In the morning it was time to be moving on.

They rose at first light, dressed and ate a quick breakfast of bread and cheese in the inn’s common room. Ryn made sure to sit at the opposite end of the table to Nuthea. She didn’t say anything to him, and that was fine by him.

Before they left town they stopped by some shops to stock up on supplies, buying enough provisions for their trek through the mountains and taking the opportunity to furnish themselves with some new cloaks. Cid had all the coin for it and didn’t seem to mind spending it—apparently he had done quite well for himself working as a healer in Nont. They bought cheese, more salt beef, and some hard waybread that the seller promised them would keep on their journey.

They set off, back the way they had come, south-east to the river they had jumped into from the train, then alongside it, into the Pelnian mountains. For a while they entertained the idea of following the train track, but in the end decided against. It would be a foolish move when the Empire would probably be sending more trains and troops up it, so they followed the river instead.

The conversation grew stilted, then non-existent. Ryn was still sulking with Nuthea, he knew, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t sure if he would ever speak to her again. He just wanted to find General Vorr, kill him, and then be done with this whole group. He had no idea what he would do after that, but he didn’t need to think about that now.

He continued to practice his flames by himself and his sword-fighting with Cid in any spare moments available. The healer said he was improving fast. Maybe he would finally be good enough to best Vorr the next time he met him. Or maybe Vorr will finally kill me instead, he thought once in the depth of the night, and then at last I’ll be free of this hate.

They kept an eye out for Imperials, but didn’t spot any. It seemed none had bothered to follow them, not even the lady Shadowfinger.

All the same, a strange sense of foreboding seemed to hover over the party, but of what Ryn was not entirely sure. The end of their journey together, perhaps, which they all knew was coming now they were so near to Manolia, but of which they never spoke. Or perhaps it was the prospect of crossing paths with General Vorr again. Or maybe it was a premonition of something...even worse? As if that were possible.

Once, in the light from their evening campfire, Nuthea approached Ryn while he sat a little way off from the rest of the group.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Lost in his reverie, he didn’t notice her until she was standing a step away casting a shadow over him in the firelight.

Her lips were tight, her face solemn and ringed by an orange halo that blended with her golden hair.

“Er, hello.” Surprise forced him into talking to her, something he hadn’t been accustomed to doing lately. “What do you want?” Damn him if he didn’t sound like a child. But damn me if I don’t care.

Nuthea crouched so that he was on his level; a rare condescension that presumably showed she was trying not to talk down to him. For once.

“Ryn,” she said softly, inaudible to the others who still sat or lay nearer the fire. “I… I wanted to apologise to you again. I’m so sorry for what happened between me and Vorr. I never intended to tell anyone about the whereabouts of the Ruby, let alone someone who would go there and destroy a whole town to find it. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how he got it out of me. I never meant to cause any harm. But I know I have. I didn’t tell you earlier because...because I was ashamed. I’m sorry for that, too. I’m so sorry, Ryn. I’m so sorry for all that you lost. Can you ever forgive me?”

Irritation had been burning in Ryn’s belly while Nuthea had been giving him her token apology, even as tears had started to slip down her cheeks, but when she said the word ‘forgive’ a memory shone in his mind. The Way of the One is to forgive, she had said to him as they lay next to each other in the darkness aboard the Sirran train bound for Manolia, before he had found out about what she had done.

For a moment, just a moment, another path opened up to him in his imagination, an alternative path to the wide, thorn-strewn road of bitterness he was currently walking. It was an unfamiliar path, a narrow but smooth and straight path paved with bright white stones. Maybe I could forgive her. Maybe I could let her off the hook. Maybe I would feel better. Maybe that would be better. Maybe I could even forgive the Empire, and the Emperor, and Vorr...

But then as quickly as it had appeared the path vanished, replaced by an image of Vorr’s fat grinning face. No. The thought of Vorr triggered the memory of his mother’s death, his father’s death, of the roofs of Cleasor burning, and the flames burned in his belly too. Mum. Dad. Cleasor. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Get away from Nuthea.

She had probably only said that stuff about forgiveness on the train because she had been thinking about what she had done and knew she needed to be forgiven herself.

Without saying anything more he turned his back on her, shuffling around so that the fire was behind him. He pulled his cloak tight around him and lay down on his side to go to sleep.

What had he been thinking? How could he forgive her? She had done him too grievous an injury. She had been responsible for the death of his mother, his father and his entire hometown, all because she had been attracted to the Imperial monster who had ended up killing them.

After a while he heard the soft squelch of Nuthea’s feet walking over the ground away from him, back to the others.