After agreeing among themselves to return the box to where they’d found it, Al’mar, Helaneth, and Dirien set out on the road home. For the first evening and the whole day thereafter, they barely spoke, a weary and pensive mode soaking in deep into their bones. At the very least, the weather was kind; nights were getting warmer as the season of flourish settled in properly, easing the choice between spending their hard-earned Esda on beds and simply setting up camp.

  Helaneth sat holding a stick to poke the fire long after the others had fallen asleep, wondering if she’d ever get used to the Grimros wilderness – if one could even call a place so devoid of life as such. Outside of Fenglade, the animals had no voices, the plants no breath, and the fungi no reverberant frequencies to extol the binding of life and decay.

  Here, instead, there was money, and the constancy of anxiety surrounding it seemed a design to fill the silence where nature’s harmony did not reach. It was like poison, one to which nobody was immune – and that included Helaneth, who found herself chasing numbers through her mind as a distraction.

  Their reward would have more than covered a night’s stay somewhere comfortable, but the three agreed that they needed to keep as much of their earnings as possible; Dirien needed new clothes, as he’d put on a healthy bit of weight since they first arrived back in Grimros, and Al’mar’s sword was in need of polishing, verging on forming specks of rust. There was, too, the cost of their dues to Anna and Deventh to keep the operation running. Of their hundred Esda, thirty would be taken, but this ensured they would continue to find work, as well as a place to sleep when needed.

  In some ways, for as many things as she hated about it, this life was better. It seemed she hadn’t stopped to reflect on such things in the year since they started their new life. She glanced at Dirien and found relief that he was sleeping peacefully – that he had the privilege to do so here. The collective lifestyle of the Fenvar brought with it a cruel reality wherein the old and weak were cast aside. Despite her own objections, and the grief of many families, the practice allowed their population to grow more efficiently and remain fit to defend their land.

  Old concerns, she thought, shaking her head. If they weren’t caught up in such old concerns…

  “Miss Helaneth,” the fore-assumed sleeping Al’mar mumbled from his bedroll, “The three of us have been nigh on mute for the past overnight. I am unsure of where you stand on matters, but there is something that does not sit right with me, and I cannot quell it within my soul.”

  Helaneth blew out a small flame that caught on her stick. “You don’t want to put the box back.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. Truth be told, I fear, Miss Helaneth. I fear for how deep this all goes. The Magistra – she has a manner that suggests she knows much more than she tells. Disappearances with a hasty resolution, a shipment of corpses, new officials in a decaying institution with lofty and questionable goals, hiding the truth behind teeth that clench with pretense – are these wild coincidences, Miss Helaneth? Have I gone paranoid in my old age?”

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  “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I wish there was a more comforting answer than that,” Al’mar concluded with a yawn. It was silent for a moment, then Helaneth spoke again.

  “Ya don’t suppose the ‘M’ on that box stands for Magistra, do ya?”

  Al’mar thought for a moment, then chuckled at the idea.

  “I… Perhaps, did not consider that at all. Though that would be a near lethal dose of irony, coming from someone who believes competency is of the utmost importance.”

  “Aye. I suppose you’re right.” Helaneth fed another log to the dwindling flames. “Just thinkin’, I guess. Anything’s possible with the way things have been goin’.”

  “You’re not wrong about that.” Al’mar gave a drowsy sniffle. “I’ve one more concern, Miss Helaneth.”

  “What’s that, old man?”

  “We have worked together for some time, and it is natural that we do not always agree on the best course of action. But I’ve a question for you, as this particular situation has brought some curiosity to light.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “It took you little convincing to concede to Magistra Bellanaume. This left me wondering – was it out of fear or indifference?”

  “What about just bein’ practical?” She leaned back to dodge a volley of embers as the dry wood popped. “Maybe we got into this one too deep. Maybe it would have been nice to find out if this was another lead for the investigation, but we did our job, old man, and it was lookin’ like we were startin’ to step on the wrong toes. With all the schemin’ those types do, it ain’t worth seein’ what comes next if they know our plan. Sometimes it’s smart to back off. That’s different from fear.”

  To Al’mar, her answer was a resounding both – disappointing, but not all that surprising given her age and rearing. He thought better of remarking on it; it was better to temper his expectations of benevolence. Helaneth was nonetheless a reliable companion and a good friend.

  “I see,” he said, “And what do you make of how we left Leonarde? Do you believe he’s in good hands?”

  There was a long pause, then Helaneth’s stick snapped. “Not the best,” she answered, “but it’ll have to do. Much as I don’t like Magistra, I’m not convinced she’s got the kind of evil in her to hurt a dog.”

  “I do hope your instinct is right.” Al’mar’s bedding rustled as he rolled onto his back. “Well, Miss Helaneth, I think I will be drifting off now. You ought to try getting some sleep as well.”

  “Not so sure about that, old man. Thanks for the talk, though. I was startin’ to get bored.”

  “It has been my pleasure. Goodnight, Miss Helaneth.”

  The night went on with only Helaneth and her mind’s circuit of troubles and worries. If only these things were tiresome enough that I could sleep, she lamented, and as if in answer, her eyelids started to close without thought. Behind them, she found herself in an open field of wildflowers, looking for shapes in the clouds drifting across the sky. Her palms brushed over a coat of wiry fur as a wet nose nudged her cheek.

  “Good boy, Bowen,” she said. The dog rolled onto his back, tail wagging and tongue lolling out to the side in happiness.