Fedrahn sat quietly on his table, staring out in the direction of the heart of the island. Almost as if he might see the boy if he looked hard enough. It had been two days. And Fedrahn knew Garin was already healed by then, so what? What could be the reason he was being held up now?

He hadn't so much as read a word the entire time he'd been sitting, just like the day before. A knock sounded at his wooden door, and he whipped his head around in disbelief.

Which turned out to be justified, because Garin hadn't been miraculously returned to him. His face fell flat, and his voice came out in a growl.

"What do you want?" he asked the elderly warrior.

Daye frowned at him from his position by the door.

"I almost didn't believe the reports when I heard, but you seem to be truly grieving the boy. You do know if the friar finds out you aren't doing your work, you could lose your life."

The words registered, and yet Fedrahn still couldn't motivate himself to settle back into his work. He was done with this assignment, so done. He wanted to go home to his wife, tell Alaric to fuck off or something.

He'd paid his debts. He was no longer bound to the man. He'd paid him with interest. He'd lost Garin.

"I could tell you how to get off this island."

This jolted him out of his funk, and he stared at the old man with a suspicious frown. Fedrahn did not believe in charity anymore.

"I have no need to leave. I have yet to finish my work here, see?" He gestured to all the scrolls open on his desk.

Daye nodded in approval, smiling faintly.

"Its good you don't trust me. You are a lot smarter than I thought, even though you put the boy in this predicament in the first place."

"I didn't—"

"Oh? Is it not your fault the boy learnt to dance at all? Is it not your fault he was in that damned ring?"

Fedrahn glared, but there was really no arguing with the arch master. It was his own fault, for trying to create a tool he could control. If he could have taken it back...

"But that is not important. What's important is that the boy is still alive, and even though it is premature, I'll do everything in my power to see him off this island."

"He's alive," Fedrahn stood up in a frisson, before his brain came back to him. "Why?"

"I have no need to explain myself to you," Daye snapped.

Fedrahn shrugged. "Nor I to trust you. We are at an impasse."

A muscle ticked in Daye's jaw.

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"Fine. This island is a meritocracy. The friar is in his position solely because of his power. Someone like Garin, a prodigy unlike any seen in hundreds of years is a threat to that. That is why I wished him not to dance."

Fedrahn frowned. "But how did you know he'd be a prodigy?"

Some kind of shadow passed over the man's face, and a light shone in his eyes. A literal light, like his pupils turned from there pale green to a vivid shade of emerald illuminated by the sun.

"At first I didn't understand what I saw when I first touched the boy, but...there are stories of those like him."

"Daemons?" Fedrahn breathed, but he stored the information about Daye's rare arch master talent.

Foresight, another legendary ability. He wondered why Daye wasn't friar of the island.

"No. Not daemons. Even when they dance, daemons are no more talented than humans. He is something else entirely."

"What is he then?"

Daye shrugged. "I wish I knew. There have been tales though, of people like him. They were always small, and their eyes were strange, and they were strong, and they never fell sick, and they could heal a broken bone in hours. Only, there were never more than a few a generation, so they did not form a race or anything. Sometimes none would be sighted in hundreds of years. They did learn fast though, and they ran fast, and they hit hard. One could devastate an army of hundreds. According to the stories I found, none ever learnt any of the dances, yet they could go toe to toe with the sword masters of Pisa. If Garin is one of these people, and he learnt how to dance just how dangerous would he be?"

"How'd you know about Garin's healing abilities?"

"Shut up and listen to me!"

When Fedrahn finally looked like he was going to be good, Daye withdrew a paper from a pocket.

"This here is a schedule of vessels that land on the island. A few of them carry prisoners to the island prison of Sidonai. I want you two to go with them, for I have contacts there. The friar will not suspect you've gone with that group, and while he wastes time searching the ships headed to Morange and Calydon, you can escape to wherever it is you wish to go."

"Except you can't possibly expect us to escape that island. And how does it still exist?"

"We've maintained it, feeding it blood and life. It is barely functioning, but when the world requires it, the island shall still exist. And of course you won't get trapped there. You're just going to take that route, escort a few prisoners, then sail away."

"Where is Garin?"

"I can't tell you that. Just read the schedule and be ready to act when I tell you. The boy must leave this island, do you understand?"

Fedrahn didn't say anything. After a few moments of silence, Daye walked away.

It took only a few hours for Fedrahn to completely disregard all the lessons Alaric had taught him over the years, all of Daye's convoluted warnings. He only looked at the paper once before crumpling it.

He'd always known there was only one way off the island, so he'd already mapped out the schedules. He even had his own distractions handy. And there were almost two weeks to the next ship.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing though. It meant he could get a two week headstart. There were a bunch of row boats in a shed on the beach. He would grab one, then destroy the rest of the shed.

They would have to wait for the incoming ships to give chase, by which time Fed and Garin would either have died by drowning, or found salvation somewhere.

He'd never been allowed to enter this deep into the city before. When he'd gone to the games, they'd sent a coach with closed sides. He'd only gotten out at the arena.

But there had been a first aid area there, just like the one at the periphery of the town near the orphanage. He suspected perhaps that's where Garin was.

Once upon a time, he would have been burning with curiosity at the lamps the light weavers used, like oil cloth torches but not quite, for they did not burn. Their buildings were more artistic from this up close, but the only one he had eyes for was the spire that speared the sky from the centre of the island. It was his compass.

He'd known he was taking a risk, but he hadn't known just how much of a risk he was actually taking. The thump that preceded the darkness came too fast, and the pain only registered for a second before he knew no more.

When he woke, his whole body ached, but the dull thrum at the back of his head drowned everything else out. He tried to reach for his head, at which point he realised his hands were not cooperating. He tried to lift his head, but then his face met abrasiveness, and he smelled earth and rot and nature and maybe a little excrement. His eyes saw not a thing, until someone hauled him up roughly and took the cloth around his eyes off.

The sun shone through... a roof of leaves that had no business existing in the same place. A few trees had sword shaped leaves, like you'd expect on an island. But then some trees had thick stems and pine leaves, and canopied leaves. There were even cactuses somewhere. The forest seemed unnatural, and yet it had the beauty of all nature. All climates of the world came here to play.

Then his mind fell back into the present, and he recognised the bold man who stood in front of him as the arch master he'd seen sitting beside the friar at the match the other day.

"What were you and Daye speaking of yesterday? Where is he, to begin with? And why did you try to sneak into the town last night?"

Fedrahn wanted to snort, but his mouth didn't quite cooperate. He couldn't even speak, so he wondered how they expected him to answer even should he have wanted to.

"You will answer me when I speak to you, damn it!" the arch master punched him in the stomach. Hard.