Rhea started awake with a force that sent sheets of rose water cascading over the lip of the tub.

"Your Grace!" Virolan said. He was kneeling beside her, holding a damp cloth in his hand.

"I… I was asleep?" she said blankly.

"Yes, Your Grace. Did you dream poorly?"

She sank back into the water with a frown. "It was different, somehow. I was falling down a bottomless abyss..." She kept the accompanying deluge of unfamiliar images and sounds, most notably of a wide hill crowned by tall, uneven stones, to herself.

Virolan shuddered delicately. "Falling dreams have always plagued me. I start awake, heart hammering as if I've been running for my life." He poured a cup of water over her hair. Rhea raised her arm, and he gently began to lather at it.

But she could no longer submit to the soothing embrace of the warm bath and the gentle candlelight. The ghost of the dream still clung to her spirit like trailing cobwebs.

It'd been weeks since the Crimson Blade had been dispatched to hunt down her brother, and several days since the bounty had been instated. But aside from the fog of embellished gossip and wild tales from droves of less-than-reputable mouths, they'd gleaned nothing useful of his whereabouts. Rhea was on the cusp of simply setting out herself, starting with the settlement closest to the prison and working systematically outwards. But considering what Ayo had told her of her plans, there was precious little time to waste.

Rhea reached for the blue diamond at her throat, and just as she'd done ever since hearing of her brother's escape, she drew upon it. The gemstone eagerly pulsed to life, flooding her body and mind with cool, liquid energy.

Like all before him, the Scholar who'd trained her in the ways of the diamond had referred exclusively to the Ancient Tomes, penned upon the birth of Iridesca by its first kings and queens. Alongside the scriptures concerning the physical expression of Eris' power were those concerning the spiritual aspect of it, wherein a Divine Heir opened their mind and spirit to their gemstone to possibly receive revelation from the Goddess Herself. Rhea's siblings had always discouraged her from doing so for risk of losing herself as a relatively young Heir, but Rava's escape had spurned her to finally take the plunge, and Ayo's machinations had hardened her resolve.

Faint voices enclosed Rhea's consciousness, of lives and times long past. They merged and flowed and branched as living rivulets of memory, some crisply clear and others faded and muddy. Rhea did not lose herself in the current, and let it stream around her. Serenity was the key--the jagged edges of desperation or impatience would disrupt the flow and entirely diminish even the possibility of revelation. She'd managed to catch brief glimpses of her brother's exploits in the past few weeks, only weak colors and sensations, but she needed something more substantial, and soon.

Show me, she projected into the void as she always did. Reveal him to me.

Long seconds passed without a response, and Rhea again resigned herself to silence. But then, miraculously, an ethereal certainty touched her consciousness, stronger than she'd ever experienced.

Southeast, on the crowned hill, an ageless voice whispered, fading as quickly as it'd materialized.

Virolan trailed in from another world. "Are you all right, Your Grace?"

Rhea gasped, blinked away the vertiginous remnants of the trance, and practically burst from the bath.

"M--my queen, please allow me--"

"No time," she said curtly. She returned to her chambers, naked and dripping, and threw open the wardrobe. Her endless curtains of familiar silks and satins hung before her.

"I don't have any travelling clothes, do I?" she said wryly to Virolan, who'd dependably shadowed her steps.

"No, Your Grace. The Divine Heirs have never left the Citadel. Or, if they have, never further than the capital."

"That's preposterous. How could my predecessor have summoned the Hadria River from his bedchambers?"

He had no answer for that, but she hadn't expected one.

Rhea settled on a dress made of slightly sturdier cut and fabric than the rest. Ultimately, it was merely a matter of presentation, as she wouldn't be leaving on horseback.

After Virolan's precise fingers tied off the last lacing, she crossed over to the nightstand and opened the jewelry box. Her courtesan's eyes widened at the sight of Rava's collar, but the secret of its location no longer mattered. Rhea tucked it into her sleeve, and entered the open balcony.

The night was utterly still, as if suspended in clear glass, and barely touched by the weak light of the moon's thin, curved silver.

Her chest thrummed in anticipation of the new, the uncertain. She closed her eyes and prepared to draw upon the blue diamond again.

"Wait," came Virolan's voice, unusually forceful and raw. She turned to him in surprise.

His hands were twisting together, his eyes shone a little too brightly, and his face was flushed. For once, he didn't look the part of a Divine Heir's favored courtesan. He looked like a scared, distressed young boy.

"I--I know it's not my place," he stammered. "But please, my queen…" he gulped, "... Rhea…"

"What is it?" she said uneasily. She'd long suspected that Virolan harbored a particularly strong attachment to her, well beyond the bounds of his position. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, and she'd enjoyed his company too much to confront it. In hindsight, perhaps she should have.

"You'll return, won't you?" he said. "Please, promise you'll come back..." He gulped and flushed even deeper. "... t--to me."

Rhea embraced him, then kissed him as gently and sweetly as she could.

"You have always been dutiful and loyal, my dear Virolan." She ran her fingers through his exquisite hair and cupped his cheek, so smooth and supple. "I was never happier than when I was with you."

His dark eyes dimmed a little as their hope was extinguished. When Rhea stepped away from him, he didn't move to stop her. His hand lingered briefly at her waist before falling limply to his side.

She turned away, before his hollow gaze could cut even further, and called upon the blue diamond.

This time, she let the energy not only infuse her flesh, but transform it. Blood, flesh, and bone merged and liquified. The warm body that had caressed Virolan mere moments ago dissolved into a shifting mass of suspended droplets.

Rhea began to rise, lighter and less substantial than a cloud. Though her physical senses had melted away, and she had no head with which to turn, she sensed Virolan's open-mouthed wonder behind her as she flowed southeast along the invisible avenues of the air and sky like a windswept phantom.

I'm coming, brother.

*

Rasher watched his brother Trig dig hard into his ear and flick away a large, waxy clod. He didn't bother hiding his grimace of revulsion.

"What?" Trig snapped. He flicked the reins out of habit more than necessity. Cap, their mangy old beast of a horse, twitched his ear in annoyance without changing pace.

"You're disgusting, that's what," Rasher said. A dried sprig of grass was clamped between his chapped lips, and he shaded red-rimmed eyes against the high sun.

"'Least I don't look like a shriveled-up goat."

"Better than resembling a bloated old pig."

They were both in a lousy mood, and an undercurrent of real contempt ran beneath the typical banter. The oppressive heat beating down on them was the least of their annoyances; what truly chafed was the fact that they'd been running dry for the past several weeks.

The carriage trundling behind them was a genuine royal prisoner transport, the most valuable acquisition of Rasher and Trig's tumultuous career, and that included the comely, raven-haired maiden they'd netted a few years earlier. The transport provided a secure place for their typically belligerent cargo, and any passerby would simply assume them to be carrying out official Apostle business.

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This system had served them well. But if there was nothing to catch, the precious carriage dragging behind them was only so much lumbering wood and metal.

Rasher dearly missed molding and disciplining freshly caught stock, and he knew that Trig yearned for the resulting coin, if not the art itself. But travelers these days numbered much fewer than before, and Rasher was forced to accept that this was partly due to him and his kind.

Just one, he begged the Goddess. Not even a youth. One with working arms and legs, and a lucid mind I could sink my teeth into.

"What I wouldn't give for a plump little squealer on my lap about now," Trig said.

Rasher's irritation flared up again. The mere sound of his brother's voice was usually enough for that these days. "And you wonder why we're always short on coin. Why would we ever save up when big Trig needs his little wick dipped?"

"'Least mine works!" Trig shot back. His ruddy cheeks were now flushing in anger, and Rasher felt a perverse enjoyment in provoking him this far.

"Mine does work, you fetid oaf. I just don't store all my brains there."

Trig raised a fist, and Rasher almost welcomed the coming blow. At least what happened next would take his mind off their dispiriting prospects.

But the blow didn't come. Trig froze, squinted into the distance, and let out an unexpected grunt of approval. "Stream," he said, and a rare grin stretched his leering mouth. All thoughts of brotherly roughhousing had already fled his mind, such as it was.

Rasher turned and saw a sparkling stripe of silver a reasonable distance away. He licked his lips at the sight, and his parched throat scraped in yearning. It wasn't what he'd prayed for, but he'd gladly take it.

Once Cap had brought them close enough to the water, both brothers stumbled down toward the bank and submerged their fevered faces. They drank their fill and splashed their arms and fronts. Next were the waterskins, which soon swung with a satisfying lurch across their dripping chests.

"Let's rest here for the day," Rasher said, sweeping his straggly, thinning hair from his face. "I need my feet planted for once."

Trig grunted in agreement and headed back to the carriage to fetch their supplies. Now that he'd been watered and cooled, Rasher found his regard for his brother considerably softened. He didn't hate him, really. He just didn't respect him, and that was a more manageable state to maintain.

"Oi, Rasher!" Trig pointed at the ground at his feet. "C'mere!"

He joined his brother and crouched down before the small pile of ash and charcoal. It was fresh, perhaps a day old. And the tracks surrounding it belonged to one mount, perhaps two.

He could hardly believe it… endless weeks without even a morsel of luck, and now a perfect catch had fallen right into their lap.

"Nevermind camp, Trig," Rasher said. Excitement bloomed in his chest. "We've got ourselves some wayward stock to be roped in."

Trig grinned lopsidedly and cackled, visions of flouncing whores already dancing behind his eyes.

*

Cedric awoke, not to early morning like he expected, but to what could only be late afternoon. His eyes were swollen, his head packed with cotton, and his entire body felt twice as heavy as it should have been. He blinked sluggishly.

Adrian stood at the edge of the stone circle, looking outwards into the distance. He was twisting his hands together.

"Adrian…" Cedric mumbled, and he whirled with a start. His expression seemed almost… panicked.

"Oh, you woke early," he blurted.

Cedric observed the deepening sky. "Early? What are you--" He paused. An unformed revelation in the back of his mind struggled to breach the surface. Something was very wrong.

Adrian crouched beside him and shoved his waterskin into his face. Cedric flinched back.

"Hold on, Adrian--"

"You should eat something, too." A few pieces of dried fruit headed straight for his mouth. Cedric held up his hand to block their path.

"Adrian, stop!"

He did, but did not cease vibrating with a strange, nervous energy.

"Has it been a whole day?" Cedric demanded. He leveraged himself upright, and the subsequent burst of agony helped to sharpen his mind.

Adrian couldn't meet his eyes. "Not quite. You're a few hours ahead of schedule."

The revelation finally breached his waking consciousness. "You drugged me? Why?"

But Adrian didn't need to answer, because Cedric already knew that, too.

"It's not what you think--"

"Isn't it? Because I think you're giving me up to the Bloodclaw!"

"I--yes, I drugged you so that she could catch up to us."

Cedric pounded his fist so hard that dislodged dirt clods sprang up like water droplets. Adrian flinched and retreated a step back.

"I told you…" Cedric spat. "I'd rather die than be imprisoned again."

"But Cedric…" he halted, as if searching for the right words. "I couldn't watch you die. Not because of me."

"Your guilt? That's all this is about?"

"Of course not. You're Rava! A Divine Heir! You may be this wretched world's last hope!"

Cedric laughed spitefully, humorlessly. "Haven't you already had your fill of betraying me? Or did you enjoy it so much that you couldn't resist a second helping?"

He saw the deep hurt that those words inflicted on Adrian, but he was angry enough to enjoy it. Right now, in fact, he almost hated him.

Cedric forced himself to his feet and crossed over to Nightwind, who greeted him with a brief nuzzle on his arm.

"Don't," Adrian said from behind him. His voice was small but firm.

A plethora of nasty retorts came to Cedric's mind, but he seethed wordlessly instead.

"You're in no shape to ride," he insisted. "And Kaia is too close by now."

As if on cue, the distant sound of hoofbeats reached both their ears, approaching fast toward their camp atop the hill.

Cedric dropped Nightwind's reins and closed his eyes. Despite the extended rest that'd been forced upon him, a bone-weary exhaustion still coursed through his veins. He was tired. So tired, in both body and mind. A part of him yearned to give up, to accept both the antidote and the subsequent imprisonment. Would it be so terrible to stop fighting the current of fate and simply let it sweep him along its clearly intended course?

Cedric and Adrian waited together in stony silence.

It was not long before Kaia the Bloodclaw cleared the crest of the hill on foot, holding the reins of the panting steed beside her.

"Good evening, lads," she said. She was smiling, and spared barely a glance at the strikingly lush and cool meadow beneath her feet. "Which of you relented?"

"What does that matter?" Adrian retorted.

"Something tells me this wasn't a mutual agreement." Kaia regarded Cedric with a mixture of amusement and pity. "Surely you understand why your friend made his choice. Travelling with the object of his guilt, the knife of shame twisting harder in his gut with every passing day of your illness' progression?"

He was in no mood for her verbal jabs. "Are you going to give me the antidote or not?"

She chuckled. "Eager, aren't we?" She reached inside her saddlebags and brought out a thick coil of dark, twisted rope. Cedric felt Adrian shudder a little beside him.

"Widow's Vine," Kaia said. "Treated with a special terramantic oil. A few loops around your hands, a length between your feet across your mount's underbelly, and not even a Blessed One could free themselves.

"You couldn't possibly know that," Cedric said.

"Regardless, what choice do you have?"

"I could refuse to go with you."

"Certainly, if you'd prefer to be trussed up and slung across the saddle. But trust me, that is a far less comfortable way to ride."

Cedric knew that he was simply digging in his heels out of stubbornness. He couldn't run or fight; until she gave him the antidote, he had no choice but to comply with her terms. He could only hope that, once his strength and health were restored, her faith in her special rope would turn out to be misplaced.

"Fine," he said. Adrian's hand reached out toward his shoulder, and he shook it off.

"We still have a few good hours of daylight," Kaia said, unfurling a length of the rope. "Might as well make use of them."

She began with creating a five-foot lead that tied around the necks of Nightwind and her own steed. Then, without needing to cut it and start anew, she took the much longer end from Nightwind's side and looped it five times around Cedric's hands, clasped together on the saddle's pommel. The Vine then snaked down around his left ankle, across Nightwind's underbelly, and around his right ankle. It was the perfect length, and Kaia tied it off so quickly that her fingers blurred.

Just as she'd promised, the Vine was no ordinary restraint. It prickled Cedric's skin with tiny thorns that leeched away what remained of his energy and will. He slouched forward in his seat, shoulders bowed hopelessly. He couldn't imagine ever breaking free of such monstrous bonds, even in full health.

Kaia smiled in satisfaction at her handiwork, and Cedric hated her as well.

She then looked to Adrian, who was watching the proceedings with numb, glassy eyes. "Well, are you coming?"

He raised his head in surprise, having clearly anticipated abandonment. His brow furrowed with suspicion.

"Don't you wish to see your friend restored?" she pressed on.

"I…"

Kaia shrugged and mounted her steed. "Have it your way."

"Wait!" Adrian burst out. He hurried forward and mounted Nightwind to sit in his usual place behind Cedric. And despite everything, the prospect of Adrian's company on this fraught journey heartened him a little.

Their party set off from the stone circle.

*

They were now heading south, a steady backtrack on the progress they'd previously made toward Borne. With the horses trotting a mere three paces apart, they couldn't afford to plot an escape without Kaia overhearing. Cedric seemed in no mood to talk regardless; Adrian suspected that all his remaining strength was occupied with simply remaining upright on the saddle.

He rested his cheek on Cedric's shoulder blade, and was grateful that he wasn't shaken off like before. But his skin had gone clammy, and he was beginning to shudder with chills despite the warm air. He was nearing the final stage of the poisoning, the precipice from which he'd no longer be able to return.

An hour later, when the first hints of dusk were closing in upon them, Adrian finally lost patience. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded of Kaia. "Cure him. He's restrained like you wanted."

She turned and studied Cedric's ashen face. "Half a day more. I'd rather bide my time."

"You're still afraid of him?"

"If I weren't so cautious, I'd be long dead," Kaia said mildly.

She'd planned for everything, enacted every conceivable morsel of an idea that could lower the chance of failure. Not a single move had gone uncalculated. So why had she let Adrian travel with them?

Cedric was a step ahead on that front. "Adrian is here for your benefit," he said slowly, lifting his head with enormous effort. "To ensure that I behave, even after I'm cured."

Kaia grinned. "Well-thought, Your Grace. One sniff of revolt from either of you, and your bar boy loses a piece of himself. Human bodies have so many pieces..."

Cedric's back seized in vivid disgust. Adrian's did not. Kaia may have planned for his presence to serve as another form of control over Cedric, but she likely didn't anticipate that he would gladly face her wrath in exchange for his friend's freedom. When the time came, he'd urge Cedric onward himself. Not all was lost. Not quite yet.

"Up ahead, lads," Kaia said. "Do you see that?"

Some distance before them approached a metal carriage headed in the opposite direction, driven by two men and a rangy old horse.

"The Goddess' favor is most generous indeed," she said incredulously. "A royal prisoner transport, of all things..."