With a final grunt of pain, Ihra pulled the sharpened quill away from her leg. There were many advantages to her new class, but the ability to carve runes into her flesh for quick release had proven to be a double-edged sword. Sure, it allowed her to buff herself above the usual limitations of her stats and to cast the truly overpowered shield that had saved both of their lives back on that accursed aisle, but it also hurt like hell. I guess that’s the price you pay for power.

She ran the quill through the fire, cleaning the blood and grime off, and filed it back in her bag. She stood up gingerly, limping slightly as pain radiated up her leg each time her muscles flexed, and headed toward her tent.

As she passed Jasper’s tent, she stopped to check inside but found it empty. Again? She knew he’d gone out the previous night with that captain who’d insisted on searching their bags, and had been mildly surprised when she’d awoken the next morning to find he hadn’t returned yet. But she certainly hadn’t expected to find him gone again. Guess he must like her.

A small pang ate at her heart. It wasn’t jealousy - she didn’t like him like that - but she couldn't help but feel a little bit possessive. Jasper was the closest thing she still had to family and the truth was that Ihra knew, without him, she likely would have never advanced beyond a mediocre adventurer at the Hargish guild. So, as much as she felt ashamed of it, she couldn't quite quench the part of her that feared that another woman, one who did like him that way, might steal him away from her. With a little growl of irritation, she suppressed the feeling ruthlessly and stalked back to her tent, wincing a bit as the pain continued to lance up her leg.

Reaching her tent, she yanked the flap back and was about to step inside when a muffled sound caught her attention. Ihra stilled instantly, and her hand drifted to the dagger dangling at her side.

But as soon as she identified the source of the noise, Ihra relaxed. She’d seen little of the third member of their party since they’d reached the camp. The young princess had closed herself off in the tent and had rarely ventured out, except to care for her mounts. Usually, Jasper would have come around to drag her out of her wallowing, but between his new duties with the troops and, apparently, his new paramour, he hadn’t noticed Tsia’s condition.

Ihra hesitated as she listened to the muffled sobs, her foot still halfway through the door to her tent. She didn’t particularly like Tsia. The princess was spoiled and impulsive, and her overtures to Jasper were just downright irritating. Ihra wanted nothing more than to just head into her tent, pretend she hadn’t heard the crying, and get a good night’s sleep. Damn it.

With an exasperated sigh, she left the flap fall and stalked over to Tsia’s pavilion.

“Hey, you awake?”

The muffled sobs cut off immediately, and only a chilly silence greeted her.

Ihra sighed again. “Tsia, I know you’re awake. I heard you just a moment ago.”

“Just go away,” a voice replied petulantly.

Oh, how I wish I could. “Why don’t you come outside? I can brew some maqta, and we can chat.” She waived the offer of the drink before Tsia’s nose with a certain amount of confidence, knowing the sickly sweet beverage was a weakness of hers, and, sure enough, the princess took the bait.

A wan face, streaked with tears and a pair of blood-stained eyes, peeked out of the tent. “You have maqta?”

Ihra fished some of the dried leaves out of her bag and waved them in front of her face. “I picked some up in the city yesterday. I know how much you like it.”

The princess hesitated a moment longer, but her love of the sweet maqta won out. “Fine. I’ll come out.” Ducking back into the tent, she rustled around for a few minutes before she emerged. In the light of the small campfire, her whole face gleamed red, irritated by the vigorous scrubbing she had just given it, but at least there was no sign of tears as she plopped down beside Ihra.

The water was near boiling, but Ihra reached out her hand to toss in the leaves, but Tsia grabbed her wrist. “Wait. You’ve got to let it boil first, or the flavor won’t express fully.” Ihra growled with irritation but did as the princess said. If there's one thing she knows how to cook, I'm sure it's maqta.

“So, do you want to talk about it,” she finally brought herself to ask.

Tsia’s eyes fluttered to the ground. “About what?”

“Nēs̆u,” Ihra responded flatly, cutting to the heart of the issue. “I know how much you miss him.”

“What do you know? You didn’t even like him. Or me,” Tsia added sullenly.

“I’ve lost my mother, my father, my brother, my brother’s kids. I think I know a thing or two about loss,” Ihra snapped. She paused to take a deep breath and continued more calmly. “And I don’t dislike you, Tsia. We’re just…very different.”

The water chose that moment to begin to boil, and the conversation paused as Ihra stirred the leaves into the pot and began the count. After two minutes had passed, the water had begun to turn a deep, florid pink and she removed the pot. She didn’t have any strainer, so she was forced to use the lid to keep out the worst of the leaves as she poured two servings into the waiting cups.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Tsia snatched hers up, and huddling the hot beverage close to her chest, hunched over. “I’ve been thinking of selling his horse,” she said quietly. “Every time I have to care for it, it just reminds me of him. But then I feel bad for even thinking of it.”

Buying herself time to think, Ihra took a sip of the maqta, and promptly spit it out. “Selene’s grace, that’s hot.”

A small smile flickered across Tsia’s face. “You know, you’re supposed to let it cool a bit.”

“I know, I know,” Ihra groused. She sat the cup down on the ground and turned to face Tsia. “I don’t think you should get rid of the horse.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “It hurts to lose someone you love and, especially in the beginning, it hurts to be reminded of them, so getting rid of those reminders can feel cathartic. But there’s probably going to come a day down the road where you regret it.”

She stared into the fire. “I know I’d give anything to have something from my parents still.”

“How old were you when they died?” Tsia asked softly.

“I was just four. I barely even remember them, but my brother would tell me stories about them. But when he died too, I got sent to the orphanage. I don’t think my brother’s widow was trying to be awful, but she didn’t give me anything from them, not a damn thing, and once the city was destroyed…” Ihra shook her head, trying to hide the tears that had unexpectedly sprung to her eyes. “I was never able to find their bodies, but I doubt they survived.”

“Does it ever get better?”

Ihra blinked away the tears. “Of course it does. The pain may never go away completely, but it will ebb. There will come a day when you tend his horse and don’t think of him. Of course, when you realize it, you’ll probably feel guilty about it. But those days will slowly become more and more common and the pain will lessen. And the one day, you'll be glad to still have something that reminds you of him.”

“I hope so,” Tsia muttered. “But I just feel like it was all my fault. If I hadn’t run away, if I hadn’t followed Jasper, Nēs̆u wouldn’t have to die. He would have been safe in my father’s courts.”

“Do you really believe that,” Ihra said with a snort. “Nēs̆u was a warrior through and through. He’d been risking his life for decades before he met you. Sooner or later, that bill comes due.”

“Maybe, but…” Tsia stilled and peered into the darkness beyond their campfire. “Do you see something over there? I could swear I saw something move,” she said, speaking so quietly that Ihra could barely hear her over the crackle of the fire.

Ihra glanced in the direction the princess was looking. She saw nothing at first, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out the faint outline of a man crouching in the bushes. It took another second for her to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two, three, four. She stopped counting at seven.

She casually picked up her cup of maqta and took a long sip of the still scalding liquid. Using the cup to hide her mouth, she replied. “There’s at least seven men in the bushes. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I doubt it’s anything good.”

Something crunched in the snow behind her, and Ihra whirled around. Make that eight. The man screamed as her cup of maqta caught him in the face, but his scream was cut short a heartbeat later by the slash of her misericorde.

Tsia staggered to her feet as the men in the bushes broke from their cover. Three of them started to run toward their fire, while the rest bolted like scared hares. Dropping the dagger, Ihra drew her bow with a swift motion and fired off a hasty shot.

She missed, skewering their assailant through his shoulder rather than his heart as she’d intended, and the man stumbled back with a curse. In the dark, she couldn’t see the frantic wiggling of his fingers, but it was her turn to leap back as a long, flaming whip jumped from his hand and sliced toward her.

The whip sailed narrowly overhead as she rolled to the ground, only to fall inert as Tsia dissected it with a blade of wind. Without hesitation, Tsia thrust her hand forward, and a low blade of wind shot toward their three attackers. The two in the front, who had been trying to close the gap between them, fell to the ground instantly as their legs were severed just below the knee, but with a snap of his fingers, a shimmering shield sprang into place around the mage.

With a growl of irritation, Tsia engaged the mage, pounding it with a barrage of wind-blades that the man’s surprisingly resilient shield managed to repulse.

Need to help her out. As Ihra regained her footing, her eyes fell on the two assailants whom Tsia had dislimbed. Their blood was no doubt mortal, but their levels prevented them from a quick death, and an idea occurred to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took careful aim at the two assailants who were writhing on the ground. Her hands flew as she riddled them with arrows, taking great care not to kill them immediately. It felt cruel to prolong their suffering, but she needed the piercing.

When her piercing hit 90, she ended their suffering with two well-placed shots, and then she turned her attention to the mage.

The Djinn had been forced into little more than a holding pattern at this point, unable to compete with the overwhelming barrage of attacks Tsia poured out on him, but kept alive by the impenetrable shield which seemed to emanate from the necklace glowing around his neck.

Notching an arrow, Ihra invoked her skill. The arrow’s head gleamed with a dull red glow as it arced toward the mage. Reaching the shield, the arrow was unable to fully pierce it, but the tip burrowed in deeply enough to stick. The head glowed, and then the blade of Executioner’s Arrow rapidly expanded, pushing against the barrier from inside rather than without. A second arrow followed in its wake, and, slipping through the shattered barrier, caught the man in his shoulder again. The force of the blow was enough to drive the shaft through his arm and out the other side where it lodged fast into the trunk of the tree behind him. Pinned and helpless, the mage could only beg for his life. “Stop, stop - I surrender.”

Ihra approached him cautiously, her eyes fixed on his one good hand - just in case he got any ideas. “Who are you and why did you attack us,” she demanded bluntly.

The man kept silent, and she drew her dagger, letting the light of the dying campfire splay across its blade. “Cat still got your tongue?”

An angry scowl crossed his face, but when she held the dagger to his throat, his resistance crumbled. "Fine. Ask your questions."