The day Patrick and Clementine are set to leave, he's woken up early by Isla, who succinctly tells him that Clementine says to put on his nicest clothes and meet her out front in an hour, tops. With no room to do anything but agree, he tosses around the clothes in his bag until he finds something clean and presentable. He shoves Aodhan's book in the back of his pants and puts on his sword belt. Clementine didn't say to bring anything, so he leaves everything else where it is.

The first thing he does is go to Lena's door and knock, praying to whatever gods that could be listening that she'll answer. He hears the rustle of her sheets, so he knows she's still in bed, but she makes no sound to indicate she heard.

"Um, morning, Lena," he starts, cursing himself for sounding so nervous, as if he hasn't known her for the entirety of their lives. "I'm leaving soon. Lady Clementine is waiting for me. I thought I would come see you before I go."

Is she listening?

"I don't know how long we'll be gone, but I got the impression that it will be longer than a few days."

Patrick places his hand on the door.

"It'll be weird, not being able to see you. I'm going to miss you. Um- yeah. I just thought I should let you know."

He lingers outside Lena's door, not knowing whether to expect her to open the door or not. In the end, he waits a few minutes and he doesn't hear any footsteps or the click of the lock as it opens.

"All right. I'll see you later, Lena."

The sun is just rising, so there's enough light for Patrick to easily cross the castle and reach William's room. He has to knock a few times before William answers, clearly just woken up.

"Oh, are you leaving already?" William asks, voice quiet and thick with sleep.

"Aye, we're getting an early go of it, I guess."

"It's nice of you to come see me before you leave."

"I didn't just want to up and vanish," Patrick says sheepishly.

William smiles and, much to Patrick's surprise, reaches out and pulls him into a hug. Patrick returns it, comforted by the simplicity of the embrace.

"Farewell for now."

"Farewell for now," William echoes into his ear and pulls away.

"I'll try to be back as soon as possible. Take care of yourself, would you?"

"I will. I'll try to look after Lena, too."

He gives William a grateful smile and turns to leave.

"Paddy, Aodhan is probably out in the garden, if you want to see him. He usually is this time of day."

Patrick nods and waits to leave until William shuts the door. Patrick's never been out in the garden, but it's easy enough to find. Belaseth, at least this area, doesn't have good farmland, so the garden is sectioned off by an enchanted gate that helps the plants grow. Most of Chourmondeley's plant supply comes from here as the nearest town in a few days away.

The garden itself isn't a big area, so it's not a great task to find Aodhan kneeling among the herbs, filling a bucket with the aromatic plants. He sits back on his knees when he notices Patrick and greets him pleasantly.

"Good morning," he says. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I'm going with Lady Clementine in less than an hour. I thought I'd pay you a visit before I left." Patrick smiles, charming, if not a little sweet and awkward.

"Oh, you are going today, aren't you?"

Patrick sits on the stone bench nearest to them and Aodhan stands and brushes the dirt off the knees of his pants before joining him.

"Are you worried?" Aodhan questions lightly.

"Maybe a little bit," Patrick admits.

"It should be fine. Leif is not the most complicated individual. If anything, it might be good to get away."

Patrick does agree with that. "You know Leif?"

Aodhan shrugs. "Once upon a time."

The tone of his voice is different from the one he's had before when talking about the past, almost wistful, so Patrick's nerves settle and he sends Aodhan a smile.

"I'll miss you," he says, because he knows that he will. He'll miss Lena, too, and William, and even Brynjar, who's probably out spying in the camp.

Aodhan's smile softens into something more private, just for them. He reaches out and cups Patrick's cheek, smile widening. "I'll miss you, too."

Aodhan's thumb strokes along his cheek and Patrick wonders why he isn't pulling away, wonders if maybe he should even though he doesn't want to. He wonders some more when Aodhan leans closer and stops wondering for the briefest of moments when Aodhan's lips meet his.

The kiss only lasts for the flutter of a heartbeat and the widening of Patrick's eyes, but it lasts long enough for his heart to be stuttering in an awkward pace when Aodhan pulls away. It lasts long enough for his lips to tingle and a tender sort of puzzlement to befall him in a hug.

"For luck?" he whispers, tentative.

Aodhan's hand slides down Patrick's cheek and moves to grab hold of Patrick's. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, smile small as he nods and says, "Yes, for luck."

"Oh," Patrick says. "Thank you."

"Of course."

Patrick smiles and Aodhan returns it, then looks over out at the garden, turning away. He squeezes Patrick's hand once before pulling away, words coming out almost in a rush. "I'll look out for Lena and William. You don't have to worry about us."

"I'll try not to."

Aodhan's hand flutters for a moment as if he's thinking about moving it, then settles it in his lap. "I'll see you soon."

Patrick nods and waves before he heads down the garden path and around to the front of the castle, where Clementine is sure to be waiting for him. Throughout the whole walk, all he thinks about is Aodhan's lips on his and how thrilling it was. He repeats the moment again and again in his head until he doesn't quite remember how exactly it went.

He kissed me, and it was nice.

He has no clue what to do with this information and his thoughts are so scattered that he nearly runs into Clementine when he finally reaches his destination.

"Good morning, my lady," he says, thinking about Aodhan's lips brushing against his.

"You've finally made it," she answers. "And look, your little creature is here, too. How fun."

Patrick glances down at his feet to find Ivo coiled around them, staring up at Lady Clementine with an owlish semblance. Clementine narrows her eyes and Ivo starts purring.

"He turns up whenever he wants," Patrick says.

"That's not usually how familiars work." She looks like she's about to go on, when she pauses, eyes scanning Patrick up and down in a decidedly unnerving fashion. "Those are your best clothes?"

Patrick looks down at himself. He thought they were fine. Maybe the shirt isn't as fresh of a color as it used to be, but the edges aren't frayed and all the buttons are in place. The pants don't have any stains on them and these are the only shoes he has. They look a bit worn, but that's the point of shoes, so he didn't think it would be a problem. Maybe he should have gotten up earlier to take a bath, even though he thought he didn't smell.

"I thought so," he answers. "They're the ones Lady Jocelyn gave to me."

"Hmm. Well, we'll have to get you something better. I'll get a new dress while we're at it."

Right, we're going to see a king, Patrick thinks, trying to push back images of Aodhan cupping his cheek. We didn't dress up for Rozenn, not that she would care. Leif isn't even really the king. I guess that doesn't matter.

"You're jittery today," Clementine comments.

"I'm a bit keyed up," he admits.

"Hmm."

They walk down the hill to the blue pines and Clementine wanders around and taps on one. The dryad who brought them here, Navea, pops her head out of the tree and says something in that swirling language that makes Patrick shiver. He and Clementine go into the tree and travel through.

On the other side, there's a bustling seaside town. The stench of fish and other seafood that Patrick doesn't recognize (but thinks look somewhat foul and wants desperately to try them) is overwhelming. People at their stands call out and try to lure customers in. It's loud and reminds Patrick of the towns he's passed through before.

Clementine leads him with purpose through the streets until they reach a road lined with buildings and shops that are more permanent. A few people stare at her as she walks by, as she's more well dressed than anyone they pass, not to mention the fact she radiates an air that's less meek than his. She's a stranger and she looks it.

"Where are we?" Patrick wonders.

"Beechmour, if we landed where I asked. Looks a bit different than the last time I was here." She pauses outside a shop with a wooden sign over it which reads 'The Purfled Dance' and considers it for a moment before going in. "It has been fifty years. I wonder if she's still alive."

The door knocks against a bell that jingles to announce their arrival. A woman with bouncy curls and a sunshine smile greets them at once.

"Hello! Welcome to The Purfled Dance. I am Myrna, how can I be of service today?"

Clementine seems amused and concedes to shake the woman's hand. "Where is Betella, is she still around?"

Myrna starts and points at a fading portrait on the wall of a young woman with the same hair and smile and look in their eyes. "Betella was my grandmother, ma'am. She's been gone for years."

The way Myrna stares wide-eyed at Clementine's ears indicates she knows something of faeries, perhaps stories from her grandmother about one in particular.

"That is unfortunate. If you're anything like her, I'm sure you're a fine seamstress. My companion and I are meeting with someone of importance very soon. Do you have any premade clothing, preferably in dark blue, that you can alter up quickly? By tomorrow, at latest."

"I can certainly ask for some help on a couple pieces. I don't have very many items on display that would be suitable to wear to visit someone of importance in, but my grandmother kept some in the back."

Clementine smiles and it's surprisingly warm. "I would like to see those."

"Oh, of course."

Myrna brings out several boxes, which contain lavish dresses in dark colors, all of which suit Clementine's style and figure. It's clear they were made for her, somewhere along the line.

She settles on one of deep blue, with long, flowing cape like sleeves that exposes her shoulders. The bodice has intricate patterns made of velvet, a shade darker than the silky fabric used to make the rest of the dress.

For Patrick, Myrna finds a silken doublet with silver brocade on it and a pair of matching trousers, both in a dark shade of blue. Myrna takes his measurements to adjust the clothes.

When they finally leave the shop to go find shoes elsewhere, Clementine leaves Myrna so much money that the girl looks like she's about to faint. Clementine seems satisfied at the least and she keeps running her fingers over the velvet of her new dress, which she hangs over her arm so it doesn't get ruined.

Once they procure suitable shoes from an expensive shop that makes Patrick feel woozy just being in, Clementine takes them to a lavish inn to stay the night at. Shopping, as it turns out, can be an all day affair.

They get separate rooms and get ready for bed after a meal of fine fish and other seafoods that have to be cracked out of a shell. The fish soup is probably the best thing Patrick's ever eaten and he eats a few rolls of the seasoned bread and debates trying to smuggle some to his room.

Some of the inn's servants have brought a wash bin into his room so he can bathe. Soft cotton pajamas lay on the bed for him to sleep in and he runs his hands over them in awe. They're just as soft as the bed, like a cloud.

As soon as Clementine bids him good night and reminds him to fix himself up in the morning in his new clothes, he eagerly explores every inch of the room. He touches the curtains and the plush rug and all of the squishy pillows. He runs his hands over the fabric of the blankets and pokes at the flowers in the vases.

On the table by the bath, several soaps and liquids in colorful glass vials are arranged, ready for the picking. He sniffs all of them- some smell like flowers, or trees, or fruits- and he settles on one that's similar to summer strawberries. He strips down and gets in the bath, pleased to find the water is warm.

He scrubs himself down and works the oils through his hair and then washes himself once more. By the time he gets out, the smells are starting to give him a headache and his fingertips are wrinkled like a peach pit.

He puts on the soft pajamas and curls up in the vast expanse of cushiony bed with the book that he borrowed from Aodhan. He tries to focus on the words, but in the end is too tired to read anything. He blows out the candle, thinks of Aodhan and William (tries not to think of Lena) and dreams of nothing.

"Why are we dressed so fancy again?"

The clothes, although admittedly very nice, make Patrick unexpectedly uncomfortable and he'd much rather be dressed in a more low-key outfit (even at Alistair's, the clothes were never this posh). The shoes are wonderful, at least, and he doubts he's ever going to take them off again. The pants are so tailored to him that he could barely shove his book in the back of them. Clementine noticed, of course she did, and called it scholarly. He still doesn't know if it was meant to be an insult or not.

"Because," she says, "I refuse to have Leif be better dressed than us. He's insufferable."

"All right," Patrick agrees.

"Eat up, now. They have an endless buffet here and I paid in coin."

"All right."

Patrick eats until he can't possibly eat any more, which is always a satisfying feeling, one that he'll never tire of. He informs Clementine he's done eating and she nods and stands.

"We'll go make a door upstairs," she tells him. "That will be the easiest way."

"A door?"

"Alistair never showed you how to make a door?"

"We never got to a lot of things."

"Hmm."

They go to the room Clementine stayed in and she traces her finger around the door jamb, leaving a trail of frost behind which is so thin that it melts soon after her touch leaves and drips down the painted wood. She knocks on the door and pauses, as if waiting for someone to answer. When no one does, she grabs the door knob and reaches for Patrick's with the other.

"Don't let go until I've shut the door," she says. "You'll get lost and that won't be good for either of us."

He grabs hold of her cold hand and only then does she open the door. Much to Patrick's surprise (or maybe it's more of a mild, 'oh, that wasn't there before'), the door opens to a wide expanse of snow.

Clementine steps through first and pulls him along. She shuts the door behind them and it disappears in a wink. One moment it's there and the next, it's vanished into nothingness. All around them, bare trees with snow-covered branches stand tall in the bright sun. Snowflakes drift down and freeze against the field of snow. In the light, the snow sparkles like a thousand crystals.

"Where are we?" Patrick asks, glancing around.

It's beautiful here, so unlike how Vertbank would look when it snowed, or at Maesity, where the pink dirt would mix in and make a sludge like blood in water. He can't hear any birds, just the shift of the snow as it gathers on the branches of the trees and falls down.

Clementine lets go of his hand and walks forward, snow crunching under her new shoes. "The space between the Middle and the Above," she answers.

"Aren't you exiled?"

"From Faeryland. This isn't there, not quite. This is my own road. I made it."

Clementine's road is cool, but not freezing, despite all the snow. Snowflakes gather in Patrick's hair and they don't melt.

"Come on," Clementine says. "We have some walking to do before we'll get anywhere."