The silence stretched painfully long for one simple reason; he was unable devise a lie. Him! Of all people, he could not think of a lie.

From the moment Venic set out on his mission as a child, he had been lying. Every casual mention of his falsified past, every excuse he made for disappearing to send letters, it all created the man he was today that wove fabricated stories on the spot without even wavering a smile. Yet he stood before Valerlanta, mouth open and no tales spinning out.

‘She’d know. Somehow, she would sense the lie.’

In this world there were the mass majority of folks who would eagerly listen to him weaving tales with simple acceptance, but then there were the dangerous ones. Those rare, strangely perceptive, types would notice his lies no matter how simple, even if he used the exact same tone and body language as the truth he spoke no more than a sentence before.

When catching a lie without any proof, most people simply feel uneasy for a reason they cant quite place. As the lies continue, that unease takes root as a seedling of suspicion that could undo everything. Venic realized this instinctually at a young age, and developed a method of indirectly lying to them. The rare people could tell that he was lying, but if the words came out of the mouth of someone who believed them to be true, Venic was safe. So, he simply had to spread the lies and wait for the right ears to hear them.

He was unable do that here.

“Is it true?” Valerlanta asked bluntly when he failed to answer.

‘Get control of yourself!’

Sucking in a breath, Venic forced his shoulders to relax. “Yes. Yes, it is true.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but that the extent of her reaction. No part of her expression showed signs of horror or anger, there was just…interest. As if he had just dropped an interesting sliver of gossip, Valerlanta raised a brow, waiting for the tantalizing details. The unexpectedness of her reaction threw him off and he blinked several times before continued.

“A long time ago, my parents faced punishment for betraying information to King Khon. They had passed over information on the current status of imports and exports, that was it, but the laws are the same no matter what the sensitivity. It was proper grounds to have my entire family line killed. Instead, only my parents faced the rope while they kept me alive and sent me to live with my uncle as a spy. They called it an act of mercy for an innocent, given my young age, and everyone believed it. I have been sending letters ever since. Well….until these last days, at least.”

Emerald eyes searched his own, perhaps hoping to read the truth. Whatever Valerlanta found must have satisfied, because she gave a casual shrug that again made him gawk at the normality of it. He had admitted to being a betrayer to her kingdom, and the crazed thief was acting like she was disappointed the story was not exciting enough.

“Alright,” Valerlanta said, “Well, let’s go.”

The thief walked away, and and the flurry of confusion grew to a blizzard bouncing around in his head.

‘It is a trick. It is a trap. Somehow, something must be wrong with this.’

He rushed to catch up with her, which admittedly he did easily thanks to her limping. Valerlanta was favoring her leg more and more as the day went on, but they had no option that involved a slower pace.

“That’s it?” he asked, baffled.

“Yes, that about covers my curiosity.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Valerlanta said, with obvious amusement dancing in her voice. “The king or Wylfaren; what does any of it matter to me? Neither is my ally, so I do not see why this changes anything.”

Venic had expected anger, maybe even violence; but not this. Never this.

Someone caring so little about the betrayal to their own kingdom? He was the one doing the betraying, and even he felt a flare of offence.

“They are enemy kingdoms! The king plans to invade Wylfaren later in the year, and Wylfaren knows it! They will do anything to protect themselves. Anything. It is even rumored they are planning a final stand, which means this kingdom — your kingdom — will soon be invaded!”

“Right, and how is that any different from normal?”

“What? What the sard does that mean?”

“If it is not war with a kingdom, it is a war against the poor. If it is not war against the poor, it is a war against some lord unwilling to pay taxes he can’t afford. No matter the reasoning, it is always rich people finding some reason to fight over something, and the innocent get dragged along with them. No matter who becomes ruler, nothing will really change. There will still be rich. There will still be royals. There will still be everyone else just trying to survive under their rule.”

Venic frowned deeply, an unsettling feeling hitting his chest. Guilt? Or denial? Whatever it was, it was impossible for him to name.

“You are a strange person.”

She cast him a cocky smile. “Says the spy.”

He flinched, which caused her to laugh and look more relaxed. Why did it seem like she was warmer to him now that she knew he was...—

A criminal. He was a criminal. A criminal on the run, causing trouble for the upper class?

‘Oh sard,’ he realized. ‘Am I just like her now?’

No, not exactly. He was not the one with royal blood preferring sticks and dirt and choosing to chase treasure for the adventure of it all. Venic was not crazy like her.

‘Not yet, at least.’ I thought, as if the infection of a crime would clearly lead down her path.

“So, why are you alone?” Valerlanta asked.

“Hmm?”

“Why isn’t Wylfaren helping you? I am assuming the reason you have not run there yet is because you need to get these items for Wylfaren, correct? So, why are you alone out here?”

Venic tried to pick his words carefully. “They came to help, and we had a set meeting place, but soldiers from the castle followed me. They attacked us at the meeting location, and the people from Wylfaren were killed while escaped.”

Valerlanta nodded, as if that added up, and he was reminded of how she got the ball. The thief must have seen the battle and made some connections from it.

He was still waiting for something more from her, but she just kept limping onwards.

Did he want her to get mad at him? Why?

‘I deserve it.’

A short steep ridge blocked their path. Venic reached out to grab the trunk of a thin tree, only for his hand to get slapped.

“What are you doing? Don’t touch that!” She said.

Venic looked at her, then at the tree. On it was a simple enough looking ivy with shiny leaves in the shape of hearts.

“What?”

“That is corpse ivy! Get too much on your skin, and it will kill you.”

He took a sharp step away. “Are you joking? Is this one of your tricks to scare me?”

It had happened once before already. He had mistaken a juniper berry as a blueberry, and she had let him think they poisoned him for hours before admitting junipers are edible as well.

“Do you really not know about it?” She raised a brow at him, a perplexed expression pinching her features. “No. I am completely serious. The oils on the leaves get through your skin and poison your blood. Yes, there is a cure that grows right by it, but let’s not test fate, shall we?”

The knight stepped wide around the tree. “And here I was just having the inkling of the idea that maybe the forest is not so bad.”

“Ha! It is just experience. I grew up out here, so it is normal to me, but I actually have the same confusion around people. Every time I go into town, people give me looks, and I know I am doing something strange or something rude, but my upbringing did not teach me to know what. Once, I found out the looks on one day were because I looked a rich man in the eye, and apparently that is rude for my status.”

“It is about respecting your superiors.”

“Yes, well, we don’t have that out here. You listen to your leaders, but we are still all equals.” Valerlanta winced as she stepped down from a rock and had to put weight onto her injured leg. “My point is that we both have learning to do. Luckily for you, I know what areas to go to avoid the worst of things.”

“Dare I ask what things you are speaking of?”

“You know. Giants, griffins, and kelpies, that sort of thing”

“Giants?” he scuffed. “Those don’t exist.”

Her head snapped in his direction, and those eyes lit up with anticipation. “Oh really? Shall we go see one?”

That challenging gaze made him wince. If giants were real, Valerlanta would indeed be crazy enough to go up to one just for the sake of a bet. “No, perhaps next time.”

She let out a huff of disappointment. “Pity. It would have been fun to see your face.”

Crazy. She was absolutely insane.

He was in the forest with an insane person.

Venic was about to tell her just that when they passed by a stack of stones that caused him to blinked in confusion. The pile was blackened and toppled on all but one side, but the shape the stone made was unmistakable. It was the rough outline of a house.

Then one house became several, and Venic realized they were walking through what had once been a village. Before, this mountain community would have looked out over the valley and woke to crisp air this altitude offered. Perhaps they were primarily miners, perhaps they were loggers, but all that was gone. Now, the dirt roads had blankets of thick brush, and only the odd home had roof beams still standing.

There was an eerie stillness in the air.

“What is this place?” He asked as they stepped past a well.

“Pinebury,” she said.

“The traitor village?”

“If you believe that.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you have some country belief about that too.”

Valerlanta shot a sharp look at him, and confirmed his suspicions. Of course. He should have known.

Next she would try to convince him that rubbing garlic on his toes would keep away death, or perhaps that the ghost of a sailor frequented a pub and would haunt you unless you bought him a drink. Why did country folk have to have such strange beliefs?

Her arms crossed, as if uncomfortable.

“There is a story about a boy whose parents died young, leaving him to care for his siblings. He did well at it until royals hunted his siblings through the forest like boars. The royals killed them for sport, but never punished. After all, the royals had magic when no one else did, so were almost gods. The boy grew bitter and poor, but so did the rest of his village. Being this close to Palenwood, enemies constantly raided them.

Then, one day, the boy came up with a plan. Through whispers in the ears of all the villagers, he started feeding the flames of their rage. Often, he lied, but he was so charismatic that everyone believed him. They started spreading his words to other villages, and he continued fanning the flames.

The hate had spread far and wide by the time they conspired with the castle guards. They picked the night when the royals had gathered for their yearly celebration and would spend the night drinking. So, in the early morning, before the sun rose, the villagers and the castle guards ambushed the sleeping royals and killed them.”

“That sounds like the story I know, with many extra details,” he confirmed.

“Well,” she looked at him grimly. “The ending will be different. The boy — their leader — had a plan of his own. While the others were killing, he would linger behind and drain the blood of the royals. In that blood, he found the key he needed to absorb magic and drank what he could before having the bodies burned.

That magic gave him proof of royal heritage, so after things settled, he took the title of king. He had those in his own village killed for remembering his true origins and became king of a throne that was not his.”

Venic was silent, a torment of emotions flooding for him.

How dare she? How dare a lowly girl like her spread lies about the king like that?

When he finally spoke, the anger leaked into his words. “I could legally kill you for spreading a story like that.”

Disappointment flashed across her face, as if he had just failed some sort of test.

‘That’s why we are here. She is trying to convince me of something.’

There were likely dozens of different paths Valerlanta could have chosen, and yet she picked this specific one. Why? What was the point of trying to convince him?

What did she have to gain from this?

The thief shrugged. “I admit, I do not know if that story about his past is true. It is just something I have heard from others who had family in the village. I can say, however, that I was in the castle during the Red Gathering and saw his evils.”

“Lies!”

“It is true. I was young, so I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember there was a royal hanging upside down from his feet with a bowl under his head. That is kind of hard to explain any other way, don’t you think?”

“Enough.”

“Why? You said you believe how I have magic, so why don’t you believe this?” Valerlanta stepped towards him, her eyes a violent storm of green. “I speak the truth. You just don’t want to hear it. You pretend to be a spy, but I can hear it in your voice. The fake-king charmed you just as he charmed those villagers.”

“I said enough!” His hand went to his sword and hurt flinched across her face.

“Fine.” She threw up her hands in surrender, but continued her glare. “Fine. Keep living in your world of lies. See if I care.”

The thief stomped off, or at least as much as she could given her limp.

“Coinless filth,” he muttered under his breath, anger still swelling within him.

He moved to follow, and his mind flashed back to the time he and the king were chatting at a party. It had only been months ago, and the king trusted Venic enough to confide in him that his magic was fading.

‘With magic that was not his.’ Valerlanta had said.

No.

‘No.’

What did she know? Nothing!

She was just an uneducated thief. A thief that was kneeling and looking down at patch of dirt.

“What is it?” He growled.

She shot him a glare, as if angry at him for even daring to speak.

“Tell me,” he said, then added, “Please.”

She released a long breath, but her shoulders relaxed in defeat.

“Did you know that no two blacksmiths make horseshoes the same way?” Her finger traced the shape imprinted into the ground, and only then did Venic realize the shape of a print. There were more tramping the brush flat so solidly with boot marks, hoofprints, and wagon marks, that he could not even guess the number of them. “There will always be slight differences, so you can tell where a shoed horse came from just from the print. This print is not from our kingdom.”

“Hernthorn?” He asked.

“Yes.”

They just stumbled upon the tracks of the first advance of the Wylfaren army.

They followed what he could only imagine to be the main street of this village and continued westward.

Before he could contemplate this, an arrow hit his sword sheath with a solid ‘thunk.’