The dawn streamed through the cell’s high window, bright and strong as a cruel affront to Alize’s hopelessness. All morning she listened with a clenched jaw to the plodding of boots and the rattling of keys. Figures outside the bars sometimes paused to assess Alize with blank eyes and crooked mouths. Alize balled her fists. She would conserve her strength for a moment when she could possibly exert any power. She would not surrender to the perversions of the princes, not while she could still heave her breaths.

The prison warden was a shrewd man, for the only adversary he let her fight were the binds that held her fast. Alize could feel them winning, could feel despair sink into her bones like the damp cold. Her muscles ached from her restraints and her wounds were nearly unbearable. The floor’s coarse gravel dug into her backside no matter how she adjusted her position.

Shrill whistles and the occasional shouting or laughter of men wafted through the window above her. Alize imagined a training ground, somewhere near the prison, where the soldiers learned to hunt their prey. Perhaps they knew of her presence, chained in their jail cell. Perhaps their laughter was at her expense.

Towards midday, footsteps that echoed softer than the guard’s halted outside the cell door.

Alize shut her eyes. There were so many ways to die. She could refuse to eat. Refusing water would kill her faster, but that could be forced on her much more easily. She could agitate her wounds until they became infected. Judging by the tenderness she already felt, that process was well underway.

Her cell door creaked opened and closed. Alize flickered her eyes without shifting her gaze from the ground. A shadow approach her, twisted and uneven on the broken stone slabs. A miniature demon Nocturne come to terrorize her.

In the silence, fabric shuffling preceded the faint chime of a ceramic bowl on the floor beside her. The intruder squatted in the dust and splayed his fingers across Alize’s neck. Slowly his thumb peeled away the hair stuck to her clammy skin.

Alize shuddered in response.

His fingers slipped under her chin to tilt her face upwards. Alize resisted, but the man did not relent. After a moment Alize raised her head slightly, if only to jerk away from his touch, as if it were her own choice. She took care to completely avoid the man’s gaze, though she felt his eyes bore into hers like the painful heat of a fire grown unwieldy.

“Praise Rehsan,” the man breathed. His voice was a low baritone, musical almost. It shook Alize from her stupor. She could not believe she recognized that voice. She flashed her gaze to him and then opened her eyes wider before she could control her astonishment.

“Kell?” she choked her whisper, confusion awakening her limbs. The terror shaking her bones did not abate. Instead, it laced itself into a new uncertainty, a pattern more grotesque by the moment. The combination roiled Alize’s stomach until she wanted to bend over and release all its contents.

“Shh, shh.” Kell quickly withdrew his hand from Alize’s chin. He knelt on the floor beside her. “You would not believe how glad I am to see you.” His voice was barely audible in the stillness. He paused to glance behind him with pursed lips.

When he turned back to her, his eyes grazed over the arrow in her leg and then his fingers traced over her shoulder to prod the fabric around the knife wound. “You’re injured.”

Alize fought to keep her voice steady. “Why have you come here?” She knew the answer, but somehow she needed to ask the question anyway. She did not want to believe it, not of the man who had so easily forgiven her for the injury she had wrought. Not of those muddled brown eyes holding hers. She searched them for malice, for cruelty, for something that could resemble truth.

For she knew what Sargons did, and it was her own fault she had deluded herself about Kell. Her urge to retch was becoming overwhelming. But as Alize hardened her gaze and bared her teeth, Kell’s expression remained calm and steady, and so mild it almost fooled her all over again.

“I’m sorry, Alize,” Kell whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I’m in charge of the captured Hrumi. It’s my primary assignment for the Parousia province. That’s why Davram sought me in Mizre.”

Alize shut her eyes and let her head fall back to the wall, slamming it. “You forsaken-”

“It’s not what you think,” Kell said quickly, “I-I know about the Hrumi. I’m trying to help.”

“To help!? But you-” Alize gasped, nearly succumbing to her panic. A smiling aggressor seemed worlds worse than a leering one. He would praise himself for this brutalism while her soul withered. He would witness her pain and willingly misunderstand it. “You’re a soultrusser!”

Kell drew close to her suddenly, his whispers more urgent. “No no no. Listen. You need to keep your voice down.” Again Kell glanced behind him. “I’m going to get you out of here. At nightfall.”

Alize choked on her breaths but hesitated to process his words. She would not be soultrussed today.

Today a Sargon would protect her instead.

Alize squirmed. She was weak, filthy and her wounds flared in unbearable pain. But Kell’s promise changed the future she had imagined. It made the future possible again.

But why? Alize wondered. And what right have I to accept?

“You must be hungry.” Kell lifted the ceramic bowl from the floor and drew out a spoonful of mysterious looking porridge. “I can’t untie you,” he apologized.

Partially to conceal the emotions teeming through her, Alize rolled her eyes. But her stomach betrayed her, rumbling at the smell of the food. When Kell held the spoon just in front of her mouth, Alize leaned forward to accept the food, trying not think about it too hard. She needed her strength.

After a few more spoonfuls, Kell grimaced. “You should spit out the rest - the Hrumi almost never eat what I give them.”

“So?”

“Alize, they have to believe you’re like any other Hrumi.”

Those words carried a bitter sting. “I am like any other Hrumi.”

“Any other Hrumi wouldn’t trust me.” Kell held out another spoonful. “Spit it out.”

Alize raised her gaze to glare at him and then swallowed in defiance. Why makes you think I trust you?

“Fine.” Kell responded. He took the rest of the porridge in his hand and smeared it across her chin before dropping the remainder in her lap.

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Alize glared at him.

Kell leaned in to her ear. “Try to sleep today. I’ll be back late tonight.”

Alize furrowed her brows as she scrutinized the Sargon. She could invoke a thousand reasons not to trust him, but in truth she hardly had a choice.

True to his word, Kell returned late in the night, disguised in the city’s weighty silence. Alize shook awake as he nudged the iron door open and stole inside. The darkness did not hide his smile when he crouched beside Alize and held out a small key. His face held such kindness that she avoided meeting his eyes a second time.

Kell unlocked the metal bindings but did not untie Alize’s hands. Apologizing in her ear, he reached underneath her and gently drew her body snug against his torso. He rose and began lumbering forward.

“I can walk,” Alize objected in a whisper. To be pressed against Kell felt incredibly intimate. It was a feeling Alize had little experience with, and the faint smell of cedarwood from Kell’s skin made it all the more uncomfortable.

“Let’s not exacerbate that arrow wound,” Kell whispered back.

Alize stiffened but raised her bound hands to loop them over his head and around his neck, to to make his task easier. Mercifully, Kell did not acknowledge the implicit compliance. The absence of aggression was not yet concord.

Kell was careful to replace his set of keys next to the sleeping doorman. Outside, he kept to the shadows as they moved between the stone buildings. Even the soft jostles hurt Alize’s leg desperately, though she had no intention of recanting her words about walking.

Kell paused before a wooden door and slowly bent to set Alize on her feet. Her bad leg buckled but she caught herself on the doorframe, gasping. Kell steadied her with both hands on her waist. He waited until she nodded to release her.

Alize flushed. Weakness was a luxury, an impulse she could not indulge. Yet, for an instant, she had almost leaned in to Kell, had almost revealed how very weak she felt.

“We have to be silent,” he breathed into her ear. “Now’s the hard part.”

Kell opened the door slowly, revealing a cavern of warm darkness. He bent under Alize’s good shoulder. She intended to avoid resting her weight on him, but relented as they ascended two tight flights of stone steps, the second more uneven than the first. They reached the third landing and Kell opened another door. He nudged Alize inside before shutting it behind them.

Within, Davram lit a single candle. “Alize,” he nodded in greeting.

Alize shook, suddenly not trusting her voice. Candlelight flickered on the streaked walls of the small chamber. The smell of damp stone recalled the other caravaserais. The rumpled blankets on the couches lining the four walls seemed a strange vulnerability that somehow mirrored the narrow lines on Davram’s face as he watched Alize. She closed her eyes. This was familiar. This was not the prison cell.

“No one’s treated your wounds?” Davram asked. Together he and Kell guided Alize to one of the couches. Shifting beside her, Kell held her head as he eased her down to lie on her back. Alize’s hands were still bound in front of her, but the terror she expected did not come. Even in the dim light, Alize could see the Sargons’ expressions watched her with concern, nothing sinister.

Alize withered under the attention, feeling both ridiculous and painfully inept.

“I can remove the arrowhead.” Alize rasped as she gestured to her leg. She had seen the Hrumi healers perform the procedure, but had never had the opportunity to try it herself, let alone on her own limbs. Regardless, she reminded herself, these men owe me nothing. They owed her less than nothing, and Celillie had taught Alize that an unsettled account could be its own prison. “It’s fine, I know how.”

Kell kneeled beside her injured leg. “I believe you, but I also believe you’ll suffer less if you let me do it.” He reached to touch the hunter’s binding around the arrow shaft, but withdrew his fingers almost instantly. Turning, he faced Alize, holding her gaze. “I do need your permission though.”

Alize’s heart was thumping in her chest. She could reiterate her own capabilities, or she could bow to clear reason. Probably anyone could remove the arrow better than she could. There was something dreadful about both fearing that pain and controlling it.

Kell watched her, waiting, his eyes intent on hers.

Alize pursed her lips and inhaled. Between Kell and Davram, they could probably restrain her, if they wanted to. Instead, in giving her a choice, Kell also made her unambiguously responsible for the choice she made.

And she knew what the right choice was. Swallowing, she nodded.

Kell gave her a small smile before his fingers alighted on her leg and began unravelling the hunter’s bindings.

Alize bit back her gasps as the fabric tugged at the clotted blood to reveal the raw flesh underneath. The fresh air on it stung and Alize could feel it inflame.

Davram held a candle near Alize’s thigh as Kell used a knife to carefully slice through the fabric around the arrow shaft. Despite Alize’s best efforts, the sound of her tremulous breathing seemed unbearably loud. When Kell probed the wound with a small amount of pressure, Alize bit back tears.

“We’ll this quickly.” Kell told her as he soaked a cloth with water. He handed it to Alize. “You’ll want to bite on this.”

Alize nodded before placing the cloth between her teeth. Her heart thumped in her throat.

“Try to relax. On the count of three. One, two-”

But the cloth in her mouth did not entirely dampen Alize’s shout as Kell pried the arrow out on ‘two.’

“Sorry,” he exhaled, discarding the bloody arrow, “It’s a cruel trick, I know, but it’s better when your muscles aren’t tensed.”

Alize concentrated on managing her dizziness. She averted her gaze from the gushing wound. Hot tears coalesced in her eyes, but she fought them with the little strength she had left. She feared their pity most of all.

Instead she forced herself to face the next inevitability. Spitting the cloth from her mouth, she enunciated her words carefully. “My shoulder too.” She spoke a little louder than she intended.

“Let’s clean and bind this one up first.” Kell applied something stinging to her leg wound before stitching it. He wiped his hands on a ragcloth and Alize could see it streaked crimson.

“You really fought those hunters, huh?” Davram muttered.

“The hunters never would have caught me. Ow. They only took me from the person who did.” While she spoke, Kell bound her leg tightly. Alize could feel the certainty in his movements. There was something oddly soothing about it. “A Conjurer.”

Davram whistled softly. “Another one?”

“Her eyes, they were the same as the others. Broken by light.”

“We’ll tell Onder.”

Kell shifted next to Alize on the bed. Her heart thumped a little faster as he leaned over her to examine her shoulder. He began moping it with another wet cloth.

“Are you going to untie my wrists?” she rasped.

Kell murmured in his work, “You can fight with Davram over that. After your big escape in Julfa-”

Alize sighed. “I’m sorry.” The words registered as more genuine than even she had realized. “I won’t leave. Not tonight. I promise.”

“It’s tomorrow I’m worried about. They’ll just capture you again.”

Alize looked away. Onder had warned her. The trees had warned her. And she had decided that she knew better. The humility burned.

“As has been demonstrated.” Alize groused, “You and Onder were right.”

When Davram looked unimpressed, she added. “The difference is I believe you now.”

Davram studied her for a moment, then frowned and leaned forward to cut the fastening around her wrists.

Alize stretched her free hands before grasping for the needle and thread that Kell held.

“Again no,” he pulled them out of her reach. “Still a Sargon. Still going to help you.”

Again Alize yielded to Kell. Did that mean she agreed that Sargons helped people? Helped her? That marked another compromise that she dreaded Kell acknowledging. She felt his breath on her cheek as he worked and it made her all the more aware of her own breathing.

Kell was dexterous with the needle and he touched her only lightly. After he finished, he helped Alize to sit upright. Her head swam and Kell held her good arm while she steadied herself. His palms were warm against her skin.

Then his hands left her, giving her a brief respite from the surging emotions in her gut. She inhaled deeply. She could think more clearly now.

“Here, Alize,” Kell held out a water skin.

Alize hesitated to take it. The Sargons had given her no cause to believe they shared the Hrumi’s water sharing custom. Perhaps Kell did not know his offer shamed them both. Alize forced herself to temper her reaction with the knowledge that dehydration would slow her recovery. She accepted the skin but felt her face flush with chagrin.

Kell did not appear to notice. He handed her a second skin when she finished the first. “Get yourself some sleep, all right?”

Alize already felt her body acquiescing. This unexpected safety inebriated her. It eased her limbs and tugged her mind towards slumber. Her pride objected to following the commands of a professed Hrumi captor, but they coincided with her own needs. Not even that realization had the power to overcome her exhaustion. She drifted off under Kell’s lingering attention. Her last thoughts were futile attempts to riddle out its significance.