The air was bitter, not in a chilly way, more like being in the same room as a person scorned. The tension, knowing that there was an external existence in the same space that was terribly angry. That sensation plagued Sorore as the sky brightened, and she sat silently in the confines of their carriage while the soldiers ate, packed, and relieved themselves. Finally, when Lillian and Niche had double checked every inch of the carriage with one of the stable hands, they almost felt like they were going to move.

Almost.

As the majority of the knights were mounting up and beginning to ride off in their various groups, a man came down through the edge of the village. With him stood the priest that had greeted them ecstatically when they had first stopped in the village. Both looked quite agitated, and the priest reverently approached Lillian.

The twins both strained to hear over the general commotion, but could only hear indistinct sounds from the three adults. Once or twice, Lillian looked back at the carriages, and when the conversation had apparently finished she took off in the direction of the main troop camp. Soon, she brought back a sober-looking Naia, who, now dressed in proper mail and plate, listened to the priest. He nodded, agreed, and seemed to bid them farewell, as the two departed from the place.

Lillian spoke with him further, and the two nodded their head in agreement and broke to their respective stations. Before she clambered in, however, she pulled Niche aside and spoke to him. It was rather like watching a game of ‘don’t kill the messenger’. Sorore had played it with her friends - the goal was to pass a message along without changing the meaning. If the last person in the chain failed to get it, then you’d need to begin again.

She sighed as she slumped her head onto her arms, wondering if she would see Erratz sometime soon. For all the wondrousness of the holy city, its beautiful cathedrals and gorgeous walkways, she still missed the busy markets of her home city. She knew that Frare did too - there was something special, he said, about dodging through stalls, even if he conceded the walkways of Angorrah gave him considerably more space to run.

Lillian shook the carriage even more than usual as she stepped up,Niche taking a position on the back end.

“So, what was that about?” asked Sorore quietly, looking at Lillian’s contemplative expression.

“What? Oh, little. Just the priest and a local man. He says his wife and daughter have run off.”

“The priest or the local man?”

Lillian tried not to smile at her for that.

“The man. We agreed to keep an eye out for them on the road, just in case.”

There was something she wasn’t telling them, Sorore was sure of it, but she wasn’t one to press a paladin. Her twin on the other hand, was already making to speak, so she was sure to get out ahead of him.

“So what’s the plan?” she said quickly.

“What is going to happen, is you’re going to sit neatly in the background with a squadron of guards and us paladins, and we’re going to watch the rest of the men burn the castle down.”

“So were not even going to go in?” Frare said, utter disappointment weighing down every word.

“I’m afraid we’re already risking more than some of the Choir would desire us,” she said.

Frare turned away to look out the window, pouting, to which the paladin attempted to make amends.

“I’m sorry we can’t go closer. This is all for your safety, however. We’re already pushing it as it is.”

Sorore laid a hand on her brother’s arm, hoping that it would calm him. Alas, he shrugged off the gesture, exhausting even her considerable patience. However, it would not do to ‘crack her jaw’ on him, as her mother said, so she responded in kind, crossing her own arms.

“I’m sure I can squeeze in a few more lessons on the way back,” Lillian supplied. It was enough for the scowl on her brother’s face to shrink, but not enough to abate it entirely. Sorore clapped her hands on her brother’s back, making him start.

“Don’t sulk. You’re boring when you sulk.”

“I am not,” her brother said.

“And it makes you more ugly. Why’d you think that girls never like dour men?”

Her brother rolled his eyes as he pushed himself in to the corner of the carriage. One snap of the whip later, and the wheels began to roll across the ground. The first jolt send a bolt of pain up through her tail-bone, her brother on the other hand appearing not to feel anything by comparison.

“The road does run out not too far from here, so we will have to ride the rest of the way,” said Lillian as she noticed the girl bounce.

“What a shame,” both she and her brother said in almost perfect unison and complete monotone.

It was not as if Sorore particularly fond of horses, with their twitchy character and suspicious glances. That being said, the prospect of riding the carriage throughout a snow-capped pass was one that she could not bear. Her brother, by contrast, seemed to be practically one with many of the creatures he came across.

She eventually drew her brother out of his brooding, to play various games with their hands and fingers and riddles. That kept them occupied for a good while, until they were deep into the forest and the sun was far above them. The company generally ate on the way, and the twins followed the troops’ example, consuming a simple lunch of grains and hard, sour cheese, with a handful of berries.

For their part, they didn’t particularly mind the poor fair, despite being used to much richer. Lillian, unaware, apologized as she cut the bread with her knife. Sorore examined the woman, as she levered the knife between crust and innards. She looked… fuller in armour, and wore it better than other paladins.

While still uncomfortable in full plate, it appeared to move with her body far more fluidly. Niche’s, by contrast, seemed almost to hang off him as if some ill-fitting tapestry. It was a quality she’d observed in many knights, and she wondered if it had more to do with the armour or the men beneath it.

Her brother nudged her, lightly, one of his few actions that could almost be called ‘subtle’. She broke her eyes from the woman serving them bread, conscious of her staring. Lillian, for her part, seemed either to not notice or not care, and handed her another slice.

“What about you? You’ve barely eaten anything since dinner,” Sorore asked as she took the bread.

Lillian popped the last slice of bread in her mouth.

“Fasting is a part of my training as well as my devotions, I’m afraid,” she said, before chewing and swallowing, “much is demanded of the light lords.”

“Have you done any of the Rings yet?” Frare interjected violently, being aroused from his gloom by the prospect of stories of the faith militancy.

“Yes. Yes I have, lord Frare,” she said, fidgeting with the knife in her hands.

“Well, what can you tell us?” he pressed, which earned him a considerably harder nudge from his twin.

Lillian tapped her knife against her palm as she considered what to say.

“Well, strictly speaking, I’m not technically supposed to speak of the details to those outside the church proper,” she mused.

“We’re Bequeathed,” Frare said, “I thought that we were going to go through the Rings anyways.”

She hmmmed for a moment, staring at Frare with her gray-blue eyes as she bit her lips. She tended to do that when she was deep in consideration, Sorore thought.

“Well, I suppose you have a point. Just don’t tell anyone else.”

“Of course, of course,” Frare said.

That was not good enough for Lillian.

“Swear to me, Lord Frare, Lady Sorore. The secrets of the Hearth are not to be spread to anyone, not friends, not family. You both understand that?”

Frare and Sorore looked at her, then at each-other, then nodded in deadly seriousness.

“The truth is, no trial of the Rings is truly the same, from year-to-year at least. They make changes, though the overall challenges tend to possess the same… themes, shall we say.”

Frare nodded at her to continue, having advanced from his corner and forward onto his lap.

“There are five rings in total, one for each of the Lost Ones, then one for all of them together. The mountain, the forest, the waters, the path,” she counted them off on her fingers, “then the last trial.”

“Which have you done?” Frare poked.

Sorore sighed and listed her head against the rattling carriage. She would’ve stopped her brother from the incessant questioning, but she knew the gleam in his eye. There was no stopping him now, no matter how rude his behaviour.

“Two. All are expected to pass the initial trials of the path, though you continue to learn throughout. Although, there are certain… expectations,” Lillian said, looking at them a little strangely, “For my part, I was given the mountain, a test of strength and endurance. Your forebear, Elezarhein, once raised the City of Angorrah to save Eblemn’s people. We attempt to suffer as he suffered, though with less flower banks.”

Sorore nodded, appreciating the reference to the blood of Elezarhein’s fingers, which turnt to the great banks of red grass and vines that dominated the city cliff-side.

“But what was the trial?”

Sorore nearly scoffed - her brother was practically whining at this point. Couldn’t he just read between the lines and imagine them? It seemed almost natural to her.

“Well, it varies, lord Frare,” Lillian responded with patient indulgence, “the Rings are as much instruction as they are trial. Aspirants are trained in shield and sword, mace and spear. We train to our lord’s satisfaction, and if they are not, we either train more, or they remove us from the order.”

“They… ‘remove’ you?”

“Frare - you were paying attention when they explained the light lords to us, right?” Sorore finally said, her exasperation growing beyond her ability to control.

Frare looked around, with the slightest sense of bashfulness at the reply.

“Oh, I can’t believe you,” she said as she collapsed dramatically against the wooden frame. That action she quickly regretted as she began to vibrate in tandem with the carriage.

“Oh come on, it’s not like you remember every single lesson you had in the class room,” he said.

“Well, I’ll have you know that I actually do,” she said, coming right back at him to stare into his eyes.

The tension was broken in an instant, as Lillian coughed quite awkwardly.

“Well, yes, well, anyways,” she attempted, “as I was saying-”

She shorted off when she saw the expression of the twins, who were now not just staring at her, but through her. Their eyes were wide, and tears where beginning to well in them unbidden. Sorore knew at that moment, her brother was smelling the exact scent upon the wind, something sweet and tart, that carried the warmth of summer-time.