Chasey stood at the edge of the yard and watched the soldiers go past at a jog, boots and buckles and shouted orders, and wondered whether the lunch had tasted good. Nobody looked idle enough to ask.
In the end she went over to Damian on her own initiative.
"Is something serious happening?"
"Tribes to the north," the deputy commander said. "They've been stirring up trouble for a while now, and it's reached the point where we can't leave it. The army sets out within a few days on a pacification mission."
"A few days?" Her mind went straight to the storerooms. "That's hardly any time to prepare for a march like that—"
"It's routine," Damian said, reassuring her. "We'll handle it smoothly. We always do."
She was already worrying ahead, counting sacks and barrels in her head. How many days of rations, and how much of it would spoil on the road, and whether she ought to prepare a great deal of dried meat to be safe.
"Are you coming with us?"
Sir Bas had appeared beside them, looking delighted at the prospect.
"The ancient forest is no easy country," he added, when she blinked at him. "It's harsh going. Nobody would think less of you for staying."
"I have to go," Chasey said at once. "If I don't, who's going to take proper care of everyone's meals?"
Sir Bas laughed heartily and patted her on the head. "Having you along will be an enormous help. An enormous help."
"How long is the expedition expected to take? I need to know, so I can prepare the ingredients in time."
"With His Highness joining us? It probably won't last long—"
The soldier in the mysterious steel helmet came up beside them, and Chasey startled badly; she had not heard him approach at all.
"You there," Sir Bas said. "How long is the journey, exactly?"
The soldier raised a hand and began to lift the heavy steel helmet off his head. Several people nearby turned to look, curious.
Golden hair. Piercingly sharp eyes.
"No more than a week," said the crown prince.
Chasey stood frozen. Sir Bas let out a sigh of relief at the short timeframe and went on talking cheerfully about supplies, while she was still reeling, trying to work out how long that helmet had been standing near her, and where else it might have been standing, unnoticed.
"A week," Sir Bas repeated, seeing her dazed. "One week, my lady."
She nodded along awkwardly under the prince's watchful presence.
"And your food preparation?" Raven asked.
"I was thinking," she said, "that instead of relying on plain dried meat, I'd learn preservation magic. To keep things fresh."
They fell into a discussion of it, the two of them: how ingredients that came pre-enchanted with preservation magic tended to be quite expensive, and how the household had always simply bought them without anyone mentioning the cost. It had never once occurred to the girl whose body she was wearing to pay attention to a price.
The expedition began, and reality turned out to be nothing whatsoever like the plan.
Chasey stood deep in the forest with her face pale, struggling to believe how much harsher and more gruelling this was than anything she had imagined. She looked around at the gloom under the canopy, the enormous trunks, the roots like buried animals, and felt anxiety rise into her throat. How was she going to get through this?
She was out of breath. She had been out of breath for hours. And the soldiers around her still appeared perfectly fine, marching along as though out for a pleasant stroll, chatting to one another, adjusting packs that must have weighed as much as she did. Watching the men stride briskly ahead of her, she began to doubt whether they were flesh and blood humans at all.
"Damian," she said, when she had breath enough to form the question, "couldn't you use teleportation magic? Just send the whole group straight to the destination — the way we came to the edge of the forest — and spare us walking any further?"
Damian considered her kindly. "If this is too much for you, my lady, I can have someone escort you back out of the forest."
"No," she said firmly. "Absolutely not."
She was not going to become a burden to everybody else. She drew the small knife she carried for kitchen work and set about carving her own path through the tangled vines, hacking at them one at a time, while Damian watched in silence.
Later, he brought it to the prince.
"She's pushing herself far too hard," he reported, worried. "She's growing more exhausted with every step of the journey." He hesitated. "Should we really let her struggle on alone in that state, Your Highness?"
Raven did not answer directly. He gave his deputy commander a long, meaningful look.
"Since when," he asked, "did you begin caring so much about someone else?"
Damian realised he had overstepped, bowed his head, and apologised for showing excessive concern for the young lady.
"Stop worrying about her," the prince said coldly. "Focus on commanding the march."
The leader of the army strode forward without breaking stride, and left her behind — exhausted, sitting down on the ground where she had stopped, her chest heaving. And for all his indifference, for all the cold set of his face, he could not help glancing back once at that small figure falling gradually further behind in the green distance.
Chasey sat with her back against a root and lectured herself.
She must not act proud. She must not demand special treatment the way the old Chasey had demanded it, not if she truly wanted to change how everyone here saw her. She was a mature, sensible adult. She had held down a life and a kitchen of her own. She would certainly have the strength to overcome a little hardship.
Reality struck about twenty paces later, when her leg went into a vicious tangle of vines and stopped dead.
She pulled. The tangle tightened. She pulled harder and it drew closer around her ankle like something with an opinion, and her eyes filled with panic as she understood the trouble she was in, alone, deep in the forest.
She struggled hopelessly. Ahead of her the group had already vanished completely from sight; not a voice, not a glint of steel through the leaves. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she winced, sweat pouring down her face from the pain and from the fear of being left behind.
Every desperate attempt to break free of the natural trap only drained her further, until there was no strength left in her arms at all. Leaves drifted down around her in the still air, unhurried, as if they were mocking her. The army's shadow was entirely gone. There was not a single soul beside her.
Her terrified scream echoed through the dark ancient forest as she fell, racked with pain, utterly alone.
In the depths of despair, all she could do was cry weakly for help and cling to the faint hope that somebody, anybody, might hear her voice.
Then a strange light appeared among the lush green foliage.
Chasey lay collapsed on the grass, gasping for breath, overwhelmed with panic at the plain fact that she had lost the army completely and had no idea where in the world she was.