Nearly two days had passed since Erk left to find help. Laus was not a large territory, at least not compared to Ostia, which they had visited first on her quest to find her brother; she could not imagine that Erk was still in transit. Priscilla did not feel sick despair set into her stomach—she hadn't stopped feeling nauseated since Marquess Laus had closed the borders to them. Fear had quickly become normal for her, heart thudding just a little bit faster than usual, too worn-out to adequately hammer at her ribcage.

She would give Erk one more day to return or send word, then she would have to give herself over to the marquess. The village that sheltered her risked too much for her to stay there; if they opposed the marquess, if Erk opposed the marquess, they would all end up dead, save her.

She smiled wryly as she stared out the inn's window, watching the road. Priscilla knew what would happen to her if she resisted…or if she complied, for that matter. She would be taken back to the castle, fed the marquess's best fare and given his finest wine, then dragged to the marquess's bedchambers, pushed down, and taken, again and again, until he tired of her. Then she would be poisoned, perhaps, or stabbed, and no word would be sent to House Caerleon. Of course, she had no choice; if she fought back, the outcome was still inevitable, but Erk would be pulled into it. Brilliant though he was, Erk couldn't fight against the entire Laus army alone, and he, too, would die.

Maybe he was already dead, she thought. Maybe he'd asked the wrong person for help and died by someone's sword. Maybe his horse had sighted a snake and thrown him, breaking his back from the fall. Maybe she was only dragging out her own sentence. If that was the case, if she could know for sure that no one was coming, maybe it would be smarter to just take her own life and spare the pain.

Priscilla pinched herself as punishment for her own thoughts. Erk hadn't let her down yet, and it was foolish to start doubting him. He wouldn't turn her over to the marquess, no matter what, not while he had a drop of blood left in him.

The thought didn't do much to dispel her unease, much like the hundreds of other times she'd reminded herself of that since the borders had closed. A thousand plans she'd thought of, and the outcome remained the same. She was sixteen and sheltered and had no intent of marrying until she found a proper suitor, two or three years down the line. She wasn't ready for anyone to lay hands on her. She wasn't ready to die.

The sound of hoofbeats interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced out the window, watching a man come barreling into the village on the back of a palomino warhorse. Another messenger, come to harry her again. Would this be the one that didn't ask for permission anymore? Would this be the one that cast sleep magic or simply bludgeoned her incoherent?

She paused, brow furrowing. This man didn't wear Laus's colors, though. The armor he wore shone orange and red, like righteous flame, and the shield he carried bore the likeness of a lion, not a boar. She got to her feet, steeled herself, and headed onto the street.

"A battle has broken out," the man shouted, his deep voice sounding like a military bugle. "For your safety, shut the gates! Gather the militiamen if you must!"

"Again?" Priscilla called. "Are you another messenger from the marquess? Please, do not waste your time. I will not change my decision."

The knight frowned and shook his head.

"I am not with Lord Darin, no. I am Marcus, one of Pherae's knights. Your marquess is battling us as we speak."

"He is not my marquess," she returned. "Marquess Laus is barring my way, and…I'm trapped. If you wouldn't mind, I would like to travel with you, at least until we are beyond these borders. I'm not sure I would survive otherwise. Please, help me."

Marcus nodded solemnly.

"You are under my protection as long as I can provide it, then, or until the battle is over. Milord would doubtlessly approve."

She nodded and rushed to get her horse. She saddled and bridled the animal in a matter of minutes, and then she threw her leg over and put her heels to its flanks, riding out to meet Marcus.

"One more thing, Sir Marcus. There was a boy with me, about my age. An Etrurian mage by the name of Erk. Have you seen him?"

"I cannot say that I have, but there are many places on this battlefield that I haven't seen yet, so it's possible that I simply missed him. I'm sorry."

She managed a stiff smile and nodded.

"Thank you anyway."

He spurred his horse into a canter and left the village behind. Priscilla urged her mount on after him. Valkyrie's Solider for Hire was much more accustomed to quiet trail rides than the heat of battle, and the horse's ears lay back, her eyes wide and wild. Luckily, the battle seemed to be almost over; dead Laus soldiers lay in the fields, bloodied and broken, but Priscilla didn't see Erk's bright red robes among the bodies. She wondered sickly if he'd been captured by Marquess Laus and still waited in the castle's dungeons.

She clutched the reins of her horse and swallowed her concern. She would have time to look for Erk once they were clear of danger, but for the time being, arrows still feathered the tree trunks and the last of Laus's cavalry brigade charged over the marshy ground. Priscilla gripped her healing staff and braced herself for the moment she would be called upon to help.

It never came. As the last of Laus's troops fell to her rescuers' swords, she was left in the rear of the group, useless. Only after the castle had been seized was she called forward.

She had expected their leader to be a seasoned general, but to her surprise, a man a little older than her waited awkwardly inside the impromptu command tent. He smiled at her approach, however, and he bowed to her.

"Greetings, Lady Troubadour. I'm Eliwood of Pherae. Marcus informs me that you were in a spot of trouble and needed help. Does that sum it up?" he asked.

"Yes, that's correct. Marquess Laus…would not let me leave this territory. He was unpleasant."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I promise that we'll bring him to justice for what he's done. If you're still concerned for your safety, though, we can escort you as far as the Caelin border. I cannot guarantee your well-being beyond that, but…"

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm looking for someone. A young Etrurian mage named Erk. Would you happen to have met him?" she asked. Priscilla couldn't begin to calm down until she could find him; her own safety was well and good, although the specter of what had almost happened still hung over her neck like a guillotine blade, but if that safety had come at the cost of Erk…

"I think we might be able to help you. We met a magic-user a few hours back, fighting for his life against a group of Laus's forces. I don't know what his name is, but it's a start."

She wouldn't let out her breath until she knew for sure, but Priscilla smiled wearily and nodded.

"Thank you. If you don't mind…"

"Not at all. You needn't ask to be dismissed, Lady Troubadour. I may be Pherae's heir, but there's no need for formality in this group."

She curtsied and made her way out the door. Something in her was certain that this mage of theirs had to be Erk—Lycia in general wasn't exactly well-known for its magic-users, and who else would go to war against a nation by himself? Erk may have been a brilliant scholar, but his teacher had a reputation for impulsive eccentricity, and he appeared to have inherited that tendency.

She didn't know the twists and turns in Laus's castle, but it didn't really matter—he found her first.

"Lady Priscilla! Are you well? I tried to find help, but the people here were cowards to a one, and I couldn't make my way back to you—"

"It's all right, I'm all right, it's all over," she said. Her voice choked up, but a weight bowed his shoulders and dark smudges underscored his eyes, so she didn't feel much shame. "Are you wounded?"

"I'm fine. What matters is that you're all right," he said.

Typical Erk. It was hard sometimes to think of him as a mercenary, with his quiet voice and his habit of tripping over himself trying to keep her happy. His lips twitched in a spastic attempt to smile, but he couldn't seem to even force it.

"…We both nearly died, didn't we?" he asked shakily.

Her throat closed up as she nodded, and before she could help herself, tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned away, embarrassed, horrified, the aftermath of two days' exhaustion and fear burning in her chest and down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean…Lady Priscilla, please don't cry…"

She leaned against the wall and shook her head.

To her surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes soft, dark purple, like starlight and sympathy. Priscilla slumped into his arms, squeezing him gently. It was improper for her to lay hands on a man, but he was warm as his fire magic and he didn't pull away. She wondered if Raymond would hold her like that when she found him again, or if he would have forgotten her and forgotten how to be a brother. Erk was just a hired hand, but he treated her better than many of her friends back home, and he didn't move to touch her any further. To compare that to the way Marquess Laus had seized her hand when she'd met him, letting his lips linger too long on her knuckles and his eyes linger too long on her body, and…

"When I think about what almost happened," she began.

"I know," he said. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Is this how Lycia is? Territories ruled by dictators who take whatever they want?"

Erk hesitated.

"Some," he said at last. "When I travelled through here last year, the marquess of Araphen was much the same. But many, like this Lord Eliwood, are not. I don't think you need to fear anything from him."

"No, I wasn't going to," she said, thinking of his kind words. "I…I don't have reason to fear, really, at all. This was a strange anomaly, after all, and I know you'll keep me safe."

He tentatively gave her a squeeze of reassurance before stepping back.

"You give me too much credit, Lady Priscilla. You've only known me a short while now, and I've already failed in my line of duty."

"My house has known yours for much longer than that, though, and Lord Caerleon spoke highly of you. You have given me no cause to doubt you, Erk."

He smiled a heat-mirage smile, his thin face drawn. She could already see the faint hint of wrinkles on his brow; Erk would doubtlessly have his constant worrying prematurely age him. Maybe after the past few days, she looked much the same, though, worn out and listless.

"I thank you for your confidence, then, unwarranted though it may be. What would you like to do now? If war is breaking out in Lycia, it might be too dangerous to continue in search of your family."

"I would like to keep trying. We can see if we can travel with Lord Eliwood's company for as long as they'll have us, and at least then, we might have some greater measure of safety, if that's all right with you."

"Naturally," he said. "If you wish it, that's good enough for me."

Standing in the very castle she'd so feared mere hours ago, she smiled her first real smile in nearly two days.

"Thank you, Erk."