Val groaned as raised voices roused her from her nap. Groggily, she raised a hand to shade the sun from her eyes and popped her head up to observe the commotion.

“I don’t give a shit what you think. I think it’s relevant!” yelled Bastian.

Bastian was using the butt of his spear to hold the door of Dorius’ gilded carriage open from his mount, riding next to it. Dorius, on the other hand, leaned out of the carriage in an attempt to pull the door shut, an out-of-season silk scarf wrapped around his neck. He slapped multiple times at the spear trying to dislodge it, but Bastian nimbly repositioned it each time, maintaining his upper hand.

Val sighed, and tried to maneuver the canvas tent sacks she was using as a bed to better support her head and horns. Based on the position of the sun it was mid-afternoon, she had slept for several hours at least.

She had been awake the entire previous night, even after they had several men positioned at the inn. In the morning they had met up with the entirety of their entourage, a near full squad of forty seven Phoenix Company men and women camped on the edge of town. In addition to Dorius’ carriage there were another four wagons, each pulled by a pair of fell bulls carrying supplies, clothing, tents and other odds and ends for their multi week journey. Another two dozen fell beasts were acting as mounts or being shepherded along the back of the procession, while a handful of pied talon steeds and scout riders were positioned throughout the line, and likely more travelling ahead of the Company. The mercenaries milled about, casually exchanging conversation and were walking or riding wagons. The fell beast marched no faster than a gentle walk and set a leisurely pace. Blue uniforms were completely discarded, with the exception of the few that were guiding Dorius’ carriage, most members instead wore at least the Company's leather vest with shoulder sigil, but many were more relaxed and dressed to personal preferences. Dorius returned to his embroidered robes, but had none of the extravagant jewelry he had worn to the meeting with his uncle, with the exception of a few rings. Bastian had found time to shave, and was dressed primarily in the Company’s mercenary leathers with a bright red undershirt.

Val had the back of one of the wagons to herself, where she had collapsed to nap off the past few days once they had cleared Ashtowne. Three mercenaries sat at the front of her wagon, including Hart, likely keeping guard over her while she rested.

“This is not the place for this discussion,” returned Dorius curtly.

“When is!?” snapped Bastian in response, determined to have his fight, “When you’ve had time to work out a more convenient version of the truth?”

“When there isn’t an audience!” hissed Dorius, gesturing around them.

“Servants beneath your dignity when it suits you then!” taunted Bastian.

Dorius kneaded his forehead with his fingers, “I didn’t say…”

“Paid mercs who should know their place!”

“Wha-”

“Little prince who thinks he’s so cunning, keeping his little secrets. You think they don't know what happened?” sneered Bastian.

Dorius snapped his mouth shut, brow furrowed as he drew sharply back into the carriage, “You want a night in a cell when we get back?” he threatened.

“Coward!” came Bastian’s defiant response, but he did withdraw his spear.

“Fuck off.”

The carriage door shut with a thud.

The awkward silence took several minutes to dissipate as mercenaries slowly returned to their own conversations.

Val stared at the sky, watching the clouds for a moment. She idly fingered the chip on her horn lost in thought, then resigned herself to forfeiting her fleeting moment of privacy.

She sat up and, legs tucked to one side, leaned on the side of the wagon. She still wore her leather jacket and blood stained shirt from the night before, her arm was lightly bandaged to keep the stitches clean.

Hart turned slightly from his seat to acknowledge she was up, and passed her a flask of water. She gladly took it and drank till she drained it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Val shook her head, and let one arm hang over the edge of the wagon, enjoying not being on duty for the first time in days. There was something peaceful being on the road again, with open skies and singing birds. Man-made places never felt quite natural to her, beds were too small, ceilings too low. Open places suited her better.

“I could use a change of clothes though,” she offered after a moment of contemplation. Looking down the line to identify the wagon that had their personal trunks. She stood, balanced herself a moment, and stepped gingerly over the packed tents to reach the end of the wagon and hop down. The bulls were slow marchers, and she easily outpaced them at a light jog. The mercenaries as she passed gave her curt nods of acknowledgement in deference to her rank. She made her way to the wagon she was looking for and vaulted herself up to the back of the wagon without needing it to stop.

Bastian spotted her and bought his mount up behind the wagon as she shuffled through the boxes. His beast was a familiar cow with a white and pink patch on her nose, an unusual feature on their solid brown-grey hides.

“You have fun?” Val asked, she didn’t look at him as she found her box and restacked things to pull it clear.

“What do you think?” he sniped in return, folding his arms. His spear and bow were both strapped on his mount's saddle, a quiver hanging in easy reach. He had his lighter bow with him, suited for shooting mounted, although she suspected his preferred heavier war bow was somewhere with their equipment.

Val turned with her trunk and sat it on her lap off the back of the wagon, legs hanging down, and leaned on the box with her head in her hands. Bastian was flush red with anger, his golden eyes dark beneath furrowed brows.

“You’re angry,” conceded Val.

“No shit.” He then seemed to soften for a moment, “Not at you.” His cow ambled unblinking, mindlessly following the wagon without prompting from her rider.

Val watched him from her hands for a moment longer, then sat up to pop the trunk open and unfold a clean flaxen shirt and fresh socks. Putting the trunk aside, she began to unlace her boots.

“I kept it secret too,” she admitted.

“You know what I mean. What would happen if you had said something?” he challenged.

Val stripped off her old socks and stretched her toes in the sun, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Bastian raised an eyebrow.

“Not cells at least,” she admitted.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He was right though. Her relationship with Dorius was… delicate. It had been easier as children, when there were no titles or responsibilities to one another, but their friendship had changed in the past several years as he began to navigate his birthright.

When the need for his protection was first broached, Val had been the obvious choice. Her combat experience was extensive, she had been a regular on Company contracts expecting messy work from her young teens when she had already reached the strength and size of a grown man. Her flashy horns and unforgettable appearance was the perfect fit for the image Dorius consciously set out to create. Their friendship was just the final puzzle piece, a strong foundation for the unquestionable trust they had with each other, necessary to navigate the complex knife edge Dorius set out to walk.

The role he had wanted her to fill - silent, brutish oaf - had come easy as a second skin. It was already what people expected when they saw her, her tentative shyness meant she rarely gave them anything else, and so she wore it the same as armor when she prepared for any other Company work. Only those who knew her before her early teens knew someone different. She had appeared almost like any other child then, a little chunkier, but not a bad thing for the rough and tumble children who grew up in the mercenary band, and the chin horns had only been odd little stumps at the time, passable as any other Fae’s irregularity. It was only as puberty hit in her early teens that the differences had become stark, she’d put on height and muscles faster than any boy and the upper horns grew in from nothing as a brutal crown. Physical differences, a shift in perception from others, teen awkwardness, and unforgiving conditioning on the road and in combat, had tucked away the little girl - and so the skin fit when it was asked as an act, and it had grown comfortable since.

Through time the balance of power in their friendship had shifted to Dorius inch by inch, she had slowly tucked more and more away, giving herself to his cause unconsciously. She saw all of his failures and miss-steps as often as his successes, there was almost nothing they didn’t share. And the weight of the burden had grown. She had imperceptibly become so entangled in him that by the time she could identify it, it was too late for her to withdraw herself had she wanted to. Dorius would have no one else fill her shoes, and he was self-conscious enough that his small gestures of thanks and concern - genuine reflections of their underlying friendship - wracked her with enough guilt that leaving his side was not an option for her, even had she somewhere to go that would not have put her solely to bloody work.

Sharing any of their partnership, even with Bastian, would have been a betrayal. And they both knew it.

At least the burden of this secret could be eased now. Bastian was one of the few people she felt at ease with, and she envied his quick emotions and easy confidence - such a stark contrast to her own hesitancy. It helped that he had been the third member of their trio as kids, knowing her before she had the horns.

“The first time I’m not even sure it was meant for him,” she offered in explanation, unbidden, pulling on the clean socks. The simple pleasure of clean fabric cleansed her of myriad tensions from the previous days, and she swung her feet, childlike, from the wagon. “There had been a last minute rearranging of the apartments in the capital, it honestly could have been for any of the family. A servant was caught adding something to the wine, everyone pointed fingers for a day or so, you know, no one owned up to anything.”

“The Ivory didn’t investigate?” asked Bastian.

Val shrugged, “Oh they did, in their own way. You’ve not seen how that family is. Seemed more like business as usual, on the surface. We didn’t have the means to discreetly investigate any further than what was public, Dorius was so new to it then.”

“The second time was odder still,” she continued, “A fight broke out in the commons of some eating house we were at, spilled into the back rooms. I ended up beating half of them into a pulp before the guard showed up. When they started packing them all off to sober up in the cells overnight, one was dead - killed himself like the guy last night with a hollow tooth full of poison.”

She stripped her jacket off as she spoke, inspecting the blood staining on her shirt underneath and making a face when she realized how much she stunk. There were a few dark streaks on the linen, smeared on when she had grabbed it before the surgeon had cleaned her up, but it was still likely ruined. Her blood didn’t wash out easily. “So… it was just complicated, prior to last night I would not have given either event much thought” she concluded.

The corner of Bastian’s mouth twitched, “Don’t defend the bastard.”

“I’m not… or well, it’s my job,” she stumbled over her words, “I might have done the same thing, if it were me,” was what she settled on, feeling guilty.

“Did Elias know?” he asked.

Val shook her head, and began to unlace her shirt, “He was there for the first, the second I don’t think Dorius told him. It just seemed odd at the time.” She pulled the shirt fully off over her horns, leaving only her breast wrap on, and tossed it to her side. Feeling lighter, she stretched her arms overhead in the sun, shoulder and back muscles rippling. She was lean for her size, every angle of her musculature was prominent and in places oddly proportioned compared to a human. Even if one could match her height, she was typically bulkier, especially her neck and shoulders from the added weight of her horns. She felt closer physically to one of the fell bulls pulling the wagons than humans some days.

Bastian studied her for only a moment, his expression unreadable to her - despite wearing his emotions on his sleeve, he was also highly adept at hiding his thoughts when he wanted. Likely, he was processing the news more logically now, considering the implications for their safety and maneuvering, especially the grim news of the shared cause of death that spoke to pattern. Then he turned his head to suddenly take interest in something in the forest while she stretched. Val shook out the clean shirt and negotiated threading her horns through it, Bastian turning back to continue the conversation when she was mostly covered again.

“Dorius has not been as adept as he thought,” he finally mused, the mystery beginning to distract him from his tension. Val nodded. “Which of his cousins could he pose such a threat to though? Or who would be well resourced enough to see something the others don’t?” he wondered to her.

Val tilted her head in consideration of all she had observed through the years at Dorius side, then held up three fingers. “Synthias and Matthias are the obvious options. The power they hold would make them the boldest but they are both sophisticated, this seems beneath them. Sylus, I think, would have the strongest motivations. He and Dorius are alike, both relatively distant from the crown, both drawn to schemes. He may view Dorius’ gradual return to the family as some kind of threat. He’s also better at it than Dorius, he’s had more practice at least.”

Bastian’s anger seemed to linger still, but the target he really wanted to fight with had withdrawn itself, so it mostly ebbed away now. His tempers never lasted long, and were usually taken in good humor. People just liked Bastian. The other mercenaries flocked to his side to drink or play cards or sing dirty ballads while they travelled. His smooth charm often had him fill roles for the Company interacting directly with clients, and he had picked up the graces and mannerisms to navigate between social ranks easily.

Dorius had put him to work, just as much as Val. Not all situations called for raw muscle. Charming smiles, easy conversation, a handsome face, all opened doors or distracted as needed. Again, their childhood friendship had built the foundation for those Dorius pulled into his inner circle, he had needed retainers he could trust more than anything. But, it was still different than with her and Dorius. Val was well aware that while the three of them had been close companions as children, Bastian likely felt it was he who was being left behind now.

Boots laced again, she dropped off the wagon to walk at Bastian’s side. He smirked and grabbed one of her horns from saddleback, and she let him jostle her about with it one handed. She blushed slightly, and swatted him away. He was the only person who casually touched her horns, in part because he was usually the only person tall enough to reach them.

When they were children and she only had the two behind her jawline, they had been just as thick as they were now, but much shorter and blunt. They told her they found her on a contract protecting a village from wild Fae raids. Normally, Fae had no language, hunting in wolf-like packs on the edges of civilization. Odd mixes of humanoid and beast, with scales and horns, feathers and fur - said to be remnants of lost magics that had once let users change shape at will.

She had been left behind by the pack when they cleared them out of their encampment on the edge of the rocky desert plateaus to the far south, a toddler screaming and crying enough human-sounding words that Dorius’ father had refused to let them kill her. Fae-touched, the name given to those with the capability of language, were sometimes born to human parents - just as children were sometimes born with eyes or skin tones unlike their parents, but remnant from a distant great grandparent. It was assumed some of the old magic had lingered just enough to express in these rare children. Often their distinctions were subtle mutations - shortened limbs, scales in a few patches on the elbow and knees, slight webbing to the fingers.

More rarely, and often as the product of abduction and rape by both human and Fae alike, half breeds with one wild parent were born. They often inherited just enough humanity for socializing young, if fate meant they were raised as such, but significantly more of the wild traits and its odd enhancements - thus was Val assumed to be. The benefits of her exact mix and its usefulness to a band of mercenaries had obviously not been known at the time though. It was Dorius’ uncle on his father’s side, Hart - who seemed to be forever picking up after his brother’s messes - who had filled the role of parent for her and Dorius’ mother who had named her Valina, before her passing.

Val stretched overhead again, her load considerably lightened now it was shared. There was several weeks march till Southold. To make the most of the day, there would likely be no breaks from dawn till dusk, but they did not expect any interruption or danger. These highways were commonly travelled. In the warm summer nights it was unlikely they would even pitch tents for most of the Company, to facilitate rapid progress each morning.

In somewhat good fortune for her, it was unlikely that Dorius would leave his brooding, at least for today, she was a good judge of his mood. She would be called to wait upon him once he’d settled again, likely to use her as a shield against Bastian. She didn’t overly mind, staying busy at his side was an easy excuse to keep her distance from the rest of the mercenaries. Till then, she might enjoy some time to herself.