Prologue

Trees rose above a fog, holding the midnight sky on coniferous pillars. Within the forest maze, Varith collected fallen twigs for the campfire.

He took his time, finding damp twigs, not too wet, but not completely dry. The perfect amount of moisture for the perfect amount of irritation. A smile grew on his face as he thought of it, warming him unlike any fire. Plucking a few more off the ground, he composed himself and walked back to camp.

Taliesin blew on kindling—tiny forest needles, yellow moss, and dried sap he scraped off a tree. An ember, like a growing heartbeat, caught the moss and burst in flame.

Varith exaggerated heavy breaths and dropped his twigs near Taliesin. “Here, I gathered them as fast as I could,” he said.

“Thanks,” Taliesin replied, grabbing a twig. He paused, pinching the moist twigs. “These are—” Taliesin was disarmed by Varith’s innocent look—one that begged for praise. “These are fine.” He prepared moss around the smaller twigs and placed them over the fire. Smoke erupted out of the damp twigs, causing him to cough.

In one hand, Leiren held a dead hare, and with the other she lifted one of the twigs. “I thought collecting firewood would be the perfect task for you,” she groaned.

“I found the best I could.” Varith hid a snicker by coughing afterwards.

“We’ll need water,” Taliesin said.

Leiren pulled out a blade. “Once I’m done with this hare, I can get some.”

“I’m not busy,” Varith said.

Leiren stopped mid-cut and side-eyed him. “It’s fine. I’ll be quick.” She patted the dirt. “Here. Warm this patch of dirt for me.” She continued the skinning, her cuts fluid as bends in a stream—though, Varith would sooner cut out his tongue than mutter a word of flattery.

“You and I, we think alike.” Varith flashed a teasing smile and sat on the dirt. “We’re not so different after all.”

Bones crunched from the dead hare, and Leiren tore off a leg. She spoke through clenched teeth. “Perhaps not.”

“I forgot to mention,” Varith said, “I filled the waterskins earlier. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

Taliesin coughed some more, then poured the water in the pot. “Yes. It must’ve.”

Varith stretched out on the dirt. “Say, Leiren,” he said, “aren’t you tired of sleeping in the dirt? There’s a town nearby I’ve heard of. Doonmoth, or—”

“Dunmouth,” she muttered.

“Ah, that’s it. I’ve heard their mead and small beer is to die for.”

Leiren tilted her head at the sound of mead. “I’m tired of sleeping near you. Maybe four walls can block out your smug—”

“I don’t know,” Taliesin interrupted, setting a metal pot over the fire. “It might be faster to travel straight through the woods.”

“We’re way past the blight now,” Varith said. “I think I deserve— I mean, we deserve a break.”

Leiren scoffed. But after placing the meat in the water, she settled in a cushion of dirt. “I would like some real food,” she said. “Not food that I have to find.”

Taliesin scratched his head. “Let’s sleep on it.”

“It’s fine if not,” Varith sighed and smacked his lips. “I think I’m just hungry. I can’t stop thinking about honeyed mead.” Varith moaned, “Ah, when mixed with *real *soft bread and fattened venison stew.” His eyes flicked to his companions, waiting for them to linger on the thought. “But alas, if going through the forest is faster, then we cannot afford such luxuries.”

Leiren swallowed and stayed silent.

Once the soup finished cooking, Varith watched his companions. Their deadpan expressions as they ate their food, their eyes glazing over, wishing the fire was a little warmer, the food a little tastier.

He watched Taliesin. After a thought, Taliesin would clench his jaw and softly shake his head, as if stuck in a neverending argument. Constantly, Taliesin rolled his shoulder—either an itch he couldn’t reach, or a soreness that never eased. Whenever asked, he would always change his answer, a scar, a bruise, or some forest item wedged between his skin and clothes.

Varith’s smirk faded and he glanced over to Leiren. She watched Taliesin too, almost wincing along with him.

Without a doubt, Varith knew he’d be caught lying—only heard of Dunmouth. But Taliesin deserved answers. Answers to a question Taliesin was too afraid ask. If not for Varith’s efforts, Taliesin would hide in that fear until it hollowed him to the core.