THE SILENCE OF the forest was a reprieve, and the cool kiss of nightfall a more than pleasant one against Clea's filthy skin and tired body. After they'd rappelled down the wall, they'd continued at a full sprint into the woodland. Her muscles were aflame with pain, and she sank down against an old tree as if it were her bed for the night.

Ryson was muttering aloud, removing his armor with a speed that would make one think the metal was afire. He discarded the pieces and jerked off his helmet. He was facing away from her, and in the dimming light, she strained to soothe her curiosity as to what he truly looked like.

Alert and attentive to his movements, she leaned to the left as his pacing nearly hid him behind another tree. She could see now that he wore heavy black boots, loose gray pants, and a collection of strange attire on his back and chest. One belt accommodated a single gray sleeve that cloaked his left arm. His right arm still bore the armor, and as he attempted to remove it, he faced her.

Something about his eyes gave life to the mask-like nature of his face. The color was unusual, the radiance eerie, but she found herself drawn to a depth she found in them. A deep and sudden fear pursued her feelings of fascination as she made the frightening connection that cien's most infamous mask was beauty. Veilin in Loda were taught to fear it, even to the extent of avoiding illustrious clothing and jewelry.

When Ryson attempted to remove the last bit of armor, the sun's rays grew dim enough for the forest to unveil its true face. He didn't seem to notice, but around them, the living trees wilted and died, and the grass melted into ashes. She glanced down as a stick shriveled and curled into a pale rib bone beneath her fingers. Withdrawing her hand, she lifted her head as the once green canopy evaporated into the sky and left the forest floor open to the red sunset that painted the woodland.

Now came the forest that she recognized, the one that had tried to kill her the night before.

A place of unnatural beauty during the day, its beauty served an ugly purpose. Its splendor drew humans in until nightfall when all of the beasts arose and fed. Every wonderful detail in the woodland was a lure designed by cien. The trees were dead; the air was thick with foul odors. The rivers were often poisonous. The entire world had been ravaged by centuries of warfare, but one could only see the truth when the sun set.

Her eyes returned to Ryson as he cursed under his breath. He was still working to remove the final piece of armor wrapped about his arm.

His silver eyes and dark form created an eerie picture when lit under the sunset. All of the Kalex she'd met were harmless, but would it be a mistake to trust this one? Clea struggled with feelings of uncertainty. She almost wondered if he would change as well as it grew darker. He bore the face of the forest. Perhaps he too, like the velvety leaves, the crystalline lakes and rivers, and the spellbinding songbirds, was a lure created from cien to draw humans forth and just as soon devour them whole.

Clea shunned the thoughts. Her ansra would have warned her if that were true.

Ryson strained his arm, opening and clenching his fist as he rolled his shoulder once. He lifted his eyes to her, and Clea turned, hoping he hadn't caught her staring.

"We've gone a decent distance, and you're too tired to keep moving," Ryson said. "Give me the bag."

Clea tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air and removed a smaller leather case from within. Clea flinched as he threw it to her. "Food and water. Eat and sleep. You will need the energy. Tomorrow morning, we will make our way deeper into the forest."

Clea rummaged through the case as Ryson reached within the larger bag again and removed his cloak.

"The medallion, Ryson, you never told me how you managed to get it, or how you knew to get it, for that matter," Clea said as she searched through their provisions.

Ryson wrapped himself in his cloak, kicking the bag back toward her before he dropped down beneath a tree. All of his movements seemed direct and aggressive. Clea supposed tolerating his sour attitude would be easier knowing that he simply seemed to be a sour person in general.

"I snuck into the castle when I found out you'd been captured. I stole this armor and gathered information from the soldiers. I heard that you stole a medallion, and a soldier I interrogated had black eyes. I connected the pieces and searched. The medallion had been left on the throne in the throne room."

Clea lowered a jar of water from her mouth, filled with an acute mixture of concern and confusion. "It was left there? Unprotected? That's impossible." As she watched him, she noticed how his eyes reacted to light. They dimmed when he leaned into the rays of the sunset and brightened in the darkness. In such mixed lighting, it gave his glances a flickering, almost fire-like characteristic.

"I wasn't sure that it was your medallion until you confirmed it," he replied in his characteristic monotone.

She took another sip of water as her other hand searched her bag for the food they'd bought. She said nothing for a while, wrestling with the ideas and the doubts. The confusion was only further irritated by her tired brain and the fresh grief of King Oden's death. He was in his later years, close to death by any standard. The city would adjust and so would she, but the experiences of the day still felt dreadful. At least everyone else was safe now. Whatever Ryson's intentions were, she owed him a debt for saving her.

She took a bite of a dried mixture of grains packed into the circular disk. She ate slowly, though every physical urge she had demanded differently. The circumstances bothered her, but she hardly knew what questions to ask or even if Ryson would know the answer. Something told her that tomorrow her brain might have the energy it needed to sort through the conflict.

"Thank you," was all she could manage for the time being. Her words hung in the silence, but she didn't expect Ryson to accept her thanks or reply. She'd already gotten the sense their relationship would be one sided, and at this point she didn't have the energy to care.

She drank and then returned the jar to her bag. After she'd finished eating, she packed her things neatly and nestled them between the roots of the tree behind her. She removed her hair from her braid and rebraided it meticulously. The practice was a soothing ritual, and felt necessary despite how eager she was to sleep. Somehow, this ritualistic braid at the end of her day was the only consistency in her life, and tonight would be the safest night of their journey. As they ventured into the colder climates, the dangers would intensify with the setting of the sun. Free as she was tonight, new trials would begin tomorrow.

"Since we will be traveling with it, I feel it would be in our best interest for you to tell me what you do know about the medallion," Ryson said, just as she finished tying her new braid.

Clea smoothed out her clothes and began clearing the area around her from twigs and leaves. "I know very little. My mother and I came to Virday following rumors of its existence."

"Your mother came with you?" He issued the question with practiced analysis, like she were filling out a form. She made him wait for an answer, resenting his cold questioning in the wake of her exhaustion.

"She's the reason I'm here," Clea replied. "Our convoy was attacked by a hoard of reaping shades on the way here a year ago. She sacrificed herself so that I could live."

Ryson didn't say anything for a moment. She half expected some sign of humanity.

"So, where did the medallion come from?" he asked.

His response grated at her. She adjusted her bag between the tree roots before lying down and resting her head on it. Ryson would be guarding her, and they were still on the outskirts of the forest where beasts were more scarce. She wanted to take advantage of the little rest she could get while she had the chance. She closed her eyes and recounted what she knew.

"Legend has it that the medallion is a prison for a large amount of cien that once threatened to destroy the world. The cien in the forest is plentiful, but it isn't concentrated." She took a moment to yawn, reciting a well-known description that took little effort to recall. "Its power is limited by its vast dispersion, and so it can do little more than try and draw humans into the forest. When the sun sets, the cien escapes from the trees but remains dispersed in the air. When it gets attached to a host and begins to collect, it becomes much more dangerous."

"That I understand," he replied and she heard that nagging impatience in his voice again. He always sounded impatient if he had to say more than a few words, impatient with the process of speaking itself. "But how and why was this much darkness sealed? You know nothing about its origins?"

"The one who sealed the cien must have been strong and undoubtedly died in the process. Veilin can be capable of so much power in moments of crisis, but in those times, we can channel more energy than our body is capable of surviving. It's the ultimate sacrifice and the most honorable act that we're capable of." Clea yawned again. It felt so good to see only darkness. She forgot Ryson's question but kept talking anyway. "This medallion, the Deadlock Medallion, is unique," she mumbled.

And probably the most powerful cien object ever created. Her thought echoed her mother's warnings, but she didn't say them out loud.

Ryson didn't ask any follow-up questions, and grateful for the silence, she let herself drift off to sleep.