Skye had asked Regina why the Unresting Steppes were called ‘Unresting’ the first time around. Based on written accounts, old tales, and plain hearsay, Regina had offered a handful of explanations.

Geological unrest. The constant dust hazes bleeding over the horizon. The perpetual storm zones dotted across the flatlands that seemingly refused to die out. The nightmare-fuel monsters prowling beneath the dunes and inside the rock formations, hunting anything and everything in some kind of ecological cycle that didn’t make a lick of sense from a food-chain standpoint.

All of them sounded believable enough, and Skye had figured any one of them could’ve contributed to the name.

She might have kept thinking that, if she hadn’t walked these plains herself and seen what she was pretty sure was the real reason.

Her eyes stayed on the basin below and the body of the Duskhorn Borer sprawled there after their battle. She watched as its carcass slowly came apart right in front of her—chitin plates sliding off the underlying muscle, wings going thin and brittle before simply vanishing, mandibles curling inward, streaks of shimmering intestine dissolving into the sand—until all that was left of the strange blend between insect and beast, which had been roughly the size of a small building twenty minutes ago, was a loose scatter of oversized bones.

And then those went too, leaving nothing but a faint impression in the sand where the Borer had come down.

Same as anything that died here in the Steppes, it wasn’t allowed to reach its final rest.

Skye’s gaze drifted up to the moon hanging in the night sky, surrounded by clear, bright stars. It had been sitting just shy of full for almost a week now.

That probably wasn’t right.

“Skye.” Regina’s voice came from behind, and Skye turned to find her peering out from behind a cluster of sandstone ruins the Borer had apparently been nesting against. “Oveth finished his sweep. There should be no other threats in the area, and he’s setting up the wards now. There’s a space down here where we can camp for the night.”

“Alright.”

Skye glanced back at where the Borer had been, then started unwinding the cloth wrappings from her face as she made her way over.

Briana sat near the entrance of the ruins on a flat rock, cerulean cape snapping behind her in the wind. She gave Skye a nod before turning her gaze back out over the dunes and the dry stretch of nothing rolling out in front of them.

“Give us a holler if Oveth’s wards go sideways and you clock something coming, will you?” Skye said, giving Briana a light pat on the shoulder as she passed.

She and Regina ducked past a fallen pillar into the ruins, and Regina led her into a chamber lit by a few glowing Zuverian crystals — courtesy of Baroness Hartford. Skye mostly ignored them as she scanned the space, then followed Regina down a short flight of worn steps into a lower room half-blocked by a collapsed wall at the far end. Oveth was in the middle of laying down his magic circles across the floor near the centre, while Mel was tucked into the corner with her back to them.

Skye joined Regina as they walked over to a stack of crates against the wall. Regina pulled out a gourd-shaped object made of metal with glyphs carved across its face and held it out. Skye took it, told the immature part of her brain that protested to shut up, and tipped the artifact against the mouth of her waterskin to refill it.

There was a lot about this trip into the Steppes that was significantly more convenient than the last one. The biggest thing was probably all the spatial and quality-of-life artifacts the Baroness had loaded them up with, like she was running some kind of late-night shopping channel for adventurers. Skye couldn’t honestly pretend they weren’t saving serious time and effort.

It just made her feel like they were the woman’s personal errand crew.

A small laugh came from Regina beside her as Skye tipped a handful of water into her palm and ran it over her face to get rid of some of the grime.

“What?” Skye asked, glancing over.

Regina smiled. “You’re still making that face every time you use one of those.”

“…That’s because I’m normal,” she muttered. “The only normal person here, apparently. The rest of you should be grimacing more as well. Show her that we won’t just let her turn us into her little peons.”

She’d never actually blame them—she was the one who’d got them into this situation in the first place—but it would’ve been nice not to be the only one still visibly bothered by their whole arrangement with the Baroness. Everyone else had adjusted way too fast. At this point, it almost felt like Skye was the only one who still thought it was worth caring about.

Briana probably still hated it, but Briana’s whole thing was also being good at not showing it.

Regina’s smile ticked up slightly. “You’re not the only one who’s cautious, Skye. But I can assure you that she didn’t plant a trap in the water artifact.”

“Yeah, well. That’s exactly what she’d want you to think.”

Skye huffed.

Regina shook her head. “While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I trust her, I don’t believe the Baroness has misled us about our task or what she’s promised us. As things stand, I do think this is genuinely the best use of our time and resources.”

“Mm. You’ve said that. And I’m carefully pessimistic.”

“It’s good that you are. Then we can balance each other out.”

Regina leaned over, lifted the top crate down to the floor, and opened the one beneath it, pulling out a compact iron trivet and a pair of nested cookpots. Skye watched her set them up, arms crossed.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird?” she asked.

Regina glanced at her as she unfolded the trivet legs. “What, exactly?”

“That Baroness Hartford is so obsessed with us.”

“Obsessed?” Regina’s eyes stayed on her for a moment, then returned to the trivet. “I’m still not convinced that she is, Skye.”

“And I’m telling you that she is.”

“It’s clear she has some form of foreknowledge tied to fate and the role we were apparently meant to play in it. Given that, I’d say her interest in us makes sense. Her going out of her way to put herself between us and Slate is a reasonable response for anyone sitting on that type of information.”

Regina fished out a small striker after finishing with the trivet and placed a brazier beneath it, coaxing a spark into flame.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Without fully understanding her motivations, however,” Regina continued, turning back to Skye, “I’m hesitant to read anything deeper into it.”

Skye straightened. “So you don’t think she’s got a thing about me specifically?”

“No, she evidently does. I just don’t think ‘obsession’ is the right word for it.”

Skye held Regina’s gaze for a few seconds, then stepped over to help as her friend started preparing the cookpots.

“My gut’s telling me it is. There’s something off about the way she looks at me. I can tell.”

“Is that why you think she has some connection to your past?” Regina asked.

Skye was quiet for a moment. “Maybe. She basically admitted it to me anyway.”

“You told me that she said there was a connection between you. Not that she’s necessarily tied to your past specifically.”

“Yeah, well, she also told me she wanted me to stop existing, and I don’t see how you get that kind of feeling about someone without history.”

“Skye, I’m fairly certain she didn’t mean it that way.”

“How would you know? You talked to her even less than I did.”

Regina didn’t answer immediately, holding Skye’s eyes for a few seconds longer before turning back to the pot. “That is actually not entirely true.”

Skye blinked. “Huh?”

“I…didn’t mention it because I didn’t want you to worry,” Regina said, “but I met privately with the Baroness.”

“You did? When?”

“Before we left for Dimfrost.”

“Why?”

“Because I had the same concerns as you did. I was worried she was hiding something that could put you at risk, so I went to her in my official capacity as First Princess. Or what official capacity I still have, at least, given our current circumstances.”

Skye opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Regina turned back to her, something firm in her expression. “I did. If there was even a chance that my title could do something to keep you and the others safer, then using it was the least I could do. It has been little more than a liability lately.”

“That’s not—” Skye started, then sighed. “You literally could not be a liability even if you tried.”

“That’s very kind of you, Skye, but demonstrably wrong.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is. But I appreciate that you think it isn’t.” Regina filled the pot with water using the artifact and pulled out several smaller barrels and jars of provisions from the crates. “To get back to the point — while it is possible that she was deceiving me, the Baroness assured me that for as long as our arrangement with her holds, she would do what she could to make sure you weren’t harmed or exploited. Given that she made a similar request of Mel to keep you safe beforehand, and has had plenty of chances to hurt any of us without taking them, I’m inclined to believe her. I also think she has a genuine respect for the imperial family. She appears averse to lying to me.”

Skye pressed her lips together. “See. I told you. She’s obsessed.”

Regina laughed quietly, ordering the ingredients. “No, I don’t think so. If anything…” Her hands slowed. “I think she needs you, Skye.”

“Needs me to disappear, maybe…”

“I actually asked her about that directly. What she would do if that happened. It was very brief, but I am certain I saw something on her face when I did. At the very least, I am convinced that she genuinely does not want you hurt.”

“You get that someone like her needing me isn’t automatically a good thing, right? Don’t forget she’s got ties to demons and the Cabal.”

“Miss Hale was not a demon, Skye.”

“I’m telling you she’s a demon.”

“She is not. I have come across accounts of people like her before. They’re extremely rare, but there are documented cases of mortals absorbing demonic power without falling prey to it themselves. In her case, she simply appears to have taken on the abilities of a particularly powerful one.”

“You’re too nice about everything, Regina.”

Regina gave her a look.

“I’m just calling it like I see it,” Skye said.

“Naturally.” Regina rolled her eyes. “As for the Cabal individuals the Baroness brought, didn’t Oveth already say that her connection to them seemed unrelated to the Cabal itself?”

Skye glanced over at Oveth, cross-legged on the ground and murmuring to himself as he laid down his wards. He had apparently picked up on some kind of pact between the Baroness and the big knight who’d trailed around in those tattered robes. Some sort of ancient magic.

“...That still doesn’t exactly clear her of working with them.”

“That is fair. We shouldn’t take her at her word alone. But I do think we stand to gain more by staying the course with her for now.”

“Mm. Did I say we shouldn’t? We’re still out here, aren’t we?”

“That we are.”

Skye helped chop up the dried provisions and sort out the spice pouches while Regina managed the actual cooking, coaxing something that smelled decent enough out of what they had on hand. By the time it was mostly down to tending the heat and waiting, Skye had run out of things to do with her hands and pushed herself upright, rolling out her shoulders.

“Hey, by the way,” she said, glancing over at Regina. “When you talked to the Baroness, did you ask her about anything else?”

“Anything else?” Regina looked up. “Like what?”

Skye shrugged. “I don’t know. Just something.”

Regina’s gaze stayed on her, then dropped slightly. “I…did pass along a personal request, in case she happened to be heading to Elystead anytime soon. But that’s all.”

“A personal request? About what?”

Regina’s voice went quieter. “It’s Hilde’s birthday soon. I haven’t been there for her, but I was hoping...”

She trailed off.

“Oh… I get it. You don’t need to say more.”

Regina turned back to her. “Was that what you were asking about?”

Skye scratched the back of her neck. “Actually, no. But forget it. I think it’s just my imagination. I’ll leave you to it.”

She left Regina to the cooking and wandered over to Oveth, stopping to watch as he drew dark lines into the ground. “How’s it looking here, Oveth?”

The man looked up briefly, the outline of his face lost in the shadow of his hood, and nodded. “Good. They will not be able to detect us this time.”

“Great. Would love to actually sleep through a whole night again.”

Ever since they’d arrived in the Steppes, they had been hounded by strange phenomena and shapes that found them during the night. Not even Oveth had been able to identify them yet. For a while, they’d all worried that the Undead Council was tracking them, but Oveth had ruled that out by the third day.

Skye wasn’t sure how, but she trusted him. Even knowing he was still sitting on things he hadn’t told them.

She wished him luck and headed over to Mel in the corner, sliding down the wall to sit beside her and looping her arms over her knees as she watched the woman polish the mirror Baroness Hartford had given her.

Skye didn’t love that mirror. Especially not since she’d learned it was tied to that goddess who seemed to think Mel belonged to her. But it had been pulling more than its weight out here — it was basically their primary recon tool at this point, more useful even than Oveth’s magic most of the time. So she’d swallowed her feelings about it.

Mel was mumbling softly to herself, a trace of confusion on her brow, even as a smile played on her lips and she looked into the mirror. Eventually, the woman noticed her. She blinked a few times as her focus came back, a couple of loose gold curls falling across her face above the wraps covering part of her features. Then her smile went wide.

“Skye,” she said, her voice picking up. “I found something —!”

Skye straightened, caught off guard by the excitement. “You found something? What?”

Mel shuffled across the stone floor towards her, not caring about the dirt, and held the mirror up. “I—I found it!”

Skye leaned in, studying the mirror, but there was nothing except her own reflection staring back. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t even active right now.

She looked back at Mel, a small, familiar pull of concern settling in.

Mel had come a long way since they’d first met. Genuinely. But there were still moments. Skye didn’t think she needed ‘fixing’—that wasn’t really how she liked thinking about it—but she just wanted her to get to a place where she could be happy with herself. After whatever had happened during the communion with Adtia, Mel had tried to act like it was fine and she was fine, but Skye could tell it had rattled her, and she’d been quietly watching ever since for signs.

So far, it had seemed alright. She hoped it stayed that way.

“What exactly did you find?” she asked again.

Mel looked at her, expression shifting into something puzzled, like Skye was the one not making sense. She pushed the mirror closer to Skye’s face. “I-It’s there...look...”

“Mel, I don’t see—”

Skye froze.

Something moved through her body. Not a chill, or a shudder, or anything she had a word for. It was like a sudden, total absence of sensation, a blank where feeling should have been. Her eyes locked onto her reflection in the mirror. Onto its eyes.

“—kye! Skye!”

Hands grabbed her.

Skye came back in pieces, blinking until Regina’s face resolved in front of her, gripping her by the shoulder with a look that was trying very hard to be calm but not quite getting there. Oveth hovered a step behind her. Mel had pulled back to the side, staring at Skye with wide eyes and an expression caught somewhere between guilt and panic.

“Skye,” Regina said, watching her closely. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah...” Skye’s throat felt dry and weirdly far away, but the words came out. “What...?”

Her gaze drifted back to the mirror, sitting face-up on the ground now.

“What happened?” Regina asked. “What did you see?”

Skye’s eyes stayed on the mirror. Faces drifted through the back of her head—familiar in a way she couldn’t place, the kind of familiar that lived somewhere that wasn’t memory—but she couldn’t hold onto any of them. Just the feeling they left behind. Something like anger. Something like grief. Both moving through her chest and already fading.

She swallowed.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what I saw.”