mother of the Ebony Nightingale who doesn't remember she's the most feared assassin in Ker, who I'm currently using for support so I don't fall off of a horse because my stomach was sliced into by the large tooth of the Banevenin, a gigantic venomous demon from the underworld that preys off of the souls of people with powers, especially those wielding the elements, which, I might add rather bluntly, I am.

Kaliso, the Goddess of Fate who weaves out the destiny of a being, must've really had a hell of a day when spinning my thread of life.

Clarice shifts in the saddle, drawing my attention back to the present.

"Sorry." I try and fail to straighten my spine and relieve some of the weight off of her back. Her breath catches when I speak as if she forgot that I was there. Then again, my head is practically resting in the crook of her neck, so it might've just been that she hadn't realized I was so close, which only makes the tension between us rise again. I hadn't realized it practically dispersed earlier.

She blinks a few times before responding. "It's the least I could do considering everything - and I mean everything you've done for me. I may not remember half of it, but I know enough to know that this doesn't add up to anything you've done for me."

"You'd be surprised." She turns her head, her face only inches from mine, and I suddenly become all too aware of all the places our bodies meet. I can feel my body heat at those points of contact, and I snuff them all out hoping that she didn't feel it or the quickened beating of my heart. "I think you now have me beat by one point."

That's a total lie. She's got me beat by more than one, but I'd rather not dent my self-esteem more than I can already feel it buckling in on itself.

The corner of her mouth tugs upward, but it doesn't lead to a full smile. I can tell she's fighting the smile, something that's become more normal than it was before...before everything. She never used to hold back her smiles, and if she did, then it was because she knew better than to do so, and we all know that the rules or guidelines of manners have never really been a thing to stop her.

I miss her smiles and smirks and the way she'd glare. I could tell which glare was her death glare, and which was her challenging glare that told you she was more than okay to fight and beat your ass. Then there was her daring glare, which, believe it or not, was different from her challenging one. Her daring glare meant that she truly did want to see what you were capable of and if you could beat her. Her friendly glare took a while before we saw it, but it wasn't my favorite despite its softer edges. Oh no, I loved the death glare. I loved the way her eyes would glaze over and you could see her pupil constrict into slits. I loved the stone expression that came with it and the way people would pale and run the other way at the sight of it. I wasn't scared.

Okay, that's a lie.

I feared her when I first met her. Heathens, I was way out of my environment. I didn't know what to do with her nor what she would do if I pushed her buttons, but I couldn't help it. Getting on her bad side and annoying her to death felt like I was walking on the edge of the world. For my whole life, I yearned to even get a glimpse of the edge, constantly sneaking out, ditching lessons, drinking...but nothing - nothing compared to what it felt like to test her.

Before her, I knew that no matter what I did my destiny and future was decided for me. I would become King and I would rule a kingdom. People would rule my life despite me ruling over them. Despite my opposition to marrying, I knew there were likely already prepared and placed betrothals already drawn up and waiting to be sent out to their kingdoms the moment I took the throne. Everything was decided for me, from the clothes I'd wear to my manners and even what soap I'd use to wash the day of a certain event in the castle.

Then she came along, and everything that was once written was thrown over a cliff and fell into the rocky river several hundred feet below, the ink smeared and then lost. It was like walking on a tightrope. She walked along its short width easily, doing flips and spinning without so much as losing her balance. Me? Well, I jumped right on, fell off, and then jumped on again until she took my hands and showed me just how fun it was to put one foot in front of the other, and walk from one side of the chasm to the other, and then back again.

But then the tightrope snapped and she shoved me back onto the rock's edge while she tumbled to the river and disappeared below its surface. After months of running along the edge in the direction of the current, I finally found a waterfall. I climbed down knowing a jump from that high up would likely kill me, but I refused to believe it killed her.

When I did find her washed up on the shore, still breathing, it was too late. She hit her head too hard, and I lost her.

I know this is all one big metaphor, but I've been trying to find other ways to refer to the events of the past few months. Recalling the real thing makes my chest hurt to the point where I can't sleep. It's like a damn God punched me. My stomach is still in pain, but having thought about my weird and odd metaphor, it's pulsed with heat, and that usually means that swelling is occurring. Swelling of an emotion, or pain. It's hard to tell which is which these days.

I ignore it as we finally break through the edge of the field of tall grass and find the Counselors practically daring the Banevenin to wake and eat them. They stand in between the two sides of the open jaw, vials and other tools hanging out of their packs and stuffed in their hands. I spot Counselor Kestrel over by the charred heart and its open membrane. She's literally poking at the thing...and smiling.

We don't stay too long, as the Counselors have very few answers yet. Counselor Kavan did suggest that we get Clarice out, pointing out that her face had gone pale and she looked like she was seconds away from heaving up her last meal. Considering that her last meal consisted of lemon and pickle, I honestly don't see how her stomach couldn't be turning. I did, however, figure that it wasn't just the food that had her so sickly looking. She wouldn't take her eyes off of the Banevenin's mouth. Her knuckles were white with how tightly she gripped the horn of the saddle and they were shaking, but I knew better than to think it was because of how tightly she was gripping them.

I ended up tapping Ozzie with my foot and nodding toward Melody's reins. He handed them to me and I steered us away from the dead monster. Her eyes didn't leave the gaping mouth until it was behind us as we headed south toward Litchelle. Branka and the Ginerva would have to mist us there, but I think we both needed a quiet walk or ride before seeing the effects of just one of Xaxias's larger mutts.

The Bhaltayr trailed us while The Ginerva kept ahead at a respectable distance. Willa stayed behind to ensure the Counselors didn't get into any trouble and got back to Fernweh safely.

We walked in silence, or at least, Clare and I did. The Ginerva were too antsy and itching for another fight to really be calm, and The Bhaltayr started talking and keeping up the conversations. I didn't talk because I didn't know what to say. I watched Clare's expressions, keeping my head over her shoulder so that I could see in front of us for any shift in the ground, but also because I could feel my body growing heavier with the effort to keep myself up. I kept getting annoyed at just how slowly this thing was healing.

Clarice would only shift here and there to adjust her posture, but otherwise, she said nothing. The sickly look faded thankfully, but her jaw kept working as if she were having trouble figuring something out. She flinched every time Melody would make a small noise. When the mare let out a rather loud neigh towards the Ginerva because Mak punched Nilsa and the two were seconds away from brawling, Clarice jumped back into me and her hand jumped to cling to the one I've had placed in a respectable place at her waist. She didn't seem to notice the movement, nor had she noticed that her grip hadn't loosened and she's pulled my arm further around her. I felt my cheeks heat when she first did so, but then...I don't know. It's as if my body realized who it was holding, and I relaxed into her.

I ended up pulling her closer until her back was completely against my chest and my chin could've rested on her shoulder. I didn't, as I was too afraid that doing so would be moving too far. The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable.

We rode like that for a while, and then whatever it was that was running about her mind seemed to have left, and the tension that kept her muscles stiff left her in one sigh. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back until it rested on my shoulder. If I weren't hunched over her head would only lean on my collarbone, but it fell right atop it now.

I never really noticed how short she was next to me. She always had this way of looking down on everyone and making it seem as if she were the tallest person in the world. I'm pretty sure her brother is the only one who could've looked down on her without her fighting back and standing taller. My legs are longer than hers, and even though her torso is long, it's still a few inches below my own.

Time passed, but I did have a slight anger flash when Willa misted in beside us and caused Clarice's head to lift. The red-haired woman gave me a knowing look before calling the others and saying it was time we entered Litchelle. Clarice's body stiffened all over again and I was close to telling Willa that we should meet back up with our escort instead, but I knew that Clarice stiffened not because of fear, but because she knew what was coming.

It was quiet in the middle of nowhere, but when we misted to the edge of the medium-sized town, it was anything but. I could hear screams as we walked the streets in bedrooms where the Adaerian people had been gracious enough to house the wounded. People rushed in and out of homes, holding clean supplies as they ran in the doors or dirty ones as they ran out. You could spot the Vandarian healers with their long, gold necklaces that carried the symbol of Asclepius, the God of Medicine and Healing, around their necks. There are few of them, and they're constantly giving orders, frantically answering questions, and looking as if they've just been struck by lighting with how their hair stands at all ends.

"How are we supposed to help all of them?" Clarice asked as we watched a woman hold the hand of a man whose leg was gone and bleeding everywhere. It was wrapped in thick layers of cloth that another woman tore off as a man ran to them with a makeshift torch in his hand. He lowered the flame to the wound and the man screamed louder than anyone on the street as they held him down and cauterized the wound.

Several people looked over and then just as quickly looked away, the smell of burning flesh singing our noses. Just the single street alone was a scattered mess of the dead, the soon-to-be-dead, the wounded, and their families that were all shaking in shock. Children's wails filled the air along with the horrid smell and the feel of death and the dying. My eyes watered not with tears but because the stench was so strong it was hard to keep my eyes dry. My mouth opened several times in the motion to gag, but I'd close it and swallow whatever burning bit managed to slowly rise up.

Clarice's question rang in my head until I told both Bhatlayr and Ginerva to leave us and do what they could. I gave the stone-hard order when they all went to argue. For an hour Clarice and I rode on Melody through the streets until I couldn't take it anymore. She gave her protests when I lifted my leg and slid it over Melody's side. I tried to slowly lower myself to the ground but with my stomach still sore - better, but sore - it didn't go well. Willa catching me was the only reason I didn't topple to the ground with a thud.

Clarice practically threw herself down after me. I tensed when her hands went straight for my shirt and lifted it to glance at the scar. Relief washed over her when she didn't find any blood oozing out of me. I told Willa to leave and she refused to do so, but Clarice told her to go, taking the older woman's spot in putting one arm around my waist and pulling my own around her shoulders.

"I can walk perfectly fine," I said to her as Melody trailed behind us as we made our way to the sidewalk.

"You're lying," she argued.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Your eyes look at the ground when you lie, which they just did when you claimed to be fine." I glanced at her, wondering if she really had been paying that close attention to me.

I didn't argue further, as my legs were having a little trouble keeping up the half of my weight that she wasn't taking off.

We helped where we could, our hands once again getting bloody and our faces smeared with whatever our hands touched, - salves, creams, elixirs - and wiped onto our faces unconsciously. My aching stomach soon became a faint thing and I was able to walk without relying on anyone. Clarice still kept one eye on me at all times, her eyes outright snapping to mine if I so much as twitched at a movement that had a small pain shooting up. She was always close, always finding a way to touch me as if reassuring herself that I was there and that I didn't get eaten alive.

Some people recognized us, others had no clue. Either way, we didn't care, we just helped. Clarice used her water to wash away the blood on the streets or on the floors of a home or shop. Her earth element provided the healers with whatever plants or roots they needed for a tonic or salve. She'd need them to describe in detail what it looked like in order to grow the items in her hand, though a picture from the small journals they carried around proved to be quicker.

While her powers helped cleanse things, mine had the rougher jobs.

The fire element cauterized all too many wounds than I thought could be possible until the healers could get to them. But it also kept lanterns and torches bright so people could work as the sun fell and then disappeared. It warmed the bodies of those who were cold and couldn't get their body temperatures up on their own or with the huddle of several other bodies around them.

A woman who saw me set my hands on fire and cauterize another woman's gaping arm ran over and started begging me to help. I got her to calm down just enough for her to lead me to a dress shop. She led me to the back and I found three women clinging to a single man, their legs and arms all intertwined to cover every part of his body. He was shaking furiously, and it wasn't until they untangled that I noticed the dark bruising to his stomach and back. I may have not taken many lessons with Siscilla, but I knew the signs of internal bleeding. There wasn't much I could do, but the women were all crying and waiting for me to pull a miracle. I had none, but seeing their shaking hands and frightened faces, I couldn't just stand there.

So I walked over to where he lay on the ground and placed my hands on his chest. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from flinching at how cold he was. Death was a thick blanket on him. I could see in his eyes that he knew that, and I knew that, but I could at least make it easier. So I forced the heat within my own body into his. I remembered how I once drained Clarice of heat when Thralia was burning, and all it took was me doing the opposite for his skin to gain heat. He stopped shaking, his breath evening out.

He whispered the words, "Thank you," and then he was gone.

Clarice burst into the room then, her eyes scanning me up and down before settling on the man. Her shoulders fell when she realized what had happened. The most reaction we could give after having already witnessed and felt dozens more before that. We gave our condolences to the women who didn't even know the man, and then we gently ushered them out and covered the man in a piece of fabric from one of the rolls against the wall before moving on to the next person.

It feels wrong to leave the bodies where they are and then walk away and move on to someone else. I gave my condolences more times than I could count. I held hands, held people as they cried, and tried not to cry myself, and whenever someone recovered and showed signs of survival, I would get myself drunk on it because I knew that there'd be more condolences, more tears, and more losses.

All this power and we can't save everyone, and that's beginning to take its toll. It's sagging our shoulders, lowering our chins, bringing bags beneath our eyes every time we try and fail or try and have to leave not knowing if they'll make it because someone else needs you just as much. All the wounds I cauterize, all the collapsed lungs I fill and stabilize so a healer can do the patchwork, leaves their scars on me. The smell of burned flesh goes from something I thought I'd never get used to, to something that I expected and welcomed walking up to someone who needed help. None of this should be normal. None of this should become a thing for anyone to get used to, expect, and not bat an eye at when it does happen.

For eight hours we went through the streets of the town. Eight hours of lighting lanterns, washing away the blood, pushing and pulling air into people's lungs to help them breathe, making poultices, and trying to find parents for wandering and frightened children. Eight hours we threw ourselves into the thrall of death until either the dead were carried away in carts pulled by mules, or the living and wounded were somewhere being watched over and taken care of. Eight hours of it, and we are just now wrapping up the night.

Clarice, Benny, and I walk out of the house of a family of three. They took in a woman who lost her hand, as well as the family we couldn't help locate their son. Sabetha, the mother of the house, holds her daughter, Beatriz, on her hip. Her husband, Fredrick, tucks both of them into his side as they stand in their doorway while we walk down their house steps and back onto the street. They slowly walk back inside after we wave our goodbyes and close the door behind them. My legs start shaking after that, and I realize that the adrenaline and distractions of the night have kept me from realizing my own body's fatigue. Clarice notices, of course, and doesn't hesitate to once again put her arm around my waist and pull mine around her shoulders.

"I'm fine," I tell her again.

"Stop looking at the floor then," she retorts, her voice coming out hoarse.

The others wait for us on the other side of the street, looking just as tired and mentally drained as us. The Ginerva don't, per usual. Their eyes carry the clear weight the night has brought, but their bodies still stand up straight, their heads still on a swivel and checking every dark corner and shadow.

Willa is the only one who speaks. "Siscilla took those with the most critical wounds back to Fernweh for further treatment. Everyone else has been taken in by the locals, all of which are frightened and have just about a hundred questions about what happened. They're wary of us. They only know of tales of who we are or who we may be, and seeing the Ginerva mist and the Maiestatis use their powers only made them more afraid."

I nod, already having figured as much.

"Some, however, see past that and though they have questions, they're accepting of our presence. One of those people is an inn owner, and he's offered you