Once breakfast was over, the prisoners were shuffled back into the collective room they were sharing. The mood among the convicts was a little gloomy, though there were a few that held on to hope. After all, even if the place they were being taken too was effectively a natural prison, they could get as much sunshine and fresh air as they wanted. There were several hushed discussions that went on between segmented groups. Like minded prisoners group together, for company, for protection, even for warmth. Of course, there were a few outliers dotted among the groups, solitary individuals that were either shunned by the others, or felt no need to group up.

As for Dymira, she was feeling a restless unease. Egaire was still ignoring her. As before, it seemed like a reprieve, but the way his eyes deliberately slid past her whenever she happened to come into his field of view was unnerving. While she had no desire to seek his attention, she couldn’t tell his motivation behind this treatment. The behavior was duplicated by his group of followers. She told herself she was being unreasonable, that she shouldn’t care if half the ship ignored her. After all, it meant no one was beating her down, or otherwise bullying her. Still, she could feel her nerves start to fray. Eventually her growing disquiet reached a point where she couldn’t take it anymore. She crossed the room and walked straight up to Egaire.

“What are you and your followers up to?” she demanded, instantly regretting the sound of panic in her voice. This would mark her as an easy target for sure. But that was something she would have to deal with now. Egaire stared at her blankly for a few moments before cracking a crooked smile.

“Just givin’ you a taste of your own medicine,” he said, almost growling. “We’re all equals here, so we all get treated equally, see?” He posed the question as though he were explaining it to someone who possessed very little wit. Dymira felt her cheeks flush with indignation.

“We’ve never been equals,” she sputtered, her voice low, almost a hiss. It was the wrong time for her to lose her control; Egaire’s temper flared up in response.

“Learn some manners,” he barked, sending his hand across Dymira’s face in a slap, irritating the cut that had only been partially healed, causing her to stumble back from the force. She let out a muffled cry. Egaire grabbed the nearest prostitute to him by the arm and walked off with her. Dymira reached up to feel the pain left behind by the blow; to her dismay, her fingers came back wet with blood. Angry with herself for letting him get the best of her, and wincing from the pain, she curled up in a corner of the room to metaphorically lick her wounds. All around her she could hear people buzzing in conversation. She couldn’t tell what bothered her more, those who snickered over her misfortune, or those who didn’t even care enough to notice what had happened. Certainly no one discussed the altercation in a sympathetic way.

Time trickled onward. Left to her own devices, Dymira’s thoughts circled around feelings of self-pity. This in turn made her feel angry and disgusted with herself. But those feelings took too much energy, and she always returned to something between self-pity and apathy. Eventually this came to a halt. The bland guard from earlier approached her specifically, causing another collective murmur to ripple through the convicts. Dymira opened her mouth to question the guard, but he held up a hand to silence her. Meekly she let the question die unasked. He gestured for her to stand and go with him, prodding her none too gently if she ever slowed her pace. Her cheeks burned as she felt the eyes of everyone on her as she was escorted from the communal room.

By the time she made her way back on deck, it was evening. Despite the night being clear enough to easily see the stars, the air was fairly chill. But at least she was free of the fresh muscle ache from the previous night. The guard gave her no clue as to why she was being brought outside, nor why it was only her and not someone else. The thought occurred to her that he might have brought her out here to kill her, but again, she couldn’t determine a reason why. While it was true she had lost her temper, it was Egaire who had become violent, not her. And she had been left out on the deck last night, but it was a guard who demanded she remain. Besides, if that was the problem, the guards had the entire day to punish her for that incident.

To her surprise she was taken towards a small cabin on the ship, the warm light coming through the crack beneath the door an almost welcome sight. At least, whatever her fate, it would be the one where she is tossed overboard into the cold ocean. That was something, at least. The guard opened the door and gave Dymira a shove inside. She stumbled past the threshold and took a moment to recover her balance while hearing the click of a lock behind her. The room itself turned out to be more welcoming than she could have guessed.

In the center of the room a table was laid out for two with food that was far beyond the fare she had sampled earlier. It looked more like the meals she had before she had become a convict. The smell of it alone was making her mouth water, and she would have fallen upon it instantly if not for the fear that such action would be punished severely. There was a couch on the right side of the room, a pair of cabinets at the back, and a canopied bed with heavy black curtains on the left. Finally Dymira spotted someone standing off to the side; it was Morkyn. A feeling of relief spread through her, but it brought with it a sense of exhaustion.

“Make yourself comfortable,” offered Morkyn, gesturing toward the couch. Dymira let herself sink into the rather plush piece of furniture. It was such a nice contrast to the crates and lumber piles she had been sitting on previously that it almost seemed decadent simply to sit there.

“Why did the guard bring me here?” she asked cautiously. Although their previous encounter had been amicable, she couldn’t abandon all caution and simply trust him. Morkyn walked over to the cabinets and retrieved something from within. He then stopped in front of Dymira.

“I had heard third hand about your altercation. You really have been having a difficult time of it since you arrived at the port,” Morkyn noted, raising his eyebrows as he looked her over. It was concern, not skepticism, on his face. He seemed to spend a lot of time staring at the cut on her lip, at any rate. “Do you have any idea why everyone seems to have a particular interest in abusing you specifically?”

“I won’t say it’s my fault, but I should have kept my anger in check. He said we were equals, and I couldn’t let it pass. So I told him that we were never equals. That’s when he struck me.” She winced at the memory; it was still so fresh. Morkyn said nothing at first. He just watched her silently. Finally, he let out a sigh, tapping his finger on the arm of the couch.

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“That is a problem indeed,” he agreed, his tone mostly neutral, but with a hint of sympathy. “Who is this prisoner?”

“His name is Egaire. He was a rather well known thug before he got thrown in prison,” Dymira informed him.

“Does it still hurt?” The question touched Dymira; no one had shown an ounce of concern for her since she was convicted. No, even before that: from the moment she was arrested.

“Yes,” Dymira admitted, “but it’s…’ She didn’t get to finished; Morkyn pressed a finger in the center of her lips, cutting her off. Her first reaction was to flinch from the memory of the past few hits she had taken, but the contact was so gentle that she managed to calm herself. She found herself locking eyes with the man, the blue making her think of the ocean they were sailing on.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

“I… what?” The question was completely unexpected, and Dymira took a moment to process that there was no mistaking what he said. It just wasn’t proper for someone to ask a young woman of new acquaintance such a question. Yet, despite her shock, she didn’t feel the rise of indignation in her chest that she normally would have. Even more surprising was that she felt inclined to answer the question. “Well… no.” She shook her head. “I was neither married nor engaged when I had been arrested.” Unspoken was the message that she was a proper girl… at least up until the moment she crossed the law. “But why would ask me such a thing?” The words felt heavy in her mouth, almost as if it was reluctant to let them pass her lips.

“Ah, forgive me, I may have gotten ahead of myself,” the man returned with a slight bow. His forehead creased slightly, as if something was troubling him. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “I meant no offense. But I had been thinking of your situation, and how it might be to some benefit if you had a little experience in that regard while it was still in a relatively safe environment.”

Dymira was quiet as she listened to his words. While they were plain enough, the actual meaning behind them as a whole was a little harder to sort out. It was not the sort of thing that she would have imagined someone broaching with her. Or anyone, for that matter. Generally people either conformed to society, or they didn’t. Those who conformed would have gone through the process of courtship with affection, or at least some formal communication with a young woman’s father. Those who didn’t were inclined to take what they want, or at the very least, put up the proper appearance until they were able to charm their way past the woman’s defenses. She had never heard of a case where a man would simply bring up the subject, without any prior indication of intention, as if it were a mundane transaction.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said cautiously.

“I have a little bit of a plan, but it depends on a certain level of deception. I want you to be able to play your part, and sometimes the best lies are those that depend on a grain of truth.”

“What kind of deception?” Dymira was wary of where the conversation was going. Despite being a convict, she wasn’t overly fond of lying. Deception led to messy outcomes.

“I know a thing or two about bullies: they’re cowards at heart, for one. If someone is secure in their own power, they only need to exert it when necessary. Since they are cowards, if this man thinks that someone higher up in the chain of power is paying attention to you, he will back off,” Morkyn explained patiently. “The other thing about bullies is that they often let envy or greed run away with them. So, if he thinks you have a benefactor that is stronger than him, he will still try to exert some control.” Morkyn shook his head. “But, if he thinks someone else is picking on you, he will lose interest and his attention will stray elsewhere.”

All told, there was a strange sort of logic to the whole thing. Still, it seemed like a big risk to take. Morkyn watched patiently as Dymira took apart his words and put them back together in her mind. A part of her was convinced that it would be worth almost anything to be rid of the man and his followers. The trip was a long one, and if he took to hitting her too often, or if it escalated, she might not be strong enough to keep herself safe once they arrived. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure what all this had to do with Morkyn’s original question.

“I’m not sure what that has to do with being kissed,” she finally admitted, though she briefly worried that it would make her appear dull witted.

“Hm.” It wasn’t much of a reply, but the thoughtful expression on Morkyn’s face made it clear that more was forthcoming. “Bear with me a little longer, and I will explain,” he finally said. Dymira nodded silently, and he continued. “First, I want you to think of a bad memory. Really focus on it.” Dymira did so, picturing the moment her brother had been shot. She flinched away, her stomach lurching. “You felt that, didn’t you? And I saw your reaction, the look on your face. Perhaps I should have specified how bad of a memory; it was not my intention for you to react quite so strongly.” There was a note of contrition in the man’s voice.

“I… it might not have mattered,” Dymira said flatly. “It’s still rather fresh in my mind.” Her voice was hollow and she was only glad that none of the other convicts were there to hear it. “Anyway, go on.”

“Now, think of a time when you were happy,” Morkyn instructed. That was a taller order. While Dymira had not been necessarily unhappy for most of her life, it hadn’t been easy since her parents passed away. But with a little effort, she summoned up an early memory of sitting on her mother’s lap and having her hair combed out while her father told a story about his day. It was dim, and the words were blurred so that she couldn’t remember the actual tale, but eventually the warmth of the memory brought a smile to her face, a feeling of wellbeing that flooded her senses after the unwelcome presence of the other memory.

“That was a little more difficult,” she admitted, still smiling faintly.

“Difficult or not, I could see the moment that the memory connected, and your face lit up, however briefly,” Morkyn said, his tone carrying approval. “Now, finally, I want you to picture being held and kissed,” he told her. Dymira stalled. She didn’t have such a memory, so confusion flicked across her face. Mixed with it was indignation and curiosity. What sort of girl did he think she was? But, at the same time, she couldn’t deny that it was something she had looked forward to, back when she still believed it was a possibility.

“I can’t. Not exactly,” Dymira said, hanging her head.

“Don’t feel ashamed. If that is an experience you haven’t had, then it’s understandable. But, you didn’t have to tell me; it was written on your face. Your reaction was delayed and muddled. There were no clear emotions and your body language was mostly lacking. It would take a lot more time to practice such a reaction than it would be to give you something to react to.”

“But… why is that necessary in the first place?” Dymira pressed. “I thought that the idea was to lead them to believe I was being bullied.” Morkyn fixed her with such a long look that she wondered if it was really such an out of place question.

“Do you think this man, Egaire, is gentle with the women who accompany him?” Morkyn shook his head. “Most likely they are not so pleased with being with him as they are relieved that they can keep him distracted enough to not suffer a worse fate.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I have my ways. Though, it all comes back down to greed again; it’s an easily exploitable weakness.” Morkyn’s matter of fact tone made Dymira shiver a little. He had been kind to her so far, if a bit baffling at times, but his direct admission of exploiting others put him in another light.

“I see.” To Dymira’s surprise, Morkyn laughed at her very short reply.

“You’ll have to pardon me again.” Once more his apology came with a bow. “You just proved my point further by giving me another very genuine reaction.” Then he shook his head. “But perhaps you simply aren’t ready for this. We will find another way.” Dymira could have almost sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his voice, but it didn’t go so far as to turn into disapproval. A reckless impulse touched her mind.

“No, wait; I’ll do it.”