~Clash~

[gray]

It was day four thousand three hundred and sixty five, and as always, the period between his dreaming and waking was an impossible to distinguish blend.

He sat upon the cold stone floor with his legs folded over each other, long black hair cascading down his back and pooling around him like a puddle, more then ten years of growth. As his eyes opened, slow and steady, like most of his movements, he began his ritualistic morning routine, the steps so deeply ingrained within him that to break the habit would be a kind of suicide. First, his eyes rolled back so far that if there had been any light, all that could be seen would have been the milky whites of his underused orbs. Next, he began to construct an image of himself in his mind, running a hand over the parts of his body that he was unsure of, feeling the soft lightly tanned skin, still much darker then that of the people who had imprisoned him, yet much lighter then that of his native folk. Once he held the complete image in his mind, complete with the rough stone walls that boxed him in, he let a slow and careful smile spread across his face, one of the two expressions he was familiar with. Finally, he moved the last step, his hands stretching out above his head, joining together as he bent backwards, feeling his muscles stretch and his joints pop. He held the pose for a good while, counting the seconds silently, until an hour had passed. With a sigh of relief and another smile, he resumed his usual posture, and began to think.

He had been very young when he was taken, but the handful of years he had spent spent with his people had been enough to instill the basic tenets of their discipline within him. It was this discipline, this religious meditation, that had preserved his sanity through the dark and lonely years. Much of it he had been forced to learn on his own, sitting in his cell, much like he was now, thinking and exploring the limits of those thoughts, and of his control over his body.

It was an old trick that even the dullest child of his people knew, but the prisoner had been made to learn it on his own. Given the irregularity of his meals, it was a useful skill to have, and one he exercised now. Slowing his breathing to a single exhalation every minute, he felt inside himself, found his center, and slowed it. The effect was immediate. It was a little like sleeping, his body moving to a restive state, but the only way to truly understand the feeling would be to experience it yourself. The most useful effect of course, was that it let the prisoner subsist in nothing but air and water for weeks at a time when need be, which was unfortunately often.

So when he heard the steps coming down the hall which led to his cell, he was hopeful. He savored every meal like a little moment of divinity. With so many years of isolation, of nothing but time to kill and nothing to do, his one hobby had become, a penetrating awareness of his self, of his body and it's processes. He had mastered it thoroughly, which would have made his parents proud, had they lived to see him.

The approaching footsteps sounded lighter then usual however, and the unnamed prisoner thought to himself that it must be the lightest guard there had ever been.

 

[Suspires]

Princesses were not supposed to be abroad in the catacombs. Certainly not at this hour of the evening, and even more certainly not unescorted. But the same sparsity of ladies-in-waiting that marked Mireio's decline in status also afforded her the freedom to engage in mad errands such as this.

It had been almost two months ago that she found the clue, a note scribbled in the margin of one of the books her tutor had left to her in his last illness. It was cryptic, just a few words about power locked in the tunnels, and she had tried to forget it. She wasn't a foolhardy girl by nature, and there were enough old magics and dangers still abroad in the world without awakening one that slept. She would find another way out of her difficulties.

That resolution lasted until the escalating raids fired tensions at court--she knew about the raids, sheltered as she was supposed to be, because she had long since stopped waiting for other people to tell her things. The word revolt had even been floated in hushed tones, and her younger brother's partisans were growing in influence. More and more comments had been dropped that the princess, at eighteen, was past ready for marriage. And then there had been the incident the other night...

She steered her thoughts firmly away from that, and back onto the curving tunnel walls that flickered and shifted in the flame of her torch. For several weeks now she had been creeping down on those nights that she could get away, exploring the branching tunnels and slowly learning that labyrinth. She had entered here only occasionally as a child, and then only the upper level, where members of the royal family were laid to rest in eternal silent communion with their ancestors. In these deeper catacombs, most of the little niches and side rooms were empty, though occasionally a door with a funerary inscription barred her way. She always turned back at those, because Bevis' notes had been clear. It wasn't a grave.

It was a lonely exploration, no company but the occasional rat, and every now and then a grinning skull resting in some shoulder-height alcove along the wall. In the beginning she had thought she couldn't stand it, but by now it weighed on her only abstractly, a bleak awareness in the back of her mind that she was here because the alternative was worse. She no longer felt guilty from the weight of buried ancestors overhead, though she still whispered a prayer every time she passed through to resume her quest below them. Bevis had done a thorough job of teaching her history, enough to know that many of those revered dead had lived bloody enough lives in their day. Surely they would understand her need.

That grim recollection, never far from her thoughts in the tunnels, vanished in an instant as she turned one final corner and her torch lit up the door. She knew at once that it was the one she was looking for. It was smaller than she'd expected for a treasure room; a grown man would have to stoop slightly to enter. But it was sturdy, with a powerful-looking lock that she failed to notice was not rusted over with disuse. Most of all, she recognized it by the circle of dense formal calligraphy that spelled out the interdict. It swirled around the holy signs in the middle and spilled out to the very edges of the door, painted on in gold leaf for sunlight and purity. Something unholy was locked within, something that the daylight world had cast out forever.

Despite herself, she stopped where she was for long seconds, unable to continue. She had come here accepting the danger--looking for it, in fact--but the moment of sacrilege still gave her pause. She thought of her mother, of her earliest memories of the kingdom, of her younger half-brother who now reached for the throne with increasing confidence. Then she took a deep breath, and strode forward to the door.

There was a key hanging by it, understandable given the labyrinth she had learned to find this place. Obscurity was its best protection from outsiders. She didn't stop to think as long as she should have about that, because she had to push forward before her nerve failed. Setting the torch in a bracket by the door, she took down the heavy black iron key, fitted it to the lock and turned. The clank of metal seemed shockingly loud, and her heart was still racing after the echo had faded. With one last silent prayer--was she still entitled to those?--she laid her hands flat against the door and pushed it firmly inward.

She would be silhouetted in the doorway when it opened, standing slim and straight in her dark dress, the flame catching the reddish-blond of her braided hair. The gown was a mourning color, serving as both a flimsy excuse if she were caught down here, and more practically not showing the dust as badly. But it was plain and severe, and only the silver filigree of the circlet on her head, one more gleam in the firelight halo, indicated she was of royal blood.

She paused on the threshold and narrowed her eyes, trying to see into the darkened room.

 

[gray]

There was something different about the sound of the footsteps that came ever nearer, something profoundly alien to anything he had known for the last decade. His curiosity was immediate, but he reigned it in, as his father had taught him in the time they had. Discipline was everything, with enough of it, one could come through any trial of will, endure any strife. As the sound of footfall faded away, he felt himself as master of his mind, prepared for whatever curiosity might tempt him, it had always been his weakness, the most distracting flicker along his concentration. And so it was, that when the door swung open, the prisoner found himself proven quite wrong about his level of mental mastery.

He was intermediately lost in the blinding glare of the firelight, and his mind shattered into a blissful cloud as he let the sensations roll over his eyes, his body, down the tingly center of his spine. The boy who had mastered his body so well, who had become so intimately aware of its nooks and crannies of consciousness, was reintroduced to the sight of the lighted world with a vision he would forever count himself as blessed to have seen, no matter what else came. The wavering illumination of the fire sent a wonderful splay of color upon everything it touched, including the woman in black before him, silhouetted against the doorway he had only ever envisioned in his mind eyes, now laid bare for what it was. What came next of course, was pain.

It struck him right as he was rising to his full height, which despite his malnutrition, was nothing to sneeze at, floating some low odd inches above the mark of six feet. Taking a single step forward, toward the blinding light, the pain of such brightness on such underexposed eyes was enough to halt his forward progress and send a noticeable shiver down his entire body, and his bright gold eyes snapped shut, his head tilting downward and a slender arm extending forward, the fingers of his hand spread wide, as if to keep the radiance at bay. For a long moment, he stayed like that, breathing heavily and collecting himself. His arm lowered back down to his side, the tenseness with which he held himself loosened, and gradually, with great difficulty, he opened his eyes. Still staring at the floor, it still stung like all damnation, but he was expecting it this time, and after a moment, he was able to tilt his head up once more, taking in the sight before him once more.

Once more he was nearly floored with the wondrous joy of vision. And what a sight it was, he loosely understood the figure before him to be female, but it had been long years since he had last seen any such. Still, pained and joyed as he was, he eyes were wide open, shining brightly in the light as he marveled. Taking another step closer he examined her fully, taking on every inch of her of a stare that was hungry for new input. He almost seemed expectant, for it had not yet crossed his mind that she might be here for any purpose other then to bring him food or water. He had learned long ago not to talk to the guards who came in the dark, for it never yielded results, not a single answer. So for now, he stood, and in the glow of the torch it would be revealed he was dressed in only gray, heavily worn shorts of thick cloth.

 

[Suspires]

As she pushed open the door, images had flashed through Mireio's mind of what the forbidden chamber might contain. She had constructed them in the long hours of searching, both a diversion to occupy her thoughts and an attempt to prepare. Maybe it would be a sword, black with old blood, wrapped in weeping bandages in place of a scabbard. Maybe it would be a book, triple-locked itself, and yet longer hours of cleverness would be required to pry it open. A scepter, a reliquary, a bottle with a prisoned spirit... she knew the attempts were childish in a sense, but her imagination had always been difficult to leash.

None of that had prepared her for the sight of a person, rising half-naked to shield himself in a flinch from the light. Too late now to think back and notice the deeper shadow at the bottom of the door, an opening where food could be pushed in without any contact. She had missed the clues.

She stared at him, too startled to even retreat as he took a step forward. As the initial dazzle of the light faded, more details of her person would become clear. Her gown was simple but rich cloth, and her belt had a dagger hung from it. She admittedly had no business carrying that, though if spotted she would have concocted some bald-faced lie about being afraid of rats. She was a little shorter than him, with a lack of fear in her posture that suggested authority or brashness or both. Her face was heart-shaped, with features that had recently matured from the sweetness of youth into real beauty. Her eyes were a startling aquamarine in color, wide now as she took him in.

And then, with clear dismay, she said, "Oh, hellfires. Who are you?"

 

[gray]

For a long moment, silence held its reign over the pair of them. The prisoner had not expected otherwise, too dazzled by the image before him to think further then to take in this wondrous sight. His eyes danced over every inch of her that he could see, finally coming to rest upon her face. As he watched her, he became aware of a feeling inside him, a warm, loopy kind of joy, swelling up from his gut. He understood it as a rather pleasant reaction of his body to the sight before him, but knew nothing else about it, blind to his own attraction for this beautifully regal visitor. As the lights harsh glare ebbed, his own features came into clearer focus.

His body, while thin as a rod, was also possessed of a slightly broad pair of shoulders and chest, long slender arms ending in hands that were bare of even the faintest callous. Feeble though he was,the light-less years had preserved a smooth and unblemished skin. He was mostly hairless save for the winding growth atop his head, and age, though he was only roughly a year younger then the girl before him, had left him without trace of facial hair, a curiously common trait among his people. Even deprived as it was, his color was darker then hers, a tanned brown one would expect from a boy who had worked out under the sun for years on end. The most peculiar feature however, were the tattoos. The same symbol was festooned upon varying parts of his body, a golden band, forming a perfect circle. One of the smaller ones, about two inches in diameter, was half hidden in his hairline, aligned with the center of his face. Another, about twice as large, had been put upon the joint of arm and shoulder, with progressively smaller ones on the side of his elbow and the back of his hand. His right limb was bear of these markings but his similarly sided leg had set much like his arm, upon the side of his hip, knee and ankle. They were a rich dark gold in hue, matching nicely with his skin, their artists skill shone in their rendering of a rather perfect circle.

When at last, the girl opposite this curious boy spoke, his mind exploded into a rich joy almost as precious of the sight he so relished. Words! She had spoken to him, and so overjoyed was he to have herd her speak, he did not seem to mind her rather brash greeting. His own reply was at first to take a series of short quick step which would bring his own face rather close to hers. She had broken so many rules of his shadowed and cloistered life, that his curiosity had gotten the better of him. His eyes bright with fascination and a stinging regret for moving closer to the source of the light, he began studying her face in much closer detail, finding delight in every detail he discovered. Finally, it occurred to him that he should answer her question. It had been so many year he had almost forgotten the very basics of conversing.

"Prisoner of King." He said simply, for that was the one thing he had been told, when he awoke to find himself upon the cold stone floor, already in darkness. The king had spoken to him then, they only words he had herd since that horrifying awakening, until this girl had come. He had told the prisoner that day, that he had been captured, and would spend the rest of his days as his prisoner. Then he had walked away, his footsteps fading as the boy that day had fought back the clawing pain that assaulted him.

Tilting his head to examine her face from differing angles, he remembered something from his childhood, a question that every small child knew, and used rather frequently when meeting someone their own age for the first time. He posed it to her now, smiling as he did. "Will you be my friend?" An observer might have found the whole affair rather ridiculous, and maybe even funny.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio was making her own examination of the stranger she faced, though hers was tinged just faintly more with incredulity than his sheer innocent wonderment. It was only after she had looked him up and down once, then twice, that she properly realized he was a boy. Or... young man, rather, and she probably wasn't supposed to be examining him with such frank interest. Only she hadn't meant it like that, she was just surprised. Her cheeks colored slightly at the inner chiding and defense, and that brief embarrassment woke her from the paralysis that had lingered through her surprised words.

He stepped toward her, and her brashness lingered, bracing her spine and keeping her from retreating. Instinctively she felt that he meant her no harm, though it was a curious thing to think, given the circumstances under which she found him. But he seemed only surprised, curious, even happy as he came forward and looked at her face like it was the first thing he'd seen for years. She didn't realize how accurate that was.

Some inkling of the truth came when he answered her half-forgotten question, identifying himself as a prisoner. That snuffed the half-lit speculation that some terrible mistake had occurred to trap him. He hadn't been sealed in the room by any freak accident, but intentionally bolted there. By her father? That was hardly impossible, but still strange to think. How many years had he been down here, while she played and ate and fretted at lessons above?

Then the question came, and she blinked. Whatever she had expected him to say next, that wasn't it. "I... yes?" she said, still too taken aback to construct a properly guarded response. There was just no way to prepare for finding a strange boy in your basement, and so impulse spoke for her.

As Mireio's wits began to return from wherever they had flung up their hands and fled, certain truths were assembling inescapably with them. The golden skin and eyes, the tattoos she could just make out in the dim light, she knew them. Almost never had she seen the real thing, but often in pageants depicting the triumph of the war. In stylized outlandish clothing, with masks of hawk-feathers outlining their eyes to emphasize their wild alien appearance, she had watched actors take the part.

"You're one of them. A maléfice." It was an old word, one that the priests of her father's kingdom had applied to the golden-skinned devils whose eradication they so fervently pursued. She said it without malice or terror, though now she knew that she should be afraid. He was dangerous, as much so as any strange artifact she had dreamed of finding. What was she going to do with him?

That question might have rooted her to the spot for some time, but in that moment a faint and faraway echo of a voice bounced through long tunnels into the room. She stiffened, sudden resolve entering her eyes. "Oh, no--I have to go before they find me." But that raised other immediate questions, and more sensible scenarios withered at the prospect of locking him back in here, lightless and alone. She bit her lip, looking both younger and more pensive for a moment, then extended her hand to him. "Come with me?"

 

[gray]

The prisoner, the maléfice, smiled at her answer, golden eyes lighting up with a kind of childlike delight. He was thinking how best to respond, and had just alighted on the perfect reply when she spoke again, giving the name commonly used for his people in the kingdom. The effect upon him was immediate, and he moved back a sudden inch, as it recoiling from a terrible slap. The expression in his eyes looked hurt and sad, but only for a moment, unable to have anything ruin the joy he found in his recovered sight.

The core philosophy of the prisoners now scattered people, held a heavy emphasis on the recognition of ones selves. The mastered self, the calafice, was one who was the master of his own will, who displayed the calm, reasoned dedication that was so valued to the people. But when one lost their mastery, they became unbound, dangerous, maléfice. It was a heavy claim to lay upon a person in that culture, and when they had been broken and scattered across the land, many of them dead, the kingdom had taken to calling the people maléfice as a general term for their race, many of them ignorant to the true meaning of the word they used. None of this was know to the prisoner however, and he merely thought that Mireio had been scolding some misconduct of his, her tone and choice of words were even coincidentally similar to those used by the matrons of his people. Determined to do better for his new friend, he looked back up to her eyes, holding the gaze with a sudden intensity. "I will do better."

Her next words however, brought back the expression of joy he had previously been wearing. Some part of him knew he should be exited about escape, about no longer being confined in that small light-less world, but what truly exited him was the companionship this girl was offering, something he had missed above all else during his imprisonment. As she extended her hand, he took it in one of his, and shared a ritual with her. With his free hand he reached up and extended his index finger toward her lips till he touched them. Very softly, he traced their outline, making a full circle around the sensitive area before lowering his arm. "Of course, my friend." He said, keeping hold of her hand, he let her lead, all too happy to bid farewell to what had been his world for the past dozen years, and to see what came next.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio saw him pull back slightly as she named him, almost like a regular person would if stung by some hurtful word. That bothered her a little, but she didn't have time to examine the disquiet closely, because now they had to go. She couldn't be caught anywhere near this room, and now that she'd found him, couldn't just leave him. Surely he'd be killed if he was just released to aimlessly wander the catacombs, and he might even them who had released him.

With that jumble of reasons, part selfish, part something else, she clasped his hand. Her grip was firm, skin smooth though perhaps her palms and fingers weren't as completely soft as a proper lady's should have been. She wasn't expecting the gesture that he returned, and despite her urgency, she found herself transfixed as he traced a fingertip around her mouth. The motion was heavy with ritual meaning, but intimate too, like he was hushing her or sealing some promise.

Eyes full of questions, she bobbed a nod at his assent. Then she tugged him out into the corridor, where the first stop was to set her shoulder against the door and swing it closed. She did so with a measured push, because echoes carried far down here, and she wanted no great clang of metal or wood to betray them. Then, tension unconsciously tightening her grip on his hand, she extracted the key from the stiff but eventually tractable lock. She hung the black iron talisman back on the hook where she had found it, resisting some more satisfying gesture like flinging it into the darkness where it would be lost. If they were lucky, maybe no one would realize the prisoner was missing for a while.

Then she took up the torch, and gave one more glance at the nameless young man to be sure he was ready. "We have to be quiet," she said, hoping her tone would carry the urgency she didn't have time to explain. With what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze of his hand, she hurried them off down the tunnel.

Now the tedious hours of exploration paid off, because the twists and branchings of the underground were possible to thread. At every intersection she paused to listen, and at the third she frowned, hearing a rattling not so far off as the first noise. Then a left turn, straight through a triple branch, past several alcoves in the walls whose skeletal occupants grinned at them in the mad shadows of hurried torchlight.

She stopped again at the next turning place, a small chamber whose vaulted ceiling was decorated with some dust-effaced mosaic. Closing her eyes, Mireio's lips moved as if she was counting or reciting. When she opened her eyes again, a fierce gleam of determination was there, and also a kind of excitement, as if this were an adventure. That glow dimmed slightly as she looked back to the prisoner. "We're close to the exit," she explained softly, "but they might see the light, I have to put it out. I promise that I know the way from here." For some reason, she felt it was important to reassure him that the return to night was only temporary, that she wouldn't lose them both or abandon him.

 

[gray]

As joyous as his return to the visual world was, it was dwarfed by the ecstasy that flooded the prisoners mind as he completed the ritual, a childlike rush of euphoria that almost made the years of solitude worthwhile. It was only now that he even realized how lonely he had been, and as he let Mireio guide him through the twisting maze, he recalled those early days of his first imprisonment, when he had been wild, lonely, scared... Maléfice. They were not happy memories, and after a few moments of recollection he pushed them to the back of his mind, lest they threaten his current bliss. For now he was content to follow, a loose smile plastered across his face, long and untamed hair flowing after them like some dark billowing cape. Every twist and turn brought new wonders, and his eyes devoured even the smallest of details; an unevenly cut stone, a small growth of lichen, and most of all, his captivating guide. He spent a good deal of their meandering watching her, noticing the way her face shifted and changed, it seemed to him as though she was responding to the sounds coming from unseen bends in the stone maze, though whether she was seeking them out, or avoiding them, he could not tell.

It was evident that he had no notion to the danger they were in, though he was content enough to follow her directions for silence, pacing along behind her with steadfast faith. To him, she was the bringer of light, the opener of worlds, and for this, he had honored her in the greatest way he knew, a rite of faith. With the circle he had traced around her lips, he had marked her as a mentor, one whose words he would follow as scripture, and whose actions he would endeavor to always learn from. Such a thing was not usually done so hastily after a meeting, but she was the only friend he had, and he knew he would not get far without her guidance.

So when she told him she would navigate the rest of the way in darkness, he did not fear, but simply smiled at her, closed his eyes, and inclined his head. "Where you go, I follow." He promised, his words showing the beginnings of strain and tiredness. Great as his bodily control might have been, what little muscle he had was quickly beginning to tire, completely unused to even the strain that was now being demanded of it after so many long years. He was determined not to falter however, and as he followed her, he concentrated on the feel of her hand in his, the warmth that seemed to flow forth from it filling his body with a sort of tingling sensation, like when leg that has fallen asleep begins to waken.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio, distracted by her own concerns and possessing near-total ignorance of the prisoner's people, had no idea of the significance of his gesture. If she had realized she was being marked as an example, she would have hastened to disabuse him of that leaning, for his own safety if nothing else. Everyone knew she was a little odd.

Blissfully unaware of her new significance, she did notice on her occasional glances back that he seemed to be smiling. It was a strange place for that, but he was a strange boy--no, she had to remind herself, something much more dangerous. Though it was hard to think of him that way, when he looked at her so trustingly and said he would follow. If he was really a demon, had her opening the door somehow bound him to her will already? Mireio was hardly an expert on the dark arts, but that seemed too easy to be plausible.

Pondering that and other matters like how to hide this latest dust-streaked gown, she stole forward to a corner piled with dirt and pebbles from some long-ago excavation. As on previous journeys, she used it to smother the torch, plunging them both into near-total darkness. After a few seconds it became clear that there was a faint gleam of light around the next bend of the tunnel, and she led them carefully in that direction. For two more branchings she skirted the edge of that hint of illumination, until finally they angled in to a broader pathway that widened around the base of a staircase. Lamplight from above pooled there, and again Mireio stopped to listen. "Quiet," she whispered to remind him, leaning in so that the word tickled his ear with her breath.

Then, with that determined look in her eye again, she took them up. It was a strange and somber welcome to most eyes, because now they were stealing through the ancient crypt of the castle. Marble statues and carved coffin lids stared at them with impassive melancholy as they passed, the history of her family's dynasty and some far older. Intermittent lamps gave only a trickle of light, though that brightened into proper radiance at the base of another staircase. There, a great inscribed archway proclaimed eternal hallowed separation of those above and below.

Mireio frowned at it, then turned a little aside, taking them into a shadowed nook between two graceful caryatid statues. "Almost there," she leaned in to promise softly, because she could tell he was close to tiring. Tucking herself into the area of deepest shadow, she twisted and depressed a carved flower, and with a barely-audible rasp a section of the stone wall swung backward. A few narrow steps were visible behind it, curving up out of sight.

She turned back to face her strange companion, drawing herself up with a businesslike air but also a hint of an excited flush on her cheeks. "Before we go up," she whispered, "I don't know if you're really a demon. But just in case, you should know that I'm more than capable of defending myself, and also incorruptibly virtuous. All right?" She had no idea if demons could tell when you were lying.

 

[gray]

The extinguishing of the torch gave the boys eyes a much needed rest, for such sudden exposure had sent piercing waves of pain through his skull, and great blotches of blinding shapes dancing across his vision. Yet after a few moments, he came to realize that even without the light, he could still see. The small amount of luminescence in the darkened ways was more then enough for him to make out all in fairly full detail, and without the painful burning of intense light, he could observe things more easily then before. So once again he watched his guides face, the tapestry of expression that played across her features provoking an almost artistic appreciation from the prisoner.

As they ascended the stairs however, he could feel right away that something was wrong. There was a foul chill in the air that went straight to his poorly insulated bones. The air cut through his throat like a frigid knife, filling his blood with it's icy tendrils.

Once they emerged into the room above, dawning came to him in a rush, and as she led him through the crypt, he stared around in wide eyed horror. "There are dead things here." He said quietly and plainly, as if stating the weather, but there was a childlike terror in the quietness of that voice. Trembling irregularly by the time the hidden door had swung open, a part of him was fascinated by the workings of such a fantastic device, the greater part of him was preoccupied with the cool dread that hung about the air. Looking to his guide, his bonded teacher, it now became apparent that his vocabulary was not as developed as it might have been, and in combination with his distracting anxiety, he only understood about half of what she said, loosing the meaning of much of it. His reaction was only a tiny smile, showing evidence of his desire to leave this place as soon as allowed.

So great was his desire, that he bounded up the first few steps before her, winding his way up and out of sight of the wretched place. The sudden exertion tired him to a halt after those first few paces however, and he fell to one knee upon the steps, breathing heavily as he struggled to calm himself. He was loosing dominance over his self, large and sudden leaks of his contained hunger and exhaustion eroding his will. Even worse, he realized with a stabbing suddenness that he was once more alone, and he whipped his head around, almost making himself dizzy with the movement, hoping to see Mireio standing there.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio had become, if not exactly inured to the gloom of passing through the crypt, at least a little used to it. She told herself that she meant no disrespect to her ancestors, and so even if their shades inhabited this place, they should have no cause to trouble her. But the pall never entirely vanished no matter how many times she dared the quiet passage, and hearing the prisoner state it so plainly whisked away the veil of pretending otherwise. There was simply no other way out, so she swallowed and held tight to his hand as she led them through.

When he accepted her little speech with nothing but a smile, she found herself mildly nonplussed. Did that mean he agreed, or--if he was some creature of the pit--that he was laughing at her foolish pride? She wasn't sure how to read him, even less so when he slipped through the opening and started up the stairs beyond. But Mireio disliked to waver too far once she had set a course, so after a moment she shrugged and started up behind him.

When he looked back, he would see her silhouetted in the vanishing light of the lamps, as she pulled the entrance of their hideaway closed behind them. Then the sound of her footsteps coming up, before she bumped gently against him in the dark with a soft exclamation. She realized then that she could hear him breathing hard, and she felt a wave of fresh sympathy that further eroded any more prudent distrust. He was lost, and alone, and she had made herself responsible for him by her actions.

"Here," she said quietly, reaching out carefully in the blackness until her questing hand found the unruly tumble of his hair. Her fingertips passed lightly over the curve of his head, down to his shoulder, and with that navigation she stooped to draw his arm over her own shoulders and half-hug him for support. "Just a few more steps," she said as she straightened, trying to lend him the energy that her slender but healthy frame could offer. Slowly, they worked their way up the winding stair, which seemed longer than it ever had before.

Finally, more stone instead of air met her periodic probing ahead, and her arm tightened slightly around his back. "We made it," she whispered, excited both by that success and the illicit closeness of helping a strange young man up the steps. She felt her cheeks warm and was glad for the dimness that hid the blush, even as she felt about for the lever that would bring more light. She found it and leaned her shoulder forward to push, and as below a section of apparently solid stone swung aside with only the faintest grinding.

The room that waited beyond was dimly lit, only a single lamp turned low on a table next to the bed. The bed was four-poster and curtained, a richly formal thing that testified they were officially out of the catacombs. The rest of the furniture was similarly well-appointed, all elegantly carved hardwoods and velvet draperies, a chair and a small shelf of precious books and a sizeable wardrobe. But her focus was on the bed, where she helped him to sit--or fall--before hurrying back to close the last door behind them.

"Are you all right?" she asked, turning back and coming near to lean over and look at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't think the climb would be so bad." Her expression was anxious, marred slightly by a smudge of soot on one side of her nose.

 

[gray]

The sight of her hand reaching down to touch him, and then the sensation of her fingers running across his hair, over his skin, had a strangely tranquilizing effect on the boy. His breathing began to slow and his muscles relaxed, the jumble of panic receding back behind a curtain of concentration. It was a wonderful feeling, and he found it to be the most meditative focus he had ever imagined. As she helped him to stand, and slowly ascend the stairs, their proximity allowed him ample opportunity to drink in the feeling of closeness.

Warmth flowed through his skin where they touched, and a distant memory of lying upon the ground, letting the warm rain of his childhood homeland numb his body, came to mind. It was a blissful feeling, and one which now gave him the strength to finish the final stretch of their journey. He was smiling by the time they reached the top of the stairs, silently soaking in the memory so as to call upon it in the future. A part of him still did not quite understand just how fully his life had changed in his short time with Mereio, but that ignorance fell away as the door swung open, revealing a sight that nearly made his eyes water to behold.

There was so much to see! Even after leaving his cell, having vision restored to him, the scenery had been largely unchanging, stone and dull brick, wondrous things for certain, but easily patterned and comprehended. The plethora of detail contained within this one room however, was enough to make him feel faint all over again. It was a joyous feeling though, and as he was guided to the bed, he discovered another, even greater miracle.

The bed was so soft he thought at first he might sink into it, yet once he was certain such was not the case, he fell upon his back, moving to the center and stretching out his limbs in all directions, eyes closing and a smile stretching wide across his face as he marveled at the wondrous bed, something he had not even known he should have missed. For a few long moments, he did nothing but lay there, very still, and it may even have looked like he had fallen asleep, but soon his golden eyes shot open, brilliant and full of renewed curiosity.

Sitting up, he crossed his legs comfortably beneath himself, and turned to face Mireio. He loved her face, watching it was like watching the clouds, full of beautiful, constantly swirling expressions that captivated his attention full. Noticing the black smudge on her nose, and smiling appreciatively at her concern, he reached up both hands and placed them upon her cheeks, holding her face gently as he moved closer, studying her face, her eyes, and the soot upon her nose. "I am well Ka'lee." he assured her in his simple speech, still holding her face as he drew his own closer. Moving slowly, he moved two soft and gentle fingers to wipe at the black smudge, speaking quietly as he cleaned the spot. "What was sleeping now wakes, and moves about the world once more." It was all he had really, having spent the last decade repeating all the phrases he could remember back to himself.

Satisfied with his cleaning, he released her face and upright, looking to her expectantly, hoping to make up for his previous slippage upon the stairs. His hands were cupped peacefully in his lap, his hair pooling around him in a black circle, and while his body cried out for rest, his mind was awake and active, relishing the wealth of new sensation. "What now Ka'lee?"

 

[Suspires]

The room was dulled by familiarity for Mireio--it was her refuge, but it held no surprises since she'd discovered the catch that worked the secret panel. That had been exciting, but it infused no new life into the furniture or wall hangings. Seeing them reflected in the prisoner's wondering gaze gave her a strange feeling, like she had been overlooking a gift she passed every day. How long had he been locked away?

Though she was troubled by that, it was a passing shadow on the newness of the moment as she turned back toward the bed to see him reveling in it like a child on a holiday. She stifled a giggle, and then a faint flush crept into her cheeks when she came close and he framed his face between her hands. Like his earlier gesture, it was a startlingly personal touch, and she found herself holding her breath as he drew closer. Hoping for... what? She didn't have time to examine that fleeting impulse, as he wiped away the streak of soot and she blinked at her new name. And what he said next--it was a similar phrase, though not identical, to the clue that had taken her on her original mad hunt. It was like the completion of a half-remembered couplet.

"Who are you...?" she wondered aloud, sinking to sit on the edge of the bed and tucking her legs demurely underneath her. "Oh! I didn't even say, before. I'm Mireio." It seemed simpler, somehow, to omit titles. It hid this strange friendship just a little bit longer from the outside world. "What's your name? And what does Ka'lee mean?" She cut herself short before too broad a torrent of questions escaped, while other ones echoed inside her. Like Where is he going to stay? and What am I going to do with him? Instead of answering them she watched his face for a change, studying the markings and those bright golden eyes now that she wasn't distracted by running or hiding.

 

[gray]

Still eyeing her with his completely unflinching gaze, the circles of gold in his eyes seemed almost like another iteration of the markings upon his skin. Yet his eyes grew distant as he seemed to fall into consideration of her first question, and for a moment, he held them closed, before opening them with a slowly spreading grin. "Mireio Ka'lee is she who will give me naming." He looked pleased at having been able to answer both her questions with a single answer, as if it were some game he played with speech.

Now that he had said it however, he began to turn her name over and about in his mind, soon softly uttering varying versions of inflection. "Mireio, Mireio, Mireio..." His voice faded away as he met her gaze once more, and while he still smiled, his face went still, unblinking as he met her eyes, waiting for her part in his words had proposed.

There was something else in that look though, something that seemed to be doing more then simply watching, but perhaps, learning, or studying would be the better word. On observation, it might have been noticeable that his demeanor had changed, adapted to what he had seen in his short time of freedom. And what he had seen was her, having been toying with the expressions she wore at different time, remembering and learning when she used each. He was calm on the surface, but his eyes betrayed a beehive of activity at work, as though he had managed to preserve the youthful capacity to absorb near limitless information. The gentle light of the room felt good on his strained eyes, and the warmth of the chamber as compared to the chill of the cells below was threatening to lull him into a hazy sleep if given an inch.

 

[gray]

Still eyeing her with his completely unflinching gaze, the circles of gold in his eyes seemed almost like another iteration of the markings upon his skin. Yet his eyes grew distant as he seemed to fall into consideration of her first question, and for a moment, he held them closed, before opening them with a slowly spreading grin. "Mireio Ka'lee is she who will give me naming." He looked pleased at having been able to answer both her questions with a single answer, as if it were some game he played with speech.

Now that he had said it however, he began to turn her name over and about in his mind, soon softly uttering varying versions of inflection. "Mireio, Mireio, Mireio..." His voice faded away as he met her gaze once more, and while he still smiled, his face went still, unblinking as he met her eyes, waiting for her part in his words had proposed.

There was something else in that look though, something that seemed to be doing more then simply watching, but perhaps, learning, or studying would be the better word. On observation, it might have been noticeable that his demeanor had changed, adapted to what he had seen in his short time of freedom. And what he had seen was her, having been toying with the expressions she wore at different time, remembering and learning when she used each. He was calm on the surface, but his eyes betrayed a beehive of activity at work, as though he had managed to preserve the youthful capacity to absorb near limitless information. The gentle light of the room felt good on his strained eyes, and the warmth of the chamber as compared to the chill of the cells below was threatening to lull him into a hazy sleep if given an inch. For now however, he sat waiting, and watching.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio had never realized before how seldom people looked at each other so directly. Their gazes flitted around because they were dissembling, or searching for a turn of phrase, or slanting a meaningful glance at some other target. If they stared you down without blinking it was an attempt to intimidate, and could be met with a little bracing of anger. But people never just rested their eyes on your face steadily, as if you were the most important thing in the world to be listening to. She almost felt an urge to apologize, to explain to him that she wasn't worth taking so seriously.

That warm but self-conscious moment lasted until he handed the responsibility of his name over to her. It took a few seconds to sink in, and then her mouth dropped open in dismay. "Oh, no. I couldn't..." But the words dried up there, as she remembered how he had answered the first time she asked his identity. In her father's name, he had been locked in the dark. Now, it had fallen to her to return things long deferred--light, friendship, apparently even a name.

She was quiet for a second, falling into the contemplation that lay behind her sometimes flighty exterior. Tilting her head to the side as she looked at him, she finally said, "The Albanesian philosophers said that a person's soul was divided into higher and lower halves, the ein and oin. And that a person was born weighed down by their lower soul, because the principles of their ein were scattered about in the world, so they could only become complete by seeking out those pieces and understanding their truth."

She smiled with unaccustomed shyness, finishing in a rush. "Well. They may have been heretical, but I always liked the idea. Would that suit you? Ein?" Her hands, folded on her knee, had begun to fidget lightly with a fold of the blankets as she answered. She didn't notice in her distraction that her fingers had taken up a tendril of his hair from the wide pool spreading around him on the bed.

 

[gray]

His gaze stayed locked upon hers, calm and serene, throughout Mireio's speaking. He seemed to absorb what she told him about the Albanesian with great interest, and though she may not have known it, the mode of thought which she described was a very close cousin to the ideas of the prisoners homeland. Musings about those ideas were cut short however, as suddenly, he was no longer the prisoner, he was Ein, and her explanation of the name gave him a sense of great pride. Remembering her earlier comment, naming him maléfice, he suddenly saw their journey from his cell to this room in new light. He had been empty when she found him, yet now he was filling up, moving about the world and seeking his Ein, himself.

The thought caused a great and wide smile to spread across Ein's face, growing in a slow and fluid manner. "Mireio Ka'lee and Ein Ka'tem." He confirmed, touching two fingers to the small nook just below her neck as he said her name, and doing likewise for himself. He was full of little ritualistic gestures it seemed.

Feeling some sifting weight, he was momentarily confused before he realized it was the slight sensation of Mireio absently playing with a strand of his hair. Smiling wide once more, he leaned close to her, lifting a length of her own hair and letting it run through his fingers, enjoying the tactile feeling of it. No sense of personal space seemed to exist in the youth, having been taken from his people at an age where closeness and contact were the norm. Such lack was demonstrated as he moved on to join his hand withe one of hers which had unintentionally taken hold if his lengthy growth of hair. With his other hand he looped a long strand about the digits he had meshed with Mireio, letting it bind them for a moment before letting it fall. There was no ritual meaning in what he did, only simple play. The sensation of contact with his Ka'lee was wonderful to say the least, so he felt no hindrance in exploring the feeling. He connected his fingertips with her own as he looked to her eyes once more, his expression still mirthful, but showing what looked like appreciation as well. "Ein will bare his name with pride Mireio Ka'lee." His tone carried a seriousness to it that mixed oddly well with his bliss.

Almost as an afterthought, he drew her hand close to his face, examining her fingers for a moment before slowly bringing his lips into contact with one of her knuckles, getting a better sense of it's feel for one delighful moment before drawing away and looking up at her again. "Mireio teaches many things." He commented softly. Perhaps she had not intended to, but Ein had taken many 'lessons' already from his Ka'lee.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio was, frankly, used to being looked at somewhat askance by the time she had finished one of her offbeat explanations. She was half-resigned to the same treatment from the nameless boy, and the smile that spread over his face instead conjured an answering light on her own. Ka'tem, she mouthed silently, unsure if it was a piece of his name or a title, the way Ka'lee seemed to be an honorific.

His light touch in the hollow of her throat made her feel a strange tingle of awareness, reminding her afresh that she was sitting on her bed with a stranger. When he leaned forward to tug at a strand of her hair, she suddenly realized that she had been fidgeting with a bit of his. She would have snatched her hand back, but he was gently twining his fingers around hers, and a bit of his innocent joy couldn't help rubbing off. He was just so clearly grateful for the contact, it was hard for embarrassment at the impropriety to last.

That ease was tested as he drew her hand up to his face and brushed his mouth across the back, and a faint pink tinged her cheeks. She had seen the same gesture dozens of times--hundreds of times--as a piece of courtly artifice, signaling everything from polite necessity of greeting to positively indecent interest. His guileless affection was something else entirely, and she shook her head in baffled wonder when he said that she was teaching him. "I don't know what to do with you," she said aloud. "There's so much..."

She was cut off by the sound of a rap on the door, the thick wooden portal they had bypassed on their entrance through the secret panel. She sat up straight, fingers squeezing his and sudden worry sharp in her eyes. After a second of furious thought, she put a finger to his lips to caution him for silence, eyes pleading that he understand the urgency. "A moment," she called over her shoulder, and then she was moving, reluctantly letting go of his hand and sliding from the bed, grabbing up a dressing gown laid over the end and pulling it on to cover her dust-marked dress. She stared at Ein for a moment longer before reaching up to whisk the bed curtains closed, enclosing him in a rich velvet darkness.

Her footsteps went to the door, followed by a clank of unlocking, and then a muffled exchange of voices. Mireio's, soft and a little irritable as if she'd been pulled from sleep, the apologetic murmur of a maid, and a smoothly condescending and somehow insinuating reply from a man.

 

[gray]

The sound at the door caught Ein off guard. He wasn't used to such levels of ambient noise, or of so much stimulation, and had not heard the approaching footsteps at all. His muscles soon relaxed and his curiosity leapt forth, but he kept it controlled, hoping Mireio Ka'lee would approve. Her next actions confused him a bit though, and he struggled with them as if they were a riddle he had been tasked to solve. Her gesture was know to him, but meant not the same as it did to him. The darkness she enclosed him in helped him to think, and as she threw her gown on, he began to understand.

She wants me hidden. He realized, and as the door swung ajar he was struck with not only what she wanted, but why. A bad man was at the door, he felt it in his voice, in the way he spoke, even if he could not make out the words. Ka'lee protects me from the Bad Man. The thought ran through his mind like a swift breeze, and all of a sudden he was filled with both gratitude and frustration. She was Ka'lee, and to him, that meant he was to protect her as well. I will not be bloodfly. It was another of the sayings he still remembered, expressing his peoples custom, to never take without giving in return.

He knew she did not want him seen, and he respected that as best he could while creeping from the curtained bed, moving out along the the wall and hidden from view of those in the doorway. Silent as the grave, he padded along the wall, stopping just beside the doorway, back pressed firmly to the stone as he silenced even his breathing. He could hear the words a bit better now, but for the moment, his mind was preoccupied with a singular determination. He would not let the man into this room. He knew not whether the man would try to enter, but some part of Ein compelled that he must not let him if so.It was a compulsion he did not fully understand, but one he trusted completely without doubt.

They told me to protect Ka'lee. The thought came unbidden, but once it did, he could scarcely believe he had forgotten it. They had told him many things he must do, but a great majority of it was covered as if by some nebulous fog, obscuring it from view. That one command though, now that danger had presented itself, it came to him as naturally as breathing. His fingers curled and relaxed, repeating the motion every few seconds.It was strange how quickly his demeanor had shifted, and for the first time, there seemed something almost lethal about him, something savage. His control over it seemed in line however, and his mind was clear, focused sharply and intensely aware.

 

[Suspires]

Bound up in fear of discovery and the swift decisions that attended it, Mireio missed the significance of the gesture she had made to warn him to silence. She was a quiet but efficient swirl of motion and energy until she was properly night-attired and at the door, and then she took a slow, deep breath before opening it. She also put a discreet foot down to stop it swinging open more than part of the way, so that her body blocked the available space.

As Ein emerged from the bed and moved along the wall, the conversation coalesced from murmurs into words. Mireio had been noticed missing from her room a bit earlier, and when the maid couldn't account for her whereabouts, concern had escalated. Mireio's sweet but firm rejoinder was that she had taken a walk in the gardens to help her go to sleep. It wasn't entirely clear that her excuse was believed, but after a few back-and-forth exchanges, an impasse was reached with no evidence to the contrary.

"Be more thoughtful in the future, your highness," the unseen man finally said, tone velvet with concern. "The night air can be upsetting to a girl's health, and we are all concerned for you."

Mireio gave a bright, brittle smile entirely unlike the expressions she had shown to Ein thus far. "Thank you, duke. But I assure you, you needn't concern yourself about me again at this time of night."

With a courteous parting nod and slightly more haste than necessary, she pushed the door shut, leaning her forehead against it and closing her eyes as if that short conversation had tired her out more than all the catacombs walking. It wasn't until she opened her eyes a moment later that she surfaced from her distraction enough to notice Ein, standing much closer than she expected and with a fierce look about him that held nothing of the innocent boy. She caught her breath and just stared at him for a second, as the footsteps receded outside. Her hands were shaking a little, still pressed against the door.

 

[gray]

During their conversation, Ein kept perfectly still, his muscles tensed in preparation for... For what? In truth, he had no real idea what he was doing, it was as if his body knew the proper course of action better than he did. It frightened him a little, and it would be a lie to say he wasn't relived when the door shut and he heard the sound of retreating footsteps. His instinctual impulses were not through with him quite yet however, for he soon found himself moving once more. Moving with the same lethal quite he had before, he moved closer to Mireio, and for a moment, it may have looked like his intent was with her, but in a flash he was passed her, pressing his ear to the grain of the wooden door, listening to the sound of footsteps. As they faded further and further away, his posture became ever more relaxed, and finally, as the last sounds slipped into inaudibility, he let out a deeply held breathe, his demeanor seeming to return to its former state.

Quite suddenly, he whirled about, eyes bright and large once more. He seemed not at all concerned with his recent behavior, for no matter how it might have frightened him, some part of him knew he had done what he was meant to. Still, he made note to consider the bizarre later, during his meditations.

"Is Mireio well?" He asked, so discombobulated by the recent happenings that he completely forgot to include her title. The more he spoke, the more it sounded like he was speaking a language that was not his native tongue. An observation that would be too far off the mark. His eyes were studying her once again, and he seemed to come to some conclusion. "The man caused you grief." It was more of a statement then a question, though there were elements of both. He paused a moment before seeming to some to a conclusion, and he took a step toward her, bringing himself quite close to her. Without speaking further, he repeated back the gesture she had made to him, placing a finger upon her lips, his eyes meeting hers with vivid intensity.

For a long moment he stayed that way, a loose smile upon his face. Yet as he stood, he finally reached his limit. He wavered just enough to be noticeable, and his smile seemed to droop ever so slightly. "Ka'lee, my body..." He did not know quite how to say what he meant. It felt as though a thousand tiny string were pulled him downward. Since being freed, he had used his muscles to the full capacity they would allow, and with a final shudder, he simply fell to the ground, only just barely twisting himself so that he ended up sitting, his legs folded beneath him. Giving another small shudder as he steadied himself, savoring the rest his body so desperately cried for, he looked up to her and gave her a helpless smile, a little ashamed at his lack of will. "I am sorry." He breathed, the words quite and soft.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio's eyes widened as Ein approached with that sharp intent look about him, then he was past and leaning his head against the heavy wooden door to listen. When the last echo of footsteps had vanished and he turned back to her, she was still looking at him in bemusement, a feeling not entirely laid to rest by his sudden return to his normal attitude. The thought flashed through her mind that she had been taken in by a dangerous creature after all, but she shoved it aside as unworthy.

At his question, she broke out of that reflection, and his follow-up declaration made her eyes slide to one side. They returned to his face quickly, a bright green-blue and full of unhappiness for a moment before she smiled a little. "Mireio is--I'm well. The man is my uncle, and some things in the castle are... complicated, that's all." She was saved from essaying further into that conversational swamp by the touch of his finger against her lips, that gesture he had made before which seemed so heavy with meaning to him. It was strangely comforting, to let the half-formed awkward explanation slip away and just meet his gaze. The eyes of a friend, although she didn't really understand him or what that meant for them.

She caught the crack in his composure and realized something was wrong just before he wobbled and half-fell. Too slow to catch him, she knelt down beside him swiftly, any unease about his earlier flash of intensity now banished. Her arm slipped around his shoulders to steady him, and she prayed that he was only tired and not ill in some fashion he couldn't communicate. Then she wondered if you were allowed to pray for a maléfice that you had let out of prison.

Ignoring that spiritual sticking point, she said, "Rest a minute, and then we'll get you over to the bed and you can sleep, all right? Everything is going to be fine." She just hadn't worked out how, yet. Searching for a few seconds' talk to distract him, a question popped out. "When you put your finger here," she touched her lips, "what did it mean?"

 

[gray]

Tired and pained as he was, Ein still felt joy in the immediate concern that Mireio showed for him, meeting her eyes as she knelt before him, her statement about her uncle registering somewhere in his mind, but certainly not his conscious thought. Watching her as she brought her finger to her lips, her question seemed once again more like a riddle meant to grow his understanding than a genuine curiosity. Mulling it over, he saw the value in pondering the question, in meditating upon the meaning of such symbols.

A long moment of silence passed, during which time his mind was completely distracted from the pain of his muscles. Finally, a slow grin began to spread across his face, starting from one corner of his mouth and sliding across till it seemed it would swallow up his entire head. His eyes focused again and they met Mireio's. Slowly, he raised his finger to her lips, touch them briefly and softly, the strain of movement was obvious, but it seemed the pain was beginning to recede. Lowering his hand back into his lap, he spoke, offering more words than he had spoken in total up to this point.

"The lips are sensitive, and through them flows the breathe of life, they feel what touches them more fully then any other part of the body." Pausing a moment, he took a deep and soothing breathe, his lungs almost as unaccustomed to such use as his body. "The touch is to remind us that we seek to know each other as our lips know all they meet, to breathe as one, as Ka'oh." Once he had found this answer, the words came as easily as if he had know them all his life, though if that was actually the case, he could not tell, the fog that pervaded parts of his mind seemed to lurk around that question as well. He was pleased with his answer however, and fell once more into silence, waiting for her response, hoping he had responded well. Now that the pain had subsided, he was beginning to stretch himself as well, his posture straightening and his legs moving to lay crossed beneath him, a pose he was quite familiar with. She had mentioned a bed before her question, he recalled that now, and the thought had him giddy excitement, remembering how wonderful it had felt to lay upon it.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, his eyes still intent on Mireio's own, the former prisoner, now Ein, felt as though he had reached some new level of understanding. He knew he must wait for his Ka'lee to speak first, but the thought kept him further distracted from the aching of his joints, so he held to it while he waited.

 

[Suspires]

Mireio wasn't sure what answer Ein would give--while it seemed clear that the gesture held some ceremonial resonance, it was also reasonably clear that his feelings sometimes outpaced his ability to find words. She was curious as he smiled wide, her own lips curving up a little in inquiring sympathy as he seemed to be delighted by something. She leaned forward slightly to meet his reaching gesture, seeing that even the small movement was still hard for him.

When he spoke, she rocked back in astonishment, for the reply was far more complex than she had expected. It had the cadence of some remembered teaching, and for the first time she wondered who had raised him before he came to be the boy in the cell. "So when I did it back, was I saying that I agreed, that I want to know you that way too?" It occurred to her that her phrasing might sound inappropriate to other ears, but fortunately Ein's innocence suppressed any awkwardness.

She thought a moment more, and her bright eyes stayed fixed on him until she spoke again. "Hospitality is sacred, a bond as strong as a promise between guest and host. I don't have much that's only my own here, but it's yours as well--bed, food, and shelter from discovery." It was a kind of trade, putting words to a gesture that he deserved to know he could rely on. Never mind that many people didn't keep those old laws, that she had absorbed them as lessons of courtesy and tradition. Now they had fresh personal meaning, and she clasped one of his hands in both of hers with impulsive affection.

She had a hundred more questions, but she could see exhaustion etched in his movements. "Do you think you can reach the bed, if I help? I'd bring you pillows and blankets right here on the floor, but it would be hard to explain to the maid in the morning." She smiled, even though the question of how to hide him loomed only a night's sleep away. But that was a problem for Mireio of the morning.