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Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 857 (3357 T.A.)
Status: Mid-winter

Hours after the General left the doomed man in the cell, the man had been taken from the cell and to the medical ward of the castle. There he had been treated with magic to dispel the poison of the asphinx, though it had been another week before he had the strength to leave his bed. At that point, he was brought to a room in the castle, half-walking and half-carried by a guard on either side of him.

When the door was opened for him, the first thing he saw was the General, standing in the middle of the room. He was standing tall and erect, his dark eyes fixed on the prisoner, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword. The very sight of him made the man shudder, making his weak body shake violently.

“What is your name?” the General demanded.

“M-M-Maravel,” he replied, stuttering from weakness and fear. After all, the General had cut off his arm only the week before without hesitation.

The General nodded and drew his sword. Maravel flinched instinctively. The last of his strength left him, and he fell to his knees. The General raised his sword, held it in both hands … and set the point of it on Maravel’s shoulder.

“Maravel, I take you into my service,” he said seriously. “Serve me well, and you will be rewarded … cross me, and you will end as did your predecessor.”

Maravel looked up, hardly daring to believe his ears – until he followed the General’s gaze to one corner of the room. There, in a glass case, was a head – the head of the General’s previous advisor, his expression frozen with his eyes wide with terror, his mouth open in a permanent scream.

The General ignored the look of abject terror on Maravel’s face and sheathed his sword once more. Without another glance at Maravel, he ordered the guards: “Clean him up. He has one more night to rest. Tomorrow at breakfast I want him in my quarters.”

“Yes, General,” the guards chorused.

With that, the General swept past them, leaving them alone.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 857 (3357 T.A.)
Status: Late Stirring

Maravel had been working for the General now for a month and a half – fifteen weeks – and at long last, he had healed. He was still rather thin, but thanks to the efforts of the physician and physical trainer, his body had regained its former health. The poison from the asphinx was completely gone from his system, he was strong enough to walk without the cane, and he had learned to get along with only one arm. The General had given him a personal attendant to help him dress and do other menial chores, but aside from that he had grown accustomed to doing most things on his own.

On this particular morning, however, he felt quite tired. He had not slept well the night before. Visions had disturbed his sleep and left him afraid. He had learned something very important … but something that would only cause grief, if the General were to find it out.

The royal family had not been all killed in the coup. One of them had survived.

Of course, there was always the question of what one could call surviving. She was barely alive: wrapped in bandages, spending all her time lying in bed and staring at the ceiling … was she truly a threat to the General? To be honest, Maravel wasn’t sure. Was it worth mentioning?

Well, what would happen if he did tell the General? The man would probably declare war against a country that would be absolutely suicide to go to war against. No, that wasn’t really an option.

But if he didn’t tell him? The princess would live, probably return … and if the General ever found out, Maravel would die.

That wasn’t a viable option either.

So what did that leave? Not much.

He was disrupted from his thoughts by a knock at his door. He had just cleared his face of any emotion when his attendant entered his room.

“Master, the General awaits you in the conservatory,” he announced, bowing his head slightly.

Maravel knew better than to keep the General waiting. “I will be there presently,” he told the attendant. “Thank you.”

He moved across the room and picked up his notebook. The General always insisted that he record any visions he might have, and keep detailed records of the possible results of any move the General might make. He had not recorded his visions of the night before, and he was as yet unsure if he ever would.

He made his way up to the palace conservatory. He wasn’t sure why the General wanted to meet him there: all the plants that had once grown there were dead, and no one left in the palace now knew how to play any of the instruments that had been left behind after the royal family had been killed. He supposed there was a good view of the city – after all, the conservatory was in a tower that overlooked the city – but aside from that, it was not a pleasant room.

He knocked before entering, though he didn’t wait for an answer. The General was standing, as he had predicted, by the door to the balcony, and Maravel bowed low in greeting.

“You sent for me, my Lord?” he asked, straightening up again.

The General turned to face him. He seemed to be in a bad mood, something that made Maravel afraid.

“Yes, Maravel,” he said, his words short and clipped. He motioned for the sage to join him. “Look outside.”

Maravel passed by the dust-covered instruments and pots of dead plants to join the General at the balcony door. At the General’s command, he stepped outside into the cool air and looked around at the city below him. Despite the low temperatures, only a very few chimneys had smoke rising from them, and the streets were empty. Not a soul was in sight. What startled Maravel the most, however, was the silence. He had grown up in the streets of that city, and they had never been this silent, even in the early morning or late evening … and it was now about the time of day when the market was usually the busiest. It was the first glimpse of the outside world that Maravel had obtained since his release from prison, and it made him sick.

“The city … is dead,” he whispered in shock.

“What an astounding observation, Maravel,” the General snapped. “I can see that for myself. Yes, the city is dead. A dead city means no business, no business means no revenue, no revenue means no taxes. Which means that in order for me to receive taxes, I must begin to release the men in my dungeons. But before I can do that, I must know that it is safe, that those people who will bring about the end of any rebellion are in the right places, and with the right people.”

Maravel took an unconscious step backwards, away from the General, afraid. “I … my Lord, give me one day to ascertain this information,” he pleaded. “I will have to go through the dungeons and the city and see the people to find out who they are precisely.”

The General frowned. “That will take at least two days,” he muttered. “But at this point, two days will make no difference. I’ll take you myself. Today the dungeons, tomorrow the city. Do you have any preparations to make?”

Maravel swallowed hard. “No, my Lord.”

The General nodded and turned to head back inside. “Then let’s go.”

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 858 (3358 T.A.)
Status: Early Spring

The conservatory balcony had become Maravel’s seat of preference of late, so that he could keep an eye on his handiwork in the city below him in safety. He had seen, the week previous, on their way out of the dungeon, just how dangerous his position now was. If he in any way disappointed the General, his life would be forfeit; but the people to whom he had once belonged would eagerly kill him the first chance they saw, for his perceived betrayal of them and loyalty to the General, the man who had caused so much suffering and death. Had there been any men in the city when he and the General had gone down to search for the woman they needed, he would almost certainly have died.

Fortunately, it had not taken very long to find the woman they sought, and even more fortunately, she was an apothecary. To be more specific, she had been an apothecary’s wife, but her husband had taught her much of his trade before he had been one of the first to be killed after the coup. Widow, apothecary … the conditions could not have been better to throw her and the man from the dungeon together.

A few days after the visit to the city, the General had had some of his men take the prisoner, who by this point was barely alive, and leave him on the woman’s doorstep in the middle of the night. When, the next morning, the woman had opened her door and seen him lying there, she had taken him inside. Maravel had watched them for a short while in his mind: she had assumed he had escaped the dungeons somehow, and of course, seeing how much he needed healing, she had determined to take care of him.

Time would do the rest, Maravel mused. He and the General had already begun the next stage of their plan as well. Healing up the men before letting them go – at least, enough that they would not seek out the apothecary and divert her attention from the man she’d taken in – was essential. In another week or two, they would release scores of men at a time, and within the month the city would be alive again.

In a way, Maravel felt sorry for the couple that he had helped to set up together. People ought to be free to choose their own loved ones: that was something he believed. But in this case, he sincerely thought that it could not be helped.

He only hoped that in the long run, he would be forgiven.

If he survived.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 950 (15 F.A.)
Status: Early Spring

By the time Maravel and the General found the man they needed, the guard that had been sent out to the city had returned with the girl in question. They were waiting in a small receiving room next to the throne room, and had been for quite a long while. The girl was growing quite impatient by this time.

The General headed straight for the throne room and told Maravel to fetch the girl to him.

When Maravel opened the door to the receiving room, the girl was pacing by the window. The door clicked behind Maravel, and she turned to face him, her eyes filled with fury. She was very pretty, Maravel thought: hair blacker than night, straight and shining with health, falling to the middle of her back; warm brown eyes, filled with a fire that gave them life; a slim body, with the gentle curves that showed that she was very close to blossoming into womanhood: she was the kind of girl that could turn any man’s head.

“It’s about time!” she snapped angrily. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting here? I have work to do! My parents need me!”

“The General has need of you,” Maravel replied calmly, keeping his face expressionless, though inwardly his stomach was churning. He hated himself. To continue interfering in peoples’ lives like this … but he knew what was at stake. He did not have a choice. “Follow me. And - a bit of advice - do not let the General know that you are impatient or angry. He will not take it.”

He turned and opened the door once more, then held it open with his back and used his hand to motion for the girl to follow him. She did so without hesitation, clearly eager to get this over with so that she could get back home.

Guards opened the double doors to the throne room, since they were too heavy for Maravel to open with his single hand, but they remained beside the doors while Maravel led the girl forward. His mouth was dry, his eyes burning, and the walk along the red carpet to the large throne where the General sat had never seemed so long. But there was no backing out for him now: he had come this far with the plan; to give up when so little remained would be both murder and suicide.

“My Lord,” he announced, stopping and bowing low before the General, “here she is.”

He straightened and stepped to the side so that the girl would be the General’s only focus. After a quick glance up at the General, he looked at the girl. She had dipped low in a respectful curtsey, her head lowered as well.

“My Lord,” she greeted the General.

The General stared at her, but his gaze was almost disinterested. As if she really didn’t matter to him. He was looking her over, judging her somehow in his mind, though Maravel had no idea what sort of standards the General had for women. The fact that he had neither wife nor mistress told Maravel something, but it wasn’t something he liked.

The girl began to fidget, and Maravel could see her impatience returning. Still, it was clear that she was trying to heed Maravel’s advice and not let it show.

Finally, at length, the General spoke.

“Somehow … I expected more,” he mused aloud.

The girl looked up indignantly, her eyes flashing. “Well, considering that I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here, I can’t very well give you what you’re expecting, can I?” she snapped.

“Mind your tone, girl,” the General warned her. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.” He was silent for a moment longer as he looked her over again. “What’s your name, girl?”

The girl swallowed down her anger to keep it out of her voice, though her eyes were still flashing dangerously. “Dae’er, my Lord.”

Traces of a smile danced around the corners of the General’s mouth, and he shifted his position on the throne, resting his chin on one palm. “Well, Dae’er,” he murmured, “I must bid you congratulations, and welcome to your new home.”

The girl blinked, and her jaw dropped in shock. “My – what?!” she exclaimed. “You’re mad! I’m not staying here, I have a family who needs my help!”

She turned to storm out, but two guards stepped in front of her, blocking her way out.

“Move,” she ordered them, her expression furious. “Get out of my way!”

When they didn’t move, she tried to push past them.

“Stop her!” the General ordered; and the guards each grabbed one of her arms tightly so that she could go no further. They turned her around to face the General once more. He seemed almost amused by her attempt to leave, as the trace of a smile had turned into a real smile – quite probably the first real smile Maravel had ever seen on his face.

“I think I like her,” he murmured to Maravel as an aside. Then he turned his attention back to the girl. “Throw her in solitary,” he ordered the guards. “We’ll see if some time in there changes her mind.”

Maravel was just about in shock. The isolation cell was a death sentence – the prisoners brought there received less food and water than regular prisoners, and had absolutely no interaction with anyone, which drove many of them mad – if they survived that long. But he knew better than to object. He would simply have to try to find a way to help her out without the General’s knowledge.

“Let me go!” the girl shrieked as the guards took her away. “Let go of me! This is ridiculous! You have no reason to hold me! Let – me – go!”

“You there,” the General snapped, startling the guard that he and Maravel had spent the entire morning tracking down.

“Yes, my Lord?” the guard asked, snapping to attention.

“You will be her guard,” the General ordered. “Go.”

The guard bowed and hurried after the others. The girl’s shouts were still echoing down the corridor, but Maravel was numb to them. He had to hold himself together … for his own sake … for everyone’s sake …

He looked up as the General stood and stepped down from the throne. The General was still smiling, and now he looked quite smug.

“You see, Maravel?” he grinned. “That is how it’s done.”

Maravel felt sick, but he forced a smile and bowed his head. “A stroke of brilliance, my Lord,” he murmured.

The General strode from the room. As he followed, Maravel wondered how he could possibly make this easier for the poor, unfortunate girl.

Sometimes, Maravel hated his gift.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 950 (15 F.A.)
Status: Mid-Summer

Time lost meaning for Dae’er. There was no night or day for her. With no windows, even in the hall outside her cell, there was no sun or moon, no light or dark, nothing to indicate the passage of hours. She spent more and more of her time dozing, waking with a start on the rare occasions that there was any noise outside her cell door. Sometimes there were voices; twice a day food was thrust through a small slot in the base of her solid door that was usually covered with a sliding door. Of course, she couldn’t open the slot from the inside – but even if she could, it would do her no good: she would not be able to put more than a hand through it.

The longer she was in the cell, the more despondent she became. Her guard had not spoken to her in several weeks, nor had the General come to either question or threaten her. The loneliness was harder than the hunger, the darkness, or the discomfort. To have no one to speak with, no news of her family, and still – after more than a month in prison – no idea what was going on …

She was momentarily distracted by the sound of the tiny sliding slot cover opening, and she looked over disinterestedly. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t care about food anymore. She just wanted out.

After a moment, she realized that this time, there wasn’t any food coming, and she was momentarily surprised, which was followed quickly by curiosity. She was lying on her back, but she rolled onto her stomach and crawled over to the slot, trying to peer out. All she could see was the brick wall opposite her cell door and the flickering torchlight that was the only light she ever saw.

“Dae’er?” she heard suddenly.

She didn’t have the energy to be startled, and she simply lay there, staring out of the slot in the door. After a moment, the voice repeated.

“Dae’er?”

She tried to speak, tried to let her guard know that she heard him, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again, and this time a scratchy whisper made it past her lips. “-es?”

She heard a sigh, and then Sir Arphenion spoke again.

“How are you holding up in there?”

For several seconds, she could only stare at the brick wall in incredulity. What kind of a question was that? “What do you think?” she asked at last, still in a whisper.

“I’m sorry.” She was satisfied to hear that he sounded somewhat abashed. “I just … it’s just that I know you really shouldn’t be in there, and I … I wish there were something I could do to help you. Somehow. Anything.”

Dae’er’s eyes flickered towards the ragged shirt that was lying in a heap on the floor next to her, and a part of the wall that she had put up around herself fell away. “You already have,” she told him softly. “It may not seem like much to you, but … the shirt you gave me … at least now I can rest.”

There was a brief pause. Then: “I’m glad.”

The conversation – if such it could be called – fell flat as both of them tried to think of what they might say next. Dae’er had no idea: she was a prisoner, what could she possibly say to the man who was her guard? How could she be friendly to him? And Arphenion wanted to give her some comfort, if he could, but what could he offer her that would not be cruel or insensitive?

At last, he asked, “Is there anything you would like to know? I know, I spend most of my time here, but … if there is anything … I … when I … when my relief comes, I mean … I could see what information I could get for you.”

For the first time since her imprisonment, Dae’er perked up slightly. “Really?” she murmured. “You would do that for me? But … you would be risking your own life …”

“I know. But I just feel that it’s the least I could do.”

He seemed less like a guard, and more like a guardian, Dae’er thought briefly. As if, rather than watching her, he was watching over her.

“Are you my only guard?” she asked him at last.

“Mostly, yes. The only other person I ever see down here is the General’s advisor, Maravel. Sometimes he watches while I go get a few hours’ sleep now and then.”

Dae’er was slightly surprised by that. “His advisor? No one else comes down here at all?”

She heard some movement, but couldn’t see what Arphenion was doing. “We’re rather hidden away down here,” he confided to her. “No chance anyone could come down here by accident. This place was well designed, though honestly right now I think its purpose is really being abused.”

His disapproval and distaste for the General was clear in his tone, and Dae’er, for the first time since her captivity began, felt some hope that she might not truly be alone down here.

“Then … then you don’t … support the General?” she asked, closing her eyes as she waited for the response.

“Not in the least.” There was a small pause before he continued. “My father was one of the royal family’s most loyal soldiers … even before they vanished, the General had no respect for him. Once the General was in charge, my father was tortured to death. One of the first of many. The only reason I wear this armour, the only reason I bear that man’s crest, is because … if I don’t … if I fail in my duty in any way …”

He trailed off, and Dae’er could hear that he was breathing heavily, as if he could not force himself to complete his sentence.

“… your family?” she asked softly.

There was another brief pause, and then Arphenion answered her, a soft whispered, “Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “My mother and sisters are out there, fighting to survive … if I fail in my duty, they will be killed.”

“But you’re helping me,” Dae’er said, puzzled. “You gave me that shirt, and you’re … you’re speaking with me …”

“Don’t ever let the General find out,” Arphenion said quickly. “I beg of you.”

Dae’er allowed herself to smile weakly. “He will never find out from me, that I promise you,” she vowed. She shuffled forward and slid one hand through the slot in the door. She heard the gentle chinking of metal on metal, and then she saw Arphenion’s bare hand appear. He set his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, and gentle warmth spread through Dae’er.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 955 (20 F.A.)
Status: Mid-Winter

Over the course of the months and years that Dae’er spent in that small cell, with none but Arphenion to speak to, the two of them grew quite close. They were careful not to be caught conversing – the only thing Dae’er now dreaded, aside from the General taking her by force, was Arphenion being replaced as her guard. Arphenion did what he could to make it easier for her in there – brought her news of her family, of the city, stories of the outside world, rumours of what was going on in other countries; he brought her extra food whenever he could manage it; kept the slot in the door open as much as possible to give her light and to let in a bit of warmth; and, when he was absolutely certain that no one would be coming down for a long time, would even occasionally open the cell door and spend some time in there with her.

He was past caring about himself. Yes, he worried about what would happen to his family if he was caught, but he cared far more about Dae’er, the young woman who had been still a child when she had been thrown into this cell for no apparent reason.

Winters were the hardest for both of them: for Dae’er, because of the sheer coldness of the cell; and for Arphenion, to know that she was suffering so miserably and that there was so little he could do about it.

One morning, Arphenion opened her cell door to bring her food in for her. It was a bowl of hot porridge: nothing special to most people, but for her, in the cold cell, it was probably one of the best things she could have, and he wanted to make sure she would eat it. She had been growing thinner and thinner lately, as if she was beginning to give up on life, and Arphenion was worried about her.

“Dae’er,” he murmured softly, seeing that she was lying down with the ragged shirt (by now nothing but a torn rag) over her arms in an effort to keep warm. He didn’t want to startle her out of her sleep, but he did need to wake her up for her food if she was to eat it warm. But she didn’t respond to his voice. Nor did she stir when he called her name a second time.

Frowning, he knelt down and shook her shoulder gently. Her skin was like ice. He sucked in his breath and set the bowl down, then turned her onto her back and cupped her sunken cheeks in his hands. He caressed her face lightly with his thumbs, calling her name softly, insistently. After a moment, her eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes just a slit.

“A-Ar …”

She couldn’t even say his name, and the recognition that had registered in her eyes was fading. Almost panicking, Arphenion picked her up and held her close, rubbing her body to force her blood to circulate and spread warmth.

“Come on, Dae’er,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve lasted this many years already – don’t die on me now!”

Dae’er moaned softly. Her fingers twitched slightly, and her breathing grew slightly stronger. Arphenion kept his arms around her and continued to rub. Suddenly he heard someone clearing their throat at the door, behind him. He turned his head and continued working on warming up Dae’er.

It was Maravel.

“Am I too late?” the sage asked anxiously. He had blankets – several of them – bunched under his arm, as well as a rolled-up mattress and a pillow.

Arphenion grew suddenly very angry. “What do you mean, too late?” he demanded. “Of course you’re too late! You were too late when you didn’t stop the General bringing her down here in the first place! She’s done nothing – nothing! – to deserve being locked up at all, let alone being brought down here!”

Maravel paled. “Then she-”

He cut himself off as Dae’er herself turned to look at him. Gone was the fire in her eyes, gone was any sign of her former will to live, to leave this place, and the fact that she was moving made Maravel think of her as a moving corpse. But for Maravel, it was enough.

He let out a sigh of relief and stepped forward.

“Here,” he said, kneeling and setting the items onto the cold stone floor. “I only realized this morning how bad it was getting. I wanted to bring this sooner, but … Sir Arphenion, you know how dangerous it is. But for her sake – for all our sakes – she must not die!”

“Then she has to get out of here,” Arphenion retorted, though his anger had dissipated after Maravel’s speech. As he watched, the General’s advisor set out the mattress and tucked a blanket around it. He left the other blankets – three more of them – next to the mattress, then stood up.

“I will see if I can find some medicine that won’t be missed,” he told Arphenion seriously. “But before I go … there is something I want you to consider.”

“And what is that?” Arphenion asked cautiously, not sure if he trusted Maravel. Yes, it had been Maravel who had approached him five years ago to tell him to take care of Dae’er as best he could, but since that time – until now – the man had done nothing else to make himself worthy of trust.

Maravel looked miserable enough now, though, that Arphenion was at least willing to listen to what he had to say.

“There is a way for the two of you to get out of this place,” he said quietly. “A way for both of you to escape this cell … to live.”

“And how is that?” Arphenion demanded. “When I’m not here, I’m followed – and how on Arda could I possibly sneak her out? There’s no way to hide her, and the General keeps special tabs on-”

“If you were to marry her,” Maravel interrupted, silencing the guard. He waited a moment to make sure Arphenion was listening properly. “As husband and wife, you could both leave this cell and still fulfil the General’s requirements, without fear of him taking retribution against either of you. You would remain in his employ here at the palace. She, as your wife, would live here with you, and she would be untouchable. Even the General will not touch or even look at a woman who is married.”

Arphenion looked down at Dae’er. She was asleep again – or passed out, both of which worried him.

“If she stays here much longer, she will die,” Maravel added softly, gazing down at the woman. “And not because of the conditions. She simply has lost her will to fight it.”

“But to force her into marrying me … I could never do it,” Arphenion said, his voice pained.

“It is that or her death,” Maravel said simply. “And the death of others.” He paused. “You have no idea how important this woman is. She must live. And I know you care for her. Could you let her die simply because you don’t wish to impose upon her a life with you? Noble, but foolish.”

Arphenion closed his eyes and held Dae’er just a little bit closer. “Enough,” he whispered. “I will.”

Maravel nodded. “I will fetch the medicines she needs. When she is strong enough, I will take you both to see the General.”

And he vanished, leaving Arphenion alone with Dae’er once more.

Location: Dekra, Garnelia, Arkandia
Year: 28 956 (21 F.A.)
Status: Early Spring

By the time Arphenion and Dae’er left the castle, it was the middle of the night. It was quite a cool night, and a cool breeze made even Arphenion shiver lightly. He could only imagine how Dae’er felt: he had given her some of his clothes to wear, since the clothes in which she had been imprisoned had nearly worn away, but they did not fit her well as she was now so thin, and she was still incredibly weak, despite the recovery she had been making. He was carrying her now because he knew she could never make it, walking, to their destination.

“Just stay awake long enough to show me the way to your parents’ home,” he urged her, holding her close to try to shield her from the cold, “and then I promise you can sleep.”

Dae’er was shivering almost violently, but she managed to point a shaky finger down one of the streets that led away from the castle plaza. Arphenion followed it quickly and prayed that they would not meet any of the soldiers that were patrolling the streets. It was well past curfew, and even though the General had ejected them from the castle just now, he had a feeling the soldiers would not be sympathetic to him.

Every once in a while, Arphenion had to wake Dae’er to make sure that they were still on course, but eventually they arrived at the apothecary’s shop. Arphenion hesitated only a moment before pounding on the door. He hoped there would be someone awake, though he doubted that would be the case; and if not, then he hoped that someone would hear him quickly.

Sure enough, within a minute, a light appeared in a window above the shop.

Arphenion continued to pound on the door until he heard a voice coming through the door, “Cut it out, already! I’m coming!”

He stopped banging on the door and focused on holding onto Dae’er so that he wouldn’t drop her. The shouts through the door stopped, though now Arphenion could hear muttering in its place.

“Middle of the night. If it’s one of those soldiers, I’ll have something to say to them! Curfew – why don’t they have to follow it, I ask you.” He heard the door latch being fiddled with, and the door opened slowly. “This had better be impor-”

The man who had answered the door cut himself off when he saw Arphenion and Dae’er standing there, shivering in the cold.

“Are you Dae’er’s father?” Arphenion asked the man quickly.

The man nodded, still speechless, and opened the door further before gesturing for the two to enter. Arphenion carried Dae’er inside. Immediately, he felt warmer, but she still shivered on. Arphenion looked around to see if he could set her down anywhere, but there was nowhere. He turned back to Dae’er’s father.

“We need a fire so she can get warm,” he told him. “Somewhere she can lie down.”

The man was still staring, shocked by the sudden reappearance of his daughter as well as the state she was in. Arphenion felt himself growing angry.

“Come on, man, snap out of it!” he snapped. “She needs to warm up!”

The man blinked as though startled from a trance. “This way,” he said, beckoning for Arphenion to follow him through a doorway in the back of the shop. They went through another room and ended up in a large room with several unoccupied beds and a large fireplace in the northern wall. Arphenion laid Dae’er on the bed nearest the fireplace while her father lit a fire and built it up.

“Gaelin,” said a female voice from a doorway to the left. “Who …”

“It’s Dae’er,” said Dae’er’s father, his tone halfway between joy and grief.

The woman gasped and raced forward to her daughter’s side. “Dae’er,” she murmured, taking her daughter’s hand in hers. Dae’er didn’t respond, having passed out once more.

“What do you need, Tsara?” asked Gaelin grimly.

The woman rattled off a list of items, and her husband ran to fetch them quickly. While he was gone, Tsara began looking after Dae’er, checking her pulse, her temperature, pulling blankets up over her, fussing with the pillows behind her head, and rechecking everything. Gaelin was back quickly, and Tsara took a cloth and basin of water from him and began to bathe Dae’er’s forehead. Arphenion held back, but watched anxiously.

“It figures, the General would send her back once she was too weak to be of any use to him anymore,” Gaelin muttered darkly. “If he’d take better care of his servants, they wouldn’t end up like this.”

“Actually-” Arphenion broke in; then hesitated. If Dae’er’s parents were under the impression that she had been forced into servitude, it would not be as bad as learning that she had been imprisoned for no reason. But how could he not be honest?

“Yes?” Tsara and Gaelin asked together, patient but curious.

Arphenion grimaced. They were his parents now, too, and he could not expect them to accept him if he was not honest with them. They would find out eventually from Dae’er herself where she had been.

“She was not a servant in the palace,” he told them quietly.

Gaelin frowned, and Tsara kept fussing over Dae’er. “What then?” her father demanded.

Arphenion forced himself to continue to look at them, though it was difficult. “She was a prisoner,” he said finally. Both of Dae’er’s parents stared at him in shock, and he explained how abruptly it had come to pass, and how he had been, for the most part, her only guard, and how he had fought to keep her alive and well.

“So what happened, that the General let her go?” Gaelin asked suspiciously. “Are you supposed to make sure she’s healed and then take her back again?” There was a look in his eye that indicated very clearly that if that were indeed the case, he would kill Arphenion on the spot.

Arphenion shook his head. “I can’t say for certain, but I believe the General wished to keep her as a mistress. She refused him. Every time he asked her if she would consent to live in the palace, she refused him. Her health grew steadily worse, as with every refusal he took away something else from her. A few weeks ago, she nearly died. The thought occurred to me – perhaps there was a way out of it for her.”

He explained to them what Maravel’s idea had been, though for some reason unknown to him he did not say that it had indeed been the General’s advisor’s idea. Somehow he thought that it might not go over very well if he revealed that information.

“Clearly the General thought that I had defiled her,” he concluded, well aware of the fury smouldering in his in-laws’ eyes, “but I can only assure you that is not the case. I care for Dae’er – I genuinely do – and I would never dishonour her in any way.”

There was a long silence as Dae’er’s parents thought about what Arphenion had told them. They both looked close to tears.

At length, Gaelin said quietly, “I don’t know if I can believe it. The General doesn’t just let his prisoners go. Nor his soldiers. There has to be a catch.”

Arphenion had no answer to that. He agreed wholeheartedly – but for the life of him, he could not think of what the price of their escape might end up being.

“All I can say is, the catch had better not have anything to do with Dae’er returning to that place,” Tsara snapped angrily. “To have her vanish on us like that once was bad enough, and we never dreamed it would have been for such a reason as that! But if she has to go back again, I-”

She was cut off but Dae’er, who was rousing from her deep sleep. She moaned softly, and then her eyes opened slightly and she looked around. She stared up at Tsara for a long moment, then murmured, “Mama?”

Tsara burst into tears and hugged her daughter tightly, and Gaelin stepped closer.

“Papa?” Dae’er murmured when she spotted her father. “Where … where is … Arphenion?” Her brow furrowed, deepening the lines that wrinkled her face. “Where-”

“I’m here, Dae’er,” Arphenion spoke up, stepping closer to Dae’er’s side. Her eyes flickered over to him, and he smiled warmly at her. She relaxed and held one hand weakly out to him. He knelt next to her and took her hand and held it tightly to comfort her.

Tsara and Gaelin watched the interaction silently, aside from Tsara’s tears, and both of them had the same thought running through their heads.

Perhaps Dae’er marrying this man to escape from prison was not the worst way to get out after all.