“I’ve had an interesting day,” announced Bastian as he returned to the tent in the early afternoon, bow slung across his shoulders.

“As have we,” replied Val, who was sitting on the trunk poking the fire with a stick.

“Where’s Dorn?” Bastian returned his bow to the wagon and took a canvas tarp which he shook out to place on the ground. Val nodded her head in the direction of the tent in answer to his question. He plopped himself down on the tarp and stretched his legs in front of him, “Ahh, I’m tired.”

Val passed him a flask, which Bastian took and gave a sniff, “Anything fun?”

Val rolled her eyes, “It’s water.”

“Hmph,” but he still took a long drink, “Well you go first. I’m dying to know what excitement came of waiting at the tent.”

Val snatched the flask back off him, which earned a grin. She gave him a stern look in return.

“Seems the Vigilants may have been manipulating the pilgrims,” she offered.

Bastian’s mouth fell open, but not in shock at the revelation. “Watcher! I spend the day on my feet and you get to my juicy little discovery all on your own!”

Val tilted her head slightly, “How’d you find out?”

Bastian drew his legs in to begin undoing his boots, “Seem’d a bit odd this whole thing. Like everyone was just missing the point of what they were trying to achieve. Had a chat with the snake that pretty much confirmed it.”

“You snuck into his camp?”

“Relax, he already knew there was something suspicious about us after last night, and he hasn’t seen Dorn.” Bastian paused for a moment, discarding one of his boots to the side, “Val… can we talk?”

Val raised her head to look at him properly, his golden eyes were more serious than usual. As she opened her mouth to respond, Dorius emerged from the tent with the novel he was reading in hand.

“You’re back. We need to prepare for tonight,” Dorius announced, snapping the book shut.

Bastian looked over his shoulder at Dorius, his comment to Val seemingly forgotten, “Prepare for what? What happened here?”

Dorius lowered his voice, “A Vigilant stopped by, we’ve been invited for an audience. We will enter the gate at the bells. You will need to get us close and then wait here with the wagon.”

Bastian scrambled to his feet, one foot naked, “Wait, what?”

“Val and I will go to meet with the Prime.”

“No, no... I’ll come back to the other thing. But first, Val should wait here, not me,” Bastian threw a hand in her general direction, “We can’t possibly sneak her in. You and I would blend with the hunters.”

“I agree,” added Val mildly.

Dorius shook his head, “It will be Val.”

Bastian seemed unusually put off by this order, “Someone will notice, you’ll start a brawl once the other pilgrims realize. Let me come instead,” his tone edged on pleading.

Bastian looked at Val for back up, but she shrugged her shoulders now the order had been given. “I trust you,” she muttered to Dorius, and returned to poking about the fire.

“Dori-... Dorn, I insist.”

“Enough,” Dorius finished the argument in a low voice, “I will not have Val left alone here.”

Bastian frowned, but he knew this was not the time for further prodding on the matter. He sat back down, huffed a huge sigh and rubbed his forehead with the palms of both hands.

“And you said a Vigilant came here?” he asked after a moment to collect himself.

Dorius and Bastian traded stories of the day, voices low. Val listened idly, none of the details catching her interest. When Dorius felt sufficiently updated, he rose to return to his tent and finished with, “I will expect your arrangements then.”

Bastian looked defeated sitting on the tarp. He sat cross legged and barefoot, hands together in a fist pressed to his mouth, and seemed to think for several minutes. Val watched him curiously, uncertain if he would broach the topic he had started before Dorius had interrupted them earlier. Whatever it had been, it seemed lost now in the whirlwind of thought as he considered his new orders.

After a long wait he rose to his feet, and approached the wagon, rummaging through the supplies.

“Val, come help me with this?” he called.

Val got to her feet and came to his side, he passed a polished bronze mirror to her, “Hold this for me.”

She held the mirror up, and looking in it he grabbed her wrist to adjust the angle to his liking. Wetting his hand then face, he scrubbed his chin with a bar of soap and drew a razor to shave the stubble. Only once he had started the first stroke of the blade, did he speak again.

“Are you happy here?”

Val started at the odd question, pulling back. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist again, and he steadied the mirror where his gaze remained as he continued to shave.

“What sort of question is that?” she muttered, her voice low so Dorius would not overhear.

“An honest one.”

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His hand remained strong on her wrist. She could have easily broken free of him, but did not. Bastian flicked his other hand to dislodge soap from the blade and continued his work.

“I don’t think happy or not matters. Where else would I go?”

This wasn’t an answer Bastian wanted to hear, and he looked up at her for the first time since he had trapped her. “Could you go? If you wanted?”

Val frowned, uncertain under his gaze, “I don’t understand what you are asking. I could join another mercenary company, I suppose, or get new work as a bodyguard.”

“And nothing keeps you here?”

“Nothing? You and Dorius keep me here.” She felt safe to say his name in their hushed conversation.

Bastian released her wrist finally, and she pulled back now she was free.

“I just…” he started, jaw half shaven, “I heard some odd things.”

“Heard what?” she demanded, “about the horned Fae?” she inferred.

Bastian drew close, grabbing a chin horn to draw her head down to his level.

“I’d rather you learn this from a friend.”

Val waited. With a ragged breath he spoke in a rush, “I think you and the horned Fae are of a similar species, and you might not be a half-breed like we thought. But the hunters told some odd stories, that they make contracts in service to others and are bound by them. I don’t… I’m worried about you.”

Val did not move, and slowly exhaled. The tip of Bastian’s finger on her horn brushed her chin and he paused, then withdrew his hand. She pulled away from him, and turned her head so she wouldn’t have to see whatever expression his eyes made at her.

“They serve the Vigilants, you may learn it yourself tonight,” he finished. His hand made a movement to reach for her again, but he thought better.

“You didn’t want me to go,” she accused, drawing the connection.

Bastian sighed, and opened his free hand to ask for the mirror back. “No, but… not because of this. You are very hard to hide.”

Val handed him the mirror, and he turned sideways to finish shaving.

“I am not bound if that is what you imply,” she reassured, then with more firmness, “And despite what Dorn might think, I’m not in danger of setting this camp on fire.”

“Dorn is a cad, you should ignore him.” Bastian turned the mirror about his head to inspect his shave.

Val snorted at the remark, just as Bastian tossed the mirror back into the wagon.

“Look,” he seemed uncertain of his words, “Be careful, they might not be what you think they are.”

Val tensed, her voice was neutral still but her brows had tightened, “Not what I think? What do you know of what I think?”

Bastian flinched, realizing he had chosen his words poorly, as he opened his mouth to backtrack she continued in a hiss. “I think I know how to take care of myself. I think that I would know more than you about the risks of getting my own feelings hurt. Don’t assume you know more than you do.”

"Don't assume? I'm not assuming anything. I'm looking out for you here," he sniped in a hushed voice, his manner instantly shifting to frustration.

"Well don't."

"Don't be bull-headed about this!"

"Ha!" croaked Val and tossed her hands in the air. She had no more interest in whatever conversation Bastian was trying to trap her in, and spun to leave.

—

Val spotted the Vigilant first, waiting among the pilgrims on the edge of the community, and gestured to Bastian and Dorius. The Vigilant rose from their seat as they joined them, and looked towards the gate in anticipation.

“The bells will begin soon,” they announced meaningfully. Their voice was like spun silk, the sweet honey had returned to it.

Bastian fussed with Dorius’ hood, his concern almost motherly. They had dressed him in Bastian’s mercenary leathers - Dorius had not bought his own. With sigils removed it was a close approximation of the practical garb of the hunters and would help to blend him.

“You will go first, go right to the front of the waiting hunters, be the first one through if you can,” Bastian instructed, “Val is your decoy. When she enters, eyes will be on her. If we play it right, we might convince everyone that this is an exception made for Fae only.”

Dorius looked at the Vigilant meaningfully, “And if I am spotted?”

The Vigilant shrugged, “The bells anew the compulsion, there is no better time to try than this.”

As if on command, the first bell tolled. Val’s back straightened as its pure tone faded and the buzzing returned to her mind. It hovered on the trailing edge of the notes, as if it was using the sound as its vehicle throughout the valley. The gate groaned.

“Go, go!” hissed Bastian, pushing Dorius forward with the Vigilant. The pair joined the front of the hunters, blending with their leathers. If the hunters noticed them, they gave no indication, most were weary from a day's work and eager to return to families and bed.

As with the night before, more bells joined in a complex melody. Too complex for a simple bell-ringer. The pilgrims barely watched today, with no caravan coming the gate would crack just enough to let the High Haven natives through, and no more. There was none of the energy of the previous day.

Bastian held Val back, watching Clara and Gail on the road as they exchanged their farewells. Val breathed deep and let the music of the bells steady her. With each breath, she relaxed her hands then shoulders, and steeled her nerves. Had she been preparing to stand at Dorius' side, the ritual of decorating her horns with the little trinkets he had made for her was where she usually found these moments. It was one of the few times she found so much strength in her differences, when she could decorate them and look in a mirror and see herself proud, dangerous, maybe even beautiful. There was normally a touch of sadness, when she would normally have to pair the act with some oafish-ness to maintain their deception of spoiled prince and brute Fae guard. But not today. Today, she could stand tall and powerful and all would look on and see only she would walk through the gate.

She’d found a scrap of leather strapping, like those used for the bulls, and wrapped it around one head horn in her best approximation of her ritual. Like a player’s costume, like precious jewels and gleaming metal, like armor. In the demands of duty, there was strength and resolution. She shrugged to rebalance the weight of the axe on her back, and stood tall, horns towering over everyone around her.

Bastian picked a moment when Clara was turning her back to give Val a small nudge.

“Be safe,” he said. There was a twinge of steeliness in his voice still, an edge from their earlier conversation that remained.

Val hummed in acknowledgement. Then stepped into the road.

Bells rang. The air buzzed.

A guard at the encampment saw her first. He shoved a fellow, pointed at her, and his companion bolted back within the tents.

Val walked quick, as fast as her long legs would take her without it being a jog. As she bumped a hunter, they looked at her with wide eyes, and she passed onwards towards the gate.

She did not risk a glance back, she heard a voice call out but pressed on.

Dorius and the Vigilant were already through. Bells sung clear and metallic. She reached the gate, and with one shoulder, pushed it slightly wider to let herself through.