Test of the Four: Book Two of The Serrulata Saga: The Serrulata Saga, #1

By A.E. Bennett

"Outside of the Realm, everything is unknown."

 

Having paid a high price to pass through the Border, the Four depart the only lands they've ever known. They're faced with immediate problems and unknown dangers as they begin the perilous journey toward the fabled city of New York.

 

As they travel, Leora struggles to hone her powers, Roland and Aurora attempt to explore their new romantic relationship, and Leopold battles with his inner demons. 

 

Meanwhile, all is not right within the Realm. The young sovereign continues to wield his new powers erratically, threatening the lives of every citizen. Now, several members of the gentry must navigate through the chaos to protect their homes and families.

 

Can the Four survive their journey? And if they do, will there be a Realm for them to return to?

 

Set in the far distant future, Test of the Four is the second book in The Serrulata Saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. Bennett
• Release date: Nov 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798224668762

Book preview

PROLOGUE

April 1999 – Rockville, Maryland

Eve Verte knew she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake up.

She took in the reverie before her through the tinted glasses perched on her face, blinking in the hot sun that beat down on the pavement with almost-summer like power. The gaseous orb hung low in the sky, but darkness was still quite a long way off.

A black-topped parking lot sprawled out before her. Clean, neat, white lines stretched out parallel to each other almost as far as her eye could see. Cars, luxury SUVs, and a few trucks were parked all around her, each seemingly staring at her with lifeless headlamps.

A faint buzzing made her turn. The neon lights decorating each storefront in the massive shopping center around her sputtered to life, readying to battle with the orange orb in the sky for at least the next hour.

The scene before her was familiar, but this was certainly not the Realm. She squinted, attempting to comprehend where she was...and who she was.

Am I not me?

She gasped. Her voice was hers. That much she knew. But as she looked around, it felt as though she was seeing through someone else’s eyes. She clutched her throat and cleared it. H-hello?

She was met with an eerie silence. A slight breeze wafted over her and across the parking lot. She looked down at her hands—and they were her hands—and flexed her fingers. She wiggled her toes and felt that, too.

Am I dead?

She stared at the building before her. It was three stories tall and connected to shorter buildings on either side. She looked up at the massive sign denoting its name and jolted as she realized it was written in the language of the Ancients…and she could read it.

TOWERING RECORDS

Store…car…parking lot…neon lights…shopping center…suburbia…

All words she somehow knew but couldn’t put into context.

Hey, hottie!

A man with a ring in his nose and large plugs in both of his ears drove his car between her and the building and braked quickly. He stuck his tongue out at her, revealing a diamond-studded piercing, then tossed the hair on the top of his head back so that it fell around the rest of his shaved head. He wore thick-rimmed glasses with yellow lenses and a thick collar adorned with spikes around his neck.

Excuse me? She adjusted the sunglasses on her face and squinted at him through the tinted lenses. She didn’t understand why, but she knew that she needed to keep the sunglasses on. It was essential she keep her eyes hidden.

Pfft. One of those. A second man in the passenger seat scoffed at her from behind the first. Fucking feminists, man.

W-what is this place? Eve asked warily. She then realized she was dressed just as strangely as the two men in the vehicle.

90s fashion…

She wore a shirt that she knew was called a baby doll top, which ended right above her bellybutton. She moved her arms in front of her to cover her bare stomach and the belly chain that hung just above her low-rise, baggy jeans. The plastic flower headband that encircled her head immediately felt tighter. She wobbled in three-inch-high platform sandals that revealed her toes, painted a pale, shimmering pink.

The young men looked her up and down greedily.

Fuck, dude. The first man licked his lips. I think she’s rollin’, man.

The second grinned sadistically. Wanna fuck with her?

Eve didn’t really understand where she was or who she was, for that matter, but the tone of the two men was unmistakable.

Lowering her arms, she smiled slightly and pouted at the two young men. The beat-up ’91 Honda Civic hatchback coughed and sputtered as it idled in the lane between the popular teen hangout and the sprawling parking lot behind her. Somehow, she knew this lot was going to be full of teenagers and their parents’ cast-off cars within another hour or so.

A blaring honk interrupted the two young men as they panted at her.

Hey, assholes! a middle-aged man screeched as he thrust one arm and his entire torso out of his driver’s side window. His luxury SUV sat menacingly behind the beat-up Civic. Flirt on your own fucking time. Some of us have shit to do!

Sad, the first man said as the other twisted around and practically tossed his own body out of the passenger side window to raise both of his middle fingers. You could have experienced a world of pleasure and pain with us.

Feel the PLUR, bitch! The second man sat up on the windowsill of the passenger side window, stuck out his tongue, and screamed viscerally as he shook his head back and forth as fast as he could.

The rickety Civic sped off through the parking lot, and Eve inadvertently jumped at the forcefulness of their exit. They sped around a corner and blew through the lone traffic light at its very edge, eliciting a wave of angry honks as they raced out onto the main thoroughfare and off into the evening.

The middle-aged man in the SUV pulled up to her then. He was dapperly attired in a pristine, white button-down shirt, rumpled slightly from sitting in an office chair all day. His suit jacket was tossed carelessly in the passenger seat. A black shoulder bag full of documents sat on top of the expensive-looking suit coat. A reusable Starbucks coffee mug, emptied long ago during his morning commute, sat alone in the cupholder at his side.

You okay? the man asked.

Um…yeah, she responded colloquially. She shifted, tossing strands of her long, red hair, held up in a high ponytail, behind her shoulder. The plastic flower headband had edged downward, and she reached up to adjust it, her belly shirt rising to almost expose her bra.

You, uh…you remind me of my daughter. The man looked her up and down, his tone changing. Gotta be careful out here.

She dropped her arms and pursed her lips slightly.

No matter the year, no matter the place, men were all alike.

Yeah, she said, placing one foot before the other and walking around the front of his car in her platform sandals. Whatever.

She ignored his stare on her back as she sauntered up to the front of TOWERING RECORDS and flung the great glass door open. Although she was still unsure of who she was or what she was doing in this specific place, she had gained enough confidence within the last few minutes to feel as though she could walk away from the lecherous man who was clearly compensating for something with his choice of vehicle.

As soon as she entered the store, she winced at the change in lighting and thrust her hands to the sides of her head as both her eyes and ears were assaulted. Florescent lights beat down upon her without mercy, and blaringly loud noise echoed throughout the narrow corridor. Before her, two moving staircases—escalators—flowed, one moving upward and one coming down toward her. This, then, was just a preview of the store itself. The merchandise, she somehow knew, was up one level.

Looking upward before stepping onto the moving stairs, she watched as two teen boys close to her own age descended on the opposite escalator.

Eve blinked again.

What am I doing here? What is this place?

Something compelled her, then, to turn and step onto the escalator that would take her up into the record store. Wobbling again in her platform shoes, she placed both feet onto the escalator and marveled at the smooth ride.

Eve stared out of the three-story-high window that served as the storefront to TOWERING RECORDS. She could now see most of the shopping center from her vantage point. The neon signs denoting the names of the various stores were winning their battle against the fading sunlight, and their glowing messages reflected off the hoods of the parked cars, SUVs, and a few trucks.

She breathed in and out heavily. Her throat felt dry. She stumbled as she realized her own journey on the escalator was coming to an end. Readying herself in her platforms, she stepped awkwardly off the moving stairs and wobbled as she entered the actual store. Loud noise that she understood to be some sort of popular music continued to assault her senses. She almost fell headfirst into a life-sized cardboard cut-out of a man wielding a weapon—a light saber?—and staring menacingly down at her.

She yelped before she realized she had been frightened by a display.

You okay?

Before she could protest, a young man, again around the same age as herself, grabbed her arm and righted her. She pulled away from him and then remembered she still didn’t know who she was or where she was and adjusted her demeanor. She smiled slightly and touched her flower headband, lowering her gaze.

Just trying to help you, he said, offering his hand again. He grumbled as the badge around his neck twisted awkwardly. Fuck this corporate bullshit, man!

He tossed the badge up and around his neck so that it hung over his back, and he grabbed her gently by the arms. I gotta say, I don’t know how you ladies walk in those things.

Huh? She followed his eyes as he looked down at her feet, steadying her.

Those platform thingies, man. He shook his head. You ladies got talent.

I-I guess, she muttered.

You excited? He grinned at her. Metal in his mouth glistened as a slight film of his spittle caught the fluorescent light reigning down from above.

Eve swallowed her disgust and shook her head. I’m sorry?

I mean, every story has a beginning, right? He motioned at the cardboard cutout she had almost careened into.

I…suppose? It was more of a question than a statement.

Ah. He edged away from her, nodding as though she had just answered a hundred questions all at once. Do you need me to, like, show you where the Blink-182 is or something?

She shook her head, feigning understanding. No. I’m fine. Thanks.

Wavering on her heels, she stepped slowly away from the young man as he yanked his badge back around to the front of his body and smoothed it out over his polo shirt. She turned and attempted to move forward, only to almost trip on the massively wide legs of her jeans. She shook her feet out and around her, releasing the hems of her pants, suddenly feeling annoyed.

Do women ever, in any year, get to wear comfortable clothing?

It was then that she realized she’d thought about what year it was twice now.

So, I don’t just not know where I am. I don’t know when I am. Perfect.

Eve shivered but somehow knew she needed to continue her journey into the store. She marveled at the scene around her. Aisle after aisle of countless shiny disks in flat plastic containers—CDs—were on display, organized by genre of music and arranged alphabetically by artist. Beyond these aisles, the movie section loomed, where a plethora of options existed. On a far wall, racks of posters and tee shirts hung, flanked by shelves covered with memorabilia, such as dolls and purses. The store contained nothing but entertainment.

Teens in all sorts of pants—from wide-legged jeans to low-rise flare to straight-legs that only dorks wore—shuffled to and fro. Eve was delighted by the way every one of them shifted through their own section of the CD area in almost the same way, flipping from one option to the next, some searching lackadaisically and some looking fervently for what they desired. All were on a mission, however, to find a piece of music that spoke to them—spoke about them.

Feeling slightly more relaxed, Eve attempted her own saunter into the CD section, finding an odd sort of enjoyment in the feeling of her wooden platforms against the linoleum. The sensation of knowing-but-not-knowing what was going on around her was still off-putting, but she was growing more accustomed to her surroundings.

The music in the store—all around her—changed.

A man’s voice from a few aisles behind her made its way over the overall din that sifted throughout the store: Fuck! This is my jam, yo!

TOWERING RECORDS was a large space with high ceilings. The tiny portions of the surrounding walls not covered with some type of merchandise were an off-putting color of white that begged the eye to look anywhere but there. All around her, people were carrying on loud conversations to compete with the blaring music. The cacophony had overwhelmed Eve at first, but as she moved from one aisle to the next, she grew used to it.

Friday night, bitches! Fuck school! A girl’s voice rose and faded again as Eve explored.

Although Eve somehow found herself able to read the language of the Ancients, none of the names on the placards in the aisles made any sense to her. She knew each label described what the artist of the music wanted to be called, but that was where her knowledge ended.

Strolling and touching CD after CD, she allowed herself to indulge in a small smile. Now that she had gotten used to her surroundings—and her platform shoes—she didn’t feel so out of sorts.

She stopped at the end of one of the aisles and felt the broad smile stretch across her face. Parchments!

But no. That wasn’t what these glossy, bound tomes were called. Not now. Not here. Here they were called...magazines.

Eve gleefully thumbed through them, taking in every word and every brilliant image. She’d never seen such colors on parchment before! As she perused, she couldn’t help feeling she was comprehending the words as though underwater. She was reading-but-not-reading.

Teen pop idol has diet secrets and knows how to really talk to boys!

Video game cheat codes within!

Grammy winner fashions revealed!

Have you prepared for Y2K? Disaster looms!

She stopped at the last headline and read it again, taking her bottom lip into her teeth. The words about pop stars and awards were frivolous, but that strange combination of letters and a number—Y2K—created a sense of foreboding. It was as though she was recalling a memory of a nightmare she’d never had.

She felt an odd sensation in her stomach as she stepped away from the magazine rack. She raised her arms and touched the sunglasses on her face, making sure they were still in place. Something within her stirred. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball. She knew, then, that she needed to get out of the store.

She opened her eyes and made her way toward where she had come from. As she turned the corner, however, she smacked through two teenagers—a young man and young woman. Each wore baggy tees and baggy jeans, and the young man had his poorly dyed black hair spiked straight upward. The young woman wore her platinum blonde hair in pigtails and blew a bubble of gum into the air and popped it loudly.

As she spun around, Eve’s sunglasses slid off her face and clattered to the floor.

Hey! Watch it! the young man scoffed.

With her head lowered, Eve muttered an apology. She reached down to pick up her accessory, but the atmosphere around her had changed. The air had thickened.

She was in danger.

The young woman cried out, and Eve’s stomach twisted. Forgetting the sunglasses, she struggled to move away from the couple as fast as she could in her platform heels. That’s—fuck! That’s one of them! One of those fuckin’ aliens! Look at her eyes!

Eve’s pulse quickened. All she had to do was get to the escalator. Get to the exit. Get out of TOWERING RECORDS.

The teens in each aisle turned toward her. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked on Eve as she scurried in her wooden platforms and baggy jeans toward the exit.

Just a bit farther…

Hey! You trying to steal or what? The young man in the corporate polo with the lanyard stepped in front of her as she approached the escalators.

Eve tried to push past him, keeping her eyes on the ground. She wished suddenly that she’d worn her hair down and not up so she could better hide her face.

She’s an alien! Alien! the young man screeched, releasing her arm as though it was electrified. He fell backward, crashing into the cardboard cutout of the man wielding the light saber.

Alien!

Fuck!

Get her!

Eve attempted to maneuver around the young man floundering against the crushed cardboard cutout, but he reached out with a lanky arm and grabbed at the baggy bottom of one of her pant legs. She screeched as she toppled, her face smacking into the linoleum floor. The escalator whirred before her.

Tasting blood in her mouth, she rolled over onto her back and kicked at the young man who clutched at her platform and the hem of her pants with all his might. She grabbed at the waist of her pants, worried that he was going to yank them down. With her eyes locked on his, she felt the crowd of teens form around her.

Not one of us!

Freak!

Alien!

Go home!

Go back to your own fucking planet!

Eve screamed as the crowd descended upon her.

Former lady Eve Verte sat upright in her own featherbed in her chambers within the Capitol in the District and screamed.

What—what year? What year? Where am I?

Her eyes darted back and forth as she took in the familiar sights and sounds and scents around her. Her own sheets in her own four-poster bed were soaked with sweat. Her vanity was in the far corner of her inner chambers. Her lady’s maid, Nik, sat next to her, stroking her arm gently. The floor-to-ceiling window to her right had the doors flung open to let in a refreshing spring breeze. And standing at the bottom of her bed with his arms clasped behind his back and his gray eyes glowering at her was the sovereign himself. He stood erect with his crown of gold buried in dark curls streaked with gray.

She touched her hand to her mouth, feeling a stickiness, and realized she had sliced into her lower lip with her own teeth.

Eve? he asked, cocking his head as though uncertain about her identity.

She nodded, gagging against a dry throat. She motioned for a drink and coughed when Nik gave her wine instead of water. The liquid burned against her fresh wound. She was so thirsty, however, that she gulped without thinking and wiped her arm across her lips when she was finished.

Panting, she looked up at Alrich.

How long this time? she gasped.

The sovereign snapped his fingers at Nik. The older servant looked at Eve meaningfully, but Eve waved her hand to let her know she would be well. Nik placed a refilled goblet in Eve’s hand, bowed, and departed.

As the door to her inner chambers shut, Alrich moved around to the side of Eve’s bed and sat, his weight depressing the feathered mattress around her feet. She shifted and took another sip of the fine wine. She surveyed her surroundings again, slower this time.

Hours, Alrich stated matter-of-factly.

Hours… Eve sighed. Her lower lip throbbed as blood pooled in her mouth. She took another sip of wine and swallowed it along with her own blood. She turned her gaze to the windows and realized her last memories were of the evening meal many, many hours ago. My lord, you know I don’t know…I can’t predict—

Of course not, he interrupted, taking the goblet from her hands and placing it on the table next to the bed. He scooted closer to her and brushed a soft palm against her cheek. You have the gift of sight, which is one of the more unpredictable powers of Xanthcraft. But we must figure this out. I need to know. I need you to tell me what you see of the future so I can protect myself. And fucking fuck, take this so you don’t bleed all over me.

Eve took the handkerchief from the sovereign and pressed it to her lip. She shook her head. The Xanthcraft had been so powerful, but even now, her memories of the dream-but-not-dream were fading. This was…it was not the future. It was the past.

Tell me, the sovereign demanded. Tell me what you saw.

I went…I went to suburbia, Eve muttered, stumbling over the now-almost unfamiliar word. And it was awful.

1

On April 28, 4385, sensors in the City-State of New York indicated that the Border of the Realm dropped for a few minutes and then raised once more. This was identical to an incident which occurred fifteen years prior. Had I known then what I know now, I would have taken precautions sooner.

~ Excerpt from The Memoirs of Julius Qin, First Edition, College Press, 4405 CE

On the second to last day of Fourth Month, the Great Comet hung brilliantly in the sky with its two tails—one yellow and one blue—following, and Leora of Mae was panicking.

Her hands shook violently as she felt her healing Xanthcraft flowing through her. Leora’s healing had never been strong, and it felt as though her very essence was being pulled out of her slowly as she worked. The lavender light streamed into the two gaping wounds she held. Blood trickled through her fingers, and though it felt like she’d been wielding her abilities for hours, she knew rationally it had only been a few ticks. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and she winced as her powers almost broke. Her shoulder throbbed, aching mercilessly from when the now-dead White Rider yanked as hard as he could on her arm.

Squeezing her golden eyes shut, she begged her Xanthcraft to keep flowing.

Please! Please! Please!

Leora! The sing-song voice of the former lady, Aurora Verte, sounded far away. Leora heard the woman pacing. Roland, she’s going to hurt herself.

Leora, too focused to respond, was grateful when the sometimes thief replied. Rory, give her room.

It had been all of ten ticks since the four had made their way through the Border of the Realm, and so far, nothing was going as planned.

Roland and Aurora had managed to drag a severely wounded Leopold, former First Commander of the White Riders and the Realm’s First Defender, away from the Border as soon as it rose, but Leopold had been near dead weight, and they’d barely made it to the tree line before collapsing themselves. Leora had started working her healing Xanthcraft immediately, but Leopold, still clad in his armor with his sword laying uselessly by his side, wasn’t improving. His breath came in short, wet rasps. Leora’s healing continued to flow from her into him, but every current of lavender-colored power made her weaker.

All three of the conscious members of the group were aware they were exposed to the unknown.

Aurora sniffled but obeyed Roland and whispered, Do you think that White Rider can follow us? I know my shot wounded him, but his armor blocked the bullet. Watching him pop upward after something like that…

Leora felt Roland’s gaze on her.

He can’t follow, Roland said in a low voice, as though trying to convince himself of the fact. He just can’t.

Leopold coughed. A thick glob of blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth and down his neck. Ahern…wounded…bruised. Been shot myself in armor, if you recall. Can’t follow. No code to get the Border down.

Leora emitted a frustrated noise and spoke through clenched teeth, I can’t…do this…if you don’t…shut up.

Leopold briefly tried to focus his gaze on her. His pupils were so shot, his gray irises looked like tiny rings. His eyes fluttered and then fell shut. Leora begged her Xanthcraft to keep flowing.

Come on, Leo, Leora whispered. The wounds were deep and healing very, very slowly.

Can…stop…let me…die, Leopold moaned.

Leora thought she heard Aurora gasp behind her, but it could have been the wind in the trees. Her Xanthcraft was distorting her senses. Her vision was blurry, and blood rushed around in her ears. Her hands—one on Leopold’s side and one on the gash on his thigh—trembled.

You’re not going anywhere, asshole, she muttered.

Leora of Mae had almost twenty years behind her. She stood just above one hundred and fifty-two centimeters, and she had black skin and short, curly black hair. Like all Xanthi, her irises were a distinct golden color, but unlike most Xanthi, she possessed a great deal of power. Though she was still honing her skills, as far as she knew, Leora could wield five of the seven types of Xanthcraft, a feat practically unheard of in the Realm.

She continued to pour her healing into the former White Rider. She could feel the sinews and tendons and flesh begging to mend, but something was blocking her ability from working fully.

As though sensing her question, Leopold stammered, P-poison.

She could feel that her healing Xanthcraft was about to break.

Do you know what kind? Leora begged.

Please! Please! Please!

Knowing Ahern? S-special, Leopold grimaced. His white teeth were stained red with blood. Just for me.

Leora shook her head and, instead of responding, closed her eyes.

You stupid girl!

Useless!

Leora ground her teeth against her adoptive mother’s caustic voice. The woman had been dead for two months, but Leora knew it was going to take years—maybe a lifetime—to get that voice to stop echoing in her mind.

I can do this, Leora thought. I can help Leo. Please, Xanthcraft…just a bit more. Stop the worst of the bleeding…

Leora gasped out loud as her Xanthcraft began to pulse. She felt the reverberations throughout her body. The lavender light darkened to a more intense purple, and Leora felt it flow through around her entire being. And then she watched with wide, golden eyes as it poured into Leopold.

He screamed, and all the air in Leora’s lungs rushed outward. A final burst cascaded through her, and her healing Xanthcraft finally broke, flinging her away from Leopold.

Leora heard Roland and Aurora crying out when she landed, but dizziness and exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she fell unconscious before she could reply.

Roland slowly chewed on a bit of dried meat, rolling it around in his mouth, savoring it despite the poor seasoning. Years on the Thieves’ Road had taught him to be frugal with food when he didn’t know how long the supply had to last.

He took a very small sip of water and gently nudged the canteen at Aurora. They both sat on the dirt, leaning their backs on a robust, felled log. Roland was covered in blood from his battles with the White Riders who had attacked them. One of his eyes had swollen completely shut, stark evidence a White Rider had been able to land a fierce blow. Aurora’s skirt was spattered with blood as well—cast-off from when she’d walked up to the White Rider who’d been fighting Roland and shot the soldier in the head. The long, bell-shaped sleeves of her dress were covered in mud and grime, and her red hair, normally pulled away from her face in a neat, simple chignon, was tangled and falling into her eyes.

Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain, but Roland knew he couldn’t rest yet. He and Aurora had managed to pull both an unconscious Leora and a wounded and delirious Leopold further away from the tree line, but they were not shielded from the grassy knoll that separated the forest from the Border, glowing an ominous red in the distance.

Roland stiffened as Aurora reached out with a soft hand and took the water pouch from him. He shuddered with pleasure at her touch, but he scrambled and caught the canteen before it could spill the precious, clean water they’d brought with them from behind the Border.

Careful, Aurora chided without heat.

She took a small sip and then licked her lips as she capped the pouch and handed it back to Roland. Two months ago, Roland would have expected her to drink the whole bladder in one go. She’d changed a great deal since she’d been forced to flee her family home and leave a life of luxury behind. Now she consumed their provisions like a peasant.

Should I try to give her some? Roland wondered out loud, looking at Leora curled up underneath a blanket. She looked so small.

It couldn’t hurt to try. She’s been asleep for a while, Aurora replied softly. The sun is going to set soon. Would we be safe with a fire?

Roland rubbed a grimy hand across the back of his blood-stained neck. Sweat matted his tunic to his back. The faces of the White Riders he’d killed flashed before his eyes. He’d been in fights before, and he’d seen his fair share of executions during his twenty-five years, but he’d never been personally involved in ending anyone’s life. Even though it had been necessary, Roland’s mind buzzed as the quietness of the forest surrounded them.

Don’t know, Roland mumbled and cleared his throat. He shook his head, willing the traumatic memories away. It’ll be cold, but I don’t know if we should risk it. Let me—

Leora stirred, and both Roland and Aurora sat up at attention. She rolled over to face them, blinking her golden eyes. She groaned as she came to a seated position.

I feel like someone ran me over with a plow. Her voice was full of gravel.

Roland leaned toward her, offering the canteen. She took two greedy gulps before shoving the container back at him. If I keep that in my hands, I’ll drain it. Her face contorted into an embarrassed grimace. Then her stomach growled.

Aurora pulled a hunk of dried meat out of her pack. You should eat this. All of it. You need to keep up your strength. Have the rest of the canteen, too.

Roland watched Leora reluctantly obey the former lady, giving in to her fatigue. Leora and Aurora had become friends, this was true, but Leora was not one who just took orders, especially from members of the gentry, former or otherwise.

Her chewing and swallowing became the only noise at the makeshift campsite. As she finished, she cocked her head. You hear that?

Aurora’s brows shot upward. No! What?

Roland looked around, realizing what Leora was alluding to. Nothing. There’s nothing around.

That is…good, is it not? Aurora blinked.

Leora wiped her hands on her trousers, covered in blood and muck, much like Roland’s. No birds? No rustling in the brush?

Roland felt Aurora shiver next to him. He drew his longknife from the sheath on his left forearm. We don’t know anything about this place. Maybe that’s normal?

Aurora wrapped one of her arms around Roland’s crooked elbow. Leora cast him a sardonic look, and he did his best to muster a shrug.

Probably not, he conceded.

Leopold groaned, and Leora leapt to her feet and raced to his side. Before Roland could protest, the short woman was crouched next to the former White Rider, readying her hands as though to wield more Xanthcraft.

Leora, Roland warned.

Leora gave her hands a horrified look as they began to shake. I don’t…I don’t think I have enough strength.

Roland placed gentle hands on her shoulders and pulled her away from Leopold. She looked up at him with pleading eyes and then collapsed into his embrace. He smoothed her tightly curled black hair as she breathed into his chest. The top of Leora’s head fit neatly under his chin. He held her, rocking her back and forth slightly, and then laughed as their collective stink permeated his nostrils.

Leora giggled despite her despair. We need baths.

Roland caught Aurora’s gaze as he looked over Leora’s head. He knew the former lady understood the familial bond he and Leora shared.

We need more than that, Aurora sighed. We need a plan.

I have to…Leopold… Leora muttered, her voice muffled by Roland’s filthy shirt.

His bleeding has stopped, Roland said softly, continuing to stroke her hair. I don’t think there’s much more you can do today.

Leora grumbled as though hating to admit he was correct. She moved away from him and back toward where her blanket lay in a heap. The blood and mud on her clothing had dried and hadn’t transferred to the comfortable fabric. Roland saw the pain on her face as she inched downward. He let her settle and then spoke.

We need rest. All of us. But none of us knows what to expect from these woods, so no fire tonight. We’ll wrap up as best as we can and keep watch in shifts. I’ll go first—Aurora, don’t argue—and I’ll wake you when the moon is high. You can take the rest of the night. No, Leora—you need to sleep all the way through. Look at how bad you’re shaking.

Both women glowered at him. Each had blood and mud caked on their faces and in their hair. Neither of them, however, argued.

We can’t stay here, obviously, but carrying Leopold isn’t an option, Roland continued.

We could make a sledge, Leora offered as she wrapped her thick blanket around her shoulders and lay down on the dirt, curling her legs up to her chest. Roland knew Leora’s adoptive mother had insisted she sleep in the family barn for most of the year and that she was adept at sleeping outside. Despite her experience, her size combined with the fact that she had only nineteen years behind her made her look vulnerable. Though he knew she could take care of herself, he still felt as though he needed to protect her. They had only known each other for a few months, but Roland felt connected to Leora in a way that he couldn’t put into words.

Roland nodded. That’s a great idea.

Leora nodded, clearly battling sleep as she struggled to respond, You’ll have to help. Built one with Nial. Years ago now.

Of course we’ll help, Aurora soothed, but you need to rest.

Leora grumbled but remained still. A few ticks later, she was breathing heavily.

If nothing else, Aurora whispered as she scooted next to Roland, I hope we can find a source of bathing water. I can’t tell you how vile I feel.

Roland laughed and then clapped a hand over his mouth, worried he’d disturbed Leora. Her breathing remained steady, and she continued to slumber.

Roland looked over at the woman sitting next to him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Though they were both filthy and an uneasy silence surrounded them, Roland felt strangely content. Aurora—Lady Aurora Verte—loved him. Him!

What are you grinning at? Aurora chided.

Roland brushed his lips against hers. I don’t know how this journey will end or even what will happen tomorrow, but I’m glad you’re by my side.

Aurora tilted her gaze downward. Though she was technically no longer a lady, her House had fallen only two months ago, and she employed mannerisms that made it impossible to forget she was well-born. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. Well…

Roland chuckled. He ached down to his bones and wanted a bed, too. Get some rest. As my mother used to say, things will look better in the morning.

Aurora huffed, but the smile remained on her face. She curled up underneath her blanket and closed her eyes. She was soon in as deep a sleep as Leora.

Roland scanned the darkness before him and shivered. It was chilly, yes, but the eerie silence was too disturbing for him to seek comfort with a blanket. He’d spent nights in the deep woods within the Realm before, and there had always been noise—insects chirping, small animals rushing in the underbrush. All around him now, though…nothing.

He watched the last embers of the sunset disappear beneath the horizon and gripped the handle of his longknife tightly. He avoided looking up at the gigantic comet looming in the sky and instead kept his gaze circling the dark woods around them.

Aurora blinked as she felt a gentle nudge against her shoulder. She yawned widely, then remembered that was unladylike, and then recalled that she hadn’t worried about ladylike behavior since she’d watched her father’s execution.

Opening her eyes, she bade farewell to sleep as she gazed up at Roland Shallowbrook’s furrowed brow. She’d initially found the man intriguing in a rustic way, but that had been before she’d gotten to know him. Now even unintended touches or brief glances from him made her heart sing.

So this is love.

I know you probably hate me, Roland whispered, but I need you to take over the watch. You got your powder weapon?

She nodded as she edged to a seated position. She wrapped slender fingers around the grip of the weapon and cleared her throat as quietly as she could. The moon shone brightly and, with it, the Great Comet, so there was enough light for her to see reasonably well. She licked the back of her front teeth and shuddered. She wished they had enough water so she could use some tooth powder. As it was, she’d have to live with bad breath and fuzzy-feeling teeth.

I could never hate you, Aurora whispered, brushing her free hand down Roland’s stubble-covered cheek.

Roland kissed her fingertips and settled down next to her. I’m so tired I want to die.

Don’t say that, Aurora hissed. She glanced up at the comet and then back down at her lover. That thing’s a bad enough omen.

Roland mumbled as sleep threatened to overtake him, Don’t know about that. We’re out here instead of in there, huh?

Yes, Aurora sighed. We’ve completed step one of our thousand-step plan.

She waited for him to laugh but realized he’d already fallen asleep. She gently brushed his mud and blood-caked hair. She knew Roland had let her slumber for more than a few hours, but it felt as though she’d only rested a few ticks.

As the uncanny silence enveloped her, a sob formed in her stomach and threatened to crawl up into her throat. It was then she realized that this was the first moment since her father’s death that she’d had to sit with nothing but her thoughts.

She looked up at the comet in the sky.

Daddy. Eve. Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found Mother. I hope you are all happy. I hope you are all together.

I’m the only one left…

Aurora allowed a single tear to fall and then bit her lip so savagely, she drew blood. She would not allow her self-pity to wake Roland. Tilting her head as far back as it would go, she forced the rest of her tears away and