowed him in the side and he leaned in closer.

"So this is the type of place you like?" she shouted into his ear to be heard above the music.

He simply raised an eyebrow and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in!"

Claire and Farron spun around in unison. A middle-aged woman approached them, the double doors behind her swung wide open. A golden corset tamed her wild curves and a full skirt swished around her legs. A burgundy wrap decorated her shoulders, giving her look a more sophisticated touch. Dark chestnut hair streaked with silver was pulled back into a loose bun away from a delicate face that could have stopped men in their tracks in her younger days. Two younger women dressed in a similar fashion flanked her.

"Fran!" Farron exclaimed, holding his arms outstretched as he approached the woman.

When he got close enough, Fran slapped Farron across the face, causing several patrons to turn. Claire was stunned; although she had a feeling he'd deserved that. His happy expression turned to one of shock and confusion. Fran said something to the elf that Claire couldn't hear and they both glanced in her direction. Fran brushed past Farron and strode over to her, her hips swinging as she walked. Claire froze on the barstool, her back straightened stiff as a board.

"And what do we have here?" Fran looked her up and down.

Claire's breath caught in her throat as the sudden realization hit her like a ton of bricks: the woman's manner and the way she carried herself were strikingly similar to her mother's. The blood drained from her face and Fran gave her a curious look.

"I need to speak with you." Farron clamped a hand down on Fran's shoulder.

The older woman spun around to face him. "You've got a lot of explainin' to do." She shoved past him and headed toward the double doors she'd entered.

"Will you be alright here by yourself?" Farron turned to Claire and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes." She forced a smile up at him. It would probably be for the best if the two worked out their problems before Claire stuck her nose in.

Farron took one last glance at her before he disappeared through the doors after Fran. Claire's shoulders slumped as soon as he was out of sight. She didn't know why she had choked up like that. Her mother's image had hit her so unexpectedly she didn't know how to react. Of course that woman wasn't her mother—not even close.

So that was Farron's friend. Claire wondered what their connection was, and tried to picture the elf spending time in the saloon along with all the other cheering men. Somehow the image just didn't work. She shook her head at the thought and decided to lose herself in the performance. Their colorful skirts _were_ truly hypnotizing. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from these women.

Eventually, the music died down and Claire clapped along with all the men as the performers bowed and took their leave. Then music started up on a lower note and the women from before came out again to mingle with the men. Claire turned around on the stool and leaned her arms on the bar. She gave a quick glance around before she started to undo her hair from the braid and ran her fingers through it.

"Are you here alone, little Miss?" A young man with blonde hair cropped close to his head slid into the seat next to her with an oversized mug in his hands and an obvious buzz already setting in.

Well, that didn't take long. Claire turned to face the young man, crossed her legs and smiled. She didn't see the harm in playing along for the time being. She was used to it, being a bar maid and all. "It seems that I am."

"And why would such a pretty lady like yourself be all alone in a place like this?" He leaned in closer to her, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

Ugh. But at least he wasn't sloshing about or grabbing her un-provoked. "I'd hardly think I am as pretty as all these other women." She motioned to the room around her.

"That's where you'd be wrong." He gave her a surprisingly charming smile, with dimples that reminded her of her long-lost fiancé. "You'd best be careful in these parts, an innocent girl like you, all by herself. Someone is bound to try and take advantage of you."

It was a little late for that speech. "But not you, of course?" Claire leaned in closer to him to test out her feminine wiles. She'd seen the other women do it. Perhaps it could work for her as well—even without such an ample bosom.

"In a place like this, I think _I_ am more likely to be taken advantage of!"

A prospect he should have been well aware of before he'd entered such an establishment. But she smiled anyway.

One of the dancing-skirt women came up then, and threw her arms around his neck. She shot a glare in Claire's direction. "Billy, why did you leave me?"

Claire leaned back, her arm resting on the bar next to her. And so it ends.

"Miss Claire," said a soft voice next to her. She glanced over to see one of the young women that had accompanied Fran earlier. Claire sat up straighter. "Madame Fran wishes to see you."

"Oh, alright," she replied in an equally soft voice. She glanced back at Billy. He seemed a little disappointed. So, Claire dug the handkerchief out from her shirt as smooth as she could manage and kissed it before handing it to the young man. The woman hugging him glowered at her as she hopped down from the bar stool. That felt good. She knew she could find a use for that thing.

Claire followed the attendant girl, dressed in a simple beige and gold gown with a full skirt. Her brown hair was pulled back into a modest bun. She led her out the double doors, back into the entrance hall she'd been in before, past the front desk, and down the dark hallway, going deeper into the building. The girl stopped in front of another pair of double doors, the windows covered with red curtains from the inside. At least she knew where the brothel got its name, hopefully. The girl opened the door and entered.

The parlor within was quieter and much more intimate than the last room. Purple walls were dotted with oil lamp sconces. The air hung heavy with the sweet smell of incense. Plush couches and chairs littered the room with tables in between to hold up candle lamps, their shades splashing colorful pools of light across the room. Girls wandered around the room as they carried drinks in long stemmed glasses and attended to a few select men on the couches and chairs. Now this was what she'd pictured a brothel to look like.

Madame Fran sat in a booth along the left wall. A glass of light wine sat on the table in front of her, her face illuminated by a candle in a glass globe. The attendant girl led Claire to the table and curtsied before taking her leave. The elf was curiously missing.

"Sit down, Miss Claire." Fran's voice was low and rich.

Claire slipped into the seat across from the Madame, her chest taut with nervousness. What was going on? Why did she want to see her alone? The Madame slipped a monocle out from her bosom attached to a delicate gold chain, held it up to her right eye, and looked Claire up and down.

Claire sat unmoving in her seat as her eyes studied Fran back. Why was she being examined like that?

"Definitely not his usual type." Fran slipped the monocle back into her bosom.

Claire relaxed a little. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, but we don't exactly have that sort of relationship."

"No?" Fran perked up. "Is there something wrong with my little Farron?"

Claire fought hard not to laugh at the last part.

"Come on. Spit it out."

"Honestly, Madame, I think he needs an attitude adjustment."

Madame Fran burst out laughing, a full hearty sound that turned men's heads. "He can be quite stubborn at times."

Claire smiled. "I feel bad for the woman who captures his heart."

Fran glanced sideways at her. "He seems to be quite fond of you, my dear." She took a sip from the glass of wine. "He hasn't taken his eyes off of you yet." She glanced out into the room.

Claire leaned over and followed her gaze to a group of chairs hidden around the corner deeper into the room. Farron sat in one of the plush seats with two women sitting on the arms of the chair. She met his piercing gaze for a moment before she quickly looked away. Heat flushed to her cheeks as she turned back to the Madame.

"I assure you it's not for the reason you think, Madame." He was most likely keeping an eye on her as usual; to make sure she didn't reveal something she wasn't supposed to.

"Whatever you say, my dear." Madame Fran smirked and took another sip of the light colored wine. "Just be gentle with him. I suspect he's still nursing a broken heart."

Claire's eyes widened. So her made up tale hadn't been so far from the truth after all. She'd have to interrogate him about it later, even though she doubted she'd get an answer.

"I'm a lady of class, my dear. Not just anybody can stroll off the street into my establishment. I may run a brothel, but I do have some standards."

Why was she telling her this? "Do you believe in selling love?"

"Oh, I hardly think it's love I'm selling. Not even you can be that naïve."

Claire crossed her arms. "Why are you telling me this?" she decided to ask the question out loud.

"Because I want you to believe that I am a woman of character. I care for my girls as if they were my own. I believe in returning favors and repaying debts. I want you to know that what you ask of me, I will try my best to do it, in the hope that you may someday do the same for me. I'm an honorable woman in an un-honorable position."

Claire let her arms relax to her sides. She was not one to judge usually, but maybe she had judged this woman a little unfairly. Even if she wasn't aware of it.

"This world is not kind to women," Madame Fran said. "There are not many ways a woman can earn a living. At least not respectfully."

"I know," Claire agreed, looking down at her hands.

"Do you?"

"My mother, she owned a tavern. It may not have been the same line of work, but in the eyes of many, it was no more respectful."

Madame Fran laughed. "Then you know of the troubles, the looks, the whispers. They are but a small price to pay for freedom."

Claire gave a slight nod. She wouldn't exactly call it freedom. Not truly. But she didn't see the point in arguing with the woman.

"Farron has done much for me in the past." She looked at Claire and raised an eyebrow. "And I owe him a great deal of debt. But instead, he brings you to me. You say that you mean nothing to him, I would say otherwise. I just hope this time he knows what he is getting into." She looked somewhat disappointed. "I'm a lady of my word, my dear. What can I do for you?"

Claire took a deep breath, searching for a way to begin. "Well, you see..." Her voice was soft and unsure. Her eyes examined the red tablecloth a little too closely as she touched her mother's bracelet on her left wrist under the table. "I'm looking for someone. Farron said that you may be able to help me." She looked back up at the Madame. "My town, Stockton, was attacked a few weeks ago, and ever since then I haven't been able to find any survivors. The person I'm most worried about is my mother. She's the only person I have in this world."

Fran nodded and was quiet for a moment before she said, "I'll see what I can do, child."

Relief swept through her and up to her face to leave a smile in its wake. "Thank you." She undid her mother's bracelet and slipped it off her wrist. "Her name is Marion Tanith, and I would like you to give her this if you find her. So she knows that I'm alright." She set the bracelet on the table.

Fran jumped in her seat and a hand went up to her chest, a shocked expression on her face. "Child, where did you get that?" Her voice was breathy.

Claire tensed, puzzled by her reaction. "It was my mother's."

The Madame laughed, but this time it was a haunting sound that sent chills along Claire's skin. She had no idea what had spooked her. It was just a bracelet.

"You have no idea what this is, do you?" Fran eyed the bracelet suspiciously.

Claire shook her head. Apparently she didn't.

Fran glanced at Farron as a grin formed on her ruby stained lips. "What did you get yourself into this time?" she muttered more to herself.

"May I ask, Madame, what—"

"I'll help you, my dear," she said as she turned back to Claire. "But you can keep that— _thing_." She motioned with her hand with a shooing motion.

Claire snatched the bracelet up and slipped it back onto her wrist. What was going on here? Although she was glad for the help, she wondered what the bracelet meant to the Madame. She didn't know too much about it herself. Mother never told her anything about it, only saying it was a relic from her past. What kind of past was that exactly? She swallowed hard at the thought. Was there something Mother hadn't told her?

"If you have any questions about that bracelet, I suggest you ask Farron about it."

Claire's eyes widened and her gaze snapped to the elf across the room. Had he known all this time? Why didn't he say anything about it? "Tell me, Madame. How exactly do you know our lovely elf friend?" She looked back at Fran with narrowed eyes.

"I'm afraid that's not my story to tell, my dear," she said before taking a sip of wine.

"She's right." Farron appeared beside the table, quiet as ever.

Claire glared up at him. What kind of secrets was he keeping? "So it seems."

"The hour grows late, Madame," Farron said.

She guessed the meeting was over.

"Please visit again soon. And try not to give me another shock." She held her hand out to him. Farron took it and laid a light kiss on the back of it.

"Thank you, Fran. I owe you one," he said softly.

Claire's stomach sank. She didn't like the idea of him going into debt for her sake. "Thank you, Madame," she uttered.

"Don't mention it, child. Just take care of my dear Farron for me." She beamed up at the elf and he smiled back.

Ugh. Claire slid out of the booth and curtsied to the Madame. "I'll try my best."

Farron put a hand on her back and started to lead her to the double doors. As soon as they reached the hallway and out of sight of the Madame, Claire marched toward the door to the outside world. She needed some fresh air. She stepped out onto the porch and made her way down the path through the little garden out front, not stopping until she was on the other side of the fancy little front gate. She tilted her face up to the star filled sky and took a long, deep breath. The muscles in her shoulders trembled from the mixture of irritation and confusion swirling inside of her. She didn't know whether to be happy or angry.

"I thought you would be happy, my lady," Farron said when he joined her out on the dark street.

"I am, thank you," she replied and stepped away from him. She had the sudden urge to hit him.

His eyes narrowed. "What happened back there?"

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Bringing up the bracelet now wouldn't do her any good. She needed to sort things out first. "Nothing. Just don't feel like you have to go out of your way to help me. I don't like being in debt to people." She turned and started to walk down the street.

Farron grabbed her arm suddenly and spun her back around. He leaned in close, his grip on her wrist tight, and put a hand under her chin to tilt her face up to look at him.

"And what is so bad about being in debt to me, my lady?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes studying her carefully.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as her pulse began to quicken. What was she supposed to say to that? She was already in debt to him and it was not like she wasn't grateful for his help or what he'd done for her. She just felt like she was sinking too far into this whole mess. The more they helped her, the more she felt like she had to help them in return.

"Just..." she tried, her voice faltering a little. "Just how far are you sticking your neck out for me?" It was _him_ after all, that pushed for it, the side tracking, the trips to Lendon and Sanre. The whole idea of helping her to find her mother in the first place. And it was because of that that the General got involved. Something she herself didn't quite mind at all. But it also meant, the debt she owed the elf was greater than she'd thought. Why was he helping her so much with his own skin on the line? What was in it for him?

"It's not..." Farron straightened up and released her. He took a breath, his face softening a little. "This is the last I can do to help you, Claire."

"What?" It caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"

"We can't take any more detours, not even to help find your mother. I'm sorry."

She was stunned for a moment, her mind trying to catch up. Then she was angry all over again, at him, even though she knew that wasn't fair. "You promised!"

"I didn't," he said, calm but stern. Final. "I convinced him to help. And we did. I never said that we would find her. We can't afford any more delays. Not now. Not with the General with us."

Her vision spun, she was so furious, her hands shaking. How could they do this to her? It was the reason she'd volunteered to go on their whole mission in the first place. They had a deal, didn't they?

"What about after?" she asked, her voice calmer, searching for what little hope she had left. She took a deep breath. "Will they help me after?"

"I don't know. I guess that would depend on what you are..." he said. "To _them_. What you can do for them."

She wanted to scream. To cry. She felt used and betrayed. A prisoner. An object. What she wanted didn't matter. Not to them. She should have found a way to stay in Lendon. At least then she would have had a better chance of finding her mother.

"I tried, Claire," he said, his voice soft, apologetic. "But it's my word against a king's."

She just stared at him, unbelieving. What could she say?

"Miss Claire?" Bren's voice suddenly cut through the air.

Claire jumped a little, startled. She tried her best to gather herself up before the General could see something was wrong, taking another deep breath to calm her nerves. It was all a little too much.

The elf glared past her, unhappy about their new visitor. Aeron joined Bren as they walked in their direction from down the street.

"Farron, you should not take women to a brothel." Aeron stepped up beside Claire. "Even I would not do that." He turned to her. "I hope you were not traumatized, _mon lainí_."

She forced a smiled at him, not wanting Aeron or Bren to catch on to what just happened. It would do no good to confront Aeron about it now. Or at all, for that matter. Like the other elf, he was just following orders. How could she expect them to disobey their king for her? "Of course not."

"Miss Claire, I was worried about you." Bren took her hand in his and looked past her at Farron, his eyes narrowing a bit.

"I'm fine, Bren." She took her hand from him. All she wanted at the moment was a nice hot bath and a plush bed. Her mind was already reeling. Sleep sounded good as well. Really good.

Bren snatched her hand up again and turned to drag her along with him down the street.

"Wait, Bren!" Claire struggled to keep up with his hurried pace. It didn't seem like him to just grab her like that without saying a word. His grip on her hand was tight and firm. He turned and she barreled into him.

"Miss Claire," Bren said. He gripped her shoulders tight and drew her in close. "If you're going to have an affair, at least do it with someone a little bit more respectable." He bent down and pressed his lips against hers.

Claire's eyes went wide, her body stiffened. Sudden and forceful, the kiss was definitely not what she had imagined it would be. Although she had thought of every scenario possible, somehow a dark, vacant street in front of a brothel had escaped that list. But, there was no point in wasting it. So, she closed her eyes and relaxed her body as she gave in to the kiss.

Bren dropped his hands from her shoulders, wound them around her waist and pulled her in close against him. His lips grew soft against hers as she traced her hands up his chest to rest lightly on either side of his face. Bren drew back slowly, his face hovering inches from her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Claire," he said, his voice breathy and low. "I don't know what came over me. I didn't even stop to consider your feelings."

She flushed and drew him down for another kiss. Only this time a lot more gentle. Her hands wound their way around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to do so. Her stomach tied itself in knots as a wave of heat washed over her. It was a wholly welcome distraction to the stressful evening and she wanted to take full advantage of it before the General changed his mind. After a few blissful moments, she drew back from him and gazed at his lips, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

"The only thing you should be sorry about is the location, General." Her heart and mind still tried to catch up to the current situation.

Bren looked around him as if he suddenly realized where he was. He loosened his hold on her and backed up a step. Claire's hands fell limply to her side.

"Yes, I see." He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the ground. "How about a bath, Miss Claire?"

Claire's eyes widened. Surely he didn't mean what she thought. "Although I'm flattered, it is a bit too soon, General," she said, her hand went up to her chest in mock surprise.

He waved his hands in front of him in a frantic manner. "No, no. What I meant was I found an inn earlier..."

"General!" Claire gasped. His sudden bashfulness surprised her and she couldn't just let him get away without having a little bit of fun. "I'm not that kind of girl." She put her hands on her hips.

"Miss Claire, that's not what I meant either!" He sighed heavily in frustration.

Claire gave him a playful punch on the arm. "Consider it vengeance for earlier."

The anguish melted from his face. "Of course, Miss Claire."

"And a bath sounds wonderful." She took his arm in her hands and beamed up at him. "Lead the way, General."

The inn was nestled snugly between two taverns bursting with life at the peak of their business for the night. So much for sleep, although she didn't know how much she would have gotten otherwise. Bren's actions overrode much of her thoughts. His kiss still burned on her lips. It was nice to be distracted.

Quiet and tavern-less, the lobby resembled the brothel, minus the women. Thankfully. The town probably had enough taverns and other types of entertainment in order to make the inn successful without the need for a bar. Claire reveled in the surprising quietness.

Bren led her up the stairs and to the end of the hallway and handed her a brass key attached to a ribbon.

"Sleep well, Miss Claire." He took her hand in his and bent to lay a soft kiss against her skin.

The simple action sent shivers down her spine. Yep, no sleep tonight. "You too, Bren." She grasped the key tightly in her hand against her chest.

She watched as he disappeared around the corner down another hall and collapsed against the door. She turned around and pressed her forehead against the smooth wood. It was all just too much. With a deep breath, she inserted the key into the door.

White walls greeted her. Red sheets covered the bed with matching curtains that framed a large square window. She stopped in the doorway. Maybe this had been a brothel, at one point at least. She shrugged and began to search the room for a robe, desperate for a bath and some sleep. She wondered briefly what had happened to the elves but brushed the thought aside. They were big boys. Surely they could take care of themselves.

#

"I trust Miss Claire had a good night." Aeron stood at the bottom of the inn stairs and wriggled his eyebrows.

Claire paused halfway down the steps. Had they seen what happened last night? She glanced around the empty room and breathed a sigh of relief that the other elf wasn't there. She smiled at Aeron. "And I'd be surprised if you didn't as well."

"Ah, yes, I did." He spread his arms wide with a feigned look of awe on his face. "Sanre, the surprising city of love."

Heat rose to her cheeks. She should have known he wouldn't let it go. She felt tired all over again. Most of the night was spent tossing and turning in her bed. Dark circles lined her eyes and her muscles struggled with fatigue. She wondered how Bren would react to her. Would he apologize and take it all back? Why did she care so much? Perhaps her mind really did need a distraction from everything else.

She brushed past Aeron, finishing off the braid in her hair, and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Farron leaned against the wall just around the corner in front of the door. Of course he had been there the whole time without saying a word. She forced a smile to hide her displeasure. She felt like she had to be nice to him after last night. Would he hold that favor over her head? She hoped not.

"Good morning," she said brightly.

He looked at her as if he finally realized she was there. He remained silent, face emotionless.

"Alright then." She took a deep breath, stepped out onto the road and quickly closed the door behind her.

Cool air nipped along her skin. She stopped in the middle of the street and tilted her face up toward the sky, her eyes narrowing at the bright morning light. That was as far as her plan went. The room just felt too smothering. Too much tension to start the day off right.

It was quiet. Most of the city's inhabitants probably nursed hangovers from the night before. She glanced in either direction as she waited for the others. The street totally devoid of life seemed a little eerie. It would be the perfect chance to escape.

The muscles in her body tensed as she quietly played with the sudden idea. She could hide out easily in this town. Her pulse quickened and she spun back to the inn. Did she want to escape? Nothing was keeping her here now. The deal they had had concerning her mother was shattered, with only the Madame's promise to look for her mother as her only hope. What about Bren? Surely she could find him in Lendon again and explain the situation. She held her breath as she watched the door to the inn with wide eyes. If she were to escape, where would she go? She turned to face down the street, putting the inn behind her. The street seemed longer than before. Her mind screamed at her feet to move, but they remained planted to the ground. The tightness in her chest almost overwhelmed her.

"Thinking of escaping?" Farron asked close to her ear.

Claire jumped, both her hands grasping her chest to keep her heart from leaping out of it. Her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed to her knees. Why did he _do_ that? Her breath slowly returned to her in sharp gasps. She sat back on her feet and covered her face with her hands, her back hunched forward. She had been so close. Why couldn't she do it? Was a thin hope in a Madame and her word really worth staying for?

She brought her knee up in front of her, pretending to check the laces on her boot, and glanced down the street. Still empty.

"It seems my lady has forgotten what happened the last time she tried to outrun me."

Claire peered up at the elf standing behind her, so sure of himself. He was fast, no doubt about that, but now she had buildings and people. She glanced down the empty street again. Well, people were sure to be somewhere. Besides, she was able to outrun a centaur before; the elf should be a piece of cake. At least that was what she would like to believe. She grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it behind her before scrambling to her feet.

Running at full speed, she didn't bother to check behind her. She knew he was going to catch up to her. What she needed was a hiding space or a distraction. She dipped into a side alley, hoping it wasn't a dead end, and emerged out on the other side onto a crowded street. Luck seemed to be on her side already. She turned right, walking hurriedly as she dodged through the throngs of people. She slipped into a restaurant, busy with the breakfast crowd, and made a beeline for the kitchen. Her heart pounded against her ribs, reverberating throughout her body, her muscles trembling with the rush of excitement. She glanced behind her. No sign of the elf, but he wasn't going to give up yet.

She pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen. The staff was too busy to notice her presence. Straight through on the back wall was the door to the outside, propped open to let the heat escape. She walked briskly around the room and tried her best to avoid the workers when her knee bumped into a pan stacked on a low shelf and knocked it and several others onto the floor. The kitchen filled with the loud clang of metal on tile and all eyes turned to her.

"Sorry!" she yelled and dashed for the door. Surely they would understand.

She burst through the door out into the tight back alley. The smell of waste instantly stung her nose. A pair of arms suddenly snatched her from behind, wrapping tightly around her body and lifting her off the ground.

"Dirt is a naughty trick, my lady," Farron growled close to her ear.

Claire kicked furiously, her nails dug into his skin as she tried to pry his arms away from her. She managed to wriggle an arm free and she elbowed him in the side with all her force, enough to loosen his grip ever so slightly.

"Let go!" she shouted.

He covered her mouth to stifle her shouts. She grabbed his wrist and pried his gloved hand away enough to bite down hard on one of the exposed fingers.

" _Sintae_!" he shouted in another language, releasing her and she fell to the ground.

Scrambling to her feet again, she tipped one of the barrels stacked by the wall over in her wake. She glanced behind her before she turned the corner to another narrow alleyway. Farron still stood in the same spot as he waved the hand she bit in the air. He asked for that.

The street she turned down this time was barren. Guess her luck had run out. She took off down it and glanced desperately at the buildings. Most of the stores looked closed. Perhaps she picked the wrong town to make her escape in after all, or at least the wrong hour.

An open sign hung in one of the windows. Her good fortune returning, she entered and slammed the door shut behind her, her back pressed up against the rough wood. She rested her head back against it as she tried to catch her breath and looked around the dim room. Chains and whips lined the wall on one side, displayed on tiny silver hooks. Corsets and other types of undergarments on the other. Not having read the sign outside in her haste, she wondered what type of place she'd stumbled in on.

"Well, you're not my usual type of customer."

A man stood behind a low counter in a deep purple corset, a feather in his long black hair. Her eyes widened as she pressed her back up further against the door. Was he wearing a skirt under that? Not one to judge usually, but this was too weird, even for her.

"Come on, don't be shy. Everyone has a dark side." The owner of the deep voice grinned at her and motioned for her to come closer. He leaned over the counter; his dark rimmed eyes looking her up and down. "Name your vice, Miss."

Her hands searched behind her for the doorknob. It was there a moment ago. "Maybe some other time." Her hand found the knob and turned it. The weight of her body propelled her back out onto the street and she quickly closed the door behind her. What was with this town?

"My lady, I didn't know you had such tastes."

Claire spun around. Farron stood in the middle of the street with a huge grin on his face. Heat rushed up to her cheeks as she looked up at the sign hanging above the door. _Dee's Delightful Pleasures_. Well, at least Dee seemed delightful.

She straightened her back in an effort to look nonchalant. "Everyone has their vices."

Farron burst out laughing. "I'm sure your prince would be glad to hear that."

"Be sure to tell him for me then." She spun on her heel away from him and started to walk down the street again.

"Not so fast," Farron said from behind her, the laughter gone.

Claire whirled around and drew her dagger. Simply running wasn't going to work anymore. She had to think of a plan, fast. Drawing her weapon probably wasn't the best idea, but it was all she had at the moment. At least until she could think of something else.

Farron held his hands up in the air in front of him, blue eyes glaring. "I don't want to hurt you, Claire."

She swallowed hard. He only said her name when he was serious. Definitely not the best plan. She glared back, holding the dagger in front of her with unsteady hands. He took a step toward her with a hand extended. She stepped back and glanced sideways to another alley. That strategy hadn't worked earlier. She took another step back to put more distance between her and the elf. She remembered the fight between him and Bren and the men in the bar back in Lendon. Quite frankly, he frightened her at times. And now was one of them.

He raised a hand to one of the hilts sticking up over his shoulder. Claire jumped and dropped her dagger. Did he really plan to fight her? Talk about excessive use of force. She turned and started to run, but a pothole in the road caught her foot suddenly. Her body landed hard on the dirt, knocking up a puff of dust in her wake.

"My lady, please don't ever get in a real fight. I fear for your safety." Farron chuckled softly as he kneeled above her with a knee on each side of her waist. He placed a hand on her back to pin her to the ground.

She threw a glare at him over her shoulder. "I can't believe you were going to draw your weapon at me!"

"You drew yours first." His voice was calm with a hint of amusement. "And you bit me." He held his hand up so she could see it. "That really hurt, you know."

Claire rose up on her arms as much as she was able to and started to drag herself out from under him. Farron's hand clamped down on her shoulder, pinning her back to the ground.

"Why can't you just let me go?" Her arms collapsed and she rested her forehead on them to hide her face from the world. "I didn't ask for any of this."

Tears stung at her eyes, but she shut them tight to keep them from falling. The rush of the chase had vanished, leaving her tired and worn. Defeated. Farron's grip softened on her shoulder.

"I can't, Claire," he said gently. "If anyone found out what this really is..." He pulled her right arm gently out from under her and held it up between them. "What you really are... Please believe me when I tell you that I am not the worst person to get their hands on you."

Claire looked at her arm. The mark glowed faintly along the edges. When had that happened? Despite her best efforts, a tear escaped and slid down her cheek. She looked past her arm up to Farron. His eyes were full of worry again. Quickly, she looked away to the ground, then up to the empty road before her.

"You won't cancel our deal, will you?" she asked, her voice fragile. "With the Madame?"

"No, my lady. I am not that cruel."

Another tear slid down her cheek and the tension in her body melted away. That was a relief at least. It was her last hope if they wouldn't let her go. If she couldn't escape. She was at their mercy. A prisoner once again. She was curious about the mark on her hand and what they thought she, or it, could do. But at what cost? His statement earlier was more than a little ominous. Were people that desperate to get their hands on anything magic related? She wasn't so sure she wanted to know.

"Thank you." She wiped the tears away with her hand, freed from his grasp.

"I'm sorry, Claire, that I can't do more to help."

She nodded silently in understanding. He'd done more than he had to already. Even he couldn't disobey orders forever.

He rose to his feet, offered his hand, and she took it, letting him pull her up. He touched her chin lightly, tilting her face up. She flushed under his sudden intense gaze.

"I'll try my best to make sure nothing happens to you," he said quietly.

She stared at him for a moment, unable to think of a word to say. It was his duty to protect her, but for some reason he made it seem like so much more. Or was it just all in her head? She wanted to ask _why_? Why he wanted to go out of his way to help her, to protect her. But instead, all she said was: "Alright."

He smiled slightly and went to go retrieve her dagger where she had dropped it in the dirt while she dusted herself off. She hadn't planned on getting her clothes dirty so soon after she'd washed them.

The handle of her dagger popped into view. Farron gripped the blade carefully, offering it to her hilt first.

"Thanks." She grabbed the hilt and wiped the blade off on her pants before she re-sheathed it.

"I have to say, my lady. That was a stunning display of maturity." Amusement laced his voice.

"Well, you can't blame a girl for trying." Aggravated, she put a hand on her hip. "Besides, I think I'm being quite mature right now."

"How so?"

"I have a very strong desire to hurt you right now, and yet, here I am, restraining myself with dignity and grace." She rested a hand lightly on her chest as she straightened her back.

Farron chuckled. "Yes, my lady is very graceful indeed."

Her ability to restrain herself at that moment was truly impressive.

"Miss Claire?" Bren's voice sounded from down the street.

Claire's head turned toward the General. Aeron stood beside him with eyebrows raised in a questioning manner. Heat rose to her face and her stomach sunk in embarrassment. Hopefully he didn't get the wrong idea.

"What are you two doing here?" Aeron looked around as they approached. A grin touched his face as he examined the stores that lined the street. "My lady, I was surprised when you suddenly disappeared. If you really wanted to look around here, you could have just asked. We would have gladly accompanied you."

She threw a glare at Aeron. Now was not the time.

"Miss Claire, you had us worried. Please don't do that again. Especially in such a town..." Bren drifted off, averting his eyes to the ground.

"Of course, General." She forced a smile. Sanre was yet another town full of fond memories.

Bren had been quiet for most of the day and seemed distant. Did he regret last night? Claire tensed as she walked along the dirt road leading out of Sanre, trailing behind the others. Maybe he'd gotten the wrong idea earlier. It wasn't exactly the most innocent looking of situations. She looked up at the man, who walked a few paces ahead of her. It couldn't hurt to at least clear the air.

"Bren," she called as she jogged to catch up to him.

He stopped and turned. "What is it, Miss Claire?"

"About earlier." No beating around the bush for this girl. They resumed walking, their pace slower.

"It's alright—"

"No, it's not what you think," she said.

Bren stopped and took her hand in his, the look in his eyes solemn, his shoulders stiff. "I understand, Miss Claire. Bad habits are hard to stop."

Words caught in her throat as her hope dropped to the ground. She waited for him to tell her that he wanted to forget about the night before. Her imaginary husband would be relieved, at least.

"Which just means I'll have to try harder." He brought her hand up to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on it.

She smiled up at him as relief spread through her. It was the best news she'd heard all morning. What could a girl say to something like that?

Midday meal was filled with another practice session with Bren. He'd replaced Aeron's sword and agreed not to damage it again, offering to replace it again if he did. Claire collapsed to the ground with her legs stretched out in front of her, her back against a tree. Sweat dripped down her skin and her breath was heavy from exertion. Bren may act like a gentleman, but he sure was relentless when it came to training.

"So tell me, General." She took a long swig of water from a canteen. "Do you not value the institution of marriage?" she asked, emboldened by her new persona.

He knelt down beside her. Sweat glistened on his forehead. His brown hair was pulled back into his usual ponytail. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway up his arms, the buttons at the collar undone, hinting at the flesh beneath. Gray eyes gazed down at her like clouds before a storm.

Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of him. How could she be so lucky?

"Of course I do. But I also believe people should follow their hearts. Do you not agree, Miss Claire?"

"Indeed I do. There's also duty and obligations, however. Every child wants to please their parents."

His gaze shifted to the ground. "I'm sure they do."

Claire hesitated, her mouth dropping open slightly. She'd almost forgotten that he'd lost his parents at a young age. "I'm sorr—"

"Miss Claire." He raised a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing lightly across her skin. "Please don't make me feel any guiltier than I already do." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers.

Shivers ran through her body. Such a light kiss had such a big impact.

#

Claire slipped the black undershirt back over her head, her skin still moist from a quick bath in a shallow creek. Just because her clothes were dirty didn't mean she had to be.

She grabbed the purple shirt hanging on a low branch and made her way back up the bank, refreshed from the cool water. A smile crept across her lips. Both Bren and herself had shot Aeron down when he'd offered to help scrub her back. It was nice to know neither of them gave up.

She made her way back to the others, wringing the excess water from her hair, running her fingers through it, fighting against the knots that had accumulated. Maybe she could bargain for a comb in the next town? Although, she wasn't sure with what exactly. Her material possessions had dwindled quite drastically lately.

The forest was quiet, the sun having just dipped below the horizon. The bath took longer than expected, but the constant check for peepers did slow the process. The campsite was a little far from the creek, on her insistence and much to Aeron's dismay. As usual, Farron was on lookout duty and—she hoped—was far, far away. Even though she had barely spoken to him in nearly three days, she really didn't need yet another misunderstanding.

A rustling noise sounded suddenly from behind her and she stopped midstride, her shoulders squaring already.

"Did you get a good look?" she asked through clenched teeth as she spun around.

The forest behind her remained empty. She glanced around for the elf. She thought for sure he was up to his old tricks. He certainly did like to sneak up on people. She stood quietly, body still, listening carefully. Nothing. She let her breath out and turned around, only to collide with the elf in question. A shriek escaped her throat and Farron clamped a hand over her mouth. His head was tilted slightly while his eyes scanned the forest around them as if he were listening to something.

Claire pried his hand from her mouth and took a step back. "Don't do that!" She began to hit him with the purple shirt in her hands.

"Claire, wait." He took a step toward her, his hands held up in the air in front of him to fend off the shirt attack.

"No, you stay away from me." She held her finger up at him as she backed away from the elf. "You bring me nothing but trouble."

She turned around and started walking. It wasn't the way back to the camp but it was away from him, and that was a good start. It was then that a slight rumbling noise caught her ear, like a far off thunder storm. She stopped again. What was that?

"This way, my lady." Farron rushed up behind her, grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him at a furious pace through the trees.

A few moments later, he threw his back up against a tree and pulled her close with a hand clamped tightly on her mouth. Claire's back pressed up against him, his arm held her securely in place across her shoulders. What was it this time?

Farron inched his back along the wide trunk and peered carefully around it. Claire froze as the rumbling noise drew closer, a noise that she'll never forget, and one that had been haunting her dreams since that dreadful night. A cold sweat instantly swept over her. It couldn't be. She wriggled out of the elf's grip and peeked around the tree.

A centaur burst through the trees several paces away, stopped, and reared up onto his hind legs, carrying a spear in his hands. A loud thud resonated through the air as his hooves landed on the ground again and his beady black eyes started to sweep the forest.

Claire quickly hid again, pressing her back up against the tree. Her pulse hammered in her chest as she gripped her shirt tightly in her hands. What do they do now? She looked up at Farron. He glanced around and then down to her. Surely he wasn't thinking about running. The rumbling in the distance grew closer. There were too many of them. Perhaps he could escape them, but she knew she couldn't. Maybe one, but not an army.

Her hand found his, partly for comfort, mostly because if he was going to run, he was taking her with him—whether he liked it or not. He looked down at her hand, and his fingers closed around hers tight.

The low rumble slowly became a roar, the ground shook with slight tremors. Time was running out. If they ran now, they might have a chance. However her knees suggested otherwise. Her body already started to tremble. She wouldn't even make it five steps before falling flat on her face. She almost told the elf to go, to run, to save himself, but the words never made it past her lips. As much as she'd hated holding his hand before, now it was just what she needed.

Farron turned around suddenly, his eyes moving up the tree. "Up you go," he whispered, his voice so low she barely heard it. He grabbed her under the arms and lifted.

She gripped the branch above her head and pulled herself up, then climbed to the next branch, then the next, refusing to look down. Farron climbed onto the branch next to her and motioned for her to move closer to the trunk. She scooted carefully down and pressed her back up against it, the rough bark digging in. Farron knelt in front of her as his eyes watched the centaur below carefully.

The rumble of the herd grew closer, vibrating up the tree, into her back and through her body, mixing with the growing sense of terror that already filled her down to the tip of her toes. Her mouth became dry, like she'd downed a bucket of sand.

Claire concentrated on the elf in front of her, taking deep breaths to calm herself. There she was, stuck in a tree with Farron while the scourge of her nightmares approached underneath. And she'd thought her day was looking up.

Her eyes went wide. What about Bren and Aeron? She looked back into the forest in the direction of the camp. Farron clamped a hand down on her shoulder, turning her attention back to him. He shook his head. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the trunk and listened as the thunderous sound grew closer. And then they were upon them, the noise deafening.

Noises of individual beasts reached her ears as the herd passed by underneath: the clang of weapons on their backs, their rough voices as they shouted to each other in their harsh language, their giant hooves pounding the dirt underneath. A foul smell reached her nose and she covered it with her hand. She kept her eyes tightly shut as she fended off the memories of that night that seemed like so long ago. Her mother, the flames, the beasts.

Farron gripped her right wrist, and her eyes snapped open. A faint blue glow started around the mark on her arm. She grabbed the purple shirt she threw over her shoulder, thankful that she hadn't dropped it on the climb up, wrapped it around her right arm and clutched it to her chest. Farron slid a hand around the back of her neck and drew her toward him. He leaned in, resting his cheek above her ear.

"It's alright." The whisper was barely audible above the noise.

She rested her forehead on his shoulder and clamped her eyes closed again. He began to whisper again, speaking in that soft rolling language as his hand massaged the back of her neck gently. She concentrated on the sound of his voice as she tried to drown out the rumbling from below.

After several tense moments, the thunder of hooves gradually faded into the distance. Farron grew quiet, his body still as he listened.

Claire didn't move as she waited for her pulse to slow and the tremble in her body to ease. When it finally did, she raised her head, opening her eyes. "What was that?"

Farron tensed and pulled back. He seemed somewhat surprised. Perhaps she'd finally caught him off guard. She rested a hand on his elbow. His hand still gripped the back of her neck. When he didn't respond, she pinched his skin.

His face twitched back to life. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he looked away, his hand dropping from her neck. "It was a chant I used to say when I was a child, to keep the evil spirits away."

Claire's mouth dropped. Did he just reveal something?

He scanned the forest below, avoiding her gaze as much as possible. He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I think they're gone."

She shook her head to clear her mind. There were more important matters at hand. She'd just have to store the revelation away so she could tease him about it later.

"The others," she gasped. Her eyes grew wide. Were they safe? She unwrapped her right hand from the purple shirt. The glow had subsided. That was a relief, at least.

"I'm sure they're fine. Aeron was with him, after all." Farron looked at her again. "Are you alright?"

"I think so." A fine tremble still reverberated through her body, but she'd been through worse. "Thank you," she said softly.

The elf grinned in return. "I'll just add it to the growing list."

She sighed and swung her foot over the branch to join the other one. So he did have a list. That seemed scary all on its own. "Honestly Farron, it doesn't hurt to open up once in a while." She scooted off the branch and started to climb down. The elf sat unmoving on the branch above her as she dropped to the ground below.

The earth was torn up from great hooves, leaves and soil stirred together in a mash. She slipped the purple shirt on and glanced around. It probably wasn't a good idea to call out to them, so she started to walk in the direction of the campfire, cautiously picking each step she took, her knees still feeling like jelly.

"Miss Claire." Bren rushed through the trees, his eyes filled with concern. He embraced her in a hurry, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and crushing her against his chest. "I was worried."

"We were able to cover the fire in time." Aeron strolled up as he picked leaves off his shirt. "I have to say, the General here is not too bad in a pinch."

Claire wedged a hand between her and Bren and pushed back from him to loosen the tight hold he had on her. His hands slid to her shoulders to grip her arms. It was nice to know he cared, but a girl needed to breathe.

"Do you think it's best to stay here?" She aimed the question at Aeron.

He shrugged. "They have already passed, my lady. I do not see the harm. You get some rest, I will help keep watch."

Claire took a deep breath. Her stomach sank as a wave of helplessness washed over her. Were the centaurs on their way to destroy yet another town? Even if they were, she was powerless to stop them. Bren's hands ran up and down her arms in an attempt to comfort her. Rest sounded good, but that was easier said than done.

#

"We have to cross that?" Claire put her hands on her hips.

A wide river stretched out before her. The water rushed by at a rapid pace, churning brown with mud and other debris. A small shack sat along the river's edge accompanied by a rickety dock that extended out over the river. Four canoes sat atop the dock, their bottoms exposed to the sun. A similar shack and dock stood on the other side.

"Honestly, my lady, where is your sense of adventure?" Aeron smirked and strolled past her to stand along the bank.

"Why couldn't they just build a bridge?" she asked.

Aeron shrugged. "You have to admit, it is a good business idea, even if it is impractical. Besides, the nearest bridge is at least a day's hike to the south."

Claire looked over at the run-down building. The boards along its walls were painted bright orange to attract travelers. The sign above was painted red with the words 'Boat Rental' scribed in black across the top and then repeated in several different languages underneath. She wondered how many different people crossed here. How many languages were there? There was still much she didn't know about the world.

Bren stepped out onto the rickety looking dock, testing each plank with his foot before moving on to the next one.

Farron argued—or maybe his version of bargaining—with a middle-aged man by the shack. The man, wearing a ragged outfit of white shirt and tan slacks, pointed toward the dock, his tanned face set in a stern scowl.

Claire walked over to the quarreling duo. She probably wasn't the best negotiator, but maybe the man would receive her better than an angry elf.

"That's my final price," the man growled out. "Surely you damn fay bastards can afford it."

Farron's face twitched and that emotionless mask slipped into place, but Claire knew better. The comment had stung him. How could such a thing not?

"Please don't call him that." She stepped up to the man and he turned his angry gaze on her. "I may hate him, but that's because of who he is, not what he is."

They stared at each other for a few tense moments. Her hands found their way to her hips. She wasn't going to back down. Although the elf was a thorn in her side, he didn't deserve to be discriminated against. Nobody did.

"Now, you will give us the same price as everyone else, or so help me I will turn myself around and march down to the bridge."

"That's at least an extra day, little lady."

"I've done more to prove a point." She had. For three straight months she would hike across town to the other bakery after Mr. Martis said a scathing remark about her and her mother. They didn't need his bread or his judgment. And Mother bought a lot of bread. It didn't take him long to come crawling back, begging for their business again. "Are you willing to lose business over such a trivial matter?" She stepped closer and narrowed her eyes at him. "The same price or we walk."

She could almost see the vein pop out of his forehead. He glanced at the elf behind her and finally yielded, "Fine."

"Thank you," she said with a pleasant smile and turned toward the dock to join Aeron and the General. Farron followed shortly after without saying a word.

"Well, now that that is settled." Aeron slapped Farron on the back and pushed the elf toward Claire. "I will be escorting the prince across. You two play nice." He turned and started toward the dock.

"Wait a minute," Claire called after him.

Aeron spun around and leaned in close to her. "Now, now, my lady, we cannot have the prince running off with the princess, now can we? Besides," he glanced past her shoulder to Farron, "if we stick those two in a boat together, they would end up killing each other." He stood up straight and gave her a considering look. "Although, that would be interesting to watch..."

She opened her mouth to protest but Aeron cut her off.

"You will be fine," he said with a final note.

Helpless, she watched as he joined Bren on the dock, picking up two paddles along the way. The elf helped Bren flip one of the canoes off the dock and into the water before he hopped in. Bren gave her a smile before he jumped down into the small boat. She let her breath out in a long sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. Just great.

"That was very noble of you, my lady." Farron muttered near her ear before he made his way to the canoes.

Claire flushed. She hoped he didn't get the wrong idea, sticking up for him like that.

He handed her a paddle after she joined him on the rickety dock and it felt foreign in her hands. It might have been a good time to tell him she'd never done anything like this before. She opened her mouth but stopped. He already had enough to tease her about; she didn't want to give him any extra fodder.

She glimpsed the water in between the cracks of the wooden boards as it drifted by underneath. A splash sounded from the end of the dock as Farron flipped a canoe over into the water. He hopped down into the boat and held onto one of the pilings. His eyebrows were raised questioningly as he looked at her. Aeron and the General were almost halfway across the river. Good thing they weren't racing.

With a deep breath, she gripped the paddle tight with both hands. She could do this. Her pulse sped up, anxious, as she approached the edge and looked down at the battered boat. It just didn't seem sturdy.

"I think I'll take the bridge," she said, her voice coming out higher than usual.

"That would have been nice to know before I spent the money, my lady." Farron sat down on the front seat. He glanced up at her after a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Could it be that you're nervous?"

She shot him a glare. "Of course not."

Claire slowly lowered herself into the boat and grabbed the paddle off the dock. The canoe jerked causing her to lose her balance and she fell backwards, sitting hard on the narrow seat opposite the elf. Her hands gripped onto the sides of the canoe tight until she felt steady again.

"Ready!" she exclaimed cheerfully, trying to cover up her nervousness.

Farron turned in his seat, pushed off from the dock and stuck his paddle in the water. She watched him to study how he held the paddle, the angle it dipped into the water. It didn't look so hard. They drifted past the dock, her last chance to change her mind slipping away a little too quickly. Muddy water suddenly surrounded them like an ocean. Not that she'd ever seen the ocean, but she'd imagined that it would be somewhat similar. The lump in her throat grew steadily the further they got from solid ground. She gripped the paddle as the elf had done, stuck it in the water and pulled with her lower hand. There, that wasn't so bad.

"My lady, this would go a lot faster if I had a little help." Farron glanced over his shoulder at her.

Claire looked at the paddle. She thought she _was_ helping. Was she not doing it right? Bren and Aeron drifted further away as the current carried her and Farron a little down river. That wasn't good. She stuck her paddle into the water again and pulled with all her might. The boat turned so they were parallel to the land on either side of them.

Farron turned around in his seat and the canoe rocked back and forth. Claire dropped the paddle in her lap and quickly gripped the sides of the canoe.

"Could this, perhaps, be your first time?" The arrogant grin was already plastered on his face.

She glared at the elf. They had made it to the middle of the river when Farron had stopped paddling and the current was slowly sweeping them down stream.

Claire sat up straight and grabbed her paddle again. "Do you think it's a good idea to stop?" She began to paddle furiously on both sides in a vain attempt to straighten the canoe out. "Farron, don't just sit there!"

The canoe swayed, more violently than before. Claire stopped and gripped the sides again, her breath escaping her in a gasp. She glanced anxiously at the water surrounding them with the paddle across her lap.

"You seem nervous, my lady," he taunted. "Is it possible that you don't know how to swim?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She had hoped to keep that a secret. "Well, it's not like I had much to practice with." Which was the truth. Her village was landlocked with only shallow creeks and ponds in the immediate vicinity. It wasn't her fault she was deprived of the experience. She just lacked the necessary facilities.

Farron laughed. "The mighty Claire defeated by water!"

"I hardly think it's funny."

"Oh, but it is." The laughter faded a little. "It seems that once again you are at my mercy."

"This is no time to joke around. Aeron and Bren have already reached the other side, you know."

Farron laid his paddle on his lap and gripped the sides of the canoe, mirroring her stance. He smirked, his eyes glinting with a mischievous spark. "How about a swimming lesson, my lady?"

Claire's eyes grew wide, her muscles tense. "I'll pass."

Farron jerked the boat which sent it rocking. Claire grabbed her paddle and used it to splash water up at the elf. He held his hands up in front of him in defense.

He gripped the sides again and shook the canoe.

"Stop it!" She splashed him.

His laughter grew louder, echoing off the trees lining the banks of the river. They had drifted considerably downstream and she was stuck in the middle with a vengeful elf. He really must enjoy torturing her.

The boat rocked again and she slid from the seat onto the floor. She threw an arm over one side of the canoe and held on tight for dear life.

"You're evil, you know that?" She glared up at him.

The laughter faded again and he looked down at her, feigning innocence. "Swimming is an important skill to have. I'd be doing you a favor."

Annoyance boiled up inside of her. She lunged at him and grabbed onto his shoulder. "Then why don't you go in and show me!"

Farron laughed and grabbed her arms. "This seems terribly unsafe, my lady."

Claire leaned back a little as she tried to get better stability, but her foot slipped on the wet surface along the edge of the boat. She whirled with her arms as she tried to catch her balance, then began to fall backwards. Farron's eyes grew wide and he grabbed her by the arm at the last moment, but her momentum carried them both over the side and they splashed into the water as the canoe flipped belly up.

Her arms flailed around her as she struggled to raise her head above water. Farron managed to grab her by the waist and pulled her to the surface. Air burned down her throat as she inhaled deeply, swallowing a bit of water in the process. Dirty river water did not taste as good as she imagined.

"Relax, Claire." Farron's voice was full of amusement. He held onto the overturned canoe and swung her around toward it.

She flung her arm up onto the boat and glared at the elf. Her heart was still in her throat. At least he'd gone in as well.

"Looks like you got that swimming lesson after all." Farron smiled at her.

Claire splashed him with water. "You are not _funny_!"

The elf glanced around. "Well, my lady, it seems that you owe me for the paddles."

"Miss Claire!" Bren shouted from the bank of the river.

Aeron stood next to him with his arms crossed, frown already in place.

Claire could feel the heat rush up to her cheeks again. Well, this was certainly embarrassing. Why did she always seem to get into these predicaments with him?

"Fine, just add it to my tab," she snapped. She just wanted to get out of the water and arguing wouldn't make the process go any faster. "Now can we get out of here?"

"And I thought you were enjoying it," Farron said as he began to push the canoe toward the shore.

Her feet touched ground as they drew closer and she was able to stand and walk the rest of the way. Bren offered her a helping hand to pull her up onto solid ground before swinging his cloak over her shoulders. Farron flipped the canoe upright and Aeron helped him drag it up onto the dirt path that ran along the river.

"Do I even want to know what happened?" Aeron asked.

"My lady insisted on taking a dip." Farron shrugged his shoulders. He shook his arms in the air as he tried to get the excess water off him.

"Well, that would have been helpful to know earlier. Could have saved some money." Aeron crossed his arms again.

Claire wrung the water from her hair with a sigh. Wet clothes were just uncomfortable and she dreaded having to walk miles in them. The elf would pay, she'd be sure of that. "Let's move on." She spun on her heel and started to walk down the path. It seemed her temper was getting better after all.

She glanced back to find that the elves had lifted the canoe up on their shoulders as they trailed behind. They did have to return it after all. She sighed and grabbed her shirt, wringing as much water as she could squeeze out of it. It was going to be a long day.

#

"What is this place?" Claire asked no one in particular.

All four of them stood in awe as they took in the ruins. Massive stone columns lay toppled in the grass. Gray bricks were strewn about, the walls long since destroyed. In the center of it all, a complex of buildings surrounded a great big one, their intricate carvings and arches still mostly intact, though weathered with age. Green covered everything as the forest slowly reclaimed the land: vines crawled up walls, mold covered stone, grass swallowed walkways. A massive tree sprouted up from the center. Abandoned, and falling down, it looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

Mid afternoon sunlight filled the clearing. It was a surprise, stumbling across such a thing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest. However Claire had a sneaking suspicion one silver-haired elf may have led them in the right direction. He never said a word, but he seemed to know... things. A lot more than he let on.

Aeron knelt in front of a gray marble slab, and brushed the vines away to reveal words carved in another language. Curved and flowing, the letters didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before.

"All are welcome," Aeron said quietly, his brow knitting together.

"It was a Haven," Farron stated matter of factly. His arms were crossed over his chest while a foot rested on part of a low wall, his face calm, showing no signs of surprise.

Just as she'd suspected. He knew all along what and where this place was. Claire sighed. It was really beginning to be just too much.

"Haven?" she asked, since no one else seemed like they were going to. Was she the only one that didn't know, again?

"Sanctuaries, places of refuge and healing. There was one in every major city, Lendon had one once before it was destroyed. They were built by the elves, where the magic in the land was strong. It helped with the healing," Farron said.

Everyone listened in silence. Perhaps they didn't know either. It was a satisfying feeling, if there ever was one, to finally not be the only one left out in the dark for once.

"They were considered sacred places, temples of some sort," Farron continued. "Back in the old days, magic was more... revered." He was quiet for a moment as his eyes swept over the decaying ruins. "They were the first to go during the war."

There was another silence. And again, she was the one who broke it. "Why?"

"Because they helped humans." With that, he stepped toward the ruins, walking down the overgrown path, not bothering to wait for the others.

Claire exchanged a glance with Bren, but his face remained unreadable. For a while, she just stood in awe as she looked at the vast ruins, everyone else abandoning her to explore. She'd never seen anything so tragic and beautiful at the same time. If this was a place for healing, then why would they do such a thing and destroy it? Though, she already knew the answer to that one. To destroy your own creation, especially one built for good... It was cruel. But then again all wars were.

Her fingers brushed over rough stone as she walked past arched pillars on either side of the covered corridor. Hints of red paint clung in patches, surviving against the elements and time. Roots sprouted out from between the brick pavement, making the path uneven. She'd already tripped. Twice. Her palms and knees throbbing, she walked slowly, picking her way through the ruins.

Long open corridors linked smaller buildings together in a square around a larger central one, built around a giant tree, almost reminiscent of the forest city. There was no mistaking the origins of this place. Just like the forest, and Lendon, traces of similar architecture were everywhere: curved archways, carved latticework, stonework that would have been impossible without the use of magic.

Bren, Aeron, and the other one were nowhere to be found. Each off on their own exploratory venture. Strange, considering that usually she was hardly ever left alone. Perhaps Aeron was finally beginning to trust her. Or he was in as much awe as she was and just plain forgot about her. She hoped for the first, but deep down she knew it was more the latter.

She sighed. It was always the latter, wasn't it?

Their loss. And her gain. Now she could freely explore all on her own.

She hopped over the low wall in the corridor, between two pillars, to the central courtyard that surrounded the main building. Grass and wild weeds grew up to her knees and brushed against her boots as she crossed to a dark entrance. Square and dilapidated, the doorway didn't exactly look inviting. She peeked in, wary of the dark, and the state of the great stone blocks overhead. Light shone at the end of the tunnel. At least that looked promising.

So, with breath held, Claire quickly ran to the end. An inner courtyard greeted her, the roof open to the sky. In the middle stood the huge tree, the top seemingly reaching to the clouds. The great round trunk almost filled the space. In a few years, it would probably outgrow it, crumbling the ruins even more.

Looking up at the tree, she took a deep breath then closed her eyes. Being in this place, somehow she felt calmer. Just slightly. It was hard to describe. Or maybe it wasn't so much the place, but the absence of the rather masculine presence she was constantly surrounded by. It could get tiring.

Four doorways led out from the courtyard, but it was the one that stood behind the tree that drew her curiosity. A slight sound of trickling water echoed from the opening, so soft that she'd almost missed it. As she drew closer, she peered in.

Instead of a dark corridor, there was a small room, light pouring in from a hole in the roof. On the wall was a fountain, the basin cracked and broken so the water flowed to the floor. Farron knelt on one knee, his back to her.

So that's where he'd wandered off to. Claire stopped in the doorway, wondering if she should disturb him. He looked engrossed in something, his head bowed, shoulders rounded. Quiet, but somehow tense.

She was just about to turn away, not wanting to disrupt his—or hers, for that matter—peace, when his head jerked to the side. Too late. He'd heard her. Rather quickly, he rose to his feet, his hands clasping the golden chain back around his neck, and tucking the pendant out of sight into his shirt as he turned to face her. His face was the cool mask she'd grown so fond of. Curious. She'd caught him in the middle of something. If she would have thought of it before, it would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak up on the elf and give him the scaring that he needed.

He crossed his arms, waiting for her to start. With what, she wasn't quite sure. So she settled with: "You say this place was a temple," she said as she stepped into the room.

Carved reliefs decorated the walls. Tall slender figures faced toward the fountain and the tree carved into the gray stone above it. Green mold circled the pool of water on the floor where it spilled over from the fountain before flowing off to the side of the room in little channels. Clear and clean, the water looked refreshing. Invigorating. And a little too enticing. Almost as if she was being drawn to it.

"But what did they worship?" She tore her eyes away from the fountain to look at the elf.

"Magic," he said simply. "It was the life force of the land, and therefore all living things. Or so they say."

"You don't believe it?"

He shrugged. "It was strong here once, but now it's fading. Like back in the forest. But everything still looks green, doesn't it?"

Claire sighed. She should have just kept walking.

"There's still magic here though. It's faint, but..." his voice trailed off as he looked around him.

She turned her attention back to the fountain. She wasn't sure what he was talking about, or what he was getting at. At the moment, the water seemed far more interesting. For some reason. She wasn't particularly thirsty. Her right hand reached out, feeling the sudden compulsion to touch it, to immerse her hand in it.

Farron's hand clamped down on her wrist just before it touched the water. She looked up at him, her head slightly cloudy as if she'd just drank a couple glasses of wine. His eyes rested on the dark mark on her arm, then settled on her face, unreadable as always.

"Sorry," he murmured, then released her wrist. "Be careful, Claire."

She knelt down in front of the pool, her hand reaching out once again.

"You could have some sort of reaction to it..."

His voice faded into the background. The water. It looked so clear. The way the light hit it, it looked like it was sparkling. Full of magic. Just like her. Or her arm at least. A slight shock raced through her arm as her fingertips touched the surface, more exhilarating than painful. She dipped her hand under the flow of water, letting the coolness wash over her skin. The blue glow started where the water ran across the mark, dim at first, slowly growing in intensity. The dark lines remained motionless. The ache in her arm, the one she's had since she started training with the sword, seeped away. Stiff joints relaxed. It was so soothing, that if the pool were big enough, she'd immerse her whole body in it. Let the water take away her worries, if even for just a little bit.

Faintly, she could hear her name being called. Or was it all in her mind? The familiar voice seemed so far away. Muddled. She felt something encircle her wrist before it pulled her hand out from the water, wrenching her back into reality. The voice became clearer.

"Claire," the elf said, soft but firm. His hand still held onto her wrist.

She blinked a couple times before her mind finally caught up, and looked over at Farron, still half dazed. He knelt beside her, his eyes slightly wide as he studied her.

"That was..." she sighed, her mouth slow to form the words. Not that she knew what to say, or really what just happened. But, before she could even think about what she was going to say next, he pulled her to her feet suddenly and then across the room.

His hand found its way over her mouth, silencing her as he pushed her back against the wall into the shadows. The door to the room stood mere feet from them, but they would never be seen unless someone were to poke their head in and enter.

She looked up at Farron, too shocked to do anything. His head was cocked to the side as he listened. Claire's pulse picked up. Was it an enemy? Some thieves that used this place as a hideout?

The sound of footsteps finally caught her ear, heels clicking on stone, drawing nearer and nearer. Every couple seconds they stopped, and then resumed. The closer they came, the higher up her heart traveled in her chest. They were alone, whoever it was. Was it the General? It would make the most sense. The glow on her arm had yet to subside, and they'd left their packs near the entrance to the building, so there would be no way to cover it up. If the General found her there, with the elf no less, and a glowing mark on her hand, their charade would be blown.

Claire closed her eyes, hoping the footsteps would just pass them by. Though not as bad as she thought it would be, being this close for so long to the tall elf was making her a bit uncomfortable. His hand still covered her mouth, firm but gentle. She looked up at him again. Quiet and still, she felt like she should be afraid of him. But she wasn't. Even with all his damn secrets. There was a certain sense of calm about him. Even in dangerous situations, like he'd been through them a dozen times before.

Had he hurt men? She had no doubt about that. Would he hurt her? She doubted he ever would. But still, she couldn't quite trust his intentions. Not yet.

"Miss Claire?" Aeron's voice rang though the open courtyard.

Claire relaxed all at once; her shoulders sagged back against the wall. It was just the other one.

Farron looked at her then, his hand still in place on her mouth, but his expression was almost indecipherable. Though, she could have sworn she saw a hint of sadness in those oh-so-blue eyes. Over what, she wasn't so sure she wanted to know.

He remained still, waiting for Aeron to pass. Claire pried his hand away from her mouth, but didn't say anything. It was strange. Why did he want to hide from Aeron? The other elf already knew about the mark.

When the footsteps faded away Farron stepped back, meeting her gaze again. He looked down quickly to the floor in an almost bashful manner.

"Sorry," he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand.

Claire remained frozen against the wall, still trying to make sense of it all.

"Don't drink that." He nodded back toward the fountain and stepped quickly through the doorway, out of sight.

Definitely strange. What got into him?

She held her arm up in front of her. The glow had started to subside. This place, her reaction, the elf. It was all just very peculiar.

#

"You've improved, Miss Claire!" Bren exclaimed with a wide smile.

"You're not just letting me win, are you?" Claire eyed him suspiciously.

They'd been practicing for the better part of the afternoon in a clearing in the trees. After the incident at the river a couple days ago, she felt like she had to distance herself from the elf even more. Was it too much to ask to just row the boat across the river? Not to mention his strange behavior at the Haven...

In the meantime, she'd been hounding Bren and Aeron to practice with her or to tell her stories, anything to keep her occupied. Her mind had been a little uneasy after the centaur encounter. Was a town being ravaged out there at this very moment? She was tired of innocent people being killed. And she was tired of not being able to do a thing about it.

"Well, I may be going a little easy, but your skills have definitely improved." Bren leaned back against a tree and put his wooden sword down. "Why don't we take a break? We've been practicing rather much lately. Is everything alright, Miss Claire?"

Claire played with the braid hanging over her shoulder, her practice blade gripped tightly in her right hand. She averted her eyes to the ground. He couldn't know why she was really upset. Claire DuBonte's hometown had never been attacked by savages, her mother never vanished, and she wasn't a prisoner.

"I'm fine, General." She looked up at him and forced a smile. She was getting good at that lately. "I was just a little shaken by the centaurs the other night, is all."

Bren walked to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. "I'm glad you're alright, Miss Claire." He kissed her softly on the forehead.

Claire buried her face into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to tell him. Tell him everything. He would understand if she explained it all, right? Although, she would have trouble explaining the mark on her hand, but that could wait until later. Bren leaned his cheek on her head and began to stroke her hair, down to the back of her neck.

"Do not be alarmed, Miss Claire, but it appears that we're not alone anymore," he whispered, his mouth just above her ear.

She froze against him. Was it that damn elf again?

With a sudden move, Bren pushed her to the side before she could say anything. Claire stumbled to the ground and the practice blade flew from her grip. She turned over just in time to see two men leap from the trees brandishing short swords. Their clothes were ragged and handkerchiefs covered half their faces.

"Do not worry, Miss Claire, it appears to be just a couple of thieves." Bren drew his real weapon and the men charged at him.

A gasp escaped her throat. What should she do? Before she could think about it, she was up on her feet with her dagger drawn. Two men against one just didn't seem fair. The clang of metal soon filled the small clearing as Bren fended off the attackers. Claire watched for a few seconds, waiting for an opening. An opening for what? Was she really going to attack one of these men? It wasn't practice anymore.

Wild fear trembled through her muscles as her hand gripped the hilt tight. Her knees were bent, ready to pounce.

"Hey!" she shouted, unable to think of anything clever at the moment.

One of the men turned to her, his green eyes glaring. He pointed his blade at her and took a step forward.

"Claire, run!" Bren shouted while he defended from an attack with his sword.

Her feet stayed solid on the ground. No, she couldn't just leave him. Now was a chance to prove her strength. She ran away from her mother; she wasn't going to do the same with him.

The man took another step toward her. "I wouldn't do that." His eyes glinted with amusement above the faded blue cloth that covered the lower half of his face.

Claire pointed her blade at him, her other hand hovering in the air. He took another step forward, into range, so she swung her dagger at him but was blocked by his sword; the shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. The man parried and she jumped back; he swung his sword and she leaped back just out of range. Getting agitated, he rushed at her, slashing horizontally. Claire blocked at the last moment, using her other hand to help stabilize the dagger.

The man reached out with his free hand and snatched her right wrist, then dropped his blade to grab the other. His hands began to squeeze as he pulled her toward him; Claire dug her feet into the ground as she struggled to pull herself free, but he was too strong. He bent her right wrist back until she released her hold on her weapon. She cried out as the pain spiked up her arm.

"Aren't you a feisty little one?" The man's face hovered inches from her, slightly amused.

"Let go of me," she demanded.

"I don't think that would be a good move on my part."

Claire dug her left foot back into the ground and kneed him in the groin with the right, putting as much force into it as she could. The man released her and hunched over, covering his precious parts with his hands. Mother taught her that one. She grabbed her dagger off the ground and held it up in front of her again. It hadn't done her much good so far, but it was always good to have a blade between her and the attacker.

"I'll get you for that!" The man's voice sounded strained and his face was redder than a fine glass of merlot.

Well, now that she'd gotten his attention, it was time to run. She backed up a couple steps before she spun around and dashed through the trees. Bren could handle one of them at least, although she wasn't sure she could. Maybe she should have thought that through beforehand.

The sound of footsteps quickly grew closer from behind. She knew she wouldn't be able to outrun him. Her breathing grew heavy, already tired from practicing with Bren earlier. She glanced around for something she could use, but trees were only so useful in a chase.

Her head was suddenly jerked back as the man grabbed a hold of her braid. Claire whirled around and swung her blade at his hand. He dropped her hair and jumped back, his hands held up in front of him, fingers splayed wide. It seemed he'd forgotten to grab his sword before pursuing her.

She swung her dagger at him again while she took a step forward to push the man back. What to do now? Although she wanted him hurt, the thought of stabbing the man gave her the chills. But, if she didn't do anything, he was sure to. Wasn't this why she'd been training to fight? The only difference was he was a man and not a centaur. Why couldn't he just run away in fear? Perhaps she really _wasn't_ intimidating enough.

"What's the matter? Not afraid, are ya'? You're the one with the weapon," the man challenged.

"Shut up!" she shouted. She took a step back as he took one forward, and then another. And another. She was quickly losing the upper hand in this situation, and he knew it.

Claire hesitated for too long and he took the chance to rush at her. She raised her dagger to swing at him, but it was too late. He grabbed her wrist and kicked out. His foot landed hard in her stomach, knocking the breath out of her. He wrestled the blade from her grip and threw it aside before he launched at her again and tackled her to the ground, pinning her shoulders down with his hands. Her head hit the ground hard, blurring her vision. She reached up with her hands and began to claw at his face, pulling down the handkerchief to reveal scruffy cheeks and a mean smirk on his lips. Her feet kicked at the ground as she tried to get leverage to knee or kick him.

The man grabbed her arms, took both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head to the ground. His other hand wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze as he lowered his face close to hers.

"If you promise to play nice, I'll let you live," he said in a low growling voice.

"Not man enough to get a girl the traditional way?" she managed to squeeze out.

Her breath struggled down her throat as his hand squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into her skin. His eyes narrowed, not too happy about the question of his manhood. She could have cooperated, but she was too stubborn for that. And for that she would pay dearly. She could feel the strength start to leave her body; her struggles became weaker and weaker until they had almost stopped. Her head felt lighter, and his face started to blur as black spots danced across her vision.

Tears started to trickle down her cheeks. This was it. Would she die here today? So quickly, so suddenly. If only she were stronger she could have stopped him. Could have saved herself. Could have done _something_. At least she'd managed to get the man away from Bren, although her plan wasn't really working out in her favor. It was too late for regrets now, however.

The man glanced over her head then and his brow furrowed. His hand on her throat loosened slightly as a blue glow illuminated his face and his eyes went wide, the anger quickly turning to shock.

The man suddenly cried out then and jerked back up onto his knees, his hands releasing her from their forceful grip. Claire gasped violently, coughing at the sudden rush of fresh air. Her body trembled as she raised herself up on her hands and began to crawl backwards.

An arrow stuck out from the back of the man's right arm; blood trailed down his skin to drip on the ground. He grabbed at the wound with his hand as a slight whimper escaped him and scanned the area for the attacker.

The mark blazed to life on her arm, drawing her attention. The flowery design started to twist up her wrist as the vine-like tendrils wound their way up her forearm. Her eyes grew wide as she held her arm out in front of her, her attacker forgotten. It was the first time she'd seen it so bad. The mark only seemed to react when she was in danger, but what was the point if it didn't do anything?

A rustling sound drew her attention back to her attacker. Farron had wrestled the man to the ground and had one of his daggers against his throat. A trail of blood trickled down the elf's left arm just above his elbow.

So elves did bleed red. In the stories it had always ranged from purple to gold. In her daze, she found the revelation fascinating.

Claire quickly shook the thought out of her head and started to crawl over to them. Even though she wanted revenge, she didn't want to see the man dead. And if the way the elf looked at him was any indication, his time was short.

"What do you want from us?" Farron growled, the blade digging into the flesh of the man's throat, producing the first hint of red.

The man's eyes almost bulged out of his head. "We just wanted the girl, that's all. We were just followin' orders!"

"From who?" Farron grabbed the base of the man's throat, the muscles in his arms tensing.

Claire lunged forward. "Farron, that's enough!" She gripped his wrist and began to pull. But it was no use, he was too strong.

"I don't know! I never saw his face. Not all of it, his head was bald an' he dressed all in black..."

"I know you can do better than that," Farron said, his voice ice.

"Said he'd pay us, ten gold coins, an' all we had to do was bring him the girl."

That caught her attention. She released her hold on the elf and looked down at the man.

Farron's hand tightened around his throat, causing him to wince. "What else?"

"H-he..."

"Go on."

"He had strange markings on his wrist. Two black dots. I din' mean to see 'em, but they were there..."

Farron grew quiet, his face sobering up a little. Did that mean something to him? The dots? Whatever it was, she guessed it wasn't good.

The man began to sob as he threw his hands up in the air in front of him to surrender. "I wasn't gonna hurt her, not really, I swear! Please just let me go, I was just followin' orders!"

Farron began to release him but then grabbed him tight again. "You'll forget what you've seen here today or I'll hunt you down myself." He let go of the man's throat and stood up. "That man, I wouldn't go back to him empty handed, or else you will have no hands at all. Go find a new life somewhere, and consider yourself lucky that she was here to spare your life." The man nodded rapidly. "And give us your shirt while you're at it."

He stripped off his shirt faster than any man she'd ever seen before and threw it at the elf. They watched quietly as the man struggled to his feet to run away into the trees.

"Are you alright?" Farron sheathed his blade and turned to her. He gently lifted her chin up to inspect the damage.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, her voice raw. She touched her neck and winced.

The elf began to rip the shirt while Claire turned to search for her dagger. The tears had dried on her cheeks but were threatened to be replaced by new ones. She had failed to save herself and almost died in the process. Why had she hesitated? Metal gleamed from beneath the leaves and dirt a few feet away. She picked the blade up and wiped it off before sheathing it.

"Come here, Claire," Farron straddled an overturned tree several paces away.

She sat on the tree next to him and held her arm out, her body still trembling a bit. The glow had subsided a little, but she already knew what he wanted to do. He started to wrap the shirt, now turned bandage and mark hider, up her arm.

"Those marks, what do they mean?" she asked, curious. She needed a distraction before she lost it.

"He's been bitten by the snake."

She gave him a questioning look.

"It means that they are bad people, Claire." His eyes concentrated on his task. "People that you do _not_ want getting their hands on you. It may be best if we keep this hidden for a while."

"Do you know who they are?"

He paused for a moment as if he were unsure he wanted to answer. "A group of people I've had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting a few times."

"Why do they want _me_?" Her mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Why do you think?"

She glanced down at her arm. Oh. "Will they come after us again?"

He was quiet for a moment, his face becoming unreadable. And that was all the answer she needed.

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Fear gathered once again inside of her. What could they want from her? Who were they and why had Farron come across them if they were so shady? There was something the elf wasn't telling her, but she knew she wouldn't get that much information out of him at once. Baby steps, that's what it took with him. He had a past he wanted to keep hidden and was reluctant to reveal anything pertaining to it. But that was slowly changing for some reason. She could feel it.

"Don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you," he said softly.

She glanced at him, and at that moment, she believed him. If she felt safe with anyone, it was with him. Fake bodyguard or not. She looked away then, confused by her sudden revelation. Would she feel the same with Aeron? Or Bren?

"I couldn't do it," she muttered after a while. "I couldn't defend myself after all. All this training I've been doing, and for what? He wasn't a centaur, he was just a man, and I couldn't bring myself to hurt him."

"Claire." Farron took a deep breath and said, "You can't be afraid to hurt someone if they are attacking you."

"I did want to hurt him, I just couldn't." She buried her face in her hand while she fought back the tears. "I don't want to feel like this anymore. So helpless... I want to become stronger. I have to."

"There's more than one type of strength, you know."

"You don't understand," she said, "what it feels like to be so vulnerable, to not have the strength to protect others, or even yourself."

"You do not need to be strong like me," he said, quietly. "Sometimes all the physical strength in the world can't protect someone. Just because you can't fight doesn't mean you're not a strong person."

Claire looked up at him, but his eyes concentrated on the task of wrapping her arm.

"Not everything has to be resolved with a blade." He tied the ends of the cloth together just below her elbow and looked up at her; a spark of amusement touched his eyes. "Besides, didn't I already say that I'd hate to see you in a fight?"

"Far—" Claire looked away from him and closed her eyes. "Please." Her head was starting to hurt already. Did he always have to ruin everything with a joke?

"Hey." Farron touched her chin gently, his voice soft. He turned her face back toward him. "It's alright to depend on others once in a while. An army isn't made up of one person. To admit your weakness, that is the first step to becoming stronger." He gave her a slight smile. "At least, that's what I was taught."

Calm washed over her. Although she hated to admit it, he was right. She looked up at him. Worry had replaced the amusement on his face. He tilted her chin up slightly so he could examine her neck more closely. She flinched as he lightly touched her skin.

"How bad is it?"

"I think you'll live." He lowered his hands. "Please try to be more careful though. Some people would rather not see you get hurt."

Claire's chest tightened slightly. Was he part of the ' _some people_ '? But more importantly, why did she care if he was?

"Miss Claire!" Bren called from the distance.

She jumped a little, snapping out of her reverie. Quickly, she rose to her feet and spun around to face the General as he came through the trees, hiding her newly bandaged arm behind her back. Farron stood behind her, his anger already palpable.

"How nice of you to finally join us, General," Farron said as Bren rushed up to them.

Claire clenched her jaw closed to keep from turning around and yelling at the elf. It wasn't Bren's fault that the man had chased her. That had been her brilliant idea. Relief filled her when she noticed that the General looked unharmed. Mission accomplished, she guessed.

"Wait." Claire glanced around. "Where's Aeron?"

"Do not worry, _mon lainí_ , I am safe." Aeron stepped out from behind a tree a few paces away with a grin plastered on his face.

Had he been there the whole time? Heat rushed up to her cheeks for some reason. Why did she feel embarrassed?

"It seems our attackers are gone." Aeron strolled over to them, the amusement faded from his face. "Though it would be wise to keep our guard up."

"I agree," Bren said with a sigh. Tension left his body and his shoulders relaxed a little. "Miss Claire, why don't you get some rest? I'll help keep guard."

Claire looked up at Bren; he seemed sad for some reason. She turned to face Farron and took a deep breath. "Thank you." After glancing around at the three of them she said, "Well, I'd hate to leave this happy party, but someone's got to set up camp."

Deciding to occupy her mind with something else, she marched away from the trio. It seemed like threats to her life were becoming a regular occurrence, so there was no point in sulking over it too much. She had had a moment of weakness and would just have to fix that in the future. If they wanted to brood, that was fine. But she didn't have to be around to enjoy it. She picked a spot to set up camp. That was easy. Now all she had to do was figure out how to start a fire.

Her fingers twisted her hair, working deftly at the braid, a ritual so familiar it seemed almost second nature to her now. When she was younger, she had always wished for her mother's locks, a rich red color, not the usual orange of most red-heads. But that would never be. And that was when she first understood that her mother wasn't truly her own. She was seven, but she never really knew the real meaning of adoption until she was much older. The friends she would lose, the fiancé that would vanish. All because her parents had abandoned her.

At least, that's what she liked to believe. If it was because of her own faults, then she'd rather not know. She never was as strong as Mother.

The forest around her was quiet. Peaceful. Able to sneak away from the camp for a little quiet time, she sat alone on a fallen tree. Out here, there was no one to judge her. Her charade didn't matter. Out here, she was Claire Tanith.

Out here, Miss DuBonte seemed miles away.

Never in her life did she think that playing somebody else could be so taxing. She was exhausted. Always having to be on guard, making sure she didn't slip up. Trying to adopt the grace that seemed to come so naturally to most ladies, never losing her temper, or speaking what she truly thought, lying to the man she wanted so desperately to like her back. Her body and mind felt ragged. It truly was tiring.

She even had to lie to be able to come out here unsupervised. But she needed it, desperately. A break from it all.

A snap sounded behind her and she jumped, a gasp escaping her mouth. She spun around, her pulse in her throat. Her hand found the hilt of her dagger, but fell to her side when she discovered who it was.

"It's only you," she said as her shoulders slumped. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Why did he always do that? Though, if the elf really meant to keep quiet, he wouldn't have stepped on that twig. He was too careful for that.

She leaned back on her hands, turning her back on him. There went her quiet time.

A small silver flask dropped down into view as Farron dangled it in front of her. She only looked at it for a second before she snatched it out of his hand. It was just what she needed. Her fingers worked just as quickly at unscrewing the top as they did braiding her hair. She lifted it to her lips, without even stopping to smell it, and tilted it up to take a quick sip. She recoiled at the strong taste. Liquor. And potent, _exactly_ what she needed.

"Thanks," she said, turning to the elf. He sat on the tree next to her, facing the opposite direction. She handed the flask back to him, the cap dangling on a silver chain attached to the corner. "How did you know?"

"It looked like you needed it." He raised the delicate container to her before taking a sip himself. Simple and somewhat plain, it seemed to suit him somehow.

"More than you'll ever know." She eyed the flask, raising an eyebrow in question. Where in the world had he gotten _that_?

"Sanre's finest," he said, admiring the silver container. "Fran's parting gift."

"You are full of surprises, my friend."

"So _now_ I'm your friend?" He jiggled the flask and grinned.

"I'm just upset you kept that hidden for so long."

"There wouldn't be any left if that fool knew about it."

"You better keep your eye on it, now that _I_ know about it." He offered it again, and she took it, recoiling after she took a sip. "At least I don't have to be a lady in front of you," she said with a slight laugh as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"It's nice to know you try."

She handed him the flask and leaned back on her hands again. Dusk was falling on the forest, the sun painting the sky through the trees a vibrant orange. She looked out, focusing on nothing in particular.

He was quiet as he took another sip of the strong spirit. He didn't say anything for a while, and she was grateful for that.

"It's so exhausting," she blurted out finally. She wasn't even quite sure why. Why did she tend to do that when she was alone with him? Maybe it was because he seemed to be the only one who listened at times. "Pretending to be someone you're not," she continued quietly, "Pretending that everything's alright. I just want to scream sometimes. But that wouldn't be very lady-like of me, would it?"

"I suppose not." There was a hint of amusement to his voice.

"I don't know how you do it."

"I'm not pretending anything, Claire."

She looked sideways at him, her eyes narrowing a little. "You pretend you don't have a past."

"Wanting to forget is a little different than pretending. I am who I am, much to your distress." He smiled and handed her the flask.

"That's disappointing to hear." She took the container and another sip, then handed it back. Already her body felt hot, her head a little lighter, her worries a little eased. Sanre's finest, whatever it was, sure didn't disappoint. She sighed. "I was hoping there would be a more gallant side you've kept hidden away somewhere in there."

He shrugged. "My lady, I'm as gallant as they come. Everyone _else_ is just pretending."

That made her chuckle. "I don't know where you get your confidence from."

He held up the flask again. "The same as every man."

"I wish it worked the same way for me." She leaned back on her hands again and looked down at her boots stretched out in front of her. "I wish I could tell him. Maybe not everything, but at least who I really am."

He took a long swig. Perhaps he didn't want to hear this. He never did like the General. But she couldn't stop herself. Who else would listen? The trees? As appealing as that prospect was though, trees didn't have a flask full of lovely, lovely spirits.

"It's scary, you know," she said. "Revealing your true self to someone. And you can only hope they like what they see. I will always be that adopted barmaid from Stockton. There's nothing I can do to change that. No matter how hard I try to pretend." She took a deep breath. "I thought that as long I was Miss DuBonte in front of him, it would be alright. I could be charming, and he would fall for me. But then what? I could never bring him home; he would never meet my mother. They don't even exist to him. But in the end, I guess what I'm really afraid of, is that he won't even like me. The real me."

Farron was quiet for a while. He tugged at her braid lightly and turned to her, a slight smile on his mouth. "I think Miss Tanith's charms are much more captivating than Miss DuBonte's."

She stared up at the elf, heat spreading to her cheeks, trying to read his expression. What exactly did it mean when he said stuff like that? She could never quite figure out if there something more, or if he was just trying to cheer her up. Did she hope for something more? Just _thinking_ about it made her slightly terrified.

"You shouldn't have to be someone else for the one you love, Claire."

With her cheek resting against her shoulder, she peered up at him. How was it possible that the ice prince was capable of saying these types of things? Perhaps there really was a side to him that he preferred to keep hidden.

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What is Farron like in love?" She really was curious. It seemed like it would be such a foreign concept to him. But seeing as though there was a woman in his life once, it couldn't be that far-fetched.

He smiled, shifting his gaze down. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see, my lady." He stood, the smile turning into his surely now famous smirk.

Claire's mouth dropped open, meaning to reply, but was truly at a loss for words at that. What in the world was _that_ supposed mean? Her eyebrows scrunched together as she puzzled it out.

He leaned down and held the flask out in front of her.

Hesitantly, she took it.

"He doesn't deserve you," he whispered close to her ear.

A chill went down her spine. She tensed, gripping the silver container tight in her hands.

"Good night, Claire," he said, and then he was gone.

Confusion racked her mind more than ever. It was bewildering. But deep down she knew. How could she not? But she couldn't go there with him. Not with him. Could she?

#

"Well, if you boys won't be needing me." Claire stood up and brushed the leaves from her pants.

Bren had asked Aeron to show him some archery techniques. Much to Claire's dismay and very much to Aeron's delight, he gladly obliged. Wanting to observe, Claire stuck around, watching quietly from the sidelines while being almost wholly ignored. Boys and their toys.

Archery not being her primary interest, Claire dismissed herself, garnering only a nod from the men. Now would have been the perfect chance to escape if only the other elf was thrown into the mix.

She made her way through the thinning forest back to the camp they'd set up earlier. Much to her surprise, the elf in question sat on a log in front of the fire as he unwrapped the bandage on his left arm.

She hesitated, heat slowly rising to her cheeks. After their little talk the other night, she had a hard time facing him, only doing so once to return the small silver flask. The fact that it was half empty by then only added to her embarrassment. But why was she in the first place? It was only him. Though some of the things he said to her that night weren't entirely bad. Unexpectedly sweet really, filling her head with unnecessary thoughts. Scary thoughts. The Ice Prince was melting, and she wasn't so sure she hated what she saw.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward. He didn't look up, but she was sure he knew she was there.

"I can help." She smiled broadly and straddled the log next to the elf. Mother definitely wouldn't approve of her seating preference.

Farron glanced at her, eyeing her with suspicion. "I think I got it."

Claire knocked his hand away and grabbed his arm. "I have to start repaying my debt somehow."

He studied her for a moment, then shrugged and looked away.

She began to unwrap the bandage but realized she had no idea what to do. The most she'd ever had to deal with was a cut finger occasionally in the bar. Mother always called for Mr. Shubert, the town's doctor, for anything serious, or just took care of it herself if it wasn't.

"Well, that doesn't look so bad." She examined the shallow cut just above his elbow. The wound had scabbed over but had opened up a little from exertion. "What happened to that salve you used that one time?"

"It seems we lost more than the paddles down the river, my lady." Farron looked sideways at her, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. She supposed that was her fault as well. After glancing around the camp, she jumped up and grabbed a canteen and the shirt they had used to help hide the mark after the thieves attacked. "I knew I saved this for a reason." She sat back down, grabbed his arm again and stretched it out. "No use crying over it now, right?"

Farron winced slightly as she poured some water onto the wound. It seemed like elves didn't heal any faster than humans. That was interesting to know. All those stories about them being special, but really, they seemed no different than humans. However, that could be the result of losing their magic. If they were to get it back, would they be any different? It could explain why the elves were so anxious to discover what her powers really were.

"Come to think of it, I'm surprised you could get injured at all." She began to wipe the wound dry with a corner of the shirt. "I mean, you're the toughest person I know."

His gaze remained on the fire in front of him. "Yeah, well, even I can be caught by surprise sometimes." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Three against one just isn't fair, you know?"

"What happened?" Claire gripped his arm, fingers digging into his skin. "You didn't kill them, did you?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

Her hands squeezed his arm tight as her stomach dropped along with her jaw. Farron flinched and quickly pulled his arm from her grasp.

Then a smirk stretched across his face.

She sighed, took his arm again and began to wrap the shirt around it. Nothing fancy, but it would have to do.

"I almost believed you for a moment." She jerked the bandage tight around his arm, making him flinch again.

He was quiet for a few moments and then asked, "Do I frighten you, my lady?" His voice held a rather sad note.

Claire smiled and said, "I'm shaking in my boots!" But the look he shot at told her he wasn't joking, and the amusement quickly faded from her face. She hadn't thought he was serious about the question. "Honestly," she began, "you do sometimes." He tensed slightly, but before he could say anything she continued, "But I'm more afraid of what you can do, what you're capable of, than who you are. I don't believe you are a bad person at all, even though you seem to want others to see you that way."

"I wouldn't hurt you, you know that, right?"

She looked at him for a moment, studying his profile as he stared into the fire, finding only a hint of uncertainty on his carefully controlled face. A slight smile spread across her lips and she looked back down at the task at hand. "I know."

She could almost feel his tension melt away. She wasn't sure why he cared enough to ask, or why it would even matter. Wouldn't it be better for a prisoner to be scared of their captor? Besides, she already knew he would never hurt her, not on purpose anyway.

They grew quiet once again. Now that she had the elf alone, it would be the perfect time to ask him about the bracelet. But given his affinity for secrets, she may have to wait until she had some more leverage. Then she could pry the truth from him. So instead, she remembered something else that Fran had spoken of that night.

"Who was she, Farron?" Her eyes concentrated on her hands as she tied the bandage off.

"Who was who, my lady?"

"You can relax. Fran told me about her already."

He looked at her, eyes slightly wide, before a smug expression slipped into place. "That woman always did have loose lips."

"So there was a woman!" Claire exclaimed, her back sat straight in excitement. She knew it! She couldn't believe that trick would work.

Farron sighed, picked up a stick at his feet, and started to poke at the fire. "My lady, you're starting to get rather sly."

"So, what was she like? I think she'd have to be quite the woman to put up with you." She leaned back on her hands, pleased that she'd found out one of his precious secrets.

"That she was, my lady."

Claire waited for more but he remained silent. "Is that all?"

"What else is there to know?"

"Well, was she a human? Where was she from? What happened to her?" She leaned forward toward the elf.

"I'd rather not talk about it." He threw an unhappy glance her way. "Why are you so interested, anyway?" He leaned in close, studying her face.

Heat flushed her cheeks. Why was she? "I'm not." She swung her leg over the log to face the warm glow of the fire. She hated that she was becoming increasingly curious about the damn elf's past. Why did he try so hard to hide it anyway? Was it just plain curiosity? Or did she really want to know? "Tell me about Rodem," she said, changing the subject.

"You'll find out soon enough. We should arrive there the tomorrow."

"Already?" She quickly looked back at the elf. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You've been rather hard to find lately." He broke up the stick he'd been playing with and threw it into the fire.

She _had_ been avoiding him recently. In fact, she'd almost done it earlier when she saw him sitting by the fire. She opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say. So, she settled for silence instead. Then her stomach fell as she realized that their journey with Bren would end in Rodem. The fire offered an entrancing distraction as she delved into her thoughts. What would happen then? Would she have to say goodbye to him forever?

Millions of questions seemed to race through her mind at once. "Fare," she said, her voice a little breathy. She didn't like to think too much about their mission and the fact she was a prisoner, but maybe, just maybe she could finally get some answers. "What do the elves plan to do with me?"

"I don't really know, my lady."

"Am I going to be a prisoner for the rest of my life?" Just thinking about it was enough to make her nauseous. "What can I do for them that someone like you can't?" She held her right hand up between them. "It's all because of this thing, but what if it's not what they thought it would be? Then what? Am I just going to be cast aside like some sort of useless object?"

The elf looked at the mark, his eyes avoiding hers. "I don't know, Claire." He gently lowered her arm.

Claire dropped her gaze. Worry sat heavy on her shoulders. That's what happened when she ignored her problems for so long. They start to build up and gather dust, waiting for her to open the door again. They don't ever really go away unless she faced and dealt with them.

"Would it make you feel better if I let you beat me up?" Amusement laced his voice. "I know how much you've been wanting to."

She looked up at the elf, surprised at the sudden change in subject, and laughed softly at the ridiculous offer. "Why, how did you know?"

Farron shrugged. "Just a hunch. I'm very perceptive, you see."

Claire lowered herself to the ground and leaned her back against the log. "You may regret those words one of these days. I just might take you up on your offer."

Exhaustion hit her hard. It was strange how stress could do that. She stripped off the purple over-shirt, folded it up and stuck it between her head and the rough bark of the log. Farron's soft laughter followed her down into sleep. Yes, he'd regret that offer.

Rodem was unlike anything she had ever seen before. High sandstone walls filled with carved reliefs of people and animals surrounded the city within. A majestic square gate opened up to the main street, paved with flat gray stones. Streamers hung across the thoroughfare in every color, the strips of fabric blowing in the breeze.

Merchants were everywhere, shouting out their goods to be sold. Most of the men and women wore colorful tunics, draped loosely around their bodies. The rest were a mish-mash of different styles, each belonging to a different region, long sleeved and furred from the north to light linens from the south and everything in between. Everyone had gathered for the tournament it seemed.

Claire rushed ahead of the group. The energy of the people crowding the streets filled her up to the brim. Never before had she seen so many different kinds of people gathered in one place. It was overwhelming, and a little exhausting, as well.

Great, rounded, sandstone columns lined each side of the wide street leading into town, the tops carved into some sort of flower she didn't recognize. The brick buildings were low, one or two stories, with terracotta roofs. Colorful tile mosaics decorated their walls and seemed to sweep from one structure to the next in a wave-like design.

A massive round building dominated the end of the road, like a centerpiece to the city. Columns and arches made up the walls, with glints of the same colorful mosaic work. That had to be the coliseum.

"Miss Claire." Bren grabbed a hold of her wrist before she could disappear behind another group of people. "Please don't wander too far off."

"I'm sorry." A flush crept up to her cheeks. "I've never seen any place like this." She glanced around in awe before she took off again, dragging Bren along with her.

She stopped on a bridge spanning a river and leaned over the railing to look down at the water rushing by underneath. Small canals branched off the main one to carry water deeper into the city, something she'd never seen before.

"Miss Claire." Bren turned to her and took her hand in his. "I'm afraid I have matters to attend to."

"Of course." Claire beamed up at him, but her stomach sank. "I hope your journey with us wasn't too unpleasant."

"Well, I've arrived in one piece, haven't I?" He smiled back at her, but then his face grew more serious. "Miss Claire, I would like to see you again, if possible."

Heat rushed up to her cheeks again. "I would like that too, General."

"Then meet me tomorrow in front of the coliseum. It seems we made it just in time for the opening games. I would very much like to accompany you." He lifted her hand up and laid a soft kiss on it.

"Of course, Bren," she squeezed out, her throat suddenly tight. "I will see you then."

Claire watched as Bren disappeared through the crowd of people. Would tomorrow be the last day she would see him?

"My lady, you must be tired," Aeron said from behind her. "Shall we find a place to stay for the night?"

She spun around, her hands on her hips. "Aeron, I didn't travel all this way to spend my time in an inn."

Aeron chuckled. "Well then, my lady, lead the way."

He held his arm out and she took it before she pulled him into the crowd. There was no point in sulking in an inn all night. She might as well make the most of her situation.

#

"How was your bath, my lady?" Aeron waited outside the door to her room, leaning casually against the wall. The small hallway flickered in the dim glow of the oil lamps on the walls.

"It was fantastic, thank you." She dug a brass key from her robe pocket. Public baths were a new concept to her and Rodem was filled with them. One was even next door to the inn, and to her relief was for women only, although, that hadn't stopped Aeron from trying to weasel his way in.

"I could have made it magnificent." He grinned at her.

She opened the door to the room, ignoring his comment. A round rug of purple and gold covered most of the stone floor. Several oil lamps lined the walls that filled the room with a warm glow. The sweet smell of the flowery, vine covered façade of the inn drifted in through an open window on the other side of the room. The inn itself felt as old as the city, made of the same sandstone as many of the other buildings, with colorful tile mosaics covering most of its walls. Old, quaint, but beautiful and relaxing.

"Aeron, I feel your talents are wasted on me." She held up one of her shirts that were set out to dry on top of the bed.

"Ah yes, the prince has captured your heart after all." He plopped down on the bed, sprawling out across it casually. He propped his head up on an elbow and touched her dagger lying next to her clothes.

Claire remained silent. He wanted to talk about something, so she'd just wait until he wanted to start.

"Claire, I am sure you know why I came here." He looked up at her; those deep blue eyes were filled with as much seriousness as she'd ever seen him muster.

She sighed and dropped her shirt on the bed. "I have a hunch, yes."

"Then I will be direct." He sat up. "You must say farewell to the General tomorrow."

Claire's chest tightened at the thought. She'd been putting it off, thinking about what to say to him. "Easier said than done, Aeron." Her eyes remained on her clothes, examining them a little too closely. They looked rattier than she remembered.

"Look, I am not saying that you have to say goodbye to him forever. Just for the time being." He smiled up at her. "Besides, you do have a fiancé eagerly awaiting your return back home."

"I do not." She flung her shirt at him.

"Thank you for the gift, _mon lainí_." Aeron smiled, holding onto the shirt. "I know it is hard. That is why I never get too involved with anyone, I am afraid." He laid back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, which was painted a dark cerulean and filled with tiny gold stars.

"So, you've never been close to anyone?" she asked, suddenly feeling sorry for the elf.

"Define close, my lady." He wriggled his eyebrows at her.

"Honestly, are all you elves so closed off?" She sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and breathed in the sweet smelling, cool air. "I really don't know what to say to him."

"I am sure you will think of something." He rose up off the bed. "I just want you to consider one thing." He leaned in close to her. "For whom do you think he really has feelings? You or Miss DuBonte?"

Her gaze dropped to the floor. She wasn't so sure she wanted the answer to that question.

Aeron left the room, closing the door behind him quietly. Even if she did promise to meet him at a different time, somewhere, someday, she didn't know if she could keep it. Who knew what the elves had in store for her?

Tired, but unable to sleep, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. Perhaps a walk could help clear her mind. She tied the robe tight around her. Surely no one would notice at such a late hour of the night. She cracked open the door and glanced down the hallway. Empty. The excitement of sneaking out buzzed inside of her as she tip-toed down the dark corridor, the oil lamps snuffed out for the night.

She crept lightly down the steps into the lobby. A small café filled one side of the ground floor with booths lining the right wall. A long desk lined the left wall, the clerk absent, leaving a brass bell to call for his services.

Movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye as she made her way to the front door. Farron sat in one of the booths, his feet propped up on a chair pulled up next to it. He set a bottle down on the table in front of him and looked up at her.

She paused for a second, then hurried through the door before he could stop her. What was he doing there all alone? Keeping watch? Drinking his sorrows away because of his lost love? In any case, it wasn't her concern what the elf did in his free time.

The street was empty and at that moment she was thankful she had picked an inn a little out of the way. Pink and purple flowers bloomed along the vines covering the façade. A full moon provided ample light, splashing the city with its silvery glow.

Claire stopped on a small bridge a few paces down from the inn and leaned on the stone railing. She closed her eyes and listened to the tiny creek trickling by underneath.

"Can't sleep?"

Slowly, she opened her eyes; she had a feeling he wouldn't just let her stroll out of the inn like that. Farron leaned back against the rail and set the bottle on top of it.

"Something like that." She leaned her elbows on the handrail and focused on the stream. "I promise I'm not running away."

"I hope not, given your attire."

"Well, no one was supposed to be out." She shot him an unhappy look. "And if you came just to make fun of me, then I think you should leave. I have enough on my plate already." Tightness gathered in her shoulders.

"I know what you're going through better than you think." His voice was unexpectedly soft.

Claire looked up at the elf in surprise. She'd figured he would object to what she was feeling, given his dislike of Bren. Her interest piqued, she straightened up and waited for him to elaborate.

He ran a hand down his face and glanced at her. "You just have to ask yourself, what's more important to you: love, or your mission?"

Why couldn't it be both? Besides, it wasn't really her mission anyway. She may have agreed to go on it, but that was to find her mother. "It's not that easy, Farron."

He turned to lean on the rail with his elbows. "Love is never easy, Claire. Yet we all still search for it like fools."

Her jaw dropped a little. "That was very insightful for you." She smiled and nudged him playfully on the arm. "Don't tell me that you're actually a big softie under that hard exterior? There goes my whole image of you, right out the window."

"Are you not the same, my lady?" He looked back at her.

She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. Perhaps he was right. "What is this anyway?" She grabbed the half-empty bottle and examined it; the liquid inside looked dark in the moonlight.

"Just some local spirits to ease the pain." Farron smiled slightly as he gazed down at the stream.

She looked up at him. He seemed sad. Was that why he was drinking all alone before? Claire took a sip and cringed at the bitterness. "You always did have bad taste." She set the bottle back down on the rail and knelt down to rest her face between the stone pillars.

It wasn't all that bad traveling with the elves, and they had agreed to help her find her mother—for a little while at least. Perhaps when the mission was over, she could bargain with them to help her again. Of course, that would depend on whether or not they liked what she was. But would that mean she would be their prisoner for the rest of her life? On the other hand, if she were to run away with Bren, would he understand her situation? She had been lying to him the whole time and she didn't really know him all that well either. If she told him about the mark on her hand, would he want to use her as well? She couldn't hide it forever, after all. Not to mention she'd be on the run from the elves for the rest of her life. And anyone else who might want her, for that matter.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she weighed her choices. None of them seemed very appealing. She supposed there was no fairy tale ending for her.

Farron sat down with his back against the rail, the bottle gripped loosely in his left hand. "Rodem was another Elvin city, one of the oldest in fact. Back then, it was called _Kardeia_ , the red city. And it was one of the first to fall during the Great War."

Claire sat on her legs to face the elf, grateful for his distraction. "You've traveled a lot, haven't you?"

"You can say that."

"Had adventures, seen exotic places," she said, wistfully. "I'm envious. I would dream of going off on my own journeys. The way my mother had when she was younger. When I was a child she would tell me tales about them, the places she had seen."

"She never took you anywhere?"

She shook her head back and forth. "Oh no! She would never do that. 'The world is a dangerous place,' she would say."

"It can be," he admitted. "But it's not all bad. It doesn't seem fair that she would deny you that experience."

"I suppose." She smoothed her hands across her robe on her lap. "My mother... she had a whole life before me. But she rarely ever talked about it. She'd say, 'Don't do as I did' or 'Learn from my mistakes so you don't have to.' Her stories grew more and more infrequent as I grew older. Perhaps it was to shield me from something. Or maybe it was to discourage me from going on my own adventures." She shrugged her shoulders. "She was always afraid of me leaving. Or going too far."

"I'm sure when you find her again you can tell her _your_ tales," he said with a reassuring look. "Though, you might want to leave out a few things. The way you talk about your mother, I'd be afraid for my head."

As he should be. She couldn't help but smile at that. "Have you been here before? To see the tournament?"

He shook his head. "Only passed through. And I can think of better things to do than to watch grown men fight each other for sport."

"Like drinking away your sorrows?"

"Exactly." He raised the bottle to her in toast before taking a drink.

"Fare, what happened to her?"

He was silent for a moment before he answered, "I don't really know." He took another swig.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him closely. It seemed like he was telling the truth. Did she open up an old wound the night before? Maybe she could finally pry some secrets from him.

"What is it now?" He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

Or maybe not. "Oh nothing. Just thinking the woman must have been incredibly unlucky to fall in love with you."

"Maybe you're right."

She felt an instant pang of regret saying something so mean. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged and took another drink from the bottle. "Can't change what's in the past, right?"

"No."

"And how about you, my lady? Do you feel unfortunate as well, for knowing me?" He looked at her with the beginnings of his famous smirk.

Claire looked at the ground and smiled. "Well, most of the time I do. But, sometimes I feel like you're the only one I can really talk to." Her hands played with the cloth of her robe. "Until you say something smart, that is."

A sharp burst of laughter filled the quiet street. "I think you speak of one of your skills, my lady."

Heat rose to her cheeks and she crossed her arms as she glared at the elf. His laughter slowly subsided and the street fell silent again.

"Can I ask you something, Claire?"

"Sure." Tiredness swept through her. Why did he have that effect on her?

"Why don't you search for your real parents?" He looked at her, his eyes full of quiet pity. "Why just your adopted mother?"

The question caught her off guard. She had never really thought about it that way before. "I don't know." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "I never knew my parents. I guess I always figured that if they didn't want me then, they probably don't want to see me now." There was a time, long ago, that she'd wondered about her real parents. If they were still living, why they had given her up, how Marion came to raise her. But over the years it just seemed to matter less and less. Occasionally there would be a pang in her chest, or her mind would wander, and questions surfaced. But there would never be any answer. Mother never really liked to talk about it. She gripped the robe in her hands, balling the material up tightly with her fingers.

"What if it wasn't like that?"

She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"What if your parents didn't want to give you up?"

"Far—" Claire stopped. Why would he ask her this all of a sudden? Didn't she have enough problems to deal with? A silence fell between them.

"It's my turn to apologize, I'm afraid," he said as he rose and offered her his hand. "Come on, we can't have you sleeping in the streets now, can we?"

She took his hand and let him pull her up to her feet. "I don't think sleep will come anytime soon, now that new worries plague my mind."

"I am sorry, my lady," he said. "I'll let you beat me up now if that will ease your worries."

"No, I think I'll save that for another time," she said with a smirk. She wouldn't let him off that easily. He'd get it when he truly deserved it and she could give it her all.

But it had raised her spirits. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, Claire. I live in fear for when the day comes that you'll take me up on the offer."

"No," she said in a more serious tone. "Thank you. For everything. You didn't have to help me, but you did. I'm not really sure why you are, but I am thankful." Before she could think, her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and drew him down so she could plant a light kiss on his cheek. Her lips lingered above his skin for a second afterwards, wondering just what the heck she was doing. It wasn't like she had anything to drink. "You can be really sweet at times, in your own way."

The elf tensed, growing very still and quiet.

Quickly, she took a step back. "I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice a little breathy. When she brushed past him, his hand caught hers, turning her back around to face him.

A series of emotions played across his face, but it was hard to pinpoint which exactly they were. None of them looked particularly happy. Pained, confused maybe. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He just looked down at her for a few moments, his hand still holding on to hers. Finally, he said, "Good night, Claire," and he let go.

When she reached the door of the inn she glanced behind her. Farron stayed on the bridge, leaning back against the railing with arms crossed and a sad smile on his face.

Perhaps she really had reopened some old wounds. If she had, then she was both sorry and glad that he had finally started to open up. Although, she wasn't sure she'd like everything she would discover, either.

#

"Good morning, Miss Claire." Bren looked luminous in the morning light, dressed in a crisp white shirt and brown slacks tucked into knee-high black boots.

It paid to be an important person it seemed. Unlike her, he looked nice and refreshed. Fatigue racked her body. It probably wasn't a good idea to have such a late night before an important date. She was sure she looked horrendous. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't get the dark circles under her eyes to disappear. Mother's home remedies just didn't work if you had no home full of remedies. Her hair fell free around her shoulders and she was armed with freshly cleaned clothes. She was as presentable as she was going to get.

"Good morning to you too, General." She beamed up at him, hoping he wouldn't notice her sorry state.

"I was able to get us good seats." He offered his arm and led her into the stadium.

The energy of the crowd buzzed along her skin, chasing the tiredness away. It was easily the most people she had ever seen in the same place. And the biggest building she'd ever stepped foot in.

The stadium was massive. The façade made out of the same reddish sandstone as much of the rest of the city. Delicate arches told of its Elvin heritage, but it also had a more robust feel, more utilitarian. Embedded in the walls were colorful tiny tiles of red and orange in a sweeping wave-like design around frescos featuring scenes of battle. Some even had men facing great beasts that seemed straight out of her childhood tales. Surely those were exaggerations, mythical scenes meant to excite the audience.

Bren hadn't lied about getting good seats. They were so close to the action she could almost smell the sweat on the contestants' skin. They were in the first row, right next to the arena, on the lowest of three levels.

"Bren, how did you get these?" she asked as she watched two big, burly men enter the arena. The noise of the crowd swelled.

"Well, sometimes it helps to be a foreign dignitary," he said, leaning in close to be heard. His smile was brilliant. He wasn't going to make her task easy, was he?

The challengers in the arena charged at each other and the crowd went wild, erupting into a loud roar of cheers and applause. Claire sat at the edge of her seat, caught in the surge of excitement. The two men battled it out with wooden weapons and bore little armor. One even wore a simple animal hide along his waist that exposed a broad expanse of chest and shoulders to the bright sun, his skin slick with sweat. She now had another interest in the games. It wasn't everyday a girl could watch strong, barely clothed men fight. How could she resist?

A couple rounds went by. They booed and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. It was the first time she'd ever seen Bren so carefree.

"Miss Claire, are you having fun?" Bren turned to her after a loin-clothed man claimed his victory.

"Of course, General." She smiled up at him, her fatigue almost forgotten.

"You know, they have a women's division."

"They do?" Her back straightened up. "I didn't know." She hadn't seen it mentioned on any of the posters, although she hadn't really stopped to read any either. The tournament had been the least of her concerns lately.

"Well, they did just introduce it this year."

"That sounds great!" she exclaimed as the crowd geared up again for the next round.

"Why don't you give it a try, Miss Claire?"

She looked at him and the smile faded from her face. Had she heard him right? "What are you talking about?"

Bren leaned in close so he could be heard over the crowd better. "Well, I heard that they are still accepting contestants for the women's tournament due to a low turnout, it being its first year and all. I think you should give it a try, Miss Claire." His gray eyes were alight with excitement.

She shook her head vigorously. "Oh, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

Bren took her hand in his. "Miss Claire, you are the strongest woman I've met. Well, second..." His eyes looked away briefly. "But, you were trained by yours truly, and you have gotten quite good recently." He looked back at her with his smile in full force.

She considered quietly while slowly melting under his brilliant smile. Although she had been training for a while now, she still wasn't too confident in her own abilities yet. "Oh, I don't know." She held her free hand up in protest.

"What's to lose, my lady? You'll be using the same wooden sword as always." His grip tightened on her hand. "Besides, you've come all this way, why not be a part of it? And, you'll have a great story to tell when you arrive back home. All the other women will be envious. 'Miss Claire, the bravest and proudest Bantonian!' they'll say."

Worry nagged at her as she studied the General. He was being oddly persistent. Perhaps he was just a proud teacher. Or liked strong women. She raised her eyebrows as she considered that last thought. Just the idea of entering terrified her. She wasn't ready for something like that. But at the same time, she didn't want to disappoint him, to ruin their charade. Miss DuBonte would eagerly step up to the challenge.

She searched her mind, desperate for a way out. "General, even if I wanted to, my guardians would never approve." At least that was the truth.

"I believe I can help with that." He stood and pulled her to her feet. "Come, Miss Claire."

"That should do it." Bren looked proud, his hands rested on his hips.

"Do you even think they will let me enter with all this?" She held her arms out and looked down at her new ensemble. They stood in the middle of a little shop along the main causeway. Bolts of fabric lined the walls arranged by color.

She still couldn't believe she was being suckered into such a thing. A black scarf had been wrapped around her head and the lower half of her face that left only her eyes exposed. She was only thankful it was a light material or else she would have suffocated. The purple over-shirt was replaced by a dark gray one, the sleeves rolled up to her elbow. It was a boy's shirt, taken in at the sides a bit, but it would have to do on such a short notice. She was starting to look like a certain elf. Why the drab colors?

"Miss Claire, they're pretty desperate." He folded the purple shirt up and paid for her new garments. "Besides, you won't be recognized with the new disguise and they don't have any rules outlawing certain outfits."

He took her by the arm and led her back to the coliseum, but instead of their seats, he took her to a side room with a table set up. The woman behind it perked up in her chair, her green eyes sparkling when she saw Claire. She let Bren enter her in the tournament and her nerves grew steadily as the day went on.

Was she really doing this? Underneath her sinking stomach lay a fine layer of excitement. She would actually get to use her training for something, she tried to reassure herself. How strong could the other women be? A General had trained her after all.

"I can't believe you talked me into this." She paced back and forth in the room they sent her to. The scarf was down from her mouth so she could breathe easier.

Bren sat on a bench against the stone wall. The cheers of the crowd pressed against the oak door that led out into the arena, doing nothing to ease the nervousness growing inside of her. Although she had seen a few of the other women, and figured she could take them, she battled a new foe from within called stage fright. Never before had she been in front of so many people.

"You'll do fine, Miss Claire. You saw those other women." He got up and placed his hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing. "I believe you can do it. And I will still like you even if you lose." He kissed her lightly on the lips.

Claire's body relaxed a bit. What was she so nervous about again? It wasn't a fight for her life, after all. She would show them her strength. And when she won the trophy she'd rub it in that damn elf's face.

"Alright." She took a deep breath to calm her nerves a little. "I can do this!"

"Are you ready?"

"Now?" Her voice came out a little too high.

"Make your teacher proud." He kissed her again a little forcefully, and turned her around toward the door.

Claire took a deep breath before she pulled the scarf up over her mouth again. She drew the wooden sword supplied to her and gripped it tight in her right hand, though it was slightly longer than her own and felt a bit awkward to wield. Bren began to massage her shoulders, loosening up her muscles a little as she silently summoned up courage. She could do this!

Slowly, she opened the door and the noise of the crowd hit her like a wall. The stands seemed to have thinned out a little, but a considerable amount still filled the seats. She tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat, but it persisted. Her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way from her chest, and the clammy moisture along her skin did nothing to help her condition. She stepped out into the dirt arena, her boots crunching on the light brown dirt, kicking up dust. The sun's heat seemed much hotter than before, although that could have been the new clothes. Or her nerves.

The cheering swelled as she made her way to the center of the arena. She glanced around the stands. No elves at least; maybe she really could pull this off. Another wave of cheers swept through the audience. She took a deep breath before she turned to face her opponent—and froze.

A large man with a bald head marched toward her, his stride and fierce gaze unflinching, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake in a storm of fury. Dark leather armor covered his body but left his thick arms bare. He carried a club in his right hand—more like a tree stump than an actual weapon—already splintered from an earlier fight. Sweat dripped down his face to mix with blood seeping from an open wound on his forehead.

That wasn't right. Quickly, she glanced around. Surely, there was some mistake. Someone would stop the match, wouldn't they? She wouldn't stand a chance against his man.

The man's stride didn't slow as he drew nearer. Claire held the fake sword up in front of her along with a hand, her legs bent, ready to run.

"Wait!" she called out to him, but he didn't seem to hear her. She glanced around again for anyone that would be able to help.

The man growled, snapping her attention back to him just in time for her to dodge the club he swung at her head. She ducked quickly, her breath escaping her in a rush.

She managed to stumble away from him, but the man charged after her as he released a spine tingling howl. When she turned to run, his club hit the back of her legs and she tumbled to the ground. The crowd went wild, shouting and clapping. She turned over, grabbed a handful of dirt, and waited for him to get closer. It had worked the last time she wanted to run away; maybe it could do the trick now.

The man tried to wipe away the sweat and blood from his eyes with his forearm, the dust having formed a thick layer on his skin. Perhaps he couldn't see well enough to tell that she was a woman, or maybe he just didn't care. He bent to pick up his club that he'd thrown and she hurled the dirt in his face. The man screamed as his hands went up to his eyes. Claire grabbed her sword, scrambled to her feet and started to run for the closest door. She didn't care where it led, as long as it was out of the arena.

The man growled again and his heavy footsteps approached fast from behind her. He seemed just a little bit angry; the diversion hadn't lasted as long as she'd planned. She spun around abruptly and held her sword up in front of her. She knew she wouldn't be able to outrun him this time. He swung his club down at her when he drew near, but she dodged out of the way and circled around him.

Another wave of cheering swept through the crowd. If they only knew...

The man spun around, swinging the club out around him. She jumped back out of range and he let out another growl. It seemed he was getting frustrated at her dodging attempts. Men never did express their feelings very well.

"Claire!" someone called her name out from the stands.

She looked away from the man for a second to scan the crowd, but that was all it took before something solid slammed into her left side and sent her crashing to the ground. She cried out, gasping for air, her whole body racking from the blow. She managed to turn onto her back to keep the man in sight, and started to crawl back using her right hand. He raised the club above his head and time seemed to slow down. This was it. She was trapped. Her weapon was long gone. Not that it was doing her much good, anyway. Her left arm hung useless at her side, numb from the impact.

In a flash, Aeron appeared in front of her, his sword drawn. She didn't know why he was there, but she was grateful. Farron appeared like a dark blur and kicked the man's legs out from under him. He quickly drew his daggers and pointed them at the man, the blades glinting in the bright light.

"Come on, my lady." Aeron pulled her to her feet and rushed her to the room she had been in before.

The door slammed closed behind them, dulling the loud roar of the crowd. The elves had certainly made the show much more interesting, but she wondered what Farron was doing to the man out in the arena. The man may have been a dolt, but she wasn't so sure he deserved whatever punishment the elf was surely dealing.

Aeron sat her down on the wooden bench Bren had sat on earlier and knelt in front of her, setting his blade down on the stone floor. He began to unwrap the scarf from her head, his eyes and hands frantic. Pain started to replace the numbness on her left side and through her arm. She let it hang limply at her side, afraid to move it.

"My lady, I came to look for you at the tournament, but I did not think that you would be _in_ it." Aeron removed the scarf from her head and examined her for any wounds.

Claire leaned her head back against the wall, and took long, deep breaths. Her body shook. She had to clench her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering. Dust covered her from head to toe, sticking to the sweat in a thick layer. So much for the new clothes.

There must have been a mix up in the schedule. But where was Bren? He was missing from the small room. Had he left her there? Alarm started to rise within her. Why hadn't he come to help her?

The door to arena swung open and Farron marched in with a scowl on his face. He was covered in dust and his daggers were still drawn, held in one hand.

"What were you thinking?" His voice filled the room. Anger was clearly written on his face and sent chills down her spine. He pointed at the door with the blades. "You could've gotten killed out there!"

She froze on the bench. Her eyes went wide as she looked up at the looming elf. Aeron rose to his feet, turned to Farron, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Farron, calm down. She is fine. Just a few scratches and bumps." Aeron turned back to her.

Claire winced as he helped peel the dark over-shirt off. Even breathing started to hurt. Her ribs must have been bruised. Aeron lifted her left arm up and she gasped through clenched teeth as pain shot through her body. That wasn't a pleasant feeling. She glanced down to see the damage. The skin on her upper arm had turned a bright and swollen red. The mark on her right hand remained dormant, oddly—and she was grateful now that it hadn't come to life.

"Aeron, please." She sighed and rested her head back against the wall, tired of being prodded.

Aeron lowered her arm to her side gently. He gathered his sword up off the floor and sheathed it. "Stay with her. I will see if I can find anything for that." He pointed at her arm and turned to leave.

The door closed quietly behind him, leaving her alone with the furious one. She glanced up at Farron; he stood in front of her, his shoulders tense. He looked down at her, his ice blue eyes colder than usual.

"If I said I was sorry, would you stop glaring at me?" She was too tired and in too much pain to deal with him. "I just wanted to prove that I was strong. To see if I could fight."

"Claire, you don't need to—"

"Yes, I do." She took a deep breath. "Not for you, but for me."

He looked away; his hand squeezed the hilts of the daggers tighter.

The door to the hall burst open then.

"Miss Claire, are you alright?" Bren rushed into the room, his face frantic.

Farron turned to the General and threw his daggers to the floor, the sound of metal on stone clanging loudly through the tiny room. The elf rushed over to Bren, drew his hand back and punched him on the side of his face. The General stumbled back to the wall, his eyes wide in shock, and his hand shot up to his cheek where the elf had hit him.

"Farron!" Claire yelled and pain shot through her ribs. She cringed.

The elf leaned in close to the General, grabbed him by the shirt and pressed him up against the wall. "I suspect this was your doing, General."

"Farron, stop!" Claire sprang from the seat and flung her arms around the elf's waist as she tried to pull him away from the General, but he only budged slightly. "It wasn't his fault! It was just a mix up."

"I only meant for Miss Claire to enter the women's tournament." Bren gripped onto the elf's arms, his brow set in a scowl. "Or is that not what you're really upset about?"

Farron released him suddenly and Bren hit the back of his head on the wall and winced. The elf backed away from him and brushed Claire's hands away before he turned to her.

"We're going back to the inn, and we're leaving tomorrow." His voice was calm but deadly.

Claire swallowed, looking back at him. She straightened her back and balled her hands into fists. "And if I refuse?"

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter." His voice grew lower as he narrowed his eyes at her.

Aeron appeared again and stopped in the doorway. "What is going on here?" He held a jar in his hands.

"We're leaving," Farron answered as he gathered his daggers off the floor and started to head toward the doorway.

"Ah, yes. Come along, Miss Claire." Aeron stepped aside to let the other elf through. He held his hand out to her and smiled.

"Could I have a moment with the General?" She aimed the question at Aeron. He seemed to be a little more understanding at least.

Aeron glanced at Farron and sighed. "We will be outside, my lady." He grabbed the other elf by the shoulder, pushed him out the door, and closed it firmly behind him.

Claire gripped her left arm and turned to Bren. "Are you alright?"

Bren smiled, but it was far from luminous. His right cheek had begun to swell. "I'm fine, Miss Claire. You look far worse off than I." His eyes drifted down to her arm and his expression faded. "I am deeply sorry, Claire. It's my fault."

"Where did you go?" Tears stung at her eyes.

"I wanted to watch the match from the stands, but was stopped by the woman I'd entered with. She was asking me questions about you and by the time I was done I saw Aeron rush by. He'd informed me what had happened, so I hurried back here."

He took her face in between his hands and kissed her on the forehead in a light brush of lips.

"Will you ever forgive me?" He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.

"I thought you left me back there," Claire said, her voice faltering a little.

"Never, Miss Claire." He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

Some of the tension started to ease from her body.

"Claire," Bren said softly as he gazed into her eyes. "Back in Sanre, you were trying to run away, weren't you? On the morning we left?"

She grew still. How did he know that? Was it that obvious?

"Miss Claire, let me help you break away from them." His voice grew urgent; a fire lit in his eyes. "Let me help you break your shackles. You deserve better than an arranged marriage. I'm sure your father would understand. I have an ally not far from here. We can hide out there for the time being. What do you say?"

Claire remained motionless as she looked up at the General. Could she really do that? Surely, the elves would come after her. "I don't know, Bren." She lowered her gaze to the floor. And who knew if he would feel the same if—no, _when_ —she told him the truth. She couldn't hide who she was forever.

"Think about it, Claire." He raised her chin up. "I will wait at the western gate tomorrow. All day if I have to." He kissed her, his mouth finding hers in a desperate press of the lips. "I hope to see you again, Miss Claire."

He watched as she opened the door, like a puppy watching his master leave. Her heart felt heavy, her mind full of confusion, but at least it helped to dull the pain growing in her body.

#

A warm bath helped ease the pain along her left side and various other areas throughout her body. A lovely purple hue had spread over the upper part of her left arm and down to her ribs. It was certainly the biggest bruise she'd ever had. Although the warm water had washed away the dust and helped to ease her physical pain, it did nothing for the growing mess inside her head. The sweet smell of the lavender petals floating on the water only made it harder to sort through the chaos. Wasn't it supposed to be soothing?

She had returned to the inn with the elves and insisted on being alone for a while. The tension between the three of them had never been higher and no one really knew what to say. Aeron had made a valiant effort by trying to tell a joke he'd heard back in Sanre, which was very inappropriate, even for _his_ standards.

Claire closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the edge of the large tub. Sunken into the stone floor and covered with blue tiles of varying shades, the tub took up most of the small room, leaving only enough space to walk around it. Oil lanterns dotted the walls, their flames flickering in the breeze flowing in from a tiny window high on the wall. Was it such a good idea to have a window to a women's bath?

Bren had offered her a way out, away from the elves and their mission. But it wouldn't be that easy. They would surely come after her and if not them, the king would just send out more soldiers to hunt her down. She didn't know why the king wanted her or what he had planned. Aeron had been sparse on the details whenever the mission came up and would steer the conversation in a usually repulsive direction. And Farron seemed to have more secrets than an unfaithful spouse, and wasn't likely to share them anytime soon.

She eyed her mother's bracelet sitting on the pile of her robe next to the bath. She still had to ask the elf about that. Shifting around, she reached out, grabbed the bracelet and held it up to examine it closely. After finding nothing of significance, she rested her chin on the hard floor and gently rolled the bracelet in front of her with her fingers.

It wasn't so terrible traveling with the elves. Even though she was basically their prisoner, they had saved her many times, and it's not like they had treated her bad either. They even occasionally indulged her. Although, she wasn't sure their intentions for her powers were in humanity's best interest, especially after hearing about the elves' colorful past.

On the other hand, could she really trust Bren? He was a high-ranking official in Lendon, and it was a little odd that he'd chosen to travel with them instead of his own people. Was he just keeping an eye on some rather unusual travelers or did he have something else planned? His charming personality did seem to blind her a little. Everyone had their secrets; even she did. And her mother as well it seemed.

The bath had grown suffocating. Down time gave her too much time to think and she was still nowhere near making a decision. She paused as she slipped on the long robe. If she did run away, would that cause another conflict between the elves and humans? They had finally found someone with magical powers, and it was unlikely they would just give her up that easily.

After tying the sash tight, she slipped the bracelet on her left wrist. She was grateful the mark hadn't started to glow in front of all those people. What would have happened then? Would they have gone after her too? What would Bren do if he saw it? Would he accept it or would she be a pawn to him like she was to the elves, to use in some greater scheme?

She wrung the excess water from her hair and ran her fingers through it; she never did get that comb. She sighed. All those problems just seemed to add to the growing pile she already had. She still didn't know why the centaurs attacked her town and so many others. Nor did she find out anything else about the mysterious army following in the savage's steps. Did they even exist, or were they just some crazy ramblings from a mad man?

The street was thankfully empty as she made her way back to the inn. The sun had just disappeared below the horizon and stars started to sparkle in the dark blue sky. The sound from the bubbling stream down the block echoed off the buildings.

Rodem was a nice place. Perhaps she could just stay here and let the others sort out their own problems. She could just work at the inn in the café downstairs and grow flowers in her spare time. She had never grown them before, but how hard could it be?

Before she returned to her room, she acquired a small brush from the inn staff. Then she set about the exciting task of cleaning her boots, scrubbing the dust from all the little nooks and crannies. Busy work to keep her mind distracted as she procrastinated her decision-making.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her vigorous cleaning.

"Come in," she shouted. She sat under the window, her robe and boots sprawled around her in disarray.

Aeron stepped into the room, his face oddly serious. "How do you feel, my lady?" He knelt in front of her, his hair still damp from the bath he'd taken earlier. His dark blue shirt was half unbuttoned and un-tucked from his brown slacks.

"A little sore, but I think I'll live." She picked her boot back up and started to scrub again.

The elf snatched her other boot to examine her handiwork. "You know, my lady, it was a rather foolish thing to do, even if you were to fight another woman. Although, I would have liked to see that." He grinned and set her boot back down. "But you have to understand, that you are my responsibility. If anything were to happen to you, it would be my neck on the line. Besides, I might have grown a little fond of you myself."

Claire studied him for a second, narrowing her eyes a little. "Is this a confession?"

"You have certainly got spirit, _mon lainí_ , but I like my women a little more... reserved. You have an odd talent of attracting trouble, I am afraid."

She opened her mouth to say something but realized he was right. She did seem to get in some rather precarious situations. "For once I think I agree with you." Satisfied with the cleanliness, she set the boot down. They would just get dirty again anyway.

His face grew solemn. "You know, Farron seems to be sulking a little more than usual."

"And that surprises you?"

"Not exactly, but I do think he is a little upset at what happened."

"What do you want me to do about it? I already apologized." She rose to her feet and gathered her boots to prop them at the foot of the bed.

"Maybe you could go cheer him up?" He placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. "I know of your little talks with him. Do not pretend you have not gotten close to him."

Heat flushed up to her cheeks and she shoved the elf away. "It's not what you think, Aeron."

"Only fools are truly blind, Claire. Even I can see it, and I am much more foolish than you are." Aeron plopped down on the bed, sprawling out across it. "At least go talk to him. If it is you, then I am sure he will listen."

Claire eyed the elf. He was up to something.

He gave her a leering look and patted the bed. "Or would you rather stay here with me?"

"I'll go," she said a little too quickly. Even if Aeron wasn't interested in her in that way, she didn't want to take a chance.

She managed to pry Aeron up off the bed and shove him out the door, even after he so kindly offered to help her change. She dressed quickly in her usual outfit, slipped on her newly cleaned boots, and braided her still damp hair. Although she was grateful for the new shirt the General had bought her, the color was a little too dreary for her current mood. How did Farron do it? Perhaps his attire was the reason he sulked so much.

The Warrior's Wench was just around the corner and down the street from their inn. She sighed as she put her hands on her hips. She could already guess the type of clientele the tavern catered to. Farron really knew how to pick them. Even though it was less tame than what she was talked into earlier in the day, she still couldn't believe she was doing this. If the elf wanted to drown away at the tavern, then so be it.

She grabbed the brass handle on the front door, heaved it open, and was greeted by the loud boisterous sound from within. Her eyes scanned the crowded room for the elf from the doorway. As she guessed, men filled the establishment, tended by waitresses in low cut dresses. At least Sanre had some competition.

Claire stepped into the room, ignoring a few stares along the way. After pushing her way through the mass of men, she stumbled into a clear area, smacking away an overzealous hand, the owner lost in the crowd. She turned back around and froze. Farron leaned against the far wall with an arm thrown around one of the waitress's shoulders, smiling broadly as he talked into her ear.

She could feel her cheeks flush. If that was sulking than she was the Queen of Lendon. She stood unmoving for a second as her chest grew tight; she should have known better. Anger began to boil in her stomach. Aeron had known he wasn't moping, so why send her at all?

Not wanting to ruin his good time, she turned and shoved her way back to the entrance. She burst back out onto the street; the chill night air was refreshing after the stifling heat inside the bar.

Claire decided to take the long way back to cool her nerves. She wasn't sure why she'd hesitated back there. Normally she would have marched right up to him and given him a piece of her mind. Was seeing him with that woman that big of a shock to her? That was ridiculous. She didn't care what the elf did.

"Leaving so soon, my lady?"

Startled from thought, she turned. Farron sauntered down the street toward her, taking his sweet time. She debated whether she should just turn around and go back to the inn or face him now. She didn't have the energy for this.

He leaned in close when he finally caught up to her and that cocky grin slipped into place. "Or are you running back to your prince already?"

With arms crossed, she just looked up at him.

He straightened up. "Are you upset? I was only talking with her."

"I'm not," she countered. But that didn't seem entirely true. What was wrong with her?

He leaned down close again, his fingers touching the braid hanging over her right shoulder. "That's only a taste of what I feel, Claire. Whenever I see you with him."

Heat returned to her cheeks. And so did her anger. "You're unbelievable." She knocked his hand away.

"Am I?"

"Are you drunk?" Claire took a step back; she could smell the alcohol on him.

"Not yet." He shrugged and stood up straight again.

"Well, don't let me ruin your good time." She smiled up at him, spun back around, and turned the corner onto the street she hoped the inn was on. Storming off didn't look as good if you got lost doing it.

She had made it to the top of the small bridge by the inn when Farron grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back, spinning her around to face him. He gripped her upper arms tight as he pulled her close, sending sharp pain down her left arm. His face was serious, almost raw, as he looked down at her.

"He doesn't love you, Claire." His voice was low but forceful. "It's better if you forget about that man. I don't trust him."

Claire looked away, fighting the urge to shout at him. "You're hurting me, Farron."

He released her and held his hands up in front of him. "I'm sorry."

She rubbed the large bruise on her left arm as she glared up at the elf. "Who are you to say how he feels?"

"Wake up, Claire. Do you honestly think he would care for you if he found out who you really are? Do you forget that he is a General of Lendon? Do not think for a second he wouldn't turn you over to his king if he found out _what_ you are."

"The same way you did?"

He flinched slightly at that. "It's not—"

"I don't care! I do not care about any of this. I don't care about your mission, or the elves, or what they want from me. And I don't need this right now!" She turned and started back toward the inn.

"So, what? Are you going to throw everything away to live happily ever after with him? What about your mother?"

"You have no idea what I've been through!" Claire whirled around and marched back to the elf, stepping in close, her anger reaching a tipping point. "Do _not_ use my mother against me! I miss her so much it hurts, and I don't even know if she is alive out there or not. I've lost everything—my home, my family, my life—and if pining after a man that someone like me would never have had the chance with could keep me from crying myself to sleep, if for just one night, then it doesn't matter whether he loves me or not. It may be a fantasy, but that's exactly what I need right now. Not secrets or lies or false hope. I am grateful for all that you have done for me, but I am sick and tired of being left in the dark. I feel like I'm just some sort of pawn to you."

"It's not like that, Claire."

"And you! You're the worst of all, teasing me with bits of information. You know a lot more than you let on." She raised her left arm, her mother's bracelet dangled from her wrist. "I know you know something about this."

He tensed as he looked at her arm. "And who gave you that idea?"

"Just stop it!" She balled her hands up and lashed out at him, but he caught her wrists at the last moment. "Stop hiding things from me. I'm tired of it. Why can't you just tell me? I have the right to know, dammit!" Tears started to gather in her eyes. She was desperate to know something, anything, especially if it involved her mother.

"Some things are better left unknown, Claire."

She slumped forward, her wrists still tight in his grip. "Just tell me." Her voice was weak as it struggled past the growing lump in her throat. She was fighting a losing battle.

Farron remained silent.

"You know, I really hate you sometimes. I feel like you make me angry on purpose."

"That's because I'd rather see you angry than sad, Claire," he replied softly, almost solemnly. "Please believe me, I'm only trying to protect you. Even if that means keeping you in the dark."

Claire yanked her wrists out of his grasp. "Fine." She slipped the bracelet off and threw it at him. "Keep your secrets."

She turned and marched to the inn. Anger replacing the tears. She contemplated taking him up on his offer to let her beat him up, but not even that would help. All she knew at the moment was the decision concerning Bren had just been made easier.

#

The first light of morning started to creep across the sky as Claire paced back and forth in front of the bed. She'd gathered her belongings and set them on top of the plush quilt, which took a lot less time than she had planned. Somehow, seeing her entire life belongings reduced to just two things depressed her even more. Maybe she shouldn't have thrown her mother's bracelet at the elf. She couldn't ask for it back now, though, she'd made up her mind to meet Bren by the western gate. If she saw any of the elves, her chances of going would be scrapped.

Sleep had evaded her for most of the night. Instead, she'd set about cleaning. Cleaning her dagger. Cleaning the wooden sword. Cleaning her clothes. She even started to clean up the room, but stopped before she got too crazy. She did have plans to make. So, she spent the rest of her evening planning her escape and pacing around the room.

Her courage faltered slightly as she looked out the open window. The first signs of life were beginning to stir in the city. It was now or never. She grabbed her dagger, fastened the belt around her waist, and tucked the practice blade under it, which she'd debated on taking. But it was a gift, after all. Then she wrapped the long black scarf around her neck and head to hide her face a little.

She cracked the door to her room open and peeked out into the hallway. A waitress from the café walked hurriedly down the dim hall while she tied her apron around her waist. The young auburn-haired woman smiled shyly as she passed. No doubt Aeron's latest conquest.

Claire took a deep breath, slipped out the door, and tip-toed down the hall to the stairs. Descending slowly, she glanced around the lobby for the other elf. With the coast clear, she sprinted to the entrance. The man behind the counter watched her with a curious expression.

She dashed through the streets and alleyways, only stopping to ask a few passersby which way the west gate was. She hoped Bren would be there and although he hadn't specified a time of day, being early couldn't hurt.

The walls of the city were soon within her view and her pulse quickened. Was she actually doing this? She had hoped to spend more time in this exotic city. But, she'd made up her mind and hurried before she lost her resolve. She breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Bren waiting patiently by the massive bronze gate and the fatigue she felt just moments before faded almost instantly.

"Miss Claire, I'm glad you came." Bren looked relieved as well; his cheek was still slightly red from his skirmish with Farron. His long brown cloak covered his shoulders, freshly cleaned, with a gray shirt underneath.

"Yes," was all she could think to say.

"Come, we've no time to waste, Miss Claire." He grabbed her hand and led her through the gate.

The dirt road led them through a forest before it opened up to a wide field when the sun shone directly above them. Bren veered off from the path and climbed up a hill with a gradual slope. Claire followed behind, the tall grass brushing up to her knees.

Bren had been oddly quiet for most of their journey so far. Did he regret his decision?

A low stone wall sat atop the hill in various states of decay as it spread out in geometric shapes. Large gray stones littered the ground, succumbing to nature. They were ruins of some sort. Bren stopped on the far side of the hill, his eyes swept across the horizon. She walked up beside him and followed his gaze. In front of them the hill dropped steeply down into a thin stretch of field before it ended at another mass of trees. Far in the distance, roofs poked up above the treetops.

"What is this place?" She turned around to inspect the ruins again.

"Levinon. It was one of the humans' last strongholds during the Great War." He turned to face her. "Let's rest here for a bit."

Claire sat down on a sturdy wall. She seemed to be the only one left out of the loop when it came to the Great War. Bren stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Lord Byron is a friend of Lendon and I've dealt with him on many occasions. He's a good man." He started to massage her shoulders. "He should be able to help us."

"I'm sorry for dragging you into all of this." A wave of guilt washed over her. Who knew what type of mess she was getting in running away from the elves?

"Miss Claire, there is no need to apologize." His grip tightened on her shoulders, his fingers digging in slightly. "I'm the one who dragged you out here, after all."

She leaned back and looked up at him.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "We should arrive at Byron's before night fall."

Bren seemed tense. Perhaps he was nervous about the whole thing. He'd just stolen away a married woman, after all. And from two well-trained elves on top of that. She'd be nervous too, if she wasn't already—although her reasons were a bit different. She'd have to tell him the truth one of these days, but one problem at a time.

The village of Behran consisted mostly of a few scattered houses and other buildings arranged around a central main road. A crude stone wall surrounded the village with plain buildings made of minimal materials; white plaster walls met with straw thatched roofs, similar to Sanre.

Bren gripped her hand as they entered through the rather unimpressive front gate.

Not many people roamed the streets, and the ones that did seemed downtrodden, with heavy spirits. The dreary village was a sharp contrast to the vivid Rodem only a short trek away. It struck her as odd, but she brushed the thought aside. Every town had its bad seasons. Even Stockton had had a rough couple of years recently. Crops haven't been yielding as much as they used to.

She let Bren lead her through the little town, down the main dirt road. The townspeople watched them with suspicious eyes as they passed. She gripped Bren's hand tighter. Perhaps they didn't get a lot of visitors.

A great manor loomed above the surrounding houses like a gray shadow at the end of the main road.

"Is this it?" She eyed the building as they passed through the front gate, manned by two guards.

Bren simply smiled at her. "Let's just hope he's home."

Was this Lord Byron really such a good friend? The General's shoulders seemed a little too stiff.

The guard at the massive front door stopped them, his eyes narrowing. But it wasn't before long that Claire was in a sitting room off the main entrance. The stone walls were covered with tapestries and paintings of battles. A plush rug of crimson and gold took up most of the room. The chair she sat in was a deep maroon, the hard cushions and structured back offering little comfort. A couch in the same fashion stood empty across from her. Bren walked slowly around the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he admired the gruesome images.

Claire sat unmoving with her hands clenched tightly together in her lap. An older, kindly fellow with graying hair had come to serve tea before dismissing himself. She raised one of the delicate cups to her mouth and took a sip of the sweet smelling tea. The tea set was dainty, the teapot and two cups made of fine white porcelain and trimmed in red and gold. It looked odd and very out of place in a room full of such a masculine presence.

"Bren, why don't you sit down? You're making me nervous." She set the cup on a table between the two chairs.

Bren came around from behind her and sat on the couch. "Sorry, Miss Claire. I just haven't seen Lord Byron in a while. And he's not a big fan of surprise visits either, I'm afraid."

That was nice to hear _now_.

He took her hand in his. "But don't worry," he assured her, "I'm sure he'll help us."

"Thank you for helping me, Bren." She placed her other hand on top of his.

He gave her hand a squeeze before he released it and leaned back on the couch. The room fell silent once again as they waited. The servant had told them earlier that Lord Byron would be with them shortly. She was wondering how long they'd been waiting when the door burst open.

The servant from before entered and stepped aside to hold the door open. The man that followed was magnificent. His face was strong, with high cheekbones and fine wrinkles that made him seem more dignified than old. Gray hair was peppered with the remnants of his once russet locks. A maroon tunic covered his chest over beige pants tucked into shining black boots.

That must be Lord Byron. His presence filled the room, making her feel insignificant. Bren stood and she followed.

"Lord Byron." Bren's face lit up as he approached the older man.

"It's been awhile, Bren." His voice was deep and rumbling.

A hint of a smile showed on Lord Byron's face as he shook Bren's hand. He looked past the General, his deep brown eyes resting on Claire. They were just a tad unsettling, with a yellowish ring along the outer edge and a hard sheen. She swallowed the lump in her throat and managed to curtsy without incident. Lord Byron strolled further into the room and stopped in front of her, looking her up and down. He took her hand in his and lifted it up between them.

"And you are?" He raised his eyebrows in question as he waited for her response.

"Miss Claire DuBonte, my lord." It probably wasn't the best time to start telling the truth.

"A pleasure, Miss DuBonte." He laid a soft kiss on her hand before he deposited himself on the couch. "Now, what brings you here, if I may ask?"

Claire sat back down in the chair, her eyes following Bren as he paced back and forth behind the couch. She opened her mouth, but didn't know how to start or what exactly to say. Bren was silent as well, his face set in a serious expression. Her chest tightened. She hadn't thought he was that nervous. Maybe Lord Byron was a strict man, even though he seemed pleasant so far.

"How was your journey?" Lord Byron asked instead as he poured himself some tea in the cup Bren never used. He brought the tea up to his nose and closed his eyes to enjoy the sweet aroma before taking a sip.

Claire clasped her hands together in her lap again. "It was fine, my lord," she answered politely.

"Good." Lord Byron set the cup back down on the table in a delicate manner—slightly odd for a man his size. "I hope the weather was agreeable as well."

"It was."

He nodded. "You came from Rodem, correct?" His face was pleasant as he studied her. "I hear the tournament is quite good this year. It's a shame I wasn't able to attend."

"Yes, it was." She began to relax a little. "From what I got to see of it, it was quite fun. I just wish we could have stayed a little longer." She picked up her cup again and took a sip. "You have my deepest thanks for helping us on such short notice, my lord."

"Oh, believe me, it is my pleasure." He took the delicate cup in his massive hands again. "Although, it's too bad your Elvin friends couldn't be here."

The blood drained from her face. She looked past the lord to Bren, who still paced back and forth behind the couch. How did Lord Byron know about the elves? Had Bren told him? But he hadn't left the room or her presence since they'd left Rodem.

"Yes, it is, my lord." She managed to squeeze the words out of her tight throat and glanced toward the door. The male servant stood in front of it, his solemn face staring forward, hands clasped in front of him as he tried his best to ignore the situation.

"It's not every day you see an elf." Lord Byron turned his eyes on her, his face steady and calm as he took another sip of tea. "I haven't seen one myself in years. How did you happen across two of them?"

Slowly, she set the teacup down, trying hard to mask the slight tremble in her arm. How did he know so much about her already? "Well—"

"Don't you find it a little curious that a human is traveling around with elves?" He raised his eyebrows. "They've been in hiding for a very long time."

"What's going on here?" She looked up at Bren, but he offered no help.

"I grow tired of this, Bren." Lord Byron's voice boomed through the room. His pleasant demeanor vanished almost instantly.

Bren came around behind her and clamped his hands down on her shoulders. "Answer the questions, Claire," he whispered in her ear.

Claire tensed at the cold tone in his voice. She gripped the arms of the chair and looked up at Lord Byron with a growing sense of fear.

"They are just some guards my father had hired to escort me to Rodem." Her voice shook as she answered.

Lord Byron glanced past her to Bren and the look on his face told her he wasn't buying it. Claire rose to her feet and turned to face Bren.

"Bren, what's going on here?"

"Miss Claire." Bren smiled kindly and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "We just want the truth."

Her stomach sank even further. "I don't know what you mean."

In a sudden move Bren raised his hand and struck her on her right cheek, just under her eye. The impact sent her to the floor and the pain of landing on the bruises along her left side jolted through her body. Her head reeling, she propped herself up on an elbow. Air escaped her lungs in shallow, shaky breaths as her mind tried to comprehend what had just happened. She blinked her eyes repeatedly and touched her cheek where he'd hit her.

"Don't play dumb with me, Claire." Bren turned her around and kneeled over her, pinning her to the floor. His usually luminous face was filled with anger; his gray eyes dark. "Who are you and why were you traveling with the elves?"

Claire looked up at him in disbelief. Was he really doing this right now? Had he really just hit her? How could such a pleasant man change so suddenly? And why?

"What do you want from me?" Tears stung at her eyes. Why did she always cry at times like this?

"Answers, Claire." He leaned in closer. "I've seen it." He grabbed her right arm by the wrist and yanked it up between them. "What is this?"

Her eyes widened. When did he...?

"Bren, there's no need to get violent so soon." Lord Byron stood from the couch. "Why don't you show her to a room? I'm sure she's tired and I still have some rather important matters to deal with, with that prince of yours." He walked around them to the door and paused in front of it. The servant opened it obediently. "You can question her further later. And if she doesn't answer, feel free to use any means you wish."

With that, Lord Byron was gone. Two guards entered the room, their bodies covered in worn brown leather armor. Bren yanked Claire to her feet.

"Show her to a room." He waved a hand dismissively and turned away from her.

Claire let the guards drag her away. Her mind and body were in too much shock to protest and trying to escape would only make matters worse. Who was that man in there? The General was certainly not the same man she'd greeted so happily earlier in the day. The guards took her up to the second floor, down a cold, dark corridor and shoved her into a room, slamming and locking the door behind her.

The chamber was opulent, better than all the inns she stayed at on her journey, but at that moment she would have chosen to sleep on the hard ground outdoors if it was away from this place. A four-posted bed sat across a fireplace built into the gray stone wall. A fire crackled inside, the flickering light bouncing across the dark room. A small table sat under a window on the far wall, framed by two delicate chairs. The rest of the room was decorated in red, purple and gold: the rug, the tapestries on the wall, the bed quilt. Even the window had red stained glass diamonds set in the frame.

Claire touched her cheek; her cold fingers stung the swelling skin. She winced. The bruise along her left side throbbed, still fresh from the day before. They'd left her the dagger and the wood sword, surprisingly. Everything happened so fast, they had probably forgotten. Silently, she thanked their little oversight and rushed to the window. She pushed on it and checked around it but the frame sat solidly in the stone. It would draw too much attention of she tried to break it. Not her first time in this sort of situation, she did the only thing she could do: wait.

She laid down on the bed, fatigue finally catching up to her. She cursed at herself for being so stupid and naïve. But how could she tell that the General was going to turn on her? She had listened to his sweet lines and fell for his charms. Had he ever actually felt anything for her? Or was she just another pawn in another game? She knew she wasn't being fully honest herself, but at least her feelings were real.

Tears fell freely from her eyes. No one was around to see them. So she let loose and buried her face in the pile of silk pillows on the bed. Her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed; her hands gripped the thick quilt beneath her. It wasn't the first time she had cried herself to sleep, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

#

Claire stirred as she felt the bed move underneath her.

"Miss Claire, it's time to get up."

Her eyes snapped open. Just days before she'd dreamed of hearing his voice beside her when she awoke. Now it struck fear in her. She sat up quickly, her head spinning from the sudden movement. She closed her eyes against the bright light streaming in through the window, still puffy and sore from crying. Her right cheek ached and felt twice its regular size.

Bren sat on the bed with one leg thrown up on top casually. His white shirt was blinding in the light with the sleeves rolled up halfway. He looked rested and refreshed. At least one of them did, although she wished it had been her.

Quickly, she rolled off the bed, drew her dagger, and held it up in front of her.

Bren chuckled and stood up on the other side of the bed. Movement caught her eye by the door. Two guards flanked the doorway and started to draw their weapons. The General stopped them by holding up his hand as he walked around the bed to stand in front of her.

"You're such a feisty little thing." He grinned as he held on to one of the finely carved bedposts. His hair was pulled back in its usual loose ponytail and hung over his shoulder.

She glared up at him and pointed the blade at the new man that stood in front of her. He still talked the same, looked the same—but he was different. The warm feeling she'd once gotten from him was gone.

"I think I really could have fallen for you."

"Quiet!" She tightened her grip on the dagger.

He rushed her suddenly, snatched the blade from her hands and threw it across the bed. He grabbed her left wrist and twisted her around, pinned her hand to her back and pulled up, sending a shock of pain throughout her body.

She gasped sharply, frozen in his grip. He ran a hand through her loose hair and grabbed a handful to yank her head back.

"Miss Claire, I wanted to play nice, but you force me to this." He dragged her out to the center of the room in front of the fireplace.

The guards stepped forward. Bren released her and shoved her toward them. They took a hold of her arms, one on each side, their grip tight and strong. Their faces looked forward, showing no emotion, not wanting to get too involved.

Bren brushed his shirt smooth and took a deep breath. "Why don't we start off easy?" He smiled, and her heart fluttered but for a different reason. "Why don't you tell me who you really are? I know you're no lady."

And here she thought she'd done a good job at playing her part. It was time to tell the truth, although she had imagined a different situation in her head.

"My name is Claire Tanith and I come from Stockton, a small town just north of Lendon. One night we were attacked by centaurs and I was able to escape. That's when the elves found me." She was proud of her ability to keep her voice even.

"And what exactly do the elves want with you?"

"I don't know." That was mostly true.

Bren stepped forward and brushed his fingers along her swollen cheek. "Miss Claire, I don't really think you're in the position to withhold information."

"I don't have any more information to give, General." She jerked her face away from his hand.

"You mean to tell me you just agreed to go with a couple of strange elves, without knowing what they want from you?"

"They said they'd help me find my mother. Besides, it's not like I had much of a choice." She tried to take a step toward him, but the guard's hands held her back. "And what about you, General? Why did you agree to come along? What exactly do you plan to do with me?"

"Miss Claire, I'm sure even you suspected that I was sent by His Highness to keep an eye on you and your companions. No one had seen an elf in Lendon in years. That could look suspicious all on its own, don't you agree?"

Claire remained silent. She knew he wasn't really asking her or would care what her answer would be.

"At first I just planned to capture you and use you as a hostage. But those elves proved to be more adept at fighting than I thought."

Her eyes widened. "The thieves?"

"They were just a convenient coincidence." He stepped forward again, his body nearly brushing hers. "However, I did manage to catch a glimpse of a rather curious..." he paused to eye her right arm, "... thing."

So he had seen it after all. But then, who were those thieves really working for?

Bren was a good enough actor to have even the elves fooled, it seemed. Although they still had their suspicions, the elves could have never known that he'd been up to all of this, could they? If they did, she'd been kept in the dark once again. Was she really so untrustworthy?

"How does it work, Claire?" His voice went cold again.

"I'm not really sure myself."

"Do not lie to me!" He gripped her throat suddenly with his hand and brought her face up to meet his.

"I don't know." She looked back at him, defiance in her eyes. It was true that she didn't really know how the thing worked, and even less what it was. "All I know is that it seems to react when I'm in danger."

"Then how come it didn't work at the tournament?"

Claire's stomach fell even further. "You were the one responsible for the little mix-up after all?"

"Well, I figured if it showed up with the thieves, it could work with that man." His grip tightened on her throat and his voice lowered. "Why didn't it work, Claire?"

"Maybe because I thought you would come and save me." Her boldness faltered and her voice grew soft. "Did you ever really care for me, Bren?"

The hard expression receded from his face as he smiled warmly. "Miss Claire, you really are a sweet girl." He pressed his lips against hers in a harsh manner; a sharp contrast to the sweet kisses he'd given her in the past. "That's why I hate to do this."

He released her and marched over to the table underneath the window, grabbed it and dragged it out to the middle of the room. He motioned to the guards with a raised hand to bring her.

Claire's pulse began to speed up. What was he planning now? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't tea time. She never knew a small delicate table could feel so ominous.

The guard on her right grabbed her by the wrist and slammed her hand down on the tabletop, then crossed to the other side to get a better hold. His face remained blank as he looked away.

Panic struck her and she started to struggle but the guard on her left held on strong. Bren had come around behind her to grab another fistful of hair and yanked her head back. He leaned over her, his body pressed up against hers as it pinned her down against the table.

"Miss Claire." He leaned in close to her ear, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "You really are too trusting. Surely you had your suspicions about me?"

It was true. She did at first, but didn't think it could ever lead to something like this. "Why did you bring me here?"

"That's simple, Claire. I knew your Elvin friends would want to get rid of me after your little show at the tournament. So, I contacted an old ally, made a deal, and here we are." His hand appeared before her, holding a thin knife; the polished blade gleamed in the light.

Her breath stopped as she watched the blade draw closer to her right hand. She tried to jerk her wrist from the guard's grip, but he held on tight with both hands, locking her arm in place.

"Miss Claire, I'd watch out for those two if I were you. Especially the one with the silver hair. He seems a little dangerous, don't you think?" He pressed the blade against her skin lightly.

"And you turned out to be a bag full of sunshine yourself." Bren tightened his grip in her hair.

"Do you really think those elves' intentions are in our best interest?" His voice grew in intensity as he pressed his mouth against her ear. "The world is better off without magic, Claire. Humans finally control the land while those pathetic elves hide themselves away and plot for the day they can reclaim their throne." The blade pierced her skin, drawing a sharp gasp from her throat. "You're a traitor, Claire. I don't know what kind of magic you possess, but I can't have you running around with this... thing."

He started to drag the blade up her hand slowly and Claire screamed. The pain was sharp and intense, reaching up her arm and spreading through her entire body. The sight of the blade parting her skin churned her stomach. Her breath became ragged as tears streamed down her cheeks. She struggled, thrashing against their hold again to try to escape, but she was pinned and unable to move, left to watch as the blade carved up her arm to leave a trail of blood and agony in its wake.

"Those elves are bound to come for you." His voice returned to its usual calm. "Let me ask you Claire, do you think they'll still want you after you've been damaged?" The blade crept past her wrist. Air stung at the cut. "Curious, how come it isn't glowing now? Could it be that you still have feelings for me, Miss Claire?"

She didn't answer him. Maybe she did still have feelings for him. Even now, it was hard to tell. His charming visage was still fresh in her mind. Foolishly, she kept thinking that this was all some sort of dream. That she would wake from it any moment. That he would snap out of it and return to the Bren she'd first met. But it wasn't and he wouldn't. The pain in her heart and on her body was real, and he was the one responsible for it. Outwardly, she hated him, but inside her mind was still a whirl of confusion.

The blade stopped halfway up her forearm, just after the mark. Blood streamed from the fresh wound and dripped down onto the table. Claire's body was frozen in shock, her whole body filled with fire and hate. She had trusted this man and he'd betrayed her. Bren raised himself off of her. His hand released her hair and her head sunk forward.

The guards released her and she collapsed in a pile on the cold stone floor. She rested her right arm in her lap, the blood seeped onto her pants. She kept her eyes on the floor, not wanting to look at the man that had done such an awful thing.

"I believe my work is done here." Bren's voice rang clear and calm through the room.

She heard footsteps and the door opening. Her back to the door, she refused to turn around until after they'd gone. She didn't want him to see her like this. Defeated and ashamed.

"Miss Claire, please don't hate me." His words held an edge of sadness, but she knew that was a lie. "I only did what is necessary. As part of our agreement, you are now in Lord Byron's possession. He is free to do what he wants with you. He seemed to be interested in that thing on your arm," he paused, "but I think he'll understand, as I hope you do."

His steps faded as he left the room and the door slammed shut behind him, followed by the soft click of the lock.

A fine tremble started throughout her body and soon her shoulders were racked with sobs. Unable to stop it, she let go and gave in. The stinging of the open wound on her arm grew overwhelming, spreading up her arm and through her body. She raised herself to her feet while gripping the table with her left hand. With slow steps, she made her way to the bed and grabbed the long black scarf she'd taken off the night before. She sat on the bed, wincing at every movement, and started to wrap the scarf around her right arm. If only she had the elves healing salve.

With the wrapping complete, she lay back on the bed, curled her knees up to her chest, and cradled her bandaged arm. The scarf would have to do for now, though she wished dearly for something to help dull the throbbing pain. What would happen next? Would the elves come for her? If they did, they'd hardly be happy with her. Maybe Farron was right. Perhaps they weren't the worst people to get their hands on her. Lord Byron didn't seem too promising either. She just hoped whatever he had planned for her wasn't worse than what Bren had done to her. Although, she knew that wasn't true.

#

The heavy wooden door to the room burst open and slammed back against the wall with a loud bang followed by the sound of footsteps. Claire's eyes snapped open as she was jerked out of her deep sleep. She'd dreamt that she was with her mother again and they had set up shop in Rodem. Her mother's tavern could be as big a draw as the tournament in such a city; at least, it was in her dream, anyway.

The two guards from before entered into the room; their heavy leather armor creaking and moaning as they moved. The room was dark, the sky outside even more so. A fire burned in the hearth. She must have been out cold to not have noticed someone entering and starting a fire, but at least they hadn't done anything else to her. She glanced down at herself just to make sure. Everything still seemed to be intact. Blood had soaked through the black scarf, gluing the material to her skin. That was not going to be pleasant to take off.

She sat up on the bed, eyeing the guards, when her new favorite person entered.

"I thought you'd have left by now." Claire glared at Bren as he strolled into the room.

He gave a pleasant smile and stopped at the foot of the bed.

"Have you come to torture me some more?" She cradled her right arm close to her chest. What more could he do to her? She already told him everything she knew. Or at least everything he'd wanted. Somehow, she knew that telling her life story wouldn't gain her any sympathy.

"Lord Byron insisted that I stay." He ignored her question. "Said that I didn't want to miss the surprise. He became very excited when I told him how your powers... bloomed." He spread his fingers wide in the air in front of him.

Claire's nerves stood on edge again. She didn't like where this was heading already.

"I'm not sure what Lord Byron has in store for you, but for your sake, you'd better hope that thing still works." His eyes shifted down to her injured arm before he spun on his heel and exited.

The guards approached her and she stood up from the bed in a calm manner. There was no use trying to fight them. She'd just waste her energy, not to mention add to the growing list of injuries she already had. It was a new record for sure. Every muscle and joint in her body ached as she moved, and the throbbing in her right arm grew more intense the longer she was awake.

They walked quietly through the dim hallway and down the stairs, past the main hall to the back of the building and out the back door. Dread grew inside of her. Somehow, she knew she wasn't going to like the surprise. Lord Byron didn't seem like the flowers and sweets type.

A dirt path led straight back from the manor into the forest. Torches along the trail lit the way. If she were to escape, the time would be now—if it weren't for the dozens of guards patrolling the grounds.

Two guards flanked her while Bren led the way. He seemed to be in a rather sour mood, with arms crossed. Perhaps he didn't like surprises either.

The path opened up into a clear area. A large hill loomed up before them with a doorway carved into the middle of it. Bren entered the black hole and stepped down as if he'd walked the steps a dozen times before. Claire slowed her pace and took each step one at a time, the pain on her left side started to scream out, ignored until now.

A landing lit with torches shined like a beacon at the bottom of the stairs to guide them further into the darkness. The stairs were crudely carved into the stone, the rock above and around them held up with timber beams. The air grew cooler as they descended and she could almost feel the surrounding earth pressing in on them.

Claire tensed when she saw the bright light at the end of the tunnel. She tried to prepare herself mentally for whatever the surprise was, but that was easier said than done.

The growing sense of unease turned to a feeling of awe as the tunnel opened up into an immense room lit with torches and mirrors. A high wall circled halfway around the room with a bench atop it. The guards pushed her forward while Bren climbed up the stairs to the top of the wall to join Lord Byron and two older men she didn't recognize. They all watched her with eager eyes. A large square doorway stood on the opposite wall, the light from the room fading in the gaping darkness.

Her stomach twisted into a hard knot as she stared into that darkness. She glanced around the room again. It looked like it had been there for centuries. With the seats and the walls encircling a wide dirt floor, it almost seemed like she was in some sort of arena.

One of the guards pushed her hard from behind and she stumbled face-first onto the hard floor, knocking the breath out of her. She heard a clinking sound next to her and she looked over. One of the guards had tossed a sword onto the ground.

"You'll probably need that more than I do." His voice was low and grim.

How very gallant of him. She was about to ask him for what, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

The other guard knelt down next to her and grabbed her bandaged right arm. His own youthful face was set in hard concentration on his task; his jaw clenched tight, his eyes avoiding her. Claire gasped, making small sounds of protest, as he slowly peeled the cloth away from her skin. The dried blood lifted off with the scarf, opening the cut again. Fresh air stung at the wound as blood started to drip down her arm and on to the floor to mix with the dirt.

Claire leaned her forehead on her left arm and took deep breaths to help ease the pain. She could hear the shuffling footsteps of the guards as they retreated to the entrance of the room. And then, silence.

Her breath and the steady increase of her pulse filled her ears. For seconds, minutes, she wasn't sure how long exactly. They were waiting for something, and she bet that it was the surprise.

A deafening roar suddenly filled the room, reverberating off the stone and through her body. Every muscle in her body tensed. Slowly, she lifted her head off her arm to look at the doorway in front of her. The size was too great for humans and had been carved with something else in mind. And what that was didn't sound all too pleasant. A low hum of a growl drifted from the blackness, growing louder as it approached the arena.

With a new spurt of energy, Claire rose up on her left arm and pushed herself to her knees. Her hand went to her belt to grab for her dagger but the familiar hilt was gone. She'd forgotten to pick it back up after Bren had thrown it away the day before. She glanced at the blade the guard had left for her and crawled over to it. Her right hand almost useless, she grabbed it with her left and struggled to her feet.

She tried to hold it up in front of her, but the weight of a full sword felt foreign to her. It was a lot heavier than her dagger and her left hand had never been the dominant one. Lack of rest and food had taken its toll on her body and she could feel her strength waning. It would have been easier if she were to just give up and let whatever was going to happen, happen. Unfortunately, her will to live overrode that thought—and even greater, her desire for revenge.

The low growl grew louder, drawing her attention back to the dark doorway. The creature finally stepped into view and a cold sweat slithered down her body. A large almost feline head emerged from the dark shadows. Blood red eyes scanned the room as it sniffed the air. The massive beast's shoulders were almost twice her height. Black fur covered its back and legs and gray scales lined its stomach and chest. Claire took a step back as the beast moved further into the arena. Big spines ran down its back and long tail, blending into the dark fur. She watched the beast carefully as it skulked along the far wall, moving fluidly and surprisingly quiet for a creature its size.

The creature's eyes finally settled on her and its pupils grew wide as it discovered the source of the blood. It found its target. A shudder ran through the beast, then its muscles tensed as it prepared to pounce.

Claire started to back up slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements and glanced around her. The guards still stood at the door, struggling to remain brave as sweat ran down the sides of their faces. If she made a run for the door, there was a possibility that they'd join her in her escape. But that possibility looked slim and with the Lord's unwavering gaze fixed upon her, she wouldn't get very far. She glanced at Bren standing next to Lord Byron and he turned his gaze away from her. Did he feel regret now? It was a little too late for that.

Another terrifying growl cut through the air. Claire turned back to the creature, but it was too late. The beast was already upon her as it leapt through the air. One of its enormous paws crashed into her and pinned her to the ground. Its considerable weight pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Her left hand had managed to hold onto the hilt, so she rose it up above her head and drove the blade into the beast's furry ankle with all her might. A high pitched scream filled the room and Claire drew the sword from its leg as it jerked its paw off her. She rolled away and scrambled to her feet. Instinct took over and the pain from all of her injuries faded into the background. She swung around to face the beast again while she gripped the sword in front of her with both hands, shaking.

Its eyes found her again, accompanied by two rows of razor sharp teeth. The scream dwindled to a deep, rolling growl.

Claire stepped back until she was pressed against the stone wall. She couldn't outrun the creature, at least not for long.

The beast charged at her again, but she stood her ground, waiting until the last moment before she leapt to the side. The creature's immense body slammed into the wall behind her with a heavy thud. It lashed out with one of its paws and grazed her back enough to send her stumbling to the ground. Without hesitation, she rose to her feet again and started to run, her boots slipping slightly on the dusty floor.

She stopped abruptly in the center of the arena and spun back toward the creature. It had shaken off the impact and set its sights on her once again, its tail swinging back and forth through the air. She had to do something; the only thing she'd succeeded in doing so far was making it mad. It was either take a stand now or be too tired to fight later. And being eaten just didn't sound all that appealing. She tried to suppress her terror, the part of her that told her to run. This is what she'd been training for, right?

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Somehow, she didn't think Aeron's training could have prepared her for giant beasts. He'd surely get a kick out of this.

She gathered up the rest of her strength and took deep breaths to help ease the tightness in her throat. With the sword held unsteadily in front of her, she made her stand, her knees slightly bent, ready for action. If she died here... well, it was probably best not to think of that at the moment.

The creature charged at her again and Claire dug her heels into the dirt to keep from running. It swung out at her with a paw and she ducked, crouching low on one knee. She scurried underneath the beast and slashed at its hind right leg. The creature screamed and jerked away from her. She started to run away when its tail slammed into the front of her and sent her flying, knocking the wind out of her completely as she crashed to the ground on her back.

A sharp pain in her side caused her to gasp as she lifted herself up and struggled to her feet again. She couldn't afford any downtime. The creature licked at the fresh wound on its hind leg across the arena, emitting a high pitched whine.

She took the moment to look down at her side and her stomach sank. A spine the size of her hand stuck out of her side. Blood already started to soak into the surrounding fabric of her shirt. She collapsed to her knees and her arms went limp, the sword falling onto the ground.

Fire spread throughout her body almost instantly, burning through her veins, stinging across her skin. Her breath turned to shallow gasps. She fell forward on her hands as her vision started to blur, growing dim along the edges. She was too afraid to pull the spine out, but had a feeling that it was the cause of her current state. It must have infected her with some sort of poison. Her choices of death just increased. Either bleed to death, suffer from poison, or be eaten by a giant beast.

A faint blue glow caught the edge of her vision. She looked down at the mark as it suddenly burst to life. The black tendrils slowly started to creep up her skin, winding their way up her arm. The pain faded away, replaced by calm warmth. Then her body began to move on its own, leaving her mind to watch helplessly. Her right hand gripped the hilt of the blade as if the bloody wound was never there and she stood up. Her vision faltered, growing even dimmer.

Her left hand rose above her head and the air around it grew warmer, her skin tingling with energy. Fire from the surrounding torches drifted in a line toward her to form into a ball above her hand as the creature started to approach again with a heavy limp.

Claire hurled the fireball at the creature and the flames engulfed its face. It went wild as it tried to shake the flames away, filling the room with its loud screaming once again. Then her feet suddenly propelled her forward toward the creature. She drew her left hand along the blade of the sword as she ran. Energy sparked along the metal like lightning and hummed up her arm.

And before she knew it, she'd mounted the beast's left leg and started to climb, her hands gripping onto the dark fur that ran down it. She swung the blade out with her right hand and plunged it hilt deep into the creature's chest. The beast howled as it reared up on its hind legs. Claire dropped to the ground and backed away as the creature bucked wildly. She dropped to her knees, clamped her hands together in front of her in a fist and slammed them onto the floor.

A shockwave exploded out around her and vibrated up the walls. A crack appeared in the earth above the creature followed by a low rumbling noise. The floor started to tremble. The crack in the ceiling stretched out like a web until it no longer could support the weight of the earth above and it came crashing down. The beast gave one last guttural scream before rocks swallowed it up.

Claire collapsed back onto the dusty ground, the warmth and strength quickly draining from her. Her mind screamed, but her body wouldn't move. The ceiling was barely visible now as darkness seeped in around the edges of her vision. Shouts rang out in the distance as rocks started to crash down around her. Fire spread through her again; her breath caught in her throat and her body jerked with the sudden rush of pain.

She wasn't really sure what had just happened. Did she really just beat that creature? It was like her body had been possessed.

The sounds of the room grew distant until the only thing she heard was her pulse hammering wildly. Her eyes grew heavy and her vision blurred even further before she was swallowed up by the darkness. On the bright side, she had a new prospect for her death: being buried alive. Or slightly alive.

#

Claire stood over the sink in her small kitchen. Warm light splashed across her body as she washed some plates in soapy water. She hummed the familiar tune Mother had taught her when she was a child. Tranquility settled in, something she hadn't felt for weeks. No, not weeks. Just a night, a very un-restful night at that.

Just as she thought, it was all just a dream. No centaurs, no elves, no giant cats trying to eat her. The existence of any was questionable at best. Stockton was the same as she had left it the day before. The tavern still needed to be cleaned, chores needed to be done, supper to be cooked. Just another day in her exciting life.

She laid the dishes on a towel on the counter to dry. Mother would be back any minute to start the preparations for the night. She turned to survey the kitchen she had just cleaned and gave a satisfied sigh. Yup, exciting. But at least it was peaceful. Some would give up everything for a peaceful life. Someone had told that to her once, but she couldn't quite remember who.

The light in the kitchen faded rapidly, too rapidly. She spun back to the window and craned her neck to look up. The moon shined bright and round in a star filled sky. That was odd.

Claire's pulse began to quicken. Something was off.

The door to the alley burst open suddenly and a gust of cool air swept through the kitchen. Goosebumps crawled over her skin as a centaur entered, brandishing a spear in his right hand. The front side of his body dripped with something dark and wet. He spotted her and she froze, her hands gripping the counter behind her. She couldn't move. Her mind begged her to, but her feet were too heavy. The beast's deep laugh filled the room before he raised his weapon high in front of him and charged.

Claire's eyes snapped open as she gasped violently. Cold air rushed down her throat as if it was the first breath she'd ever taken. She was lying on her back, lumps from the hard ground digging into her, but at least her head was on something soft. Warm light flickered off a rocky ledge hanging high above her. She was alive, but where?

Fiery pain swarmed through her body in a sudden rush. A soft cry escaped her, her throat raw and dry, and she held her breath as she waited for it to subside a bit. It was a relief to know that she wasn't dead, but at the moment, death didn't seem all too bad.

She blinked a couple times, her eyes still a little blurry. She wasn't in the cave room anymore. The air around her was cool and she could hear the faint crackle of a fire nearby. Had somebody really saved her? She froze for a moment. Could it have been Bren? Surely after her little display he would have found some use for her, or decided to share her new found talents with his king, the prince, or whoever he truly worked for.

She closed her eyes tight and forced herself to take deep breaths. In any event, she was in no shape to do anything about her situation. She was at the mercy of her savior. All she could hope for is that they were a kind one.

"How are you feeling, Claire?"

She knew that voice. Her eyes snapped open again.

Farron leaned over her with a worried look on his face. Relief filled her. So, the elf had come for her.

"Fantastic," she squeezed out. It hurt to talk, she discovered.

"Well, that's good." He sighed. "But you probably should have stayed asleep a little bit longer." He turned away from her and started to fiddle around with something.

"I would if I could," she said through clenched teeth. Her hopes for a kind savior were dashed already.

He turned back to her, kneeling on one knee by her side. A thin blade glinted in his hand. Claire's eyes grew wide. What was that for? He hadn't turned against her too, had he?

"I'm sorry, Claire, but it has to come out." He slid the blade under her shirt and began to cut the cloth.

Her hands moved for the first time as she grabbed for his. "Wait. What are—" She tried to stop him, but her body lacked the strength. The wound on her right hand had been bandaged already, wrapped tightly in a dark cloth.

The blade cut easily through her shirt, exposing her skin to the cool night air. His hand accidentally nudged the spine and it sent a sharp pain throughout her body that curled her toes and arched her back. She gasped as tears started to gather in her eyes. She'd forgotten about that.

He turned briefly before he returned with a damp cloth and started to wipe the blood and dirt away from the wound. Each time it touched her skin, another wave of agony shot through her. Sweat broke out across her body and she wished the night had been just a little bit colder.

"Fare, stop," she whimpered. She didn't know how much more she could handle.

"It has to come out."

"No, it doesn't." She gave him the best smile she could muster with tears crawling down her cheeks. "I'm fine, really." She wasn't, but she knew she couldn't handle something like that right now. Couldn't he wait until she was unconscious again?

"It's poisonous. I have no choice, Claire." His face hardened into the emotionless mask she was so fond of. He set the cloth aside, positioned himself closer to her and laid a hand above the wound on her ribcage to hold her in place gently but firmly. He gripped the spine and she cried out. The previous pain was nothing compared to this one. Her back arched, but he pressed her back down to the ground, leaning his weight onto his hand to keep her from struggling.

"Wait!" She grabbed at his hands again. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she tried to plead with him. "Just wait. Please."

Farron paused, his hand still on the spine. He looked down at her and the mask slowly crumbled away. His shoulders slumped a bit as he took his hand off, fear and worry clear and raw on his face. It wasn't a good sign when the elf lost his composure.

He sat back onto the ground, crossed his legs and pulled her into his lap. She made a slight whimpering noise as the spine shifted in her side. Her head rested on his shoulder as his arm slipped across hers.

"It hurts," she whispered.

"I know." His hand slowly made its way back to the spine.

She grabbed his arm and started to push it away, but his strength easily overpowered hers in her current state. "Please don't," she begged softly. "Don't."

"It'll be alright, Claire." He rested his cheek just above her ear and began to whisper the same chant he'd used to calm her during their encounter with the centaurs.

The soft rolling words slithered in her ears and into her mind. She tried to focus on his voice, the solid warmth of his body. She felt his arm tense and the hand on her shoulder gripped tight as he jerked the spine from her side. She cried out and a moment later, he pressed a cloth against the wound.

He raised his head to look at it as his chant trailed off. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

She thought of a dozen remarks she could have said at that moment. Her hands fell limply to her sides and she closed her eyes. His arm tightened around her shoulders as he cradled her closer to his body.

"Fare," her voice was barely even a whisper, "if... if I don't make it..."

"Don't talk like that. You'll be fine."

She could hear the tiny thread of uncertainty in his voice. The cloth on her wound had soaked through and she doubted it was with water. The elf whispered a word under his breath before he pressed another cloth to her stomach. The word sounded pretty in his language, but she knew it wasn't a good one.

"... please find..." She could feel her consciousness start to wane as the cold hands of darkness reached for her. "... tell her... I'm sorry..."

"No."

"... please."

"Stop it." His voice faltered a little. "You'll find her yourself. And you still have to beat me up, remember?"

The new cloth was saturated now. It felt like it was soaking up her life, taking the warmth from her body. The dark hands gripped onto her consciousness and started to pull. "... I'm so tired..."

He whispered another pretty word as he pressed another cloth to her skin. "I'm sorry, Claire."

She could barely hear his voice as she finally gave in to the hands and let them pull her down into the darkness. For some reason she felt like he was apologizing for more than pulling the spine out. His words seemed heavy and full of regret. But for what?

A bright light burned through her closed eyelids and she could feel her body swaying. An arm gripped around her back, one her legs. Slowly, she opened her eyes a crack to adjust to the light. Her head leaned against Farron's shoulder as he carried her; his black hair was surprisingly silky underneath her cheek. A dark cloak was wrapped tightly around her.

Wait, his black hair? She raised her hand slowly and picked up a clump of his hair. Her eyes glanced up to make sure it was still the same elf.

"What happened to..." She trailed off, her eyelids started to feel heavy again as an overwhelming fatigue swept over her. Her hand dropped back to her stomach and she winced as it hit the wound on her side.

"Claire, look." His hand tightened on her shoulder.

It took her eyes a moment to focus, to comprehend what she saw. A deep rift in the earth reached as far as the eye could see below them, all the way to the horizon. The walls of the earth dropped steeply on either side, rough and rocky, as if the ground had been split in half. Thick ropes wrapped around a wooden railing and led upwards to a web of chains and cables that supported the bridge underneath.

Her mouth fell open as she took in the sight. Faint voices and footsteps reached her ears. In the distance, a horse whinnied, followed by the sound of hooves on wood plank. The bridge was crowded; she could feel it, the energy of the people.

"We're crossing the Rift of Illanor." He kept his voice low. "He was the great General that led the humans to victory. The rift was created in the last great battle, right before the magic disappeared. It stretches far to the north, and south, all the way to the sea."

Her head fell back against his shoulder. Excitement couldn't even stave off the fatigue.

"You're cruel," she whispered.

"And why is that, my lady?"

"To show me things... I can't fully appreciate..."

"I can bring you back once you recover, if that is what you wish."

She slipped back into a deep sleep before she could answer.

#

Claire awoke from another nightmare, her body soaked from sweat, her eyes wide, heart still beating frantically in her chest.

The dim room around her was foreign, and she found herself in a soft bed, buried in covers. The burning pain in her body was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a dull ache. It took more effort than she remembered to move her body. It may have all just been a dream, although her body told a different story. How long had she been out? And where was she?

It wasn't all too strange to wake up in a foreign room again, though. It seemed like it was becoming a regular occurrence lately. She slowly sat up and looked around the small room. An oil lamp glowed dimly on a bedside table. Dark green walls led up to a wood paneled ceiling, strips of long ash arranged and bent into an intricate swirling pattern. White curtains covered the opposite wall, presumably covering a window. The door at the foot of the bed was closed.

A floor length white robe with voluminous sleeves had been tied loosely around her. She undid the sash to reveal a mound of bandages wrapped around her midriff. Her right arm had been wrapped too. Overall, she felt surprisingly good, although her body still seemed very weak. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched them out in front of her to examine them. A string of bruises ran up each leg and she was sure the rest of her body looked the same. She sighed. At least she was still alive.

She wriggled herself closer to the edge of the bed until her feet touched the cool wooden boards of the floor, curious about her new surroundings and the whereabouts of the elf. Was Aeron here as well?

Restlessness welled up inside of her. She was sure she'd been cooped up in the room long enough. So she pushed off the bed, balancing herself with a hand on the bedside table. Her feet felt strange. She took a step forward, and then another, slowly as if she were just learning to walk again, until she reached the curtains and drew one aside. The window was closed and shuttered, much to her dismay. Perhaps they didn't want her to escape—although that seemed like a silly idea, considering the condition she was in. Old, frail Mrs. Wilfred that used to live down the street could have stopped and subdued her in her current state.

Disappointed, but not defeated, she made her way to the door and cracked it open to peek out. A dim hallway stretched to each side, lined with doors similar to hers.

She ran her fingers through her loose hair and tied the sash on her robe securely. Craning her neck out into the hallway, she looked in either direction, wishing silently for a coin. Both ways looked the same from her standpoint. She slipped out and decided to go left.

The hall was quiet; the only sound was of her bare feet as they padded softly on the floorboards. The corridor opened up to a small circular room with a tiny round table in the center covered in white flowers. The hall continued straight, and to the left were a set of doors, opened wide to let the chill night air drift in.

A blue glow far off in the dark caught her eye. Her curiosity piqued, she made her way out through the doors onto a terrace. A thin, delicate rail wound halfway around it before leading down a set of steps to her right. She hesitated for a moment. Stairs probably weren't a good idea in her condition.

She looked back at the faint glow. Tiny pinpricks of light danced through the air above a round pond several paces away at the end of a winding, cobblestone path. Trees filled the surrounding area, shielding the ground from the moon's silvery light.

The same feeling filled her, the one she felt back at the Haven of being drawn. Like a compulsion. A fascination. Was there magic here too?

She took a deep breath and mounted the top of the stairs. She couldn't let them win, after all.

"Claire!"

She felt her shoulders being shaken as hands gripped the tops of her arms tightly. She opened her eyes and Farron's face loomed close above hers.

"Are you alright? What are you doing here?" He began to look her over.

"I'm fine, Farron." She leaned back against a tree stump, her body strewn out on the hard ground. "I just fell asleep is all."

She had made it halfway down the path that led to the pond when fatigue struck. It had taken her awhile to safely descend the stairs. She had conquered them, but unfortunately the feat drained her energy. So she found a spot to rest, leaned against a nice tree trunk, and here she was.

He let out a heavy breath and the tension eased from his shoulders. His hands dropped from her arms as he knelt beside her.

A white shirt with long sleeves and dark slacks replaced his usual black outfit. It was a nice change.

"You should be resting."

"I just did, thank you." She sat up and began the process of raising herself to her feet again.

Farron stood and grabbed her gently by the arm to help her up. Then she began her journey once more. The tiny blue lights still flitted above the pond at the end of the path.

"Claire." Farron's stern voice stopped her in her tracks.

She'd only gotten a few steps away from him before she turned around to face him. His arms were folded in front of him and he wore a look of obvious disapproval.

"I've rested enough." Defiance teemed inside of her. "Now, you can either help me get to my destination or leave. Either way, I'm not going back until I find out what those are." She pointed behind her.

Farron sighed as he ran a hand over his head. Claire turned and continued slowly down the path. She'd just have to do it on her own then. Not even a moment later, she was swept off her feet and a sharp yelp escaped her throat. The elf carried her the remainder of the way, with a scowl on his face, and set her down near the pond.

Slightly flustered, she smoothed a hand over her robe to make sure everything was still in place and said, "Thank you."

She turned to face the small pool and knelt down on her knees along the edge. The cobblestone path wound around the pond and a low stone railing encircled the area. She leaned out to inspect the flitting lights. A blue glow formed along the edges of tiny wings, like a butterfly or a moth. The rest was hard to make out in the dark.

"What are they?" She glanced back at the elf who sat down behind her and leaned back against the railing.

He looked at her, the scowl fading from his face. " _Fijärilin,"_ he said a little reluctantly. "They're the physical manifestation of the magic that still runs through the land..." He looked away from her.

"So, they're not real?"

"No."

She studied him closely, narrowing her eyes. Was he pulling her leg again? He ignored her and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the rail.

They sat quietly for a little while until finally she asked, "Where's Aeron?"

"We split up back in Rodem to search for you."

Regret stabbed through her chest as she remembered how she'd left. And she did so with such a cowardly man in the end. All the memories of what happened came flooding to her mind in a sudden rush. She had risked throwing away everything for that man, and in the end she had been just another pawn. Expendable. Treated like an object, all because of the damn mark on her arm.

Tears welled up in her eyes and her shoulders slumped forward. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably, her whole body trembling. She'd almost died. More times than she would like to count. Her body was sore, bruised and most likely scarred. On top of that, she still had no idea how she'd defeated that beast or how to use the magical powers that had finally decided to become useful. She'd lost everything and was still no closer to finding her mother or solving the mystery of the centaurs.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Come here, Claire," Farron said softly from behind her.

His hand slid down to her arm and he began to pull gently from where he sat, but she resisted, turning her face further away from him. She began to wipe her tears away with her free hand in vain. It was embarrassing to lose herself this much in front of the elf. She didn't want him to see the mess she'd become.

"Claire, come here." His voice was more urgent.

Reluctantly, she let him draw her back against him. He leaned back against the railing and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Stunned, she tensed up, tears still streaming freely down her cheeks.

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered as he leaned his cheek on the top of her head.

Slowly, she relaxed and buried her face in his shirt, her hands balling up in the fabric at his sides. The sobbing resumed, her body trembling down to the tip of her toes. Somehow, all the emotional wounds seemed to hurt more than the physical ones. Funny how that worked.

Farron stroked the back of her head with his hand, combing his fingers through her hair. It felt odd being in his embrace, but it was always nice to have someone's shoulder to cry on. She didn't know how he really felt about her, but oddly enough, he was the one that was always there to help when she needed it. Even after all the unkind things she'd said and done to the elf, he still came for her. She knew she should thank him for all the other things he's done for her, but she didn't know where to start. Her heart was shattered and her mind was a mess among other things. Surely, he would understand, right?

She pushed the thoughts aside and let the tears carry away all her frustrations. After a while, the tears subsided and the trembling in her body calmed. Her eyes grew heavy again and she surrendered willingly to the darkness.

She awoke slowly, stretching her body as she shifted. Her hands clenched onto the soft fabric that rested underneath her cheek and she took a deep breath. A heartbeat filled her ears and the arm around her shoulders squeezed a little tighter.

"Look," Farron said. His hand was held up in the air a few inches from her face. One of the glowing butterflies fluttered around it for a few seconds before landing on a finger.

Claire's eyes squinted as she examined the strange creature. She raised her right hand up next to his, the tips of her fingers free from the tight cloth that wrapped around her entire forearm. Blue light radiated along the edges of round wings, the rest of its body was transparent, like a ghostly apparition. It fluttered up in the air and circled around her hand before it landed on one of her fingers. A cool feeling spread to her hand and up her wrist to her arm, followed by a sharp sting where her skin had been cut. She gasped and snatched her hand away to tuck it between her and the elf.

Farron's laugh vibrated through his chest and Claire froze, suddenly aware of her situation. She tilted her head up to peer at him. The cloth of his shirt beneath her had been soaked with tears. She must have fallen asleep again. Confused, she pushed herself up away from him as heat rose to her cheeks, steadying herself with a hand on his chest as she sat up.

He looked at her curiously as the laughter faded from his face.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I fell asleep again," she paused and looked down at her hand still on his chest before she snatched it away, "and your shirt's all wet. Why didn't you wake me up?"

He shrugged. "I didn't feel like it."

"Aren't you tired?"

"Aren't you?" he asked, amused.

Claire turned away to let out a deep breath.

She stared at the bobbing blue butterflies, waiting for her embarrassment to subside. She was grateful that it was dark and hoped the elf couldn't pick up on it. Although she had the suspicion he already did. He would certainly add this to his growing list.

"Oh, right," Farron said. Claire glanced back at him as he leaned to one side to fish something out of his pocket. "I believe this belongs to you." He took her left hand and slipped her mother's bracelet onto her wrist.

She opened her mouth to thank him, but remembered just how exactly he'd acquired it in the first place. "I'm sorry," she stopped for a moment as she searched for the right words, "for what I said that night. And for running away."

"You don't need to keep apologizing, Claire. We all do crazy things for love." He flashed his famous grin. "Although, I think fighting a Roain and almost dying is going a little too far. That thing you fought, it was a beast of old. Most of them were sealed away with magic, but the seals must be wearing off."

"It's not like I had much of a choice." She narrowed her eyes at him; his hand still gripped her left wrist. "Are you saying you wouldn't fight a giant feline for the one you loved? And here I thought you were so tough." She glanced away as a smile curled her lips.

"I believe you already beat me to it, my lady."

Claire tensed, her eyebrows furrowed together. What was that supposed to mean? She snapped her attention back to the elf, suddenly remembering something. "Your hair!" Sitting up on her knees, she scooted closer to him and grabbed a handful of his silvery white hair on each side of his face. "It was black the other day, or whenever it was. Why? And for that fact, how long have I been out? Where are we?"

Farron's hands gripped her wrists gently as he tried to pull her hands away from his hair. "Indeed it was. I needed to in order to get past the guard check on the other side of the rift, along with half of my remaining coin. We are currently in Derenan at a Haven. I used to frequent the place when I was younger and it's the first place I could think of that could heal you. You've been in and out for two days now."

Claire's jaw dropped unintentionally. That was the most information she was ever able to get out of him at one time. "A Haven? They still exist?"

"A few, yes. Mostly in Derenan."

"Does that mean you're from here?" She released his hair from her grip.

"You could say that."

She was stunned at his sudden divulgences and she quickly tried to think of other questions she'd wanted to ask him. With his hands still gripping her wrists, he pulled her toward him once again and she fell forward against his chest.

"Far—! Wait!" Claire gasped.

He put a hand on either side of her face and tilted her head up. "Now it's my turn to ask questions."

Heat flushed to her cheeks.

His face grew serious as he looked down at her. "Do I want to know what he did to you?"

Claire's hands balled into the fabric of his shirt, well at least as much as she could with her right hand. Not able to turn away from his intense gaze, she closed her eyes as the memories touched dangerously along her consciousness.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now, if that's alright with you." Her voice was soft as she fought the urge to cry again. The memories were still too fresh.

"Of course." His grip relaxed a little and his thumb brushed along her cheek lightly. "Why did you run away, Claire?"

She opened her eyes to look at him and was surprised by the hurt look displayed freely on his face. She didn't know what to say. It wouldn't do her any good if she told him he was part of the reason why. That they refused to help look for her mother anymore. So she settled for the one answer she did know at the moment.

"I'm starving."

Farron tensed and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. His hands dropped to her shoulders and he sighed. A smile tugged at his mouth, though he didn't seem too thrilled at her change of subject.

"I see." He rose to his feet and helped her up. "I may be able to help there."

He flashed a grin at her and she felt a twinge of fear all over again. He wasn't thinking of cooking, was he?

"Honestly, Farron! I can do it myself." She brushed his hands away as she walked toward the long table that filled most of the little square room. A chandelier with glass globed candles dangled low, illuminating a colorful flower arrangement, while a fireplace burned brightly on the opposite wall.

"That's what you said about the stairs." He pulled the heavy chair out at the end of the table. "And most of the walk here. I admire your tenacity, my lady, but not if it will take all night."

Claire plopped down in the chair and leaned against the high back. The journey to the dining room was considerably taxing. A fact that she was still trying to adjust to. And battle. When had walking become so hard? She wished the healing process would speed up and she would be better already. Even now, fatigue pulled along the edge of her mind. The injuries along her side and right arm began to throb, but all that paled to the ache in her stomach. She couldn't remember the last time she ate. Wasn't eating vital to one's health? What kind of place had he taken her to, anyway?

"Stay here," Farron said before he disappeared through a door across the room with a porthole window in it.

As if she was going anywhere. She sighed and looked around the dim room. Like the rest of the building, the walls were a dark green color and the wood covered ceiling curved elegantly up to a point. The table was made of a thick slab of oak-seemingly made from a whole tree, smooth with use and covered with nicks and gashes along the top. Although somewhat dreary, at least they stuck with a theme.

After a few minutes, Farron emerged from the door again carrying a steaming bowl. He set it down quickly in front of her and rubbed his hands on his shirt. Claire smiled. It was nice to know the elf wasn't graceful at everything. She sat forward on the edge of the chair and peered into the bowl, filled with a golden liquid.

"Did you just cook this?" She glanced up at the elf inquiringly.

"No, it was simmering over the fire."

"Well, that's a relief." She picked up the metal spoon and relaxed as she tasted the warm soup, grateful it wasn't too overbearing. "Thanks for the soup, or at least for retrieving it for me. You're being unusually nice this evening." She took another bite. "Maybe I should get injured more often."

Farron leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. "I don't recall ever being mean to you, my lady."

"I could argue that." She took another bite.

"I wouldn't tease you if it wasn't so much fun, Claire." He grinned, glancing sideways at her.

She was too tired to rise to the occasion. Whatever answer she gave him wouldn't stop him from teasing her anymore. It looked like she would just have to live with it and pay him back for it later. After all, even with all the teasing, at least he never tortured her. Maybe he wasn't so mean after all, although she was too stubborn to admit it. So, she did the next best thing and changed the subject.

"Does Aeron know that we're here?"

"No." The smile faded from his face as he looked down in front of him.

"He's going to be looking for us then..."

"Yes," he said softly.

She studied him for a moment and the situation dawned on her. "You don't want us to be found, do you?"

He was silent, but she knew the answer.

"Are you..." she began, but choked. "Are you going to use me—"

"It's not like that, Claire," he said suddenly, turning to look at her. "I just... wanted to help is all."

Claire swirled the soup around with the spoon, her appetite gone. When word gets back to the forest about her disappearing... "Aren't you afraid of him, the forest king?"

"Ryaenon?" he asked. "It's not _him_ I am afraid of."

It was her turn to be quiet for a moment as she considered their current situation. She didn't think the elf was afraid of anything. But if it wasn't the Elvin king he was afraid of, then what was it? She wasn't so sure she was ready for that answer yet. "What happens now?"

Farron started to say something but was abruptly interrupted by a large, rather rotund older woman.

"So here you two are." She strode into the room, her hands on her hips. Auburn hair fell in a long braid over her left shoulder that contrasted darkly against the white robes she wore. "Master Lyran, you shouldn't keep the young lady up so late."

"Please don't call me that, Maria." He stood up straight and stepped away from the table toward her.

Maria chuckled. "It's been awhile, so forgive this old woman for feeling nostalgic. You know, you gave us quite a shock when you showed up again, although I was even more shocked when it wasn't you that needed healing this time." Her gaze rested on Claire as she brushed past the elf to stand in front of her.

Claire hurriedly set the spoon down, rose from the seat and gave the best curtsy that her wounds would allow. "Thank you for all that you've done. I'm in your debt. If there's anything I can do—"

"Oh, hush. Any friend of Master Lyran is welcome here. Besides, we couldn't just leave you in the state you were in." Maria looked her up and down. "It looks like you are feeling better already." She leaned in close to Claire. "He was very worried about you, you know. It was rather cute, honestly. Didn't sleep for almost two days."

Claire could feel the heat rise up to her cheeks again. She really didn't know what to say to that.

"Although," Maria stood up straight and half turned to the scowling elf, "I do believe you would have been better off if whatever caused such an injury was left in." She turned back to Claire. "You nearly bled to death, young lady. You're lucky he thought to bring you to me."

"Maria," Farron said with an unhappy look on his face.

Maria smiled. "I'm sure you need your rest, child. Please take all the time you need. We owe Master Lyran a great deal, after all." A sly look crossed her face. "You know, when he was younger—"

Farron put an arm around the older woman's shoulders and began to lead her to the hallway. "Maria, you can bore her with your stories another time. I'm sure she'd rather not hear them at all, I'm afraid."

Maria sighed and glanced back at Claire. "What a pity. It was a good one too." She disappeared back down the hallway humming a joyful tune.

Claire smirked up at Farron. "It seems you are quite popular here as well... Master Lyran was it?"

"Maria has a gift for saying unnecessary things." Farron crossed his arms again, not amused. "You should get some rest, my lady."

"Whatever you say, Master." She walked past him toward the hallway. "If you don't talk, somebody else will, it seems."

Feeling better after having a warm meal, the walk back to her room didn't seem as long as her journey earlier. Although she was still hobbling, at least it was at a quicker pace. Farron had only offered to help her once after he learned his lesson previously. According to him, if she was able to tease him back, she must be feeling well enough, but that didn't stop him from hovering around her as if she was about to keel over at any moment.

"You know, Farron." She stopped in front of the door she hoped was hers and turned to face the elf. "I told you you should have left the spine in, didn't I?" She sighed as she shrugged her shoulders dramatically. "All that pain and grief for nothing."

"I'm sorry, Claire." His face fell and she felt an instant pang of regret as he looked down to the floor.

"Fare, I was just—"

He leaned in as he reached behind her and opened the door. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her backwards into the room until he stopped in the middle and looked down at her.

"I thought you were dying, Claire. I panicked and took a gamble on your life." He paused and took a deep breath. "I don't regret it, but I am sorry."

Claire's pulse pounded in her throat. Why was he being so serious all of a sudden? "I'm fine now, right?" She smiled up at him. "Besides, my life seems better off in your hands than mine lately." She sighed, and in a sudden impulse, slid her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. It looked like he needed a hug and she really didn't want to look at him for what she was about to say. "Thank you, and I'm sorry."

He hesitated for a second, his hands resting tentatively on her shoulders.

"I said some mean things to you before. I can get a little carried away sometimes." She took a deep breath. "And, I don't actually hate you either. Most of the time, anyway."

He remained quiet, his hands relaxing on her shoulders. The steady beat of his heart sounded in her ear.

"That's odd..." she muttered.

"What is, my lady?" His voice was soft, just barely above a whisper.

"There actually _is_ a heart in there." She pulled back and looked up at him, a look of shock on her face.

His shoulders slumped. "Yes, well, congratulations, Claire." He pushed her back and set her on the bed. "It's about time someone found that thing. Now I think you should get some rest." He helped pull the covers up, tucking her in like a good caretaker should.

"Fine," she gave in.

He really wouldn't let up on the whole getting rest thing, but if it would make him happy then so be it. It seemed he was done answering questions for the rest of the night anyway. She was getting a feeling that she was more of a burden to him than anything. But if that was how he felt, then why did he even bother coming after her in the first place? Did he still feel responsible for her or did he have his own agenda? They were separated from Aeron and it seemed that he wanted to keep it that way.

Frustration filled her once again at her inability to control her own fate. It was like she was some sort of doll to be passed around without her consent, and in her current situation she couldn't do a thing about it.

#

Soft light streamed in through the open window and a breeze filtered in, stirring the white curtains. She didn't even remember falling asleep, let alone anyone coming in to open the window. Her ability to sleep through things was a little frightening at times. She sat up in bed and stretched her arms above her. She felt better already, but how long had she been out this time?

A note sat on the small bedside table. The writing was elegant and flowing, but a little hard to read. She glanced at the signature at the end to see who it was from before she read it. It took her a moment to remember who Master Lyran was. She smiled. According to the note, he'd gone into town for the day. Maybe Maria finally put him to work. He had to be useful for something, right?

She stood and walked to the window to finally admire the view. A slight feeling of disappointment struck her when she was greeted by another sea of trees. Was it so hard to ask for something a little bit different?

A flash of pink caught the edge of her vision and she glanced down to the chair next to her.

A dagger sat on the cushion with a pink ribbon wrapped around its brown leather sheath. She picked it up. It was strikingly similar to the one Mother had given her, but was smaller and more elegant. Tan leather wrapped around a dull silver handle and pommel. The blade glimmered as she drew it from the sheath and a tiny flower was stamped into the metal near the base. Had the elf gotten this for her?

"Good afternoon, Miss Claire."

Claire spun around to face the soft female voice. She slid the blade back into its sheath and gripped it tightly in her hands. A young woman stood in the doorway. Long auburn hair fell past her right shoulder and the dark green dress she wore made her emerald eyes stand out even more. A light sprinkle of freckles decorated her cheeks and Claire realized she shared a striking resemblance with Maria.

"Good afternoon," she replied. At least she knew the time of day now.

"It looks like you're feeling better." There was a hint of bitterness to her voice. "Mother told me to bring you to the spring today." She set the clothes she'd been holding on the bed and turned to leave. "So when you're ready." Without saying another word, she left.

Claire remained by the window for a moment. What was the girl so upset about? After deciding she didn't really care, she set the dagger back on the chair and inspected the clothes that were left for her on the bed. Small bits of brown fabric were attached together by strings accompanied by a tiny pair of shorts. She held the pieces up in front of her. Was she supposed to wear this? She might as well just wear her undergarments, but seeing as how they were mysteriously missing, she guessed she had no choice.

It took her a few minutes to figure out how exactly the miniscule outfit was supposed to be worn and which strings went where. Bandages still wrapped around her stomach and her right hand, making the task just that much more difficult. A dull throbbing set in as she moved the bandaged parts in question. She didn't like the idea of swimming, especially in something so revealing, and wondered why she was just going along with the idea. Perhaps it was the tone in the girl's voice. She clearly wasn't happy with her chore and if her mother thought it was a good idea, then who was she to argue? In any case, it would be nice just to get out for a little bit.

The girl knocked on the door again and entered before Claire could answer. She was having trouble tying the strings around her neck with her bandaged hand. The girl sighed impatiently and took over. Claire slipped her robe back on and tied it closed, feeling a little embarrassed at her new attire.

She followed the girl silently through the quiet halls, out double doors and down a set of stairs to a dirt path that wound its way through the trees. They followed the path along a stream to the top of an outcropping, where it plunged down into a pond with water as clear as glass. A set of stairs carved into the rock led to a grass clearing that edged along the water. A large granite slab jutted out into the water.

"I think you know what to do from here." The girl turned to her with a frown on her face. "I'll be back in a little while." She shoved past Claire and went back up the steps.

Claire stood motionless. What could she have done to the girl to make her so mad? She turned and looked around her. Only the sound of the waterfall echoing off the trees filled the area. She felt isolated and awkward. Was she supposed to strip now? She took one last glance around before she undid the sash around her waist. The white robe fell to a pile around her feet and she stepped out of it toward the pond and out onto the stone slab to peer into the water.

It looked deep. Too deep for her at least. So, she sat down on the edge, stuck her feet into the cool waters, and leaned back on her hands. It was a little thrilling to wear so little in the great outdoors. The warm sun and pleasant air teased her skin with the occasional spray from the waterfall to keep her cool. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly. It may not have been exactly what the doctor ordered, but it was relaxing none the least.

A loud splash interrupted her moment of peace, making her jump. She really hoped there wasn't some sort of creature the girl forgot to tell her about. She drew her legs out of the water as she spotted movement under the surface, her eyes going wide. Then, whatever it was burst up out of the water.

"Farron!" Relief and annoyance swirled inside her. What was he doing here?

The elf treaded out in the middle of the pond as he grinned up at her, satisfied that he'd startled her once again.

Claire crossed her arms over herself, feeling vulnerable and all too exposed. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in town or something?"

He swam a little closer. "That was yesterday, my lady."

Her cheeks flushed red when she realized he was conveniently shirtless. She really hoped he was wearing something under the water. His platinum blond hair stuck close to his head, his eyes and ears stood out more than usual, making him seem even less human. Claire turned her face away to hide her growing embarrassment.

"Oh." She admired how green the grass seemed to be along the edges of the water.

"And I came to make sure you didn't drown yourself." There was a hint of amusement in his voice. He was enjoying every moment of this.

"How very noble of you, but I'm just fine up here." She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"The water is very pleasant, my lady. It comes from the same spring that fills the pond you admired so much the other night. It's quite soothing, really."

"I was soothed before you came." She glanced down at the elf who'd swam even closer. Too close. He was planning something. She could feel it.

In a sudden move, Farron reached up, grabbed her arm and yanked her down into the water. Claire screeched loudly. Her arms and legs flailed around her as she struggled to get her bearings. She gripped onto the elf, winding her arms around his neck to latch tightly onto his back. Laughter shook his shoulders.

"Did anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are?" He glanced back at her.

"Did anyone ever tell you how _evil_ you are?" Her heart still hammered wildly in her chest.

"Yes, I believe someone told me that once."

Claire was quiet as she eyed the banks of the small pond. How was she going to get out of this predicament? Somehow, they ended up almost in the middle and she didn't trust herself to make it to any of the ledges on her own. She was stuck at his mercy once again.

"See, this isn't so bad," he said after a few moments.

She relaxed a little. It wasn't really. And at least she found out he was wearing pants, much to her relief.

"You really do enjoy torturing me, don't you?" She relaxed her grip around his neck.

"Claire, swimming is an important skill to have."

"And this is how you treat your students?"

"So, you're my student now?" He glanced back at her again.

Claire sighed. "Might as well be since you decided to drag me all the way out here."

He pried her arms from around his neck, turned to her, and slid an arm around her waist. "Fine, but you have to listen to what I say."

"Yes Master Lyran." She beamed up at him; her hand still gripped his shoulder tightly, her nails digging into his skin.

"First, you need to relax."

"Easier said than done. Next."

"I'll try not to let you drown, Claire."

She glared up at him. He wasn't as funny as he thought he was. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Fine, I'm relaxed now." As much as she was going to get, anyway.

"Alright, now lean back." He loosened his grip on her waist and she tightened her grip on his shoulder. "You have to let go, Claire."

She did, reluctantly. His hand remained on her back as she started to float.

"Relax," he repeated and she did a little more. "Kick lightly with your legs and move your arms a little."

She followed his directions and to her surprise, it actually worked.

"There you go." His hand left her back. "I told you it wasn't so bad, didn't I?"

She tensed and started to sink again. His hand returned to her back to assist her. "I suppose you did," she admitted, much to her dismay. "Say, do you know Maria's daughter?"

"Sarah?" His eyebrows rose in surprise and he smiled. "Why yes I do."

"You wouldn't know, by chance, why she might not like me, do you? I don't think I did anything wrong, did I?"

Farron chuckled. "No need to worry, my lady. I'm afraid she is just stricken by the green eyed monster. She has been infatuated with me for quite some time now."

That explained it. She'd have to clear things up with the girl later on. "Aren't you sure of yourself."

"I told you, my lady. I'm much more charming than you think."

"It seems I've underestimated you, my friend," she admitted, trying to concentrate on swimming.

"And it seems like you are the only one that is immune to it. We'll have to change that."

Claire lost her concentration and started to sink. She flailed her arms wildly as she tried to keep her head above the water, swallowing some in all the commotion. Farron grabbed a hold of her and led her over toward the waterfall. She gripped onto a large boulder as she coughed and struggled to get her breath back. What did he just say?

She glanced over her shoulder. The elf had wandered to the waterfall to stand under it. A scar ran diagonally across his back and the edges of a black tattoo crept around his left side. She could feel her cheeks flush, so she turned back to the rock and collapsed against it. This was already too much for her to handle.

Though, she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the show. The elf was slim, but had a build any woman could appreciate. She brushed a hand across her forehead, waiting for some of the heat to leave her face. What was she thinking?

"And you were doing so well, my lady," Farron said close behind her.

Claire decided to ignore his statement. "What's with the tattoo?" She glanced back at him.

"What, this?" He lifted his arm and looked down at the scrawling black lines that formed geometric designs down his side to trail down and disappear beneath top of his black pants. "Just a spell to bring good luck and help protect me from evil."

"Does it work?"

He shrugged his shoulders and dropped his arm limply at his side. "Who knows? I'm not really sure I believe in luck."

"How can you not believe in luck?"

"And you do?"

"Of course I do. I wouldn't be here without it. The only reason I escaped the centaur that night was luck. I was lucky you found me that night and didn't kill me, and I was lucky that this thing saved me from being devoured." She held her bandaged hand up in the air.

Farron smiled. "No offense, Claire, but I think that you are the unluckiest person I've ever met."

"And you wonder why I'm immune to your charm." She splashed him with water, leaned back against the rock, and started to run her fingers through her wet hair before it knotted up. She was feeling tired already.

Farron chuckled lightly, and put a hand on the stone behind her, leaning in close. "Maybe you're just too stubborn, Claire." He tilted her chin up to face him before his mouth found hers in an urgent press of the lips.

Claire froze, her heart leaping up to her throat. It happened so suddenly she wasn't sure how to react. What was going on?

After a moment, he drew back slightly, his hand rested on her neck, while his thumb caressed her cheek lightly. Her breath ceased, preventing any words from escaping her lips. Not that she knew what to say at the moment anyway.

Slowly, he started to lean in again, but stopped, his lips just above hers, breath heavy.

She waited, unmoving, from shock, fear... and curiosity. Her stomach clenched tight instead of the usual butterflies at a time like this. His lips met hers again, unexpectedly soft and tender and... nice. She tilted her head to the side slightly, letting her body relax little by little.

Then, in a preposterous, unthinking move, she raised her bandaged hand and brushed her exposed fingers across his cheek, losing herself in the moment. Even though she thought he was the last person she'd wanted to kiss, she inexplicably found herself wanting more.

There was so much longing, so much passion in such a light kiss, she wondered what it would be like if she were to completely give in. But just as the thought struggled through her head, he pulled back again, bringing her back to her senses. Or at least half of them. How did he do that? Was there something in the water?

There was a growing haze fogging up her mind. Half of her wanted to scream out, to tell herself she was crazy, while the other half just wanted to pounce on him. And even though she wanted to listen to the former, she was desperately losing to the latter.

"It seems you're not so immune after all, Claire."

Her eyes watched as his lips formed into his famous grin. Who knew the elf was such a good kisser? Who knew that she would ever think that? Much less admit to it... Although, he _had_ saved her life multiple times, and if anything, the hero at least deserved a kiss. Or two... or three.

"Shut up," she breathed as she wound her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. Her lips hovered hesitantly in front of his, not really sure what she was doing, or why she wanted to. But she did want to, overwhelmingly so. It felt good when he kissed her, but she wasn't really sure why. Perhaps it was because it freed her mind, providing a much needed distraction, or she liked the feeling of being wanted after Bren had crushed her heart, or maybe—and this was the most frightening of them all—maybe she just liked it. She kissed him lightly, closing her eyes to explore the sensation to the fullest, giving into the latter. To see just how far down his kisses could pull her.

His hands wandered lightly over her waist, the sensation dulled through the cloth wrapped around her midriff. For all his arrogance, he was surprisingly hesitant, careful, as if he were holding himself back. Or maybe he was finally nervous.

But, that thought was shattered when he wrapped his arms tight around her waist and pulled her close, picking her up slightly.

A sharp pain stabbed through her side and she pulled back, gasping. She put her hands on his shoulders to push back from him.

"Sorry, I forgot about that." A slight smile mixed with worry on his face. He set her down, his grip loosening.

The pain helped to clear the haze a little. A slow burn started to spread through her body, all the way up to her cheeks. Just what in the world was she doing anyway?

His hands started to tug on the bandage at her waist. He leaned down and pressed a soft, almost tender, kiss on her shoulder.

"Fare," she whispered, her resolve faltering already. "This is strange."

"I rather like it." His lips brushed against her skin as he talked.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to concentrate.

"Why did you save me?"

He turned his head, nuzzling just under her ear. "I think I've made it quite clear." His breath was hot on her neck, sending chills throughout her body.

Unsuccessful, his hands left her waist. A moment later she felt the press of cool metal against her skin as he slipped a blade underneath the bandage. Claire froze, afraid to move as he slowly cut at the fabric. Did he always carry a weapon? More importantly, where in the world had he hidden the thing?

"But when did...?"

"Does it really matter?" He knelt down to unwrap the bandage, the blade disappearing again.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would you have listened?" He peered up at her and she looked away. "You were always looking somewhere else, Claire."

Her hands gripped the rock behind her, the sharp edges digging into her palms. The air felt cool against her skin as it was revealed for the first time in days. She'd been too afraid to take it off before, afraid to see the damage. Her breath escaped her in a rush as his hands slid up her sides to rest just below her ribs. He leaned his forehead lightly against her stomach.

"When I saw you that night, on the floor in that cave, just lying there," he let out a long sigh, "I thought you were dead, Claire." His grip tightened. "Please don't do that again."

"I'll try not to," she squeezed out. Claire gasped when she felt his fingers lightly graze over the scar on her side, followed by his lips. Quickly, she buried her face in her hands to hide her rapidly increasing embarrassment. It was all just too much.

She could feel his looming presence once again as he stood up. Taking her wrists in his hands, he gently pulled them away from her face.

"If I could free your mind of him, I would. I cringed every time he touched you. I wanted to scream every time he kissed you. I could kill him for what he's done to you." He leaned down, his forehead against hers, hands framing her face. "I know you haven't thought much of me—"

"Wait, Fare." She covered his mouth with a hand. All this time... all this time he'd hidden his feelings for her. Or had she really been too blind? No, not blind, unwilling to see. Deep down, she knew they were there. Hints, glimpses, thinly veiled confessions. True feelings, not fake ones. And she had a hunch she was about to be terribly unlucky. Unknowingly, she had captured the elf's heart and was terrified that he'd try to do the same with her, terrified that, without her realizing it, he had already started to. "This... it's too... I don't know."

His face started to fall, his grip loosening. Her eyes concentrated on his mouth as she removed her fingers.

"But, I don't hate it either." Oh gosh, why didn't she? She should have been running for the hills, but she found herself increasingly drawn to him, wanting to be pulled down, to forget about her problems and the world around her.

Before he could say anything, Sarah's voice rang out in the distance, calling her name and coming dangerously close to stumbling across a startling scene.

Claire froze, her eyes going wide. She covered Farron's mouth with her hand again and gave him a pleading look. She really didn't want Sarah to discover the elf there with her. Then the girl would _really_ hate her.

She wriggled out of his grip and made her way along the edge of the pond, across the boulders, taking extra care not to fall into the water. She rushed over to her robe, picked it up and slipped it on.

Farron's touch still burned on her skin; her lips still tingled. She blushed once again and looked back at the elf in question. He leaned back against the rocky wall with his eyes closed. Sarah called out to her again and she hurried up the stone steps to meet the girl. It would have been embarrassing enough to try to explain his presence, let alone what happened. She was still trying to figure that last one out herself.

#

Claire covered a long, almost exaggerated yawn as she walked down the dim hallway, dressed in a pair of dark brown slacks and an olive green wrap around shirt donated by one of the staff. It seemed only her boots had been salvageable.

Not being able to sleep for most of the night had its consequences. The elf would have to pay. She couldn't get him out of her mind. Why did he have to go and do all that anyway? Her mind was already a mess with everything else going on. A shiver ran through her body as she remembered their little swim the day before. She was just as confused by her own reaction, and after mulling over it for the entirety of the night she still couldn't come to terms with it. It wasn't until late last night that she finally decided to shelve the problem. She'd just have to deal with it when she saw him. Tell him that she was delusional. That she swallowed too much water. Or her favorite: exploring the benefits of self-torture.

A smile crept its way across her lips as she stretched her arms out around her. Most of the bruises and aches had amazingly faded, and although she was still a little stiff, she finally felt more like herself than she had in days. Or was that weeks? She really wasn't sure how much time had passed since she ran away from Rodem. In any case, she was finally better, except for the bandage still wrapped around her right forearm. She still wasn't quite ready to see the damage that had been done by the General's blade.

Tired of seeing her tiny room, she'd decided to explore. This time she turned right down the hallway. A small circular room stood before her, similar to the one at the other end of the hall. A bouquet of fresh red flowers in a white vase sat atop a little round table in the middle. Open doors led to the outside, letting in the fresh air and sunshine and the occasional bird cry, followed by a pair of voices approaching rapidly.

Her pulse jumped. She knew that voice and it was coming closer. Not ready to deal with her problem just yet, she took a deep breath and ducked behind a long green curtain framing the entrance to the hallway, pressing her back against the wall to keep in the shadows.

"You seem to be in a pleasant mood today." Maria's voice came strolling in through the doors followed by silence, but she knew that cocky look was plastered on his face. "Has Sarah finally confessed her love for you?"

"Maria, I'm not the type of person your daughter should get involved with." There was a hint of amusement to the elf's voice.

Maria sighed. "Probably, but it would keep you out of trouble."

"I'm afraid trouble finds me."

Claire clenched her jaw to suppress her urge to protest. Was he talking about her? She peeked through an opening at the duo. A light gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow was a refreshing change to his usual black get-up. Although gray may not have been too much of an improvement, it was still a step in the right direction. Maria's deep burgundy dress contrasted beautifully against her light skin, making her freckles stand out even more.

"I thought you quit that way of life," Maria said.

"I did." The elf bent over the bouquet of flowers to smell them before he plucked one out of the vase. "But it's catching up to me faster than I can think."

"You know you'll always have a place here." She took his hand in hers with a troubled look on her face. "I could help you, you know."

"You've been more than enough help already." He handed her the flower.

"It's that girl, isn't it?"

He simply smiled and turned back to the table to pick another flower. Claire could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. It seemed Maria wasn't a big fan of hers either.

"I saw that strange mark on her hand." She touched his arm, the look on her face a little more urgent. "You know I don't usually ask, but is it worth it?"

Farron paused, seemed to consider her question and then grinned. "We'll see." He straightened up and turned to the hallway across from Claire.

Maria sighed and brought the single red flower up to her nose for a moment before she chased the elf down.

Claire let out a long breath and collapsed back against the wall. It was a relief they'd decided to go down the other hallway. If they hadn't her presence would have easily been discovered, and eavesdropping was never a well-looked upon practice, no matter where you were from. She had gotten a little bit of a teaser about the elf's past, though, however puzzling it still was. And foreboding. She wasn't sure she liked the part that involved her.

With another peek around the curtain to make sure they were gone, she sprinted toward the door to the outside. The sun shone brightly in the middle of the sky, its rays filtered through the broad canopy of green leaves overhead. She stopped on the balcony, tilted her head up, and closed her eyes to breathe in the warm fragrant air.

Her hand found the handle of the new dagger strapped around her waist. She missed the familiarity of her mother's. Now her only memento of home was the small circlet of metal that dangled around her left wrist. She shook her head to keep unnecessary thoughts from entering her mind and descended the stairs on the left to a dirt path that led into the sea of trees. A walk would do her good.

The sound of a faraway bird singing teased at her ears as she made her way down the narrow trail. She combed her fingers through her hair and began to braid the long brown locks over her left shoulder, the process made a little more difficult with the bandage still on her right arm. The day was calm and peaceful and she reveled in every second of it.

What would happen to her now? Where would she go? It seemed unlikely that they'd stay at this place for Aeron to find them. For that matter, she was stuck at Farron's mercy once again. Although his intentions seemed good, could she really trust the elf? Or, more realistically, did she even have a choice?

A hand suddenly grabbed her right arm and pulled her off the path to the side. Claire gasped, her heart threatening to escape her chest. Her hand automatically reached for the dagger at her side, but she stopped when she saw her would-be attacker.

"Hello." Farron beamed as he locked his hands behind her back to trap her in place. He leaned back against a fallen tree, bringing him down to eye level.

Hadn't he just been inside? How did he do that? Heat surged through her body and she looked away from the elf to hide her embarrassment. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what, my lady?" He sounded amused already.

"Shorten my lifespan." She put her hands on his shoulders and began to push away.

He chuckled softly; his grip tightened around her waist. "You've been rather hard to find lately."

It was true that she'd been avoiding him, even going so far as to eat dinner in her room. She just wasn't sure how to act around him. Even now she felt awkward.

"You know, eavesdropping isn't very nice, Claire."

Claire looked at him finally, eyes wide in surprise. He knew? "I didn't mean to..." Her throat tight, she looked down.

"I guess I can forgive you this time."

The flower from earlier appeared before her and she looked back up at him. She took it tentatively. "Thank you." She smelled it before examining the petals a little too closely. "And thank you for the dagger as well." There, she got that out of the way, at least.

"Well, we can't have you running around without any way to defend yourself. I believe I once heard someone say that a girl can't always wait for a knight in shining armor to save her." He grinned as his hand wandered back to her waist again. "And it looks like they'll run out of knights _and_ armor at the rate you're going. It's a good thing I'm here."

Good old trusty anger started to simmer at the bottom of her stomach. Even now he teased her. "Well, if I'm such a burden to you..." She started to push away from him again.

"Claire." He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. His face grew more serious. "Things might get a little hectic and there's a lot that you don't know yet..." He paused for a moment like he was searching for the right words. "And I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me, but I'll be here for you if you want me to be. I'm no knight in shining armor." He took her hand in his, raised it to his mouth and kissed it, his lips light as a feather against her skin. He peered up at her, ice blue eyes as serious as day. "But I'll protect you the best that I can."

Claire gulped and the annoyance inside her dissipated. Was this the fabled charm finally rising to the surface? It may not have been pretty or dressed up with fancy words, but it was quite possibly one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her; man, elf, or General.

With a heartstring officially pulled, she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you." The words barely escaped her throat in a whisper and were the only ones she could think of at the moment.

He tilted his face up, his lips hovering close to hers.

Claire hesitated, her breath coming out in short quivering bursts. She knew if she kissed him now there would be no turning back. He'd laid himself out on the line, exposing a chink in his impenetrable armor, and was leaving it up to her whether or not to pry it open. But could she give herself to someone else again? Did she even want to? She was still reeling from her last heartbreak, still trying to sort out her own feelings. Would he understand if she said no, or would he close up completely and leave her there? Too many questions swirled inside her head, tangling together in an almost indecipherable mess. She could feel him growing tenser the longer she waited, closing up, drawing away.

Abandoning thought, her body leaned in those last precious inches and took the plunge. Her hands gripped the sides of his face tightly, fingers digging into silky hair as her lips pressed against his. His hands tightened on her waist.

It wasn't that she hated him. Not at all—but everything was happening so fast, she just wasn't quite sure how she felt about him. However, her body told a different story. It shivered at his touch and all but begged for more. His kisses weren't half bad either. No, scratch that, they were utterly intoxicating. It was downright lust taking over and she was helpless to stop it. And wasn't so sure she wanted to either. He was stunning and they both knew it. She'd just been too stubborn to admit it.

Her hands slid down to his shoulders, the flower now long gone and forgotten, while one of his slid down her waist and down to the gentle curve of her behind. Claire pulled away sharply, eyes going wide.

"Sorry, my hand slipped," he said, amused, and removed said hand. "I must still be thinking about yesterday."

Claire could feel the heat rise to her cheeks again. His overconfidence drove her wild sometimes, in a bad way and, oh no, in a good way. His mouth found hers again, and his hand stayed faithfully at her waist while the other decided to explore more northerly territory as it slid its way up her side and over her shoulder. It finally came to rest just above the bandage on her right arm. Fingers tugged gently at the tightly wrapped fabric. Claire pulled back again and snatched her arm away to hide it behind her back.

Farron returned her look of surprise with one of his own. "What's wrong? Did it not heal yet?"

Claire studied the elf, her eyes narrowing a little as her mind rose back to the surface. "What do you want with me?"

He was taken aback. She hadn't meant to be so blunt, but she had to know. Especially after the last debacle. The list of people she could rely on had shrunken considerably in the past few days, although he was one of the few still on it, much to her surprise. But if he wasn't loyal to Aeron or the Elvin king, then who exactly was he working for? His intentions weren't exactly clear, and all of this could just be a ruse to help gain her trust. It was probably time she took his advice about treading the waters more carefully; she was in deeper than she liked and the water was rising fast.

"You don't have to show me if you don't want to." He tried to hide his disappointment with a smile.

Claire took a deep breath. "When are you going to tell me? I need to know what I got myself into."

A series of emotions played over his face before he settled on her favorite, cocky grin and all. "Claire, I'm still trying to get you to like me."

"What makes you think you're any good for me?" She remembered what he said about Maria's daughter.

"I'm not," he admitted. "But you're not any good for me either."

She repressed the urge to hit him. Who knows, maybe the damn elf was right. With a deep breath, she asked, "Can I trust you?"

"I really want you to, Claire."

She studied his face for a moment, his eyes holding hers patiently, calmly. Finally, she sighed and held her bandaged arm up between them. She might as well. Who else did she have?

A slight tension eased out of the elf before he took her arm. His fingers worked fast on the tightly wrapped cloth. It was about time she faced the truth and see the damage that had been done.

A pink scar bisected the intricate mark, starting on her hand and trailing past her wrist to end halfway up her forearm. The thin dark lines on either side were uneven and mismatched.

Farron traced a finger along the scar lightly. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," she said, her eyes resting on her arm. "Do you think it still works?"

A brief flash of surprise crossed over his face. "I don't know, but it'd probably be wise to avoid large felines for the time being."

"You're not funny."

She watched him as he examined the mark more thoroughly. Worry slowly started to fill his eyes, his careful mask betraying him, and Claire's stomach sank. She swallowed hard, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks.

"You knew all along, didn't you? What I am, what this is..."

He looked up at her, eyes slightly wide.

She waited. If he really wanted to start winning her over, he was going to have to start telling her the truth, even if she didn't like what she would hear.

"Yes," he said and looked down. "That's why I volunteered to go on the mission. I knew I had to get you away from them somehow. I still don't know exactly what the forest elves want with you. I can guess though." He looked back up at her, the worry gone, replaced by a fierce spark. "Claire, I wasn't lying when I said I wasn't the worst person to get their hands on you. I was able to rescue you from the General and his little friend, but now that they know what you are capable of, they won't just let you slip away. And they're not the only ones. There are people far more dangerous than those two that'll come after you. People that not even I can protect you from. People that would kill me to get to you."

"What?" Claire's knees weakened. The water just rose above her head. "Those men, that hired the thieves?" she asked, remembering.

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I don't suspect they'd give up so easily."

"They know what I am?"

He nodded. "Better than I do, I'm afraid."

Her head spun with all the new information.

"I know you are worried about your mother, but she did send you away that night for a reason. She wanted you to be safe. It might be best to lay low for a while, at least until things die down a little bit." He gave her a hopeful smile. "Don't worry, Fran always keeps her word and she's good at what she does. I'm sure she'll find your mother, or at least a lead."

She was speechless. The weight of his words crushed her, leaving her almost petrified. She was in far deeper than she could have imagined. Her stomach twisted in knots. She wished she could get mad at him, for not telling her this, for still keeping some things from her, for getting her into this mess in the first place, but she couldn't. He was probably her only ally at the moment—that is unless, he was planning on using her himself.

He gripped her shoulders tight, bringing her back to the present. "I'll try my best to keep you out of the wrong hands, Claire. That is, if you let me. I understand if you want nothing to do with me, but please let me at least do this. I'm sorry I lied to you. I just thought that it would be easier to protect you, the less you knew. You've already been through so much, I... I know how much you just want to return to your old life, but—"

"That's not possible now..." she completed his sentence. Grim reality settled in. Although she'd always known in the back of her mind that it wasn't possible, it was an entirely different matter when it was staring her right in the face. "Why are you doing this? Why are you willing to help me?"

"I should have let you go that night in the forest." His grip tightened on her shoulders. "But I couldn't. I knew that if someone else were to find you... what they would do with you. I know what it's like to be used. I thought that if I could save you from that, I could make up for some of the things I've done in my past." He took a deep breath and looked down again. "I ran away from my problems, my past, my life, but you gave me purpose again. I am sorry for getting you into all of this and for lying to you, but I do not regret it. I _don't_ regret meeting you." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, soft and lingering. "I don't want to see you get hurt again, Claire."

It took her a moment to remember how to breathe again. She didn't know what to say after all that. What could she?

"And I believe I still owe you a giant feline."

And a good old fashioned beating, she wanted to add, but didn't. Her new powers would surely make his offer to beat him up all the more satisfying. But then again, he might enjoy that too much now...

"This place, we're safe here. No one would attack a Haven, unless they were desperate enough. But we can't stay."

"Why not?" That seemed like a good enough plan to her.

"I can't endanger Maria like that, not after all the help she's given me over the years. A Haven is a place for healing and for rest. It's not a place for fighting."

"Then where?"

He shrugged and ran a hand down his face.

"Where were you bringing me before? Do you know?"

"Uru Baya, far in the northern Solinian Mountain range. There was an Elvin elder there that had been alive back in the age of magic. They thought he would be able to tell them what you are..." he paused and searched her face, "and how to use you."

She swallowed, though she was not surprised. "Was?"

"No one's heard from him in years."

"Why don't we go there?" Maybe she could find some answers out for herself.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's deep in the mountains, Claire. Not only is it very cold, but it's also very high. And I don't think you'd be very fond of either. Besides, there's no guarantee the elder would even still be there, or help us."

"Oh." She looked down, trying hard to think, but she didn't know the region well enough to make any suggestions. "It seems that once again I am at your mercy."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing, Claire."

"It is. Who knows what you're going to do with me, where you'll take me. At least make it somewhere nice. With a bath, and a nice soft bed. If I'm going to be hiding, I might as well be comfortable."

"I think I know just the place." A slight smirk slid across his mouth and a pang of dread shot through her stomach.

She eyed him carefully, hoping his idea of a nice place didn't include another city full of brothels and gambling.

"So tell me, Claire, how's your green thumb?"

Uh oh, she wasn't sure she liked where this was going already. Hard manual labor didn't sound very appealing either.

"Just remember, Farron, I can take you up on your offer at any moment."

He just laughed, but she could have sworn she saw a hint of fear. A teeny tiny hint, but it was enough.

~*~

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