Fiesi was certain he reached peak humiliation when he begged a Cormé girl to tip water down his throat. But the universe seems to delight in shoving him lower.

He crouches lower into the shadows of the alley, partly in a vain attempt to avoid notice and partly to help work the grey trousers up to his waist. Somehow, they're both overly long and too tight. The coarse material rides up his ankles. If his father saw him like this, he doubts the Kynig name would be his for much longer.

Gritting his teeth, he shoves his feet back into his boots, tossing a glance at the end of the alley. It's just as it was the last twenty times he looked: a vertical wall, complete with straw-patched overhang, impossible to scale. Trying to climb it would only result in more humiliation. Besides, even if he could somehow get onto the rooftops, where would he go? If he went after Nathan, Sarielle would find him. If he ran in the other direction, he might as well ink the word 'failure' onto his forehead.

Then again, failure is better than a Cormé decapitating him, or sticking her sword into his chest and watching as he bleeds out.

At least the early morning hour means no-one saw Sarielle drag him into the outskirts of the bridge town, exchange his chains for a ragged bundle of clothes from the bottom of her bag, and trap him in this alley before he could try anything. He just hopes she didn't look over at the point he was stark naked. That at least means he can preserve some fragment of dignity.

Fight her, Rigel snaps. By now, his tone has lost any element of its usual chirp. It strikes him like a sharp peck to the skull, enough to make him flinch.

With a sigh, Fiesi pulls the shirt over his head. Fight the girl who almost killed me. Excellent idea.

Catch her off guard. Disarm her. If birds can growl, that must be the sound that reverberates through Fiesi's mind. Stop allowing her control.

His gaze strays in the other direction, where Sarielle's white-clad figure paces across the street's opening. Her sword swings wide arcs with every step. She's smart enough to expect him to try something. He might be able to disarm her from a distance, but he needs to get close to her in order to have any effect. If the Oscensi soldiers are anything like Neyaibet, she'll know how to fight without a weapon.

He's capable of bringing her down, but it's a risk. The thought of that risk turning against him spikes chillingly in his side, the phantom of her blade spearing beneath his ribs.

I can't, he sends Rigel's way, although it's pointless. The bird has already retracted, the flame's thread reeled in. His absence settles a distant ache in Fiesi's chest.

Leaning against the wall, he closes his eyes for a second. The opportunity will present itself eventually. She has to let her guard down at some point. As soon as they've rescued Nathan, all he has to do is wait for the perfect moment.

He winces. He doesn't need Rigel's intrusion to remind him that the perfect moment has already occurred.

"I told you to come as soon as you were done."

Fiesi nearly jumps out of his skin. He stumbles back from the blade jabbed at his chest, holding out his hands. Sarielle rattles the chains looped around her other hand.

"I was just getting a moment of peace," he grumbles. Her sword jerks, and he hurriedly thrusts his hands out, offering a silent farewell to his wrists. They and the back of his hands have already been pinched in a thousand different places, marked in raw red lines. He sucks in a sharp breath when the cool metal presses into his skin. She's winding it around, shoving his palms together, before he even has a chance to consider protesting.

She slips the end of the chain through a gap and frowns at the length still dangling out, then shrugs. "Dalton is much better at this than me." Lifting her gaze, she surveys him. "How are you finding the clothes?"

"Itchy. Drab." He glances down at the shirt. "Unflattering."

She snorts a laugh and drops the chain, crossing to his discarded former clothes. "Like there's anything to flatter. But at least they're not covered in blood."

"That is some relief," Fiesi mutters, ignoring the jibe. He hasn't the energy to retort. As she stuffs the torn heap into her bag, the blue flash of his cloak crumpled into a careless ball, he winces. "Can't I at least wear my cloak?"

"It's too recognisable." She doesn't fully succeed in hiding her smirk as she rams the cloak deeper into the bag. Still, she's right. After all, that is its entire purpose. Blue is the colour of a Kynig, bright and vibrant to announce the importance of one's presence. It's supposed to be Fiesi's colour.

His cloak is less a comfort than an outer layer of protection. He feels almost naked without it hugging his shoulders.

Bag slung over her shoulder, Sarielle picks up the chain again and gives it a harsh tug. He shoots her a scowl as he staggers after her. "You're not leading an animal."

"I'll believe that when you prove it to me." She spins, flashing him a glare, before her pace quickens. He has no choice but to keep up. "You can't be a dog, though. You don't have the loyalty."

"I am loyal," he says, "to my people."

"Right." Disbelief cuts her tone. He bites his tongue, rather glad that Rigel isn't currently sifting through his thoughts. "Your bird definitely saw Neyaibet arrive on this side of the bridge?"

They turn out of the alley just as she finishes. Craning his neck, Fiesi peers between the nearest houses to the left, catching a flash of empty space beyond. The valley, slicing deep between the rising slope behind them and across the other side. Is this right, bud?

Rigel sends over a mental nod and severs the connection again. Fiesi swallows. "Yes."

"Then the inn is this way." Yanking the chain to the right, she continues him up the slope, ignoring his squeak of protest. She throws a glance over her shoulder. "Try hanging your head. Scowl less."

"Why?" He lifts his chin, glaring at the back of her head.

"Because that makes you less conspicuous, and I figure you'd rather choose your life over stupid pride."

Reluctantly, he redirects his gaze to his feet. There's no use arguing. His pride is somewhere behind in the forest, bled out along with his courage. Rigel reconnects the thread long enough to tangle it with displeasure at that thought.

They trudge to the crest of the hill. A sickening pang spears through Fiesi's stomach a moment before he registers the scent twisted into the air. He recoils, straining the chain. "Do we have to go this way?"

Sarielle halts for the briefest moment. He raises his head enough to see the building ahead, tall and squat as if it ate several other houses to bulge to the size it has. Narrow windows glint at intervals in its upper section. An inn. A woman leans out of a windowless opening at its side, handing out steaming bowls of soup to the people lined up around the corner. Swallowing hard, he averts his eyes.

"You can eat when Nathan is safe," Sarielle says sharply, starting off again.

Safe. The urge to laugh aloud climbs up his throat, slipping before it surfaces. "I suppose I'll be waiting a while, then."

She jerks the chain, almost tripping him over. Much to his dismay, they draw even closer to the inn, winding around the gathered people to approach the opening from the other side. The woman glances up shortly before turning her attention back to the coins being planted in her hand. "Queue up like everyone else, please."

"Pardon me, madam, but I'm not here to buy." The chain rattles as Sarielle steps closer. The woman's gaze darts up again, noticing Fiesi this time, startled. "Is there a group of soldiers staying here?" When her brows crease soundlessly, Sarielle lets out a friendly sort of laugh. "I know it's an odd request."

"Quite," the woman says.

Sarielle leans in. "If you must know, this man is a Neyaibet deserter." She shakes his binds. He grits his teeth, struggling to remain silent, his flame squirming under his skin. "I'm hoping to receive a small reward for his capture."

The woman's lips twitch. "Fair enough. Might I ask his name?"

"Is that entirely necessary?" Sarielle asks.

"If you'd like me to fetch these soldiers for you."

Panic rolls through Fiesi's chest. Drifting a step back, he tugs on his chain, but Sarielle casts him no acknowledgement. She only coils it over her wrist, tethering him in place as she sighs. "Alright. This is Finlay Hunter."

At least she chose the right name. But it's the name they'll recognise regardless. An invisible hand grips his lungs, tightening with the woman's dipped nod. "If you'll come inside."

"Of course," Sarielle says, already moving around to the left wall. As soon as the woman has vanished from view, he throws himself against it, jerking her to a stop.

"What are you doing?" he hisses.

She whirls around. "Getting us close to them. Trust me."

He stares pointedly down at where her sword sits, snug against her hip. "I do not trust you."

She scoffs, tugging her cloak to shield the holster from view. "You should." Without giving him a chance to reply, she strides around the corner, forcing Fiesi to follow with nothing but a silent prayer. Stars, please don't let today be the day I join you.

The door is propped open. They slip in, him casting a longing glance over his shoulder at the empty street. Inside, eyes snap to them immediately. The ground floor of the inn is dotted with tables and stools, only a fraction of them populated, but the few early risers drift attention their way regardless.

A counter curves away from the far wall, barrels of what Fiesi presumes to be ale stacked up behind it. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. The smell is enough to make his skin crawl, sticky and unclean.

Sarielle tugs at the chain, urging him to approach the counter. He feels gazes trace along its rattling coils and pierce into him, immediately cold and accusing. The desire to tip up his chin and stare right back squirms within him, but from the pointed look she tosses his way, that isn't the right move. He settles for glaring down at the offending links of metal.

While she perches on a stool, shifting the chain in painful twists, he stands awkwardly beside her. The nearest seat is too far to reach. Unwelcome fear thrums through him, bouncing his heels.

He shouldn't be scared of Neyaibet. But if Sarielle has shown him anything, it's his own vulnerability.

Barely a few moments of murmuring quiet, and then rhythmic steps thump from the staircase winding out of the right corner. The woman appears first, then the two navy-clad soldiers flanking her. Fiesi recognises them both. Despite himself, a smirk tugs at his lips. He lets it emerge, drawing on old confidence to smother all else.

Ignoring Sarielle's glance, he straightens, meeting Fayre's eyes. If he's going to play himself in whatever his reluctant companion is staging, he'll do it right.

"Fay," he calls, voice ringing in the silence. In control. He prefers it this way. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm a little tied up at the moment."

She looks decidedly unamused, which only widens his grin. Turning to the woman, she dips her head. "Thank you. We'll take it from here."

The soldiers approach alone. Sarielle slips off the stool and slides in front of him, resting a hand on her sword hilt. She's failing to hide the tension taut in her muscles.

"So," Fayre says, halting before her, "you really did capture Finlay Hunter."

"I did." Sarielle tilts her head up.

Fayre gestures to the chain trailing from her hand. "Hand him over, then."

Unmoving, Sarielle jolts it to her side, out of reach. "There was a reward promised?"

Is that what she's really here for? She doesn't seem the sort to go after money, and Fiesi has always considered himself a reasonable judge of character. But his mistakes seem to be multiplying these last few days. She holds no value to his life. She's shown that.

There's no running. Maybe he can convince Fayre to let him go with some well-placed charm, a kiss, for old time's sake. He almost laughs aloud at the thought, watching her eyes flash daggers his way.

She sighs and turns to the other soldier, another girl with a helmet secure over her cropped hair. Shirley? Shelley? He decides on the latter. It must only have been in the last few months she joined the regiment; he doesn't recall having the opportunity to get to know her better.

Shelley produces a bundle of cloth tied into a bulging bag. It clinks, most likely packed full of coins. She passes it to Fayre, who thrusts it at Sarielle. "There. Does that satisfy?"

Taking the bag, Sarielle weighs it in her palm, then pulls the cord and peers into it. Gold glints in the room's bright lamplight. Fiesi lets out a soft whistle. "I didn't realise I was worth that much."

"You're not," Fayre says shortly. "Your death is."

Cold sinks in his chest, submerging whatever his response might have been. Sarielle ignores him. She simply pushes the bag into a pocket in her trousers, still surveying Fayre. "And the second part? Wasn't there safety promised, too?"

"We're on the Akurin side of the border." Fayre folds her arms. "You're always safe here." Bitterness taints her tone.

"I don't plan to stay on this side. My family is in Oscensi. I want safety for me and them."

It's clear Fayre is trying not to roll her eyes. Her gaze flicks to him again, and she nods reluctantly. "Fine. We'll need--"

"And I want it from your captain." When she frowns, Sarielle moves his chain behind her back, links grazing her hilt. Her cloak shifts with the movement. "I mean no offence, soldier, but I don't know you. I've heard of Captain Rakis. I'd trust his word over yours."

A sliver of hope teases out, circling his mind. Chances are, wherever the captain is, Nathan won't be far away. Perhaps she does have a plan.

It falters at Fayre's speculative gaze. "How do you know of him?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Sarielle shrugs. "Your regiment has collected its fair share of fame. Did you not know?"

Fiesi holds back a wince. Fayre couldn't care less about fame or glory. She's here to do a job and do it well, regardless of any reward that might await her at its end. In a way, he might admire her for that. Consequently, the answer doesn't appear to satisfy her, although Shelley looks positively delighted.

"Also, I might have mentioned him," Fiesi chips in. Sarielle stiffens.

Debate shifts like shadows over stone in Fayre's eyes. Eventually, she offers a nod, face like a flat mask. "You can deal with how annoyed he's going to be at having to speak to you. Follow me."

She brushes past Sarielle, attempting to subtly reach for the chain. It's jerked out of her reach. With a huff, she stalks towards the door, taking care to let her knives glint at her belt. Shelley ushers Sarielle after her, edging warily around Fiesi. He grins at her, knowing he must appear some level of mad and enjoying the prospect.

Everyone in the room watches them as they exit. It's quite a weight lifted when they step outside and into the open street. Except the moment they round the corner, Fayre spins, stumbling both him and Sarielle to a stop before her.

His eyes happen to fall to her belt, and his breath hitches. Only two remain there.

"What did you say your name was?" she asks, stepping towards Sarielle.

"I didn't." Sarielle loops his chain another time around her wrist. He gives it a tug, trying to urge her to retreat.

"Would you care to give it?"

"I'd rather not," she says, tone hard, "until I see your captain."

Another tug, more force. This time she shifts, throwing him a sharp glance, but it's too late. The knife is already at her throat.

"You won't be seeing our captain, Oscensi scum." The hiss of Fayre's words twines with the quiet scrape as she draws another. "If you tell me who you are and then hand over Finlay right away, I might consider not killing you this instant."

The second knife edges up Sarielle's cloak, knocking aside the collar. Whatever they both see there is enough to make her gasp faintly. Her hand twitches, fingers angled towards her sword hilt, as if debating whether or not she has time to grab for it. Fiesi's gaze flicks to her other hand, the chain wound there. She must sense his thoughts, for her grip tightens.

If Fayre kills Sarielle, he'll die. But the opposite outcome seems likely to end the same way. He's still leashed in place, unable to run. Rigel, now would be a good time for you to break all your oaths and swoop down to save me.

The barest brush of a sigh tickles his senses.

"You don't want Finlay," Sarielle says. "He's an awful captive."

"Hurtful," Fiesi mutters. He attempts a half-step back, the chain snapping taut. A sword's edge rests lightly on his back. Shelley has slipped in behind him, near silent.

"I don't doubt it." Fayre steadies her knife, calm and still as stone. "Who are you?"

Sarielle's jaw clenches. Her fingers flex, then ball into a fist as Fayre's second knife drifts downwards to block their path to her sword.

"Who are you?" she repeats.

Tilting her chin up, Sarielle looks Fayre straight in the eyes. "Why don't I show you?"

The next few moments merge into a dizzying blur.

Sarielle's left hand whips out from the folds of her cloak, the smooth shaft of a spear slashing through the air, its glinting head tearing into Fayre's arm. With a yelp, she cradles it to her chest. The knife slips from her hand, but Fiesi hardly hears the clatter of its fall.

His chain has slackened.

As Shelley rushes forward, Sarielle releases its end entirely, coils jangling as they tumble to the cobbles below. He wastes no time in scrambling back, tripping over himself in his desperation to get away. It proves a worthwhile move. Enduring the flash of pain as his shoulder hits the ground, he wriggles his legs around, kicking at the knotted coils. The clangs of the girls' fighting echoes in his ears, not ceasing. They remain distracted. For once, he's glad not to be the centre of attention.

One loop traps under his toe. He yanks his hands upwards, and relief bursts in his chest. The chain loosens. He squirms again, and his wrists slowly scrape their way out. They're rubbed red and raw, but delightfully free. He wiggles his fingers with a long sigh.

"Don't move."

He freezes, still tangled on the ground. Shelley has crept up on him. Her sword lowers to point at his chest.

Fear writhes to the surface, but it's flimsy, easy enough to burn away. Extracting his hand from under the final coil of chain, he holds them both up, palms out. A sign of surrender to her. If she isn't aware of what he is, the reality should make for a nice surprise.

He lets a smile flicker into place. "Shelley--"

She frowns. "I'm Daisy."

"Oh." He laughs. Nowhere close, but what does it matter? "Whatever your name is, you're clearly a nice girl. I'd never do anything to hurt you, you know that?"

The sword point twitches closer. "You betrayed our kingdom."

"And that hurt no-one, really." Without moving his hands, he shifts, raising his head. "It's not like I'm fighting for Oscensi now. I'm unarmed. Why not just sheathe that sword and let me go on my merry way?"

Her eyes widen, but nothing more. "Fayre says otherwise."

"Yes, well, she would. Love shows itself in strange ways."

Her grip tightens on the sword. "She..."

"Don't listen to him!" Fayre's voice. Fiesi glances over to see her dancing back from Sarielle's attempted strike. Her bleeding arm doesn't seem to be much of a hindrance. Sooner or later, one of them is going to win. Perhaps sooner than his preferred method of escape can serve him.

He exhales. "I didn't want to resort to this, but..." Carefully, he teases out a string of blue flame, twining it over his fingers. More threatens to rush out, but he keeps it hidden. Sometimes, the simplest touch is enough to scare those who don't understand.

It seems to be doing its job for Daisy. Confusion rears in her eyes, tangled with surging terror.

"Run away," he says, softly, letting the indication behind his tone roughen its edges. "Now."

Her sword trembles. She steps back. Then she's sprinting, racing past Fayre, around a corner and into the town's maze of streets.

The instant she's gone, he leaps to his feet, giving the bundle of chains a parting kick. He's already mapping out a plan in his mind. Run, hide out somewhere, regain his strength. Rigel is still watching the carriage. If he can somehow temper the bird's growing resentment, he can track Nathan. He hasn't failed yet.

Unfortunately, he makes the mistake of looking over at Sarielle.

A long gash cuts across her thigh. Her chest heaves as she staggers back, spear held out in defence. Her sword is several paces away. Though her eyes dart to it, she can't reach it. Fayre slashes with both knives at once, and Sarielle spins to block them. She's good, but she's better with swords, not this light-footed game of flashing blades and swift twirls Fayre likes to play.

So what? He can't tell if Rigel's voice lingers or his own mind has chosen to taunt him. Let her die. It isn't Fiesi's fault. He has a chance to be free of Cormé, and he'd be stupid not to take it.

Yet then he recalls her dropping the chain. On purpose. Not because Fayre forced her to; she was already fighting back. No, because she wanted him to get free.

He sighs to himself. "I'm going to regret this so much."

Summoning a streak of flame, he charges forward. They both see him too late. The fire is already stretching out into a coil of sapphire rope, latching around Fayre's ankles and yanking her over.

She falls face first with a jolted cry. The fire fizzles out instantly as he raises his gaze, meeting Sarielle's eyes. Surprise filters away to make way for what might be a smile.

Wordlessly, she tosses him the spear. He fumbles to catch it, stunned by his own actions. It's his own, the one he used many times to harm no-one at all, the same weapon he stole the night he left Neyaibet's camp. Now, it's dipped in Fayre's blood.

Fayre flips onto her back, storms crackling in her eyes. She snatches up her knives. Swifter than Fiesi can track, Sarielle steps on one, pinning it to the cobbles.

"Fiesi," she says, so oddly calm in the way she shapes his name that his heart stumbles, "do your thing."

"My..." He glances at his hands. "Ah." Dropping to his knees, he presses his free right hand against Fayre's ribs, warmth flowing through his veins and pooling like a fiery river beneath her skin.

Her breath audibly hitches. "Fin?" she croaks, already slipping below. "What..."

The word slurs into nothing as her eyelids flick closed. Fiesi finds his hands have started shaking. He curls them both over his spear's shaft as he rises, staring down at her, something winding tighter in his chest. She always looks so vulnerable asleep. When the daggers her eyes wield hide behind shields, and her expression leaks away its usual stony hardness, until it's nothing but honesty. Now, he sees confusion and fear and hurt. Not anger. Not truly.

He spins. Sarielle has fetched her sword and holds it at her side, blade curving inwards. For a moment, they regard one another, comprehending their choices, filled with questions. He feels at a total loss.

Then she straightens. "We need to hurry."

There's no time to reply. She's already speeding away, darting down the same alley Daisy vanished into. Before he knows it, Fiesi is following, a Cormé spear in one hand and a flicker of flame warming the other.

Every instinct screams for him to turn tail and bolt the other way. The sound of strings snapping echoes through his mind, as if strands catch at his ankles and break as he pushes onward. The rules, the boundaries, the goal. Rigel's will clawing like talons at his back.

I'll figure this out, he counters, a fragile promise but something to fill the void in place of comprehendable thought. Somehow.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I outlined this chapter like a million times and still ended up winging most of it. And it was not supposed to end yet. But it was getting on the longer side, and then a natural point to end the chapter came, so... here we are. Also it means I can update, since that is overdue--

Enjoy having two Fiesi chapters in a row, I guess. And being held in suspense over Nathan for even longer :DD

Fiesi is being difficult, but it's still fun doing this to him. I love it when my boys crisis--

- Pup