Silas was already right behind Erwin when the duke turned to him. At the sight of this familiar face, there was a palpable ripple of relief between the trapped mages. But they still cast wary, sidelong looks at Erwin once they were out of his grip and Silas helped them navigate their way back to solid ground.

The shaken mages were not the only ones casting strange looks at Erwin. Olive, finally managing to pull herself out of the mud, was watching him uncertainly. What was that look he gave her, when he’d rushed to her side? Fear, she thought, and something else she couldn’t quite decipher. But she hadn’t had much time before he’d rushed off. And Olive didn’t dwell on it in that moment either, springing forward – a little wobbly at first – to help the refugees arriving into the clearing.

Wrapping her cloak around the older woman who’d first called Erwin a soldier and her skinny grandson, Olive silently did a headcount. There were only seven. She was sure Silas had said nine. She glanced up to Erwin and Silas; frowning.

”One didn’t make it,” the older woman said quietly, reading Olive’s thoughts. ”She was trapped under the fallen rocks. We tried to dig her out before it was too... well. She’s free from this world, now. Her husband kept trying to get to her. He managed to move some of the rocks, but they came tumbling back down and got his leg. He’s still in there.”

At this news, Olive nodded and scrambled up the slope to the haphazard entrance to the cave. She stopped next to Silas, peering into the yawning blackness. ”Somebody’s still in there.” But from here, Olive couldn’t make anyone out. So, still moving a bit shakily on her legs, she climbed in through the opening and slid down into what was left of the cramped little cave. Even before her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found the man by his soft sobs. When she could make him out, she saw his crumpled form next to the toe of the slump, one leg at jarring angle. She hurried over to him, putting what she hoped was a reassuring hand on his shaking shoulder. The rock that had trapped his leg had been dislodged by her earlier magic, but what was left of his leg, mangled, bloody and broken was in a bad state.

”It’s all my fault,” he said through a hollow sob as he looked up with haunted gray eyes at Olive. ”She wasn’t even a mage. She came for me. I told her to stay. To remarry. To live a happy life and now…” Genuine sobs now drowned his words and Olive squeezed his shoulder, crouching down next to him.

After a moment she got back to her feet and called up to the cave opening, emotion thick in her own voice, ”I need a hand. I can’t get him up on my own.”

Numbly, Olive nodded at Silas' words. There wasn't much time. She needed to act. But she hadn't acted, not using magic and barely at all – really, sine the fiasco with Krah's army. And what had happened then? She'd lost control, and how many people's livelihoods had been destroyed? This was different, she tried to tell herself. People's lives were at stake and there was no army bearing down on her. There was no threat here. She could focus. She wouldn't lose control. But she felt another presence pressing on her mind, eyes boring into the back of her head, and she felt her stomach drop. Unwittingly, Olive cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder at Erwin. The earlier blaze of anger was replaced by something that looked more like fear, or perhaps distrust.

She tried to push him out of her mind and stepped cautiously forward to the slump of earth and rock. Gingerly, she touched her fingertips against the coarse surface of a large slab of rock caught precariously in the mud, looming nearly vertical over her. She breathed in, closed her eyes, and when she breathed out a gust of wind strong enough to bend even the older trees snapped through the clearing, but did not seem to touch the slight young mage. In another second in stopped. But the rock and surrounding earth remained unmoved. "No," she muttered to herself. 'I didn't think so."

Olive took another deep breath, closing her eyes. After a moment, she flattened the palm of her hand against the stone. With that movement, an icy frost spread across the stone and surrounding area and up Olive's arm. When she removed her palm, it instantly melted. She would have to do better than that. Olive could tell she was holding herself back, too afraid of the magic getting out of control. But she wouldn't move anything with frost. Olive took another long breath, trying to clear her mind of doubts and worries. When her palm touched the stone again, a thick layer of ice spread with a crack from the stone through the landslide, freezing whatever water was available in the sediment and between the rocks. It even crept a little farther, curling up the spine of a nearby fern. She breathed out, withdrew her hand, and it melted, a trickle of water seeping from the toe of the slide to her boots. She repeated the process, driving the cold further each time, causes thick wedges of ice to penetrate between the slabs of rock and earth. Each time it melted, the lattice holding the whole thing together weakened.

As Olive worked, Silas stepped back and stood near to Erwin. He pulled out his long wooden pipe, lighting it with a spark of flint. It may have looked casual at first glance, but he watched Olive with a quiet seriousness. He had more confidence in her ability, he knew, than she did herself. But the arrival of the duke had upset things, and the lines in his eyes betrayed the same concern gripping Olive's stomach: that she would lose control of the magic. He looked sidelong at Erwin, studying the man for a long moment as he breathed in a puff of smoke. "Your duchess is quite powerful, when she puts her mind to it," he remarked quietly, perhaps just to gauge Erwin's reaction or perhaps to mask his own concern. He looked down as he said it, a blanket of frost extending now to the soles of his boots. "You should consider yourself lucky."

The clearing melted again, water now poured in tiny rivers around Olive's feet. She paused for a moment, feeling a change, when there was a groan of the rock overturning and tottering forward. Olive had just enough time before in one fluid movement, the whole mass flowed suddenly forward in a river of mud and stone. It was a flash of movement tumbling slabs of rock and flowing earth before it slowed to a stop. Though she'd avoided the fallen slab of rock, Olive found herself caught knee-deep in mud which swept her down the flow a moment before knocking her onto her butt. Olive was chalk white, a cold sweat on her brow. Spent. Everything was still.

Then there was the sound of something scrambling. Where once had been immoveable earth was an opening not much large enough for a man to pass through at the top of what remained of the landslide slump. A pair of eyes, gazing out, flashed in the moonlight.

Constance physically recoiled from the heat of Erwin’s anger, taking another step backwards away from him and Silas. She watched him wide-eyed and clench-jawed, feeling like a cat they were cats pried out of a fight, waiting muscles tensed for the other to pounce and strike. He was the only one that had threatened any violence so far. And removed from the trappings of the Keep, here in the gloam of the forest with Silas and knowing others’ lives hung in the balance, Constance was having a hard time not seeing Erwin as a threat. As the enemy. Men like him usually were and in that moment she felt disgusted with herself that she had agreed to tie her future to his.

No, a small voice in her head protested. Erwin had not turned her over when he could have, when she’d arrived as a waif, a runaway, and in the eyes of the law a criminal at his doorstep. He had recalled Wulfbauer’s army. Ceased the official deportation of mages to the camps. Still, the way he looked at her. She found herself trembling, feeling more like a trapped, frightened animal than a lady. Well and truly cornered. But she he held her tongue, watching Erwin closely as Silas spoke.

”Yes, I am,” came the older man’s measured answer. He remained calm, but there was now the smallest hint of tension in his voice. ”As are the majority of the poor souls trapped nearby, caught when the passageway to the cave they were sheltering in collapsed. So you see why it would not be so simple to walk up to the castle, even assuming your guards did not take me for a wayward vagabond. But it has been several hours now, and some are injured. We need to go quickly. You may come with us; of course I understand your concern for Constance’s safety.”

At those words, Olive gaped at Silas. Was he serious? Erwin couldn’t come with them and see what – She closed her mouth again. Of course he would have to come. She couldn’t imagine he’d allow anything else. But real fear shone in her eyes at the thought. Tolerating mages was one thing. Seeing their powers actually manifest, she feared, might mean something entirely different for Erwin Therrien. But she didn’t have time to speak her concern before Silas came and, putting an arm around her, led her down the opposite end of the clearing, inclining his head for Erwin to follow if he wished.

Olive kept glancing down at her hands as they walked over damp sand and mossy rock, vaguely aware of Silas’s quiet murmurs of encouragement. They tread through a narrow passage that passed through another clearing, a little smaller than where they’d come from, and finally – after narrowing to barely allow them to squeeze through one at a time – opening up into a small patch of forest, surrounded on most sides by lichen-blue low rock cliffs. It was immediately clear this was their destination: across from where they came out, a bulk of earth and rock slumped off the cliffside. Olive balked. The largest rocks were considerably bigger than she was, and the tumult of rock, earth, and broken trees looked impenetrable.

When they arrived at the foot of the landslide, it was clear that manual attempts had already been made in vain. Even what looked like paw marks digging at the earth. Silas hurried forward, and a tiny black mouse appeared from between the crags of the rocks and scurried up Silas’ shoulder. His cam visage looked troubled as he listened, but he nodded and looked gravely back at Constance. ”Olive, there isn’t much time.”

”’Cornered?!’ Who says I’m cornered?’” Erwin’s accusations – and clear assumption that she needed him to protect her – immediately pushed Olive from incredulous to, genuinely now, angry and she met his glare with a new light blazing in her eyes. ”As for ’what you’re supposed to think’ – did you stop to think for one second before resorting to your blade? And do you think I haven’t made it this far alive without you or any other ‘noble knight’–“

”Olive…” She felt Silas’ hand squeeze her shoulder, snapping her out of the well of anger that was swelling up inside of her. It was a righteous anger, and it was familiar. Almost comforting. The idea that Olive should feel protected and not threatened by a military man on horseback drawing a blade and rushing towards her. What end of that blade did Erwin think she’d been on for the last five years? And that he felt the need to remind her that there was a war going on. As though she didn’t know! And as though she didn’t know better than he did. And why had assumed Silas was a threat? Would he have thought so as quickly if the man had been dressed in finer clothes or wore the armour of a knight? Her mind kept racing with similar thoughts and at first she glared at Silas, but confronted with his steady gaze, she deflated a little. And her defiant expression transformed into one not yet seen in the Keep: deference.

Olive frowned and glanced back at Erwin, something still smouldering in her eyes, before walking a few paces away. Silas was right; she was letting her temper flare. It was easier to control when she was only in the Keep, surrounded by her surreal new life. But the sudden juxtaposition of these two men, of these two lives, felt like someone lit a fuse in Olive’s mind, threatening to explode in a confused tumult of emotions. What was she really: a young noble lady about to become a duchess, or a hunted mage surviving only at the margins of society?

Silas watched Olive for a long moment then, with that situation at least temporarily defused, he turned back to Erwin. ”I asked Constance to come here. I do realise that the war in the country and the situation here in Wulfbauer mean that request comes with risk. But there has been an accident and innocent lives are at stake, including children. You must understand that there are few people we can safely turn to for aid. I believe Constance can help. I implore you, Duke Therrien, not to prevent her from doing so.”

No sooner had they spotted the rider than, in the same instant, Olive recognized the Duke of Wulfbauer and he began his charge through the narrow sandstone passageway. Seeing Erwin’s hand reach down for his sword, Olive instinctively jumped in front of Silas. It was a gamble that the duke would be less willing to swing a blade with his betrothed in the way, assuming his inertia didn’t already force him to follow through. ”Erwin, stop!”

Silas, however, moved in measured steps back in front of Olive. His voice was soft and calm when he repeated her command, though his eyes were not on the armed, charging man. ”Stop.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Erwin’s horse jolted to a stop. The movement was so sudden that it unseated its rider, flinging Erwin out of the saddle and sending him tumbling to the moist, mossy earth. With a clatter, his sword landed a few feet away from him and Olive scrambled to retrieve it before Erwin got the chance. She held it pointing downward, non-threateningly, but in a white-knuckled grip as she spun on Erwin. Her first instinct was to stomp her boot onto his chest, keeping him pinned down. But she thought the better of it and stared at him, wide eyes blazing.

”What on earth are you doing!?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice down but not entirely succeeding. While there was anger in her tone, it was second to sheer incredulity. ”You can’t just try to behead every stranger you see!”

Silas meanwhile, had gone over to comfort the confused horse, stroking its nose and neck and whispering something in its ear. The horse gave a little snuffled neigh to Olive’s horse, then turned and walked calmly back down the passageway. Searchlight looked once to Olive, then followed Erwin’s horse. Silas patted his neck as he passed. It was better, Silas thought, not to give the man an immediate means to flee this place and call the guard. The horses would wait not far away until their riders fetched them. Silas had told them where they could find the next clearing, which was carpeted with thick, dewy grass.

”Please forgive the fright, Duke Therrien,” Silas said, his voice as calm and soft as it had been speaking to the horses. He came back to them now, putting a hand on Olive’s shoulder. ”I assure you that I mean Constance no harm.”

With the crisp autumn wind at her back, the sky painted brilliantly blue and orange, and the smell of damp leaves under her horse’s hooves, Constance Carwick felt for the first time in months – like herself. Erwin could have won her hand much quicker, she thought, if he’d just led with telling her she could come and go as she pleased. Still, if he knew where the soon-to-be duchess was headed now, as her sleek black horse slipped past the gates of the Keep, he might not have been so keen to give that particular allowance. The thought of it had Olive anxious and distracted herself. Even though her place in Wulfbauer was more secure now, or exactly because of that, what she was setting out now to do was extremely risky. Perhaps that was why she took less care than she ought to have to not leave a trail Erwin would be able to follow.

Constance led her horse first in the direction of Caerith’s Seat, an airy overlook amongst the sandstone pinnacles that cropped up west of the Keep that was accessible by horse and was one of her favourite spots since childhood. Somewhere she’d be expected to go. But as the horse track wound up towards the heights of the Seat, Olive turned her horse off the track and instead of going up, they turned into the narrow, moss-covered crevice that led into Maze. At least, that is what she and her cousins had always called the narrow paths that wound around the bases of the pinnacles. The air was thick and cool and moist here and at times Olive had to squeeze her knees in for her and Searchlight to be able to pass between the cold stone walls. The darkness was much more present in here than out there and only few golden rays of sun penetrated onto the cool mossy paths. Olive’s saw her breath light up as she passed through one. Finally she turned down a path that seemed almost entirely engulphed by stone; only the smallest crack of light shown from above where the stone slabs nearly met. It was difficult to see, but then the path suddenly opened up onto a small, enclosed clearing, almost like a cave. And in it stood a familiar figure. Tall and thin, the man looked, frankly, haggard. Older than his years, though he was in his early 40s, he looked easily in his fifties, his sandy blonde hair nearly all grey and the gaunt look of someone who never had quite enough to eat. His clothing was drab and worn, beneath a tattered grey wool cloak. A puff of smoke came from his long wooden pipe.

Once she had Searchlight into the clearing, Olive practically flew off the horse and flung her arms around Silas Greene in a completely unreserved embrace. They remained like that for a long moment; not the embrace of lovers, but of long-separated family. Or comrades in arms. It broke when Silas held Olive at arms’ length, hands on her shoulders as he regarded her.

”It’s good to see you, Olive. And looking well, finally with some color in your cheeks.” That did make Olive’s cheeks flush, but not with embarrassment, but guilt. She hadn’t seen Silas – or anyone – since before the ball in Helvion and he looked worse than she remembered. She opened her mouth to say something to this effect, but Silas cut her off. ”Now don’t you dare apologize for that,” he admonished gently. ”It lightens my heart knowing that you’re warm and fed and safe.”

”I’m so happy to see you,” Olive answered, more earnest than she’d been in a long time. ”I’ve missed you all so much and, whatever you say, I feel rotten being warm and fed and safe while you’re out here. But Silas,” she cut across him before he could argue with her on the point. A sudden worry, even fear, flooded her eyes as she thought about what he had called her out here to do. Though she hadn’t had direct contact with Silas since she’d entered the Keep, Olive had various indirect lines of communication to him and their comrades. When she’d learned of the current situation, she felt her insides gripped in an icy clench. ”Silas, I don’t know if I can help. I don’t know if... I don't know what I can do. I can’t cont-“

But now it was his turn to cut her off. ”Yes you can, Olive. You know that you can, or you wouldn’t have come,” he told her, tone firm but reassuring. You can control it. You have to help them.”[/b] While he was speaking, hands still on Olive’s shoulders, a large, furry gray moth floated down and landed on Silas’ stubbled cheek. He paused, as if listening to something, then stood up, stiffening. ”Somebody followed you.”

Both mages turned reflexively to look down the stone passageway Olive had come down, where the dark silhouette of a rider was already visible in the fading light.

By the time that Lord Burrows arrived, Olive was standing awkward and arms crossed off to Erwin's side. Normally so quick to give her opinion, she was, for once, happy to let someone else do the talking. When both men's eyes turned expectantly to her, at first all she did was give a little shrug and nod.

Grace's hissed instructions from the morning replayed in her ears, prompted by Burrows' mild look of disapproval at her reaction, and she uncrossed her arms, opening her posture back up and, yes, standing up straight. "Thank you, Lord Burrows," she replied, mustering all of her politeness and trying to plaster over the face she nearly pulled at 'wedding as soon as possible.' Gosh, how was a duchess supposed to speak? Thinking on her feet, she offered, "We should consider who we should invite to oversee the event. Since normally it would be the work of the bride and groom's mothers," Olive only faltered a moment, and did not fill in the second half of her sentence. "We can use it to cement relationships. Ask someone with lands near to Kenins', or else someone whose loyalty is faltering."

Lord Burrows nodded and agreed that was a prudent idea and he would look into possibilities. But listening to Constance now, Burrows was distracted by a sudden realization. Once they were married, the stubborn, opinionated young lady would no longer be his problem – she would be Erwin's! Burrows could go back to dealing with the duke who, though he wouldn't say it out loud, he found much easier to manage. And Erwin, in turn, could manage Lady Constance. Unwittingly, Lord Burrows found himself smiling at the thought and was glad he could pass it off as being happy about the marriage.

---

Lord Burrows resolved to wait a few days, in order to not scare Erwin away from finally deciding to settle down, then bring the issue of the financial discrepancies to Erwin directly. And so he found himself nearly a week later back in the Duke's study. They had spent the better part of the last hour going over the threat a military confrontation between Erwin and Kenins would pose to the duchy's primary exports and which items, in a worst case scenario, they could raise the tariffs on to compensate.

As they were wrapping up, Burrows cleared his throat before saying, "If you have a moment, m'lord, there is one other thing I wanted to go over with you..." He shuffled his papers until he produced a cramped, hand-written ledger. "I was reviewing the Carwick family finances in anticipation of the transfer to your own resources upon your marriage, and I noticed something... odd. You see," Burrows flipped to a page in the ledger where several small transactions were recorded. "I may just be misunderstanding things here. But it appears Lady Constance has been selling little by little her personal possessions – jewelry, mostly, small things of worth her father gave her and the like – to the family trust and withdrawing their liquid worth. The prices she records them for are, well, I have to say fair. And she is within her rights, I suppose," he harrumped a little, clearly disapproving, "but there is no record of what happens to the gold she withdraws against what she sells.

"Now, this had been happening as only small and sporadic transactions and a sharp, diligent eye was required to catch them. But since your betrothal, you'll see here," Burrows pointed to several lines of neat by crowded handwriting, presumably in Olive's hand, "she's 'sold' quite a bit more. I imagine nearly the rest of what she could call her personal possessions of worth. It looks," he cleared his throat uncomfortably, not liking to insinuate anything untoward against a future duchess, "as though she's trying to sell what she has to her name before your assets are merged. Again, all sales to her family trust. Very strange. I'm sure, ah, I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding on my part. I'm an old man and not always as sharp as I once was. But I was hoping that you," he cleared his throat again, "might ask her about the matter."

Erwin’s exasperation elicited a sudden laugh from Olive. It was her first genuine, spontaneous laughter, and she regarded him with a bemused smile. ”Oh Erwin, you’re going to have to learn to lighten up if you’re going to get through this.” At first it might not have been clear what ‘this’ was, but after a moment her gaze turned outwards, towards the window over Erwin’s shoulder. The sun had fully risen now and it was a glowing autumn morning. Her smile faltered. ”It’s only going to get darker out there.” It didn’t occur for a moment for Olive to question the appropriateness of instructing a military commander nearly ten years her senior on surviving the bleakness of war, so confident was she that, between them, she was the expert. ”Trust me.”

Olive’s gaze remained cast out the framed view from the window then, thoughts momentarily elsewhere, inaccessible to her present surroundings. She snapped herself out of it with a short exhale and nodded. A small feeling of reassurance and slight embarrassment sparked in her, realizing she’d misunderstood Erwin’s meaning.  ”Okay, we can speak with Lord Burrows together. But no, I don’t want you reporting to Grace either. That’s probably even worse,” she said with a sudden firmness. ”I know she means well, but if I’m to go ahead with this, she has to learn that I’m not a child and she can’t treat me like one. Nobody in this Keep will take me seriously if it looks like I’m still answerable to my mother’s maid like some delinquent little girl.”

Partially dreading running into Grace – who Olive was sure she would be ‘just passing by’ whenever she left this study – Olive went decisively to ring for a footman and asked that he summon Lord Burrows. It might seem childish to avoid the old maid like that, but Olive knew she needed to have a more serious conversation with her about the fact that, whatever Grace may want, she was not a surrogate for Olive’s mother. Nobody could fill that particular lack. Instead she turned to Erwin once the footman was gone with a bracing look. ”Are you sure you’re ready for this?” She gave him a small, lopsided smile, as if to come full circle on the point of levity. ”You probably have ten minutes or so to change your mind before Lord Burrows arrives.”

---

When the old Master of Coin did arrive, he entered the room with his nose in the sheaths of paper he carried with him. ”I’m glad you called me, my lord,” he started, striding in without looking up. ”I’ve done some work through the evening looking through the duchy’s registry of families…. You’re probably right, at any rate, so we may as well begin discussing your opti– “

The elderly lord sputtered to a stop, having finally looked up. ”Oh. Lady Constance. Ah, good morning. I, uh, didn’t see you there…”

For her part, Olive looked thoroughly amused at the poor man’s comfort. A welcome distraction if ever there was one.

The shift in Erwin’s tone felt like a sudden return to reality. For a moment there, she had felt out of time and place talking to Erwin about marriage and fidelity and the weight of the duchy; their marriage and fidelity, and a weight they might bear together. It had ben surreal, but the frank discussion of the fate of the child and Lord Burrows’ steering in it all made it feel not surreal, but all very frighteningly real.

He’ll be relieved I’m finally listening to him. Cleaning up his own mess. Coming to his senses about the whole debacle. That brought Olive back, too, to why this was happening. Whatever else had been said, Erwin was marrying as part of that clean up. Olive had just been swept up in it.

”It sounds like what you should do then,” she replied, a little stiffly. ”Let’s just hope that there’s a future for her or any child in Connlaoth.”

The thought of the future felt like the greatest weight yet. Something in Erwin’s words made her feel like she was already shrinking into a role that didn’t fit her. Dismissed, she thought in that moment, to go report back to her own maid while Erwin talked to the men of state.

She frowned, her expression darkening as she glanced to the door. ”Oh no, if Grace thinks she’s hearing about this from me, she has another thing coming. She made it painfully clear to me this morning that she can learn whatever she wants on her own.” Olive gingerly rubbed the sore lump on her head, glaring at the door. But that left…. what? What was Olive supposed to do now? And not just in this moment. For a moment she thought to cut in to say that she would tell Burrows, that she had to talk to him about a new bridge she wanted to fund from the Carwick money anyway, but she restrained herself. She would have to, she realised, learn how to behave.

”Okay, well,” she started awkwardly, pulling herself out of the chair and back to her feet, ”I guess I will leave you to it.” She stood up facing Erwin, an arm’s length away, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. She stayed there for a moment too long, then finally gave a small nervous laugh. ”Well, right, then. Pleasure doing business with you, Duke Therrien,” she feebly joked in a faux-businesslike manner, holding out her hand. ”Should we shake on it?”

Olive looked up at Erwin’s words, brow creased. She felt less certain than he tried to sound. There will be no need for discretion, he said. Part of her wanted to warn that there may yet be. To tell him that the assurance he was giving her was not what she was asking for. That she even worried that, perhaps, it could put undo strain on their future. To tell him that what she really feared was not infidelity, but the pity others would regard her with if it were known. But something in his expression made her feel that even if Erwin himself was uncertain if he believed his words, that he wanted to. Last night she told him that she’d chosen to trust him. In the war, Olive had found that trust was often a matter of choice; believing that your ally had the same aim as you even when you had little proof to go on. This felt different, but was it? Perhaps, she thought, she needed to shift her feelings from I’ve chosen to trust you as an ally to simply, I’ve chosen to trust you.

So instead of any of those things, she simply nodded and said, ”Okay.”

When he went on to tell her of the thief and her child, though, she tried and failed again to tuck her hair behind her ear. She wished, if he wanted her counsel on this, that he’d asked her before asking her the other thing. She felt she could have spoken more candidly then. Now, instead, she gave a little smile and said, ”Poor Lord Burrows. I think he feels quite taxed, looking after us wayward orphans.” But she knew she couldn’t dodge the point altogether. Earnest now, she asked, ”But is it the decision you want to make?”

Olive withdrew inward as she listened to Erwin, gaze downturned, absently running her fingers over the worn leather of the armchair. When she was a girl, she used to curl up and fall asleep in this chair when her father worked late into the night. Her mother hadn’t approved of it, but Harlow often indulged his daughter, taking her shooting and hunting and letting her sit in on meetings, even as a girl, if she promised to sit still and remain very quiet and out of the way. Olive remembered his justification for this once when her mother complained that Olive really ought to be doing something more appropriate for a girl of her age – lace making or arranging flowers or writing flowery correspondences to other young ladies – things appropriate for a girl in general! Harlow had laughed that those were not his daughter’s strengths and if they were going to prepare her to be a duchess one day, they couldn’t ignore what she was good – or not good – at. She’s bright and driven and eager to learn, her father had said. Let her learn this, then. And one day, when she’s married, that is how she’ll be able to support her husband. How she’ll support a duke. The memory sent a sharp, physical pang through her body; she missed him so much. And wished she could talk to him now more than ever. But it also made Grace’s words from the morning echo a guilty knell in her mind. This was what her parents wished for her. The role they’d prepared her for and then fought, against their own society’s prejudice and the grasping hand of the Church, to preserve for her.

Olive looked back up at Erwin. At how quickly the smile fell from his face, at the way he sat, hunched forward, his own gaze fallen to his hands. She took advantage of that for a moment to actually study him, the solemn lines in his face, the gray in his hair, the cant of his shoulders. He’d been more of a character to her until now, she realized, a role, someone whose political actions and decisions reverberated into her own life, yes, and the duchy. But she hadn’t really thought of him, oddly, as just a man before. As a flesh and blood physical human, like any other. And as she looked at him now, she thought that before her sat not just a duke who needed support. But a man who needed it.

Shifting, Olive moved her feet back to the ground, unfolding herself and sitting up across from him. Her tone and expression softened now, though concern still resided there. ”Erwin, that isn’t what I meant. The burden of the duchy, it is your responsibility,” she leaned forward and half extended her hand, paused for a moment as if uncertain, then reached out her hand to his, resting it lightly on his folded hands, ”but you don’t have to bear it alone.”

She left her hand there for a moment longer, drawing her thumb across his knuckles and was suddenly aware of how loudly her heart was beating in her chest. When she withdrew it, sitting back up, she folded her hands together in her lap and her gaze stayed meaningfully on him. ”What about what you need? For this to work for you?” Somehow she couldn’t manage, as he had, to use words like ‘us’. She paused a moment, unsure if she wanted to go on, before cautiously continuing, ”Because I won’t demand the same things from you. I know what you said last night, but I want to be honest about what… realistic expectations are.” Olive was not getting this out well and she frowned, looking down at her hands. She tried to speak carefully, matter-of-factly, without accusation or judgement, as she went on; for all that, though, her discomfort - or was it resignation? - was nonetheless visible. ”There’s no need to pretend it isn’t different for a man. Half the lords and dukes you and I know have known mistresses and bastard children.” That, of course, included Erwin Therrien already. Somewhere in the Keep this very moment were his own mistress and, they said, his child. Olive let out a small sigh. ”The only thing I would ask for from you is discretion.”

"Oh for God's sake, don't say that too loud," came Olive's alarmed retort, casting a suspicious and disgruntled look back at the door. "If Grace hears you say that, she'll make me sit through this every godforsaken day." Despite trying to mask her embarrassment with a small bit of levity, the color in Olive's cheeks betrayed her again. "And don't inflate yourself too much. I just said 'dozens.'"

But no amount of joking could shift the weight of what had just passed between them. She'd said she would marry him if that's what he wanted. And he said it was. So that meant now... Olive again tried to push back a strand of hair, a clear nervous tick, and shook her arm in frustration when there still wasn't anything out of place. "Can I – can I sit down?"

She looked like she needed to, and she didn't wait for Erwin's answer before walking stiffly over to her the worn leather armchair that had been her father's favourite and collapsing into it. Forgotten were Grace's hissed commandments to sit up straight and be ladylike. Slouching in the chair, Olive looked suspiciously at Erwin. It was a marvel, really, how far he'd gone in convincing himself in one night. Because what she remembered from the night before was Erwin admitting that it was exactly because of her name that she was being considered.

"Forgive me if I seem skeptical, but for all this talk of how special I am, I can't help but note that you've shown remarkably little interest in me except when I can help you." In Erwin's defense, he'd needed help pretty much since she set foot in the door. Still, she couldn't help but feel the support had not been reciprocated. But it was clear from her expression that she regretted the words almost as soon as she'd spoken them. "I'm sorry. That was unfair, I..." She was acting like a surly teenager again, she realized with annoyance. Why did being back here keep doing that to her? She sat up a little straighter, but only half-hearted, and tucked her feet underneath her, drawing her body protectively around herself.

"I do want to help you, and I will," it was hard to actually get the words out, "I will marry you. But I have conditions." Awkward Olive was mixing now with the more defiant Olive Erwin had become familiar with in the last months. "I won't just run the Duchy for you. That's still your responsibility. But, I will keep helping you," she said, her tone softening, guiding herself back in the script she'd prepared for herself. "As much as I can. I'll do that gladly. But I think for now that should stay..." it felt like a loaded word to use with him now, "well, private. Or as private as it can be. I'm still a mage, even if I am a Carwick, and if it looks like I have too much influence on you.... Who knows what they'll say. It could be dangerous, for both of us."

"And second..." Olive paused, drawing her knees closer to hers. "Well, you said you want a marriage based on trust, so I feel I should tell you," for a moment she paused, as though unsure whether to disclose the next thing she would say. In truth, Olive was uncertain which thing she should disclose. One, certainly. But the other? Finally, she continued with more conviction, "Well, I don't think many people suspect, but I don't want you to hear a rumor from your manservant or to have any suspicion about my intentions going forward. Since I've had more freedom in the Keep, I've been with one of the stable hands. I'll stop, obviously. I do understand the particular importance of a wife's fidelity," she added hastily. Her tone wasn't embarrassed or apologetic, but she did not want to allow any space for Erwin to get the wrong impression about what her request was. But she didn't dwell any more on her last statement; its obvious implications – a wife's most important duty, producing undoubtably legitimate children – was not something Olive was remotely ready to face yet. "But I don't want him to lose his position. You have to promise me that. I don't want him to lose his livelihood because I was careless. He's worked his entire life here and finding new employment... it wouldn't be easy for him. So. Those... those are my conditions."

She fidgeted, watching for Erwin's reaction, before adding with a small and not at all convincing laugh, "I probably should have come up with more while I still have some leverage."

Erwin wasn’t the only one who noticed he was staring and, much to her own frustration, Olive felt her cheeks flush. But she didn’t step away from the door or seem to hear his offer of breakfast at all. Olive stood stiffly where she was, like a doe caught in torchlight.

”Okay, I’ll do it,” the words came tumbling out with an urgency that suggested if she didn’t get them out now, she might never manage. ”If it’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

Having managed that, Olive breathed and a small fraction of the tension released from her posture. But she still didn’t move further into the room. Unconsciously, she touched the bump that had already come up from Grace’s physical reprimand. But before Erwin could reply, she went on, ”But if this is just a strategy to join my family’s money to the Duchy. Or to make sure I don’t run away, or change allegiance, or…” She still spoke quickly, frowning. Olive swallowed. ”I won’t. I know I’d have to leave, if you married someone else. But I can, I can make the serving Duke the trustee of the finances. And- and I’ll marry whoever you think is best. I won’t make a fuss.” Though she said this, a look in her eyes betrayed the fear of putting herself in the hands of some unknown lord, who might have any number of views on how to treat mages. Or women.

Olive took a breath, seeming to calm down slightly as she spoke. ”I’m not just desperately reaching for other options,” she said, her voice slowing and lowering a little. ”Honestly, some of them scare me. But I don’t – “ She paused, trying self-consciously to brush back a loose strand of hair, only to find that there were none; Grace had done too good of a job. Her hand fell to her opposite elbow instead. ”What I mean is, I know you feel forced into getting married. But I don’t want you to feel forced into marrying me. There must be dozens of nice, sweet, pretty 18-year-olds without any past or opinions who’d want nothing more than to make you happy.”

Olive exhaled, deflating a little, eyes finally falling on the modest breakfast. But her stomach, trying for a gold medal in summersaults, wouldn’t even consider food. And after a moment her gaze turned back up to Erwin, wide green eyes silently asking for… what? For him to release her? Or, of all things, for him to reassure her?

It was just as well that his words remained unspoken. Constance would have given him an acerbic reminder that he had their roles reversed. She was not standing here asking anything of him.

But his last words struck her. Olive turned to face him again and she couldn’t hide the startled look in her eyes. She didn’t say anything, only watched him in an ashen silence. She might have been studying him for sincerity, but – though she looked for a moment as if she might say something – nothing came.

”Let me sleep on it, Erwin” she finally said, quiet and almost demure. She regarded him still, concern creeping onto her face. ”I – “ she started, but her mouth closed suddenly. She stood there, tense and uncertain for another moment or two, then turned without so much as a ‘good night’ and walked down the ramparts. Once she’d turned the corner, Erwin would hear her footsteps change from a quick controlled walk to nearly a run.

Poor Kipper, confused by the tension, just looked up at Erwin with a quizzical whimper.

---

It had taken Olive, buried under her covers, ages to fall asleep. And even once she had, she woke up in a start, wondering if she’d just had some surreal dream, or if it had all really happened. By the time the sun came up, she finally settled into an uneasy slumber when – WHOOOSH! the comforter was torn in one swift movement aside, leaving Olive exposed to the cold draft from the window. But before she could make sense of what was going on – thwack! – something clipped her on the back of the head.

Olive scrambled upright, ready to defend herself, onto to find Grace towering over her bed with a face like thunder. ”You didn’t give the duke an answer!?” Thwack! whatever Grace was wielding smacked down on the back of her head again. Only when Olive lurched backwards did she see what it was: the measuring stick her tutor used to threaten her with. But he’d never actually hit her!

”Ouch! What? Where did you get that?” Thwack! The measuring stick snapped against her ear. ”Did you go find that just to hit me with?!” Olive demanded in disbelief. Was she still dreaming? But the stink of the measuring stick was very real.

”Constance Olivia Carwick! You impudent child! What on earth were you thinking?! The best chance you have to fulfill your parents’ wishes and keep yourself safe and to serve your people and –“

“I just asked if I could sleep on it!” Olive pleaded, feeling very much like an impudent child, being treated like this, and managing to defend another swat from the measuring stick with her forearm. ”Grace, calm down! It’s – it’s a big decision!”

But Grace would not calm down, and it was written all over her face, though she at least ceased her physical assault of Olive and put her hands angrily on her hips. ”When I think what your mother would say. ‘Oh, it’s a big decision,’” Grace mocked, in an impression of Olive that was good enough to sting. ”What decision?! What on earth else are you going to do! Do you think – do you think you can just run away with the stable hand – Don’t think I don’t know about that!” she cut across when Olive opened her mouth in protest. ”You stupid, selfish girl. I suppose you haven’t even thought of what an unkindness it is to him, hm? Letting that poor boy hope when you’re a noble lady and it is PAST time that you acted like it! And when a DUKE has asked for your hand in marriage! Do you honestly think you can deny him? I know you have had a hard time, Constance, and don’t think it doesn’t keep me up at night, thinking of all those years you were gone. But you’re home now and you have a chance now to do right by all your parents’ hopes and to do right by your duchy. And you didn’t even say goodnight to him!”

How did Grace know that part?! Olive always marveled by how many eyes and ears servants had around a house. Olive’s mouth opened and closed, not unlike a fish, not able to get a word in edgewise as Grace’s reprimands continued for at least the next ten minutes. Recounting every heartache and worry she’d ever inflicted on her mother, reiterating how much every single member of this household wanted the best for her, reminding her over and over of her responsibility as Harlow Carwick’s only child.

When she finally started losing her wind, Olive stumbled out of bed, pulling at whatever clothes she’d been wearing the previous night. ”Okay, fine, fine, I’m going,” she retorted, sounding much more like the surly teenager who’d used to fight with her mother than she liked. ”I’ll go talk to him now, just…. Stop, please.”

Olive tried to walk past Grace, but felt a sharp snag at her collar. ”Oh, not like that you’re not! Sit down.”  And the old lady’s maid, with strength that frankly surprised her young ward, sat Olive down on a chair and started brushing out her slept-on hair, muttering darkly about what a bad job Olive did at keeping it tidy, but thanking the stars again that at least it’d grown back out and she had something to work with.

---

It was more than an hour later that there came a sharp knock at the door of the Duke’s study. As soon as he’d answered, the door opened and Olive nearly stumbled in. Almost as though she’d been pushed. The hissing sound of urgent whispered instructions – ’stand up straight’, ‘don’t get fresh’, ‘and act like a lady, for Angsar’s sake!’ – confirmed as much. Olive glared balefully at the door.

It wasn’t until it closed that she seemed to remember where she was and turned to face Erwin, the disgruntled expression wiped from her face and replaced with a wide-eyed, nervous awkwardness. It would not escape Erwin’s notice that Olive was considerably better groomed than she normally was, in a pretty light blue dress and her dark, honey blonde hair freshly plaited into a braided knot at the nape of her neck. She actually started a little when the door latch clunked as the door closed.

”Um. Good morning.”

I would be dutiful, loyal, and faithful to my wife.  I would be hers as much as she was mine.

Olive felt her stomach drop at those words, and not in a particularly pleasant way. What had she wanted to hear? That it would all be for show? A political front to ease tensions in the duchy and bolster Erwin's standing? One that would leave their private lives much as they were currently, while they lived a public lie? Maybe. Maybe she had. It would be easier. Lonelier. But Olive would at least know what to do.

But that's not what he answered. And what private life did she mean? Hadn't she just berated Erwin for thinking himself entitled to a private life? Olive felt some of the color drain from her face, the gravity of the proposition settling on her.

"My parents' marriage was arranged for political benefit," she muttered, eyes falling back to the ground, and it was not clear if she was telling this to Erwin or to herself, "and they were very happy." Likely the latter.

Olive shifted to face back towards the countryside, unconsciously moving slightly further away from Erwin as she did so, arms folded over her chest. She wasn't sure he had answered quite what she was asking. She had wanted to know what her role would be more than she'd wanted to hear any assurance of his sexual fidelity. In his answer, though, she'd gotten hers. And fidelity... her eyes fell on the stables below, still glowing gently in the night. Bairn or Valerian finishing their nights' work. Valerian. She felt a tightness in her chest then. She wondered if Erwin knew anything about the young stablehand. They had been considerably more discrete than Erwin and his thief. And as lifelong friends who'd always been thick as thieves themselves as children, she didn't think that any of the servants saw them as anything more than friends reunited. Maybe they gave them more leeway, both scarred and broken by the war. But maybe now she was the one being naïve.

How would she tell him, if she said yes? His life was bound here now, she knew; where else could a stablehand with one leg find work? How would they ever be able to face each other?

And suddenly, as her brain ran through these scenarios, Olive realized why she was already imagining how things would go. If she said yes. Because how many options did she really have?

"'Love and trust,' you said," Olive repeated his words without turning back to him. "I've chosen already to trust you." And she meant it. Though circumstances had led her there, Olive was backing Erwin in the fight for Wulfbauer. And not just because he was the man who held the reins on her life. She genuinely thought he was the better man. So she had to trust him. "And, in the last months, I have come to think of you as a friend." In a way. She sighed. "I suppose there could be worse starts."

"But what's the point of dwelling on impossibilities.'

The words came out of her mouth without her realizing she was saying them. Constance pushed herself away from the cold rampart walls by her palms, so she was standing up straight now. But her eyes were still turned to the silent shadows of the countryside. The sleeping farms, the heavy blanket of thick pine forest draped over Wulfbauer's rolling hills. She could feel the calm of the forest at night from here, smell the pine needles, hear the crackle of a fire and the hushed voices of the runaway mages sheltering under those boughs. A place where she wasn't anyone special, a place where she'd found, well, a place for herself. But now, out here in the night air, looking out on the same forest, maybe, from the sturdy ramparts of a castle, it was clear. It was a place she was not going back to. Constance Carwick, like it or not, was not born to live in the wild. She was born with responsibilities, weighing on her like the very stones of the Keep.

And she couldn't run away from that. Her gaze shifted to the stone rampart in front of her, feeling its rough texture on her fingertips. Returning here, it changed everything. So, it was time to start thinking about what she would do. What her options were. The real options.

"If I were to say yes," she began slowly, her voice too measured, betraying uncertain nerves, "what is it you would be asking of me? What," she turned her eyes to him, feeling suddenly small and young and vulnerable next to this man, who whether he liked it or not, held so much power over her, "what kind of marriage do you want? I'd like to know what I am answering."

Olive might have been several years Erwin's junior, but she wasn't naïve. Even had she not already known Erwin's reputation – which he'd made for himself already as a young officer when Olive was still at home, before everything -  recent events in the Keep certainly would have made his character where women were concerned abundantly clear. And the way he'd proposed the idea, it seemed unlikely that it had been his own, or something that he himself wanted. If this was a pragmatic, and convenient, political fix now. What would it be in a year? In five years? Ten? Would she be, forever, a public face, a screen for whatever his actual personal affairs were? She wanted to know now, if she would. Or would she be more than that? A wife as her mother had been. And which answer did Olive even want to hear?

The figure was cutting a fast course across the landscape, and at first she feared she would not be able to intercept it. And if she couldn't... Her insides twisted in discomfort. She was growing weak, insides twisted with hunger. Her body, busy knitting new strands together, felt hollow and exhausted. She set her jaw, trying to determine the figure's speed and direction, and set off rapidly to where she thought she might be able to catch it if the figure's course stayed true. She hurried forward, legs tumbling in a mix of a feeble walk and shaky run. She stumbled once or twice, but the mossy tundra ground was spongey beneath her, and she scrambled back to her feet and drove forward.

How could she be sure it was a friend? Or, if not a friend, at least not a foe. Were there people searching, even here? How far over the border had she traveled, she wondered vaguely. It had been... a week, perhaps, since she'd broken away? Ten days, twelve? since she'd made her promise to the man who had been her husband. Now, she figured numbly, her late husband? But that gave her all the more reason to go forward. She didn't like to break promises.

But how were they moving so fast? She was sure she wouldn't get there in time. She was aiming for a bend in a swiftly bubbling stream where she thought she'd be able to reach as the figure approached it. She gritted her teeth, but then she heard the answer: a joyful bark rang over the tundra. Of course. Dogs. How had she not realized that? Stopping for just a moment, she put her fingers to her mouth and let out a long, high whistle. The figure, if it were human, might not even hear it. But she was sure the dogs would. And, as she expected, the lead dog turned and looked in her direction. Seeing one of the pack pause, she was filled with a new hope, and buoyed by that, quickened her pace. The figure on the sled, though, was no novice, and the dog redirected itself. She felt her stomach sink. She wouldn't make it.

In desperation, she whistled again, as loud and hard as she could while still rushing forward, stumbling through the grass and moss below her. What would she do if she missed this chance? Would she make it to the next village? Wherever that was? As she ran forward, though, she saw she was lucky: the lead dog responded to the whistle again and - she could just kiss it - broke away and came charging in her direction. She called out to it and, when it reached her, couldn't help but smile as the dog leapt happily at her.

The dog in its exuberance knocked the woman over, but she couldn't help but laugh as the dog whined happily and licked her face. It was always like this: dogs liked her. She liked dogs. She'd always had a dog. And, for a moment, her stomach sank, remembering another wet nose and wagging tail.No. You can't think about that. Your old life is over. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she vigorously pet and ruffled the dog's fur and ears. And, for a moment, she forgot about the circumstances surrounding this moment. But then the rest of the dogs, and the figure they pulled, caught up with the runaway.

She looked up, her face clouded with doubt, uncertainty, and still marked with the yellow-brown of old bruises. Already petite, being found like this, half-sitting, half-toppled over on the ground beneath a husky leaping back and forth, she felt very small below the figure of the man on the sled. And, her form swimming in the oversized men's coat she wore, she looked small to. But her features set into a look that tampered fear with a fierceness, a determination.

"I think you lost your dog."

Tag to @Lion !

---

It was a new life. The grassy expanse of the Sionad tundra stretched out before her, the endless blue of the sky above her. Small dwarf flowers dotted the landscape, taking advantage of their small window they had to bloom. It was beautiful, but it made her feel achingly small. A speck on the open never-ending sea of green.

And on the open tundra, she was indeed a slight figure. A woman not past her late twenties. Even under the old, oversized oiled men's coat wrapped around her, it was clear she was a petite woman, with a skinny, boyish build. Her dark, dirty blonde, honey coloured hair was braided into a thick plait that fell in front of her shoulder and over her breast. Her pale complexion was smattered with freckles, but also bore yellow-brown bruises, fading but not yet healed. She wrapped the coat tighter around her as she surveyed the land. She had little with her but the clothes on her back. She carried nothing, now, from her past life.

Almost nothing.

Though beautiful, however, the tundra was an unfamiliar landscape to her. It was not the shaded forests, rich with plants, fruits and animals that she knew how to collect or trap. Her stomach cramped. This was the way to freedom, there was no turning back. But she had to eat. She had to get to Hyolite. She had to survive. She had promises to keep.

So, with a sigh of resignation, she started heading towards the only option she could sight on the horizon. A lone traveler. She would have to take her chances.

Zahi let Quinlan lead her back towards the cabin, glancing over her shoulder as they descended to have one last look at the ocean. One she hoped Quinlan didn't notice. But when started fussing over her and clucking like a nursemaid - except, of course, that he was undressing her - Zahi frowned at him. It was a frown that made it very clear that she was letting him do this. Oddly, she wasn't in a mood for a fight. The situation had her too... disoriented. No, it was probably just the remaining drugs in her system. It was almost easy to forget that little fact: He'd drugged her and kidnapped her here. But now that here they were, he was being so... odd.

She didn't know how else to call it.

Zahi even let Quinlan put her on the cot, but she couldn't say that she enjoyed it. Even as his hands worked into her back, which was no doubt tense, Zahi only felt uncomfortable. "I know we already did the short version of this," she started, breaking the silence between them, "but what happened to you in the however long it's been since that nonsense with the salamanders? You've gone a bit soft, Princess."

"There's no 'quiet peace' for a mage. Not in Connlaoth." Did he really think that was an option for her? She heard, too, the inflection on the way he said 'freedom.' As though it was something whimsical, childish, or imagined. She wanted to scowl at that. Throw it back in his face. Maybe it didn't sound like 'freedom' to him, but he was the one free to go where he pleased. Even here, Erwin might like to imagine himself as her 'guardian,' but she couldn't leave the Keep without being accompanied by guards. And she knew better than anyone that those guards weren't merely there to protect her. Constance Carwick was a prisoner here, in her home, however they dressed it up. Erwin Therrien was no prisoner, however much duty might bind him, and he was under no threat of being hauled north to the nightmare of the mage camps. As long as she was here, that threat was just around the corner for her. And not just the threat of being sent back the camps as soon as Erwin had a change of heart, or was overthrown, but a duchess who wore the Mark... she may as well wear a bull's eye. She wondered if he'd thought about how much risk he was asking her to take on to make his claim as Duke stronger, to cover up his mistakes. "I'd survive," she finally answered, "for as long as I could. Try to help others do the same."