Their tour of the mines would begin early, and Richard rose even earlier to meet with their guide and ensure everything was ready, which gave Belle about an hour of peace to prepare herself for this trip. She’d suggested, in a roundabout way that made Richard think the idea had always been his, that he let her join them on the tour. He knew how beneficial having her eyes beside him might be.

On any given day Richard might see Belle as an ignorant, bubble-headed girl incapable of grasping concepts more complex than how to dress herself, and on others he might see her as a shrewd, observant partner who could feed him information he could use to convince his mother he was worthy of being her heir. Belle had learned to play into whichever role most guaranteed her survival at the time.

And part of playing such a role was dressing for it. It wasn’t often Belle wore pants—not only was it uncommon for women to do so, especially for women who spent so much time around royalty, but she also just hated pants. However, she couldn’t imagine the mines would be very dress-friendly. So she chose her one pair of tan trousers and pulled them—

The door opened suddenly, making Belle jump and whip around. She hadn’t noticed any approaching magics.

Z slipped into the room and closed the door behind them as quietly as they could. That explained why she hadn’t noticed their magic—Z’s magic was the most flexible, the most changeable she’d ever seen, and they knew well how to use it to fit their needs. Z was hiding, so their magic was too.

Lady Belle’s heartbeat barely even skittered, despite the fact that if Richard were to find out Z had snuck in here—while Belle was half-naked no less—Z would have no use for any worry about their time at Toll, because they would be very violently dead.

“Lord Vigore,” she said sternly, grabbing a tunic at random to cover her bare chest. “What are you doing?”

Z wore a surprisingly plain face, at least by their standards. She’d come to understand that Z used their beauty as armor, and she’d thought today of all days they would be wearing every bit of armor they had. Their features—ah, now that Z’s magic wasn’t so worried about hiding, she could see that it was ‘his’ features—were still symmetrical, but not unnervingly so, and they were tense like she’d never seen them before. Lips thin, brows slightly furrowed, jaw clenched.

He glanced around—not like he was looking for something, but like he was buying time. Finally, his hazel eyes met hers and he admitted in a tight voice, “Panicking.”

Belle tugged the tunic over her head and grabbed a leather belt to cinch it around her waist—if Richard were to walk in, she would want to look as dressed as possible. “So you named it a good idea to risk the prince’s wrath?”

With a valiant attempt at a smile, Z gestured to himself and repeated, “Panicking. Do you make your best decisions when your world is ending?”

A memory of the queen’s stone-gray eyes flashed through Belle’s mind. No, she had to admit, she did not. And she didn’t doubt that, to him, it did feel like his world was ending. As far as Belle knew, Z had never been collared before—unlike Aran, Lona Vigore was something like a decent mother who would never punish her child by robbing them of their magic. If he’d ever been in the presence of Elleipsium at all, it was only for a very brief time. And now, for some indeterminate period of time, his life would be defined by it.

Belle had survived her time without magic by reminding herself that it would end. By finding comfort in the ticking of the clock, the feel of seconds rolling over her skin. And by knowing she had survived it before. Z knew none of that.

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You did this to him, some distant Part said.

Keeping an eye on the magic around them so she’d have fair warning if anyone approached, Belle sighed, softened a bit, and took a step toward Z. “What do you need?”

Once again he glanced around the room, this time looking for an answer. When he found none, he said, “I don’t know. I don’t panic, so how am I supposed to know how to make it stop?”

It was too dangerous to be doing this here. Belle wasn’t that far from panic herself. If she let herself think for more than a moment about all the things going on beyond this room, to either side of this mountain, she would fall to pieces. So she just didn’t think about it. One thing, one problem, one minute at a time.

Belle traced a calming rune, not bothering to hide it from him, and she made her voice gentle. “Think about the next step. Only the next step. Any steps that come after—they don’t exist. Where next will you place your foot, Z?”

“Whichever direction leads home,” he said immediately, again trying to add some lightness to his tone.

“Fine,” she said, and grabbed some simple leather boots, and he blinked, surprised. He’d expected her to argue.

When she didn’t, he did it himself. “I can’t. My mother will just tack an extra year onto my sentence h—”

“Only,” she said, firm as she buckled one boot, “the next step.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Z. Where next will you place your foot?”

With a sliver of emotion breaking through his tone now that the false humor was gone, he said, “Home.”

Belle tugged on the next boot, buckled it, gathered her bag and cloak, and nodded at the door. He trusted her. So he stepped back through it.

At every door they came to, every set of stairs, every guard that sent them a curious look, Z would turn back to Belle, a question behind his hazel eyes. And she answered every question with her own steady gaze. Where next will you place your foot?

They made it out the front doors of the guest house and onto the ornate stone steps that led down to the street.

“One,” Belle said as she took a step down.

A few guards hovered nervously behind them, unsure where the two of them were going and why.

Belle took another step. “One.”

Z got the picture and followed Belle as she named each stone step One, until their feet finally met street.

“Lord Vigore,” one of the guards called, clattering down the stairs themself. “Do you require escort?”

Quiet enough that the guards wouldn’t be able to hear, Belle said, “Ignore them. Where next?”

She glanced sideways up at Z’s face—he’d gotten his expression back under control now that there were other witnesses, but she could still see the faint stain of hot fear in the center of his magic. He hadn’t managed to cover it completely. He glanced down the street to the right—the direction of the rail station that would lead back the way they’d come, toward the green hills of West Lushale. And then he glanced to the left, where the other rail station waited to take him down to that ocean of Nothing.

“One at a time, right?” he asked, stiff.

“Right.”

Z swallowed, then steeled himself. His magic. Belle watched it go steady and smooth, and take on a dark, regal purple hue—it didn’t have its usual beautiful depth and confident undercurrent, but it covered that stain of fear so well that not even Belle could spot it. The magic eased his posture, his expression to his signature lazy confidence, and he gave a mildly-annoyed smirk.

“Guess we’d better go wait for our dear prince, then.” And Lord Z Vigore turned on his heel and started back up the steps. One by one.