He did not trust that priestess one bit.

As they rode on horseback to the ship that waited at the dock to take them to Astroia, Nolan and the priestess rode side by side. She seemed to have taken a liking to his cousin. He had overheard her introduce herself as Nadia. Gripping the reins of his horse, Zeus, in one hand, Declan kept an eye on her. She was unveiled now, her hair pinned up in a messy knot at the top of her head. Amid the rubble of the temple, he had found Mark and Luke hiding in one of the secret rooms. They rode slightly behind him, talking amongst themselves of the destruction that had been wreaked upon the temple.

The entire city of Milona had been levelled in that one horrifying, pivotal moment when he had spilled Nadia Sancta's blood. All of his soldiers had been slaughtered as though by some strange force, their heads neatly severed from their bodies but those decapitated faces wore strangely peaceful expressions, almost as if they had simply fallen asleep. It was grotesque. Macabre. The horses' hooves clopped through paths they had to forge through the mounds of corpses. He could already see flies swarming, thick clouds of insects hovering over the maggot-covered bodies.

Nolan had seen war before, and so had Declan. Mark, Luke, and Nadia had not, from the expressions on their faces. Nadia was looking straight ahead, her spine stiff. When she did turn around once to fish something out a saddlebag, her face was pale and wan despite her tan complexion. Mark and Luke tried to make gallows' humour jokes. Nolan bore it all stoically. Right now, even Declan was holding his breath as they passed through the battlefield. Where market stalls had once stood, piles of wood and overturned goods were now collapsed on the cobblestones. Rivulets of blood ran through the streets, mixing with the clear water of the River Ileana. The horses whinnied uneasily, their tails swishing and heads thrown back in anxious neighs.

Still, the stench of corpses only a few hours old was not as bad as it could have been if they had been a few days old. At least, there was that. He said silent prayers for every one of his soldiers, listing their names in his head and reciting their rites. Astroian tradition did not demand burial for its people, but prayers--prayers would have to be enough. Despite all his cynicism, Declan had never missed a ceremony. May the stars guide you home and may they comfort those you leave behind. May you reach that place of light, and be forever free of darkness. May no shadow plague you for the rest of your days.

They made camp when it grew dark, a few miles from the outskirts of Milona--or, what had once been Milona. Not an inn nor a structure was visible as far as the eye could see. Bedrolls and tents would have to suffice. By unspoken agreement, Nadia was placed in a tent by herself as a woman, while Declan and Nolan shared one and Mark and Luke took the other. They ate a hasty meal of the rations that they had in their packs. Nolan shot a squirrel, skewered it, and roasted it, offering some to the others. All of them refused--Nadia politely, Declan and Mark with expressions of extreme disgust and revulsion--except Luke, who claimed he wanted to grow three inches taller and would take as much sustenance as he could for that aspiration.

When the stars came out and the moon rose, shining through the thin canvas of their shared tent, Declan held a pillow over his ears and listened to his cousin snore. Unable to put up with the noise any longer, he abandoned the attempted muffling for a short-lived plan of suffocating him, before he got out of the tent to find... Nadia, holding his weapons belt, a saddlebag full of food, and climbing onto the steed, Coconut. The white-haired mare whinnied when she saw Declan, nuzzling his hand for apples.

"Where were you planning to go, priestess?" he asked, taking his belt from her surprised hands and strapping it on. As he took an item from one of its pockets, Declan waited for her answer. Home, maybe. But she didn't have one. Not anymore and perhaps not ever. "And what were you intending to do with my things?"

"Escape," she said, lifting her chin. The defiant action belied her soft tone and the pliant way she passed him the saddlebag and climbed down from Coconut, who was still tethered to the post. "Travel the stars-damned world. See the sights. I've been locked in a temple for eighteen years of my life, Declan. Perhaps you've seen plenty as a prince, but we haven't all been so fortunate."

"Astroia seems pretty damn far to me," Declan said as he took out the pair of shackles. "Give me your hands."

"Why do I need cuffs?" Nadia demanded, putting her hands behind her back simply out of defiance.

He half-expected her to stomp her foot or flip her hair over one shoulder, to be as dramatic as the girls back home, but she remained cool. Stoic. Not a hint was visible of the same girl who had raked her fingers down his neck and laughed at his pain. The destruction of one's home, livelihood, and friends would do that to a person, he supposed. Or she was simply even-tempered all the time and he had met her in a moment of weakness.

"You were going to run away," Declan said, his voice icy and hard. He gripped her by the shoulders and turned her around, her head hitting Coconut's milky flank. Declan yanked her wrists toward him, cuffing them together as she struggled. He put a knee to the small of her back. "Stop moving."

"I am not chattel," she said, her voice a whispered hiss to keep from waking the others. Even in the throes of passion, Nadia Sancta cared for decorum. She turned her head, revealing the green eyes that flashed with fury. The chains around her wrists jangled as she made to place her hands on her hips and huffed in frustration when she could not do so. "Nor am I a slave. I came with you willingly, and I shall leave willingly if I choose to do so."

"Do you know what you are? Do you know what this magic is? I spilled your blood--" he paused, keeping his voice low as he kept a firm hold of her clasped wrists. "I spilled your blood and a whole city was destroyed. I spilled your blood and we are bound now, you and me. You may not be property, but you are not some mere girl whom I can allow to run off. Not on my watch."

She did not meet his eyes; her gaze was lower than that. At first, he thought it was out of the same obstinate anger she had shown earlier, but then he realized she was looking at the scratches she had left on his neck. His grip on her wrists shifted, releasing them.

Almost absentmindedly, as if she knew not what she was doing, she traced a finger down the marks, as if recreating their formation. He could feel each inch of skin that touched hers as if newly made. Her chains clanked, arms shaking slightly with the weight of the manacles.

"The scratches--they are still golden."

"And your arms?" he asked levelly, feeling like a fool for baring his throat to a girl who had made no deception of her desire to be rid of him. But to turn away now would be to admit defeat to her. That would be a fate worse than death. "Let me see them."

She broke free of his grasp and shrugged off her outer garment, the movement clinical. He had seen whores repeat the same motion with practiced innocence and guile. Nadia's desexualization of the movement somehow made it more alluring. "The same."

Declan took a step back and stars above if he didn't feel that tug toward her, that pull yanking him into her as though she had some gravitational force. "We should go to sleep. It's late and you'll have a long ride ahead of you tomorrow. Nolan will be leading your horse."

Nadia pulled the cloak back over her shoulders with a clink of chains and turned away as if he had reminded her that, whatever this blood tie was between them, they were still enemies. "Good night then, Declan."