He jolted awake. Moonlight spilled down from above, lighting his room in pale silver. The windows’ crossbars drew neat squares across his carpet and his bed.

Twain stretched, experimentally. Manacles caught his wrists. Chains rattled.

Figures. He sat up as much as he could, propping himself with a few of the dozen pillows arrayed across the top of his bed. The room looked normal again, but something in the back of his mind nagged at him, a tension he couldn’t put a name to. This isn’t right. Something is wrong.

Have I gone insane? Did I turn into a darkfoe after all? He closed his eyes and sighed out. I was saved, but not completely. My blood might be red now, but for how much longer? The blight hasn’t completely left me. It could come back at any moment, like it did earlier.

Silhouetted against the window, a shadow blurred past. Twain snapped his head around, then forced his heartbeat to settle. You’re probably just seeing things. There’s nothing there.

A window creaked open. Twain tensed. His breath caught in his chest, a scream half-uttered trapped on his lips. No. It’s a hallucination. Calm down. Don’t act crazy. You can control this.

Through the window stepped a slender shadow. Dressed in a military uniform, short silver hair cropped at the ears, the moonlight lit the moon elf’s silhouette, but not his face. Glancing warily to either side, he stepped closer, each footstep muffled in the carpet. One hand settled on the shortsword at his hip.

Twain’s muscles wound tight. He shivered, ready to attack despite the manacles. It’s not real. No one would come to kill me. There’s no assassin in the room.

The moon elf drew to the edge of the bed and stopped. Softly, he whispered, “Twain, is that you?”

Twain? He tensed more than ever. His jaw went rigid. They know. Whoever it is, they—

Wait. Short hair. Military uniform. They called me Twain. They know… because she should be here, in this bed, not me! He grinned. “Moss, damn you, get your ass over here. You almost gave me a heart attack, sneaking up like that!”

The moon elf shifted, and suddenly her face became visible. Almost identical to his, Moss had the same high cheekbones, the same gentle eyes, the same full lips, but there was a softness in the curve of her cheek and a quirk to her smile that he lacked. She smiled now, relief unmistakable in the expression. “I heard you were unconscious or raving insane. I’m the one who was scared, Twain!”

He grimaced. “Is that the way I’ve been? Dayander talked around it last time, so I figured it had to be bad, but… was it that bad?”

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Moss flinched. “Ah… not, not that bad, I’m sure. I’ve only heard rumors…”

“The rumors are that bad? Damn, I must have been completely gone,” Twain muttered to himself.

“No, no, I… Twain, come on,” Moss sighed.

He shook his head. “Enough about me. It’s great to see you, Moss. Excellent, in fact. Why don’t we swap places? The castle’s cute little Mouse can make a miraculous recovery while Twain—you did use my name, didn’t you?—the soldier absconds off with a horrible case of military fever.”

“They call me Tiger… No, er, Twain, listen.”

“I don’t want to listen unless you’re about to discuss how to become Princess Moussaesa again.”

“Twain. Please. There’s something going on. Something awful. You… I don’t suppose you’ve heard, but a darkfoe, a very, very high ranking darkfoe, managed to slip through the Barrier and get all the way to the human capital. Some kind of spider monster…”

“Spider? Wait, Zalazar?”

Moss frowned. “Who?”

“Teenage-looking kid, real slender, black hair, swoosh of white in his bangs? Sometimes grows spider legs out his back?” Twain said, sitting up a little more.

“You know him?” Moss asked, flabbergasted.

“I’ve fought him, in fact. He didn’t seem like that much of a threat, I’ll be honest,” Twain said. “I just thought he was some kind of weird spider beastfolk.”

“Beastfolk are mammals only, you know that, Twain. No, he’s a darkfoe. Very powerful, supposedly. The humans caught him after the fight in the Arena and took him back to research on him, see if they could figure out how he snuck through the Barrier. They suspect he suppressed his aura somehow that even the Barrier couldn’t detect, which might have left him weaker for your battles.”

Twain frowned. “Huh.” It explains the blight in the alley where we tossed him, and… if that was him sleeping in the Arena with all the spiders, then… was he the source of the Arena’s blight?

Moss shook her head. “I can’t enter the palace, Twain. My regiment is in the middle of tracking down blight in the human country, alongside a couple other groups. We’re stretched thin. We can’t afford to lose a single man.”

“They’d gain me. They wouldn’t even know a change had been made,” Twain argued.

“You’re sick, Twain. You can’t take my place, you know that. No. Stay here. Recover. When… when we’re done, then…” Her voice petered out. She stared at her feet.

“You don’t want to come back,” Twain guessed.

Moss glanced at him, then closed her eyes. Slowly, she nodded. “I never wanted to come to the capitol, Twain. You know that. I… I’m very grateful that you’ve taken my place, but I would have rather offended the humans than had someone replace me. I won’t willingly enter the palace. No, I just came to talk.”

He swiped at her. She jumped back, pointlessly. The chains caught his arms and jerked them short long before he could reach her.

“When Mother catches you, I’m going to hold a goddess-damned tea party, and you’re going to have to be the one who hosts it,” Twain grumbled.

Moss flashed a smile. “Tell her good luck. All the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men haven’t found me yet.”

Twain snorted. “Well, what about the Prince’s horses and men?”

“You don’t have men. Or a horse. You’ve only got a unicorn.”

“And a damned useless horny one at that,” Twain muttered.

“What was that?” Moss asked.

“Nothing.” He grinned at her. “We’ll catch you yet, Moss. By hook or by crook, I’ll get you into this damned palace.”

She backed to the window. “I wish you luck, Your Highness.” Shooting him a salute, she leaped off the balcony and vanished into the night.

Lying on the bed, Twain sighed. I should scream… no, what would that earn me? They’d only think I’d hallucinated her, if anyone bothered to come at all. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he closed his eyes and sunk back into sleep.