Three days had passed since they ripped the grate off the Royal Sewers.
The gleaming towers of the Human Capital were now just a faint, hateful glow on the western horizon behind them. Ahead lay the Borderlands, a lawless strip of territory sandwiched between the Human Empire and the Elven Forests.
It was a place where Imperial Law was just a suggestion, and where three fugitives might disappear.
"I smell like a dead fish," Briar groaned, trudging through the mud.
She pulled at the collar of her tunic. The once-pristine royal fabric was stained with sewer muck and river clay. Her fiery red hair, usually tied back in a warrior's tight knot, hung loose and tangled around her shoulders. She looked less like a Princess and more like a drowned rat.
"Statistically," Lyra murmured, consulting a small, hand-drawn map while trying to step over a puddle, "we are 85% less likely to be identified if we look like beggars. The smell is a tactical advantage."
"It's a tactical nightmare," Briar grumbled. She looked at Nyx. "And look at him. How is he doing it? He walked through the same sludge, but he looks like he just stepped out of a painting."
Nyx walked ahead of them, Requiem wrapped in a torn piece of canvas to hide its distinct shape. Briar was right. Despite the dirt on his clothes, Nyx's skin was flawless. The faint, golden energy of his body seemed to repel the grime naturally. He didn't sweat. He didn't slouch.
Nyx stopped. He pointed ahead.
"Lights," he said.
Emerging from the mist was a town. It wasn't built of white marble like the Capital. It was built of rusted iron, dark wood, and scavenged stone, clinging to the side of a canyon. Smoke billowed from a hundred chimneys, smelling of sulfur and roasting meat.
"Rustwater," Briar identified it, her hand instinctively going to her sword hilt. "It's a mining town. No Imperial Guards here. Just mercenaries, smugglers, and people who don't want to be found."
"Perfect," Nyx said. He turned to look at the two women. His golden eyes lingered on Briar's armor, then on Lyra's fine robes.
"But we can't walk in there looking like royalty," Nyx said. "Or like soldiers."
He stepped closer to Briar.
"Lose the metal," Nyx said softly.
Briar stiffened. For a warrior princess, removing her armor was like removing her skin. It was her shell. "Are you crazy? If a fight starts.."
"If a fight starts, I'll eat them," Nyx said calmly. "But if you walk in there wearing Royal Steel, a fight will start. Trust me."
Briar bit her lip. She looked at his eyes clear, golden, and annoyingly earnest. She huffed, reaching for her buckles.
"Fine. But turn around."
Nyx didn't turn around. He watched as she unbuckled the breastplate, the greaves, and the heavy gauntlets, hiding them in a hollow tree stump nearby.
Underneath, she wore a simple, sweat-stained linen undershirt and trousers. Without the bulky steel, she looked... smaller. Softer. The curves she usually hid behind plating were visible. Her arms were toned, dusted with freckles that the armor usually hid.
Briar looked up and caught him staring. She flushed, crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously.
"What?" she snapped, but there was no heat in it. "Never seen a woman out of uniform?"
"No," Nyx admitted bluntly. "You look... lighter."
He wasn't trying to be smooth. He was stating a fact. But the way he said it, with that deep, resonant voice, made Briar's heart do a stupid little flip in her chest. She looked away, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.
"Shut up," she muttered. "Let's go."
Lyra watched the exchange, clutching her grimoire. She felt a strange pang in her chest, not jealousy, exactly, but a wish to be seen like that too. She pulled her hood up, hiding her silver hair.
"I will be the mute sister," Lyra decided. "And Nyx... try to look less like a God and more like a mercenary."
"I'll try to slouch," Nyx said dryly.
They entered Rustwater.
The town was loud. Steam hissed from pipes, gears ground together, and the shouts of drunk miners filled the air. No one paid them much attention, though a few heads turned to look at Nyx's height and the massive wrapped sword on his back.
They found an inn called The Iron lounge. The sign depicted a pair of bellows.
"One room," Nyx told the innkeeper, slapping a gold coin (stolen from the assassin) onto the counter. "And a bath."
The innkeeper, a greased-up dwarf with a mechanical eye, bit the coin. He grinned. "Top floor. Don't break the bed."
Briar turned bright red. Lyra choked on air. Nyx just nodded solemnly, he had a different idea of what he meant, 'He must be thinking that we would fight.'
"We won't."
They trudged up the stairs to the room. It was small, with one large bed and a tin tub in the corner.
"I am not sleeping in the same bed as you," Briar announced immediately, throwing her pack down. "I'll take the floor."
"I don't need sleep," Nyx said, sitting on the window sill. "I'll watch the door."
"Good," Briar said. She walked over to the tub and turned the tap. Rusty water sputtered out, eventually turning clear.
"Turn around," Briar commanded again.
Nyx turned his back to the room, looking out the window at the grimy street below.
He heard the rustle of clothes. The splash of water. The sigh of relief as Briar sank into the hot bath.
"Oh, gods," Briar moaned. "That feels better than winning a war."
Nyx gripped the window ledge.
He didn't have the Charm anymore. He shouldn't care. But the sound of the water... the knowledge that Briar was naked just ten feet away... it stirred something in him.
It wasn't the Hunger. It wasn't the need to consume mana.
It was a heat in his chest. A flutter in his stomach. It was terrifyingly human.
"Nyx?" Lyra's voice came from near the bed. She had taken off her outer robe and was organizing her potions. "Are you okay? Your heart rate is elevated. I can hear it from here."
"I'm fine," Nyx said quickly. "Just... alert."
"You're blushing," Lyra noted, her voice tinged with amusement.
Nyx touched his cheek. It was warm.
"I don't blush," Nyx denied. "I am a Void Vessel. I do not have blood flow for emotional responses."
"Keep telling yourself that," Briar called out from the tub. "Hey, Lyra, toss me the soap. And Nyx... don't you dare peek, or I'll feed you your own sword."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Nyx said.
But in the reflection of the dark window glass, he caught a glimpse of himself. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a flustered young man.
Later that night, after they had all washed and eaten a meal of roasted mystery meat, the atmosphere settled.
Briar sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with a rough towel. She wore a clean shirt they had bought from the innkeeper. She looked fresh, her skin pink from the heat.
Lyra was reading by candlelight, but her eyes kept drifting to Nyx.
Nyx was polishing Requiem. The blade hummed under his touch.
"So," Briar broke the silence. She sounded softer now. "Rustwater isn't so bad. No assassins. No fathers yelling."
"No expectations," Lyra added. "Here, nobody cares if I'm a genius or a failure. I'm just a girl with a book."
Nyx looked up. He looked at Briar, with her damp hair curling around her face. He looked at Lyra, small and fragile in the candlelight.
"You look..." Nyx searched for the word. He didn't know the poetry of this world. "Real."
Briar stopped drying her hair. She looked at him.
"Real is messy," she said. "I have scars. I have calluses. I'm not a porcelain doll like the court ladies."
"I like the scars," Nyx said.
The room went silent.
Briar dropped the towel. Her face went scarlet. She opened her mouth to make a snarky comeback, but nothing came out.
"He... he means they show character," Lyra interjected quickly, saving her cousin, though her own ears were pink. "Strategically speaking."
"Right," Briar squeaked. "Character."
She cleared her throat, standing up abruptly. "I'm going to sleep. Lyra, you take the bed. Nyx... stay by the window."
"Understood," Nyx said.
Briar blew out the candle. The room plunged into darkness.
Nyx sat by the window, listening to their breathing slow down as they fell asleep.
He looked at his hand. The First Shackle was quiet.
For the first time since he fell from the sky, he didn't feel the crushing loneliness of the Void. He felt the warmth of the room. He felt the presence of two people who chose to be here with him.
He touched his chest.
Is this what it means to be alive? he wondered. To feel awkward? to feel heat without fire?
He looked at Briar's sleeping form, illuminated by the moonlight.
He liked seeing her sleeping like that, she looked more...free.
He decided he liked it.