Written in 60 minutes.

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They made good progress that first day — Elizabeth was a far more skilled rider than Jason had expected, though by now he had few expectations left of the woman he’d been sent to fetch. She must hold some value, he reasoned, to wed the scion of a powerful family, and given the timing of the wedding, perhaps she had some role to play in the growing succession turmoil.

Though this reasoning made sense, it did little to quell Jason’s rising unease as the questions that had been lingering since he’d been given the task had only increased. And, he had to admit, he had Mary Mae’s warnings in his mind. She’d never trusted the Cassadines, Valentin least of all.

Elizabeth Barrett was a curious woman with her skill in not only riding, but handling of her mare. Even as the sun traveled across the sky, slipping behind clouds sending the temperatures plunging, she did not ask to stop or to locate the nearest inn and hearth. She merely tugged the ends of her velvet-lined cloak more tightly around her, the hood obscuring the profile of her face save for the occasional glimpses of the tip of her nose.

Jason had never been one for conversation, but even the quiet was unnerving. No idle chatter, no rambling, no questions, not even a question of where they were going and how long it would take to arrive.

It was as if he traveled with a ghost.

“An hour north of us,” Jason said, speaking for the first time since their departure, his voice rusty. “We’ll stop for the night. There’s a village with an inn. There won’t be another until long after dark. Will that suit for you?”

“Whatever you find necessary,” came the answer in a disinterested tone. Was he escorting her to a wedding or a funeral? One wouldn’t be able to guess, but it was none of Jason’s concern and he’d long promised himself to stay out of other people’s business.

Before long, they reached Ebonhollow, and the front yard of the Black Dragon. Jason turned to assist Elizabeth’s dismount only to see her already on the ground, a valise pulled from the saddlebag in her hand. She handed her reins to a stable boy, then looked at him expectantly.

He exhaled a long careful breath, then handed over his own reins. “Let’s go inside. I arranged for rooms in advance.”

She said nothing, but trailed after him. Their rooms were ready, arranged across from one another in the hall. The innkeeper had no sooner opened her room than Elizabeth had gone inside and closed it behind her, forestalling any conversation.

Jason stared at the wooden door for a long moment. Ignoring that growing concern that something was not right was becoming more and more difficult, but a quiet woman who kept to herself was not committing any crimes.

Jason went into his own room, looking forward to washing off the dust of the road and a hot supper.

—

Across the hall, Elizabeth let out her own sigh of relief, setting her bag on the small table. There was a pitcher of water with a bowl and a dry cloth. She eagerly went to wash her face and hands, unloosening the laces of her bodice slightly so that she could get the dust that had kicked up.

She rinsed the cloth, then left it to dry, returning to her valise. Inside, she plucked out her map of Tyrathenia, eager to locate this village on it and determine how best to proceed. “Ebonhollow,” she murmured, tracing its route from Shadwell. The corners of her mouth dipped down. They’d traveled inland, away from the ports.

She’d hoped they’d hug the coast since Port Tonderah was, of course, on the water, and the eastern portion of the island but he’d taken them towards the center. Surely he had his reasons, but how did Elizabeth convince him to go the other way?

They’d have to come back out to the coast at some point, she thought, but when? Could she take the chance of waiting? The closer they came to Tonderah, the more dense the population. The more chance that Valentin had spies waiting and watching.

She went to the window overlooking the stableyard, making an even more upsetting discovery — the stables were not close to the inn, but more than fifty feet away. Traversing that in the dark, with nothing to light her way—it would be difficult, if not possible to find her way.

With frustration, Elizabeth folded the map, set it back in her bag. She should have run a long time ago. Should never have hoped that every passing year had meant Valentin had forgotten her. Had found an easier path to the power he wanted.

Just as thought bloomed, a spiral of shame came after, just as it always did when she thought of escape. She was the last of her family, the last of her kind. And if she did run, as she planned, then there would be no one left to demand justice.

There would be no vengeance.

She retrieved the box of daggers, opened it, and drew one out, sliding her fingers over the smooth side of the blade. Every woman in her line had been given a set of these. She’d been the youngest, and now they were all gone, sacrificed in the name of power. Her line on both sides had been all but extinguished as two men had vied for control of a hunk of land.

But would the mother she’d never known wish Elizabeth to sacrifice herself? Would the family she had known want this future for her?

She could escape to one of the port cities, board a ship, and go far away where Rhigwyn and maybe even Tyrathenia was nothing but dots on a map. She could have children, maybe tell them the story of her family.

There could be a daughter to give these daggers to. Was that not also honoring the traditions? After eight years of solitude and isolation, Elizabeth finally had a choice before her.

Which would she make?

—

Elizabeth requested dinner sent to her room, so Jason ate on his own in the common room. He should be grateful to have been asked to escort a woman who made nearly no demands on his energy or time, but their first conversation continued to linger in his mind. The dread in her eyes, the sigh she’d made when admitting her identity.

The name she carried. Barrett. It was significant, though he couldn’t place it, and made a note to apologize to Mary Mae for not paying more attention during her lessons.

The storm Jason had feared had gone towards the coast, and they’d avoided it by turning in land. It would add a few hours to their trip to travel back west, but they’d have lost days even weeks if they’d run into the snow and ice.

Still, the sky was a weary overcast with no hint of the sun. The only difference between night and day had been the shades of gray in the clouds. Elizabeth was ready before he was, standing expectantly in the common room, her valise in her hands, her cloak already donned.

“We’ll stop at Elemvale tonight,” he told her while he paid their bill and gestured for her to head towards the entrance. “It’s eight hours of riding. Will that be a problem?”

“No,” she answered, her eyes still not quite looking at him. Looking past him, he realized, and maybe that the source of some of his discomfort. She’d been polite, of course, but she hadn’t really acknowledged him. Hadn’t seen him.

She said nothing else, and Jason had nothing else to offer, so off they went, making their turn back to the coast, and another long day of quiet, unsettling travel.

—

Elemvale. She’d noted it on her map as a possible escape route the night before, a sign that she should seize a chance to have a future. He was taking them back towards the coast, and Elemvale was a sizeable town, much larger than Shadwell or Ebonhollow.

That evening, when Elizabeth saw that stables actually adjoined the inn, she could have wept with joy. She’d have her chance now — able to flee into the night, taking her mare and disappearing. With any luck, she’d be at the coast in the morning, and on the water by the next nightfall.

She requested dinner in her room again, and was relieved when her guard agreed without complaint. Now that her course was set, Elizabeth turned some of her attention to the man who had disrupted her quiet life. He’d accepted her lack of conversation or interest in his person without a protest which was a relief. She’d had all manner of guards before her exile eight years ago, and she never trusted the friendly ones.

But he couldn’t be much older than her, Elizabeth though. Maybe half a dozen years? And he was clean, another improvement over many of her previous guards. His hair fell over his eyes, down to the collar of his shirt, but it, too, was clean and well kept. He bathed, a rarity in the men she’d dealt with.

And he was kind, she thought grudgingly. He’d turned more than once to help her mount or dismount, but never made a sound when his efforts were unneeded or unnoticed. He’d arranged for her to have her own room both nights, not insisting on sleeping on her floor or staring at her while she ate.

In truth, she felt the pull of worry for the man. What would happen to him when Valentin learned she’d fled? Would Jason, as he’d called himself, be held to task for not guarding her more closely?

But just as quickly, that worry hardened. He’d chosen to work for Valentin Cassadine, Elizabeth decided. And whatever punishment came his way was a just one for choosing the side of evil.

She listened at the door once more. The inn was quiet, and she’d heard Jason go into his room across the hall more than an hour ago. Surely by now, he’d gone to sleep.

Elizabeth removed the daggers from her bag, strapped them both into the special pockets of her cloak, then headed to the door, valise in hand.

It was time.

—

Jason had been a light sleeper all his life, and so when the door across the hall creaked open, his eyes had opened. He sat up in the bed, then listened again, very carefully. Was Elizabeth simply restless? Was she intending to go down to the common room? Maybe she’d heard something he hadn’t.

He waited — there wasn’t a sound again for some time. Then, there was the lightest of footsteps, the toe of a boot hitting the wooden floor. Then another. A door easing closed. Footsteps moving towards the stairs.

Jason quietly got out of bed, dressed, and threw on his cloak. He picked up his sword, and then with his boots in his hand not on his feet, he headed for the door.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and saw nothing. So he took another moment, listened. Heard the creak of the door to the stable yard. When it was closed, he followed again.

In the stable yard, outside the inn, he grimaced — the doors to the stable were closed and locked tight, a fact that the figure standing at the entrance had only just learned. He watched Elizabeth shake it slightly, then sigh. The sound didn’t travel across the stable yard, but the quick rise and fall of her shoulders suggested the disappointment.

Jason started to step back, sure that now she realized she could not retrieve her horse and leave she’d return to the inn and he didn’t want to be seen.

But instead, Elizabeth crept towards the trees, towards the main road. And cursing himself, Jason hurriedly stepped into his boots and followed. Then she ducked into a copse of trees alongside the road, and he lost sight of her.

When he came into a small clearing, he grimaced, looking around, wondering how he’d explain to Valentin that a woman who stood no higher than his chin and could have lifted with one hand had managed to elude him.

The only warning he had for what came next was the cracking of branches behind him. Jason swirled, and just barely managed to draw his sword to block the dagger aimed at his neck.

Elizabeth hissed in disappointment, and then with another flick of her hand, from what looked like the air, she drew a second dagger.

And attacked.

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