Hesi's bare feet stumbled after Mezophis as they tore through hidden corridors around Berheqt. It was so covert that no one could be seen or heard from miles away. Not even servants. Was Kharta aware of this?

"Hey, slow down." She called to the High Prince who was several paces ahead. Their distance grew slightly with each passing second. "I just healed. I don't even know how long I was in bed."

Mezo turned but stopped as she asked. "A week," he revealed when she caught up.

"What?" She huffed and clutched her side which throbbed at her outburst.

"You spent a week in the healing quarters," he repeated, an eyebrow raised more in question than in mockery. "I am sorry about my pace. Have I caused you pain?"

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand upright. "No big deal," she said. Through the arches lining the walkway, she only saw the unbridled sky and an expanse of overgrown landscape. No wonder no one knew about this. It was an abandoned area. Maybe. "Where are we going?"

The High Prince shrugged. He ditched the soldier's get-up somewhere between the healing quarters and this roofed pathwalk after making her wait by a fountain void of water. Sometimes, she forgot she gallivanted around with a demon—the prince, even—, and tonight was one of those moments. Dressed in a simple shepherd's tunic and cloak with a patterned scarf thrown around his shoulders and bald head, he passed off as a merchant who got lost inside Berheqt's maze-like layout.

Mezo became so devious since they met.

She lost count of how many times she had to pinch her palms to remind herself that Mezo was still a demon and she would kill him eventually. And now that they were alone, she could tackle him from behind and slip the poison into his mouth. She could leave him for dead. No one could trace the offense back to her or Kharta, not when Mezo isolated himself where anything could happen.

No more perfect chance could come. She was in no position to blow it. She exhaled shakily and followed the prince deeper into the corridor. For Pai. For Unsu. The breeding farm wouldn't wait. She had her fun long enough. Reality would come crashing after an eternity in fantasy.

"I was going to say 'you will see'," Mezo answered after a while of walking without a word exchanged between them. "But I can't wait that long."

He whipped towards her after shortening his steps a considerable length. "We are going outside." He put a finger to his lips, flashing a lopsided smile characteristic of teenage human boys. "It's a secret."

She glanced at the empty hallway layered by a fine carpet of dust and sand. "I figured," she said. "Are we stepping out of Berheqt for a moment?"

The demon prince shook his head. His steps had a ridiculous bounce to them as they resumed walking. The moon provided what little light she used to see the road. "You will see," was all he said.

The wind was humid. Seasons turned chaotic long ago. She gave up charting the course in her head after the time she spent in Berheqt eluded her. Has she been inside for three months? Five? A year?

Mezo stopped so suddenly she bumped her nose on his shoulder. She squeaked and scrambled back, a hand rubbing the sore spot. "Say something when you stop. It's dark out," she said as he grasped long stalks barring their way. They turned out to be metal grates. "What do we have here?"

"A passage for esteemed officials when Berheqt falls," the demon prince explained, grunting as his fingers yanked at the rails. A distinct cracking sound, and the metal popped free—hinges and all. He hasn't thought of stealing the key? "Not that it'd happen anytime soon."

"Yeah." She bobbed her head. "It wouldn't."

Because as long as she and Kharta didn't move, Berheqt would stand. It would have peace and security as long as demons traded human lives.

Mezo tossed the net-like board to the side. Thick bushes muffled most of the impact and kept the grates hovering inches from the ground. The demon prince's slitted eyes twinkled when he jerked his chin towards the darkness. "Let's go."

The abyss swallowed them whole. Another one of the prince's foolishness. In the void, anything could kill him. A fang to the heel. A drop of poison to the skin. A knife to the back. Of course, the same dangers awaited her, but unlike Mezo, she wasn't oblivious.

Because she was bound to do one of them.

Her fingers slipped the earring off her lobe quietly. Mayaware vision suffered in the moon's reign, but every sense amplified—hearing, smell, strength. With not a knife on her—she was smuggled from the healing quarters defenseless as a newborn—she has to succeed with a shot. No mistakes. No slip-ups.

Their footsteps echoed in the thick ink smothering their figures. Her eyes took longer to adjust, but she didn't stop thumbing the earring, locating where the opening was. She disguised every chink with a noisy step. Could the Mayaware sense a heartbeat too? Should she try controlling hers?

"Why did you do it?" came Mezo's mellow voice through the inky waves. "Why did you drink the poison meant for my father?"

She froze. Were they still not over that? Didn't they get her message? Maybe she had to spell it out for their meager brains. Which kind of defeated the entire thing, because if Mezo didn't get it, there was a huge chance Azophis didn't either. It would have flown by everyone's heads and made her look stupid before the Mayaware public.

"The task was to protect the King from the toxins," she said, extending thin patience to avoid snapping. "I could have done what the others did—give him the one harmful to humans. But what if there were no options? If only the khak-haufre stood between us, what will we do then?"

She dug her nail into the earring's tassel, twisting the thread around her finger. "I showed the king what I would do to protect him from the deadliest poison," she said. "It's the ultimate sacrifice a servant can give to their master."

"Are you willing to gamble with your life on the line?" Mezo asked.

She never had something accurately summarize what she did all her life. This game of survival, it was nothing but endless rounds of gambling. Lives would always be on the line. She couldn't avoid it. "Yes," she answered. "And more."

They reached a dead end. Mezo pressed a hand against a brick wall. With another grunt, he slid it aside. It must have been difficult, considering even a demon winced as he massaged his palms and rolled his wrist after. But traces of pain vanished when the path widened to the desert's expanse. "The world outside Berheqt." He breathed. "We're here."

It was nothing new to her, but to him, it was probably a Mayawarean paradise on Tjarma. She trekked after him as he tore through the vast sand peaks. She glanced behind her. They came out of a wall, similar to what Kharta used that night. How many secret paths existed inside Berheqt? Were they all used to escape? From what?

"See that sea of light?" Mezo pointed at a flurry of tents and torches burning against the night when she caught up to him. The dune sapped her remaining energy. Her bed called to her, but she soldiered on. She has to. "They make me happy. I never knew this emotion until you explained it, but that is how I feel whenever I see them."

"Have you been here before?" She arched an eyebrow. This time, it was wholly in judgment. "I thought you never stepped out of your quarters? Are you a rebel?"

He flashed her a crooked grin, if not, a wider one. "You could say that," he replied. "Nobody likes to be caged."

Again, she agreed with him without reservation.

She followed him as they traversed the distance between Berheqt's walls and the illuminated tents. With every step, the brays of cart animals, the clatter of nakti against wooden coffers, and the loud hollers she attributed to merchants became more pronounced. It was a human night market—traveling by day, and while camping for the night, selling wares as well.

Of all places they could go, why Berheqt? She recalled something Kharta said. Humans traded in the royal capital. There were human slaves in the palace. Hell, even Kharta rose through the ranks and became someone the High King trusted. The real question was: who decided which humans deserved a shot at living a half-acceptable life and which resembled animals, only meant for reproduction and to be butchered upon old age?

The noises intensified when they dived into the fray. To her surprise, tons of people, nomadic travelers who encountered the merchant camp for the night, milled about. Seeing oversized wickers peppered with poles and rags securing various objects to their owners' backs reminded her of when her family maintained a similar lifestyle. Her heart twinged.

A loud thud caught her attention. She whirled left to see a man haul a skinnier fellow up on two hands and slam the latter to the ground. The sand absorbed the force, but she might have heard a crack. Oh, it would hurt.

"That's it! The Mammoth reigns supreme!" A turbaned man stepped out from the folds of the adjacent tent with his arms raised. His multicolored robes and lavish jewelries signified he was wealthier than the entirety of Berheqt's servants combined. "Is anyone brave enough to challenge him? For the price of this beauty!"

He waved a sheathed dagger in the air, and the red gem blared against the torchlight. Her eyes tracked it. What a beautiful blade. All for what? Defeating a lumbering fool?

A hand clamped over her shoulder. "Hesi," Mezo whispered from behind. "Don't."

She brushed his hand off and flashed him a lopsided grin. "It'll be a breeze," she said. "I've taken down larger brutes."

She didn't need to tell the demon prince that they were usually his kind. He was better off not knowing. Before he could stop her, she raised her hand and stomped forward. "I'd try!" she yelled. Heads turned to the sound of her voice and the content of her words. A woman, wiry and lithe, approaching a man thrice her weight—ridiculous. "What are the rules?"

The turbaned man blinked and fumbled with the dagger when she shot him a pointed glare. "K-knock the opponent for longer than ten seconds," he blubbered as she reached a sand pit formed from the desert and crudely laid loose bricks. "Are you sure about this? The Mammoth will obliterate you!"

She grinned as she cracked her fingers. "I've gone through obliteration once," she said. "And I've never been better."

The merchant's throat bobbed. "What is your combat name?"

"The Bride," she blurted. Literally the first thing out her mouth.

To the merchant's credit, he didn't ask questions. He hollered for the audience to watch a legendary battle between the Mammoth and the Bride. Soon, more people trickled into the tent. From the corner of her eye, he saw Mezo slither in and linger at the back of the crowd—a snake in sheep's clothing. If these people knew he was a Mayaware, they'd be out running in seconds.

She faced her opponent, studying him as he stretched and prepared for another match. He must have had a lot in his lifetime; it should be a breeze. Just what Hesi needed—a man confident in his standing. The shock when she toppled him would be ten times more exhilarating.

"Opponents, stand at the ready," the merchant dictated. "Remember that the one who wins against the Mammoth gets this dagger. Drop. And attack!"

The Mammoth lunged. She struck his right knee. He avoided stretching it earlier. Like a Mayaware, he was nothing but bulky flesh teetering on an unsteady foundation.

A grunt escaped the Mammoth's lips, and he fell to the sand. Hesi moved in for the kill, swinging her fist to the side of his head. Beige flashed into her periphery. A force slammed into her jaw, throwing her back. A collective gasp rang from the crowd. Her head spun, and her teeth slighted her lip upon taking the hit. She spat. She pretended red didn't stain the sand and wiped the corner of her lips.

That was more like it.

They met in the middle. She blocked one of his fists and hooked her leg around his weak knee. Pulled. Sent his face careening straight into her waiting punch. A kick to the side of the head. A fist to the throat. Slice to the crook of the neck. Vital points to disable even the strongest warrior among men.

She stepped back, her bare soles digging trenches on the blood-soaked sand. The Mammoth gave her a baleful look before his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He plopped to the ground by her feet, exactly where she predicted.

Silence.

She turned to the merchant who clutched the dagger close to his chest. Why bother putting up a show if he wasn't willing to part with the prize? "He won't get up until tomorrow." She extended a hand towards the merchant. "Dagger, please."

The merchant squeaked. "I forgot another condition!" he cried. "The applicant must pay at least two chunks of nakti!"

"Oh, come now." Hesi massaged the sore spot on her jaw. She better come up with an appropriate excuse for the bruise tomorrow. "That is cheating. You can't tell me you forgot it after I knocked out your champion as you asked."

The merchant was adamant. His knuckles turned white from clutching the scabbard. Ridiculous. How could she waste her time in this place? Such a bummer. It was a nice blade. She felt it calling to her, begging her to wield it.

"I'll surrender you to Larquet's judgment." She huffed. "See you in his tribunal someday."

She marched out of the tent and trudged across the sandy expanse with no destination in mind. Of course, she didn't believe in the trial held by the god of justice at life's end, but it was enough to guilt the merchant for wasting her effort. Nothing more to it.

"Hesi, wait!" Mezo's cheerful voice made her turn. He ran towards her at top speed. Sand flew in huge droves, ceasing only when he screeched to a halt beside her. He held up a familiar sheathe to her face. "Here. I retrieved it for you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What did you do?" She glanced at the tent they came from, expecting a bloodbath and a flurry of people screaming and running for their lives. Everyone continued with their merry lives, shopping and trading.

The demon prince's eyes twinkled. "I paid him his nakti and challenged him to a duel," he answered. "I've never seen a man give up that fast. But not without wetting his loins."

A snort made its way out her nose. "I might have shown him a bit of my fangs too," he added.

"Remind me to never cross you, little rebel." She punched him lightly on the shoulder—the only act of aggression she did to him. "But keep the blade. You earned it."

"It's a gift." He shoved the sheathe into her grip. "To make a human happy. You seem to like it, so I acquired it."

Hesi opened her mouth, but no words came out. A gift. No one has given her one. She chided herself. Just because he gave her a gift didn't mean she had to put her plans on hold. She shouldn't play god and grant him more time. It shouldn't be.

But it was a sleek blade, and she diluted her conscience to its limpid version long ago. "Thank you." She wrapped her fingers around its hilt, feeling the wrapped leather acclimate to her grip immediately. "I appreciate this. So much."

Mezo beamed. "I am happy," he said with an affirmative nod. "I never thought that making someone happy can also make me happy. It is wonderful."

"Let's go back. I've got an early day tomorrow if I am to return to the healing quarters as though nothing happened." Now, it was her turn to wink at him. "This will be our little secret."

They retraced their steps, undergoing the sea of darkness again. The earring stayed untouched in her lobe, the poison sloshing inside. It weighed down on her mind more than the side of her head.