Gods and their Saints my head hurts, but not nearly as much as my stomach that rushes too quick to life as I wake. It swishes and gurgles, pushing upward with a kick that has my throat beginning to ache.

I try pushing away from the body that holds me to their chest, but my limbs are weak and don't give more than a poke. I faintly hear someone's voice, but I can't make out their words. My stomach only angers more, and I shove harder, this time moving my legs to make it more difficult for them to hold onto me, and they do try. One elbow to the gut has me twisting and falling, hitting the ground with a thud.

My throat gives in and everything comes rushing out, stinging my nose with its scent. Whoever was holding me pulls my hair from my face and lays a hand on my back. Their touch feels like the sun, but it's comforting, soothing my shaking and cold body.

I marvel at just how much my stomach lets out before slowly and aggressively settling back down. The moment it does the world comes rushing back into focus.

There's grass beneath my hands, dirt clenched in them. The sun's out, and a small breeze caresses the skin that feels all too achy and tingly to allow me to find equilibrium. I glance in my peripheral, spotting the familiar moonlit hair and shamrock eyes. Pepito constantly having to take care of my ailing body is beginning to become embarrassing. I swear I'm not always like this, only just recently have I been more bruised and battered within such a short period of time. Or, a short amount of time, in a sense.

I put my hand on his knee and try to raise myself to my feet, but my head tilts, and my body quivers, resulting in me doing nothing more than falling back against him. I'm going to have to kick his ass again just to rid this image from his mind. He ends up sitting down fully himself, his arms hanging loosely around me. If I could, I'd shove them away, but I'm too tired to do so and let my head rest against his shoulder instead.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice the sound of sandpaper thanks to the vomit. My throat stings with the words too, making my gag reflex want to kick in but I kick it back into settlement.

"You got us through the barrier."

Saints I could cry. "Thank the Gods, because I will not be doing that again."

"You won't have to." Despite our dislike for each other, I don't stop him when he rests his chin on top of my head. I think it's the fatigue getting to my head, but I find the action all too calming and comforting. That and our trek from his cabin to doing what we thought wouldn't be possible was well worth it.

We did it, and I think we're both taking time to process that. I don't know what I would've done if I failed and locked myself in another prison like an idiot again.

Slowing my breathing, I look around and take in our surroundings. Last I recall, we were headed to the village a few miles from the barrier. I don't see the village now, only a hill and the peaks of mountains faded against the clear blue sky. "Where are we?"

"Eight miles from the barrier. I stopped in the village for two hours to see what news there was of the kingdom."

"And?"

"Nothing good."

"Peachy." I knew the good moment was too good to be true for long.

"The capital is just over that hill. We'll reach it by midday."

I look back at the hill, wishing that my power was working so I could just mist us over there, but I'm a bit burned out. I hate my life. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Five hours." It felt shorter than that. "We can get to the capital in another two at a good pace."

I nod, not wanting to but forcing myself to stand. I manage to get to my feet with my eyes closed to focus. The second I open my eyes I'm tilting sideways again. Pepito's there, steadying me once more. He goes to pick me up again, but I stop him before he can.

"Don't even think about it."

"You can barely stand, let alone walk," he argues. His hands don't leave my shoulder and hip. It aggravates me to a point that I wish my body was on fire if only to burn him.

"I refuse to be carried again."

"Fine." He steps back, crossing his arms and waiting for me to prove that I can, indeed, walk on my own. I feel myself already swaying again, knowing that one step would have me back on the ground. "Something wrong?"

"Shut the fuck up and help me, you oversized oaf - but don't pick me up," I order.

He smiles smugly and walks back over, putting one hand against my back and the other arm beneath my own for support. My steps are slow and shaky, but he doesn't complain as we make our way up the rest of the hill. The breeze grows stronger the higher we climb until it blows my hair into my face. I shove it aside as we get to the top, stopping to look down at what could only be a city of gold.

The whole capital is lit in golden hues, the sun's rays reflecting off of the rooftops and turning the city into a thing of fantasy. The capital is absolutely enormous, spreading several miles across its diameter as Pepito said. The palace itself is...breathtaking. Its outer wall starts short, the towers And turrets growing taller and taller with each layer until the one in its center is left overlooking it all. White flags decorate their peaks, tainted yellow from the sunlight. The palace could be the size of Kelaya, Thralia's little island.

"Welcome to Inara. The Sun City."

Sun City indeed.

"It's fucking massive."

"And it'll take a good portion of our day to get through," he says. "We'd make better time if you'd let me carry you."

My awestruck face turns hard. I don't like being carried, but he's right. There's a difference between a five-mile straight walk across a valley, versus a five-mile walk of weaving in and out of streets and slow traffic. I don't know what day it is here, which means finding that out is a top priority. For all I know I have until tonight to get the rulers here to Cadorelin. We need to move fast and get into that palace as soon as possible, and my legs are already begging for rest from the meager twenty-five-yard walk I just did.

"Don't get used to this," I tell him.

He fights a smile, hiding it as he turns around and crouches down slightly. I stare daggers into his spine, putting my arms over his shoulders. He takes hold of my legs, easily standing despite the extra weight on his back. Daunting as this is, I suppose it could be worse. Rohana could mist right in front of us with fury on her face and curses already spitting from her tongue.

Gods I miss her.

We've only been walking no more than ten minutes when a yawn creeps its way up. I try smothering it, but another instantly follows that I can't hide. He takes notice, and I glare at him in a warning which he ignores.

"You should rest now while you have a chance."

"I already rested for five hours."

"Then rest for two more. You'll be no use to anyone half asleep."

I'm beginning to get annoyed with just how many times he's already been right since I've woken. Of all people, I know the importance of conserving energy, but my mind is too busy to allow me to fall back asleep unless I get hit in the head hard enough. By the time my eyelids finally start to droop, we'll have reached the edge of the city. There's no use in trying to rest. The best I can do is try to rid of the yawn by distracting my mind even further.

"Tell me about the Sun City," I tell him. He gives me an annoyed glance, but he doesn't argue further. At least he's learning just how stubborn I am.

"The capital is the largest populated city in the entire continent. Its sectioned into five rings, each named after one of the Goddesses Supreme. The largest ring is called Táhirih's Halo, home to the misfortunate yet kind-hearted. The fourth ring, simply named Chryseis, is home to the eccentric. The people there wear bright colors and are always singing and dancing and covered in various perfumes and paints. The Pantheon of Marzena is the third ring, also referred to as the Scholar's Circle. Anyone of educational interests resides in this ring. Temples, tombs, and cathedrals rise above Chryseis, rather dull next to the larger ring's life. Surrounding the castle is Merinda's Gird. Home of the plenty. It's where those of the highest wealth and nobility built their audacious homes. It's the thickest of the rings, as the nobles don't like their homes touching that of another's."

"Self-righteous animals," I sneer.

"I will not argue with that statement," he agrees, smirking a little. "The last ring is that which holds The White Palace. Amara's Script. The Rajni resides there for his entire rule, only venturing outside of it for an important event or to travel."

"How come it's called the White Palace if it's gold?" I ask, stifling another yawn.

"The palace walls were built with white stone that takes in the color and heat of the sun and reflects it upon the city. It's why everything looks to be made of gold. A practical illusion to fool the eye and make it seem as if the Goddesses themselves created the city. From far away the illusion works, but as you get closer, the illusion reveals itself one ring at a time."

"So it's a lie?"

His cheek lifts itself a bit more. "Some of it, yes."

"Much like its oh so righteous committee, it seems." This time a full smile breaks across his face. Satisfaction fills me, and I already feel my fatigue slowly lifting.

I haven't been awake long, but I can already see a difference in him. He's...relaxed. Where in the forest he kept his stature stiff and exterior hardened and cold, he now seems...awake. He smiles easier, walks on lighter feet, his breathing seems more evenly patterned, and he has this look in his eyes as he stares out at the city that just screams home. After a month and some cycles spent with him, I do have to admit that I like seeing him like this.

Maybe he'll be more tolerable now.

I don't think it was the forest and its sentencing upon its willing and unwilling residents that caused him to be so infuriating, and despite the sunlight's softening of his features that used to be cast in sharp line and dark cuts, I don't see that eager desire there anymore. The one that would hint to a man's deepest wish to return to those of who he loves. It's just the city, which makes me even more curious. If he's not eager to return to family or friends or that unnamed lover I still fear of accidentally running into, it begs the question of if there were any to start with. And if not, then why? What happened?

Not wanting to change his rather rare happy mood, I look back at the tall towers in the city's center and think of the committee that sentenced him to the hell hole in the first place.

"Speaking of which...have any advice which I can use when addressing them?"

"You could try to be pleasant," he offers without hesitation.

"I am pleasant." He gives me a disagreeing look and I raise my fist to punch him.

"Unless you want me to drop you and leave you to crawl the rest of the way, I suggest you keep your fist to yourself." Glaring, I ease my fingers to relax. It doesn't, however, stop me from grabbing his ear and yanking on it. "Ow!"

"Don't fuck with me," I warn him.

"You do realize that you're just proving my point."

"Fuck off." He laughs, the rumble annoyingly vibrating from his chest to mine.
Saints this city has him laughing - actually laughing. I almost gawk at the rather alluring sound. But then again, the violent part of me knows that if I could, I'd summon a blade and stab him, but my power is still nothing more than a weak whisper.

We continue our trek to the false Sun City, him answering my questions about the rings and their inhabitants. I constantly try and fail to prove to him that I am indeed a pleasant person. It's just so damn hard to be pleasant when the person you're conversing with is a surprisingly cocky and annoying prick of a bastard. And yes, I did call him that. And yes, he laughed.

Asshole.

We pause just outside of Táhirih's Halo, leaning against an older building that had the least amount of people near it. He looks around the corner, watching people pass while I shake out my legs with a hand braced on the wall. My stomach starts to grumble, but at least my legs feel strong enough to walk on my own now.

I go to find something to eat in my pack when I realize that I'm not wearing my pack, and neither is he. "Where in ten hells are our packs?"

"I left them in the village," he answers, eyes still scanning the street.

He - what? "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because there was no need for them."

"No need? I'm fucking starving."

"Check your pocket."

Cursing under my breath I shove my hand into my pockets, stopping when one hand finds something warm in it. I pull out a piece of bread, seasoned with something on top. Throwing a middle finger to the back of his head, I shove the bread in my mouth and chew it bitterly, though its contents are rather sweet and delicious. It has no right being so fucking good.

"Are we ever going to actually enter the city, or are we just admiring it from afar?" I ask, swallowing the last of the bread. I do hope he saved some for himself because I didn't save him any, and I tend to turn feral when I'm tired, hungry, and irritated.

"We can't just walk through the city looking like this," he says, still not moving his gaze from the street.

"What's wrong with the way we look?"

He finally turns back around, looking at me as if I've asked a rather stupid question. "You're a foreigner. No foreigners have ever made it past the barrier, and you've got rather outstanding characteristics compared to the rest of ours."

I give him a sultry smile, not having taken him as a flirt. "Why thank you."

"It's not a compliment." I'm going to stab him. Hard. "Everyone will know my face. News of us traveling through the city together will spread until someone on the committee eventually finds out-"

"Good."

"No. Not good. They'll kill us before hearing a word either of us has to say. The last thing the committee members like are defiant people. They'll want to snuff out the rumors as soon as possible."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Fly to the fucking palace?"

He hesitates, looking me up and down all too quickly to be flattering. "You can fly?"

I roll my eyes, amazed at just how naive he can be sometimes. "No, you imbecile. I can't fly."

"Pity. You would've finally been useful for something for once."

This time I do swing, coming so close to giving him another black eye if it weren't for his quick reflexes. "Last I checked, you would still be in that cursed forest if it weren't for me, asshole. Now let go of my hand."

He does, returning my withering glare. "We need to find new clothes without being spotted."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" I push around him, walking down the street.

He stumbles behind me in his attempt to catch up. "What are you doing?" He whispers despite there only being two people on the street. Both of which look thoroughly intoxicated and show no sign of waking at any moment. Or they're dead. I can't tell.

"Calling upon my rebellious teenage self." His brows knit together, and I smile, turning into an alleyway and following the rough map he described.

Táhirih's Halo is for the misfortunate yet kind-hearted. Nice as they sound, I don't think they'll just give what little clothes they have to us for free, and neither of us has currency to pay them for it. Much as I hate to do so, stealing is the only way we'll get what we need, and when I turned twelve, I learned from an orphan boy how to unknowingly slip into someone's pocket or pull a whole sheet off a clothesline without being noticed.

As we weave through the alleys I follow the sound of children playing. Where there are children there are mothers who do laundry and hang it so that the clothes can dry while they complete other tasks. The women's eyes will be on their children and their task, not their clothes.

Within a few minutes, I spot a low-hanging clothesline with a blouse and jacket hanging on it. They look dry enough, and they're plain enough to not be noticed as we venture deeper into the heart of the city.

I keep at a casual pace, one eye on the children and the other on their mother who folds what laundry has already dried in the window of the small home. She does end up spotting us heading her way, so I give her a broad smile and a wave which she returns before turning back to her chore. I glance at Pepito, glad that he was watching the children play, and didn't notice the woman's gaze. If he did, I have a feeling he would have given us away entirely.

Drumming my fingers on my thumb, I chuck off my old jacket and toss it into a puddle in the shadows, tucking the back of my shirt into my pants.

"What are you-"

"Shh."

I wait for a second more to make sure the woman still isn't looking before slipping my arms beneath my shirt, my hands poking out of its lower rim. In one swift movement mid-stride, the old shirt is thrown over my head and the damp blouse slips over me easily. The jacket already gripped in my hand goes on quickly and cloaks my face in shadows with its hood as I grab my old shirt hanging from the back of my pants, and toss it into the gutter. It disappears as if it never existed.

I can't help the smile that creeps onto my face. I've always loved the feeling the adrenaline gives me. Now I feel alive.

"Where in heathens did you learn that?" Pepito asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"Stop looking back," I snap. "Do you want to look guilty? And I learned it back home from a boy who died fifty years ago."

"Fifty years ago? But that would make you-"

"One-hundred and thirty-eight years old. Soon to be thirty-nine actually," I correct, roughly doing some sketchy math.

He stutters, trying to grasp the concept that I'm far older than he likely thought. I let him struggle, searching for a clothesline that has clothes big enough to fit his large rhino-shaped ass.

"But you weren't trapped in the forest for more than a cycle. How could you be one-hundred and thirty-eight?"

"I'm an immortal, genius. Hence the hot as fuck body despite the wrinkly age. How old are you?" I ask, realizing that I had not yet guessed nor asked.

"Twenty-four," he answers, clearly still needing a minute to grasp the whole extended lifetime thing.

"Ha! I've lived five of your singular life." My smile suddenly falls as realization smacks me in the face. "Shit. I really am old. Oh, heads up."

I spot a large shirt, slowing my pace slightly as I head for it. I let my eyes wander, pretending to be nothing more than another misfortunate woman taking a mid-afternoon stroll. A few more people walk the streets, which means we're making our way towards the center of the city. My eyes snatch on a cloak that someone carelessly discarded on a rusted gate. A glance at Pepito's matching brown shirt, and I know it'll be an easy enough grab.

We go to the shirt first, and I purposefully walk in front of him. "Don't look back," I remind him.

Using his height as cover, I reach up and slip the shirt off the clothesline easily before walking into the darker part of the alley. I toss the shirt to him and he wordlessly pulls off his old one and tugs on the other. I take his old one and am gone before he can pull his head through the new one. Within the minute I have the cloak in my hand and return to him with a smirk.

"Easy picking." He glares at the cloak