The mask came for Elba in her sleep again. It chased her down a narrow stone hallway, tapestries and portraits blurring past in angry streaks of color. Her chest heaved, her muscles ached, but no matter how hard or how fast she ran, the mask was always behind her.

A door flashed into view, seemingly out of nowhere, and she took it without hesitation. The polished metal handle burned in her grasp as she rammed her way through, teeth gritted in silent agony as she barreled into the room.

Three sturdy walls greeted Elba like hungry executioners, pockmarked and gouged, rough stone patchworked in grimy plaster. She turned on her heel, tried to run back, but a hand as pale as porcelain shot out of the darkness and snatched her off her feet. A face loomed out from the darkness, hidden beneath an ivory mask, malice pouring from two golden pin holes.

"Give him back," a voice whispered, soft as snowfall yet sharp as a dagger. "Give him back to me!"

Elba's eyes flew open. Warmth greeted her first, soft tickles from the blanket around her. Then there was sound, bird song and the soft snoring of her still sleeping husband. Finally, there was flooding relief as she realized she was safe, that the tightness around her throat was not the grip of a pale hand, but merely her own fear playing tricks on her. It had to be.

She sighed and nestled back into the folds of the blanket, pulling her man close, feeling his heartbeat thump gently against her palm. He gave a soft little sigh and smiled and she couldn't help but wonder at how quickly he'd grown in the past year. In Middengard he'd fidgeted relentlessly in his sleep, murmuring and whimpering like a frightened dog. Now he lay beside her as peaceful as a sleeping babe.

What had happened, she wondered. What had changed? She reached out and crooned a locket of curly hair around his eyes and he groaned, shifting the blanket as he stirred, the shoulder of his left arm poking out. Dark lines ran down his flesh in strange, geometric patterns, a grim answer to her question.

A lot had changed, she realized. A lot had happened. He'd met her in Middengard a crippled man and had lost an arm to walk again, the remaining limb a mass of frightening scars. The memory of that place still made her skin crawl. She nuzzled closer into Libro, burying her face in his curly locks as she settled back to sleep, taking in her man's scent.

Elba's stomach heaved. She gagged and rolled away, teeth gritted in desperation as she fought back the need to vomit. Nausea roiled through her like a sickening wave and she peeled back the blankets, destroying what little peace was left as Libro snorted awake.

"What happened?" He called out groggily, eyes rolling as he shook his head. "What's going on?" He snatched up his sword, metal hissing as he drew it. "Elba?"

"Everything's fine," Elba groaned, grabbing hold of a small table for support as she peeled her dark locks back. "Put that damned sword away before you poke an eye out." A fresh wave crashed into her guts and she bent over, sour sick tickling the back of her throat. "I think this city's cooking just isn't agreeing with me right now. Too rich for the likes of my simple pallet."

"We had cabbage soup last night." Libro sheathed his sword, placing it down to light a candle instead, filling the room with a gentle warmth. She could see him clearly now, leg muscles defined in thin lines of shadow, the dark marks on his left arm a stark contrast. His violet eyes glittered as he walked over, brows furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?"

Elba swallowed, her stomach slowly but surely unclenching. "I'm fine. I must have eaten the bad part of the soup then. Luck of the draw, I reckon."

Libro regarded her for a moment. "Not as if there was much good in that soup to begin with. I'd rather eat Moss's salted beef before I have another bowl of that foul shit ever again." He set the candle down on the table, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his cheek. She smiled as the little hairs on his chin tickled her, the boy she'd met in Middengard gleaming out for the barest instant.

How strange, what a year in Byzantia could do to you. Every morning he'd taken her hand in his and held it close, as if touching her was a reminder she was still there. And yet every morning he changed, little by little. The youthful Captain she'd once known had slowly acquired an edge as time went by, a hardness behind the eyes. As if the city were slowly filling him with iron.

It scared her sometimes, wondering if serving Byzantia, and the Empire as a whole, was slowly killing him, but every morning their little ritual reminded her that the man she loved still lived inside.

"I love you," Libro said, completing the final act of their secret habit.

Elba smiled and kissed his fingers, her stomach twisting as she fought once again to say the words back. They were just words. Simple Words. She just had to say them."

"Are you really okay?" Libro asked as he drew close. 

She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him close as she planted her chin on the top of his head, letting out a sigh as the moment passed once more. "I will be after some breakfast. Hopefully it won't be cabbage soup again."

"One can only pray."

*

Elba stared sourly at the cabbage soup, the green froth sending a fresh wave of nausea through her already roiling guts. Judging by the looks of her compatriots around the wobbly, scarred table they sat at, they were none too pleased either.

"Wish Fig were still around." Cent shoved his bowl away, wooden spoon clattering in the cracked, clay bowl. "He would have rustled up something better than this farking slop." 

"Your accent's coming back," Moss muttered. He took a measly spoonful, his frown somehow impossibly deeper than usual. "Little more than a week back in the north and you've lost all of your sunny, southern disposition."

"Careful you don't waste all your words in one sitting now. That has to be the longest sentence I've heard you utter since."

"I've had longer."

Elba watched the two Northmen argue and jab at one another, happy for the distraction for her aching stomach. Damned thing, felt like she was starving and yet the mere smell of food made her guts rise and fall like eggs in a boiling pot.

She noticed Brand sitting with his back to the corner, staring absentmindedly at his food, one finger trailing the spoon round and round his bowl. He was thinner now after a year with the Vangen, his last remnants of baby fat boiled away to reveal a hidden, youthful ruggedness. His cheekbones had grown sharper, his chin pointed and angular. His eyes were a tad sunken, however dark bags hanging beneath. Too many sleepless nights, she reckoned.

Elba chewed at her lip. "You should eat, Brand. Who knows when we're going to get another decent meal."

The lad stared down at the green slop in silent protest. He opened his mouth as if to chide her, before his eyes flickered to her hand and his jaw immediately clicked shut. "You should eat up too," he said after clearing his throat.

A twinge went up Elba's guts as she grimaced at the soup. "Never really had the stomach for breakfast. Dah always said I had a weakness for it."

Brand studied her for a moment, puzzling over her words as he always did these days, before his eyes narrowed and he nodded. "My mother used to say the same thing about me. I suppose salted beef will be our luncheon then." With a gentle click, he placed his spoon on the right side of the bowl and slid his chair back. "Madame, I am finished with my breakfast."

The innkeeper eyed him from the countertop, her unamused stare fixing Brand to the spot. "Then give it to someone else," she snarled at him.

"Right," the lad sank down with a hard thud, face pale as cream. "I forgot where we were for a moment. Civilization can only grow so far around here."

Elba smiled and took his bowl, tossing the contents to the stone floor as a pack of mangy hounds came scampering over, lapping up the contents with relish. "At least someone will enjoy it," she said, hoping a little good humor would cure her rising nausea.

It wasn't helping for shit.

"By the way, where the hells is that witch," Cent muttered. "She finally get around to betraying us to that High King everyone keeps talking about?"

"Tired of your shit, more like," Moss said. The two Northmen gave each other a hard stare.

"It is strange," Libro said, the first words he'd said at the table. He took a delicate sip of the soup, jaw muscles working. "But I have a feeling it won't be good news when she shows up."

"Gentlemen!" As if on cue, Keela dumped herself into a chair between Moss and Brand, a mug of questionably brown ale clutched in one hand. "And Elba," she said, nodding curtly to her. "I hope you all slept well."

"I slept on the floor," Moss said.

"Well." Keela clicked her tongue and took a sip of her drink. "To each their own. I have some good news for you all."

"You brought Regis to us on a silver platter and we can finally leave this place?" Cent asked.

"No, but I do have something better." Keela leaned in conspiratorially. "I was able to meet with the rebel contact in this city, and they've agreed to take us to Shayn Mordenson."

"Who?" Moss demanded, green beard twitching with frustration.

"The head of the Lightbringer cell in Rondenburg, that's who."

"Just like that?" Libro spoke up this time, studying Keela intently. "A man like him doesn't sound like the type who would easily agree to meeting outsiders. You had to offer him something."

Keela paused, narrowing her eyes as if she were seeing Libro in a new light. "Yes, I did."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I had imperial agents interested in backing the resistance, but only if they met him in person. He reluctantly agreed."

Cent's arm shot out, grabbing Moss by the wrist and slamming his fist into the table. The man had turned his spoon around, ready to jab it in Keela's throat had his friend not stopped him in time.

"You lying bitch," Moss frothed, eyes wide beneath his bushy brows. "You mad witch. We should have cut you down in the farking tower from the start."

Keela didn't bat an eye. She was smiling, even. "What would you have me say? That I brought bounty hunters instead of diplomats with me? The man would have laughed at me. Worse, he would have killed me on the spot."

"You are putting us in a dangerous position, Keela," Libro said, his face taking on the iron mask. "You spin webs around us and say it's for our best interest. Even a fly can tell you're leading us into a trap.

The witch snorted. "Please, my dear Captain. You have no idea the webs that already exist in this cursed place. Plans have been set in motion that neither I nor anyone else can hope to stop. All because of the man you hunt."

"The Black Prophecy."

"Indeed. And if you want him that badly, you're going to have to walk on a razor's edge for him."

"This is madness," Cent said, tearing the spoon out of Moss' reluctant hand and setting it aside. "Even you can see that, Captain. Why in Nido's name are we even doing this in the first place? We should turn back."

"Tell Her he's dead," Moss added gruffly. "For all our sake."

Brand said nothing,  instead staring shamefully into his bowl. Whether by Keela's proximity or the topic at hand, Elba couldn't tell. The noise around the table began to grow and even other folk were starting to notice. She could see their eyes turning to watch the Northmen's bickering, chair legs creaking dangerously back.

Elba sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the familiar ghostly grip around her throat. No going back now, she knew. No retreating. No surrender. No backing down.

"We'll do it," she said flatly. Silence fell around the table.

"What?" Moss and Cent said in unison.

Even Libro looked surprised before a soft tap on his thigh reminded him it was all part of the plan. He settled back, face stern as ever, but she could feel him smiling on the inside.

"Whether we like it or not, we have little choice in the matter. Whatever this prophecy is, it involves Regis, and if the Lightbringers can get us close to him then that's that." Elba eyed the two Northmen. "We can't go back empty handed."

Simple, blunt, and to the point. Both men began to relax, still chafing over the idea but obedient at least. She turned to Brand. "We can't go back without answers." The lad looked up at her, pain clear as dawn in his eyes as he nodded in approval.

"Besides, if we have to lie to get what we want, then so be it." Elba fixed her gaze on Keela, a wry smile curling up her lips. "Lying's easy, when it comes to the Empire."

***