By the time he had returned with more branches than he could easily carry, she had quite transformed her chosen spot for a campground. Thickets of brambles three times higher and thicker than the earlier ones now surrounded the area. Inside the brambles, the needle-carpeted floor had sprung to life with soft, green grass, and the horses were happily munching. In the center, though, the dirt lay bare, surrounded by stones for a fire pit.

Here and there, a wildflower bloomed amid the grass. Interesting.

As he entered the circle of brambles, they grew up abruptly and closed the circle behind him, trapping him in. He lowered the branches to the ground.

“That’s enough,” she said. “Can you make a fire?”

“Can I make a fire!” he huffed. “What kind of helpless lout can’t make a fire?” Did she think just because he was a prince he couldn’t do anything practical? He crouched and built up a nice foundation from the largest branches, carefully laying some smaller ones in the middle and then a few larger ones on the top to feed it. Then he looked at her. “Do you have a flint?”

She stared at him for a second as if she were measuring him, refining her estimation. He stared back at her, confused. Had she expected something else?

“Am I missing something?” he asked testily. “Do I look like I can simply breathe it to life?”

Wordlessly, she took a flint from the pack and lit the fire herself. He sat down in the grass. Then she handed him a hunk of white cheese and dark bread.

“Eat. Night will be on us soon.”

He obliged. Hunger strikes weren’t his style, at least not yet. She took out a pot and poured from her waterskin into it. She tossed in some black leaves and put the pot over the fire.

“Well, now that’s something civil. Is that tea?”

She stared at him, deadpan. “No, it’s poison.”

He eyed her narrowly, and when she didn’t flinch, he involuntarily glanced at the bit of bread in his hand.

“Of course it’s tea.”

They glared at each other over the fire.

When they’d finished eating, she took some blankets from the horses and tossed some in his direction. “Make yourself a place to sleep. It’s going to be cozy.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. He stretched out the blankets. The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the shadows grew longer. Soon the fire would be the only light.

He lay down on the blankets and looked up at the treetops reaching toward the starry sky. Neka was already shining between the branches, low and bright. He took a deep breath of the forest air. Stupid as it was, he felt pretty darn good. The air swirled with pine musk and freedom, and the open sky had been above him for hours. He was almost drunk on it. He should be plotting his escape, but the allure of the heavens above stole all his thoughts.

He looked over at her. Tendrils of red hair drifted down toward the papers she studied. Her orders? A map? Her black, well-made leathers fit extraordinarily well, in a style unfamiliar to him. Not Takaran. Many Takarans refused to use animal products such as leather anyway. There was Isolte, the home of his lovely princess. Could this have to do with everything that had transpired with Evana? But she had seemed more bent on killing him personally, and this woman didn’t seem to desire his death. At least not yet. Evana had also described herself as having little power within Isolte, so it seemed unlikely she could orchestrate this via her countrymen. Maybe via these Devoted Knights—perhaps this Mara was one of them? But how could any mage be in the employ of an organization that sought to hunt down and kill mages? No, that didn’t make any sense.

Akaria had never been on great terms with Winokin to the north, but the journey from there to Akaria over the mountains was hellish, if not impossible. The massive barrier of rock between the two countries kept a fairly solid peace, so they had no reason to kidnap him. Besides, if she were from Winokin, she should have flown the other way. They were headed toward Takar, but also out of the wilderness and toward the main roads. Their direction was likely temporary. He could think of only one other option: Kavanar, their long-time rival and enemy.

She must’ve felt him studying her. She shattered his gaze with a glance. He pretended to be intently studying the sky.

“Here,” she said. “Tea’s ready.”

“Time to sleep,” she told the prince. “This might be a little uncomfortable, but there’s no way around it.” She could hear the hint of apology in her voice. Damn. It hadn’t even been a day. She couldn’t go soft on him already. He’d likely stab her in the back first chance he got.

She rubbed her fingers together slightly, a small-enough gesture she was sure he didn’t see. Her vines snaked from the soil and coiled around him, pulling him tight to the earth. His face was a mix of horror and fascination.

He was so utterly surprised each time. And he was an air mage who couldn’t even light a fire. Did he really not know any magic? Could it be some kind of act? Could magic be that rare in Akaria?

“Well!” he said simply.

“I told you night would be cozy,” she said.

He snorted. “No exaggeration. Cozy, indeed.”

“Goodnight.” She lay down, her back to him.

Of course, she couldn’t fall asleep. She hoped to hear him fall asleep first. Thank the ancients for vine spells. She might be able to sleep just a little easier because of them. Of course, she’d woven plenty of other spells around them in case he found a way around the first spell or two. The dirt outside the brambles was ready to become a deep, thick mud that would take an hour to trudge through. Foxes in their burrows waited to rouse Miara at the sound of footsteps.

She couldn’t manage this effort every night, but it made her feel just a bit safer at the start of this impossible task. Also, much of Akaria was not as forested and lonely as this stretch. A locked room in an inn would be far more defensible.

She listened to his breathing—not a slow, sleepy rhythm, but many long, deep breaths. Had he never smelled forest air before or something? She must be mistaken, but she swore there was a joy radiating from him that mystified her.

Eventually her side became uncomfortable, and she turned onto her back. He lay on his back with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. He could be asleep. She studied him.

The question of his magic gnawed at her. Could he really not know? Having magic had never exactly been convenient for her. Perhaps for an Akarian prince it was equally problematic. Or perhaps he didn’t know. Either way, how sad. As a mage, he was quite pathetic.