“We should stay here the night,” Venic said, gesturing at the space before them.

“We most certainly should not,” Valerlanta wheezed.

“Look at you. You can barely stand. We need to stop.”

He was not wrong about that. Her legs trembled, threating to collapse right from under her. Was she desperate enough to stop in this place, though? No. No, she was not.

“Not here, we don't.”

“It is raining.”

“Brilliant observation.”

Sighing in irritation, he all but dragged her into the cave with him. The rocky hole did not go very far in, but it was large enough for a camp that would be safely out of the rain.

And she hated every bit of it.

“See? It is perfect.”

Valerlanta huffed. “I am sure the local wildlife agrees with you. Do you like bears? If you stay here, you had better. They might be visiting here tonight.”

“Oh, stop being difficult.” He lowered her to the ground in the center, clearly not taking no for an answer. Despite how Valerlanta wanted to stomp out and demand he follow or be left behind, she knew she did not have the strength. He certainly was not going to help her. The knight was already arranging the camp. “A bear will seem like nothing compared to a dragon, and we already faced one of those twice now.”

“True,” she said. Valerlanta crossed her arms, refusing to let her fingers touch the stone floor. “But there are more than just bears to worry about in these parts. There are wildcats, sprites, even mimics. Have you ever come across one of those? They can mimic a person perfectly. What mimics say is nonsense, but most people don’t think of that when they hear a child screaming.”

If she was getting to him at all, it was not showing. He was setting out what little things he had and marking a spot for a fire.

“The fire has to go to the back or it will blow in at us,” Valerlanta said, then cursed herself for it. Maybe the fire would have smoked him out.

He corrected his mistake and attempted to spark a flame in the correct spot. He was failing, miserably. Even though he had been stuffing firewood into her pack as they walked, the sticks were still damp and refused to catch.

While he worked, Valerlanta called on magic and pressed her hands onto her wound, wincing against the pain. Healing wounds was incredibly tedious. She could feel the muscles and cracked bone knitting back together with a pain that equaled when they had been injured, and if she did healed wrong, she did not want to know what would happen.

Valerlanta barely had enough energy for a few moments before she was gasping and dizzy. Had she healed it at all? It barely felt like it.

‘Will I improve if I practice?’ Valerlanta wondered. Perhaps magic was like a muscle, and the more she used it, the less energy it would take from her. She had been forbidden from using her magic before, but what about now? Her father too far away to stop her.

Frustrated swears broke the silence.

Venic had gotten nowhere with his fire, and it was almost pitiful to watch.

'Honestly, how did you survive out here as long you have?'

“Let me try.” Valerlanta scooted across from him and held out her hand.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He stared at the thief for a moment of hesitation — either not wanting to admit defeat, or not trusting her with the steel — then handed them over.

She repositioned some of the kindling and grabbed a good amount of the lichen that she kept in her bag for situations like these.

“Cheater,” Venic complained and Valerlanta snorted.

“It is called being prepared.”

With her little bundle of dried goods in front of her, she struck flint to steel and a rainfall of sparks settled upon it.

"Can I ask you something?" Venic asked.

"You can ask anything you want, I just can't promise I will answer."

“Why do you wear that?” he asked, tapping his cheekbone.

Valerlanta flinched so hard that her blade missed the flint completely. Steadying herself, she struck again. This time the sparks caught, and she lifted the bundle to her mouth and blew gently. It started smoking, and she placed it under her pyramid of small wood.

“My father has had me wear it since I was a child,” she as she gradually added supplemental twigs to the flames. “He is paranoid that someone will somehow recognize me. Well, not me exactly, but recognize my features, or something.”

“Hmm,” Venic replied.

She reached for a twig, but it was too far from her reach. Pain flared, and she winced from the movement.

Venic snatched it up and held it out for her. She nodded in thanks and added it to the fire.

It was still young, but with care it should be stable enough.

“There,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied, but his tone said he was not thankful in the least bit. He glared at the fire for lighting for her and not for him.

It was not his fault, not really. In a town, city, or castle, if your fire went out, you simply borrowed some from a neighbour.

“I light a fire at least once a day every day, though sometimes more,” she explained. “It is just a skill you learn out here.”

“Trust a peasant to be good at lighting fires,” he said, settling down. “Oh right, sorry. Not a peasant. Princess, right?”

Valerlanta rolled her eyes, too tired to be irritated. “Not even close. My mother was Seneen of house Groveiw. Did you know of her?”

He shook his head.

Valerlanta knew she should have expected that. Her mother died when she and Venic were still children, so he had no reason to have heard of her. And yet she felt a pang of disappointment.

“I don’t remember her much, but there was a time when I cared enough to do some digging. According to letters my father gained, she was a lesser-noble who was an embarrassment to her class. She had me out of wedlock and people said she was a drunk. So no, I am no princess. It is just that my mother barely had enough bloodline for magic to pass down to me.” Valerlanta frowned. “It is not something you are even supposed to know. The only other person who knows is my father.”

The knight said nothing in return, giving no sign on if he believed her or not. He simply set his damp boots and cloak as near to the fire as he dared.

When he finished, they ate what small amounts of dried meat and berries she had left in her bag.

Sunlight faded out like a dying flame, then snuffed out completely.

Her uninjured leg started tapping rhythmically.

“Don’t bother keeping watch,” Venic said as he lay with a relaxed sigh. “You said so yourself that they won’t look for us at night.”

Without replying she lay on her side, trying to ignore the feel of how familiar the cold stone was, and how it seemed light the icy darkness was creeping in. All she could do was stare at those flames and not dare look away from them.

‘Why a cave?’ she wondered. ‘Why did he have to find a cave?'

Since that moment of her past, she had not slept underground; not even in the outpost when everyone else did. They assumed it was because she thought she was too good for it, but Valerlanta would never correct them. If she did, they would ask questions, and with questions came memories.

‘It was so long ago. Stop being so pathetic.’

The flames danced, and Valerlanta focused hard, letting the fire be her anchor to sanity.

Without her knowing, her eyes closed sometime later.

Sleep hit her in restless fits.

The dark was strangling.

‘The fire is going out.’ Some distant part of her warned, but she was in that space between waking and nightmares and could not fix the problem.

Her breaths became rapid.

‘No, not again. Please, not again.’

Memories were dragging her down, drowning her

The stone floor.

The smell of waste.

The only light source so far above it seemed to her like a faint, glimmering star.

Heart beats thudded so hard in her chest it was painful.

Then abruptly spiraling darkness dissipated as light washed over her. A log was added to the fire and gentle breaths coaxed it back. Glorious light filled the cave that she wanted to cry with relief.

Without a word, the knight lay back down.

Valerlanta squeezed her eyelids tightly shut and tried to silence her breath.

'I woke him.' She realized with shameful horror.

Had she screamed? Valerlanta desperately hoped she had not.

Pride stung like a knife, but the light again acted like a faint shield to the darkness until sleep carried her off again.