Alize feigned sleep in the evening when the Sargons returned. They did not light any candles. Kell kept bumping into the wardrobe and softly cursing the darkness. Alize listened but could think of nothing to say to either of them.

In the morning they rose with the sun, exchanging a glance of mutual exhaustion.

Again Alize said nothing, but Kell tapped her good foot lightly, raising his eyebrows when she blinked at him. Alize waved him off, unwilling to speak the words he wanted to hear. That he could trust her still, that a Sargon could trust a Hrumi. Any way she thought to say it sounded like a lie.

A sac of bread, cheese and apples and a new dress were piled over the books Kell brought. The Hrumi preserved their stories with oral history, but Hesna had insisted Alize learn to read as a child. One of the elderly members, who had joined back when adults used to join, had taught her. In Alize’s whole life she had only seen one book, a colorfully illustrated tome documenting the miraculous feats of Priestess Rehsan.

Kell had brought her three books, and that felt a great marvel. She read until the shadows began to elongate. It was the dying part of the day when the door rattled. Kell pushed it open only after her heard Alize’s murmur of assent.

His eyes searched hers, wary.

Alize sat in bed, book in hand. “I see you brought me all Ginmae history.”

“I thought you could help us by doing some research.” Kell replied, enterering. He hung by the door, one hand still on the latch. “Have you learned anything?”

Alize bid him enter with a gesture. “Just about the Old Ginmae script.”

“I didn’t know they had their own script.” Kell cleared his throat as he sat on the chair across from Alize.

“Sure, look.” Alize flipped the book to face him. The page started to turn and she jerked to hold it open, awakening bright pain in her shoulder. Alize blenched and could not suppress a shudder. Show him no weakness, she could practically hear Celillie admonish.

Kell appeared patently oblivious to her embarrassment. He studied the book Alize had handed while withdrawing a handful of of pistachios from his pocket. The crunching sound masked Alize’s sharp breaths. It was a small mercy to her pride.

When Alize regained her composure, she gestured to the page. “There are no closed shapes in any of the letters. I was thinking about the origin of the script – it could signify that the Ginmae first wrote on leaves, instead of stone like the Unity Script. Because if you make a circle on a leaf, you’d lose the center.” Alize leaned forward to drew a circle with her finger on the page.

Kell glanced up at Alize, “Does that mean anything?”

“Not for Onder, I’m sure. But, except for the sacred mountains, the Ginmae land is all steppes. So what were those broad-leafed plants, and where did they go?”

“Ah.”

“It’s just,” Alize faltered in her words, “interesting.”

For her part, Alize felt agonizingly awkward. She had acted foolishly the previous day, to make Kell doubt she understood the perogative to rest and heal. His accusations against the Hrumi had incensed her, but she had to admit that he had introduced an idea she had never before considered. At the very least, she could understand his motives.

Alize drew in a breath, “I didn’t thank you yesterday, for freeing me from the jail. That was truly kind of you.”

Kell made a half shrug as he returned the book to her hands. “You’re welcome. Want some pistachios?”

Alize accepted a handful from Kell and split one shell open. “So, is this life for a Sargon? Spying on rogue warlords, skirmishes in the middle of the night, stealing prisoners from under your prince’s nose -”

“Please,” Kell waved his hand dismissively and laughed, “I wish I could say so, but normally it’s a lot of patrolling and dull routine trainings. This, this is something different.”

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“Right.” Alize glanced at him again. A pistachio shell clung to the fabric of his shirt.

Kell followed her gaze and used one hand to brush himself off. “Also, I brought you some food.” Alize accepted the bag he offered. “Do you want to change those bandages?”

Alize felt her muscles ease. This question had a predetermined answer for any Hrumi. Alize relished the familiar territory. “I don’t need help.”

Except as soon as the words came out of her mouth, Alize realized they were wrong. Not because she needed help, but because it was the wrong answer to give to Kell if she wanted to build the trust between them.

It startled Alize to realize she valued that trust. “Except,” she stammered, “could you find me some hellebore?”

“Hellebore?

“Not for poison-“

“No, I know. But you won’t find any in the markets this time of year.”

“Ah well. I’ll live.” Alize shrugged. “But I will take this opportunity to assert that Hrumi plant cultivation trounces your government wisdom.”

Kell flashed his gaze over her face but relaxed when Alize grinned to assure him she did not mean her words aggressively.

“Har har. Conceded.” Kell kept his tone light. He drummed his fingers on his knees. “Did you see I brought you a dress too? We’ll have to move you eventually.”

“I did.” Alize murmured. “I’ll work myself up to it.” In truth she felt exhausted only thinking about it. It was yet another capitulation, to wear the clothing of the government.

“As you like. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the dress from Julfa?”

Alize made a face. “It’s hanging on a tree somewhere. I didn’t think I’d need it again.”

“Ah.”

“I bet those aren’t cheap,” Alize muttered, chagrinned.

“It wasn’t what was important.”

For a moment neither person said anything. Alize tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve as she tried to avoid delving into Kell’s meaning.

“We’re hoping,” Kell began anew, “that Onder will return tonight. He’s doing some research of his own in Mizre to see if he could learn anything about the men that attacked us.”

Alize nodded and the silence reasserted itself.

Kell coughed and brushed his hands on his trousers once more.

Alize inhaled. “I feel…overwhelmed.” She scattered her words across the room to see if they would catch anywhere.

Kell’s eyes flickered to hers. “I think that’s understandable, given the circumstances.”

Alize rolled over on her cushion, curling away from him towards the wall. This was hard. She felt the weight of her circumstances, but had no power to fight back. She had always known how to fight, but this was a battle nothing in her life had prepared her for.

After a moment, she felt the couch cushion dip with additional weight. Kell had shifted to sit behind her. Alize tensed, unsure of how to react to his proximity. She listened to him breathe, slow and steady. There was no threat here. After a moment, Alize let her muscles relax. Kell’s company distracted her, a little, from her despondency.

“And I’m betting,” Kell continued, “you worry that hiding here is your worst idea ever.”

Alize remembered begging Celillie for help in the forest. “Actually I’m fairly certain I’ve had worse ideas.”

Surprising Alize, Kell laughed. Though she had come to recognize his laugh from their time in the steppes, he had never before laughed with her. It not as low as Davram’s, or raspy as Onder’s. It had a clarity to it, and a lightness. Like a favorable judgment, a praise Alize surely would never have guessed she valued.

“Davram’ll be glad to hear that,” Kell mused, “he says peope who don’t make mistakes are painfully dull.”

“He seems to like you well enough,” Alize said wryly.

Kell laughed again, and Alize felt lighter.

“You and me both,” he said.

Alize briefly wondered if his insinuation offended her. No, she decided, it doesn’t. But then doubt flared in her again, brutal as homesickness. She drew her knees to her stomach.

She felt Kell’s hand alight her shoulder. He reached out to draw back a strand of hair from where it had fallen across Alize’s cheek.

When Alize did not protest, he tucked his fingers into her hair, just above her ear. “My sister had a very bad cough as a child. My grandmother used to do this to help relax her.” Kell moved his fingertips around Alize’s scalp, gently shifting her hair.

Alize closed her eyes. Kell’s touch felt soothing. Like a drink of cool water, when Alize had not even known her throat was parched. “You have a sister?”

“Layann. Four years younger than me. She had this really red hair, and we called her little dragon. My grandmother raised her to be strong and proud. ‘Like a Hrumi,’ she always said.” Kell jerked in his movements, as if he regretted his words.

But Alize took no offense. “Does she look like you?”

“Not at all.” Kell resumed his motion.

A new silence was different from the others. Alize could feel the warmth of Kell’s body so close to hers. Loneliness, she realized, might be overcome.

“I should get back,” Kell murmured, withdrawing. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Drawing her arms around herself, Alize sat up to watch him. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She controlled her voice to speak without any animosity. “The worst part about getting injured is the boredom of the recovery.”

“Tell me about it.” Kell yawned as he stretched his arms.

That night when he and Davram returned, Alize greeted them, asking about the court. The Sargons described it in hushed voices, constantly interrupting each other until Alize laughed aloud. Davram began impersonating different courtiers and Kell responded with his impression of Davram, which the older Sargon did not entirely appreciate. He upbraided Kell for getting pistachio shells on his couch. Despite the prowling tension, their ease comforted Alize. She slept soundly that night for the first time in weeks.