She scares the duke badly enough that he bangs his head against the side of the coach. He lets out a pained curse but doesn’t direct any towards her.

Aira. Her name is Aira, she reminds herself.

She heaves heavy breaths, trying not to cry. Eventually, she calms herself enough to drift in and out of sleep, but the unstable rest leaves her feeling like she hasn’t slept at all.

Once the ice rain stops, the temperature grows much warmer. When the candle in the lantern needs replacing, Duke Wulf goes ahead and pulls out food and canteens from a sack in the hold of the carriage.

Morning never comes, and no matter how long she waits, the sky remains dark. She knows something is up when the duke goes out to create a latrine.

“Where did the sun go?” she asks with an edge of hysteria. The moon hasn’t shifted from its position overhead, not even a little bit.

“Demons are more powerful at night. They tend to gather around ones that can create false nights.” He takes one look at her confused face and explains, “False nights are a second sky that hides the real one.”

“Can’t we just leave? Get out from under this fake sky?” And maybe head back to the church, she doesn’t say.

“The more powerful the demon, the larger the false night,” the duke rubs his chin in thought. “I suspect it lasts all the way to Helmbeck.”

In other words, the sun is covered by a blanket of magic where it will remain night forever unless they kill the powerful demon causing it. She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. Life hates her.

Knowing she can’t take any chances, she makes the duke come outside and watch over her while she digs through her luggage to find a comb and a scented candle. Her hair is tangled and covered in dirt, and the coach smells like sweat and mildew.

“Shouldn’t the carriage be here by now? Do you think the demons got to it?” she wonders as she replaces the candle in the lantern with a smaller one. The candle’s honeysuckle scent makes her long for her nightly hot baths at the cathedral.

“I would have said ‘not likely’ until this moment,” the duke sighs. “Not many demons can destroy a palace carriage.” He knocks on the metal side of the coach pointedly.

She does her best to pick out the twigs, dirt, and grass from her hair. The action is soothing, keeping her calm even as she points out the elephant in the room, “Our supplies are limited. We can’t stay here forever.”

The palace may have given them plenty of rations, but it was with the assumption they’d eventually make it to the next town. Even if the duke is a good hunter, he’s burned the immediate area to a crisp, and last she checked, there isn’t a source of water in eyesight.

“If we follow the road we can head back to the palace,” she offers as a plan

“Can you walk that far?” The duke raises an eyebrow.

She grimaces. Truthfully, she’s not sure she can walk even for one minute let alone the days it’d take. Her enchanted shoes can only carry her so far when it’s her body that wants to give out.

“We have enough supplies to wait a little longer. Once we have gone through half, I will carry you to the palace on my back,” the duke says kindly. “It should not be difficult to carry a piglet,” he smirks, destroying any goodwill she may have felt towards him.

“You are—” she goes to say, ‘an ass,’ but her necklace cuts off her air. She chokes and attempts to find the clasp, but the necklace remains flush to her throat.

Upon realizing the situation, the duke surges forward and attempts to rip the necklace off. His gauntlets can’t grab hold of the slippery diamonds and soon finds out magic can’t touch it either.

Dark spots fill her vision, and her head grows light. The necklace expands before she can pass out, and she takes big gasps to fill her lungs.

“What was that?” the duke demands, all traces of levity gone. Whisps of flames snap between his fingers, and she’s too busy worrying about breathing to be scared by the anger in his eyes.

“Gift from the church,” she rasps, touching the necklace carefully. Her fingers dance along it, but she can’t find a clasp of any kind. “Presumably enchanted to keep me from swearing.”

The blessing attached to the necklace is an easy assumption to make; she’s seen what the nuns do to those they catch uttering foul language. She’s been careful not to say anything to set the enchantment off, but she never thought it would try to kill her over a single word.

She’s going to see the church burn if it’s the last thing she does.

“Any more nasty surprises I need to be aware of?” the duke’s scowls, eyes glowing in the lantern light.

“Well, my headband is currently trying to pop my head like a grape, but it’s saved my life, so I’ll give it a pass,” she says wearily.

The more her enchanted headband tries to stop her from having thoughts of murder, the more thoughts of murder she has. She’s already tried to take it off, but like the necklace, it stays glued into place.

Washing her hair will be a struggle; she can feel it.

“Goddess, bless the child who praises your name. Goddess, bless the child who sings free of reframe,” she sings quietly to herself as she starts to comb her hair. The headband gradually relaxes as her thoughts clear.

She’s getting good at meditation if nothing else.