Althea and Arévis clutched the map in their hands like children trying to decipher Ancient Aridian. They had been traveling long enough that the idea of adventure had lost its glamor. More than anything, Althea wanted to see the sun again.

  “We’re lost,” Althea declared. “We’ve officially wandered from that point—” she pointed to a smudged section of the map “—to anywhere around here.” She outlined a large circle on the small map.

  “As long as we’re kind of north from that point, it should be okay…” Arévis said, unsure.

  “How hard could it be to find an Artificer camp?” Althea fumed. “Won’t they be chanting their prayers loudly and making a blood sacrifice or something?”

  Arévis gave her a look. Althea chuckled.

  “So now you get touchy about them. Even though we’re probably going to have to—”

  “Shhh,” Arévis interrupted.

  They both stood in silence for a moment, Althea gripped by a small rush of adrenaline. She wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement.

  “What?” Althea whispered, hearing nothing.

  “Oh, nothing,” Arévis said, “I just prefer silence to you complaining.”

  Althea frowned, snatching the map away from Arévis. She started walking briskly in the direction she thought was north. Arévis followed behind her without another word.

  If the trees hadn’t gotten so dense, she’d be able to measure where they were by the sun’s position… but their oppressive canopies jealously hoarded the nourishing rays for themselves, and no light reached them even before the sun had set completely. It was colder in the forest now, more sinister. The damp dark invited mushrooms and thick moss to smother the forest floor. She almost plucked one up to eat, but it looked like a species of poisonous mushroom she had studied, which also looked uncomfortably similar to one of the safe ones.

  The quiet was too dense, too full. She couldn’t hear a single bird’s cry. The skitter of a beetle surprised her as it crossed in front of them.

  “I always used to run away from father and mother whenever they’d tried to give me a bath,” Althea lamented. “I was a sad, silly creature.”

  “No one wants a bath as a child. You want dirt in the crevices of your toes, in your hair, in your clothes,” Arévis agreed.

  “When did we stop embracing the dirt?” Althea asked, her boots sinking into the soft earth like it was a carpet of woven cotton.

  “I suppose when we care what other people think we look like,” Arévis mused.

  “Doesn’t seem all that long ago.” Althea said. “I think it coincided with wanting Terran to think of me as more than a child.”

  “I think I wanted the adults to think of me as more than a child,” Arévis recalled.

  “Stupid, weren’t we?” Althea said.

  “I’m used to baths now,” Arévis shrugged.

  “And now we’re getting reacquainted with dirt,” Althea said sagely. “Wouldn’t it be much less painful if we stuck to one or the other?”

  Arévis hummed, scrutinizing her dirty hands.

  “We’ve been sleeping in the dirt for weeks now, and I still think it gets colder and darker the longer we’re in this forest,” Althea said.

  “It is getting colder and darker. We’re in deep now. I just hope we can find our way out,” Arévis said.

  “Don’t talk like that,” Althea snapped.

  They walked in silence for a moment, Althea fidgeting.

  “We’ve still got enough water for a while, but perhaps we can find a stream. I can’t feel one yet but I’ll let you know as soon as I do,” Arévis promised.

  “I’m not bathing this far in. I’ll freeze,” Althea argued, shivering just thinking about it.

  “Maybe just a splash of water on your face?” Arévis encouraged.

  Althea frowned at her.

  “No one is here with us. Who cares if my face is covered in dirt?”

  Arévis didn’t reply. She did cringe, though. Althea rolled her eyes.

  After the gloomy day waned into an even blacker night, Althea insisted they set up camp. They still hadn’t found any water.

  “Still can’t make a fire with the stars,” Althea noted, eyeing the thick crowns of treetops.

  “We’ve still got the flint Deryn gave us,” Arévis encouraged.

  “More like loaned us,” Althea murmured. “We still have to retrieve some kind of weird artifact that he won’t even tell us about.”

  Arévis was silent for a moment as she worked on arranging firewood.

  “How much gold do you think he’ll give us, anyway?” Althea wondered aloud.

  “Althea…” Arévis was squatting over the almost-fire, flint in hand. “We’re not going back there.”

  Althea frowned. “I thought we needed gold.”

  “We only need travel supplies. That’s what we started with.”

  Althea mulled this over as Arévis grated the flint against the steel. The moment a spark lit the fluff of dried moss, Althea caught the flame and made it eat the fuel ravenously. The fire hissed and climbed until it was bright and strong in the chilly gloom.

  “Is that what we do now? Lie to people?” Althea said, not sure how to feel.

  “It’s survival.”

  “Well maybe after we find the Artificers and have our friendly little chat, you can be on your way to Aridia. I’ll catch up later after I bring Deryn the artifact.”

  “Artifacts,” Arévis corrected.

  “Whatever!” Althea snapped.

  Arévis shrugged and started setting up her bedroll.

  “How are we any different than the thieves that took our things?” Althea asked, folding her arms.

  “Let’s see…” She pretended to count her fingers. “We didn’t hold knives to their throats and threaten their lives and the lives of their loved ones, we didn’t take what they needed to survive, and we didn’t casually steal their precious possessions,” she finished, tucking herself in.

  “They helped us and they didn’t have to,” Althea defended.

  “If they hadn’t helped us, they’d be as good as killers. They clearly had enough to spare,” Arévis rebutted.

  “They had just been robbed the night before.”

  “Don’t be so na?ve, Althea,” Arévis derided, sitting up. “They let us in because they wanted something from us. Whether or not we bring them some mysterious artifacts, we’re doing their job for them—eliminating the threat to their research. I think that’s payment enough.”

  Althea stopped arguing. It wasn’t that they hadn’t argued before, or that they couldn’t argue and come to some kind of agreement. But this was different. She felt the rift between them more acutely than she ever had.

  Terran had been right that Arévis had changed. Maybe it was time to accept that their relationship would never be the same—that Arévis would never be the same.

  She watched as Arévis tucked herself in, lying on her back, motionless.

  Althea loved her. But maybe there was no recovering from what had happened to Arévis.

  -

  Althea was woken by the dim light of morning. Even beneath her blanket she was covered in dew.

  A quick glance at the dead fire showed her Arévis’ empty bedroll.

  She scrambled out of her bedroll, putting on her cloak and getting ready to look for more water. The hunger ate at her insides. She pushed the discomfort away.

  Arévis was in a small clearing where she could hear birds chirping in the higher canopies of thick trees. She was practicing some kind of warp like Althea usually did on the sky.

  “What’s that?” Althea asked.

  Arévis frowned a little as her concentration was disrupted. She sighed.

  “It’s a pressure shield. I’ve been working on it for a while, but… I can’t seem to get it to deflect solid objects,” Arévis explained.

  “Do you want me to throw things at it?” Althea suggested.

  Arévis smiled a little. “Sure.”

  They practiced for a while in the small clearing, her need for food and water still chanting in the back of her mind ferociously.

  Arévis could make an impressive pressure warp, but it wasn’t very strong. Eventually, Arévis could get it to deflect small leaves and twigs. Althea jumped in triumph.

  “You’re just one step away from deflecting small rocks,” she encouraged.

  “But not from deflecting arrows,” Arévis grumped.

  Althea shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong—that would be very useful. But there’s a reason they don’t teach that at Isold’s Academy. It can’t be done.”

  “I know it can be done,” Arévis argued. “I’ve read about Aure and her seraphs. They could move wind and clouds.”

  Arévis was panting, and knelt on the mossy ground.

  “That was before the seraph wars,” Althea reminded her. “Aure and her children are dead. If someone once had the ability to make a strong enough pressure shield—it’s long gone.”

  Arévis shook her head. “Maybe they wrote it down somewhere. Maybe there’s a book with how to do it written on the pages.”

  “Even so,” Althea continued, “you’d have to be a descendent of Aure’s. It’s like how no one with Aridian blood can freeze anything to save their life, and no one without it can seal up wounds like they do.”

  She grinned at this, pleased that she had such blood.

  Arévis slumped a little more at that. “You’re probably right. Maybe an ice shield… No, I couldn’t conjure it fast enough… But if I had the stone…”

  She murmured for a while like that before Althea interrupted her.

  “I know this is important, but so is not starving to death,” she prodded.

  “Breakfast!” Arévis exulted. “That would give me clearer thoughts.”

  Hours passed, yet there was no sign of any animals this deep in the forest. Althea thought she could hear the faint howl of wolves, but they never did come close. They found some berries and mushrooms that looked edible. Althea picked as many as she could spot and called for Arévis.

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  “Here.” She laid out her offerings on the ground. “I’m almost certain that these aren’t poisonous.”

  Arévis looked skeptical. “I’m relying on your very impressive plant identification scores at the academy.”

  She grabbed a handful and then looked at Althea.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?”

  “I thought it might be smarter if only one of us eats them first. In case they’re poisonous,” Althea ventured.

  Arévis’ brow furrowed for a moment as she thought this through.

  “And obviously we shouldn’t poison the healer,” she agreed, and shoved a handful of the mushrooms and berries in her mouth.

  Althea let out a breath, relieved that there was no anger in her companion’s words. She watched carefully for any signs of poison. Arévis just munched happily until half the pile was gone.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Just fine,” Arévis assured. It was amazing what even a small portion of food could do when they were this hungry.

  “I think I’ll dig in, then,” Althea said, knowing that she should probably wait longer, but too encouraged by Arévis’ assessment.

  “Thea,” She called, standing and turning slowly.

  “Hmph?” Althea inquired, mouth and hands stuffed with their spoils.

  “I sense water.”

  Althea swallowed as fast as she could without hurting herself and scarfed down the rest of the pile.

  “Finally!”

  They meandered between the thick trunks of trees, dewy ferns and creeping vines brushing their ankles like iced fingers. A thin layer of mist had risen from the forest floor, making every step damp and frigid.

  Sure enough, the trickle of a stream beckoned them from behind curtains of foliage.

  The mist hovered around a small vein of flowing water. It seemed to widen the farther up they went.

  Althea knelt and ran the water through her fingers, grateful for the relief that washed through her. She could sense nothing harmful living in the stream, so she splashed handfuls of water into her mouth and on her face, letting it drip from the tangles of curls in her face.

  Meanwhile, Arévis had started following the stream upward, towards its source.

  “What are you looking for?” Althea called to the thin, mist-shrouded form of Arévis in the distance. She was almost completely out of sight when Althea ran to catch up.

  She stopped when she reached Arévis, who stood, wide-eyed and silent.

  “Well,” Arévis broke the silence, “it certainly wasn’t this.”

  Althea looked ahead. No longer obscured by mist, instead of the thick trees they had grown used to, there was a mass of towering thorns, black and ravenous.

  The mass stretched in either direction as far as Althea could see. It hung like a canopy, choking the thicket of trees.

  “How is this possible?” Arévis asked.

  “It shouldn’t be.” Althea paused in thought. “Unless someone grew them—a very powerful green mage.”

  “Could this be the Artificer’s base?” Arévis asked, pushing her voice out in a rush.

  “I don’t know,” Althea answered.

  Arévis strode to the mass of thorns and ran her fingers over the vines, careful not to prick her finger.

  “I wonder how far it goes in either direction,” Arévis pondered, still poking at the structure, freezing a thorn here or there.

  “You run that way, and I’ll run this way,” Althea joked.

  Althea approached the thicket as well, touching at a vine with careful interest.

  “I can’t sense the end of it,” Althea mused. “I wonder who it’s meant to keep out.”

  “Funny,” said a quiet voice. “Most of them ask what’s inside.”

  Althea whipped around towards the sound. But there had been no direction, and no voice.

  Arévis looked puzzled.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked.

  “I heard something,” Althea said, shivering and twirling to check around her.

  Like spiders, a few dark figures crawled from the mist towards them.

  Althea gasped, flinching back towards the thorns.

  Arévis stood up taller.

  “Speak before you approach,” Arévis said in a clear voice, “or all that mist you’re soaking in will become very, very cold.”

  “We do not fear the cold,” said a voice from no direction.

  “And there will be no speaking,” said another.

  “Arévis,” She whispered, shaken. “Can you hear them?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed, spine unnaturally stiff.

  Out of the mist, black abstracted forms took shape.

  They were shrouded in dirt, but otherwise nude. All were covered in a mop of tangled, black hair. One woman’s hair was so long that it dragged behind her in the damp soil as she crawled. There were at least four that she could make out, one lingering far behind, another off past Arévis.

  Arévis did not act as they approached. It became obvious that they had no interest in Althea or Arévis, but rather the wall of thorns.

  The woman with the long hair rose, touching the wall as they both had. She worked to tear into the wall, her eyes consumed by despair. But all that she brought back with her were bloody hands. The thorns that had torn regrew more in their place.

  “Not here, then…” The voice faded as the four creatures silently walked or crawled past Arévis, further into the mist.

  Althea watched, horrified, not quite sure what to make of it.

  Arévis let out a breath.

  “That was beyond terrifying.” Althea was shaken.

  A flicker of movement in the mist caught her eye.

  It was another figure, walking slowly towards them. His hair was black and tangled like the rest of them.

  “Open the gate,” he said, still too far to make out entirely. His voice sounded at once thin like an old man’s and scared like a child’s. It was filled with sickness and need. It scraped at her mind like a dull knife.

  “So this is a gate,” Arévis asked, “to what?”

  The figure kept walking towards them slowly, steadily.

  “You,” he demanded. His arm rose like the slow crawl of a plant sprouting to point at Althea. “Open it.”

  Althea shook her head, “I don’t know how.”

  If he spoke further, she did not hear it. Instead, she heard the roar of ravenous flames gobbling up the thorns, and saw the bright orange light up the forest.

  In an instant, the vision was gone.

  “You want me to—”

  “Burn the gate down, yes,” said a much louder voice, with a whole lot more people behind him grunting their agreement.

  When she turned around, it was not a black-haired figure facing her, but a party of travelers in all black. Their weapons looked ordinary.

  Arévis had stepped in front of her, unyielding.

  “Interesting,” Arévis noted, her voice light as dragonfly wings, “So Valerian Artificers don’t share trade secrets with Edajian ones?”

  Their leader glared at her.

  “Who are you?” He demanded.

  “A weapon enchanted with fire could do the trick. Or you could just start a fire the old-fashioned way,” Arévis said, ignoring their question.

  “Normal fire doesn’t work,” one of them growled, “It has to be told where and how much to burn.”

  “Quiet,” the leader spoke. He had green eyes like Terran.

  “Why do you think she’s a pyromancer?” Piped a snarky, youthful voice. “If you untie me and my brother, we’ll gladly burn down this… thorn gate thing for you.”

  There, arms tied behind them, were the thieves that had attacked them not so long ago.

  Althea’s temper shot up as fast as a fish leaping out of the water.

  “Maybe I’ll do it if you hand those two over to me,” Althea spat.

  “We have yet to interrogate them—” an artificer began to protest.

  The leader waved his hand, “I don’t particularly care.”

  Two of his subordinates pushed the prisoners forward. They inched toward Althea with narrowed eyes.

  The girl avoided eye contact, even as Althea attempted to burn a hole into her skull with her gaze.

  “Well, this is awkward,” the girl said.

  “Hand over what they stole from us,” Arévis demanded.

  He nodded, and the Artificers lined up in a formation surrounding them. There were nine of them. Each pulled out a ranged weapon. Arrows were knocked, knives were brandished, and a particularly nonthreatening blowgun was whipped out.

  “That is the last request you make of us,” he said.

  “What makes you think it was a request?” Arévis taunted. She eyed her opponents, unimpressed.

  “Do you think this is a bad time to ask for their weapons?” Althea stage-whispered, surprising herself. Somehow, beyond her fear was excitement. They had all their enemies in one place, and although their lives were in danger, Althea felt invincible. Not long ago, Arévis had helped best a group of them, and that was when they had far more terrifying weapons. Together, they might be able to win.

  Althea looked to Arévis. She pulled out the flint and nodded. A single spark was all she needed to set off a blaze of fire in a ring around them.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” She heard the cries of the girl next to her. “Maybe untie us first before you crisp everyone here?”

  “We can help you kill them.” That was the first time she heard the thief boy speak. Beneath his quiet tone was a note of desperation. Thanks to him, she understood desperation.

  “We don’t need your help,” Arévis bit out, like the chill of the mist.

  The Artificers had backed up several body lengths.

  “Wait!” The leader shouted. “Wait!”

  Althea kept a self-sustaining flame in the palm of her hand. Arévis summoned a splintered wall of ice crystals to flank their escape.

  “Now you wish to talk?” Arévis mocked. “Throw us their belongings.” She gestured towards the siblings.

  Their leader nodded. Two of the Artificers threw the bags into the semicircle of space between them.

  “You are Arévis of Lantris,” he said, some kind of realization dawning on him.

  Althea could see the pride that lit up Arévis’ face as he said it.

  “The traitor.”

  The look was swallowed by a sharper one.

  “What exactly did I betray? What was I supposed to be fighting for?” Arévis asked.

  “You know!” He bellowed, green eyes livid. “And you threw it away for what?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Arévis said, considering. She furrowed her brow. “Any suggestions?”

  Before Althea could process their leader’s gesture, nearly a dozen arrows came flying at them. A cold breeze whipped some of the arrows aside. Althea could see the subtle warp of the air around Arévis as she summoned a pressure shield.

  But just like when she and Arévis had practiced, it did not stop the impact of the arrows that were still on course.

  Arévis cried out as three arrows hit—one on her right shoulder, one on her upper arm, and the last one pierced straight through her ribs. She staggered backward, and an aborted attempt at an ice shield grew in jagged columns from the moist ground.

  But instead of running, Arévis looked at her, concerned and weary.

  Althea could hear the distant sound of the thief siblings pleading and dragging at Arévis to kneel behind the small ice wall. Arévis wrenched out of their grip and stood as still and rigid as one of the ice shards she had conjured. When the thief girl grabbed at Althea’s arm to move her back behind Arévis’ constructed cover, she snarled.

  She looked down to find an arrow protruding from just above her hip. Well, that explained the sudden pain. The whole left side of her body groaned in sympathy.

  Arévis stumbled towards her, gasping, and gripped her arm.

  “We run or we fight,” Arévis grit out. Althea looked up at her taller friend, certain that this would be the end if they didn’t act, and they both knew it. Althea nodded.

  “Slightly toasted, or burnt to a crisp?” Althea whispered more to herself, staving off her light-headedness.

  Arévis nodded and lit another spark for her. Althea let the flame grow in her hand. As she looked towards her targets, she realized that none of them had knocked any arrows.

  Instead of the battle-ready commander, the leader of the Edajian Artificers had stopped the attack. A curious look overtook his freckled features. There was no anger or comprehension on his face any longer. Only panic.

  He screamed. It was the uninhibited scream of a child with no concept of the horror that had befallen him. It was as if the others around him did not exist. Even his comrades looked confused and terrified, exchanging looks amongst each other, clinging to their weapons for dear life. It didn’t seem that he was capable of giving them commands any longer.

  He whirled around in a frenzy, swinging his sword like a mad man. Althea was too confused to intervene. What would she be trying to stop?

  He ran head first into one of the others, who tried to defend himself with his own sword. Before long, they were fighting each other, the same desperate determination on their faces. It wasn’t long before the first wound echoed among the trees and thorns. An Artificer lopped off his comrade’s arm, and the wounded one rampaged around like some kind of feral dog, spitting and biting while he bled.

  “Alright. I’m officially done with this party,” the thief girl said, gaping.

  That was when a crazed Artificer ran toward them, holding an arrow like a sword.

  Althea threw her flame at him. It expanded like silk in the wind, ballooning until he screamed and screamed, still running at them.

  Arévis froze him in his tracks. He didn’t stop screaming until the flames died out.

  More of them came towards them, and Althea heard that peculiar and terrifying voice again.

  “Open the gate.”

  She looked around, but the black-haired man was nowhere in sight.

  Arévis was freezing their legs into ice stumps so they couldn’t run, but one broke free and crawled towards her like those creatures had only moments before.

  “Open the gate or die,” it threatened, still chillingly quiet in the chaos. It was as if the rest of the sounds around her had been muted.

  Instead of the nine Artificers coming toward her, she saw a legion of them approaching from every side. They didn’t run, but their pace was steady.

  “OPEN IT!”

  Althea whirled around in a panic, and burned the gate of thorns until she could run through. The thorns regrew almost as quickly she burned them. She persisted, and her flames roared with halting intensity. Her insides burned as she moved forward. A powerful wave of dizziness gripped her.

  “Come on, Arévis!” She called, watching her still try to hold off the legion.

  “There shouldn’t be this many,” Arévis called back, hobbling to follow her through the thorns.

  “Hurry!” Althea called. “It’s hard to keep it open!”

  The strain of making the fire resilient taxed her.

  The two thieves ran in after them, but she found it hard to care. Behind them, she glimpsed a tangle of black. It was best not to think of that.

  Instead, she pushed forward, ignoring the scream of her abdomen. Arévis staggered beside her, already out of breath.

  “Are we there yet?” The thief girl asked, skipping merrily. She was quick on her feet. She gripped Arévis arm and helped her move.

  Althea heard their voices as if they were far away. Instead, she burned a path forward, delirious from the effort.

  “You need to heal it, Althea,” Arévis kept saying. She was mumbling in hushed, hurried tones.

  Eventually, she realized that the thief boy was carrying her on his back. She burned a path forward, nevertheless.

  “We’re almost there,” said a weary voice. It might have been hers.

  Then there was only one thing she needed: sleep. A nice nap meant she could keep the flames alight. Her eyes drooped closed, and she was swallowed in bliss.