The journey continued, and still they were getting no new clues about the masked stranger's whereabouts.

Gem was getting frustrated, but not nearly as frustrated as he probably should be. It was almost like he was getting used to it, asking shoemaker after shoemaker after shoemaker and never finding out anything new. Like a routine or something. Been there, done that.

Besides, and this was the part of his brain that he didn't yet know how to deal with, he didn't mind searching a little longer. He didn't mind staying on the road, riding through the snow, staying at inns…or spending time with Cinder. His companion who he had grown to care about. His very first friend.

It wasn't like he wanted to stay on the road longer than necessary just because of Cinder. It wasn't like—heaven forbid—he'd choose spending time with the shoemaker over finding his beloved either. It was just that after this trip, he had no idea how soon they would see each other again, let alone for how long. And he wasn't in any hurry to let go of the first friend he had ever made in his life.

Even if the friend in question was being weird. Gem couldn't guess what exactly was up, but he could easily tell he was hiding something. Something that was bothering him. And therefore it bothered Gem too, since he was pretty sure friends told each other about the things they worried about. That was how it worked, right?

Of course, Gem had to admit, he hadn't told Cinder everything yet either. There were plenty of things he was keeping to himself, things he hadn't even talked to Oliver about. Maybe he should tell him; friends were friends, and maybe it would encourage Cinder to talk about himself too.

But it felt so awkward, the thought of bringing it up.

Gem looked over at Cinder. There had to be something he could do. Friends shouldn't hide things from each other. At least, he was pretty sure they shouldn't. Especially not important stuff like…whatever it was Cinder wouldn't talk about. Right? Maybe he should ask Oliver or something.

So, what to do?

Pushing it seemed like a bad idea. Knowing Cinder, he'd just clam down and refuse to say anything or worse, rethink the whole friendship thing. He needed a different plan. But what? Waiting and seeing? That wasn't his style.

Maybe he should talk to him after all, he mused.

Not necessarily about his own secrets. Not yet. Just talk, about life, about everything, and maybe then it would be easier for one of them to open up.

Gem smirked to himself.

That sounded like a plan.

~ ~ ~

That evening they stayed at a larger guesthouse, more beautiful and luxurious than the inns they had grown used to.

Cinder had tried to tune it out, but looking at the spacious, ornate building the approaching midwinter celebrations became impossible to ignore. There were wreaths and ribbons and candles everywhere, countless lanterns to block out the dark of winter, their light glittering invitingly on the freshly fallen snow. Once, long ago, Cinder had thought it the most beautiful time of the year. Nowadays it all rang hollow, a bright, empty mockery of the gaping hole inside his heart.

Maybe we should stay somewhere else, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue. It was just for one night. He didn't want to be the one causing trouble over something as silly as this.

All the same he was silent as they ate dinner in the brightly lit room, the scents of wintery spices and freshly baked cakes wafting through the air with a promise of joy that he no longer felt. He was silent when, after dinner, the three of them gathered before the fireplace with a map, going through their travel route for the next day.

Finally Oliver excused himself to discuss a few things with the owner of the house, and Cinder and Gem were left alone. Neither of them moved or spoke a word. The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

He should probably go to bed, Cinder thought, staring blankly into the flames. The lights and scents and ornaments in this room weren't doing him any good. But for some reason he didn't even have it in him to get up and leave. He just sat there, not thinking about anything, feeling too tired and heavy and empty to move.

"It's almost midwinter, huh," Gem's voice suddenly broke the silence.

Cinder gave a start, snapping out of his daze. He was in no mood to talk, but if he was lucky, talking would get his mind off things enough to let him get up and leave.

"Yeah," he muttered, still not tearing his gaze from the fireplace. "I guess."

"It's not my favorite holiday," Gem went on. "I like the summer ones better, with the fireworks and music and stuff. But midwinter's nice too."

Cinder shrugged. Gem's words were doing the opposite of taking his mind off things.

"There's so much food," Gem said. "You should see the food at my place someday! There's a whole roast duck, and a ton of the best side dishes ever. And the cakes, those are the best!"

Cinder shifted to lean towards him, propping himself up on the armrest. "Tell me about the cakes," he said.

He didn't really care. But watching Gem excitedly talk about food was leagues better than being caught up in his thoughts.

"They're amazing," Gem said, his eyes sparkling. "We have cherry and strawberry cakes in the middle of winter! And this stuff that's brought from foreign countries, it's called…chocolate or something. But my favorites are the apple tarts." Gem was counting off all the different cakes on his fingers. "I know the baker who makes them, she'd always let me sneak snacks when I was little." He grinned. "Her apple tarts have the best ever frosting, the layer's like this!"

Cinder stared disbelievingly at the thickness Gem indicated with his fingers. He was beginning to feel a little more alive. "You're exaggerating," he said.

"Am not! You should try them sometime," Gem answered. He thought for a moment, then added, "Actually, you will. Next time I'm bringing you one of them, I bet you'll love it!"

Cinder snorted. "I'd like to see you try and smuggle one out."

"I can ask the baker to make one for you! She's a nice old lady, I bet she'll say yes."

"Bit much work just to prove a point, don't you think?"

Gem crossed his arms, looking weirdly triumphant. "Nope."

"Yes, it is. She must already be busy enough before the holiday." Now it was Cinder's turn to look triumphant. "Didn't think of that, did you?"

Gem shrugged. "So what's one more tart?"

"Easy for Your Royal Laziness to say."

"I'm not lazy! I work very hard!" Gem huffed. "Studying etiquette and stuff. And languages. And politics. And history." He pulled a face at the last one. "Why do I have to care which battles happened in what year, anyway?"

Cinder shrugged. "They'll have their reasons."

"And why do I have to know which king died when? They're all dead anyway!"

Cinder's face darkened. "They're your ancestors," he said. "You should care about your roots."

"Not to the point of learning stupid numbers by heart."

"At least you don't have to learn anything real, like a craft or something."

Gem angled himself towards him, his eyes curious. "Like shoemaking?"

"Like pretty much anything," Cinder answered, "that's not being a prince or noble and living comfortably off tax money."

He fully expected Gem to get offended, but the prince ignored the jab. Instead he continued to eye him with curiosity. "Who taught you how to make shoes, anyway?" he asked. "Your dad?"

Cinder's chest clenched up again. The feeling that had just begun to fade hit him again at full force.

"Yeah," he said, hoping Gem wouldn't pry. "Who else?"

"I dunno. You said that old man was your dad's mentor, but he wasn't your grandpa, right?"

Cinder nodded slowly, relaxing again. Lark wasn't the safest territory to talk about either, but definitely safer than being asked about the fate of his father again.

"That's right," he said. "Most of the time craftsmen teach their children, but those who don't have any sometimes find unrelated students. Lark has no children, so he taught my father."

"I see."

Draping himself over the armchair in the most un-princely manner, Gem looked up at him in deep thought. "That's not really so different from what we do. I mean, my dad's the king, so I get taught how to be king too."

Cinder snorted. "I don't think anyone but you would compare that to shoemaking."

"Why not?" Gem replied, completely honest. "They're both jobs, aren't they?"

Sighing, Cinder shook his head. He didn't understand this guy. For someone of royal birth, the heir to the kingdom, he really could be surprisingly down to earth. One would expect him to look down on the commoners just like his knight did, but in this regard Gemstone Crystalline was almost…humble.

"They're different," Cinder answered. "If your parents aren't shoemakers, you can still become a shoemaker. But nobody has a hope of becoming king unless their parents are royalty too."

"Unless they get adopted," said Gem. "Or marry royalty."

"That's still becoming part of the family. It's different from an apprenticeship."

"Kind of stupid, if you ask me."

Gem turned over, now draped over the chair on his back. "Who says anybody's a good king just because their family's royalty?" he mused. "They could suck and people would have to put up with them, because it's not like you can just pick a different king like you'd pick a new shoemaker."

Cinder eyed him closely, studying his face. There was something unusually thoughtful clouding his features, bringing an odd maturity to his normally youthful expression. Almost like…

"What," he asked, "are you worried you'll be a bad king? I thought you had a bigger ego than that."

But Gem shook his head. "That's not really it."

He didn't elaborate. And Cinder didn't press it. If he didn't want to talk about something, he wouldn't force him to.

"I'm just thinking," Gem said at length. "I'll be king someday because my dad is. And nobody can do a thing about it. But everyone's supposed to treat me as this kind of…godlike thing, even if I totally suck. Like I'm better than you just because I got lucky and was born to my dad and nobody else."

Suddenly Cinder understood. "You're still thinking about that knight's words, huh?"

Gem shot upright. "He had no right to say all of that!"

"By law, he had."

Stretching out his legs, Cinder leaned back in the armchair, staring into the fire again. "Maybe it doesn't make sense," he said, "but that's the way the world is. At least until you become king, there's nothing you can do about it."

"Well, it's still stupid!"

Sitting properly again, Gem gripped his armrests, his expression determined. "Somebody has to do something about it," he said. "It's pointless and it sucks. I don't care if that's the way the world is, the world changes all the time anyway."

Cinder swallowed.

Something could be done. Something could be changed.

The implications of that attitude were hopeful…and all the same, they were frightening. Because that meant all the world's misery wasn't inevitable. It wasn't just how things were. It was a choice: to make it that way in the first place, and then to keep it like that.

Once he had felt the same too. He had taught himself not to. Bitterness was easier to deal with than frustration; grim acceptance easier than the knowledge that things could easily have been different if someone, anyone, had bothered to try a little harder.

Get over it. It can't be changed.

The world had forced him to tell himself that until he believed it. And here Gem was, having none of it. Being naïve, perhaps…or was it Cinder himself who had become too jaded? He couldn't tell anymore.

All he could do was wonder…if Gem had been there back then, would he have listened to all the others? Or would he have pushed back, shown his anger at the world and its injustice?

If he told Gem now…would he understand?

He swallowed that thought and stored it in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. No need to risk it. He had expected so many people to understand, and no one had. He was over trying.

And besides, there was no need to reopen his old wounds when he had barely managed to force them closed.

~ ~ ~

The next morning Oliver was woken by his impeccable instincts telling him something was wrong.

He peeked into Gem's room, then into Cinder's, but both of them were fast asleep. He looked around; no trace of anything unusual. Whatever the danger was, it had to be somewhere else.

Oliver had half a mind to search the building, but something told him the problem was outside. So, throwing on a cloak and pulling the hood deep into his face, he crept out of the guesthouse and into town, heading for the marketplace. The town was barely beginning to stir, but his eyes immediately fell on the man in the king's livery putting up a poster.

A messenger.

Oliver understood.

Something needed to be done, or they wouldn't make it out of the guesthouse without being caught.