He grunted, listening. Then put his head back. And how was he going to do that without an undead army? They’d be on their guards.

At least it kept them from sending [Assassins] after him. He’d see if it were possible. If not? He vanished.

Feren sighed. Running, with an angry employer and the wrath of two nations.

It didn’t matter. They were already after him. For the sin of necromancy. For harming no one. Well, now I am exactly what you called her. So die.

Their nation was on his list, regardless if Noelictus and Calanfer suffered. All of them. All of Terandria, ruled by fools and monsters wearing crowns. All of—

Feren hesitated. The speaker was assuring him they’d pay him on completion of his contract. It was, after all, a ‘regrettable mistake’ they had made, not realizing the [Princess] would be bound along that exact same road. Regrettable. They cared nothing for him. He was a repulsive weapon to be wielded against their enemies.

And yet—he spoke. Deliriously, as he began to fall asleep. There was one thing. Had not the [Princess]

been there, it would have worked. He’d seen the escort. It would have worked. So…then. Feren rasped.

“…You didn’t tell me there would be children.”

Then he put his head back and slept.

——

If Cara had to describe Afiele, she would have said it reminded her of one of the Slavic countries of Europe. Perhaps Poland.

The skies darkened quickly. Light was fleeting. And worse—Noelictus had less light than most nations of Earth.

But there were comparable symptoms. A certain dispiritedness caused by lack of light. Sluggish bodies; a disrupted Circadian cycle. It was amplified by the fact that everything in Noelictus had adapted to the lack of light by leeching colors. The grass, the fields, even the trees and sky, both day and night!

After her first night in Landsmecht, Cara was certain that the black-and-white landscape had an effect on the psyche. For one thing…it seemed to make people less inquisitive.

Violetta Geishart had introduced Cara to her father, Idelt Geishart. The man was a [Blacksmith], broad-shouldered but not as stocky as Cara might envision a medieval man. He had been cutting wood for charcoal while his daughter gathered kindling when Cara had happened upon them.

Upon finding her unconscious, he had waited for her to wake up while Violetta had explained what had happened as she saw it.

“—says she’s a traveller, father. An [Actor]. What is that?”

“Someone who acts, I think. Like a [Bard] or [Performer]. Let’s let her wake up, then. Any word on her horse?”

“No, father. She said it ran off. She must have been wandering around for a while. See? She has bandages on her arms—maybe something attacked her.”