When Valerlanta had killed a person for the first time, it had felt like this.

She had been very young then, and the boy had been a little older than she, but he was jealous of her sudden relationship with her new father. The boy meant to smother her in her sleep, and nearly had, but her father had gifted her with her first knife that very night.

It only took one impact of the blade, and he was dead. At the moment, she had felt almost nothing. It was the seconds after, once what she had done fully had time to sink in, that realization hit hard. Her body had gone cold, her head swum, her stomach flipped, and her breath came in gasps.

Despite that being so many years ago that she could not even count them, that same feeling was surfacing again.

After she and the knight finished their descent, Valerlanta had expected to have to sneak them past the camp. Instead, she found a mound of rocks, snow, and ice.

Only two tent poles stuck through some rocks, now bare of any fabric. Did the people even have time to register what had happened? Valerlanta desperately hoped not. From the height and speed all this fell from, they should have died instantly.

If not… it had taken both her and the knight hours to descend the mountain. Had anyone lied aware of the weight pressing on them and suffocated under the—

The thief put her hands on her head, pressing her temples.

No, she could not think of that.

The forest was eerily silent.

Knight and thief stood at the edge of the disaster, shocked into stillness.

“I killed them all,” The words came, and hearing herself say them out loud sent a pang of pain spiraling in her chest. Valerlanta had killed before — many even — but somehow killing people by accident, without a single cause, made her cold.

Even the monstrous trees Valerlanta had climbed before lay fallen and broken in every direction.

“Yes,” the knight said, bitter rage leaking into his voice despite his blank expression. “You did, witch.”

‘Witch.’

The simple pang in her chest turned to feel like her very ribs were tightening like a vise. Valerlanta recoiled. “I am not a witch.”

“Ha!” The man started stomping down the rocky terrain and back into the forest. “I saw what you did with that ice.”

Valerlanta hesitated, her gaze bouncing between those long beyond help, and the man striding away. She rushed to catch up with him. “It is true! I am no witch.”

“Oh, is that so? You mean just anyone can control ice on a whim?”

“I did not say that. I just said I am not a witch. Witches draw power from the world around them, and left when the great purge happened. Within the borders of the king, they are powerless.”

“If not a witch, then what are you?”

Valerlanta opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating. No one was ever supposed to know about her magic, but he had already seen it. Besides, she had to admit that a part of her was eager to tell someone. This secret — the very reason why it was so dangerous if someone discovered her bloodline — had been one that only she and her father knew. It was how things were; she was expected to lock her magic away within herself, and never use it and never speak of it.

This felt like a small freedom. Hopefully one that would help distract her from the graveyard she created.

“You will not believe me,” Valerlanta warned.

“Try anyway.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Valerlanta blocked his path so she could watch his expression. “My parents were lesser nobles, but they died, so I was raised by someone else.”

He gave her a flat stare and waited, likely for Valerlanta to explain that she was joking. When she didn’t, the knight crossed his arms. “You were correct. I don’t believe you.”

Valerlanta threw up her hands in mock bewilderment. “What? Well, I am shocked! Shocked, I tell you. I never saw that coming.”

“You honestly think I am dumb enough to believe a story like that?” He moved around her and proceeded on his path.

“Dumb enough? That depends. Where are we trying to go right now?”

“North. Towards Palenwood.”

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Valerlanta nodded, walking beside him. “I see. I see. Can I ask a question?”

The man let out a long, exasperated sigh. “What is it?”

“Why are we traveling east, then?”

That halted him. He turned to face her, and she could not keep the amusement from showing her face.

“We are not going east right now. We came down the east side of the mountain. Palenwood is that way.” He pointed, and Valerlanta raised a brow.

“What?” He asked.

“Point again.”

Reluctantly, he did, and Valerlanta pressed a finger to his wrist, moving it until it was facing the correct way.

“You were doing fine, really, until we reached this valley,” she told him.

A hopeless shift of eyes took in the thick trees and brush around him. Failing to find a landmark, he ran a hand through his wavy almond hair, looking exhausted.

Valerlanta had heard stories of knights; everyone had. They were always the sort of tales spun with bravery, beast fights, and good moral judgment.

Yes, she had to concede that he had done at least two of those things, but at the same time, he was downright pitiful. Blood and mud splotched his once grand embroidered silk tunic, and sweat matted his wavy almond hair.

He might be able to fight a dragon bravely or even lead an army to victory, but he had been beat by trees and earth.

Were all knights this pitiful with the wilds?

‘There is a chance I can use that soon...— ‘

“You know, whoever is after you won’t try to track us at night,” Valerlanta said. “Even if they somehow find our tracks in all that chaos at the base of the mountain, they will wait until morning. This place is as good as any; we can make camp here.”

The thief had expected him to put up a fight, but he deflated with relief onto a log with slumped shoulders.

“Fine,” he said. “Do that.”

‘Do that?’

“By our deal, I am a guide, not a slave, knight,” she said. Though she was already zig-zagging around the small clearing; gathering what she needed. “Just so you know, the only reason I am doing this is because I don’t trust what you’ll try to build.“

And that was true. What would a pampered thing like him know about wilderness shelters?

“Whatever you say, witch.”

“Still not a witch,” Valerlanta called back.

“Why are you even bothering to build anything at all? We can just sleep under the stars.”

“Ha!” Holding the ridgepole up against the tree, she lashed it to the trunk with practiced ease. “You can do that if you want, but I am sleeping out of the rain.”

“It is not raining.”

“My, did you really crawl right from the arms of your doting servants? The humidity is rising. Can’t you feel it? A storm is coming in.”

“This is ridiculous. Why am I even taking this lip from you? You should know your place.”

Valerlanta raised a brow at him. ‘You would have died on that mountain without me, you ass.’

And so would she without him, but Valerlanta refused to admit that bit.

“My place is no lower than yours. Besides, don’t think that I am too stupid to make connections. You did something to be out here all alone. What did you do? Abandon your post?”

His face flinched as if she slapped him. “You know nothing.”

Valerlanta shrugged as she worked; weaving pine bows into the structure with the same method one would use for shingles. “Suit yourself, don’t explain. I don’t care either way.”

“Right,” he said with apparent doubt. He was working his shoulder in small circles as if it hurt. Immediately her mind thought of herbs she had to help with that. Instead, she continued working.

‘Let him hurt. Perhaps a little pain will knock down his arrogance a few pegs.’

“Can’t you just conjure up a lantern, witch?” His brows pinched as he tried to keep track of her movements in the fading light.

‘Or, perhaps pain will not be enough for this entitled brat.’

“Just like before, and the time before that, I am still not a witch.” She threw her flint stone at him, and his eyes narrowed dangerously as it bounced off his sore shoulder. Pretending not to notice, Valerlanta turned her back on him to hide her satisfied smirk. He did, however, set to work on building a fire. “Besides, magic does not work like that. Not the kind I have, at least.”

“What does it work like?”

“It is blood magic, but it is not all powerful. I have to touch what I want to manipulate with my blood, and the magic in me makes a connection. It is like the magic is the middleman; I send out orders through will, and somehow the magic sends the message outward. It is a little like lifting an arm, I suppose. I can not explain to someone how my thoughts can lift an arm, but my arm lifts all the same.”

The roof of her lean-to completed, she moved to one side and started building a quick wall. It was always oddly relaxing, this work. Valerlanta did not know if it was the smell of disturbed earth or pine from the bows, or maybe even the work itself. Whatever it was, she could feel the tension leaving her. “I can make water wave or even encourage a gust of wind, but the longer I do magic, the more blood I lose. Also, the more pliable it is, the easier it is to work with. Manipulating something like rock, for example, is impossible. I could move one if it is not too large, or even split one along a crack, but I can not change its shape like dough. Even with that ice, it looked more impressive than it was. I was not changing the shape of the ice. I put pressure on cracks already there and the ice did the rest.”

“Hmm.” The skepticism in that simple sound was sharp.

“I understand it sounds strange, but it is not that hard to grasp. I have to have an open wound, I have to will the magic to work, and then the magic does the rest. The harder or heavier the object is, the higher the chance of me dying from blood loss.”

“Right.” He said while trying to light his fire.

Valerlanta paused in her work to turn to the knight. “Why ask all this if you are not even going to try to believe me?”

“I thought it might pass some time.”

And that was it. That was all he said. Now that whatever entertainment he had been gaining from the conversation had ended, he concentrated fully on building his fire.

‘Seriously?’ Valerlanta blinked at him. The heat of irritation was heating in her chest, and she struggled to stamp out the flames of it to stay calm. ‘What a privileged ass.’

“Somewhere out there, a village is looking for their idiot. Found him,” Valerlanta muttered.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Valerlanta finished the lean-to shortly after and sat inside it. Now it was her turn to get entertained by him. He was stubborn, that was clear. Again and again he struck the stone, then called out in a cheer as the sparks took.

The flames danced to life at the same moment rain started splattering upon the earth. At first drops came in a light sprinkle, then it fell in great sheets.

His hard-earned fire sizzled as it struggled to stay alight.

The knight joined her in the shelter.

“I thought you were sleeping under the stars?”

“Oh, go step in dragon turd,” he snapped.