"What?!"

I frowned. I wasn't the best judge of morality—a childhood around Sin does that to you. People like Castille and Arwen had become my guiding stars, the closest thing to a moral compass in this wilderness. If she wasn't a good person, then who was?

"Carrying the gold is killing Thor," Castille said.

My eyes went wide.

"Oh…"

"The weight is too much for him. His legs buckle and break with every step. Dugan was healing him through that connection Isla is always talking about."

"Oh!"

That's why Dugan couldn't heal himself. All his will was focused on Thor.

Castille's face fixed into a snarl.

"Everything we've been through—everything we've done for each other, and he didn't think to tell me! W-We could have changed the plan. We could have spared them all that pain, but…"

Castille grimaced. I continued where she left off.

"But it was the best plan for the situation. There wasn't a better way to escape the Lagos cartel and keep our hands on the reward."

"We could have buried it. We could have asked the Vangraves to keep it safe for us."

"Someone could have found it, and who knows if the Vangraves will be around another month? Dugan didn't tell you because he knew it was the best plan."

Castille huffed.

"Does he think I care more about money than him and Thor?"

She ran a hand through her messy, black hair.

"What if he's right?"

I didn't know what to say. I knew the gold was a burden on Thor. If I knew it caused him that much pain, would I have done things differently? Would I have given away some of the gold to make his burden lighter?

No… No, I wouldn't.

"You're wrong, Castille. You're not a bad person, Dugan is."

She glowered at me.

"Careful, half-elf. I haven't slept in a day, and I'm in a sour mood."

"Dugan never told you because he wanted to keep the gold, too. He isn't perfect, Castille. He's as selfish as the rest of us, Thor included."

She gave me a long, hard look and then snorted.

"Maybe, you're right. Maybe Dugan is the real mastermind, and we're his accomplices."

I nodded.

"His unwitting idiots."

"Can you walk?"

"I can try."

"Then, from one selfish person to another, let me give you a hand."

She reached down and lifted me to my feet. She put my left arm around her neck and her right arm under my armpit.

"There's nothing wrong with being a little selfish."

Castille spun to the voice behind us.

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Mother Geslin plodded out of a nearby house, biting off a piece of hard tack clutched in her scrawny hand.

I sighed, more exhausted than frustrated.

"I told you to stay inside, Geslin."

She gave me a dismissive wave.

"You can't expect me to listen to EVERYTHING you say."

I grumbled, too tired to argue with the old woman.

"Now, about that gold-"

"No," Castille and I said in unison.

Mother Geslin cackled.

"It was worth a shot."

"What are you doing out here?" Castille asked. "Aside from snooping."

"What am I doing?!"

She thrust a bony thumb at her chest.

"This is MY village. If anyone gets first choice at looting dead bodies, it's me!"

Castille laughed.

"How rude of us. Go ahead."

We let Geslin take the lead as Castille half-dragged me to the battlefield. The mercenaries walked among the dead, killing enemy survivors and pointing out their wounded for Isla to heal. She had a long night ahead of her.

As Geslin wandered off to strip the dead of their valuables, two mercenaries walked over to meet us. One was an old man with a crooked back who leaned on his long bow like a cane. The other was taller with streaks of white in his bushy, black beard.

"Report," Castille said.

The taller man scowled at me.

"Soldier?" Castille asked.

He crossed his thick arms and looked up at her.

"We've found six wounded so far."

"And we've set lookouts at the edge of the village," the old archer said in a thin voice.

Castille nodded.

"Good work. Once all the wounded are found and cared for, we can sleep in shifts. Can you organize that?"

The old archer flashed a gap-toothed grin.

"We remember that much."

Castille smiled.

"How long were you two at the border?"

"Eight years," the bearded man said, his voice gruff by comparison.

"Forty."

Castille raised her eyebrows at the old man.

He shrugged.

"It stays with you."

"Aye, now that's the truth. I'll leave you to your work."

The two men glanced at each other.

"What is it?" Castille asked.

"The boys have been talking..."

I tensed.

I knew we couldn't trust them.

Castille's face was a neutral mask.

"About?"

"Rugar isn't paying us enough for this. We didn't sign up to fight Dahlgeshi mages and scimitar swinging Southerners-"

"But we can't go back to the capital. Rugar would skin us and tan our hides."

"Why don'tcha stay?"

Castille and the two mercenaries turned to Mother Geslin. She knelt, pulling off the boots of a dead cartel member as she spoke.

"You want us to stay here?" the bearded man asked. "After everything that happened."

"Of course! Do I think I'm going to clean up all of this by myself?!"

She grimaced and shook her head.

"You lot ain't that bad. That Took was a prick, though."

"He's dead," the old archer said.

"Good! Then we're agreed. You'll stay."

Castille cut in.

"Talk to your men and take some time to think it over. Don't let this old woman fool you. She can be very convincing."

That was an understatement.

The bearded man nodded, turning to walk away with the old archer following him.

"That went well," I said.

"Aye, I'm almost convinced they won't stab us in our sleep."

"Speaking of sleep, I burned down the village headman's house."

"Again?!"

"Hey, at least you weren't inside this time."

She cocked her head.

"Hmph, true. I'll take you to where Dugan and Thor are resting."

We turned to walk away.

"Castille! Castille, look what we found!"

At the edge of the village, a mercenary pulled up with a wagon. Half of the driver's bench was missing from where Thor plowed through it. Lira wasn't lying, they did bring it along.

"More good news."

Castille grinned.

"Aye, now Thor doesn't need to suffer."

# # #

I shifted on the narrow, straw bed of the small house we squat in. Dugan slept on another narrow bed across from me with Thor at his feet. Isla and Castille were off with the mercenaries, healing the wounded and securing the village. I changed out of my dirty clothes and gave them to Mother Geslin to clean. She even offered to patch up my jacket.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't sleep. Stalks of straw poked through the old shirt I found to wear. Dust, knocked loose by my footsteps, tickled my nose. Worst of all was my stomach, which grumbled from skipping lunch and dinner. Not for the first time, I missed the mansion. I had grown accustomed to the luxury as much as the people. It made sense. I had spent more years as the heir to a fake noble than as an orphan. But those years were behind me, and I needed to sleep. Unfortunately, I couldn't. So, instead, I tossed and turned, the events of the day swirling in my mind.

One image was burned into my memory—two red feline eyes staring through a pitch-black doorway.

Van Lagos was coming.

It could be next week. It could be next month. It could be tonight!

A chill ran up my spine.

And he wasn't even my only enemy. There was also Rugar Centovian. I never thought the old merchant would go as far as sending mercenaries into the Dellends.

What or who else would be waiting for us on our way back to the capital?

I had to be prepared for anything.

Footsteps crunched on gravel, and my eyes snapped open.

I squinted across the room to the pale moonlight that streamed through the windows and entrance.

A shadow crept across the window's surface.

Spirits below.

I slipped my hand off the bed, brushing against my pack and finding my cane. I willed my dagger into my hand as the dark figure stepped into view.

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