A minute of privacy was too much to ask for, but all things considered, this was pretty okay. Steaming sun over his face, icy water curling over the rest of him, and the incomplete silence of the valley to keep him company.

"– and then he said, he said to me, that I ruined his goldenrods. I made them pink! There are scarce few things in this world that would be ruined by becoming pink. He is so– ungrateful!"

It was a very incomplete silence.

"Works me like an ox and then complains when I add a touch of myself, as if I'm not infused into every root, every cell of his ugly garden!"

"Mhm," droned Nicholas, drawing a sudsy rag over his chest. He thought the garden looked nice. Whatever Malik had made this soap from was decidedly pleasant.

"I'm going to– I'm going to– whither his foxgloves! He won't feel so big and bad then."

"Oh wow."

"Maybe I'll grind some into his dinner."

"Hmm."

"Are you even listening?" Adrian complained from deeper water, where he floated on his back with everything bared. Nicholas faced away. Apparently no one in this world had any hang-ups around nudity. "I just threatened to kill a man."

"Mhm," hummed Nicholas, and Adrian wailed.

"Count yourself lucky for that pretty face, stalker. I do not like to be ignored."

Nicholas ducked his burning cheeks beneath the water.

"I might just believe that rotten king made you his prisoner. At least that way I can blame it on trauma. You poor thing, he must have done a number on you."

Nicholas touched the raised scabs on his cheek where Yasmin's rings had cut him. They were, he realized, the only scars he'd taken away from the whole ordeal.

"Actually," Nicholas said, "he didn't do much at all."

Or at least he hadn't, until he sent Nicholas off under the pretense of release, only to bug his bag with an eavesdropping charm to monitor his every word. So much for the kindness of his heart, Nicholas thought resentfully.

Water rippled his way as Adrian shifted. "Wash my back," he said, very princely." When Nicholas was nearly behind him, he sheepishly added, "Please. Sorry." But Nicholas couldn't blame him. Malik had been working Nicholas like a servant; veggies to be cooked, every corner of the house to be cleaned. With Adrian handling the garden and the hunt and Nicholas playing the housemaid, Malik was free to watch the entire day pass from his chair in the garden, the spitting image of the old recluse inside his soul.

"I'll tell you what he did," Adrian huffed at the first touch of the rag. He told Nicholas about things he already knew – the Interran ship that mysteriously sank right off the harbor, the severed beams that collapsed a terrane mine and killed nine of his people. The sickness that had been spreading, slowly but surely, through Interran cattle – the farmers called it a disease, diagnosable by the hot blush red that spread over the animal's tongue. But Adrian had found a crumpled petal near an infected pasture, and he'd scoured the archives for every book on poisons he could find. Charlatan's Oleander, a flower that only bloomed ruby red on the shore of the lake that bordered al-Narin.

"He will either kill us slowly or incite a war." Adrian spoke slow and short of breath. "Nobody believes me."

Nicholas already had his hands on Adrian's shoulders. So it was only natural, the placating squeeze of his fingers over the tight-wound muscle near the prince's neck. "I believe you."

Adrian sighed, at the touch or at the words. Nicholas studied the shades of Adrian's skin against his own, darker and so much richer. "A great comfort. The madman takes me seriously. Do that again."

Nicholas pressed his thumbs down, grateful for the cool balm of the river when Adrian gave a pleased hum.

"It is nice, though," Adrian said. "To have someone on my side. I won't take that for granted. Thank you, Nicholas. Again?"

Something crawled through Nicholas, the chill of the water. He had barely applied any pressure when Adrian wheeled around. Nicholas jumped, hands sliding down to his sides, as Adrian faced him with late-afternoon light striking his irises caramel brown. They were liquid, swirling angry, grasping, when he asked Nicholas, "Say it again. That you believe me."

Nicholas stammered, "I believe in you."

Adrian started to smile. "Changed the script a bit, there. Made it even sweeter. You'll stand with me, then?"

"I..."

"Say it. Please." Nicholas noted with a shudder that it was desperation in his voice, trembling his words like a bowstring. "That you'll help me. Stalker, spy, madman– whatever you are, it's alright. It's all alright. Just say it."

"I'm with you," Nicholas said on a torrid breath. "I'm with you."

The wild look in Adrian's eyes didn't ebb, but it took on a blunter edge. He gave in to the tug of his lips and his smile was a dangerous thing. "Are you flustered?"

Nicholas' voice came from the top of his throat. "You're very close."

Adrian glided back with a bow of his head that might've been apologetic, if Nicholas couldn't still see his smile afterward.

The journey to Halcifer lasted two full days and one night. Malik was reluctant to take on Nicholas' extra weight, but absolutely unwilling to leave him unsupervised anywhere near the house. He made his displeasure known often, though perhaps not as often as he could. Nicholas had Adrian to thank for that.

They fought. Frequently. Maybe always. Over the walking pace, over where to set up camp, over food rations, over the shapes of the clouds. Over what Adrian would say to the seer, if they could find her.

Nicholas spent much of the trip debating this last point, though of course he did so with less noise. They would find her. He would have to slip away once they were inside the school. If he didn't speak to her first, he wouldn't get a chance at all. But he needed to do it without altering the timeline, and–

He'd had a headache for two full days and one night just thinking about it. But in spite of the drumming between his eyeballs, the bickering, the urgent heat, the pain in both ankles the longer they walked, his sub zero stamina, all of the questions and none of the answers – he felt the first stroke of good fortune. He was on the very path he had set out for when he left Caldora, led by someone who knew the land by heart. And even if his travel companions didn't trust him yet, they were good people, and they were strong.

Though Adrian seemed to like him just fine.

He walked close, and he caught Nicholas' arm whenever Nicholas lost his footing, and in the breaths between his arguments with Malik, he kept smiling.

Nicholas was hesitant to observe this. On the second evening, they rested along the rocky river terrace, and Adrian sat cross-legged with his knee laid over Nicholas' thigh, and Nicholas hesitated. They ate the stretchy smoked meat of a boar that Adrian had caught with one of his flytraps and Nicholas had (poorly, nauseously) skinned. They refilled their canteens from a gravel bed where Malik deemed the water clean enough to drink. Adrian splashed sand onto Nicholas' neck, smiled, used his sleeve to wipe it away, and Nicholas hesitated.

A grumble sounded somewhere along the bank. Nicholas welcomed the distraction. He had learned the night before that the river wolves grew antsy near sundown, but he hardly even jumped this time. Malik seemed to know a trick to ward off every frontier beast. He sandwiched a small flute-shaped whistle between his lips and blew a soundless note. The growling instantly dropped away.

"If you're finished," he grunted, stomping out of the shallows with wet ankles and a deep scowl. His four braids jumped behind him as he marched onward, leaving their bags for Adrian and Nicholas to carry.

Minutes later, through a parting of trees, Halcifer came into view.

The ancient school was surprisingly...green. Later, when they got closer, the sun-bleached stone would show itself behind the moss, but from a distance it was as if Halcifer had gone into hiding. Six stories of jagged towers and turrets could hardly be camouflaged, though. Even overgrown and weathered down to dull tips, it stood tall as a king. Adrian straightened his spine.

"I take it you can make it the rest of the way without my help," Malik said when their feet struck stone, one long bridge from the huge oak doors. A final parting jab, but it lacked his usual scorn. He was staring at the walls, tracing over every edge like he couldn't help himself.

"Come off it," said Adrian. "You can't still want to go back."

"We agreed that I would guide you here and no further."

"It will be dangerous to travel alone."

Malik snorted. "I reckon I'll be safer without you halfwits." And he moved to leave, though his head turned slower than the rest of him, eyes lagging behind. Adrian took his wrist.

"Have you ever gone inside?"

"This place longs to sleep. I pity the fool who wakes it."

"Pity this fool to the door, then. What if the Mingles come for me on the bridge? I'll drown."

"Stupid bull."

Adrian took a step back, onto the first stone step up to the bridge. Malik shook off his grip but followed. Nicholas watched Adrian's eyes soften, so secretly fond he didn't even realize himself, and thought he had been right to hesitate. He laughed a little, embarrassed.

But Adrian offered his hand to Nicholas next. "As if I'd let you walk behind me, stalker." He grinned, and didn't drop his hand until they had crossed the river.

By the time they reached the doors, Malik didn't need convincing to go further. He had lost that fight with himself the second he stepped onto the bridge. He was the one to give the first push. The door didn't budge, so he put some magic into it, breathing in deep when the first gust of rich history hit his face.

"I lead," was his one rule as they stepped inside. "You listen."

"Yes, mother dear."

"I'll drown you myself, Touro."

The door closed loudly of its own weight behind them. Evening light wove past the weeds hanging over the windows. It bounced off of centuries-old shards of glass shattered around every sill, slippery beneath their feet. They stepped slowly over moth-eaten carpet in a massive, indistinguishable space – a scar, or maybe a wrinkle. It was impossible to tell whether the disarray was a relic of war or neglect.

"This place is..." said Adrian.

"Beautiful," Malik sighed.

"I was going to say 'haunting.'"

There was a deep, wet snarl.

"Haunted," amended Adrian.

Malik blew his whistle. The growling didn't stop but doubled, coming from either side. Malik tried his whistle again, again, shoulders rising with every failed blow.

Beneath opposite archways appeared two long-limbed, dog-like animals – if dogs walked on webbed paws; had short, watertight fur; and stood up to a grown man's chest. The river wolves gave strange gurgling growls and stalked closer. Adrian moved as if to run. Malik gripped the back of his shirt and whispered around the whistle, "Don't be an idiot."

Slowly, he knelt. He lay his palm to the ground, over a patch of carpet that had been eaten away to reveal stone.

The first wolf lunged, and Malik pulled, drawing a stone cudgel straight from the floor. It collided with the wolf's side with a crunch that made Nicholas' stomach roll. Then Nicholas was toppling to the floor, shoved out of harm's way as the second wolf howled and leapt. Adrian took the weight of the pounce and managed, as he fell, to twist his hands like he was drawing rope. The vines shrouding one window snaked into the fight, wrapping around the wolf's neck to pull its head back just before blood-stained teeth could plunge into his throat. Adrian clenched his fists, twisted; the vines wrenched one way and the wolf's neck snapped ninety degrees.

It kept snarling, gnashing its teeth sideways. The first wolf stood. Its front leg bowed the wrong way and for a moment, it teetered. Then it adjusted. Then it began to walk.

Adrian scrambled backward, into Nicholas. "These are..." he trailed.

Up close, it was obvious. Their black fur was matted with blood. The first was covered in enough deep gashes to slowly, painfully bleed it out. The second had his throat torn open. Their eyes were colorless, filled with dark fluid.

This time, Malik was on the same page. "They're dead," he said. "They killed each other."

Nicholas didn't have any right to be shocked. He had designed them. But no amount of expectation could stave off the fear, an order of fear he had never experienced– hadn't even had the room for, in his cushy earthly life.

"Don't move," Adrian ordered breathlessly, which was great, because Nicholas wasn't confident he could.

The first wolf came charging again. Malik's cudgel collided with its head this time. It staggered, reared up, and slammed its front legs into his chest. Adrian shouted and ran to help him, then shouted again – the second wolf had pulled free of the vines and latched onto his boot.

"Focus on yourself!" said Malik. Liquid oozed from the wolf's indented skull onto his cheek. He gripped the cudgel in both hands, barring the wolf's snapping maw as far from his face as his arms allowed. Then he yanked his hands apart, suddenly holding two stone daggers.

Adrian furiously shook his foot. When that didn't work, he tried to haul the wolf off with vines tangled around its ankles, its neck, its snout. They tore under the pressure. Malik stabbed everywhere he could reach, narrowly avoiding claws and teeth.

There was an agonized yowl that petered into a whine. The first wolf lurched, half its body sagging, tongue lolling out of its mouth as it floundered for footing.

"Aim for the eyes!" yelled Malik, driving his other blade home. The wolf went limp on top of him.

Adrian's vines had thickened enough to hold the beast in place. Nicholas knew better than to keep watching but watched nonetheless as two tendrils dove into the gash in the wolf's neck. Seconds later, they burst out through its eye sockets, and the beast stilled.

Adrian lowered himself and leaned off some of his weight against Nicholas' side. "You're shaking. Are you hurt?"

The room reeked of blood and rot. Nicholas convulsed, tightening his throat to hold back vomit. "You're asking me?"

"Coward," Malik panted. He leered over Nicholas. "There were two of them and three of us. If you don't plan to make yourself useful–"

"Easy," said Adrian. "What would you have him do? He is powerless."

It was a simple truth. Adrian hadn't said it to insult him. And yet the words struck Nicholas in the chest and left a dent – easy, probably, when the space was so hollow. They were too true, and had been that way for too long.

Adrian scrounged together an almost-smile. "Are you going to tell me all of that was in your book?"

"Oh. Um. Not all–"

"There are bigger issues here than your fucking book," Malik snapped. He crouched before Adrian and smacked his boot. "Off."

The bite marks hadn't made it too deep into his foot. While Malik cleaned the wound and dressed it with ointment, Adrian touched his ankle and focused hard. Slowly, the edges of the punctures crept together. By the pained scrunch to his face as he stood, he hadn't healed it all the way down. "Too slow," he grunted at Malik's dubious look.

There were archways leading out of the room in every direction. Malik picked one, seemingly at random, but no one questioned him. "There is sick magic at work here," he said, pausing over the fallen body of his wolf. "What kind of twisted sadist would desecrate their rest?"

"At least we know our witch is here," sneered Adrian. He didn't look happy. He knelt at each wolf's side in turn and muttered something. Nicholas caught the tail end of a prayer, and peace to your soul.

They walked the ruined hallways as the sunlight waned. Sometimes there was rustling or scuttling, and all three of them would tense, but whatever creatures had made the abandoned school their home kept themselves hidden. Malik led them up one set of stairs, then another. A rotting step gave way beneath Nicholas' feet. Adrian caught him under the shoulders and hauled him onto his step, and only let go when the paralyzed-deer look faded from Nicholas' eyes.

"You're okay," Adrian assured him.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Adrian tested the weight of the next closest step, hopped to it, and beckoned. "I will be mean if I have to. I don't know who decided distrust should be the default."

They entered a grand room with a fresco ceiling and mosaic floor. The greatest parties in Maesia had probably taken place where they stood, but now the art seemed ghoulish. Above them, hundreds of children in ancient drapes danced, their hands overflowing with precious stones. Below, fire, water, and earth twisted from the hands of mages, the very first.

"What's got you so antsy?" said Malik, less a question of concern than a demand that Nicholas stop fidgeting in his peripherals.

Then the ceiling caved in.

The chubby, blushing faces of the dancing children rained down. With the forcate on his middle finger, Malik diverted a chunk that would have knocked him unconscious – or dead – and did the same for Adrian. But there were too many. He gave up on fighting and ran. That was when the ground began to crumble.

Malik did his best, deflecting stones above them and trying to hold the tile beneath, but his power could only stretch so far. He and Adrian wound up backing up, tripping in the direction they had come.

And Nicholas, who had stood across from them when the floor first cracked, had no choice but to run the opposite way.

"Nicholas!" Adrian shouted, stopping, despite everything, to reach across the growing gap between them. Malik yanked him by the back of the shirt an instant before the floor he stood on gave way.

"You'll get us all killed," said Malik. Adrian looked at Nicholas for a moment longer, distraught, and Nicholas felt that in his chest, too, though it was a different, less familiar sort of ache. How long had it been since he'd made a friend?

Nicholas stumbled on shifting ground, barely one step ahead of the collapse. The destruction caught up to him and he pitched forward, aiming for the sturdy wood floor at the outskirts of the room.

He missed. And he fell.

Reaching wildly, his hand smacked onto something thick and brown. He wrapped his fingers tight around a branch of the ivy crawling up the wall, engorged to the size of his wrist. It only held his weight for a few seconds, but it was long enough to sling his other arm onto the floor above. He towed himself up and crumpled, panting, at the edge of the room, his back to a door.

There was a gaping hole in the ceiling where the fresco had been. The chasm in the floor was exactly circular, a perfect cutout of the fallen mosaic. Across it were Malik and Adrian, slumped against the other entrance. There was no way to cross.

Nicholas didn't have the breath to say thank you, but he thought, as Adrian met his eye and nodded, that he didn't need to. Nicholas nodded, too, setting his jaw, eyes hard and determined. I'll find my way.