She took the boxes he offered, shooting him a long look from over the ones he had. Neria did not refute, taking Kell's frown for what it was, and followed him out of the Night Market after a fond and warm farewell to Calla. Neria had hope she would see her again before she departed from this world.

As before, she gained a better view of the city this way, and the boxes allowed her to hide some of her wandering gazes. As they neared the Isle, however, Kell fell aware from all attempts to obscure his appearance. His hair and eye gave him away, and the few people they passed recognized him immediately, pulling themselves together as befitting his rank.

But they did not stare at Kell. They looked at her.

At first, she did her best to keep her gaze on her boxes, or settled elsewhere. As she walked beside Kell, however, she watched how he kept his head high and did not falter, did not even acknowledge those he passed. Slowly, she did the same. She stood straighter, her gaze level with just beyond Kell's shoulder. Every now and then, she did glance toward those who watched her. She did not smile but her countenance, at least, was softer and not so severe.

Mas Aven. She remembered what she had been called. She was an interloper, an outsider. Everything she did would speak to her credibility and whether she could be trusted.