It was a stormy night in Uptop, but Charden wouldn’t let that stop him. The rain beat down his back, chilling him to the bone, his wet clothes sticking to his skin. The wind howled through the tops of the trees. He slicked some of the hair that had fallen from his messy bun off his face and surveyed the forest around him, vibrating with excitement. 

The King’s men were transporting something big to Vlenexia, to the palace itself. Charden’s intel couldn’t tell him precisely what, but he knew whatever it was, the King was sure to notice it gone. He counted five guards—one driving the cart, one on each side, and two behind. They were clad in the finest leather armor, and Charden couldn’t see their Marks. 

But he didn’t need to. Whatever Godly gifts they had, they wouldn’t have a chance to use them. 

Charden’s left hand twitched over his hilt, silently calculating in his head. The chipped dagger itched to see some action. He looked to his right, using his other hand to signal to Morgen where each man stood. Charden would go around the left and take out the two on that side. Morgen would go for the other two. Then they’d get the driver and interrogate him about whatever he was carting.

Morgen nodded, and they each slipped back into the shadows. 

Two Unmarked rebels taking out five Marked soldiers, all working in the King’s private army? It seemed ridiculous—fantastical, even—but Charden wasn’t worried. Morgen was the fastest in the land, and Charden was no stranger with a blade. 

They didn’t need gifts of magic from the Gods to be something. 

Charden melted into the shadows, using the trees as cover as he worked to hide the sound of his footsteps. He was light on his feet, but even the slightest crunch could alert the men that they were coming, and they needed the element of surprise for this to work. He moved through the trees like a leaf floating on the wind, and then, the carriage came to a halt. There was a narrow bridge up ahead, and they needed to reconfigure to get over it. 

That was the time to strike. 

Charden’s dagger flew through the trees, aimed right for the sliver of flesh that peeked out from between the soldier’s shoulder blade and the bottom of their helmet. The other guard turned and unleashed a storm of fire from their hands but met no target. A follower of Dilister, the God of Fire—that made things tricky. But Charden wasn't worried.

There was a shout from the other side and the sound of a body crumpling. Another spout of fire. That made two dead and two with the mark of Dilister still standing. Charden picked up a rock and threw it to his left, hoping to draw the attention away. Both guards still standing became distracted, searching for the source of the noise. 

Charden darted out from the shadows then, and in one swift movement, he plucked his dagger from the dead soldier’s neck and sent it flying into the back of his next target. At the same time, Morgen shot his arrow through the remaining guard’s armor. 

Then, the door to the carriage opened. 

“Who’s out there? Status report!” 

As one, the two rebels blended back into the forest's shadows. Shit! Another guard—this one with his Marks clear as day. Twisting up his forearm was unmistakably clumps of moss, forest green and brilliantly defined. Like a tattoo, but swirling with life. He was a follower of Vexia, the Goddess of Destruction—and could bring the whole forest to rot if he wanted. 

“Shit! What’s a noble doing guarding a transport cart?” Morgen cursed under his breath as they ducked behind the trees.

Charden shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” 

“What? Don’t you dare—” 

But Morgen was too late. 

Everything happened all at once. The noble let out an oof of surprise, having been kicked from behind, just as Charden took a step forward to get a better look. There was a scuffle as another hand reached out to stop the guard from face-planting in the ground—another soldier, perhaps. But two figures managed to break free just as the guards caught sight of their fallen comrades.

“Hey! Stop!” The guards called, and three spilled out from the cart, the driver jumping down from his post to join in. With the noble, that was four—but two were running. 

One was cloaked in brilliant orange robes, with long brunette braids cascading down her back. She was being dragged behind an older girl, wearing a red cloak that shrouded her almost completely, but Charden could make out streaks of white hair blowing out from the hood and brilliant red and gold afkara hugging her body. 

Daevana. 

They were Daevana—noble ones, too, based on their clothing. And the fact that Charden could make out silver cuffs on each wrist. Someone had felt the need to inhibit their magic. 

Whoever they were didn't matter—the King wanted them, and they were getting away. 

Charden pulled his black scarf over his face, using it like a mask, and his hood over his hair. In a split second, he made his decision. He darted out into the group of soldiers going after the girls and knocked one on the back of the head, crippling him instantly. 

“Hey! Stop!” He called to the girls—but he was too late. The world turned on its head. 

Everything happened in a haze. The girl in red looked back to see where the voice had come from and lost her footing. She tripped on a raised root, and crumpled to the ground. The other girl tried to help the girl in red up, but got snatched up by the man who had been driving the cart. 

She screamed as he used his magic to gently put her to sleep. A follower of Sloth, no doubt.  But there was still time; his trick wouldn't last long on a noble. Charden leaped to try and help the girls but was caught by the Destruction follower and yanked backward. He fell on his back and gazing up at the noble; he realized this was General Narrex, the King’s nephew. 

So, essentially, Charden was screwed. 

“You rebels are getting on our last nerves, you know that?” Narrex growled, towering over Charden with a build that could rival the trunks of the trees around them. 

Charden hummed, his smirk reaching his eyes so Narrex was sure to notice through the mask. “Aw, do you hear that, boys? We’re memorable! And here I thought the King didn't care for lowlifes such as us Unmarked.” 

Narrex growled again. “How many men did you bring?” 

Charden shrugged, knowing it was just him and Morgen, but he acted like he needed to think about it. 

“You better start talking, you little punk, or—” 

Just then, an arrow flew from the trees, colliding with Narrex’s skull. Instead of a traditional arrow fixed with an arrowhead, the end was attached to a small rock. They were meant to annoy rather than draw blood. Which meant Morgen was out of real arrows. 

Another point against their team. Fantastic. 

Narrex jolted, and it was enough to get him to let Charden go—a distraction he was happy to take. He jumped to his feet and bolted for the girl crumpled over the roots of the trees, clearly out like a light from her fall. She'd need to be checked for a head wound. 

Charden gathered her in his arms and started dragging her back into the forest. Then, he would go back for the other one. 

“Stop right there!” Narrex yelled, and Charden looked up just in time to see the other girl trapped in his slimy fingers. He had one hand raised to her skull, hovering just beside it, covered in a sickly black sludge. If any of that rot were to touch her head, she'd be as good as forest food. “Put the girl down, or this one gets it.” 

Charden got a better look at the girl, then. She was also wearing afkara, the traditional feminine dress of the Daevanna, but her delicate draping silks were dyed in intricate patterns shaped to look strikingly like marigolds. Nature, Charden realized, all at once. She wasn't just any Daevanna. 

She was one of their princesses. 

Which meant the one he had was—

“Do I need to repeat myself? Put. The Princess. Down.” 

Charden didn't think. He acted. And he did the only thing he could think to do: he pulled his dagger and put it to the Princess’s neck. 

Narrex narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn't.” 

“I'm just a dirty, lowlife rebel, right? I'm not loyal to anyone. Not the Daevanna, and certainly not the Aeglusia. Don't test me.” Charden slowly took a step back, and Narrex didn't move. 

If the girl was who Charden thought she was, she was far more valuable alive. Narrex knew that. 

He took another step back, and again, Narrex didn't move. 

His face was slowly getting red, his breathing uneven and anger-filled. The girl in his arms gulped, her light brown eyes glinting in the moonlight. She locked eyes with Charden and mouthed: run. 

Charden tried to signal her to stop, but it was too late. She stomped on Narrex’s foot—hard—and elbowed him right in the stomach. He doubled over, some of the rot dripping onto her shoulder. It burned through her cloak and into her skin, and she hissed from the pain, but it wasn't enough to injure her too severely. 

The scuffle would only last so long, and they all knew that. Charden had one shot to get out, and they wouldn't let him get another chance at the other princess. 

He gripped the one he managed to save under his arms and pulled her into the blanket of trees. Morgen quickly caught up with him and helped him reposition the girl so she was hooked around each of their shoulders. “We must get back to camp before the General brings down the whole forest!” 

“Agreed. Let's move.” Charden didn't spare a glance over his shoulder because he couldn't bear it. Instead, he started navigating them back toward Base. 

Commander was going to absolutely love this.