Pain was beginning to feel normal in a way it never had before. The burns to Mara’s right arm had spread up to her shoulder, perpetual now that she was channeling sorcery on a regular basis. She had fresh incision scars from Sammael’s work on that arm. In order to mitigate some of the pain and improve her ability to channel, he had replaced nerves with delicate wire and bone with infernal steel. The flesh around her new modifications was still scorched and scarred, but Mara wasn’t worried about being pretty at this point. With her damaged spine and slight limp, her older scars and bones that hadn’t healed right, she was hardly a creature of grace or beauty.

Every evening she spent with Aallotar, who was perpetually sporting savage bruises courtesy of training with Caliban. He corrected sloppy form with blows and the wildling had spent most of her life in beast form, so moving a human body was a far newer experience. That left plenty of room for vicious correction.

There were fewer and fewer bruises and cuts every day, however. Aallotar was a quick study, mostly out of spite. Her animosity towards Caliban had not abated, though Mara wasn’t sure of its root. Sammael’s servant always met the huntress with flattery and a sort of hand-wringing awe.

“You are awake?” Aallotar whispered in the darkness, shifting slightly on the mattress they shared so she was facing Mara.

Most nights, even with all the pain in her body, Mara was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. It was only once in a while when the wave of homesickness hit her and kept her awake, staring upwards at the ceiling. Mara rolled onto her good side, healing arm tucked across her body. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a voice thick with exhaustion. In the darkness of their little space, Mara could barely make out the outline of Aallotar’s face, the gleam of eyes caught by the sliver of light coming from Sammael’s study above on the opposite side of the library.

As a demon, Sammael required no sleep, no food, no drink. He spent his nights pouring over every text he could acquire that touched upon the remnants of the First World. Most treasured, kept under lock and key, were the pieces of lore he had preserved from before Godfall that described Void and the sorcery of the ancients. Mara found the idea of his presence somewhat comforting after two months of study under his tutelage. Whatever his deepest motives and intentions, her survival and improvement were his top priorities.

Aallotar brushed fingertips very gently over Mara’s bandages, carefully not pressing in case it caused any extra pain. “I worry,” the wildling murmured. “Always, you are hurting.”

“But I’m getting better,” Mara said in a gentle counter, barely able to keep her eyes open. “I’m so much stronger than I was.”

“I still worry,” Aallotar said.

Mara smiled at that, even with the exhaustion weighting her whole soul down. “That’s because you have a good soul,” she mumbled. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Aallotar shifted again, hand resting over Mara’s injured one. “What if there are hunters?”

“We’ve been underground for weeks without a break. I think I’ll take a bit of risk for a chance to see the sun again.” They’d crept out together to see the stars a few times, but winter’s chill meant they were never out for long.

Sammael had presented a task for them, both a test of sorts and a necessary function. They would be going with Caliban in the morning to meet with a few treasure hunters in the nearby village of Barri, since the men from the south were rumored to be carrying goods ransacked from an ancient ruin. There was always a chance that something truly valuable might be unearthed by such adventurous types. Mara’s education was finally to the point where she could be trusted with identifying such potential clues to the past.

“Fair,” Aallotar conceded. She ran her fingers over Mara’s brown hair, smoothing it back from her face. “Sleep.”

The touch was immensely comforting, soothing away the last of the residual heartache that clung so fiercely to Mara. Truthfully, the more time she spent in study of sorcery, the more distant her old life seemed. Only Sammael, Aallotar, and Caliban seemed real after the floods and fires of agony through her body. Mara spent no effort trying to stay awake, slipping into the world of dreamless sleep.

When she awoke, she wasn’t alone. Normally Caliban had Aallotar up even earlier than Sammael roused her. This morning, she was practically wrapped around the wildling, face buried in the back of Aallotar’s shoulder with her injured arm across her friend’s waist. It was warm and comfortable, the deep and even movements of Aallotar’s breaths felt against her body. It was pleasant enough that she had no desire to move, even though her arm throbbed in pain.

Mara closed her eyes again, luxuriating in the chance to sleep in even for a few minutes longer than normal. The ticking chronometer that Sammael had given them counted the sixth hour of the day, well before dawn still at this time of year. Their blankets were worn and threadbare, but there were enough of them to trap the heat that rolled off Aallotar like a furnace. Even Mara’s feet were warm, tucked against her friend’s lower legs.

Aallotar growled softly in her sleep, hands and feet twitching. Mara knew that was a sign that she was dreaming of her days as the beast, never a pleasant recollection. The sorcery of Sammael’s abode allowed her to stay in human form as long as she stayed within it and being beside Mara still prevented the curse from manifesting, but the bloodstains on her soul refused to fade. The sorcerer knew full well that the anguish was still there even if Aallotar never said anything of it.

The huntress brushed her hand in a circle across Aallotar’s abdomen, trying to soothe the nightmare. “I have you,” she murmured. “You’re okay.” When she heard another growl, she repeated herself in a soft voice near Aallotar’s ear. “I have you. You’re okay.”

The growl became a whine and then the wildling shifted, slowly coming awake. “Mara?” Aallotar mumbled, scrubbing at her eyes. She couldn’t roll over with Mara’s hold on her, not without potentially jarring the huntress’s wounded arm.

“Right here,” Mara said, letting her forehead rest against the back of Aallotar’s shoulder again.

“Did I wake you?”

The concern in her friend’s voice left Mara smiling. “I was already awake,” she promised to soothe the wildling’s guilt before it could take root. “We should probably get up.”

Aallotar made a mumbling noise at that and buried her face in their blankets. Clearly she had no desire to get out of bed.

Despite agreeing wholeheartedly with that assessment of the premise, Mara prodded her friend in the ribs. “Up,” she said, reluctantly letting go of the wildling. “I’d rather get up on my own than have Caliban come dump water on you.”

“He would regret it,” Aallotar muttered even as she rolled onto her back and stretched languidly, easing stiff muscles into better movement. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes again before looking down at Mara. “How is your arm?”

“Not too bad,” Mara said as she slipped out from under the blankets, sucking in a sharp breath when the cold hit her in a wave. “Sammael said I could take off the bandages today.”

“Let me?” Aallotar offered. She still had a healer’s touch, even with the combat training that had callused her hands and added even more muscle to her already strong body. She’d become something of a master at getting bandages off Mara’s arm and shoulder without ripping any wounds open again or causing much in the way of pain.

“Thanks,” Mara said gratefully, turning so her shoulder was towards the wildling.

Aallotar gently unwound the masterful wrapping from Sammael, exposing deep red burn scars in fern-like patterns and fresh incisions that had been glued closed using some kind of adhesive. Mara never asked Sammael for an explanation, as his descriptions usually went right over her head. The wildling’s brow furrowed slightly, a sign that she didn’t like seeing the injuries. “Must we go with Caliban?” Aallotar asked, her wording still slightly stilted and awkward, though her pronunciation had improved leaps and bounds. “You should rest.”

“I’m not made of glass,” the sorcerer said with a small smile, flexing her fingers and then her wrist to show she had full range of movement in that hand. “Besides, if the adventurers really do have something worth buying, we might need it.”

Aallotar’s golden eyes looked unconvinced, but she got to her feet anyway and held her hand out to Mara. “Where is Caliban?” she murmured, looking around.

“Ah, good, you’re up,” the man said as he came up the stairs. For the first time, Mara saw Caliban clean and well-groomed. He had shaved off his wild beard and his matted hair was combed into neatness. The crescents of grime remained under his nails, but he had washed off the rest of his customary filth.

It was jarring to hear that slippery voice coming from a handsome, charming face. Caliban’s rugged jawline and sculpted cheekbones were utterly at odds with his usual bearing. He was also dressed in clean, if simple, peasant’s clothes with a sword belted at his side.

Aallotar nodded, her eyes turning curiously to the bundle he carried under one arm. “When do we leave?” she asked.

“As soon as you two are bathed and dressed,” Caliban said, tossing Aallotar the bundle. “There’s a shield waiting for you downstairs.” He switched his attention to Mara, giving her a saccharine smile and a sweeping bow. “Good morning, Mistress Spell-Breaker.”

Mara offered him her usual smile. As much as Aallotar disliked Caliban, he was always respectful to the huntress. “Good morning. You look...much better. What’s the occasion?”

“Good looks are advantageous,” Caliban explained, sweeping a hand through his dark hair. He gave Mara a grin. “The better to charm young ladies for information.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than you do,” Mara said as she stretched her arm.

“That is untrue,” he said, eyes flickering to the scars on her arms. She caught the glint of envy in his eyes. It was hardly a secret that Caliban would have changed places with her in an instant, no matter the amount of pain. While he could be charming, there was always an edge to him, a desperate hunger for power that was probably the root of Aallotar’s distaste. “But perhaps simply to charm then, Mistress.”

“She does not need your charms,” Aallotar said as she unwrapped the bundle, revealing a plain but very functional sword of local design, meant to be wielded one-handed with a shield.

“Jealous, are we?” Caliban sniped back with amusement flashing in his eyes when Aallotar glared at him.

Mara sighed audibly and put a hand on Aallotar’s shoulder. “Can’t we all just get along for a little while?” she said.

Aallotar nodded, turning her gaze back to the sword, drawing it from its sheath. It gleamed like midwinter ice.

“That’s Sjaligr steel,” Mara observed, studying the wave-like patterns in the blade from how it had been folded and hammered during forging. There were at least a hundred layers in that construction, maybe more. She hesitated for a moment, staring at it. With such quality, it had probably come directly from her mother’s forge. “Where did you get that, Caliban?”

“From a dead man, Mistress,” the demon’s servant said as he strolled back down the steps. “Hurry up and bathe. There are clean clothes by the baths.”

It wasn’t an answer that Mara liked, but she knew from experience that getting information from Caliban could be like trying to draw blood from a stone. He held onto secrets almost as well as his master. The sorcerer hurried through the cold library towards the baths, well aware that only cold water awaited in those mirror-like pools. Sammael saw no reason to heat them, as attending to the comfort of his mortals was seldom a concern that troubled him. Aallotar followed soundlessly on bare feet, moving with the predatory grace she had honed now that she was finally used to moving on just two feet.

As always, Aallator stopped at the door to the baths, letting Mara pass through the curtain to get cleaned up first. The wildling seemed to feel it necessary to post a guard, probably against Caliban. It was such a part of the routine now that Mara didn’t even give it a thought, stripping down and then unwrapping a paper package containing a simple, pine-scented soap.

She was very gentle with her healing wounds, but scrubbed thoroughly all the same. The water was cold enough that she only ever lingered right after a session with Sammael. When she was finished, she drained the pool using the plug at the bottom and then replaced it, climbing out. Sammael kept them filled through the use of ingenious pipes, something Mara had never seen before coming to the demon’s abode. It was a pity the water wasn’t warm as she refilled the bath.

She grabbed the set of clothes that was meant for her, a simple woolen dress over a linen slip, and dressed quickly. The sleeves were long enough to cover most of the scars and she could wrap bandages around her hand to conceal the rest. “Trade,” Mara said, poking her head out as she dragged a comb made from antler through her hair, picking out tangles.

Aallotar nodded, flashing Mara a quick smile before taking her turn.

The wildling emerged a few minutes later, braiding her blonde hair the way Mara had taught her so it would stay out of her face in a fight. Her clothes were a pair of pants tucked into tall, armored boots and a tunic belted at the waist that she could wear beneath a mail hauberk. Aallotar was strong enough that armor barely slowed her down and Mara stressed the importance of protection every time she had the chance to. The last thing she ever wanted to see was Aallotar wounded.

“We will draw some attention,” Caliban said from where he was leaning against a nearby shelf, every bit the casually comfortable rogue Mara had come to expect. “Women warriors are not common in the Red Mountains. Still, the additional protection is worth a bit of scrutiny.”

Mara nodded, pulling a shawl around her shoulders to prepare for the cold. Once upon a time, she would have objected strenuously to a dress, but they couldn’t afford too much scrutiny and she had a powerful defense even without using the sword and shield she’d trained with. Besides, right now they had only enough weapons for Caliban and Aallotar, other than the seax Mara kept belted horizontally at the small of her back.

“We shouldn’t keep Sammael waiting,” Mara said, earning a nod from both of her companions. She combed her fingertips through her damp hair. She had dried it as much as she could, but it would still freeze outside. The sorcerer lead the way with Aallotar and Caliban following close on her heels.

“GOOD, YOU ARE READY,” Sammael said coolly in his metallic voice as they approached, three pouches of coin sitting in his clawed hand. “YOU ARE TO OBTAIN ANY RELICS BY ANY MEANS POSSIBLE. IF THIS COIN DOES NOT SUFFICE, EMPLOY OTHER TACTICS. WHATEVER COIN REMAINS IS YOURS TO SPEND.”

“Thank you,” Mara said as the demon passed them each a pouch. She knew from experience not to think too hard about where Sammael had gotten the money. Caliban had explained gleefully that his master sometimes went out on the hunt for bandits to drag back for experiments, taking their ill-gotten gains with them. Mara didn’t know if it was true or not, but she also didn’t want to find out. It was easier to sleep at night when she didn’t think about what evils her demonic mentor had worked in his pursuit of knowledge.

Aallotar pulled on the gambeson and hauberk that waited for her. The mail covered her down to her knees, complete with sleeves that guarded her arms. Thick leather gauntlets stitched with plates of metal, a spectacle helm with a straight nose-piece, and her round shield completed her protection. She looked like a proper warrior-maiden, golden eyes particularly fearsome when glaring from behind the protection of her helm.

Caliban wore the same armor, but carried a two-handed sword instead of a sword and shield. He was familiar enough with the local fighting style to teach Aallotar well, but preferred that of his own country. Together, they were downright intimidating.

Mara smiled at her friend. “I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about trouble. You and Caliban will be able to scare anything off.”

“I hope so,” Aallotar said, a trace of nerves in her voice as she adjusted the fit of her helm and then removed it, hooking it to her belt. The last time they had ventured into populated lands, it hadn’t gone well.

“We’re prepared,” Mara said with confidence despite the quiver of fear inside her own chest. This would be a test in more ways than one. “Besides, Barri is just a village. It won’t have guards the way Sjaligr does, so we can always run away.”

“True enough,” Caliban said with a chuckle, his smile sly. “Tails tucked between our legs?”

Aallotar glared at him. Any reminder of the beastial nature barely under the surface of her soul was enough to rouse her dislike of the man and he hadn’t chosen that phrase by accident.

Mara knew she was going to have her hands full keeping them from going after each other. “Come on,” she said, giving Aallotar a push. “We’ve got a long way to go before sunset if we’re going to reach Barri tonight.”

The wildling nodded stiffly and motioned for Caliban to lead the way.

The bow he gave her in return was probably mocking, but Aallotar knew better than to snap at him with Mara trying to keep the peace.

“Shame we don’t have horses,” Caliban commented as they stepped out into the frigid air, wrapped in furs over their armor. He hefted the pouch in his hand. It was a generous amount, but probably not enough.

Mara was the warmest without steel holding the cold to her body, but her lungs and face ached from the winter chill on every breath. It was a beautiful morning, the sun a sliver of gold on the horizon that turned the sky brilliant colors. The crust of ice at the top of the snow glittered like a field of diamonds and the icicles hanging from the branches of the trees around them refracted light like prisms into rainbow shades across the black bark.

In response to Caliban’s comment, the sorcerer shrugged. She kept her hope that she would have some coin left over to herself, mostly so she could buy some soap of her own, that smelled of something other than pine, and clothing. Even in the winter, traders passed through Barri on their way to Sjaligr and back, meaning there was a good chance of a little temporary market in the village. Besides, she wanted to get something for Aallotar other than a weapon or armor, something with a purpose that was more human.

It was something she hadn’t been able to obtain in Sjaligr for her friend.

“And off we go,” Caliban said with unusual cheer.

Aallotar glanced over at Mara, a hint of worry in her eyes. She knew better than Mara that Caliban in a good mood meant some kind of misfortune would befall someone else.

“We’ll be fine,” Mara promised, reaching out to give Aallotar’s gauntleted hand a squeeze. “I’m right beside you.”