The rose was dry and turning brown, but Maela took great care of it. She had sworn to herself that she would give it back to Guildmaster Polo. It would be an act of defiance, a message that illustrated the emptiness of his power—it was dead and brittle.

It had taken Maela less than two days to examine every inch of her cell. The result of her painstaking investigation was the realization that there was no real hope of escape without assistance. The walls were solid stone. The bars were thick iron, and the lock was not pickable without advanced tools.

Furthermore, the possibility of a rescue was slim—she wasn't even sure any members of the Thieves Guild knew she had been taken by Polo's guards. That left her one chance: Convincing someone to help her. There were only four people who interacted with her: A guard in the morning who brought food and emptied her waste bucket, and a different guard in the evening who did the same thing. Every fifth day, a third person worked the morning, and the fourth worked the evening. The next day the regular guards would be back.

The day guards were a lost cause. The guard in the morning was cruel and professional. If she approached within five feet of him, he would draw his sword and strike her on the head with the flat side. Without saying a word, he made it clear that any physical resistance would lead to the edge being used.

Pondering the guard's abilities, Maela considered it a small likelihood that she could defeat him. He was skilled with the flat of his sword, which meant he was skilled with the edge, and, even if she was able to grapple with him, he would call for help. When he entered the cell, she retreated to the far corner and let him his job.

The afternoon guard was respectful and almost jovial, but his good cheer was out of earned confidence, not weakness. After sizing him up over a few days, she slowly worked her way over to him as he prepared to pick up her waste basket.

"I would do the same thing, so I don't begrudge your actions." Maela stopped moving as the guard turned toward her. With precision and speed, he drew his sword. "However, I truly do not want to hurt you, so I recommend that you not approach me from an angle where I cannot see you."

"So I can approach you." The guard lowered his sword.

"Within reason." Maela took a step, and the guard lifted his sword. "Why do you approach?"

Maela did not expect his question. She had been hoping to play on his affections or loneliness or ego by chatting with him while being physically close. She didn't really have any legitimate reason to approach him, nor could she think of any. "I find it more comfortable to be closer to someone I am talking with."

"That is not a good reason," the guard replied. "Take a step backward." Maela stepped backward as the guard held the point of his sword in a precise spot aimed at her heart. After her step backward, he sheathed his sword with a flourish and grabbed her bucket of waste.

She considered stepping toward him again, but she knew it was not only pointless, but would possibly hurt her standing with the guard, who at some point could be her savior. So she tried a different tack.

"So what is your name?"

Smiling, the guard shook his head. "Maybe some day. But today is not that day." He left without saying another word.

A few days later, Maela tried a different method since the guard seemed reasonable. As he walked in, she stumbled to her feet. "I fear I am not well." She groaned in pain and held her stomach.

The guard looked at her, concern in his eyes, but he didn't move toward her. Maela took a step in his direction, still holding her stomach. "Hold," he said. His voice firm. "Your imprisonment is secret. There are no healers for you." Maela frowned. She should have expected this. She wasn't a temporary prisoner. She was locked up for life, and if that life happened to shorten due to an illness, the Guildmaster Harvest didn't seem overly concerned. "I'm sorry," the guard added. Maela fell to the ground and moaned until the guard left.

She talked with him every visit. In fact, it was one of the things that kept her sane. Just conversing with someone was a joy, even though their conversations were always short and comically simple:

"And how is the weather outside?"

"It is nice, but a storm is coming."

Or...

"Any news from the city?"

"The harvest looks to be good this year."

No matter what the conversation, the activity, or Maela's position in the cell, the guard was always aware of her every move. She didn't even bother attempting to seduce him. He is a true professional, she thought. Depressed, she wrote off the evening guard as an avenue for escape.

The two guards that filled in for the day her regular guards had off showed much more potential. The one in the morning was an old man, while the one in the evening was a young woman about Maela's age. The old man was a veteran guard clearly just making himself useful, while the young woman appeared to be doing grunt work to earn her way to a real position within the guild guards.

The obvious approach was to simply attack the old man. He wasn't ancient like Polo, but he was well into retirement age. The trouble was that old fighters could be more dangerous than younger ones. Alard was the perfect example of that. Maela didn't think there was a knight in Ness who didn't fear him.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

So she sized up the new guard. She checked his sight, but he reached for his sword if she made even the most innocuous move toward his direction. His warnings were charming even as they were sad and forceful: "Miss, please hold your position. It would sadden me to remove such a beautiful creature from the world. I've done that too much in my life as it is."

His reactions were hard to judge, but she watched him closely as he delivered her food and removed her bucket. His hands were sure, and his movements were fluid. She also noted that he was very comfortable drawing a sword, but she had expected that.

With a great degree of regret, Maela ruled out force. The old guard was just too experienced to fall for anything she would throw at him. That left her with using her beauty and charm as a weapon. She had precious little experience in seduction or even simply having a personal conversation with a man. But she had to try.

As he entered, Maela put a desperate and breathy sound to her voice. "Do you know what it's like to be alone all day?" The old guard placed her new bucket on the floor, stood up straight, and looked at her. Maela held her hand against her breast. "I miss a man's touch."

Maela's heart fell when the man let out a laugh. "It took you long enough, miss! Usually female prisoners are naked during my first visit." Shaking his head, he moved toward the door. "So I appreciate your demure approach, but it is a lost cause on an old dog like me." He paused as he closed the door. "It is best if you accept that you'll never feel a man's touch again."

Her final chance was the young female guard. As Maela expected, the guard was perhaps the most deadly of the four. You didn't get an assignment as a guild guard if you were female unless you were tougher and better than the men. Maela did all the tricks she tried with the others, only the woman was faster, more precise, and unafraid to make a point by drawing blood.

"I truly do not want to hurt you," the young woman said after slicing Maela's arm. "But you continue to try to find my blind spot, and I cannot allow you to think that it is possible." The woman sheathed her sword. "It is not." The woman left, only to return a few minutes later with a clean towel and warm water in a pitcher.

"Thank you," Maela whispered, stunned at the guard's kindness. She hadn't felt warm water in what must have been weeks. She cleaned her wound and used the water to wash her face, hoping that the guard wouldn't be angry over her doing more than just working on her cut.

Glancing up nervously, Maela noticed the guard staring at her as she ran the towel over her face. "I haven't washed in a long time," Maela explained. The guard nodded, waited a few minutes and then pointed to the corner of the cell.

"Move over there." Maela did as she was told, and the guard gathered up the pitcher and towel, leaving without saying anything else.

In the silence, Maela tried to make sense of the guard. The slice on her arm was barely a cut, a slight reminder of who was boss. It didn't even require a bandage. Yet the guard brought warm water and a towel. Why did she do that?

On her next visit, the guard asked Maela her name. "I'm Maela. I am here for doing a good thing. It is—"

"Do not tell me why you are here. Do not beg for mercy. Do not tell me anything beyond the answers to my questions." The guard's words were short, sharp, and clear.

"May I ask you a question?" Maela asked. The guard stood still for a long time and then nodded her head. "What is your name?"

"Darla." Maela was afraid to ask her anything else. Darla appeared to be a mixture of extremely capable professional and someone curious about Maela, at least curious enough to ask her name. If Maela were to spoil the curiosity by triggering her professional distance, all would be lost.

Darla left without saying anything else.

Five days later, she came with Maela's food, but left rather than watch Maela eat. She returned a short time later with both hands carrying pitchers. She left again. Maela scrambled over and looked in the pitchers. They were holding water. Hot water. Darla returned with two more pitchers, and Maela retreated to her corner. She left again and, this time, returned with a large towel.

"Wash yourself," Darla said, stepping back away from the pitchers. Maela could have cried. She was crusted with dirt and waste. Her hair was still short, but its tight curls were long enough to start getting knotted with filth, even as she did her best to keep it clean. She scrambled over to the pitchers and got undressed.

Making a habit of forever being prepared to escape meant that Maela always wore her clothes. She wore the same outfit that she had when she entered Polo's what must have been weeks before. Of course, they took the suit of armor she stole from Teal, which left her with a white rough spun cotton shirt, leather breeches, and her underclothes. As she stripped out of them, she wondered if she would be able to clean her clothes, too, but she didn't want to push Darla's kindness.

As she poured one of the pitchers over her head, she let out a sigh as the hot water poured over her body. Without a washcloth or soap, Maela simply scrubbed with her hands. She started with her hair and did her best to tease out the dried dirt. She went to grab another pitcher to work on her hair some more, but she hesitated. Without more water, she wouldn't have enough to wash her body well.

"Do you need more water?" Maela looked up to see Darla staring at her. She was acting odd, shuffling her feet in a nervous manner.

"Yes, please. Two more pitchers?" Darla walked out, not paying any attention to Maela as she did so. Yeah, kind of safe to treat me casually when I'm completely naked, Maela thought as she poured another pitcher of water over her head.

Darla returned with two more pitchers. To Maela's shock, she walked right up and set them at Maela's feet, seemingly not worrying about Maela attacking her. "Thank you," Maela said, which registered a quick nod as Darla retreated.

Maela worked her way from top to bottom, cleaning as best she could. As she leaned over to work on her legs, she noticed Darla staring at her again. Maela couldn't quite peg whether Darla enjoyed the happiness on Maela's face or whether she was watching out of a defensiveness over breaking a clear rule.

Taking the towel from the floor, Maela ran it over her hair and dried off. She hadn't felt this good in ages.

"You are very pretty," Darla said, her voice almost a whisper. Maela nearly dropped the towel in surprise. She looked out at Darla as she paused drying herself.

"Excuse me?"

"You are beautiful," Darla replied, her voice stronger. It was at that point that Maela finally realized what was happening. Darla prefers women. Her behavior and kindness suddenly made sense.

"Us warrior women." Maela sighed. "Our beauty is hidden from those that we most want to see it." Darla stood transfixed as Maela lowered the towel and continued drying a leg. "You, too, are very beautiful, Darla."

Darla turned away. "I should go. Please finish up."

Maela preferred the company of men, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. Darla was alone in ways that she couldn't share with anyone but a female friend, of which there were precious few as a guild guard in the mines. Maela would be her friend.

Pulling on the last of her clothes, Maela observed Darla's furtive glances. Maela backed into the corner and watched as Darla took the pitchers and towel away. She seemed very nervous.

After she returned and grabbed the last pitcher, Maela spoke up as Darla closed the cell door. "I love your company, Darla."

Darla fumbled with the keys before finally clicking the lock shut. She didn't say anything as she rushed down the hall.

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