She had fallen the moment the ghastly red overtook the dark of the cave. One moment she had been fine, and the next she was limp; unmoving even as sprites yanked at her hair and tried to pry her fingers from the glowing ball.

It was unnerving, but he knew he had to help.

Swearing, Venic covered his face and pushed through the storm of sprites. They were determined little beasts and drew pinpricks of blood, but he was stronger and waded through their chaos.

With one hand he grabbed their things, and with the other he grabbed Valerlanta by her the clothes of her tunic and lifted. She was limp, but he did his best to drag her along as he held their gear in front of them like a shield.

By some miracle, the sprites gave up their pursuit as soon as they exited the cave. The sun was nearly up, and so instead the nasty creatures sped off into the forest to catch bugs; or whatever it was they did with their days. Perhaps they had other people to go harrass.

He set Valerlanta and their stuff down, and thumped down to a sit beside them. Little bitmarks covered his skin, and he was sure he was missing tufts of hair. Even his clothes had little chunks taken away to be used in their nest.

Whatever had dazed Valerlanta seemed to be passing, but he did not take any chances. He sucked in a breath, and pealed back her fingers. The glowing ball did not hurt him like it had her, and fell onto the soil. A tiny needle withdrew into the ball.

It took every bit of his nerves to not kick the creepy thing into the forest.

Valerlanta blinked, her brows pinching in confusion as if no longer sure where she was. Gingerly, she sat up, wearily eying the ball beside her.

“It is only fair that you know that I agree now,” Venic said as he touched a sore spot on his brow and found his fingers red with blood. “Caves are bad.”

Valerlanta let out a choking laugh. “Told you so.”

“Are you alright?”

A tremble came over her body. “I believe so...just give me a moment.”

He could see why. Whatever that thing had done to her, it had shaken her to her core.

“What did it do?” He asked, though he was not entirely sure he wanted to know.

“It stole some of my magic.”

“That’s it?”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the ball before she nodded.

Disbelief flooded Venic but he pushed it down. This was not the time. By the looks of it, she was in no state for more dramatics. “Is it safe?”

“For you, it should be.”

‘Well, that is hardly reassuring.’ 

He bent down at tapped it with a finger. Nothing happened.

Cautiously, he picked it up, and found it cold in his hand but vibrated with a soft hum.

The king had a clock in his thrown room that worked by a complex set of gears and weights. Was the same hiding in this orb? Had her magic somehow powered tiny gears hidden below the brass?

'She activated it.' The realization made his heart jump.

This was it; this was the reason why not a single of the top academics could figure it out. It needed her.

It needed magic.

As he carefully stashed the orb away, sun finally trickled in through the trees with brilliant gold. When he finished fastening the straps on the bag, he found Valerlanta scrunching her nose and scrutinizing the cut on his brow.

Reflexively, he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. "It is really not that bad. It is just a cut to the head."

It did not hurt any more than any of the other bites those horrible creatures gave him, but for whatever reason, cuts on the head seemed to bleed twice as much as anywhere else, even from a tiny scratch. She, however, seemed unconvinced.

“Wait,” she said, though her tone was reluctant.

He paused, curious, then was startled as she went to where he knelt, took his chin, and tilted it in the light.  Her emerald green eyes studied the wound, then she let out a sigh.

“Sit down,” she ordered.

“I don’t think—”

“Sprites eat a lot of rotting meat. Do you want an infection on your face?”

Venic immediately planted his bottom on the ground, and she set to work cleaning the wound. Valerlanta moved with a reassuring practiced ease, but was also uncomfortably close. Venic found himself looking anywhere but at her.

“I believe you now.” He said.

“What?” She asked, clearly startled from whatever it was she had been thinking.

 “You just gave me proof of your claim.” He winced slightly as she dabbed the wound. “It is a well-kept secret, but the king's magic is fading with his age. He once did shows of power every year at the summer tournament, but the last few years he has faked sickness.

He told me in confidence that only someone of royal blood can charge the ball, but he had hope that one of the other pieces might still hold enough magic to share with the ball.”

Those green eyes paused on his for a long moment, the cloth hesitating.

“Oh,” was all she replied.

“Why not go to the king?” He asked. “Why not tell him you are of the same blood?”

She took out her salve that smelled suspiciously like moss, and dabbed it on the wound and any other she saw. Her touch was featherly light on his skin and he couldn't ignore the fact that she smelt like pine needles and fresh-dug earth.

“Do you want the real answer? I do not think you will like it much. The reason no one can know my blood parents and the reason I hide my face is because I saw with my own two eyes what happened to the royals during The Red Gathering.

Do not make it out to be some sort of tragedy, though. I want no part of that world even if I could join it. Castles, riches, and servants do not make all types happy, and I know in my soul it would drive me mad. That is not a life I want.”

That stumped him. Who wouldn't want a life safe from the elements? One where every luxury was at your fingertips? “And what do you want if not that?”

“I want to travel. I want to adventure, to see new things.”

“I thought all people wanted money, and here you are happy with sticks and mud.”

“Ha! Do not get me wrong, I would love a pile of gold as much as the next person, but while for some people it would fund a farm or help start a family, that money for me would be an invitation to see the world." 

Perplexed, he finally looked at her, and her emerald eyes met his. 

They were from two different worlds, and yet, if events had unfolded differently, would he have met her at the castle? Would they have grown up knowing each other?

She shoved his chin away. “All done. Now you will stop bleeding on everything.”

He snorted. “Says the person with an arrow wound.”

Valerlanta motioned to her bandage leg.  “Yes, well, that seems handled now. Good job, by the way.”  

"Don't praise me yet. I make no promises in regards to the quality of my stitches."

"Ha! Well, I haven't bled out yet, so I am calling it a job well done."

Whatever had been bothering her earlier seemed to have faded, and her determination came back. Still, she was pale as a summer cloud and limping badly.

‘I am softer than I realize,’ Venic thought as he very nearly suggested that she rest for a while longer. Nearly, but he didn't. The logical part of him still won control, and before long they were on the move again.

The thief walked with a confidence that baffled him. Not once did she doubt her direction, as if she knew every river, every mountain, and path they came across. As they went, she gathered herbs, and he was lucky if he recognized even half of them. Still, if he asked, she could tell him the name of each one, and the common medical uses.

“This is a willow tree,” She told him. “It is good to collect what you can to have on hand in case you need it. It is a powerful medicine against pain.”

Then just moments later. “This lichen here? This is old mans beard. It will help keep wounds from getting infected.”

"Is that what is on my cuts?" He eyed the stringy green tangle suspiciously.

"Yes, but with yarrow to help stop the bleeding."

The knowledge was passed to him with a sort of mild irritation, but she still answered every question, and questioning her was something he definitely did. Anything she so much as lingered a gaze on would lead to an onslaught of inquiries.

 Venic had learnt his lesson with his time alone starving in the woods, and now he was determined to never feel that way again. 

He had thought that she had finally grown tired of his questioning when she held up a hand to silence him, but when she tilted head, he knew she was listening for something.

Venic strained his ears but heard nothing but the breeze through leaves and birds.

When she put her fingers to her lips and let out a series of whistles, he understood.

Icy panic flooded his veins.

“What are you doing?” He snarled, grabbing her by her arm and putting his other hand onto his sword.

“Relax,” she said, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but he held firm. “They are just passing on information.”

“Who? Information? What sort of information?”

“Where there are traps for smugglers on the roads today, if there are storms coming in, and even people selling goods,” she said with a shrug. “There are people living all over these mountains, and they communicate over the distances using whistles.”

Venic frowned, realizing that this girl could have called for help at any moment since they reached this altitude. So why didn’t she? 

“What did you say to them?”

“They were talking about movement in the forest. I asked for more information. Relax, they are mostly hermits passing time.”

Before he could ask more, she put up a hand again. 

Her head quirked like a bird, sending strands of loose blond hair streaming across her face. He tried to listen too, but all he heard was birds amongst birds. How was he supposed to tell the difference between a bird from a person pretending to be a bird?

Valerlanta limped back, startled. A curse escaped her lips.

“What?” He asked. “What is it?”

“They said they are tracking us,” Valerlanta said, baffled. “And The Hound is leading them.”

“The Hound?”

“Jerstain of house Elfailden. We call him The Hound. He is the personal hunting dog of the king.”

Venic frowned and felt his stomach lurch. 

He had never met the man, but everyone had heard of Jerstain. 

Jerstain was once caught funneling tax money from the king, but the king gave him a second chance. With the thief guild gaining strength, Jerstain was ordered by the king to take his infantry to root them out. If he managed to do that, he could keep his position. 

With the forest so large, most people said it was a fool's chase, but Jerstain took it seriously to the point of obsession. One winter he even led a winter expedition that killed five of his men, and just left them in the snow. Worst yet was that their lives were lost all because of the chance of catching one thief guild member who still managed to get away anyways.

Why would they send him? Because of Valerlanta? How would he know about her?

“He knows the forest relatively well, from what I hear,” she said, as if reading his mind. “But not this well. If they are as close as they are saying, he has help.”

She whistled some more, and this time she did not stop her. After all, what power did he have?

Without Valerlanta, he was lost. Without Valerlanta, the puzzle would not work. Yes, he had her word to help him, but that would only go so far. Venic had to trust her and hope she would respond the same.

So, both knight and thief stood side-by-side and waited.

He only knew a reply came when her head once more tilted towards the sound.

“They relayed a message from my father for me,” she said casting him an odd expression. “He says that you are not who you say you are.”

Venic felt the blood drain from his face. “What?”

“After you left, it seems the king proclaimed he has evidence that you are a spy for Wylfaren.”