Amara's hood had fallen away. She had a long, straight body, exposed by the open front of her cloak. Her shirt was tight and cropped just beneath her chest. She wore two braids tight to her skull, woven from the crown of her head to her middle back. Gold glittered at her nose, hung from her navel, crawled up her ears and dangled from the lobes.

She said again, "What did you do to her?"

"What did I do? Why are you here?" Adrian stormed to the doorway. They stood at nearly the same height, yet he scowled down at her. "How did you get here?"

"Dalisay," said Amara. "Where is she? What did you do–"

"She is gone!" He threw an arm behind him. When Amara saw the destroyed talisman, her hand came over her mouth. "Now would you care to explain–"

"You killed her."

Adrian pulled at his own cheeks as if holding onto his sanity. "She was already dead. If anything, I released her."

"No!" cried Amara. She ran to the dais and dropped to her knees. "No, no– she wanted only to rest, but you've gone and destroyed her tether, and now..." She touched the shattered glass. Blood welled from her fingertip. She hardly seemed to notice Nicholas or Malik sitting feet away. Close up, Nicholas could see the dust on her cloak, in her hair. "She will drift."

Broken glass, a broken deal; that was some nasty symbolism. Maybe it wasn't his duty, maybe the only good it did was assuage his own guilt, but Nicholas would mourn the witch nonetheless.

"It was her life or ours," said Adrian. "Would you have preferred–"

"Stop that," she said with a fierce glare.

"Amara."

"I had to prove it, to myself and everyone. That my brother is alive."

"How did you find me?"

"I felt you. I was following that feeling, but then there was something else, and it pulled." Her hand grasped at nothing in front of her chest. "It pulled me here."

"What do you mean you could feel me?" Her glossing eyes cleared as she watched him approach, unmoved by his tone. "How long have you been here?"

"I...don't know."

"You don't–? Did you come alone?"

"As if I would have been allowed otherwise."

"What were you thinking? These are not harmless lands."

"I was thinking that the asinine search parties making laps around the kingdom would sooner get themselves lost than find you. And someone had to find you."

"You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I am not helpless!" She stood with her chin raised and her hand at her hip, where the hilt of a sword peeked past her cloak. With each aggravated rise and fall of her chest, the branches inked along her ribs wavered as if swaying in the wind. Adrian's jaw was set so tight, he might actually have been biting his tongue. Because, despite her perfect breeding, despite the four stones cuffed around her arms, Amara's magic was so weak it may as well not have been there at all.

"And who have you left in charge?" Adrian demanded.

"The same man who has been in charge since mama lost her mind," she bit.

"Don't you speak of her that way."

"It's the damned truth! And here, another – Regent Mava would have finally been relieved of his provisional role had someone not run off into the skies the morning of his coronation!"

Adrian sent a panicked look Malik's way. Malik, for his part, looked unimpressed.

"None of this–" Malik waved a hand vaguely, "–has been subtle, Your Highness."

Adrian didn't get time to process that. Amara shoved against his chest with enough strength to nearly drop him. "I cannot believe you ran off to...to...what are you even doing? What could be so important that you should abandon our people?"

"And what do you call what you've done?" said Adrian. "At least I did not leave them alone."

"At least I left a note. Would that have been so hard, to let us know?"

Her voice broke. She turned away from him.

Adrian crossed the space between them and pulled her against him. Amara pushed her face, still drawn tight in a glower, into the crook of his neck.

"I didn't want the asinine search parties on my scent," he said. "I forgot to plan for my asinine little sister."

She shrugged her arms around him like she was reluctant to do so, but she held tight.

"I apologize," said Adrian. He yelped as Amara pinched his side.

"Not good enough."

"...Fair."

After a heavy moment, she asked, "Really, brother. What are you doing?"

He shook his head. "Tomorrow. For now, let us rest."

Halcifer probably would have been the safest place to spend the night, but the decision was made unanimously, and with no words passed between them, to leave. The quietness followed them across the bridge. Though he tried to hide it, Malik walked with a limp. Nicholas had drawn Adrian's guilt enough times to recognize it on his face – Malik had fought hard so that Adrian could go on, and Adrian seemed intent on punishing himself for this, because he didn't look away. On the other side of the river, Malik blew his whistle against the wolves and led them deeper into the brush. He and Adrian summoned branches, dirt, and stone to make a hut. They chewed on smoked meat and ate their nuts unroasted. No one had the energy for a fire.

The next morning, Nicholas explained his situation again, this time to believing ears. Amara accepted it all with unexpected readiness. She listened and watched, and when it was over, she touched the journal's cover with gold-banded fingers and said, "This is beautiful."

"Terrifying is what it is." Adrian had a grudging look to him, a petulant sort of aggravation. "My fate is in these pages."

"Shall we see what it holds?" said Malik.

When the journal lay bared between them, Amara said, "Your art is lovely."

It was the first time she had addressed Nicholas directly. She smiled, and he remembered belatedly to thank her. Four heads leaned over the open pages. Adrian snapped early on for Malik to stop turning them so quickly. Malik made a jab at Adrian's intelligence. After that, it was quiet, only the occasional affected noise when they saw their exact words shouted back at them. Amara looked away once they arrived at Dalisay's death. Malik quickly flipped past, into what hadn't yet come to be.

Malik mumbled a curse. Amara, a prayer.

"You have to change this," Adrian said. "Rewrite it." 

His frown had taken on a deep set. Nicholas rummaged through his bag for a pencil.

Adrian's patience wore quickly as Nicholas rubbed at the paper. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to erase it."

"It isn't working. Why isn't it working?"

Nicholas tried to imagine looking into his own future and seeing his failure sketched in bold. With an attempt at gentleness, he said, "I'm not sure."

"So cross it out!" Adrian cleared his throat. "Draw over it, or– try something. Anything else."

So Nicholas did try. He flipped his pencil around and dragged a line in the corner of the page, as a test. Nothing happened. He scratched the pencil against the knee of his pants. It left an ashy line. Back to the page again; nothing.

"Press harder."

Sketched in graphite were Adrian and Malik, diving away from Caldoran flames into the waters of Lake Charlatan. It was a narrow escape, a lucky break. Depending on how you looked at it, a shamefaced retreat.

Nicholas pressed harder. 

"Tear out the page," Adrian urged. Amara touched his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "Try."

Nicholas did not want to tear out his work. But he did try, just a little, at the very top. The paper clung to the bindings. Adrian swatted his hand away, held the book down, and pulled so hard his muscles drew taut. The page did not come away. With a frustrated shout, he jumped to his feet, sending the book sprawling.

"Adrian!" scolded Amara. She reached forward, but Malik beat her to the book. He tucked it onto his lap and continued through the pages in private. "Adrian," she said again, softer. He paced with his hands over his head, visibly grinding his teeth. "It is still your story. Rewrite it yourself."

"I say you try for an official audience," offered Malik. "Rather less threatening than appearing on his doorstep."

"What is it you think I was doing on his doorstep?" Adrian gestured angrily to the book. "Or, will do– am doing– dammit! And I have tried to be subtle. Patience, diplomacy, I have tried it endlessly. Do you know how difficult it is to get a letter to the king of an unfriendly nation? We meet at the harbors, is that right?"

Adrian made scalding reference to the only amiable agreement still standing between their kingdoms. In the interest of trade, all acrimony was forgotten in the waters of the southernmost Caldoran port city and the northernmost Interran harbor.

"I have sent men to the ports, I have thrown coins at worthless traders on the scarce hope one of them may have the right connections. I have taken ships myself and loitered and peddled and begged– me, a prince! And I know he has seen my writing, I know, because I have spoken to many a high-standing merchant, men with lineages so old I can find their names in Interran texts. And never a word back!"

He threw his hands up, but he didn't drop them. He stopped in place and followed them with his eyes, baring his face to the watery sun. When he turned, dropping his arms heavily as if he had just let go of something burdensome, there was resolution in his gaze, and defiance unbefitting a prince.

"If I want to be heard, I will have to be loud. I must go to him."

Slowly, he began to smile, but it was different than before. Meaner. This boy was too big to fit on a page and too vigorous to sit still inside a book, but God, Nicholas wanted to try. If he got the chance to put pen to paper again, he would do Adrian justice.

"But we lose this fight," Malik said, only half paying attention.

"So we'll do things differently!" Adrian had come alive. "A poison grown from the sands of Lake Charlatan. That has to be him. I must grab him by the root before he incites a war–"

Malik slammed the book shut. Pink bloomed along the tips of his ears.

"What is it?" said Adrian. "What did you see?"

"Nothing. Just...an insect."  

"You, flinching at an insect?" Adrian chuckled. "Impossible."

He bent forward to investigate. Malik pushed the journal into the bag and stood. "We should leave," he said. "Maximize our daylight."

Amara rose as well, looking in all parts ready for a fight. "The Caldoran is right."

Adrian grabbed her by the hood. "We will leave. You need to go home."

Her eyes flashed. "You can't seriously–"

"You have always been more suited to lead than I," said Adrian. He did not soften his tone, though his eyes crinkled full of fondness. "So lead. Mava is wonderful at his job, but he must feel deeply lost. One of us needs to be there, and it cannot be me. I have to..."

"I understand," said Amara. "I read every word."

"I need you to return as though you never found me."

"I need you to return."

"I swear I will."

"Then I swear my silence."

She took off her cloak and clasped it around his collar. When she stood with her sword visible, hanging long and heavy in its sheath, she looked for the first time exactly as Nicholas had envisioned. Graceful, brave. Conscious of her own weakness and stronger for it.

She turned without a farewell. "Be safe," Adrian called out by way of goodbye. She turned over her shoulder and poked her tongue at him, and the image shattered.

When she disappeared through the trees, Adrian shrugged his shoulders rather anticlimactically and said, "Last chance to call it a day and return to your peace." When no one said anything, he grinned. "No takers? You're all fools."

As far as enemy territory infiltrations went, this one involved little fanfare. There was no official boundary between the kingdoms, no border guard. Just a wild frontier to cross and enough bad blood spilled to discourage wanderers. Still, Nicholas thought, there had to be wanderers. He wondered how many before them had made the trip, and how many had stayed wherever they landed.

Traversing the valley wall was considerably slower when he wasn't dragged by the ankle. With flat palms and fingers bared, Adrian summoned the stone buried beneath layers of earth to the surface, and Malik molded it into flat, wide steps. It was slow work, but Nicholas didn't want to imagine the climb without it. Still, by the end he was more sweat than human, and so sore in his calves he wobbled at the precipice and nearly tumbled back down. Adrian pulled him over the ledge and into his chest.

"Hard work looks good on you," he said. So the prince was a liar.

They made it to the Borderturf as the sun sank. Adrian paid for a closet of a room that reeked of rat piss with a tiny leaf-shaped stud from his ear. It probably could have bought out the whole inn, but he refused Nicholas' offer of Cairo's malon.

With another earring, carved after the sun, he secured a ride in a wooden wagon with uneven wheels. The driver and the donkey were equally thin. Adrian was already poor at hiding his discomfort surrounded by poverty, but at the sight of the breaths heaving beneath the beast's ribs as it struggled with their weight, his fidgeting turned to angry stewing that lasted the whole ride through. Without his chattiness, the wagon was stifling. It didn't help that in order to fit, Nicholas had to sit nearly on top of him, squished against the low wall. Adrian grabbed him around the back to stop him from toppling over the side at a rough bump so many times, he eventually just left his arm there.

Which was fine.

Nicholas was self-regulating just fine.

He had a long history of buckling easily, with the slightest pressure. A few wayward glances from a cute boy would do, the attention was a good feeling. He had given up all of his firsts to that feeling.

He wasn't that kid anymore, but Adrian made him feel dangerously young.

They left the wagon in the first reasonable city. Adrian gave up an opal stud for a humble carriage where they could all sit comfortably. With the donkey replaced by a healthy, if unnattractive horse, they rode in comfort.

Malik muttered something to the driver when they reached South Simona. The carriage stopped a while later in front of a square building with tall white columns.

Malik ignored any questions as he climbed out and ordered Adrian to stay put when he automatically started to follow. "You stand out like a sore thumb. The shurta will not miss that," Malik said with his voice lowered, nodding to the officers stationed at the doors.

He reappeared nearly an hour later, shadowed by a short man with pudgy hands clasped beneath an unctuous smile. It took another five minutes for Malik to shake the man off, and he returned with a put-upon huff and a bag full of cash.

Adrian gawked. "Where did you get that?"

"The bank," Malik said simply. Adrian reached up as if to strangle him or kiss him. Malik showed off the ring on his left middle finger. Unlike the jewelry on his right, it had a flat, ovular face with no gem. A stamp was carved into the surface, an emblem picturing a fire-spitting bird with three wings. "You of all people should understand the value of a name."

"Fox!" Adrian laughed, grabbing Malik's hand to take a closer look.

"Bull," Malik grumbled, snatching his hand back, though he failed to hide that he was pleased. Nicholas looked away.

Malik told the driver to take them to the nearest ready-made tailor. He allowed Adrian along this time (after plentiful whining), and all three of them walked out in new clothing. Adrian pulled uncomfortably at the tight seams and whined some more. Nicholas was baking beneath a loose coat that reached his calves, but he suffered in silence.

There were no more stops after that. The next evening, nestled in the plush cushions of an outrageously pricey carriage, they arrived at al-Narin's outermost gate.

It went as it had in the original story. The king's shurta crossed their spears over the gate. Malik approached and introduced himself by name. Nicholas and Adrian were his men. He showed his ring.

The gates opened. One guard escorted them deeper alongside the driver.

The same introduction, this time at an inner gate. They were handed off to another guard and led on foot a shorter distance down the paved path, to yet another gate.

"These gardens," Malik commented, looking from left to right to study both sides of the path.

"The late queen was very knowledgeable about flora," said the guard, stonefaced. "Our king makes great effort to keep her passion alive."

Adrian snorted and hid it behind a cough. Muffled by the traditional headdress wrapped over his forehead and nose, it was believable enough.

The great castle doors heaved open as they approached. On the other side, Nicholas spotted a servant boy operating a winch. They were led into the wide entrance hall, where a man with a warrior's braid waited for them beneath the vaulted ceiling. He was impossible to overlook, massive and perfectly still among the busy servants crossing beneath the colonnade. There were twice as many insignia on his chest than any other guard.

"Malik Faisan."

Idris Ali, head of the king's shurta, had a voice like a beast. The hand he placed over his heart could have been a bear claw for how thick and heavy it sat. Malik copied the gesture and lowered his head, offering his ring in his palm. Ali took it and studied it closely.

Then, the first change: Malik bowed deep and pronounced, "A great shame has befallen my family. I come today to wipe away the ash my predecessors scattered over my good name."

He waited. "Proceed," said Ali.

"My grandmother and my father abandoned their lawful obligation to the crown. I cannot erase their disloyalty, but I will do my best to make amends. In accordance with the Law of Four, I offer my due service toward my country and my king."

"Stand."

Malik stood. "I request a formal audience with the king."

"That is not a simple request."

"I consider myself a high-priority guest."

Ali's thick beard ticked.

"I would like to meet the man I am swearing my life to. Is that unfair?"

Ali wore no expression, but he didn't appear to take Malik as a threat. He returned the ring. "I will bring your appeal to the chamberlain."

At the mention of Cairo, Nicholas' fingers itched to adjust his scarf. Only his eyes were visible, but he found himself angling his head downward anyway. Cairo carried a certain lurking feeling with him; Nicholas couldn't shake the sense that the advisor was watching them, leaning over the balcony of a higher floor with Nicholas' name on his tongue.

Ali cast a look at the servant with the winch. The boy piped up, "In the meantime, might our honored guest care for tea?"

Malik dipped his head once more. "Your hospitality is much appreciated."

The servant gestured with an arm. Malik, Adrian, and Nicholas started forward.

"The Faisan only."

They had expected this. It still made Nicholas' tongue feel fat.

"The king upholds stringent standards for his guests," Ali continued. "Only necessary visitors are allowed."

Now, the second change. Instead of sending Adrian a resolute smile and following alone, Malik squared his shoulders. "I am a cautious man, as any good Caldoran should be. Just as the king will surely have his men, I will have mine. Or do I not possess the right to a witness? If I did not know any better, I would deem these unfriendly terms."

The beard ticked again, enough this time that Nicholas could nearly see the mouth beneath it. Malik didn't waver even as he was loomed over, even as his words hung.

Finally, "Very well. You may bring one of your men."

Adrian's eyes went tight around the corners, but Malik seemed unbothered. They had prepared for this, too. Rather than feed any more tension, Malik acquiesced. Then he nodded to Nicholas.

They left Adrian behind with a lower ranking shurta and followed the servant boy. It was the first time Nicholas had walked the castle halls without a blindfold and in daylight, but he was walking into a dark spot in his vision. He had never written from Malik's perspective; all they knew of what came next was how it ended. Ali's hulking form cast shadows on them from behind. Despite the curiosity that nagged him to look his fill now that he had the chance, Nicholas kept his eyes low. He felt distinctly watched.

They waited in a lounging area of sorts, simple in its adornment, with a washstand and basin in one corner. Ali left them with another guard stationed outside the door. The servant excused himself and returned minutes later with steaming jasmine and savory cakes. They didn't speak. This was the part in the story where it all went wrong.

The door opened. Ali reentered. Nicholas did his best not to stiffen too visibly.

"The chamberlain has sanctioned your request and arranged for an audience at the earliest availability. You will see the king shortly."

He left, and that was all. No handcuffs, no accusations. No charges of desertion for breaking the Law of Four.

Nicholas downed his untouched tea in one gulp.

"If you would make your way to the washstand," said the servant. He scrubbed each of their hands vigorously with soap, water, and rough towelettes and gave no explanation. They had only just started toward the settee when Ali reappeared yet again.

He intercepted them in two steps. Malik was studying his raw, pink palms, so when Ali locked dark cuffs around his wrists, it looked almost as if he had offered them up.