Mai felt the carriage grind to a halt around her. It felt like and indeed must have been hours since she had entered it. She got up, stooping her head so that it would not hit the low ceiling, and the carriage doors opened for her.

Mai got out, stepping from the low-lying floor of the carriage to the grass outside. The black-clad stranger closed the door behind her. At first, Mai did not speak. Her surroundings had no hint of city. Short grass surrounded them in every direction, and it was only far to her right and up a hill that she could see a hint of road. It was night, and she and the stranger were all alone.

Save the horse. It snorted.

The man went over to the horse. He unhitched it from the carriage. As he did so, Mai watched him. The stranger was lithe. His skin was pale, but not overly so. His hair, however, was as dark as the clothes he wore, and thick. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties.

“Aruith,” said the man, as he let the horse go free. “Don’t run.” The horse took a few steps away from the carriage. Then, compliant, it started to settle down under the starry sky.

Finally, Mai assumed the confidence to speak. “Who are you?” she asked, when she was sure the stranger’s attention had turned to her.

“Let’s sit down.”

And they sat, Mai kneeling on the ground, and the stranger cross-legged.

“May I ask your name now, sir?” Mai asked.

“Of course,” said the man. “If you wish, I can be Casari is Koranor.”

Mai shifted, ill at ease. “Why would you say something like that?” she said. “You must know as well as I that name is of a demon.”

For a moment, the man said nothing. “What I said was indeed in poor taste,” he agreed at last. “My name is broken.”

“Your name is Broken?” Mai asked, confused. “But that’s a commoner’s name, and you act like a noble.”

“My name is what it is,” said the man. “Nothing can change that. I believe we should move the conversation elsewhere.”

“Why did you rescue me?” asked Mai.

“As of yet, that business is my own,” said Broken. “But I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“How can I be sure?” asked Mai. “There are many reasons why you might wish to harm me.” In truth, I can only think of a few, but they are enough.

“I can swear an oath,” said the man, readily, too readily for Mai’s comfort.

“But you are lowborn,” said Mai. “Lowborns lie. How can I know for sure that you can be trusted?”

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“Because the oath I will make,” said the man, “is one that is of such great honor, if it is ignored, my life will be forever stained.”

Mai was curious, curious to hear what oath a lowborn could know that was worth so much. “Go on.”

Broken got to one knee. “Stand,” he said. As Mai did, he drew his sword, still bloody, and wiped it off upon the grass. Then he looked at her, and their eyes locked as she stared down at him. Somehow, he looked to be in complete control. He twisted his sword ever so carefully, so he did not cut himself, and offered its hilt to her.

“Take this,” said the man, “And I am sworn to you, Maiako as Arathou del Tachen, first among all, now and forever. My life before yours. To the depths of hell, and the bliss of Elysium, my goals above all are your safety and happiness. I am your man.”

Mai took the heavy blade, shocked. She knew of no oath stronger. He had said the word ‘I’ where he should have said his name, but that was not important. The other parts of the oath outstripped that minor detail. Holding the sword awkwardly, she asked, “How could you know those words? Only nobles do.”

“Tell me to rise,” said Broken, “and then hand my sword back. Until then, the oath is not done.”

“Rise,” said Mai, and Broken stood. She handed him his sword back, and he took it, and drove it home to his sheath.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked the man.

“Sage-Emperor preserve us,” Mai murmured. “Now, how did you know the oath?”

“I cannot tell you,” said Broken. “Even though I am your man, there are some things best left unspoken.”

“Who are you? Where do you come from?”

“Those answers are best left unspoken, as well,” he said.

Mai sat back down on the grass, feeling as if the stranger had cheated her. “So you can tell me nothing of who you are?”

Broken got down as well. “That is correct. But there is a more pertinent question.”

“What?” asked Mai.

“Where do you wish to go, Princess?” asked the man.

Suddenly, everything came rushing back to Mai. She remembered the buildings of the Occluded City burning, and she remembered seeing her life ripped from beneath her very eyes. “I don’t know,” she said.

Broken changed the topic. “What do you remember of the chaos?” he asked.

It was easy for Mai to recount, too easy. “I was watching my father’s speech from a different balcony,” she said. “Then he just…collapsed. I ran back to my room as the people started to kill each other. Then you found me.” She almost started to shed tears. “I’m sorry I can’t be more composed.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Broken. “But, are you sure you don’t know where those still loyal to House Tachen might be found? I will take you there.”

“No,” said Mai. “I don’t.”

Broken got up, retrieved some things from a compartment on the carriage, and then came back with food and cloths to eat with. He handed her a loaf of the palace kitchen’s finest bread, and started eating another. “I got this as we were leaving,” he said, between bites. “The route I drove the carriage came right past the food stocks.”

Mai did not respond, and just kept eating. The familiar food was reassuring. Her dress was torn beyond repair, and she was sure she looked in similar shape. However, she could still feel as if a small part of the universe was still right.

Mai quickly finished what she was given. “Can I have another?” she asked.

“Of course.”

After she was done, Broken gave her a water sack, which she eagerly drank from, not knowing how thirsty she had been until her lips touched the water.

And then the meal was over.

“Show me your legs, Princess,” said Broken.

“What?”

“I can fix your dress.”

Over the next few minutes, Broken carefully hemmed away with a knife, straightening the rips he had made in Mai’s dress, even as she still wore it. It surprised Mai how quickly he worked.

When he was done, her left ankle was still covered, but the bottom of the dress now slanted diagonally, going all the way up to just under her knee. There wasn’t much sign the blue dress had ever been made a different way.

“Thank you.”

“You can sleep in the carriage,” said Broken. “I’ll be outside.”

As Mai got in, she saw that Broken was already starting to lie down on the grass for his own rest.