The town of Dofrise bled into Mersem's vision just as they were going down the lowest peak from Hosten. He didn't say anything nor looked at anything more than a few glimpses of the houses beginning to light up their lamps in preparation of the night. A thick layer of snow covered most of the roofs, making them blend with the sheet of white all around the town. Dark green silhouettes of sarfire trees dotted the carpet of white every now and then but never as thick as the woodlands back in Hosten.

Mersem sniffed the air, getting a whiff of a perfect blend of fresh, pine needles, newly-fallen snow, and the dark and heavy musk of soil. It reminded him of home even though Falkmena was as flat as a barren field. He preferred it that way, though. He couldn't imagine having to trek every day just to go to places necessary for survival.

They have passed the town of Portensk a few days back and if they're lucky, they'd catch Silke and that mage boy just as they are leaving Dofrise. Mersem would like to do a number on that boy's face for touching his sister. Just he wait.

Leara's porae neighed, catching Mersem's attention. He glanced to his left to find her steering her steed closer to his. The strands of fur rimming her thick hood danced with the occasional cold breeze and the oscillating motion of their ride. "You're awfully quiet," she said. "Is there something wrong?"

He knitted his eyebrows. What's going on with Leara? Why was she acting so chummy when a few weeks ago, she was sure to rip his throat off his neck. When he glanced at their other companions, even Malon gave Mersem a quick wink and Fryth a solemn nod. Had he...had he finally succeeded in integrating himself inside their ranks? Maybe. Maybe not.

Perhaps, Leara was just gauging him and where his loyalty lay. After she had gotten her share, she'd decide whether to butcher him up herself or leave him for the possums to feed on like a fattened calf. He didn't like either option so he'd have to create a third: accomplish all his goals and leave in one piece and, hopefully, alive.

Mersem shook his head. "Just been thinking about a lot of things," he tapped a finger at the side of his head. "I guess the cold went inside and had a party there."

A chuckle shook Leara's shoulders. Her grip on the reins was loose and her spine remained without tension. "That's nice," she said. "Have you figured out what to do once you get your fair share of burams from this quest?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't," he looked at the horizon where the hills and trees spread on for miles until they became one with the sky. "I prefer to think about it when I already have it in my hands. There's a lot of uncertainty in this type of job, right?"

Leara hummed. "You have a point," she followed his gaze but her eyes remained passive and unseeing. "Well, just humor me. What would you do with your cut?"

"Assuming you guys would even let me get some," Mersem rolled his shoulders, bunching up his thick sleeves in the most uncomfortable of places.

"Of course, we will," she said, a hint of offense creeping into her tone. "Why would you think we wouldn't give you a share? You've managed to reduce our travel times by coming up with a deduction—which happened to be correct, by the way—about where the target would be going. You saved me in Aramale's shop even though you could have saved yourself and left me. Without you, we wouldn't even have figured out where the thief was staying three days ago or where we could corner her."

Leara smiled at him, showing him her perfectly lined teeth. "Thanks to you, we are here, just a few moments away from completing the quest," she said. "You're a good person, Mersem. Let us honor that."

Mersem snorted. What should he say to that? He wasn't a saint. He was no knight in leather armor. He's just a local town boy who happened to be in the middle of the road going nowhere just to bring his sister back to her family. There's nothing grand in that. Moreover, guilt gnawed on his gut. He might just be using Leara and her guildmates as much as they were using him.

What a sick turn of events was all of this.

"What's our plan when we get to the town?" Mersem jerked his chin somewhere north. "The thief has a mage with her. A boy with scarlet hair and an unpleasant attitude."

She blew a short gust of breath through her nose. It came out as billowing crystals in front of her face. "Since when can you gauge attitude just from asking around?" she said. "You sure are strange. But...I like it."

Mersem didn't fight the blossoming pocket of heat coloring his cheeks. If Leara noticed, maybe he'd just play it cool and blame the cold getting to him. That does happen most of the time. His fingers unconsciously played with the ends of his scarf as they rode. Up front, Malon and Fryth were engaged in a serious debate about which type of longsword was ideal for doing quests.

"To answer your question," Leara continued, which made Mersem look up and meet her gaze once more. Her brown eyes had never looked so warm and inviting especially when they're in the middle of a harsh coldscape. "We'll have to stick together as we scour the town. They might already be through it and we would have to chase them through the forest before they get to the neutral lands."

He nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense," he said. "Will you not really draw your sword when we deal with the thief?"

Leara's only answer was a vague nod. "I told you before," she said. "I only draw my sword when it's necessary. Why are you so concerned whether this thief dies or not?"

Probably because she's family. Still, Mersem didn't dare tell her that. Instead, he shrugged. "I mean, it's a life we're talking about here," he said. "Shedding blood and forfeiting a life should be decisions we can't take lightly."

"True," she rubbed her chin. Then, she opened her mouth once more. "Mersem, I—"

"Race you!" He blurted as he spurred his porae forward, the animal neighing with the sudden invitation to run wild and free. "First to reach the rim of the town gets a free cup of ale."

Leara's giggles were faint behind him as he surged forward. "You're not even allowed to drink yet, kid."

Mersem rolled his eyes. "I may not look like it but I'm quite old," he called back, his voice floating through the blankets of rolling snow before being swallowed by the empty air around them. "Oh, it looks like I'm winning!"

"Not a chance," Leara's voice was suddenly beside him. He looked to his left to find her catching up. Behind her, Malon and Fryth were urging their horses to match their speed, confused but amused looks painted on both their faces. "I'm the best at horse riding back at the Academy."

Mersem wasn't about to argue. Leara could really slay at anything she set her mind into. Something whipped into his periphery. His reflexes kicked in, yanking hard on the reins and slowing his horse to the stop with a braying recoil. When the horse's front hooves settled back into the snow and his world righted itself, he came face to face with none other than his father.

"What are you doing here?" Mersem eyed his father dressed in his usual carcass hunter clothes with flecks of dried blood still staining his chest and his boots. Why would he travel all the way from Falkmena to this remote town in the east? Why, when he, himself, told Mersem to let it go. Anger curled at the base of Mersem's throat. "You're aiming for the prize money, too? She's your daughter!"

His father had the nerve to look offended, his mouth parting underneath his bushy beard. "What are you talking about?" he said. "I'm here to stop you."

Mersem opened his mouth but Leara's porae caught up to him, its hooves thumping in muffled clomps against the compact snow. "Vordan?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

Vordan? Why in the gods' names did Leara Madris know his father's name? Why could she call him that way, too? It's like she's known him forever. It's like...she knew him. Mersem's hands tightened around the reins. Could it be that they're working together and have been keeping Mersem out of the loop? Was that why his father was adamant in stopping him?

This was turning into a slush of horsecrap with every passing second. What's next, Fryth and his father were actually secret buds exchanging letters over the years?

"Mersem, let me explain," Vordan said, staring up at him. A look of regret passed across his face. "It's not what you think. I'm not here to claim the prize money or hurt Silke. I'm here to set things right."

"What are you even talking about?" Malon interjected, having caught up with Fryth just behind him. "Why was the former Captain of the Guard here of all places? Leara, do you know of this?"

That set of words rang in Mersem's ears. Captain of the Guard? His father has been what?

"I have no idea," Leara urged her horse to canter closer to the man. "What do you intend to do, Vordan? What's your relationship with Mersem and the thief?"

Oh, shucks. Would his father reveal that Mersem had been lying to everyone all this time? Mersem tried to meet his father's eyes to warn him to not dare ruin his plan and his cover. Instead, Vordan faced Leara. "Mersem's my son," he said. "And Silke, the thief, is my regret and my mistake."

Leara's eyes flicked from Vordan to Mersem in a matter of seconds. He didn't exactly confirm that Silke was related to Mersem in any sense. Looks like he's still safe. For how long? That, Mersem didn't know. Vordan gripped the strap of his sword's sheath slung against one shoulder. "When I heard of Silke pulling Lotherne's Ember, I knew I had to come to terms with everything sooner or later," he said. "That's why I'm here. I have to atone for my mistake."

"What mistake is that?" Mersem said.

Vordan's mouth was set in a determined line. "Silke has to go home," he said. "That's why I have to stop you from this spot."

It occurred to Mersem, then. He's buying time. But for what?

"What do you mean by that?" Mersem knitted his eyebrows. "Silke's home is with us—her family."

"No, child," Vordan said. "It started with the reason why I retired as the Captain of the Guard."

"I was always curious about that," Leara nodded. "Why would a capable soldier in the peak of his career suddenly have a change of heart?"

"I was sent on a mission to Lotherne by order of the King," Vordan recounted. A haunted flame danced in his eyes, making them darker and emptier. "He wanted to eliminate the Lothernean Monarchs so that Solon could take advantage of the confusion to take over the monopoly over lumber and wax."

A stone dropped in Mersem's gut. The rumor at the palace of the rival kingdom's family being murdered. It's true. What's worse? It was his father who did it. "When I got there, I did as I was told but I realized the queen had just given birth," Vordan continued. "I was instructed to get rid of the entire bloodline but I couldn't bring myself to harm a child. So...I took her back to Solon."

Mersem's stomach sank to the recesses of his damp boots. No...

Father and I might not even be related. Silke's voice rang in his head over and over again, driving the bitter pike of truth deeper and deeper into his heart. So all of these years...has been a lie? Mersem had been a fool for not suspecting anything—despite the clear differences in both of her features and his. He just believed everything his father had spouted. And now...Vordan was asking Mersem to believe in the most ridiculous thing he had heard since fried fish.

Then, before Mersem could formulate a scathing reply to everything he had learned, the ground erupted in a wild shower of flames and through the haze of smoke, heat, and fire licking everything and nothing burst Silke with bloodshot eyes and a guttural scream ripping from her throat.