"Do you want to go?" said Aldeim, he stepped forward to Nikolas, and placed his hand on his shoulder, meeting Nikolas's grey eyes with his own very serious ones, "Prebovna is very far away."

He thought of the long days staring at words that crawled over his eyes like ants and stayed in his head like a bug bite and decided he would take up his mother's offer. What else could he do in his father's house? He didn't want to be a burden to Brytha, didn't want his sister to tolerate his clumsy presence because they were family. Pity was the last thing he wanted, that and irritation. Maybe this was what he needed all along, a push to go live his life, and of all the people in the world, his mother was the one that would give him such an opportunity.

"Yes," he nodded firmly, his heart beating furiously in his chest. There was a loud buzzing in his ear as well, and he knew it must be excitement, "Yes."

Brytha looked unconvinced, but she was Brytha and she was always unconvinced. "Are you sure, Nikolas? Are you very certain? Prebovna… wait! I have some contacts in Prebovna!" She scrambled to her feet, towards the bookcases full of notes and came back rummaging through one. "Hm…" she stared at the words, scanning the page with one finger before looking up, "You must look for a Mastachka Faila!"

"I'm not going to be learning music," Nikolas began, internally resigning himself to being spied upon.

"No, Nikolas, she has a scribe, and I am sure you would want to send us letters won't you?" she set down the parchment to clasp his hands, "You will, won't you?"

It was not an order from her, which was unusual, so he decided that he really ought to take Brytha seriously. This was like pulling teeth, asking Brytha to plead with anyone to do anything. She was a throwing orders and being obeyed kind of woman not a begging or pleading one.

"I… I suppose I will," said Nikolas. "How do I find her?"

"Oh," said Brytha suddenly at a loss for words.

"She has a caravan with a harp and silver lantern painted on the side of it," said Aldeim, suddenly speaking up, and there was a soft fondness to his voice when he continued, "and she has two daughters, Ainnar and Maera."

He wasn't certain why the names meant anything, but there was a certain cadence to Aldeim's voice that felt like it should. Perhaps it sounded like his home town Nikolas thought, but he had never been to Elford or wherever it was that Aldeim was from. He felt a twinge of guilt for never asking, but... perhaps he could ask the Mastachka. It sounded like Aldeim knew her more than he let on, from the way he'd said her name.

"There are plenty of caravans but I am sure asking for a Mastachka Faila with her daughters Ainnar and Maera would narrow it down considerably," said Aldeim.

"How did you remember their names?" Brytha demanded.

"It was interesting talking to her," said Aldeim evenly. "I did have a life before I married, didn't I?"

The two of them froze, but Aldeim just gave a shrug and a smile, so Nikolas supposed it was a jest rather than drunken regrets or morose reflection, which was Aldeim's usual reactions when reminded of his marriage.

"I think I'm ready to go," Nikolas nodded, puffing up his chest, "I think Prebovna would be a great place."

"All the confidence of youth," Brytha muttered.

To both of their surprise, again, Aldeim laughed, "Brytha, are you not one?"

"I was never one!" she sniffed, crossing both her arms in disgust to both of their amusement.

After he agreed, everything moved very fast, because Brytha was extremely efficient when she wanted things to be done. He wanted to be irritated that it would seem that she wanted him out of the house, but she took her time sitting down and drawing precise directions to him in the capital.

"They have signs there you know as well as letters," Brytha explained patiently, carefully drawing down little symbols on a small notebook she bound together for him. "You just need to look for this one when you need a physician, this one when you need to buy bread, though I suppose you'll smell it first, but avoid at all costs this one!" Here she pointed at a needle and thread.

"Why?" Nikolas said, puzzled, staring at the needle and thread and wondering what hidden meaning one could have behind it. "Is that not a seamstress?"

"They don't have seamstresses in Prebovna!" Brytha sounded affronted, and there were two red splotches on her cheeks.

She refused to explain more, and busied herself packing Nikolas a small traveling bag. He'd thought Viola and Sanna would have forgotten, but they came to his room to wish him farewell, each giving him several silver coins when Brytha's back was turned.

"You must come back married!" Viola exclaimed to Brytha's disgust.

"They have so many noble ladies there I'm sure someone will look your way," Sanna cooed, arranging Nikolas's reddish hair with his abandoned comb. "You just have to look nice!"

"Smell nice as well, don't forget that!" Viola added firmly. She took the comb away from Sanna and tucked it into Nikolas's pouch. "Did you pack spare clothes as well? And towels, you must have at least one!"

She did not like the towel she found and rushed to look through Nikolas's drawers to find a suitable piece of cloth. Nikolas rolled his eyes but decided she did have a point. A clean and healthy complexion opened more doors than a slovenly one after all.

"Comb my hair and bathe, thank you, I would have forgotten," Nikolas said dryly. But it was a warm feeling he felt in his chest.

That was until Aldeim walked in and his sisters made themselves scarce.

"Father," said Nikolas, looking around the empty room before meeting his father's eyes.

Aldeim glanced at the closed door and knocked at it. He waited until the scruffling of his eavesdropping sisters faded and then turned to Nikolas.

"There are many people in Prebovna," Aldeim began, twisting his hands together, "many people, in an everlasting horse race. Some of them are the betters, some of them are the crowd, some of them are riding horses… some of them are the horses."

He did not like how this conversation was going. Aldeim was speaking in those riddles again and he wished for a time when Aldeim would just tell him to be more careful when he was eavesdropping and what he could learn from eavesdropping.

Nikolas startled when Aldeim tapped his shoulder and made him meet his eyes. "Do not be the racehorse, do you understand? If you ever find yourself in that position, my house will be open to you."

"I… understand?" Nikolas said uncertainly. It sounded ominous but he couldn't understand why. Of course Aldeim would welcome Nikolas back home, he wasn't his mother, Aldeim would probably burn the house down before inviting her back to live with them.

Aldeim sighed deeply, closing his eyes. Then when he opened them he said, "At least write, please. I would like to hear that you are making your way through life." A pause, "Even if you make mistakes." He made to reach for Nikolas's shoulder but then paused, stopped himself and Nikolas thought for a moment that he would walk away, but instead Aldeim embraced him.

"Good luck," Aldeim whispered hoarsely.

The gesture and strange show of affection put him in such a daze that by the time he properly pulled himself of it was already standing in front of a merchant, with the woman reassuring Brytha that she would help Nikolas find this Mastachka Faila before leaving him with her. Then he had bid farewell to his father and sisters and climbed into the wagon, his heart in his chest.

He didn't think that this was where he'd be last year. Then he let a relieved grin split his face. He was seventeen and headed towards Prebovna. No, more precisely, he was seventeen, in a merchant's wagon headed towards Prebovna, a bag of his possessions slung over one shoulder, the coins his sisters had given him tucked in his right boot and the dragon scale secured firmly in his left boot. Nikolas bit back a gleeful laugh before taking in a deep breath and puling his mother's coin from a pocket sewn into his tunic. He held it firmly in his hand, turning the coin over and over in his palm as the wagon jostled and the horse whinnied and the merchants cursed the wretched roads and weather. It was winter, so the windows of the wagon were securely closed, but even in the wagon he could feel the wind raging outside. He rubbed at his right boot. At least the scale gave off some warmth.

He hadn't talked to Jozin in a while. It was just Jozin now, not Surio, Jozin told him Surio had gone off to patrol the many mountains they had in Skapina. Which was a relief the other boy had been snappish and irritable of late. Jozin had always apologized for him, or given apologetic looks behind Surio's head which bothered Nikolas to no end. Even he wouldn't apologize on his siblings' behalf, why would Jozin do it for a boy who clearly should learn to do so on his own? But he didn't say it because it was clear that Jozin missed Surio's company, and wasn't that a mystery, why Jozin liked Surio's company in the first place.

'He is a very good archer now,' Jozin had looked very proud, tucking a strand of silvery blond hair behind his ear. He'd taken to wearing very pale colors, accented with blue and the whole effect was very flattering on him, Nikolas had thought. Perhaps some witch seamstress made it as well, to fit Jozin's eyes and smile.

He is very handsome, Nikolas had concluded. He was certain that if Jozin wanted to impress the Masteritsas and Voevadas as a husband he would be able to do so. He was also certain he could impress their sons as a bride as well. That is, if Jozin wore his hair a certain way and posed in a certain light. He could look like a very pretty girl.

But that was the wrong thing to say to Jozin because he remembered quite clearly their conversation as children and besides, Jozin never wore his hair that way or acted that way so clearly his stance had not changed. It was good to hear from him nonetheless. He had been happy for Nikolas to leave Aldeim's household. But he had not been happy when Nikolas said he would be headed to Prebovna.

'You have to be careful!' Jozin had exclaimed, eyes wide, 'Very!'

'Yes, Father,' Nikolas had said, letting out an exasperated breath.

'No, I am serious! They aren't the same in Prevobna, they're very…' He had paused for so long, playing with a strand of his hair that all Nikolas wanted was to either tuck it or tie it back for him. 'Fixed on winning things, on getting things. Getting people, like a collection,' he had said finally and he sounded so much like Aldeim that Nikolas wanted to point that out to him.

But he didn't because that would be repeating a joke and no one liked that, 'I'll be very careful,' he had promised. He would keep the promise, he always kept his promise even if he wasn't quite clear what it was that Aldeim and Jozin wanted him to be careful about. Why couldn't they use words to describe people? Liars, cheats and scoundrels would be so much easier to understand than horse races or winning and collecting things.

'They don't like this kind of magic either,' Jozin had said suddenly, sitting up and looking serious. 'Don't talk with this scale unless you really have to. I don't want you to get in trouble.'

'I suppose I can send you a letter,' Nikolas had joked and both of them laughed.

'If you must,' Jozin had said, smiling. 'I hope Prebovna has what you're looking for.'

'I do too,' he had returned the smile, 'good night.'

'Good night.'