The next morning, Verne lay awake in the master bed she shared with Aalis. It had been a long, restless night. Verne had spent enough time sleeping next to Aalis to know when she was really asleep and when she was lying still. So it was no surprise to her when she swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled the heavy curtain aside that Aalis rolled over.

  “Are you getting up?”

  Verne nodded. “No point prolonging the inevitable.” She moved over to the fire and poked around the ashes, finding hot coals that were hibernating deep within, pulsing softly. Verne quickly and expertly built a fresh fire over the top of the coals. When she was sure that there would be a hearty blaze shortly, Verne poured some water from a jug into its matching bowl and as quickly as she could, used her hands to wet her hair then dragged a comb through it until every ringlet, curl and lock was dead straight.

  She heard Aalis sit up when she pulled a sharp blade out of her bag and hacked off the excessive length, bringing the straight strands up to her shoulders once more.

  “Oh Verne,” Aalis said softly, “you are really not going to tell him?”

  Verne shook her head, smiling sadly as she gathered the uneven lengths of black hair and tossed them onto the flames which gobbled them up eagerly.

  “How much you guess from a simple haircut.”

  Aalis sighed. “It is not a simple haircut. You are retreating into the Verne we first met, terse and silent, short black hair and,” Verne tied the bandana around her head, “wearing your customary bandana.”

  “Don’t forget my trousers, tunic, vest, coat, boots, scarf and gloves.” Verne said, throwing off her nightshirt and dressing quickly. “There is frost on the outside windowsill. Dress warmly today.”

  Aalis didn’t have the heart to argue, bundling her clothes into her swag. She dressed in her nomad clothing, making sure to wrap the fur mantle around her shoulders. As she checked the room for anything she had missed, Aalis noticed the blue gown was still draped over a chair, the black fur cloak as well.

  “What should I do with the dress?” She asked, looking at Verne who was lacing her boots up, tightening them resentfully, crushing her rediscovered femininity back beneath leather, cotton and an assumed mask.

  “It’s yours. You paid for it.”

  “I bought it for you.”

  “Aalis,” Verne stopped and closed her eyes, “I am never going to have the opportunity to wear it again.”

  “You never know…”

  “Yes I do!” Verne cried, softening her tone but sharpening her gaze. “Last night was incredible but it’s over.” She returned to her laces. “Better to leave it as a wonderful memory than destroy it in the harsh light of reality.”

  Aalis swallowed and picked it up. “I will put it in my swag and should the opportunity arise, I will sell it on the journey home. The fur cloak as well.”

  “Fine.” Verne said tersely, buckling her belt around her waist. They both looked up at the knock on the door and it opened a crack.

  “We’re awake in here and are packing.” Giordi’s voice reached them. “We need to wait until the Donimedes are decent to give a courteous farewell but when we receive word that they are ready, Judd wants to leave immediately.”

  “Understood. Thank you Giordi.” Aalis answered when Verne would not. Aalis sat on the bed and tugged on her thick, fur lined boots and grasped the shawl she had been gifted with from Lady Jocasa.

  “Going somewhere?” Verne asked.

  “Not far.” Aalis insisted. “There is something I need to do before we leave but I will return well before that happens.”

  Caste’s eyes felt gritty and sore. It was a familiar sensation, of reading by candlelight long after natural light had passed, as well as his body’s first, second and third cries for sleep. He packed a few final belongings into his swag, yawning which only seemed to make him feel more tired. When he had gone to Judd’s chambers to show him the proof of the slaying of the minotaur, Judd had informed Caste that they would be leaving in the morning.

  “If only that was all he had told me.” Caste grumbled, seeing a piece of parchment sticking out of his swag. He was undecided how he felt about Judd’s intention but there was no misinterpreting Caste’s ire at being included in it.

  Caste picked up the box that had travelled with him all the way from Astaril, containing various bits and pieces of withered, bloodied and disgusting monsters, evidence of Judd’s kills. He opened the box and quickly counted all the pieces, coming to the grand total of nine. Up until yesterday, there had only been eight but with the addition of a minotaur horn, there were now nine. Caste sighed and took the piece of paper from the lid of the box which listed all the monsters Judd was supposed to kill.

  There had been great rejoicing in Fort Mavour that they had witnessed Judd slay the final monster on the list, making his knighthood a matter of confirmation and formality as opposed to the adolescent dream he had possessed when first leaving Astaril.

  However, there were ten monsters on the list.

  Caste traced his finger down the carefully written monster titles.

  “Basilisk, orthros, goblin/goblins, cockatrice, an ogre, a werewolf, a creature of unnatural size, a unicorn…and a minotaur is number ten.” He sighed and pressed back the pressure in his mind by squeezing his nose. “Just missing the witch…”

  Caste’s preferred method of viewing the world in black and white was so coloured with grey that it was hard even for Caste to see where the lines of distinction were anymore. He opened his eyes and glared at the list.

  “Somehow this is all your fault.” He said to the list. Despite wanting to screw it up and cram it in the box, along with all his frustrations, slamming the lid closed and locking it for good measure, Caste’s sensibilities dictated that, as always, he had to neatly fold it.

  So he was surprised and a little concerned when he noticed that the bottom corner of the well-travelled piece of paper was creased, as though it had been caught carelessly in the lid and unforgivably folded over…a thing Caste was very careful to avoid.

  He tucked it into the box, unwilling to think on anything else that would upset him and closed the lid, hearing footsteps approaching the room.

  “Do you need any help packing?” Cleric Rodel asked behind him.

  “Actually, I think I have it all under control.” Caste said, putting the box in his bag and buckling the flap in place.

  “As always.” Rodel nodded, Caste slinging his swag onto his back. “I just received word that Sir Donimede is ready to farewell LaMogre.”

  “Then my time here is at an end.” Caste slid his other arm through the swag, feeling his already tired body ache at the weight. He hoped he would be able to let either Quell or Zeke carry it once they reacquired their mounts from the Mavour stables.

  “I will walk with you.” Rodel offered yet, despite his friendly gesture, they hardly spoke, travelling from corridor to stair to corridor, heading down to the foyer in silence. “You did not get much sleep.”

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  Caste had been unable to smother his yawn. “I got enough.” He excused.

  “It wasn’t a question,” Rodel said rather firmly, “I know it. You left the feast with the excuse of being overly tired but when I returned to my room, you were not there and did not arrive until much later.”

  Though phrased lightly, Caste could feel rather than hear the accusation beneath his tone…and Caste was already ginger and anxious.

  “Then you must have come back quite late as I tried to sleep but the chaos of the day kept my mind awake,” Caste retorted, “so I repaired to the library to copy some notes of the sporadic tomes of Mavour until the work exhausted me enough to sleep.” He looked at Rodel with his emerald green eyes. “What were you doing up so late? Following a certain daughter?”

  Rodel stopped on the stair, his faded blue eyes sharpening. “I don’t think I care for your tone.”

  “I don’t think I care.” Caste returned, not stopping his stomp down the stairs. He didn’t bother looking back at Rodel, knowing he wasn’t accompanying him anymore, heading straight to the foyer where Giordi, Verne and Aalis were waiting in a huddle, Judd standing apart from them, adjusting his sword. Caste didn’t look at him, standing with the other three and Judd didn’t try to catch his gaze. There was very little time to speak when Sir Donimede descended upon their party, looking like a ghost, his skin even paler in the cold light that drifted through the windows. If the chill from beneath the doors was anything to go by, it was a frigid day in Mavour.

  “Sir Donimede.” Judd walked towards him and bowed.

  “Judd LaMogre,” Donimede remained on the second last step, taller than Judd by a head and a half as he did so, “off to Astaril to claim your knighthood.”

  “Yes sir.” Judd nodded. “It’s a long journey and I am looking forward to…Lady Jocasa…Willower…”

  Sir Donimede turned, unable to mask his surprise at the presence of his wife, wrapped in a gown of billowing proportions. Despite the obvious nature of the gown, to be worn in the bedchamber, Lady Jocasa managed to look as regal as she had the night before, possibly after beauty ointment was smothered over the shadows beneath her eyes. Her formally curled and arranged hair was in waves down her back and around her face. Willower appeared to be better ready for the day, dressed in a deep blue gown and her robe, a navy fur lined ensemble designed to keep out the worst chill.

  “Judd LaMogre,” Lady Jocasa came down to his level and held out her hand to him, “we could not let you go without seeing you off ourselves.”

  “Forgive the earliness of the hour at which I feel propelled to leave,” Judd apologised sincerely, “I had hoped…”

  “You are eager to receive your knighthood and I am joined with my daughter,” she glanced at Willower then back at Judd, “in saying, no one deserves it more. Think of us when you are in Astaril, receiving your earned appointment.”

  “I shall never forget your hospitality and kindness.” Judd kissed her hand lightly then stepped back. “I wonder…might I speak with your daughter before I go?”

  “Of course.”

  Judd held his arm out and Willower took it as he escorted her to the empty corner of the foyer where they could speak in private.

  “Willower,” Judd licked his lips, so ashamed, “my conduct last night…no matter my personal consternation, I had no business kissing you in that manner,” he swallowed, “I am so sorry.”

  There was a long, heavy pause before Willower spoke.

  “I am not.” Judd frowned and lifted his brown eyes to meet her tender gaze. “In that moment, Judd LaMogre, I was blessed with a revelation of…scathing proportions.” Willower’s eyes flickered briefly towards her parents as she shifted her shoulders so there was no way that they could read her lips, let alone hear her words. “I told you once that I would happily accept a proposal of a man that I knew was in love with someone else just for the sake of being married.” She pressed her lips together. “When I said that, it was the absolute truth, that I might finally earn my father’s love and escape my spinster burgeoning status.” Judd went to argue but Willower put her fingers to his lips. “These past few days have been wonderful…yet yesterday’s events made me doubt myself and your kiss…” She brushed a curl from his forehead. “I realised I might be able to stomach such an arrangement…but that little by little, day by day, I would die inside,” her hazel eyes dropped to the ground, “all for the sake of being called the wife of a man who does not love me and for a father’s approval who has no love for anyone other than himself.” He breathed in deeply and let it out, his heart aching for Willower. “I know that now, as sure as I know that I would prefer to be alone than to accept such a proposal.”

  “Willower…” Judd took her hands and held them. “You deserve so much better.”

  Willower smiled. It was sad but he noticed there was a peace in them. She wasn’t jittery with pretence or suffocating with desperation. She had found herself.

  “I know I agreed to this farce of falling in love with you, Judd LaMogre, but in doing so, it is possible I have already begun to,” he cringed, “so if you ever fall out of love with whoever it is you were kissing last night…and I have not fallen out of love with you…I hope you will call on me.”

  Judd nodded and smiled as best he could. “Then that is how we will leave it.” He said through his tight throat. “Thank you for everything, Willower.”

  He led her back to her parents and she stood behind her father. After another few bows and words, Judd slung his swag on his back and led his companions out of the foyer. He breathed in the icy air, allowing it to soak into his lungs as he carried his pack down the steps to the upper bailey where Xenon, Quell and Zeke were already waiting with Captain Chael and his eager seconds, Arsch and Kipre. Even sword master Roust was there. As the others loaded the two smaller horses with their belongings, Judd shook hands with all the men.

  “I’d say it would be dull around here without you,” Chael chuckled, “but the truth is, with the Arena out of commission and locked up until the walls around it are re-enforced, Roust’s guards will be occupied within the fort, and my soldiers will be patrolling close to the wall outside of it. We don’t know if what happened weakened the integrity of the wall and will be looking for cracks and damage.”

  “We have our work cut out for us.” Roust added. “But that’s what we do. My biggest regret was that, with the amount of noble bloods trying to escape the Arena, my men couldn’t get in.” He looked at Verne and Giordi. “I’ll be sure to point out your inventive method of circumventing doors and stairs to my men.”

  “After surviving Sir Fereak’s death drop, the leap into the Arena was not nearly as intimidating.” Verne explained.

  “Should any of my men baulk at the Arena drop, I’ll be sure to send them to Fort Omra to remind them how fortunate they are.” Roust chuckled. “Safe travels, LaMogre. While I’m sure you would survive almost any monster attack, I think you have more than earned a reprieve.”

  “We’ll be toasting your knighthood, you can be sure of that.” Arsch looked at Kipre who nodded.

  Judd thanked them all and mounted Xenon. The gates to the upper bailey opened and he began to lead his small party out.

  “Uh…Judd?” Giordi whispered. “I know he acted out against you but…what about Suvau?”

  Judd’s face remained impassive and stony.

  “You can’t just leave him here.” Verne insisted.

  Still Judd said nothing. Aalis uncurled one of her hands from beneath her mantle and the shawl draped over her front to touch his leg. “Judd…please…”

  “Hold your tongue,” he snapped harshly, shocking them all with the force of his words, “and know your place.”

  Aalis recoiled to stand with the other two, Caste trailing along behind. The marketplace filled with civilians waving him out, cheering his name and saluting him. He waved back at them, urging Xenon towards the front gates. He had to farewell the gatekeepers and waved to the scouts then rode out onto the road that led due north. It was all the others could do to keep up with Xenon’s brisk pace, Quell and Zeke happy to be stretching their legs and enjoying the fresh, albeit icy, air. In fact, Judd had moved ahead so quickly there was almost no breath left for them to speak.

  Wanting to preserve the look of Judd being their master, and by the way he was acting, he had been taking lessons from Donimede, Verne and Giordi were reluctant to put Aalis and her cargo onto the back of one of the horses until they were out of sight from Fort Mavour’s lookouts.

  “I promise,” Verne panted, “the moment we can, you can ride and rest, Aalis.”

  Aalis nodded, breathless and being cautious.

  “I know Judd was anxious to leave Mavour…but this is ridiculous!” Giordi gasped.

  “Nearly there.”

  The rise itself was not enough on its own to prevent the eager eyed lookouts of Mavour to see them, however, there was a thick line of trees that followed a stream which was the unofficial northern border of Fort Mavour’s territory. As they headed for it, Judd looked back at them, already at the tree line.

  “Oh look,” Giordi huffed, “our gracious master has stopped to let us catch up.”

  “It was your idea for Judd to foster the appearance of arrogant master.” Verne groused.

  As they got closer, Judd urged them to follow him, fording the stream and through the natural barrier to the other side. Immediately he turned around.

  “I apologise for the manner in which I have been behaving,” he immediately announced, catching them all off guard and silencing their complaints, “it has been…a very difficult time.”

  “Yeah,” Verne muttered, folding his arms, “all the food at the feasts, the dancing, the romancing of Donimede’s daughter…”

  “And I promise I will explain all of it,” Judd paused, “but for now, we must make haste.”

  “To Astaril for your knighthood?”

  Judd sighed then turned to Caste who kept his eyes down. “Actually, I need to head east.”

  “What’s east?”

  “A small palisade that the nomads use when bringing the wild horses they’ve captured and tamed to Mavour for trading. I saw it on one of the patrol rides.”

  “Wait,” Giordi looked around at them, “east? Why aren’t we heading north?”

  “Yeah, stopping off at the nomads to explain to Yolana where her husband is?”

  Judd closed his eyes. “East first. We set up camp and I will explain what really happened.”

  Suddenly there was an indignant squall from Aalis’s arms, still hidden beneath her shawl. Judd looked at Verne and Giordi who gaped at each other as if trying to work out what to say. He turned back to Aalis who unhooked her shawl at one shoulder and drew a small, dark skinned baby out of concealment. Judd drew back the edge of its swaddling clothes, his little face scrunching up at the touch of cold air after being so warmly ensconced.

  “It looks as though I am not the only one keeping secrets.”