Madrigal rose at first light, as if he hadn't slept at all, despite the protests of an aching body.

Not for the first time, he considered turning around. He didn't need Nim's family ring, or to waste time babysitting a teenage girl. He could strike out alone for Land's End; find the town that was said to be on the northeastern shores. He didn't have anything to barter, but if the women were anything like Gillele, he wouldn't need much to make a fresh start. At two and twenty years, and hardly difficult on the eyes, he'd be welcomed in an instant.

At home, Madrigal had never once used his status to gain anything he hadn't worked for. Never led a woman on to reap the benefits of his sex. Never flirted with a girl he wasn't interested in. When you had choices, you could afford to take your time. Even when others judged his choices, Madrigal never backed down, even for a second. He was in control of his destiny, after all. Not some unseen entity picking and choosing who might receiving Her benevolence, or the Laudonian Elders who continued to fight over a war everyone had long forgotten who started, and especially not the women who thought they could control him.

Every single one of them was the same. He rinsed his mouth with a flask of water and spat it in the grass, pushing away recollections that still filled him with anger and distaste. They were superficial, willing to wear any face, say any word that might raise their status a fraction above their neighbour's. And more than willing to stab that neighbour in the back if it meant a life partner, even if that neighbour happened to be their aunt, their sister, or their friend.

Elsinoor had been different. Madrigal knew it had to be because of Maere, but the knowledge of how things were elsewhere only made it worse. The Laudonian people had never chosen to forsake the Goddess, yet She'd set them all adrift. And now, few would even hear talk of things such as Pathfinding or magic.

He, too, had believed they were better off without the hand of some unseen power telling them how to live. They'd all grown up thinking the blind devotion of their Kesmettan neighbours was folly. If Maere was truly all-powerful, why couldn't She solve the biggest problem faced in those towns she so loved? Why couldn't She equalize things so that there was only one man born for each woman?

The priestesses only maintained their stance. Maere's power was life-giving, they said, even from the moment life was so small it couldn't even be seen. Her generosity also provided sustenance for their crops, cultivating them even through the worst weather. Her power bloomed across the planet, giving strength to the trees and the organisms too small for Human eyes to see. They said She breathed life into every living being, guiding them into a harmonious existence with each other. Without Maere's blessing, the priestesses admonished, we all might be like Laudonia. Frozen out, depending on charity and hunting animals to survive. Fighting over which woman would win a man's attention. No future, for those who couldn't find—or keep—a partner.

A terrible existence indeed. Madrigal couldn't keep a scowl of disgust from his face. The people of Kesmet thought they were so much better, but they could lose Maere's favour as suddenly as Laudonia had. One day, everything would be perfect up there on their pedestals, and then the next, some girl would turn sixteen without a Path, and then they'd feel it. A creeping dread that they weren't untouchable after all.

Madrigal looked forward to that day.

He pulled on his boots and tunic and smothered the fire. Too late, he wondered if Jian would protest leaving their camp without so much as a cup of tea. She would have to get used to it, he decided, sooner rather than later. Tomorrow, she wouldn't have snug little cave to sleep in, either.

He supposed he would be heading south after all.

"Wake up, Princess," Madrigal called, marching into the stone dwelling. "It's time to go."

The walls and ceiling were faintly lit by the growing dawn, as was Jian, standing midway in the depths. She clutched a brush in her hand, using it to apply something to the walls with neat, precise strokes. The unexpected sight brought Madrigal's heart to his throat. "Stars!"

"I'm sorry. Did I startle you?" Jian didn't even turn her head. Her attention remained wholly on her task.

Madrigal decided not to dignify that with a response. "You don't look like you're ready to set out. The sun is up."

"I know." She squared her shoulders, inspecting the marks she'd made on the cave walls. "I've been awake for hours. But I've finished, now, I think."

"What is it you're painting?" Madrigal drew closer, curious despite himself. He couldn't make sense of the images she'd illustrated, which stretched back further than lamplight touched. Nearest Jian's outstretched hand were depictions of faces, with great attention paid to detail, and she'd written words below them in a precise hand, all the way down to the packed dirt floor. Mixed in with more words further away were symbols and images of landscapes. The sheer amount of text she'd recorded was overwhelming to read, even for an educated man. "You must have spent a lot of time writing when you were alone here."

"No. I've composed this all tonight, from my visions," she replied. "Even when I don't understand the meanings, I can record the images I still remember."

"You've done this much in one night? You must have been quite the scholar in your village."

"Nothing above average," she replied, without any false modesty he could detect. "I was hardly the most well-read girl in my year."

"I'd thought you less bookish and more outdoorsy, after what you said about your ritual."

"I was both." Jian pushed a braid away from her face with a stained hand. The ends of her two frontmost braids looked as if they had come too close to the inkpot several times. "Mother had to force book-learning on me, when it came to subjects I didn't enjoy. If I liked something, though, you couldn't keep me from it. I ate up every historical tome. I hoped my Path might lead me to something in that area, since Elsinoor hasn't had traders bringing books from the southlands in many years, and very few in the village have followed Paths leading to creating them ourselves. Those books we do have are falling apart. I tried to teach myself bookbinding, a few years ago, to help Maere see my interest."

Madrigal didn't understand. "Why would you spend your time on such a thing, if you've no writers to write them?"

"Why not?" Jian regarded him as if she felt the question profoundly dull-witted. "It gave me joy to learn it."

He'd misjudged the girl again. Among Laudonian women, intelligence was highly prized, but youth even more so. Any girl who had ample time to waste on learning a skill would spend it on an interest that made herself look better when she came of marriageable age.

"You...are an interesting one," he said at last. "You would have done better to write all this down in a way that you could carry with you. What good is it, left here in the dark?"

"It isn't for me." Jian's voice dropped an octave. She set the brush down on a stone, tipping the pot of ink onto the ground. The packed soil instantly slurped up the black bloom of liquid. "We don't know of anyone who'd ever waited so long to receive their Path, or seen multiple visions before. I know the Elders will record what I told them, or their interpretation of what I told them. But maybe that might not be enough, so I'm writing down everything I remember about meeting the..." she hesitated, "the person in my dreams."

He didn't miss the fact that she hadn't said the Goddess. "In case you forget."

"It's so that if I don't return, if I don't make it to Homeland," she said, "another Pathless girl like me just might."