The horses were saddled and waiting by the southern gates at dawn, as Lexa promised. Clarke struggled so much putting on the Trigedakru outfit Indra gave her that she was nearly late (the number of buckles and confusing straps was astounding). When she arrived, Nyko waived her over to a spare horse to check the items she requested once more. They were already loaded into a saddle bag so enormous that no rider would be able to climb on its back.

Clarke had seen pictures of horses in the books she read as a child, but none of those prepared her for their incredible size. She had to crane her neck to see their faces. Lincoln, who was at least a full head taller than Clarke, was saddling his own supplies next to her, and the horse was as high at the withers as his nose. He saw her dubious expression and ensured Clarke that they weren't dangerous—at least, not to the riders.

According to Lincoln, they weren't regular horses, at least as Clarke knew them. They were war horses, he explained, a very rare and expensive breed that were carefully trained to charge at and trample oncoming hordes without flinching. They were faster and stronger, and had greater endurance, so they were in great demand by armies across the world. Each summer, traders flocked to the seas to sell their war horses to other nations, so the ships carrying them were heavily armed. Lexa's crew was up for the challenge. Ever since they commandeered one of these trade vessels, Polis had become a steady source of war horses too.

"You should be armed for the journey," Lexa said from behind Clarke, startling her. In one hand she grasped the bridle of her own white war horse, and in the other she offered a sheathed sword affixed to a heavy belt.

Lexa's appearance was even more surprising. She'd dressed down today; her shoulder guard was smaller this morning, with no sash affixed to it, so she looked like the rest of the travelers. The paint around her eyes was also absent. Clarke could see her face properly for the first time, and she decided the black paint didn't do Lexa's brilliant green eyes justice. Clarke blinked quickly and glanced away when she caught herself staring.

Everyone else was armed to varying degrees. Most had several knives attached to either their waist or their thigh, and only half had gun holsters on their belts (they hardly ever used them because pistols took too long to reload). Quint had his favored axe strapped across his broad shoulders, and Lexa carried a bow across her back and a quiver of arrows at her waist. She seemed to understand Clarke's hesitance.

"There's a large party traveling with us," Lexa explained. "I'm don't expect a scout team to be foolish enough to attack, but if the Ice Nation is on surveillance, you should appear as one of us so they do not target you."

The sword felt heavy and foreign at Clarke's waist, and she struggled to find a comfortable fit. When she finally fastened the buckle and looked up, Lexa was holding a white pigeon in her hand that—just like the horses—was larger than Clarke had ever seen.

"Friend of yours?" Clarke asked.

Lexa nodded. "This is Mercury. He will be delivering your letter for you." The bird's head perked up at her words, as if he recognized his own name. Clarke's message was already folded, rolled into a tiny scroll, and tied to a leather ring around his foot. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Clarke nodded, and Lexa helped nudge Mercury onto her waiting hand.

"When you're ready, just lift him into the air quickly. He will know to take flight," Lexa instructed.

After a moment, Clarke did exactly as Lexa said. She was worried he would not let go of her hand, but once her hand reached its apex, Mecury spread his wings and darted off toward the ocean. He soon disappeared into the distance. In just a few days, Abby would know she was all right.

The last of the travelers arrived over the next few minutes. When all ten were present, Lexa gave the signal to mount the horses. Clarke watched with trepidation as each of them stepped into the stirrups and swung their opposite leg over their horse's back smoothly. Clarke's speckled gray horse (aptly named "Ash") waited patiently for her to climb up, but the foothold seemed too high in the air, and she was convinced if she attempted to pull herself up, she would only fall. Even Indra, who was the same height as Clarke, mounted effortlessly.

Lincoln watched Clarke from the corner of his eye. It became increasingly obvious she would not do it under her own power. He approached silently to help her, and Clarke was thankful he spared her the embarrassment.

"Have you ridden a horse before?" he asked quiet enough for only Clarke's ears.

Clarke shook her head.

"Grab onto this," he said, gesturing to the front and back of the saddle, "and put your left foot here. These horses are a bit taller, so you'll need to jump to get your momentum going. Then just swing your other leg over. Make sense?"

Clarke tried to quash the premonition of her losing her foothold and managed to answer, "Yes."

She didn't notice Lincoln's hands on her hips until she jumped; he helped push her higher in the air, so Clarke's right leg easily cleared the saddle. She landed balanced in the seat, far above the ground below. Lincoln gazed upward and winked at her, and Clarke mouthed her thanks to him. To Clarke's great relief, nobody else noticed.

Ash was apparently smarter than the average horse as well. He was used to traveling in groups and followed the others out of the gates without Clarke even pulling at his reigns.

Their party set off in rows of two and three, not by any official order, but the worn path in the trees were too narrow for everyone to squeeze through. Occasionally, the odd person out would be displaced to another row, but for the most part, they maintained a steady formation. The rear of the group was guarded by Ryder and Lincoln, and the front by Lexa and Indra. Clarke lingered in the middle, riding next to Caris, who she only met this morning.

Most of the travelers shared stories as their horses walked—either about battles they'd been in or hunting expeditions—and Clarke silently listened, not having any relevant ones to share of her own. Their joviality was similar to how it had been on the ship, albeit with a smaller crew. The time passed quickly this way; they only stopped twice, and when the sun started to set, Lexa ordered them to stop and make camp for the night.

Even in the half-light, Ryder managed to track and shoot a boar large enough for the entire camp. They ate to their heart's content, and there was still plenty left over for a small meal tomorrow. Clarke would have saved more for later if she knew she would be assigned to the first watch. There were three shifts during the night to ensure everyone received at least a few hours of sleep. The horses were tied nearby, and the fire crackled in the center of the camp while the others huddled around it for warmth while they slept.

Indra and her second, Caris, were the others joining Clarke on watch. Indra graciously spared Clarke any rude remarks this time, but she couldn't wait to move to the opposite side of the campfire. With her back turned to the flames, Indra silently surveyed the dark forest beyond. Clarke found a wide ridge of flattened rock to sit on facing the other direction, closest to the horses. As Indra's second, Clarke expected Caris to join her mentor, so she was surprised when the younger girl, perhaps just a few years younger than herself, came to sit by her side. Despite the fact that they'd traveled next to each other all day, the two had yet to utter a single word to each other.

They sat comfortably in silence until Clarke started to succumb to sleepiness. The forest's silence was too soothing, and it made her eyelids heavy.

"How old are you, Caris?" Clarke asked quietly, as not to awaken the others. If she could just keep talking for the next couple of hours, she might stave off the drowsiness threatening to overwhelm her.

"Eighteen, I think."

Clarke frowned; even if nobody tracked exact dates, surely Caris would have been able to count the number of winters or summers to know her age. "You don't know how old you are?"

"I left my parents' home very young to begin training. It's been eleven years since then. I believe I was seven years old, but I can't say for sure."

"So you're from Tondc then." Clarke concluded, thinking of Indra.

Caris shook her head. "I was born in Ranier. It was once a small village past Tondc, but it was evacuated many years ago. I've heard many of them moved to Polis, so my family might be there now."

Clarke tried to imagine being separated from her parents at such a young age—not being able to see them or even know if they were still alive. The closest Caris must have had to a maternal figure would have been Indra. The thought terrified Clarke, though Caris seemed fairly well adjusted. She must have tremendous skills in battle to have garnered Indra's favor because Clarke knew from firsthand experience the woman didn't volunteer it readily.

"Do you ever miss them?"

"Sometimes," Caris said with a shrug. "But it's a much greater honor to serve alongside our Heda. The great things she has done for our people during this war will be talked about for hundreds of years." Her tone was reverent, and Clarke had no doubt Caris meant every word she said.

Her interest piqued, however, hearing her use Lexa's curious title, the same one she refused to explain when Clarke asked her about it yesterday.

"Caris, what does that mean?"

"What?"

"Heda," Clarke clarified. It didn't seem like much of a secret to the others, who used the term freely, but Clarke deliberately omitted the fact that Lexa refused to tell her earlier. Luckily, Caris wasn't feeling particularly secretive.

"It means 'Commander' in our native language," she answered without hesitation.

It should have been obvious, in hindsight. The way the crowds in Polis deferred to her and bowed at her feet wasn't normal, even for a prestigious ship's captain. But Lexa seemed far too young to hold such a powerful position, and judging by the respect her fellow warriors had for her, it suggested she'd been the commander for some time.

"Is that why she's the captain, too?" Clarke asked.

"No. Being captain is an honor that is earned, but the spirit chooses the commander. Under Anya's guidance, Lexa was already leading our people. It was only when she fell that Lexa took control of the Regium Maris."

Clarke replayed the scene in front of the Commander's mansion in her head, this time with the knowledge that it was Lexa's birthright. She'd seemed either ashamed or afraid of it because she deliberately avoided looking at the building at all. The only reason she'd said anything was because of Clarke's curiosity. It was as if she didn't want Clarke to know she who was to these people.

In much the same way she'd hidden her identity as captain to Kane and her friends aboard The Ark, Lexa even dressed down as one of the regular citizens for the journey to Tondc. Disguise seemed to be one of her commonly used tactics.

"Does the Ice Nation know that Lexa is your commander?" Clarke asked.

"They recognize her face, yes."

Clarke waited several moments for her to elaborate, but Caris offered no further explanation. Clarke understood there was a longstanding war between the two nations, but the exact history was unknown to her. "Why? Were there… negotiations… or meetings?"

Caris glanced over her shoulder uneasily. Lexa was lying close to them with the others by the fire, eyes closed, beneath a fur blanket. Every last warrior was blissfully asleep.

When Caris spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't think it is my place to tell you that, Clarke."

And with that Clarke understood; it was a sensitive subject that, especially as an outsider, was none of her business. She still wanted to know. Anything that explained the mystery of Lexa was fascinating for reasons Clarke didn't completely understand, but Caris wasn't going to give her any more information.

They were silent once more, and without a conversation to keep Clarke occupied, sleepiness started creeping upon her again. She yawned rather hugely and rubbed at her eyes in a fruitless attempt to rouse herself.

"You may sleep if you want," Caris offered, seeing Clarke's struggle to stay awake. "I will wake you if anything happens."

"Are you sure?" Clarke asked, and Caris nodded. The offer was incredibly tempting, even though the next shift would be starting in just over an hour. "Will you wake me up before the next watch starts?"

"Of course," Caris said.

Despite the cool air outside, and despite the hard rock beneath her, Clarke fell into a deep, dreamless sleep within minutes.

When Clarke awoke sometime later, her eyelids weren't quite so heavy, and she was much warmer than she was previously. Her hands quickly found the reason—a thick fur blanket covering her body. She was still curled up on the same rock, but Caris had since left. Sitting in her place was Lexa, who was scanning the forest with keen eyes.

Clarke quickly pushed herself upright into a half-seated position. There was no sense trying to hide the fact that she'd fallen asleep during the watch, though Lexa acted as if she hadn't noticed her presence.

"Caris was supposed to wake me," Clarke admitted in a feeble attempt to justify herself.

Lexa continued staring into the darkness. "I know. I ordered her to let you sleep."

On further inspection, Clarke recognized the dark brown furs over her body. They'd been covering Lexa before she dozed off on the rock. Not only had Lexa ordered Caris to let her sleep, she'd brought over a blanket to keep her warm. Clarke's cheeks blushed hotly.

"You didn't have to do that," Clarke said. After a pause, she added: "I'm sorry I abandoned the watch."

"Actually, you've done us all a great service. You were snoring so loudly, our enemies likely mistook you for a bear." Her serious tone belied her humor; Clarke knew for a fact she didn't snore.

"You think you're funny, do you?"

"No, Clarke… I know I'm funny."

Clarke pushed herself fully upright once again, and the fur blanket fell into her lap. The night air had grown even colder in the hours since the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the renewed exposure after the blanket's warmth made her shiver. Other than her coat, Lexa wasn't covered at all, but she seemed impervious to the weather. By now, the vapors from their breath were even visible.

Clarke sat quietly for a moment, debating whether or not to retreat to the fire. Her shift was technically over, but since she'd slept through a great deal of it, would Lexa expect her to stay for another? Clarke wasn't sure, and she didn't want to be accused of shirking responsibilities, so she waited. Other than making jokes at her expense, Lexa didn't appear to be in a conversational mood. There were things Clarke wanted to know—things she'd heard from Caris—that she might not get a chance to ask Lexa about tomorrow when the group reconvened for the journey.

"Lexa," Clarke said cautiously. "Caris told me about—"

"Yes, I heard." Lexa's words came out more harshly than Clarke expected, and there was an awkward pause during which she was too stunned to respond. When Lexa spoke again, her words were still terse. "I won't be able to sleep properly until we've reached Tondc."

Though they'd yet to witness any sign of Ice Nation scouts this side of the village, the merest potential of a threat waiting for her people was enough to keep Lexa awake all night. Her eyes may have been shut, but she was never truly asleep. Lexa heard everything Clarke asked and everything Caris told her in return. Although it hadn't been much, there was no point rehashing the information.

So Clarke waited, and with every passing second, she became further convinced it was something they would simply pretend never happened. She waited so long that she'd almost given up on Lexa saying anything about the matter. Clarke was just about to return next to the fire when she finally spoke.

"It wasn't my intention to make you feel as if I were deliberately misleading you, Clarke."

For some reason, Lexa's statement nettled her.

"How can I not feel that way when you intentionally keep important things a secret from me?" Clarke sighed deeply. "My people are counting on this arrangement, Lexa—the one that you agreed to. If you're the captain, or the commander, or the supreme ruler of the universe, I need to know. Just like if there's going to be someone hunting me down when I get to Tondc, I need to know."

Lexa considered her argument for a moment. She hadn't given Clarke answers herself, but by now, Clarke was fully aware of her position in Trigedakru. She also knew that the Ice Nation might try to attack her if they found out she was capable of healing Tondc.

"Well, it might surprise you to hear that I'm not the supreme ruler of the universe. What else is it that you need to know?" Lexa asked with a tinge of sarcasm.

Clarke glowered at her. "Why are your people at war with the Ice Nation?"

"I don't know."

"Lexa…" Clarke groaned at the apparent brushoff.

"It's the truth, Clarke," Lexa retorted. "My people have been at war with the Ice Nation in one way or another as long as I have been alive. They neighbor our land to the northwest, but before they initiated hostilities over twenty years ago, there was no conflict between our people."

"So they just—what? Attacked you for no reason?" Clarke asked skeptically. Her people would be sharing land with Lexa's at some point, and it wouldn't bode well if they were to be caught in the middle of a war they didn't understand.

"It wouldn't be the first time, I assure you. Before that, people say they mounted a massive offensive against the Fire Nation—drove them out of their own lands and into the east. But yet again, nobody knows why."

Clarke knew all too well how the Fire Nation's story ended. Her people back home had to live with the fallout from their invasion (or a retreat, as it seemed now) for decades before both sides slaughtered each other into oblivion, and the only land that was left was completely barren. At least now she knew why the intruders arrived in the first place, even though the Ice Nation's motives still remained unclear.

If the Fire Nation had been as blindsided as Trigedakru, perhaps Lexa was telling the truth. Maybe there just wasn't any real knowledge to be gained because it was indeed a mystery.

"Have they ever attacked Polis?" Clarke asked.

Lexa stared intently ahead of her, her eyes avoiding Clarke's. Her lips formed a hard line, and Clarke could infer the answer before she ever said a word. "Yes, once. Many years ago."

During the brief pause that followed, Lexa's jaw clenched, and Clarke could see that she was searching for more words. The attack clearly trudged up some unpleasant memories, and understandably so. Clarke said nothing and waited for her to continue.

"It was before Polis had walls—before Polis needed walls," Lexa explained. "Before, if our enemies wanted to attack us they had to strike by sea. The Ice Nation was always a distant threat because we had a wide expanse of mountains separating our people. That alone should have been enough to keep out any major force."

"But it wasn't," Clarke concluded.

"No, it wasn't. They'd already struck Nassas several times, one of the villages by the river at the base of the mountains, so most of our warriors were stationed there. But they'd never gone so far as to attack the capital itself. Our people won the battle, but at a very high cost. Over a thousand civilians died, and the much of the city was destroyed. It took us years to rebuild."

Polis was so vibrant, so extravagant, it was difficult for Clarke to picture the city laid in ruins. The people of Trigedakru persevered, however, and now their capital was stronger, richer, and more heavily fortified than it had ever been. Yet, no matter how well Lexa pieced the city back together, the scars borne from the attack wouldn't be easily forgotten.

"When you took me through the main square yesterday, you took me past the Commander's mansion… your mansion," Clarke said, eying Lexa's reaction carefully. Her expression was guarded, but not hostile, so Clarke pressed forward. "You refused to even look at it."

"I haven't stayed there in a very long time."

"Is it because of what happened with the Ice Nation?" Clarke asked.

It felt like forever before Lexa answered.

"I told you of my mentor, Anya," Lexa said. "She stayed with me at the mansion during my training and taught me to be a worthy commander for my people. When she died, it didn't seem appropriate for me to be remain there anymore."

Too many ghosts, Clarke thought to herself, and sadly, she could relate. Despite their different circumstances, death was a difficult reality to escape for both of them.

"How did she die?" Clarke asked gently.

"In battle," Lexa finally met her eyes again, "with your people."

Clarke gaped at her, suddenly awash with realization.

The "young captain" her father met ten years ago was sitting before her. Clarke hadn't made the connection before because Lexa seemed far too young to be the same girl from Jaha's story. How could she have been the one who executed all the other sailors but for some unknown reason left Clarke's father alive?

For an instant, Clarke wanted to be angry with Lexa for the role she played in her father's death, even if it was only coincidentally. But she couldn't. He returned home alive, albeit injured and weak, yet Clarke had now learned enough about the human body to know that his injuries shouldn't have been fatal. He spent a month languishing in the infirmary because—like so many others recently—he hadn't been able to acquire the extra sustenance he needed to heal. If they'd had the necessary resources, Abby and Clarke should have saved him.

Anya wasn't merely Lexa's mentor. Much like Indra was to Caris, Anya had been the closest Lexa had to a mother. She and Clarke had both experienced similar losses years ago, and now after another twisting of fate, they found their lives intertwined yet again. This time, Clarke was determined to see the end of the needless bloodshed. Both of their sides had endured more than enough to last ten lifetimes.

Clarke pushed the fur blanket away from her body and rose from the flat rock. Her leather bag was still draped across Ash's saddle, and she dug through it for a moment, quickly finding the makeshift sketchbook Lexa provided her. When Clarke proffered it, Lexa stared at her with a blank expression.

"If my people were responsible for Anya's death, you shouldn't have given me this," Clarke said. "You should have it back."

Lexa made no move to take it from her, instead shaking her head. "It was a gift, Clarke, as I told you. In our culture, we never rescind such gestures."

"I can't accept it anymore."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you may cast it into the fire. Or if you would prefer, you may leave it behind at first light tomorrow. But I will not be taking it from you."

Lexa's chin raised high in the air as she spoke, her hauteur doubtlessly cultivated by her years of authority. Other than enemies at war, she wasn't accustomed to others challenging her, and she certainly wasn't accustomed to yielding to anyone else. Clarke wasn't planning on burning the book, so if Lexa was going to be so stubbornly insistent upon her keeping it, there wasn't much sense arguing with her. Clarke was only trying to be considerate of Lexa's loss by returning one of her mentor's last keepsakes.

"Fine," Clarke huffed. She tucked the leather book beneath her arm and returned it (none too gently) to its home in her bag. The rough movements roused Ash, and Clarke stroked the side of his neck for a moment to calm him again.

Lexa didn't argue when Clarke returned to the rock to collect the fur blanket and leave for the campfire. Lincoln and Ryder were on watch at the opposite end of the camp, so it wasn't as if she were leaving the others shorthanded. Clarke had the furs bundled beneath her arm, and she'd taken three steps away from Lexa when she heard her voice from behind her.

"Did Jake ever make it back to your people?" Lexa asked calmly. Clarke was too stunned hearing her father mentioned by name, and even more shocking was Lexa making the connection between him and Clarke. She turned slowly, and when Lexa saw her wavering expression in the firelight, she added: "I noticed you did not write to him in your message."

Clarke understood that Lexa would have screened her letter, lest she write any sort of incendiary rhetoric that might have proven dangerous for Lexa's people. She'd only written a generic message to the council, then shorter personal messages to her mother and a few of her friends.

"You remember my father's name?" Clarke asked, the muscles in her shoulders and back tensed.

"It was many years ago, but after some time, yes—I remembered." She gazed at Clarke expectantly, waiting to hear of his fate.

Clarke swallowed thickly. She didn't speak of her father often, even to the friends she'd known for years, and Lexa was practically a stranger. Unlike her friends though, Lexa had been privy to the events prior to his death. They'd both been equal participants in the fight culminating in him being sent overboard, yet Lexa's tone held no disdain for him whatsoever.

"He washed ashore three days after the ship sank." Clarke spoke slowly and deliberately, not allowing her voice to waver. "Then a month later, he died."

Lexa didn't reply immediately. Clarke didn't expect her to apologize, and honestly, she preferred that Lexa didn't. Neither of them were strangers to death, so Lexa's visage remained impassive, illuminated only by the faint flickers of the fire.

"He spoke of you before he was cast away. It was obvious he cared about you immensely," Lexa said.

Clarke's throat constricted involuntarily, and she didn't dare say a word for fear that her speech would falter. Those were the moments her father refused to tell her about, the ones nobody else had ever heard (not even her mother or the other council members). Instead, she merely nodded; hopefully, that was enough to convey her gratitude.

"He was strong, brave in the way he carried himself," Lexa added, taking Clarke by surprise yet again. To a warrior like herself, such a claim likely represented the highest compliment imaginable. "You favor him in that way, Clarke."

"Well, if your strength is any indication, I'm sure Anya must have been nothing short of incredible." Clarke bit her lip nervously.

As always, Lexa's expression was difficult to read, but there was a brief flash of warmth and appreciation that Clarke had never seen before. It disappeared in an instant, but this time, she was certain it wasn't just her mind playing tricks on her. She bid Lexa goodnight and moved to one of the vacant spaces around the fire.

Clarke didn't have Lexa's misgivings about sleeping in the forest. She was warmer than she'd been all night, and she drifted back to sleep within minutes. Clarke wouldn't dare admit it to anyone (not even herself), but only half of the warmth she felt as she fell asleep had anything to do with the fire crackling steadily in front of her.

The camp was lively once again after a full night's rest. Once the horses were fed and watered again, they set off into the forest once more, following the well worn path toward Tondc. This time, Clarke mounted her horse unassisted. It may have looked clumsy, but she'd done it on her own, and she was proud. Lincoln noticed, even complimenting her when the others weren't paying attention.

To Clarke's untrained eye, the landscape never changed much. There were only trees, trees, and more trees in every direction. The others were more familiar with the forest's nuances. For instance, Lincoln pointed out how a particular grouping of sycamores to their left meant that just over a third of their journey was completed.

The second day of travel went much the same as the first. Clarke rode next to Caris again, who was more outwardly friendly toward her today. Lexa still led the group with Indra at her side, but Clarke and Caris were right behind them. As if by some unspoken understanding, none of them spoke of last night's revelations. Clarke couldn't help but look at Lexa differently after their conversation the previous night, and there were a few instances when Lexa's impression of her seemed to have shifted as well. There was no time to ponder what any of it meant.

It was midday when Lexa abruptly halted in the middle of the path, holding her hand in the air. Clarke didn't even need to pull at Ash's reigns for him to stop. By now he understood to always follow the other horses in front of him when Clarke didn't instruct him otherwise. All ten riders and their mounts remained absolutely silent during the standstill.

There was no sound other than the trees rustling in the soft breeze. The sunlight occasionally filtered through the leaves, making it appear as if glowing bursts were dancing on the dark earth below. Whatever Lexa's senses detected, nobody else had seen or heard it.

"Heda?" Indra asked.

"Shof op, Indra," Lexa hissed, holding her hand up even higher.

Her eyes quickly darted into the trees, scanning them for some unknown assailant. There didn't appear to be anyone else on the ground hiding in the dense maze of green, and as far as Clarke could tell, they were alone.

Then Lexa saw it—whatever phantom she'd been searching for—because her eyes went large, and she frantically twisted around on her horse, her green eyes finding Clarke's instantly.

"Clarke, get down!" Lexa shouted.

Clarke didn't need to be told twice. She lunged forward, leaning her head against Ash's thick neck—and just in time too. The air hummed loudly as a heavy spear flew over her head. There was a dull thud behind her as it struck flesh—whether it belonged to one of the horses or one of the warriors, Clarke didn't know, nor did she have a chance to look. Attackers began leaping down from the branches around them, all heavily camouflaged to blend in seamlessly with the foliage.

After the initial wave, they kept emerging from the trees from every direction. There were at least twenty, possibly even as many as thirty Ice Nation attackers charging with swords drawn, outnumbering their travel party over two to one. The only advantage Lexa's people had were horses, but they were surrounded and the enemy scouts were closing in fast.

It was Clarke's first taste of actual battle, and it knotted her stomach in fear. When the sounds of shouting and swords striking together ringing though the air, it was terrifyingly real now—not anything like the harmless practice she'd witnessed aboard the ship.

Once there was an enemy to face, Lexa and her warriors reacted instinctively. On her command, they formed a perimeter and warded the scouts away with their horses' hooves and their swords, taking them on two and three at a time. The scouts weren't amateurs by any means, but it soon became clear that they weren't interested in fighting Ryder, Lincoln, Caris, Gustus, or Indra. The scouts charged the riders in groups to distract them, performing mostly defensive maneuvers, meanwhile one from their number would try to slip past the perimeter. As they got closer and closer to achieving their goal, Clarke came to a sickening realization that settled like ice in her veins:

She was the target, not the others.

Nyko was the least experienced fighter among Lexa's people, and he was valiantly taking on two armed Ice Nation scouts at once. He couldn't handle a third, who slipped into the small gap between his and Lincoln's horses. Once the outer perimeter was initially breached, it wasn't long before the entire formation collapsed as riders were now having to guard from all directions.

If Clarke had been a trained warrior like the others, she might have stood her ground and drawn her sword when five armed foot soldiers closed in on her. But she wasn't trained to fight, and while she was courageous in certain situations, this was far beyond anything she was capable of handling. Escape, especially on horseback, seemed a far more realistic option.

She drove her heels hard into Ash's flanks. He sprang forward like a bullet fired from a gun, and Clarke could only hang on for dear life as he sprinted through the forest. The wind whipping at her face was the least of her worries, as Ash's long, powerful strides were jostling her so violently that she nearly lost her balance on his back. Clarke lifted herself off the saddle and squeezed more tightly with her knees to keep her balance, which was essential once he started weaving through the trees along the crooked path.

Clarke had no idea how far she'd drifted from the rest of the travel party. None of the attackers on foot would have been able to keep up with a galloping war horse, but she let Ash continue the punishing pace, fearing more Ice Nation scouts descending from the trees undetected. She was drawing the largest group away from Lexa's people, while still protecting herself from ambush.

Clarke would later realize this was a mistake.

In the heat of battle, it seemed like a wise course of action. But Clarke wasn't an experienced rider, so she had no idea she was being purposefully led into a trap.

In the coming days, she would learn what "poling" an enemy's horse entailed, how a spear could be thrust with impeccable timing between the forelegs and hind legs of a sprinting horse to entangle its limbs, causing it to fall. When it happened, Clarke hadn't seen the lone Ice Nation scout, hidden and awaiting her escape. She registered only the lurch of Ash's body tumbling to the ground beneath her and the terrifying sensation of hurtling through the air. Clarke twisted her body to avoid landing on her face, causing her ribs to take full brunt of the impact and knocking all the air from her lungs. She needed to catch her breath, yet each time she tried to draw in more air, a searing pain radiated over her left side.

At least bruised, Clarke thought. She winced as another agonizing jolt wracked her body. Possibly even broken.

The scout came charging after bringing down Clarke's horse, armed and ready to supply the coup de grâce now that she was injured and alone. Clarke was in too much pain to climb to her feet unassisted, so she remained on the ground and wriggled the sword free from the sheath at her belt. She saw the first swipe aimed at her head and instinctively threw her own blade up to deflect it. Clarke's movements were unpracticed and clumsy, but by some miracle, the second deflection knocked the sharpened edge of her blade against his outer thigh, slicing through his pants and drawing blood. He staggered backward a few steps before collecting himself once again.

He swung his heavy sword even harder at Clarke in retaliation, throwing all of his weight behind the overhead blow. Clarke's sword rattled from her grasp during the impact, and before she could retrieve it, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her out of its reach.

Not even the pain in her ribs could distract Clarke from the horror that she was about to die. She clenched her eyes shut as he drew back his sword to administer the fatal blow.

She barely registered the faint cry of her name in the distance.

An ample weight landed on Clarke's legs, and she slowly eased her eyes open. The sandy blond head of the Ice Nation scout rested across her knees with a bloodied arrow emerging prominently from his temple. At the grotesque sight, Clarke frantically pulled her legs away and kicked the dead man's body away from her.

Lexa arrived moments later, out of breath from her sprint with her bow still clutched firmly in hand. Her face was splashed with droplets of blood, but judging from the distribution, none of it was hers. Clarke had never been so thrilled to see her. She crouched down and appraised Clarke quickly, assessing her for any serious injuries but seeing nothing obvious.

"Are you hurt?" Lexa asked urgently.

Clarke pushed herself to her elbows slowly. Now that her breathing was beginning to slow, her chest didn't hurt quite as much, but there was still some lingering discomfort. Sitting upright seemed to help more so she pushed herself into a seated position, purposefully looking anywhere other than the dead man's body in front of her.

"I don't think so," Clarke said. Feeling as if she needed to explain how she ended up on the ground in the first place, she added: "They knocked down Ash while he was running."

"I saw. You were fortunate not to break anything. Most riders whose horses are poled are not so lucky."

Clarke frowned in confusion.

"I will explain later," Lexa said. "Can you stand?"

Clarke nodded, and Lexa offered her hand to pull her upright. Her legs were still tremulous, so she didn't relinquish Lexa's hand in case she lost her balance. Lexa didn't complain, nor did she try to wriggle her hand free. She watched Clarke carefully as she led them back to the horses. Lexa's white warhorse was waiting next to Ash, who was uncharacteristically agitated. When Clarke put her hand onto the saddle to mount, Ash neighed and reared back away from her, too anxious to let her ride again.

"I wouldn't take it personally," Lexa said, noting the crestfallen look on Clarke's face. "Most of our horses experience such an attack at some point during their lives. Even if they aren't injured, the falls can be even more traumatic for them than for the riders. It may take him several days before he allows anyone to ride again."

Lexa looped a length of rope onto his bridle, and Ash didn't resist her gentle tug as she led him toward her own horse. Lexa slung the bow across her back and climbed atop her mount gracefully. Clarke stood where she was, staring at her nonplussed.

"Are you coming, Clarke?" Lexa asked with a frown. "The battle is finished. We must return quickly." She shifted forward in the saddle, gesturing for Clarke to climb in behind her.

Lexa gripped Clarke's forearm firmly and easily pulled her up. The saddle wasn't designed for two riders, so their hips fit snugly together. It was a different sensation for Clarke, who had grown used to riding with her feet resting in stirrups. Now the only way to keep her balance was to cling her body to Lexa's back and clutch at her midsection with both hands. Even though she didn't feel completely balanced, somehow Clarke knew she was in no danger of falling.

She didn't realize until she rode back just how far she'd separated from the others. In her panic, the distance seemed like a few hundred yards, but in actuality, it was closer to half a mile.

Their other fighters were already dismounted and gathered in a small circle, save for Indra and Ryder who were tying up the last two surviving Ice Nation warriors. The bodies of the remaining scouts littered the forest floor, all unquestionably dead. The first one she noticed was lying at Lincoln's feet, its head nearly severed from its attachments to the neck. Clarke grew so nauseous at the sight that she refused to look at them any more than necessary, a problematic goal since there were so many corpses in such a confined space. There were twenty-five Ice Nations scouts in all, plus the two struggling against capture.

Lexa helped lower Clarke gently to the ground, and the two of them joined the others congregated in the middle of the forest's path. Clarke found it difficult to suppress her inner healer and checked on everyone standing nearby. Lexa wasn't hurt, which she was grateful for. Caris had a long cut down her arm, presumably from a sword (that would definitely need stitches), and Lincoln had a cut atop his shaved head, which had already stopped bleeding on its own. Artigas was sporting two blackened eyes, but he'd earned those aboard the Regium Maris before they'd ever left Polis.

Based on how badly they'd been outnumbered, it could have been much, much worse.

The sound of agonal gasps from behind the line of relatively unscathed warriors distracted Clarke. They all wore grave expressions, so Clarke hurriedly counted the travelers from their side, tallying only nine including herself. She stepped forward with Lexa following close behind her, and the others parted to let her pass.

The spear that narrowly missed Clarke impaled Quint instead, its sharp tip embedded deep in his abdomen. To provide him some relief from the long handle being pulled down by gravity, the others had broken off much of the pole, leaving only a thick stub emerging from his belly. Quint was tremulous, pale and covered with a heavy sheen of sweat, and he didn't seem to be able to control the erratic fluttering of his eyelids. He was very near death, Clarke recognized, and there wasn't anything she could do against such a fatal wound. The only reason he was still alive was that the others had the foresight not to remove the spear completely from his body. If they had, he would have died in a couple of minutes.

Lexa cast Clarke an uneasy glance, asking an unspoken question with her eyes: Can you help him?

Clarke understood and shook her head no. As many times as she wished it were different, Clarke dealt in medicine, not miracles.

Lexa didn't react to the news outwardly, as Clarke expected. Everyone watched silently as she pulled her knife from her belt and stepped toward her fallen warrior. Lexa knelt at his right side, and placed one hand on his cheek. His eyes opened incrementally, but he was still quivering and gasping weakly for air.

"Quint, chek ai au," Lexa said gently.

She held his gaze until he mustered the strength to lift his hand, his larger one covering the one she'd pressed against his face. He knew what would happen, knew he was on the brink of death, and he nodded at Lexa to proceed.

Lexa leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Yu gonplei ste odon."

With a motion that was swift, and almost tender, Lexa slid her knife to the hilt beneath his sternum, angling it upward into his heart. It was the quickest way to put Quint out of his misery, and Lexa held her hand against his cheek until his fell back to the ground and his eyes drifted shut. His body grew still, his gasps fading into silence.

Nobody said a word after Quint died. Clarke couldn't tear her eyes away from what she'd just witnessed, but the others were all staring determinedly into the ground.

After a long moment, Lexa rose from her crouch, her face clouded by a murderous expression.

"Ryder! Indra!" she called out, her voice echoing through the trees. "Bring them up!"

The Ice Nation prisoners resisted their captors as they pulled them to their feet. Lexa stormed toward them, her knife still clutched firmly in hand. She wasn't going to show the Ice Nation scouts any mercy, Clarke was certain.

"Lexa, wait," Clarke called out. She went to grasp for Lexa's arm, but her fingers found no purchase against the thick material of her coat. The contact was nothing more than a brush, and Lexa continued to stomp toward her last victims. "Lexa, please! You can't kill them!" Clarke called desperately from behind her.

Lexa halted at Clarke's plea, but her face was still hardened. "Yes, I can."

"But they're not even armed anymore. Why can't you just take them back with us to Tondc—keep them as prisoners, if nothing else."

Lexa's expression softened a little at Clarke's argument but not because she was being won over by her logic. It was the same exasperated look a teacher might give a student who repeatedly failed to grasp even the most basic concepts of their craft.

"You don't understand the type of warfare we contend with, Clarke," Lexa said quiet enough for her voice not to carry to the others. "The Ice Nation knew how to bypass Tondc without being detected. They knew we were traveling today. They knew how many they needed to send to outnumber us. No ordinary scout team is ever this large."

"Can't you keep them until they tell you?" Clarke reasoned.

"Like us, their warriors are trained to withhold all their secrets until death. Trust me—we've tried all our techniques to break them. As prisoners, they are only a liability for our people."

Clarke shuddered at the thought. For some reason, she intuitively knew the torture devices employed by Trigedakru were a hundred times worse then anything she had ever seen or imagined.

The alternative, keeping them alive, would sooth her conscience, but holding Ice Nation scouts in their camp while they slept was something Clarke wasn't even sure she was comfortable with. She could concede Lexa's point about killing them, but she could still consider it wrong to some degree.

"I will give them the opportunity to share their secrets, Clarke," Lexa said to placate her. "But do not expect them to volunteer any information to us. They would rather die, and so I will grant them their wish. The manner in which that occurs is entirely up to them."

Clarke stayed back a considerable distance, finding a spot between Lincoln, Gustus, and Caris. Lexa looked every bit the predator as she approached the Ice Nation scouts. Ryder's body was large enough to subdue his prisoner without a challenge, but Indra wasn't as heavy or as tall as the prisoner she was restraining. Despite the ties around his hands and feet, he continued to struggle against her.

Lexa took several long strides toward the struggling prisoner and drove her foot hard into the side of his knee. Clarke could hear the ligaments snapping thirty feet away, and he fell to the ground, no longer fighting. His face contorted into a painful grimace. Lexa's fierce glare bore into them.

"You know who I am, and you know what I'm capable of," she said. It wasn't a question, Clarke noticed. "Both of you will die here today. If you cooperate with me—if you answer my questions—I will make your death as quick and as painless as possible." Lexa paused, retrieving a glove of steel mail to pull onto her hand. She flexed her fingers inside it menacingly. "If you don't, you will be begging for me to ease your passing before the end."

She gave them an opportunity to speak on their own accord, but neither of the Ice Nation scouts were feeling particularly talkative. Lexa approached the one in Ryder's grasp, standing to meet him eye to eye.

"Why were you attacking her?" Lexa asked, reaching behind her back to point at Clarke.

She gave him a moment, and when he would not answer, she balled her gloved hand into a fist and swung at his face with all her might. The metal ringlets cut his cheek as her fist struck, while at the same time protecting Lexa's hand and allowing her to hit harder. The impact made an unnatural crunching sound as the sharp metal mangled his flesh. He let out a strangled yelp but otherwise said nothing.

"Who is your informant that told you we would be traveling this route today?"

Crunch. Another bout of silence yielded another lashing of the prisoner's face. His cries grew even louder.

"How did you know how many to send in your team?"

And so it continued until the first prisoner's face was disfigured beyond all recognition, every inch of his skin practically flayed from the beating he'd received. He was alive but barely conscious; the only reason he was still upright was because Ryder was supporting most of his weight. Lexa turned her attention to the second prisoner, the steel links on her glove glistening red with blood. With any luck, he'd had the opportunity to witness his comrade's punishment and would choose another fate for himself. Lexa had already maimed him by irreparably damaging his leg.

She repeated her first question to Indra's prisoner. Lexa expected him to be defiant in the face of his enemy—but he did much worse than suffer in silence.

He reared his head back and spit at Lexa. She was standing far enough away to avoid being hit, but Clarke was certain in any culture, that was one of the most disrespectful gestures imaginable. Instead of punching him with her mail gloves, Lexa moved her knife to her dominant hand. Clarke was filled with an awful sense of foreboding.

Lexa turned to face her, and said calmly: "You may wish to look away, Clarke."

Clarke took Lexa's advice, but she couldn't escape from his terrible screams. She didn't know what terrors Lexa was subjecting him to—and she honestly didn't want to know—but they seemed to continue forever. As Lexa promised, he did beg her to kill him… several times over.

Clarke walked away when she couldn't stand by idly and listen anymore, beckoning Caris over so she could stitch the wound on her arm. All of Clarke's supplies were readily available in saddle bags, and the task allowed her to focus on her intricate needlework rather than the cries coming from the other side of camp. By the time Clarke finished, they had faded away to nothing. She was grateful they'd finally died, which riddled her with guilt.

Caris thanked Clarke for the medical attention, and while Clarke was repacking her supplies, Lexa approached her cautiously. Now that Quint was no longer with them, she could take his horse as a substitute until Ash made his full recovery.

"Are you all right?" Lexa asked from behind her. Clarke could tell she wasn't referring to her physical ailments.

"I'm fine, Lexa." Clarke's tone was sharper than she intended, but she was tired, sore, and emotionally drained, and it was barely afternoon. She furiously packed her bag, as if doing so would make time magically accelerate forward.

"You're upset," Lexa said after a moment.

"You're observant."

"Are you angry with me for what I did?"

The unfamiliar vulnerability in Lexa's voice made Clarke's hands pause. Her words weren't apologetic, but Lexa did seemed concerned with Clarke's opinion. Clarke couldn't fathom why her validation would be of any importance to her.

Also, there was the inconvenient fact that Lexa had saved Clarke from certain death moments ago. Barely an hour before, she'd been elated to see Lexa's face alive and her attacker's dead. There really was no reason for Clarke to be so distant toward her now.

"I'm not angry with you," Clarke confessed. Though she had to admit admit, Lexa's murky sense of justice could make her an excellent scapegoat if Clarke wanted her to be. "I'm just… exhausted. Between this," she motioned vaguely toward the area the two Ice Nation prisoners were just held, refusing to glance that direction, "and being attacked—it's too much."

Lexa nodded. "It's a reality we must reconcile with here. With time, it gets easier."

Clarke didn't say so, but the thought of becoming inundated with such horrors to the point of desensitization terrified her nearly as much as an army of Ice Nation scouts. She understood perfectly, but she still wished it could be different, that they didn't have to resort to brutality to solve all their problems.

"We do what me must so that our people can survive, Clarke. As leaders, the reality of our situation is that we have to make difficult decisions for their best interests, some that might even seem wrong or compromise ourselves," Lexa went on, interpreting Clarke's silence to be misunderstanding or disagreement. In reality, it was grudging acceptance.

"But I'm not the leader of my people like you are." Clarke shook her head.

"And yet you are the one who risked your life with a crew of pirates to ensure your people's survival. The fact that I mean you no harm is of no consequence. Can your chancellor claim a similar sacrifice?"

No, Clarke thought, but she said nothing.

"People will take notice when one of their own steps forward to devote her life on their behalf, to lead them through the struggles they cannot face on their own," Lexa said heavily, her words laden with years of personal experience. "When your people arrive, they will turn to your guidance sooner rather than later. You should be prepared, Clarke."

Clarke didn't find it necessary to correct her. As their elections proved term after term, Thelonious would always be in charge, and Marcus Kane would always be second in command. Even when her people did arrive, Clarke would be serving a prison sentence. There were some matters better off not dwelling on, and Clarke supposed this was one of them.

The rest of the journey passed in a forlorn haze. Quint's death cast a miserable spell over them all because nobody spoke unless absolutely necessary. At night, all nine travelers were too anxious to sleep, and Lexa ordered patrols to search the surrounding forest anytime they stopped to make camp. With their party weary and sleep-deprived, they grew irritable and short-tempered with each other during the day.

Since the Ice Nation scouts apparently knew of Clarke's purpose already (how they'd learned this was still a mystery—the prisoners Lexa killed predictably gave away nothing), Lexa ordered a close detail on her at all times, even at night while she pretended to sleep. Clarke protested at first, but Lexa left no room for argument. If she wanted to left alone to fend for herself, she needed to prove her competence with a sword. Lexa hadn't been particularly impressed with her demonstration on the Ice Nation scout earlier.

When Clarke finally caught sight of Tondc's gates, the only reaction she could muster was relief. Nobody else had been hurt, and they would be safe behind the village's walls. The wood was painted at intervals and looked to be cobbled together from the hulls of various ships, no doubt from the ones Lexa's crew captured during her tenure as captain. It weaved in and out of the dense trees, supported in places by earthen ramparts and others by heavy beams buried deep in the ground.

The parapets along the top were notably empty. Even the sentry's stations, which were so obvious Clarke could even recognize them, were abandoned. There was nobody keeping watch.

A chill ran through Clarke's spine once again. She didn't need a lifetime of combat training to realize this wasn't a favorable sign. Lexa led them to the gate cautiously, halting several yards from the entrance. It had to be opened from the inside, and there was apparently nobody around to hear them. Eight sets of hands made a grab for their weapons, ready to attack if necessary.

"Breik op geit!" Lexa called up to the wooden parapets.

Nobody answered.

Lexa dismounted her horse, edging closer to the gate on foot as she kept an eye out to either side. She unsheathed her sword and rapped its hilt hard across the wood several times. A faint stirring could be heard beyond; everyone tensed as the gate slowly eased open. One lone villager stumbled out, dressed in battle attire. His arms and legs weren't visible, but his face was covered in dark, angry purpura. He wobbled precariously on his feet as if he were in a stupor.

"Heda," he groaned unintelligibly, reaching for Lexa.

In this situation, Clarke's reactions were better than the rest of the warriors surrounding her. She recognized the spots on his body and needed to stop his infection from spreading to the others. She leapt from her horse, ignoring the soreness in her ribs, and pushed Lexa aside before he reached her.

"Cover your faces!" Clarke called out to them. She raised her own sleeve to cover her nose and mouth.

The others hesitated, not accustomed to taking orders from anyone other than their captain or commander. Clarke gave Lexa a pleading look. Lexa nodded in understanding, pulling the collar of her coat above her face as well; the others wordlessly followed her example.

With Lexa out of the villager's path, he toppled forward and landed on the ground in a heap. Clarke kept her face covered and approached him cautiously as he lie still. His forehead was hot as a furnace, his pulse faint and thready. He was critically ill, and even if Clarke had a treatment ready for him, he likely wouldn't survive long enough to administer it.

When the villager's body began seizing from head to toe, Clarke pushed him to his side. The others stared in alarm—they'd probably never seen a seizure before—but Clarke calmly kept watch. After a minute or two, the movements slowed, coming to a full stop. He was no longer breathing. Clarke pressed her fingers once more against the pulse point of his neck and felt nothing.

He was dead.

Nobody else followed through the open gate, and the entire village appeared to be little more than a ghost town. The sick were probably holed away in their tiny homes, too weak to move, and the healthy were too afraid to go outside. Nobody was left to tend to the defenses. It was no wonder the Ice Nation scouts could run through the forest unchecked.

Clarke turned back around to the others. This time, when she uncovered her face, the others followed her lead without reservation. The state of Tondc was worse than any of them expected, and there was something akin to despair in their eyes.

"Let's go." Clarke's voice was somber. "We have work to do."