Earlier that day, Truman lied to Freya to keep her from patrolling as a duo again.


    His pseudo-employer crafted and approved the lie, so it had to work.


    "Miss Pen suggested that one of us should guard the camp whilst the other patrols," he told Freya, who stood before him, arms on her hips, still sweaty from the journey. "I concur. Safer that way." He nodded solemnly.


    Not really a lie, which pleased him.


    Freya seemed initially offended. Then, her small brown eyes frowned with realization.


    "Unless you’d rather patrol whilst I... attempt to cook," he added, hesitating. "No, actually, I cannot cook. But you coul—"


    "Why speak as though Pen were an advisor, Sir Truman?"


    Truman blinked, then ignored the question.


    "As I said. You cook. I patrol. Tomorrow, we devise a new plan. Agreed?"


    Freya clicked her tongue, turning toward the camp with a look of distaste. Truman scratched his neck. Maybe she hated the task.


    "Very well," she nodded, her face bright again when she turned back. Too bright for Truman''s liking. Or too practiced. He couldn''t tell, so he’d walked away.


    But now he was walking back. Fast.


    "I know a noble when I see one," Freya had whispered into Lady Prisoner''s ear. The whisper was plenty audible in Truman''s ear.


    He was five paces from cutting her down. She had taken off her armor, simplifying the task.


    A distant whistle drifted through the air. His heavy heart dulled the sound. Step by soundless step, his golden eyes darkened. His grip tightened on the borrowed sword.


    Lady Penelope’s expression over Freya’s shoulder was clear. Unimpressed. A sliver of pity, even. One that grew once she saw Truman''s stance. She knew. This was Freya''s end. Penelope’s gaze flicked between them.


    Then, an unspoken command in her eyes. Wait.


    Truman''s grip tightened instinctively—but he stopped, his stance unchanged—the why to his obedience was a question he discarded pinning for later.


    "You recognize me?" Penelope asked, tone measured. "Me? I''m a noble?"


    "Well," Freya crossed one leg over the other, a movement Truman tracked. "I suppose you no longer are, eh? Not after the scandal..."


    Penelope’s face didn’t change, but Truman noticed her fists clench over her legs.


    "You must have believed yourself unrecognizable beneath that glimmering mask of yours... but no amount of filth upon your visage could conceal the truth from me."


    Truman''s eyes narrowed.


    "After all, what you confided to me that day has been replayed in my mind so many times that one could say I am haunted by it," Freya''s eyes remained unblinking, watching Penelope''s gaze. "You shameless shamaness."


    "Shama... ness...?" Penelope’s tone concealed confusion. "We''ve met before?"


    Truman slightly loosened his grip on his sword. Blinked. Am I missing something? Is ''Shamaness'' code for something in Yilderen?


    "A witch, yes. And, naturally, you''d forget," Freya hissed, leaning in closer. "After all, I was but another client you deceived with your cursed pretenses and vile dealings. A shaman who reads the fortunes of noblewomen. I can scarcely believe I was taken in by such deceit." Freya paused a moment. Caught her breath. "But those blue eyes... I recognized you at first glance. To think you dared to fool these good-hearted people into following you… What witchcraft did you employ, I cannot bear to wonder...” Her eyes gleamed with a copper tint, illuminated by the flickering light of the bonfire. “But at last, I have arrived. And I shall free them from you and your fake sinful spirits magic, or whatever it is you call it."


    Penelope narrowed her eyes.


    "Wait, then, am I a fake enchantress or a real one?"


    "A fake one!" Faye caught herself before she woke up Miss Alice. "Fake! Your cursed words could not possibly have been genuine, for I am living proof of your lies—" Freya blinked, then frowned. "S... So you admit you are her?"


    Penelope barely hesitated.


    "That''s right. I am she," There was almost a shine on her forehead as she smugly admitted a lie.


    Truman furrowed a brow.


    … No threat to prisoner lady. So no need to act?


    "Y-You are her..." Freya leaned back, clearly perplexed.


    "You couldn''t have accused me without being entirely certain of my identity... could you?"


    "W-Well, of course not, but..." Freya was accusing Prisoner Lady because of her eye color alone. "Right. I knew it was you. Monstrous woman."


    Truman stepped back. Not a secret assassin. Not a bounty hunter. No need to cause a scene and wake up Miss Alice.


    He released the sword handle and turned away.


    Dame Freya has terrible hearing, he made a mental note. Freya’s voice followed him as he walked away, her words mixing with the crunch of snow under his boots.


    "I remember it as though it was but yesterday. The cruel words you uttered, your feeble attempt to shatter my dream," she paused a moment before continuing. "And when I heard the news of your misfortune... I confess, I even felt a twinge of sympathy for you," Freya turned to meet Penelope''s gaze once more. "Until, that is, I recalled what a vile wench you are."If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Truman’s mind stretched to the wind. The cold. The silence beyond the voices, down South. A chill ran down his spine.


    Not from the weather.


    The storm they had tried outrunning had almost caught up to them.


    Maybe a day or two was all they had left.


    <hr style="font-weight: 400">


    Truman’s eyes were heavy as he woke from an accidental nap. He rolled his shoulders, the wind curling at his back as signs of dawn crept over the horizon.


    I was awake, watching the dying embers of the fire with strangely intense concentration. I didn’t want to think anymore.


    “May I ask you a question?” Sir Truman’s voice was low as he spoke. It had a gentle edge to it, his voice. Even when he was angry or serious.


    “If it’s not about the future,” I answered.


    “No, it pertains more to the past,” I turned to look at him, and he had this glint in his eyes. “How did you end up here?” Truman asked. Not out of curiosity but out of understanding.


    Understanding something you don’t even know yet. Strange.


    “I died,” I said.


    The words were familiar. Like something I’ve thought of so dedicatedly I can recite it all by heart. Yet it was just two words.


    I chuckled, then turned to him with a cheeky look. “We all did. And so there’s really nothing to tell, Sir Truman.” I grinned.


    “My real name is Faraji,” he said, shifting his leg’s position and straightening it in front of him. “I didn’t get the chance to claim it as my new name with the newcomer the other day.”


    Suddenly, my cheeky words felt like an offense to him. And a pinch of regret made me shift as well, suddenly uncomfortable on my cushion.


    “Is it your birth name?”


    “Yes,” he said. “Truman is easier for the people here to pronounce, so I use it more often.”


    “… I can see why you prefer Faraji,” I pulled my knees to my chest. “It strangely suits you more.”


    I inspected his expression for the meaning of that revelation, but all I found was contentment. He stared at the embers with this stoic look, but its edges were gentle, and his gaze was at ease.


    Like he simply felt like sharing that information.


    “… It means consolation,” he said through a small smile.


    I chuckled, wrapping my arms around my waist.


    The wind howled through the pale greenery, muting Freya’s faint snoring and the audible breathing from Alice who slept right behind me. Our surroundings were limited in the distance by a mix of trees and snowy clouds. Everything carried with it the sharp bite of the cold.


    “I can take care of night shifts,” I offered, watching the last bits of wood get incinerated inside the fire. “Feels like I should contribute somehow. And you get to sleep.” I turned to him.


    The faint glow of the embers reflected upon Truman’s face, and he seemed to consider the offer.


    “That would indeed be preferable,” he confessed, his brow furrowing slightly. “I despise nightshifts.”


    I nodded. Yeah, me too.


    Before I could say more, shuffling sounds rose from behind me.


    “’ Morning, Miss Ali,” Truman said. He scratched the light stubble that had grown on his face, giving me a look that asked, ‘Is it morning?’


    I threw a look at our pitch-black surroundings and shook my head at him.


    Don’t worry about it.


    I threw a look over my shoulder at her. “Good day, Ali.”


    Alice sat up, hair wild, eyes still heavy with sleep but already sharp with thought.


    “We sway South today.” She said, mostly to herself, head still down.


    South, as in we would completely diverge from Jeozdam’s route.


    She turned to Truman and me.


    “Objections? Better suggestions?” There was a slither of my favorite emotion in her tone, making me stifle a smile. I could even glimpse it in her soft pink eyes as she waited for our answers.


    Doubt.


    Truman shook his head. “I’m ready,” he said.


    Her somehow inoffensive glare turned to me. I also shook my head.


    “I don’t know where we’re going, and I think Freya doesn’t either, but you trust her and I so trust you, Miss Ali.” I smiled.


    Alice’s gaze hardened at my words, and she pushed down the rebellious hairs messing up her seamless cut.


    “Damn it. Let’s go then," Alice declared, throwing the blanket off her and heading towards Freya to wake her up.


    ~


    The sun was somewhere high, hidden behind a suffocating layer of snow-heavy clouds. We’d made it to a steep hill, its surface slick with a thin layer of snow, surrounded by tall trees whose dense crowns formed a canopy of shade. I saw it just ahead—a forest teeming with treasures only a place like this could hide.


    Freya and I walked side by side, her clinking armor a nuisance next to the satisfying crunch of our boots into the thick layers of snow. Truman and Alice forged ahead, each of them locked in their own determined little world.


    “That forest seems a foraging paradise,” I said casually, the cold biting at my lips, making it harder to talk.


    My eyes traced the distant trees. I barely concealed the eagerness flickering behind my eyes as I looked up at Freya. Her breaths curled around her face as white clouds and her skin seemed a shade paler.


    There were things there, in that forest—things you couldn’t find anywhere else. The trees stood tall, their crowns interwoven so tightly they held the snow above, leaving the ground untouched by anything but shadows.


    This forest was the parting line of the roads between Jeozdam and Sail. Knowledge I hadn’t acquired from the map, no. It was from a much sturdier source.


    I slightly grinned, seeing no traces of anyone other than our group in the area so far.


    Suddenly, I felt a sharp, hard elbow nudge me forward, hitting the side of my arm. Thrown off balance, I stumbled forward, nearly tripping from the snow’s pull on my foot. Catching myself before the fall, I sturdied myself. The hat that’d been keeping my hair pristine tumbled off my head and into the snow, leaving me with a messy, wind-blown look I didn’t bother to fix. I shot her a glare, cold as the wind biting my skin


    “If you so much as try to interfere,” she hissed, casting a disdainful glance down at me, her full body armor making her appear nearly twice her true size. “I’ll tell them what you are. A fallen noblewoman. A disgrace. The very woman even her own husband wouldn''t deign to look at.”


    She said it like a threat that would cut deep. But it only made me want to roll my eyes.


    Feels like I’m back in middle school…


    With that, she took the lead again, waving happily at Truman, who turned just long enough to check on us. It took a beat for him to get what occurred.


    Picking up my hat, I couldn’t help but click my tongue, chuckling as I heard the clanking of her armor.


    “She doesn’t realize you can hear everything,” I snickered, despite my best efforts to keep my amusement to myself. I heard myself chuckle as I lifted my head to see, despite the distance, a grin on Truman''s face as well as he shook his head and turned around to continue ahead.


    He seemed more amused at my amusement than at my statement.


    I sniffled, nose red from the cold, face half wrapped in a cloth—just enough to hide the sneer that widened on it.


    “C’mon, you at the back, we have a forest to forage!” Freya’s raspy voice rang, almost muffled by the weather.


    Right… I’ll let you do everything since you’re so capable and so knowledgeable…


    I focused on the trees ahead, my gaze unwavering as the most deliciously evil thought slid into my mind, so simple, so perfect that I could almost taste it.


    Time to poison them all.