When Fabrian awoke, Netali was surprisingly still fast asleep, tucked snuggly in her hammock hanging from the rungs of the wagon frame. She had assumed the head of the traveling merchants would be an early riser, preparing the caravan for the day. But the quiet morning worked for Fabrian. She folded the blankets Netali had loaned her and set them aside, then rearranged the sitting cushions the way they had been yesterday. Once she was certain that things were relatively clean, she slipped out of the wagon into the rosy morning. 

The sunlight scattered just over the horizon line, and the dawn melted slowly from lilac into the palest of blues.  The sky wavered like water—hazy and swaying in the distance. Bird song chimed faintly from the forest. As for the rest of the caravan, they were also quiet—none of the liveliness from yesterday to be heard. She supposed everyone was still asleep. Not a bunch of morning people it seemed (or maybe the heist of yesterday's thieves took a toll on the group, Fabrian couldn't judge them for that.) 

Closing her eyes, Fabrian inhaled deeply and listened. At the back of her mind, the sound of drill sergeants yelled angrily, and she could hear others running along the track as they completed their morning PT. She could smell the greasy scent of fried eggs and pancakes from the chow hall just across from the barracks, and she could hear the din of her bunkmates as they whined about how early it was. It was funny how sacred and second-nature her morning rituals became, opening her eyes to see the dappled white plaster ceiling, or how the bunk bed beneath her creaked anytime someone breathed. Half of the time anyone awoke, it would be because somebody tossed-and-turned in a squeaky bed. 

All of it… the high sun over the base, the other soldiers haggardly putting on their caps and making their way to chow—when she opened her eyes, for just a moment, she could see it. Fabrian looked at the Army base and its familiarity: the uniforms, the humvees, the people off-duty in their civilian clothes. Reaching out, she took a step forward.

The illusion broke, and there was only the sea of wagons before her. 

Exhaling, Fabrian clenched her fist and wandered back to where Netali had showed her the food was kept. 

Luckily for her, meat seemed like a resource that could easily be acquired—whether by hunting or by trade. Vegetables and fruits were less common, and mostly purchased or bartered from markets and other merchants. That would be a small setback, but Fabrian would figure out how to compensate later. 

There was one other person at the food wagon, Cleri, who was one of the guards from yesterday. They looked at Fabrian in surprise, and Fabrian in turn inclined her head politely. 

“Morning.” She offered.

Cleri gave her several looks over, before returning a nod. “Good morning, newbie.”

“Ah, so you've heard of me, then?” Fabrian asked. 

“Just about everyone did,” Cleri said, observing Fabrian skeptically. “The boss taking in some mysterious noblewoman off the road after a bandit attack.”

“I see how that might raise the alarm.” Fabrian said, “But like you I'm in a similar situation. I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was left stranded because of it. I'm very grateful to Netali for being willing to take me in.”

“The boss knows what she's doing no doubt,”  Cleri huffed. “But it feels to me that her kindness is misplaced.”

Fabrian raised a brow and pulled back the canvas flap to the food stores. The guard gave her another narrowed glance and entered the wagon. She followed after them.

“You don't trust me,” Fabrian said.

They sorted through what looked like a crate of jerky. “I don't trust most people, certainly not strange nobles from the middle of nowhere.” 

“For what it's worth, I believe that's smart.” Fabrian couldn't admit out loud that Netali took her in knowing she was the exiled queen. “But I'm more than happy to prove my worthiness while staying here for the time being.”

“Time being? You're not going to stay with us long-term?” 

She observed the guard for a moment, taking in their surprised expression and open body language. They weren't trying to pry information from her but were genuinely taken aback. Fabrian wondered what kind of world this was where hospitality, even when unwittingly offered, was sincere. 

“I have business in Agan.” Not the whole truth, but not a flat out lie either. “Netali is letting me tag along until the caravan gets to the border. We'll part ways there.” 

Cleri put their hands on their hips. “Agan, huh? That makes sense you'd want an escort. The route there  is rough. It's one of the reasons why our caravan does so well to begin with. Anyone who wants to travel north is better off in numbers rather than on their own.”

“Is the climate between Natalez and Agan that bad?”

“I wouldn't say bad, per se. But it’s not great—there’s a civil dispute. You have a lot of people from Natalez trying to sneak into Agan, and vice versa. Land squatting is a big thing along the border, and most residents who have lived there for generations don't appreciate it. That has led to the local militias being…well, intense towards travelers.”

“Why doesn't either kingdom do anything about it?”

Cleri snorted. “The King of Agan tried—there was a whole treaty he drafted to grant fair passage and housing to any land squatters coming from Natalez, provided they were willing to pay a crossing and new citizenship fine. But transition documentation would be immediate once they settled on the Agan side. He had asked our kingdom to show the same courtesy.”

“I'm…thinking that isn't quite what happened given that it's an ongoing problem.”

“Lien, no!” Crossing their arms, Cleri leaned against the crates of food. “Adrian, our former king, killed all the envoys delivering the treaty.”

“What? How did that not develop into an act of war?” Fabrian gripped the sides of her tunic—that man was this body's late husband?

“Perhaps the king of Agan is naive. Or perhaps he's biding his time to drop such a decree when it will really destroy our kingdom. If I were him, I'd do it now.”

“Why?”

Cleri laughed. “Now that the idiot queen is gone, Crown Prince Hector and the Prophetess Amelia will be taking over. I give our poor kingdom less than half a year before it crumbles into complete economic and political anarchy. Perhaps you're the smart one, moving to Agan before it all starts.”

Fabrian drew a shaking breath. “The idiot queen?”

“Ugh yes. Her. Thanks to the crown prince, we're not to even utter her name or Lien strike us down. And I'm not one to incite the wrath of my god upon me, so we shan't try. She was just recently exiled two days ago, and knowing the crown prince, he probably hired a company to remove her from the equation altogether. She was from the south and I'm certain her sympathizers and family would've tried to rebel against the decree. Good riddance honestly.”

“Was she really that bad?” Fabrian's mouth felt dry.

Cleri hummed. “She could have been worse I suppose. She didn't torment anyone aside from the crown prince—”

“What do you mean torment?”

“They didn't like each other.” Cleri shrugged. “Most people assumed it was because the crown prince was three years her senior.”

“Helicopter is older?!” Fabrian couldn't stop the outburst.

“Heli-what? The crown prince. Prince Hector.” Cleri looked at her like she was crazy before continuing. “Don't let his looks deceive you. Prince Hector is twenty-seven.”

Fabrian grimaced. She would've said seventeen let alone twenty-seven. But she supposed given his wild romance with Amelia, that would make a more appropriate age for a television character. That meant that she was currently twenty-four.

I joined the ROTC when I was twenty-four. It was my sophomore year at university… She thought with the slightest grimace.

“You okay? You look pale,” Cleri leaned in.

“Totally fine, thank you.” Fabrian waved them away. “So was the fact that he was older than his step-mother the only issue?”

“No. The late queen was just genuinely stupid. Not a thought aside from spending money in that pretty little head of hers.”

“Ah.”

Cleri filled a small bag with jerky before looking at Fabrian. “Aren't you going to get something to eat?”

“Yeah.” She clenched her hands. She had a job to do. And even though Netali was granting her time to acclimate, knowing how dislikeable this body had been, spurned her. She needed to prove herself. In her previous life, she’d striven for excellence—valuing her abilities and how they could be used for others. The only reason she'd gone to college was to help her parents with their business. She joined the military to protect people. And now, to be in the body of someone who didn't care about anyone…

“Cleri, are there any practice glaives?” She asked, shoving jerky and stale bread into a small pack to put in her backpack.

“Like my weapon?” 

“That's the one. I'm not strong enough to hold a real one, but I'd like to practice getting accustomed to it.”

“You?”

Fabrian clenched her jaw. “I did not stutter. I won't repeat myself.”

“Huh, I wouldn't have expected that.” Cleri crossed her arms. “I have an extra stave. It’s the pole used when a weaponsmith crafts a glaive—while it doesn't have a blade, it’ll still leave someone with a nasty bruise if you hit them hard enough. Will that do?”

“More than enough.”

“Follow me, I don't mind passing it off to you now before I start patrol.”

“Thank you.”

They walked together to Cleri's wagon in awkward silence, but Fabrian appreciated the lack of small talk. She was certain the guard picked up her sour mood after their conversation about the royal family. 

“Wait here.” Cleri instructed before heaving themself up into a wagon covered with a gray tarp. They disappeared for a moment only to reappear with a long pole about half the size of Fabrian's current height. “Here you are.” Cleri offered the stave. 

“How much for it?” Fabrian asked. “I don't have much to offer but once I start working, I'll pay you back for it.”

“Consider it a gift. It'll be amusing to see a noble try to wield it. Plus, it was just eating space in my carriage, so this is better. Just be sure not to poke an eye out.”

“Thanks.” Fabrian took the weapon, appraising the faded wood. It was heavy, perhaps the same as a ten pound EZ bar. This body certainly wasn't accustomed to hefting anything like this, so she had to plant her feet and rest the butt of the pole on the ground. 

“I could teach you how to use it, y’know.”

“You're just a touch too enthusiastic and generous. What do you want?”

Cleri grinned. “I told you. This will be amusing. After I so valiantly fought off those bandits yesterday, I'm pretty bored at the moment.”

“You mean you and the other guards fought off the bandits.”

“Nuances. Do you want my help or not?”

Fabrian bit her lip. Having an instructor would allow her to learn how to use the glaive more easily. “When do we start?”