George thought that, considering they were trying to sneak around Lochton without getting noticed, Brady might be any better at keeping his mouth shut than he had been on the road. He was quickly learning that he should lower his already abysmal expectations of the sorcerer.

  The little stunt he and Gee had pulled on him wasn't helping his mood any, either. It was one thing to be pulled onto the road to dance, which was enough to make George embarrassed on the best of days, and another to force him to trip in front of his friends. He could still feel Nathan's hands clasping around his arms as he caught him, like his ghost was still holding on and reminding him of the blunder. He kept wiping at the sleeves of his tunic like that might get rid of the feeling, but it clung to him anyway. Brady yapping at the mouth was just the cherry on top. George worked at ignoring him instantly.

  Adam had given him the task of finding a new inn for their stay, or maybe just the next night if things continued going as poorly as they were. At least it was something to focus on besides for all the side-eyes Brady was attracting with the clack of his cane, his constant stream of words, and the veiny white scars twisting over his face. George almost hated Adam for pairing them up together.

  George led the way through narrow streets full of city folk, deeper into the north side of town. He could just spy castle walls that way, peaking around tall buildings like a protective omen. If lowly gangs from Erilea were following them, the more affluent, patrolled streets of Lochton proper would offer more safety than the poor ones. Besides, George longed for anything that reminded him of home.

  Brady was having a hard time following him. George walked faster, for one, but the crowds seemed to not be able to see him despite all their curious glances. Men and women alike kept kicking his cane and stepping in his way, so George started to keep a better eye out behind him as Brady got swallowed by the crowd periodically. Even through the constant smile he kept, George could tell it was getting to him.

  "I'm used to wider roads," he said once they were side-by-side again, but George kept forging ahead. He was trying to find the helpful fa?ade of the castle through the buildings when Brady tugged at his arm.

  "George, look! That must be the banner Gee and Matt saw." He turned and followed Brady's pointed finger. Sure enough, a golden crown was embroidered in the middle of the flowing silk, and tiny winged women circled it. George was glad to see it for himself, only partially because he didn't trust Gee's conviction that this was the same one from the prophecy. Seeing it meant he could be sure his first idea had been wrong – the six-rayed sun was not first.

  "That's certainly a faerie crown if I've ever seen one," Brady mused at his side, but George started looking for a clear path forward. He didn't want to dwell on his mistake, but he couldn't focus on anything else, too distracted by his own wandering thoughts. He only realized he was frowning when Brady gave him a crooked look.

  "What's wrong?" Brady asked. He was the last person George wanted to talk to about this, but he couldn't erase his confusion. He couldn't seem to get rid of anything, anymore.

  "I was so sure it was a timer," he admitted. Brady cocked his head in confusion, so George continued before he could get out a word (or twenty). "Prophecies do that a lot, they follow a chronological order of events so you know what's coming next. They're not as much help if each line is just randomly strung together, like the crown coming first."

  "Well, maybe you're still right," Brady said. "Wasn't the crown last? That's first if it's backwards." Suddenly, George wanted to kick himself. He'd been stumped about this since Gee had first mentioned it back in their inn room, the answer stuck on the tip of his tongue but just slightly out of reach. Somehow, Brady had beat him to it, but the gratification of finally knowing the answer kept his jealousy in check.

  "Of course! 'South to North the shadows shall take him', from bottom to top. The list is backwards." George expected to see a dignified grin spreading over Brady's face that he'd beaten George to the answer and been right. Certainly, there would be a sarcastic remark waiting at the tip of his tongue, but instead, he watched Brady's face drop. He looked back at the crown banner quickly.

  "So, the flowers are next, aren't they?" His sullen face reminded George of the one he'd seen all the way back home, in Adam's garden. George had known back then that one of the items had caught Brady's attention the same way the six-rayed sun had caught his own; it couldn't be a coincidence that his family worshiped the sun god while George worshipped five others.

  "You think the flowers are your component, don't you? 'Flowers from the grave of your darkest betrayal'?" Brady turned up to him with a poor imitation of a smile.

  "No, I think it's the shadow knife," he said snidely, almost leering at him. "Or the tags, I've always considered myself a courageous soldier. Actually, I've decided I'm more of a sun guy than you." George didn't laugh. The look in Brady's eyes was telling a million stories, and maybe if they had the luxury of time, George would've stopped to try to read them. They didn't have the luxury of safety, either, George reminded himself, but Brady's remarks told him everything he needed to know.

  With the sorcerer unwilling to say anything more, George started leading them away from the banner. They continued their search and fell right back into their roles, Brady being consumed by the crowd every few minutes as George tried to scout ahead. He made sure to keep a better eye out for him this time, figuring that Brady was going to be distracted. If George had recognized the item which came with words like "grave" and "betrayal", he'd be so beside himself with anxiety that someone could stab him and he might not notice. Brady was already walking slower.

  Finally, they broke into another wide thoroughfare with bustling crowds and shops. The people here were nicely dressed and walked in pairs, hanging off their partner's arm like they were too bored to stand up straight. George waited up for Brady and made sure to stay with him now, especially as he noticed more people giving him disgusted looks and sneering at his dirty clothes. After a few harrowing days on the road, George didn't figure that he looked much better, but no one seemed to care so much about him, especially as he walked alongside Brady.

  Across the road, George found an inn that looked suitable. He had just pointed it out to the sorcerer when someone made a loud noise a few feet away from them. This is it, George thought to himself. We've been spotted, and the drama is about to begin.

  But before he could even turn, he realized it was a little girl screaming. She was walking between the legs of her parents, and tears ran down her face in an ugly display that was completely unbecoming of her class. Her parents chastised her as George's own mother might have, but when he saw their faces, he saw similar revulsion there. They were looking in their direction, and George turned to see what could've made them so disgusted. All he found were more crowds. That meant...

  "I'm sorry, lovely people," Brady crowed out at his side, lowering his voice and pretending like he had something caught in his throat. "My disease is highly contagious, but your daughter is just too precious? May I . . .?" Brady leaned toward her. The girl's father picked her up and hastily made up an excuse – "Fruit at home is about to overripen and go bad, sorry!" – before scurrying up the road carrying their ugly-faced daughter, still crying.

  George felt sick to his stomach, but Brady laughed softly to himself. He cocked his head curiously when he noticed George's face.

  "Was that your first time?" he asked.

  "First time what? Seeing little girls burst into tears at the sight of your–" George caught his tongue. He figured Brady didn't need further insulting, but the sorcerer started to grin.

  "I'm pretty used to it. You rich folk don't see people like me often."

  "There's no one else like you," George corrected him softly, and Brady didn't respond. He'd said that the other day on the road, that Brady was a "special case" which needed studying. The memory stuck itself in his head, immovable, and so George pulled them up short of the inn doors. "When you turned away my healing the other night, why? How do you know I can't help?"

  Brady started trying to wave off his concern. "Nah, I'm a big boy, I can handle a few days of pain–"

  "No, I remember Adam's face when you pushed me away. There's something more to your scars that you're not telling me. It's my job to keep you running before we inevitably fail our quest and die premature deaths, so tell me." Brady pushed his lips into a line, but George wasn't going to relent. He tried for his best imitation of Adam, like he commanded enough respect not to be ignored. It must have worked because Brady sighed and started to speak.

  "I got injured once when I was younger, back in my home village," he admitted. "Our town's healers tried to help me, but it did something real bad to my scars. I didn't want to scare everyone when we were out in the woods like that, and if I'm being honest, I didn't want to feel that pain again. So are we going in this inn or what?"

  George found himself blinking back his surprise. He'd suspected something like that, he could tell that Brady's aged injuries were unnatural and weird. If the fact that they only took up half his body was any indication, Brady had basically just told him as much. What had surprised him was that Brady was right: it was a bad idea to try experimental magic out on the road, buried between trees and with no sterile gloves within twenty miles. George had noticed how well Brady handled his pain, but if healing hurt enough to frighten him, he wasn't anxious to watch that kind of horror unfold. They couldn't risk putting Brady out of commission or putting the group on edge like that. George hadn't expected Brady to understand that.

  George found himself starting to speak before the thought had fully formed: "When this is all over . . . maybe we can work together and figure something out." Brady searched his face for a jest, but when he realized there wasn't any, a rare genuine smile split his face, and he nodded curtly. Without a word, he opened the door to the inn and ushered George inside.

  The place was nice enough, which was all George needed to know. If thugs came walking in the front door, at least they might be held up for a second before being shown the guest list, and that was all George could ask for right now. He kept putting on his best Adam Hesler display as he spoke with the hostess and secured a few rooms. She gave him a critical glance over, completely ignoring Brady at his side (thank the gods) before telling him to clean up a bit before getting in bed. George didn't have to pretend to be earnest when he told her he wanted nothing more than a bath.

  George thought it was best not to wait around in the lobby of their new inn, especially not with the hostess still grumbling about the mess they'd tracked in, so he pulled Brady back outside with him. The sorcerer was upset to be on the move again, but it was like he said earlier, he could handle a painful day. George worried there wouldn't be a comfortable one for a while.

  It was nearing midday outside, and the thoroughfare was no less busy than it had been. The warm sun finally found George's face, like a blanket of comfort after moving so long in the shadows of Lochton. He missed the days when he'd gotten to study in his bedroom, taking books out to the garden when the mood struck him and only worrying about a call from the Hesler estate. That life hadn't been easy, but compared to this? George would've traded it back in an instant.

  "Well, kill my grandma and call me Ricky," Brady said suddenly. If he'd been any less lost in thought, maybe George would've found the expression charming. Instead, it ripped him from his day dream and he briefly considered throttling the sorcerer. Before he was too persuaded by the idea, Brady pointed across the square.

  Between all the bustling bodies, George shouldn't have been able to see them. Ideally, it would have been difficult, at least, but instead George's eyes landed directly on a handsome, deathly white face all the way across the square. He seemed to be alone, but George was willing to bet the shadows near him had some substance, if you bumped into them. With just a glance at each other, Brady and George came to the same decision: they started making their way towards Adam.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The noble was surprised to see them, which put George in a bad mood. Didn't he realize how dangerous their situation was? A gang, hellbent on destroying the same thief Adam had paired himself off with, was actively pursuing them through the city and yet Adam hadn't recognized his own party walking towards him in the crowd. George wanted to scold him, but he bit his cheek and stuffed it back down. He couldn't seem to find any graciousness for his best friend.

  "You might not have seen us, but you're crazy-visible, Adam," Brady said in his stead, and the noble looked concerned. "Your face is just so white!"

  "Well, it's not like I can do anything about that," Adam defended, but the shadow behind him suddenly found its voice.

  "I tried to tell you, it's the whole black outfit thing." Nathan was suddenly beside them, but George had learned to expect him. He only jumped a little bit. "Accentuates your complexion."

  Adam was about to bite back – very likely to point out that Nathan was similarly pale and similarly clad in dark cloth – when George cut him off, his temper too short to handle them bickering. Clearly, the two had not been making peace.

  "It doesn't matter! Brady and I just rented us rooms on the other side of the square, we're about to go find the rendezvous. Have you two learned anything? Seen Matt or Gee?"

  Nathan started shaking his head. "You two are the first we've seen. I'll take it you haven't bumped into them, either, but try not to worry too much: grouping up is much worse for staying inconspicuous." George wondered if he was just reassuring his friends with that statement. "As for information, we've got something."

  "The crown is in the castle," Adam said, nodding his head toward the large walls in the distance. "I found some women shopping for dresses, they were talking about a party to be held in a few days there. There will be food, and drinking, and dancing – it's part of the festival."

  "And the crown is completely unguarded," Nathan butt in, clearly annoyed that Adam was getting to share his contribution first. They really hadn't been getting along. "While Adam flirted with girls, I found the underbelly and poked around. I overheard something about a heist on the castle, but for simple things like jewelry and silks from the royals. When I brought it up, they said no one ever tries to go for the crown. The last few people who tried were never seen again, even though the room is completely unguarded. No one ever found their bodies."

  "Yes, but I know how to get into the castle," Adam huffed, and Nathan rolled his eyes like this was the eighth time he'd heard this argument. "The list for the party is exclusive, but not extremely so. It's a party, the duke wants to show off his wealth. I'm more than sure we can secure an invite and get close to the crown."

  "You wouldn't even know anything about it if I hadn't broken off and done my own work," Nathan said. Adam got red in the face.

  "You're being hunted by criminals! You can't just disappear because you're bored of waiting for me to talk to some girls."

  "Bored, or disgusted? If I had to watch you flash your brilliantly white smile at them one more time, I–"

  "For the love of Pelor, shut it!" George stomped his foot on the ground. "What is the matter with you two? Can't you find any ounce of professionalism in your mind or are you too prideful for even that?" Nathan crossed his arms over his chest in a huff, but Adam's look was what really struck George: total bafflement. Under normal circumstances George couldn't stand losing his temper like that, but listening to them bicker like they mattered in the grand scheme of their goal was driving him mad. Maybe he argued like that with Brady sometimes, but even he knew when to let it drop, and when to focus on their mission. Why couldn't they do the same?

  Still, he found his composure, although he let the edge of rage stay in his voice so maybe they'd stave off arguing long enough to hear him out.

  "An unguarded crown is suspicious, but that's a risk we'll have to take. Better to discuss a plan as a group, but until then, we shouldn't squander the safety we have now. Adam," George turned towards the noble, "the party seems like a great chance to get close. Do you think you can handle getting an invitation?" He didn't even argue, nodding his head curtly like George was his mother assigning a punishment. Except George knew Adam hadn't faced that before.

  "You guys go find the rendezvous," Brady said at his side, and George realized he'd forgotten about the sorcerer. It was odd to be so mad in his presence but to have his anger directed at someone else for a change. It didn't make him feel any better. "George and I will shop around for party clothes while you do that, but we'll meet up in an hour. Stay safe."

  At the release, Nathan started to move away instantly, Adam lagging behind and sparing them a glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. With them gone, George started to find his peace again, although he felt the shame of his outburst at the edge of his mind like clouds rolling over the horizon. He hated his annoyance with the noble who had so recently been his only friend.

  "You really put them in their place," Brady mused beside him, but it didn't sound like he was joking. "I thought you deserved a little time to cool off."

  "With what, shopping?" But even as he said it, George knew Brady was right. What better gift could he have received than a chance to act like himself again, browsing racks for his family's colors. Maybe he'd actually get to buy something this time, working off of a different noble's budget.

  Brady didn't remark back, instead smiling wide in that mischievous way George resented and offering him his arm. Hesitantly, but not too hesitantly, George took it and let himself be led back into the bustling square.

  ~'~'~

  Gee couldn't stop her hands from shaking, even when Matt grabbed her arm and slowed them to a stop in a busy crowd, unbothered townsfolk stepping around them and bumping into her shoulders. She always prided herself on her stamina (years of dancing did that to a person), but panic sapped away her energy like an oak tree being tapped for syrup, left totally winded and exhausted. She bent over her knees, cursing out these stupid Brothers who wouldn't leave her alone, even when she'd run away to a totally different city.

  The person they'd seen in the road had simply appeared there, Gee was sure of that. One second, the road was clear, and the next, they were blocking off the exit like a hellhound, white smile like bared fangs. Gee really wished she could forget their shadowy face, but each time she closed her eyes, she saw that cruel visage again. She looked up at Matt, hoping for a distraction.

  The cadet stood close by her side, and while she was hunched over catching her breath, he stood upright like his spine was made of a tree trunk. She noticed his hand resting lethally on his sword hilt and his head swiveled around constantly, like he'd be able to catch sight of their pursuers and kill them with his gaze. Gee liked that look on him, but she couldn't quite find the peace of mind to enjoy it.

  "How did you do that?" she huffed out, and the cadet finally turned towards her.

  "What? If you're talking about turning them to smoke, that wasn't me."

  "No, no, I didn't think so." She waved away his confusion, trying to follow his example and stand up straight, but it hurt her ribs too much. "I mean, how the hell did you get us out of there alive?" Matt pulled a face she didn't enjoy so much – one she'd noticed whenever Brady mentioned the crazy commander who had stabbed him back home. His eyes seemed to drift far away before they snapped back to her.

  "Wolves," he said, matter-of-factly.

  "What?"

  "It was like wolves. When a pack hunts weaker prey on the trail, they send their strongest wolf to the front. When the prey sees them, they get scared and turn around, running straight into the rest of the pack, ready for an ambush. They were like wolves." Gee thought about that, but it made her fear of the shadow person double.

  "So . . . when I tried to turn around . . ." Matt started nodding his head and Gee was suddenly glad that the boy was no lighter than a ship's anchor. Otherwise, they might be dead.

  "Can we find the rendezvous spot now?" she pleaded. "I know you wanted to continue sleuthing, but–" I'm fucking terrified, she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat. To her pleasure, Matt started nodding emphatically.

  "No, absolutely, we're getting out of here. That was too close." Before he started marching away, he offered her his arm to hold again. Gee tried to hide her shaking, but it didn't seem like Matt cared as she clung to his side and followed in his wake, the crowd splitting around him like a ship's prow through water. She felt like a helpless child clinging to a parent, but Matt seemed too focused on their destination to notice her bad mood. For the first time in her life, she was glad to be ignored.

  In thirty minutes, they found their first inn again, undoing all their progress into the city. In fifteen more, they managed to find the nearest church, a little hole-in-the-wall wooden building with no more than three people inside it. Aged, splintered pews lined the length of the building, looking upon a dilapidated sapling surrounded by candles. It's trunk was no wider than Gee's pinky finger, and only a few green leaves grew from its spindly arms, trembling in the draft blowing through the room like tiny flags. In a sort of depressing way, the whole scene was quaint. Unfortunately, Gee could only focus on the depressing part.

  There was no sign of the rest of their crew, so Gee took a seat in a pew near the back of the room, desperate to get off her feet and rest. Matt followed her like a dutiful guard, but his presence did nothing to help calm her nerves, the old wooden building creaking so often Gee thought maybe it was trying to talk to them. Please, leave, she imagined it croaking, so I might be able to collapse in peace. Every small noise made her head whip around as if a new shadowy figure was going to be behind her.

  Once, the door behind them screeched open and Gee turned so fast she swore she gave herself whiplash. She had convinced herself the one time she didn't look, it would cost her her life, and after a morning being so angry and scared, she couldn't fight the instinct. Instead of a deadly assassin, she watched an old man wander past them towards the tree, but she watched him the whole way, just in case. Maybe shadow powers also let you disguise yourself as an old man, who knew? She wasn't going to take the chance.

  She was still glowering at the old man when she felt a hand on her knee, and she nearly screamed. She turned, but it was just Matt, his brows knit together and soft eyes dark with worry.

  "Are you alright?" he asked. Gee tried for one of her wooing smiles, but even she wasn't convinced.

  "Yep. Just dandy."

  "It's okay to be scared. It's been a hard morning, I'm not expecting you to be happy. I know Nathan–"

  "I don't want to talk about him," Gee muttered, and she pulled her knee away from Matt's hand. At thought of her thief, she couldn't help but feel anger bubble up to replace her fear, but the passion felt good. She wanted it to surge through her whole body, so she dwelled in the rage.

  She couldn't believe that Nathan had been hiding the truth from her, they were supposed to be a team! Being put in danger from his negligence stung, sure, but she was more worried for his sake. How long had he been keeping her out of the loop? How close had he come to death, and she hadn't even known? For someone he was supposed to love and respect, he'd been lying for a long time, Gee was sure. They were best friends, life partners, family, why had he been hiding things from her? Even if I deserve it, she found herself thinking, but the thought startled her. Its truth crippled her anger instantly, and she wanted to cry.

  "I know he wasn't trying to hurt you," Matt said quietly at her side, but Gee wasn't angry about his lies anymore.

  "Why didn't he ask me for help?" she managed, her hands finding chips of wood on the pew to pull at. "What if they got to him before I figured it out? How long would I have waited for him before starting to worry? What if we'd been killed back in that alleyway and they still came for him?"

  Matt interrupted her stream of questions by scooting closer, so their legs touched and bumped each other when he shifted. She could see him growing more tense, but she was glad to have him so close. She didn't want to be alone. "I know you're scared," he said softly, so only she could hear him. "I'm scared too. But I promise you, as long as I can fight, I'm not going to give you up easily. I wouldn't give up Nathan, either. Even though he lied to you, I know he would say the same thing, if he was here."

  Gee put her head on his shoulder, unable to think of anything besides the racing thoughts inside her own head. But Matt was waiting for her, and although it felt like her heart was being torn in two, she found her voice again.

  "I am scared, because Nathan was right to lie to me." She wanted Matt to argue with her, but he stayed quiet. She wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him or kiss him for it, so she continued talking instead. "He tried to cover it up when we were all together in our room, but . . . He didn't join the Mothers because he needed money. He joined the Mothers because they were going to kill me."

  Matt's hand found her knee again, but besides for that, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. She almost didn't want to know, and before he could reveal it to her, she kept talking.

  "He got himself indebted to the Brotherband years before that, but he told me over and over that he wasn't going to find another patron. We knew it was too dangerous; it was common knowledge that we were working together, and it would've put targets on both of our backs. But he still wasn't making enough money to make payments, so I got desperate, and . . . Well, I have a body that many people want. It was easier to make ends meet that way, between his pickpocketing and my other job dancing. We thought maybe it would work out for us, and he could get away from them in a few years."

  "How old were you?" Matt asked, and Gee tried to remember.

  "Twelve, maybe thirteen. Way too young." She cleared her throat, trying to keep herself from dwelling on the memories that always sat somewhere in the back of her mind. Anyway, as she watched Matt's hand tense on her leg, she figured it was worse for him if she let the moment linger. "But one day, one of my buyers got caught with me and he was hauled off to the cell block. He was a Mother. The gang wanted him out of there, but engaging with a . . . child like that has a steep punishment. They couldn't do anything to the guard, so they turned their frustration onto me.

  "I told Nathan as soon as it happened, and he found the Mothers before they could find me. He begged for another option, and they gave him one. He sold what was left of his freedom to them so I might survive." She paused, but Matt sat silently by her side, unwilling or maybe unable to say anything. Her tremor returned, and she hesitantly continued, trying to assuage his sorrow.

  "I stopped selling my body after that, though, and he eventually got enough jobs from the Mothers to warrant some sort of payment. I got to do my own shows and make my own tips, and we weren't starving anymore–"

  "This isn't your fault, Gee," Matt cut in, and she choked on her words.

  "I wish you were right."

  "You two were just kids . . . " he trailed, like he was talking under his breath in prayer to some deity, hoping they could see reason. But before he could say more, Gee heard the front doors to the church open.