The journey was agonizingly long. Tall-wheeled wagons like these were good across lots of kinds of terrain, but they did not move swiftly. And the clapped-together nature of my cage meant that there was no springs, no leaf, just leather suspension and a turned axle. But on the other hand, it never fucking ended: we rode through the night and the day both. At any time about a third of the knights were asleep in their saddles, reins hooked over the gunwale of a cart or the saddle horn of the next horse in line.

  At every town or waypoint a rider would gallop off ahead to make sure the relay animals were ready. Knights would dismount one horse and climb onto the next, bringing only their saddlebags with them, trading out a horse that had been walking for twelve hours to exchange for a fresh and rested horse. The wagons were treated similarly, but they would tie in a third horse, or later ox, and release one tired animal, and yoke another fresh animal in its place, then trade out the other tired animal for another fresh one, and then hand off the third animal to the next cart in line.

  It was a complicated procedure, but the Royal Cavalry Guard certainly had expertise with this matter, and made it look surprisingly easy. Also, the two-dozen guards surrounding me was only the smallest part of this force, I found out later. There was a wave of lancers, dragoons and skirmishers sweeping out ahead to clear every bandit, renegade, bear, and fallen tree out of our way. Picket riders were out as far as a mile in every direction to make sure no surprises caught up with us from any angle. And an army of logisticians were making sure there were saddled and ready horses for everyone two times a day, and collected them up afterwards.

  We never even saw a haywagon or market-caravan, the whole way. Nothing entered their perimeter, I saw nothing for two weeks but landscape and knights.

  At least I had a floor and a mattress. After five days, I saw each knight in turn take off their chainmail, strip out of the padded under-layers, throw the foul and stained padding to the side, strap on new padding, and put their chainmail back on over it. I was handed a fresh smock every two days. Compared to my escort, I was riding in comfort and style, but none of them ever complained even once.

  I will say this for the royal house: they have extremely skilled and loyal retainers.

  Every day it hurt more that Nathan was away. I started seeing him in the corners of my eyes, like I was jumping at ghosts. My mind was so accustomed to seeing him everywhere, every day, that missing him felt like a limb had gone to sleep. I cried a lot. Sir Chomas brought me handkerchiefs and a filled water jug.

  Everyone did what they could to make it easier. After a couple of days, we were all in this together. Someone handed me some felted fabric to slide under my iron collar so it would not chafe. I offered to hold onto the saddlebags as the knights scrambled from one mount to the next. Sir Chomas vetoed that, but he did let them hang water bottles off the bars of my jail. When the rain started, I was the only one who had a roof, so Chomas let me take the bag with everyone's mail, as long as I did not open it and kept it dry.

  When the storms cleared away and the light came back, we were up in the hill country. I stared around, taking it all in. I'd never been in this part of Meadowtam, but I was eager to see whatever I could. After four days of wheat and two days of rain, having hills was novel. The wagons avoided high ground, ambling between the hills where they could, but gradually we were mounting higher and higher, and I did get an elevated view. For ten minutes I watched a sunset turn from tangerine to nectarine, and then sink over the flat horizon far distant.

  Periodically, I rolled with my face buried in my bedding and my hands so nobody could see what I was doing, and I would slip off my ring. It was still set to watch the front door of the manor, and now all it showed was cold ashes, and the occasional work crew raking it for anything salvageable. I was glad that I had this, I could see the ruins of my second childhood home and I could grieve the memories that had burned there.

  But it was not without points of interest. I was depowered and had no access to my mana and sorcery. Remarkably, that did not mean that I was "normal" now.

  It would start when I feel asleep. At first I was very cautious, because my wispy diaphanous Essence always felt like it could be torn away from me. When winds were high it would try to blow with them, and I had to strongly anchor it in the wagon and my flesh. But in calmer climes? I could let it drift a little.

  The bars of the cage did not hold it back. My soul, my Essence could sift out between the crossbars and if I relaxed too much it would do so far too eagerly. The wagon was made of dried pine wood, unlike every part of Harigold Manor. I grew an affinity for pine, and embraced that essence to 100%. Nobody else could see my drifting, cloudlike soul, but I could see them. And hear them too, people spoke more freely around the girl whose chest rose and fell in sleep's rhythm.

  "- just too damn convenient that we were right there. I think someone set her up. Maybe set all of them up."

  "Easy man, she could be the most innocent lamb ever, with evidence in hand that she was framed, and if our orders are to fetch her back, we fetch her back."

  "If they wanted unquestioning obedience, they should have sent constructs. We're here because human judgement is essential - "

  I'm not the only one who thinks that a detachment of royal knights with a mage-cage, parked just around the corner from my house when it gets torched was just too much of a coincidence. I'd feel more vindicated if I didn't already know who set me up and how. Or if I would possibly mention their name in my own defense.

  When I let my Untethered Essence leave the bars, trailing a tendril out of the slow-moving wagon, I could feel the touch again.

  [ MP: 2/2 ]

  I had access to my sorcery again. Just a little bit. My independent soul did not have nearly the strength and staying power of a body and soul joined. If I wanted, I could start casting again. Maybe I could free myself, even.

  But I vetoed that plan early. For one thing, I am very well-guarded and I'm pretty sure these folks have a lot of tricks I'm not aware of. Right now I'm under watch all the time, and I have to assume that down the line, there's going to be an occasion where I'm not actively guarded by three sorcerers. Also: this is a trick I can probably only use once. If anyone finds out that I can cast in my sleep, and can cast from outside the bars, they're gonna be ready for that next time. And there'll be a next time: If I bust outta this, I'm gonna be five-stars-wanted. Shoot-to-kill orders. I can't hide out forever. Probably not more than a few weeks. So, when I do launch my daring jailbreak, I'd damn well better get it right the first time. And it's not time for that yet. Not 'til Autumnhigh.

  There was one other thing I did with my sleeping hours. Rather than casting spells, I practiced my maneuvering. I started running laps: climb into the body, climb out of the body. Over and over. And also, in between, I practiced operating my body while only partly attached. Moving both arms at once, for example. Using my voice a little bit more. It's slow going, but it's something to do. Being imprisoned would be super boring if I didn't have these little hobbies. I crave any distraction I can get.

  After all, this is movement and a view. I'm currently arrested for some pretty serious stuff, and if it doesn't go well I could be imprisoned for a while. Some mildewy medieval dungeon, manacles on the wall with a skeleton in them. And yes, I'd killed a lot of people that were known criminals and bad guys. But, killing bad guys and getting off with a slap on the wrist is something that happens to heroes. I don't have protagonist privileges here, that's my brother.

  I'm probably going to have real consequences. I tried not to let that thought fill too much of my time. Most days, Sir Chomas walked alongside my stockade-on-wheels. He would talk with me, so casually. For something to do, I'd speak back.

  "You are remarkably composed about this."

  "I could yell for a while if you'd rather."

  "Most people at least claim to be innocent."

  "Would it help?"

  "Don't you think you're innocent?"

  "You haven't told me what I'm charged with."

  "That doesn't usually stop people from telling me they didn't do it."

  "For all I know the things I did do are my alibi for something even worse that I didn't do. Denying everything before I've got details could be a mistake."

  "I know I said you were unsophisticated, but that is a unique sort of mind you have there, Lady Natalie."

  "So what happens when we get to Hearstcliff?"

  "My people will hand you off to the officers of the High Court of the Council, and that's the end of my involvement. Most likely we never see each other again after that."

  "Oh? You wouldn't attend my hanging?"

  "You expect to be hanged?"

  "Could I be forgiven a morbid imagination?"

  "I suppose you could. But no, I would not attend. I never have."

  "Ouch."

  "If it's consolation, Lady Natalie, nobles of high birth are rarely executed. And minors of twelve years, even more rarely. I think you've good odds of being sentenced to imprisonment and restitution."

  "Is that code for 'the crown seizes however much of my father's lands it wants?' Or does that mean something else here."

  "I would not have any way to know the answer, Lady Natalie."

  "You are surely free to speculate."

  "I am, should I wish to."

  "When you hand me off to the High Court of the Council, will they tell me what I stand accused of?"

  "From my experience, Lady Natalie, you'll likely only hear formal charges at the arraignment. They'll be gathering evidence right up to the last minute."

  "On a scale of one-to-ten, with a 'one' being 'acceptable', and 'ten' being 'ludicrous', how corrupt is the High Court of the Council?"

  "I would not have any way to know the answer to that, Lady Natalie." This time, his voice was extremely strained. He was normally good at maintaining his neutral expression, either this was a terrible sore spot, or he did not mind me knowing that it was a question to press.

  "Say, Sir Chomas, on a completely unrelated note that has no bearing on our discussion, what's your favorite number from one to ten?"

  "I should think a seven, Lady Natalie."

  "Ouch.I think I'd prefer that your favorite number was a one, Sir Chomas."

  He walked quietly for a long minute. When he answered, he did not look my way.

  "No, Lady Natalie, I don't believe you would."

  So that was fucking cryptic.

  We approached the city of Hearstcliff from the lee side, so we had a good look at it from a long way off. The ground here was tumbled and torn, rocks the size of minivans lay scattered like toys, and boulders the size of houses forced the road to curve this way and that. The wagons had to slow down even more to compensate for the slanted surfaces.

  Across the far horizon a wall of stone carried as far as the eye could see, from west to east. Miles of granite stood hundreds of feet high, striated and irregular. And more-or-less in front of us: the city. Built both onto and right into the wall of rock, the structures and domes of the capitol city stood triumphantly atop the edge of the bluff, and others were fitted into a gargantuan cavern that disappeared far into the stone. The further back one traveled, the more fanciful and fantastical the construction became, like none other in the whole kingdom.

  Hearstcliff had become the capitol long ago in a history where the people were often under attack or under siege, and the ability to repel danger was paramount. It was almost destroyed during the Fissuring, when an earthquake thrust half of the continent upwards and the other half downwards, creating a sea-to-sea divide that was only occasionally broken up by long ramps that were carved into the high side or built up on the low side. Of those, the passage through Hearstcliff was the biggest passage from north to south in all the kingdom. Perched right at the edge of the Fissure Cliff, the tunnels here were a highway that fed half the continent. And the city attracted money, and the city had grown. And its growth attracted ever more commerce, which was stacked out in huge lines of waiting wagons that we all stared at.

  "The main road?" I asked Sir Chomas.

  "No, m'lady. The Shimmer Road."

  "Fancy," I chuckled, and sat back. I had read of it, and heard of it, and now I would get to not quite see it.

  The cave mouth that gave access to Hearstcliff was thousands of feet across, and constructed as a series of gates and booths, so that all traffic in and out could be assessed, monitored, and regulated. And those same booths were the foundation of a rapidly-deployed wall if the city came under attack again. Caravans streamed in and out constantly, and despite there being over a hundred checkpoints all operating in parallel, there were lines backed up to enter and to leave. Only a handful of routes were not clogged with traffic, the reserved roads.

  Of those, the Shimmer Road is one of the most intriguing. Impossible to find without a trained guide, and so was anyone walking it.

  The wagons of our train started down the last slope towards the city. The plain here was scoured free of vegetation, every inch of it had been trampled by wheels and hooves and boots so many times that nothing could possibly grow. As we got closer, and lower, I could see more of the cavern roof above the city, and I whistled in admiration.

  It was as glorious as everyone said. A geode miles across, crystals embedded in the ceiling. Lights danced over and through them, thousands of colors in millions of combinations. A starfield of amazing proportions, Forget the tapers and candles of Meadowtam, this was the big city and it was ready to let you know it! The buildings were towering, richly colored, expertly contoured. Vast spans of footbridge led from one side to the other, held by sculpted pillars with spiral staircases swirling their way up and down. A network of aqueducts emerged from one side and branched out like a spider's web suspended in the air. For being underground, it was a very vertical kind of city.

  "You're early," said a voice from right next to us. And with a flicker like a heat-mirage, a robed mage was standing right beside Sir Chomas.

  To his credit he did not flinch or yelp or anything. That's okay, I made up for it and I did his share for him.

  "We made better time through the Niap Trail," the knight said. "Weather was unseasonably mild."

  "You had help," the mage said, barely looking his way. "The wizards had instructions to smooth your way. Is this her?" she peered at me like I was a bug.

  "Hello," I said.

  Sir Chomas stared at her like she was stupid. "Do you think I'd bring someone else in the neutral-fetters as a decoy against rescuers or something? Of course the girl in the cage is the prisoner."

  "Hmm," she said, ignoring his tone entirely. "Hello girl. Rumor has it you can blow up half a city but you can't best a first-tier magister."

  "I have a problem with moderation, everything is too much or too little," I said casually.

  "Hmm," she said, ignoring my tone this time. "Well, have your people follow closely. Don't wander off. Follow what you can see, nothing else."

  And then most of the world went away. I could not see anything but the sour-mouthed mage and the dozen or so knights nearest to us. Then the wagon with the sorcerers came into view, pulling up from behind to close in and tighten up the caravan. We could only see a certain distance, and beyond that nothing. Presumably, anyone outside our draw distance could not see us, either.

  The Shimmer Road.

  The mage led the way, and the driver of my wagon followed. Sir Chomas stayed right at my side, his job was not done until I was officially handed over.

  "So I bet you're headed straight to a hot bath after this," I said to make conversation.

  "And fall asleep in it," he said. "I'm sorry that your accommodations may be less luxurious than mine, from here on out."

  I laughed. "I've been raised in the home of a duke. My barometer for luxury might not be the one to trust."

  He was looking at me strangely again. "And there it is again. You're lying, but not about what I might expect you to lie about. Listen, I'm not going to have much more of a chance. My order, the Royal Cavalry Guard, we're not paladins, we're a very secular order. But- what are you? What did you see?"

  I reached out and patted his arm.

  He almost glared at me, angry about something. "You say your prayers every Sevenday at dawn. Your whole family has the highest character references. You're polite and courteous, and humble. It's infuriating! You don't even swear! Not really. Sometimes you'll drop a "by the gods", but it doesn't feel genuine, it feels like a faked affectation, like you're just trying to fit in. And apparently you can see the future, or a part of it. You know things that should be unknowable. And you're way, way too comfortable with self-sacrifice and the possibility of death!"

  "Damn," I said. "Sorry, didn't realize this was bothering you so much."

  "Look, just... are you a prophet?"

  I blew out a harsh breath, letting it whistle through my teeth. "Or something like that?" I tried. Oracle, prophet, soothsayer?

  He threw up a hand in frustration, and turned half away. "I knew it. I'm bringing a gods-marked prophet in to stand trial. There's going to be books written about my sacrilege!"

  "Whoa whoa whoa, no," I said, shaking my head. "I promise, it's...it's not like that. If it helps you any, when I'm on a roll I can cuss real good. These last three weeks I've been annoyed, frustrated, lonely, and bitter. Even resentful. But not angry. Whatever image of me you've got built up in your mind, you're way off! I'm spiteful and shallow and scared and selfish, just like everyone else!"

  Look, I'm not saintly. Not by a long shot. What I am is pragmatic. If you're in custody, and your guards are treating you okay? You mind your manners around them! That's just common sense, right? What anyone would do? These cavalry guards have made my trip a lot smoother than it could've been. Maybe because I'm highborn, maybe because I've got a winning smile, whatever. But my future rested on not rocking the boat. But now I find out that this guy's having a crisis of conscience and I feel responsible for it!

  "I promise, I'm not what you think I am," I repeated. "I'm just out here doing my best."

  "Do you have a vision of the future given to you by the gods?" he asked me directly.

  Shit.

  "Not... all of them," I tried. "Just one?"

  "You've seen the face of a god."

  "Goddess."

  "With your own eyes."

  "No, there's no eyes where we were."

  He gaped at me. "Why tell me now?"

  "Because you didn't fucking ask before!" I blurted. "Dammit man, you've spent weeks reminding me how bad I am at lying!"

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  We walked in silence. "Sir Chaun Vill Maspers." I took a second to realize that he was telling me his real name.

  I put my hand through the bars. "Charmed," I said, and smiled as he took my hand. "And for the record, I'm not holy. I steal cookies between meals and talk back to my teachers. I'm just under a lot of pressure, that's all."

  The spell wore off, and we could see again. And we had stopped in the middle of a stone-walled loading dock. The woman that guided us in was waving in a few more mage-types. The most important-looking of those walked up to my cell. "Hello, Lady Natalie. I'm Inquisitor Pina, grand magister on loan to the High Court of the Council. We'll get you settled in, rested up, and then we're going to debrief a little bit and discuss your options for the future."

  "Hello Inquisitor," I said, pulling to my feet so I could curtsy awkwardly. "I've already told Sir Chomas here everything, so you can just debrief with him and leave me out of it. Could you tell me when the arraignment is to be?"

  "The arraignment procedures will be ordered to start processing once we've gotten all the relevant information," the inquisitor said. "We can't start the trial until we know what happened, can we?"

  "You absolutely can," I pointed out. But Hearstwhile does not have any paperwork guaranteeing the people the right to a fair and speedy trial. Where I came from, that was more lip service than a real rule, but at least there was lip service! Here, they had a lot more leeway, and they were going to use it, I could tell. In fact, from what the inquisitor was telling me, they wouldn't bother starting a trial until they were sure they could convict me.

  But if I was trying to make someone lose hope and confess everything immediately, that's what I'd tell them.

  There were at least five mages in the room, all watching me like a hawk. One waved a staff, and the cage flew apart: all four walls and the ceiling came apart from each other and hovered in the air around me. One of them handed me some clean fresh robes that were covered in scrivener's script. They all sighed and relaxed a little when I put it on. Another layer of security.

  "Come this way," one demanded, leading.

  "Er, at a slower pace?" I tried. "Sorry, I've not walked at all in two weeks. Takes a while to get the legs working again."

  I was led from this chamber, and I paused at the exit. I turned, and waved to Sir Chaun Vill Maspers. He did not wave back. He looked sad.