Rules For The Bled

When the horses could go no farther and dusk slipped into night, they made camp in a small clearing tucked within the woods. Shadows clung to the trees like moss, and the moon spilled cold silver through the leaves.

"We'll need fire and food," Mars said, stretching as he hopped down from the cart.

"We're out of food," Yvain reminded him, pulling his cloak tighter against the chill.

"We passed a stream on the way here. If we've any luck, we could fish," Mars replied with a grin, already rolling up his sleeves.

"Perfect," Celeste clapped her hands, her smile sharp. "You and Yvain catch dinner. Adeline and I will gather wood."

No one objected. They split naturally and drifted into the darkening woods.

Adeline led the way, moonlight catching faint glints in her now-black hair, a basket slung over one arm as she picked fallen branches. Celeste followed a few steps behind, silent save for the occasional snap of twigs underfoot.

After a while, Adeline spoke, her voice low but steady. "If there's something you want to say to me, you might as well. The hole you're burning through the back of my head is getting uncomfortable."

Celeste gave a short laugh. "And what would I say to you?"

"Oh, the usual." Adeline glanced back. "To stay away from your cousin."

Celeste snorted. "Yvain is grown. He may doubt himself, but he's sharp. And when pressed, ruthless. He doesn't need my permission or my protection." She bent to pick up a thick branch, crooked like a serpent. "Besides, I've no interest in policing his private decisions."

"Then what is it?" Adeline turned, fixing Celeste with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You don't trust me."

"You're perceptive," Celeste said flatly.

"Well, I am an enchanter."

Celeste stepped closer, the stick now resting on her shoulder. "So am I."

Adeline's smile didn't falter. "You're engaged," she said suddenly. "My mistress told mine."

"We are. Betrothed in the old tradition. But that doesn't mean what you think it does." Celeste's tone sharpened. "We honor legacy, not sentiment."

Adeline arched a brow. "So you're not… possessive?"

Celeste shook her head. "I'm not jealous, Adeline. I'm pragmatic. You can play your little games, harbor your little secrets. I won't interfere."

She leaned in, voice like ice under velvet. "But if your intentions ever shift—"

Adeline tilted her head. "Let me guess… you'll kill me?"

Celeste smiled sweetly. "No. In the Old Empire, execution was theater. Rarely swift. Always cruel. They didn't kill to punish, they punished until death came begging." The firelight that flickered behind her eyes was older than hate. "And I've always been drawn to performance."

Adeline's expression barely changed, but a flicker of unease passed through her gaze. Still, she held her poise. "Your fears are misplaced. I'd never hurt Yvain."

Celeste looked off into the trees. "It's not his body I'm worried about. What wounds him are things like hope, conscience, affection. And you… you reek of monster blood."

Adeline's voice was quiet now. "So you knew."

"He probably does too, augurs are like that." Celeste said, eyes narrowed. "So what are you? Succubus? Gorgon? Half-fey? Something else?"

Monsters were once common in the first and second ages, but humanity had hunted them to naught, now what few remained of them stayed in the Ashen Lands or in The Verdance.

Adeline gave a small, amused sigh. "Does it matter?"

Celeste bent and added another stick to her bundle. "I suppose it doesn't matter what brand of demonspawn you are."

"I'll remember your words."

Celeste turned back toward camp. "See that you do."

At the edge of the stream, the water ran clear over smooth stones, reflecting the last hues of sunset in rippling shards of amber and violet. Mars stood knee-deep in the shallows, wielding a long wooden pole he'd sharpened to a spear. With startling ease, he drove it down into the current and flicked up another silver-bodied fish, tossing it onto the bank with a satisfied grin.

Yvain stood nearby, arms folded, boots on dry ground. There was little for him to do but watch.

"I bet you're glad you let me tag along," Mars called over his shoulder. "How would you have survived without me? Eating moss and tree bark?"

"We'd have managed," Yvain replied.

"But that would be below your station." Mars lifted his next throw and missed. He shrugged and tried again.

Yvain smirked faintly. "The wild doesn't care about titles. Whether prince or pauper, it'll freeze your bones or feed you worms all the same."

Mars chuckled. "True to that. Still, I'm the one knee-deep in freezing water, and you're dry on the shore like some moody statue."

Yvain arched a brow. "You're the one who insisted on fishing with a spear."

"Because it's fun," Mars said, and with a deft thrust, skewered another trout. He held it up like a trophy. "And because I'm good at it."

Yvain shook his head in amusement. For all the bard's bluster, he was good at it—annoyingly so.

Mars strung the fish on a thin vine, then glanced sideways. "So… what's the plan when Sorel catches up?"

Yvain's amusement faded. "We fight. And probably lose."

Mars was quiet for a moment, then said, "I don't think so."

Yvain looked over at him. "No?"

"You and Celeste, you're not like anyone I've ever met. That girl, Adeline too. She has that… whisper about her. And you, well…"

"Well?"

Mars shrugged, slinging the fish over his shoulder. "I can feel your Breath, Yvain. Not just sense it, feel it. Celeste is like sailing in a tiny boat across an open ocean. She's vast, untamed, and full of teeth. But you… you feel like falling into a well with no bottom. Like drowning in a quiet place."

Yvain said nothing.

Mars continued. "Sometimes, I think you're an archmage in disguise."

Yvain gave a short laugh, dry and faint. "If only. It takes more than deep Breath or mastery to become an archmage. It's a metamorphosis. A reshaping of the soul. And I've never felt more unfinished."

"Well," Mars said, hoisting his catch. "Sounds like you're halfway there."

He started back toward camp, then glanced over his shoulder. "Roasted fish for supper. Not bad for fugitives, eh?"

The march back to camp was brief, the trees sighing gently overhead in the cooling night. When they arrived, a fire was already lit, Celeste and Adeline must have found kindling while they were away. The flames danced low and steady, casting long shadows that curled at the edge of the clearing.

Mars got to work immediately, cleaning and skewering the fish with the focus of someone who'd done this many times. The scent of roasting flesh soon filled the camp, and the others gathered around, grateful and wordless. For all his noise and showmanship, the bard seemed to be the most competent among them in moments like this.

They ate quickly, each bite wolfed down with the hunger of those who'd ridden too far. When the meal was done, Celeste and Adeline curled up together near the fire, sharing body heat under a shared cloak, their quiet breathing soon a counter-rhythm to the crackling wood.

Yvain remained seated beside the flames, and Mars sat across from him, strumming his lute with a languid grace. The tune was gentle, a soft country melody from Redmarsh perhaps, plucked with the ease of memory rather than performance.

After a moment, Mars spoke.

"What are you hoping to find in the Hundred Towers?" he asked, not looking up from his strings.

Yvain stared into the fire. "Answers."

Mars quirked a brow. "To what question?"

"I'm not sure yet."

The bard smiled around a quiet chord. "So, let me get this straight, you're riding halfway across the country for answers to a question you haven't even asked?"

"More or less," Yvain replied, leaning back against a nearby log.

Mars gave a soft chuckle. "That makes for a poor quest, my friend."

"I never said it was a quest."

"No one ever does," Mars said, plucking a minor chord that hung in the air like an unfinished thought. "It's bad luck to call it that. You name a journey a quest, and the gods take notice. They start testing you. Best to wander in silence and let the world think you're just passing through."

Yvain smiled faintly, despite himself.

They sat for a while, wrapped in firelight.

The world, for a moment, seemed still.

"Why are you really with us?" Yvain asked finally.

Mars looked up from his lute. "A quest needs companions. And because trouble finds me, whether I sit still or walk forward."

Yvain nodded slowly, accepting that for now.

"Play another song," he said.

Mars did.

And in the lonely dark, as the flames hissed and his fingers danced across the strings, it almost felt like peace.