As’rya felt as though the world were spinning. Staring at the sword, she took a deep breath and tried to come to grips with what this meant.

The queen had clearly sent the assassins. The princess knew how much her mother was disgusted by her powers, how much she despised her abilities. But she had never thought it reason enough to kill her. Did she really warrant this?

The new information was just too much, on top of everything else. Before she could sink to the ground and begin crying once more, her brain closed it off, to process a different day. Her fingers clenched the sword tightly as she tried to push down her rising emotions. Instead, she told herself to think about it after she had calmed down; it was time to decide what steps to take moving forward. She couldn't fall apart just because she knew who was after her.

Since she couldn’t find Dagger’s pack, she opened her own and rifled through it. As'rya set about bandaging the cut on her arm, using torn strips of a spare shirt for the wrap. The cut was shallow and she barely noticed the sting, mind busy while she did her best to wrap it. As she worked, she thought about the future.

She decided the best course of action would still be to go to Lysima. At best, she might find refuge with the royal family; after all, the marriage was surely still advantageous. If that wasn’t the case, then at the very least, she would be safe enough there to have some breathing room; enough time to decide on the best course. As’rya thought about how she’d go about hiding her identity if she needed to before shifting her thoughts. She had to get there first, and somehow avoid trained assassins by herself. That in and of itself was a large hurdle. Would it be better to travel at night, as she had been doing with Dagger?

The princess’s eyes strayed over at the man, who appeared to be quietly sleeping. As'rya had crossed his arms gently over his chest, covering the worst of the garish wound. His eyes were closed, his expression more relaxed than she’d ever seen; yet even in death, he looked solemn and somber. She wanted to wait here, bury him properly, and give him an honorable sendoff to the gods. The lack of a shovel, imminent danger, and rapidly approaching nightfall would make such a task impossible.

Instead, As'rya decided to pray to the gods, give him a gift of flowers, and to cover him as best as she could. Her conscience would have to make do with that. Even as she watched him, her eyes watered and she felt a pit in her stomach. All your fault, her conscience screamed at her. Unable to stay still any longer, As’rya took a quiet breath and stood.

Scouring nearby for blooms and ferns, the young woman quietly began a gentle song, the words in an old language near forgotten. The lullaby was short and sweet, one she had read in a book so old the pages were yellowed and frayed. Victoria had helped her translate the words, the princess remembered with a bittersweet smile. As As'rya picked delicate purple blossoms and orange petaled flowers, she prayed and sang, forming a small bouquet. After she had enough, she returned to the clearing where the vigilante lay. Bowing her head, the princess continued the lullaby as she approached, eyes closed. Stopping, As'rya finished the verse of the song and fell silent, praying sincerely one last time.

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'Please, whatever gods there are, please accept him, he is a good man who gave his life to protect mine. I ask you to forgive me for my failure, and give me the chance to redeem myself.'

Opening her eyes, the princess knelt to place the flowers in the man's hands when she let out a yelp and took a step back, before rushing forward and kneeling, looking closely at the figure.

Dagger was breathing? He was breathing!

Sure enough, she watched the small rise and fall of his chest, a bit ragged but steady enough. Baffled, her fingers reached out to his neck before she paused, remembering how his touch alone had been enough to end the assassins. She could see the slight flush of his cheeks and his repetitive breaths; that was enough to convince her he was okay, at least for now.

As'rya didn't know how, but he had survived death. No, he had come back from death.

Was this why he didn't want to talk about his power? The more she learned about him, the more the princess's curiosity grew. As did her determination to ask more and learn as much she could from him. Maybe if she could learn more about his abilities, she could understand her own power a bit more.

And maybe she wouldn't be so useless next time he needed help...

Her cheeks reddening as she glanced down at the bouquet in her hands, As'rya tossed the flowers to the side and sat down next to the man. Her anguish eased as she watched the rise and fall of his chest, though her guilt didn’t fully dissipate. But alongside it grew her determination to reveal some answers. In order to make it to Lysima, they would have to work together. He would have to trust her, at least a little bit.

She didn't know how long it would take, but As'rya was almost certain now that Dagger would wake up. When he did, she would be here, and this time, she would get the answers to her questions.

Pulling a book out of her pack, As'rya found a patch of shade and waited for the dead man to wake up.

******

Dagger was back in the void again.

He sighed, or whatever semblance of a sigh one could produce without a body. The first several times he had died and ended up here, he had been panicked and scared. Being unable to breathe, feel, see, hear, or anything, had been horribly disorientating and he was sure he was in purgatory.

That was, until the voice spoke to him.

The voice was just as disembodied as Dagger was in this place, but it seemed to reside here. At least, it was always there when Dagger arrived between his death and revival. Sometimes it was encouraging, sometimes it was bored, sometimes it was silent. But even when it remained taciturn, he could sense the other being within the nothingness.

Today, it seemed quite annoyed with him. It had ignored him for a while, save for the occasional derisive snort. Finally putting aside its petty anger, it decided to scold Dagger instead.

'Really, you seem to have this happen far too often', the voice said to him, as though it knew the events that led up to his visit.

'It wasn't my fault this time,' Dagger defended himself. He could feel the other presence shrug dismissively.

'You've already used that excuse before,' it scoffed. 'If you didn't misuse your powers, you could have had the situation handled instantly.'

'If I hadn't held back, the princess wouldn't have survived,' Dagger countered, but the voice spat back with contempt.

'A naive little grub, is what you are. You speak as though you know these things, but you flounder in the darkness just as much as the other grub.'

Before the vigilante had time to complain about being compared to a bug, he felt himself grow heavy, as though he were sinking through dark waters.

'You need to stop fighting the Beast,' the voice told him as it faded. 'You are running out of time.'

Feeling both like he was falling asleep and waking up once more, Dagger began to gain consciousness in the clearing.