Olav maintained his hold on Rina as they left the medic building and made their way to the guardhouse, his boots thumping and crunching on the gravel. They excited the grounds and entered the shade of a small wood, the path wending between olive, palm, and cypress trees. Ahead of them, Sara and her guards disappeared at a bend in the road.

Olav slowed his steps and pulled her an inch closer. "Why do you have to always get yourself in trouble, Rina?"

She gritted her teeth, training her eyes on the approaching building that peeked above the treeline. "I didn't do anything wrong."

He made a hmpf. "You never do, do you?"

Her head jerked to face him. Something glimmered in his obsidian eyes. Regret? A nail raked across her heart, and her eyes moistened. Then the image of Olav's knee connecting with Pietro as he knelt on the floor flashed before her.

Bastard! "And you're all honour, aren't you, Ol?" He smiled at the endearment. Damn it. She'd promised herself not to call him that. She lifted her chin and corrected herself. "Captain, Olav."

His face fell, and his hands tightened on her arms. He shook her once. "Damn you, Ri. Why do you have to be like this?"

"I said, don't call me that."

He stopped and turned her to face him. "I think I deserve to, after everything."

"No, you fucking don't."

She could smell him—that familiar scent of leather and lye mixed with the tang of his sweat. The day warmed, and despite the light red cotton the guards wore here in place of the thick wool used in Amadore, the shelled leather brigandine, greaves and vambraces he wore brought to mind a lobster boiling in a pot. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He leaned into her. A trickle slid down his face. "You have to be so stubborn, don't you. But it's not fair that you push me away."

"There's nothing between us." She struggled to get away from him, but his fingers gripped her. "We should keep up, or they'll come back and look for us."

He tugged her to him. "Of course, there is." Olav glanced at the disappearing track, before saying, "And they wouldn't dare."

Rina twisted uselessly in his arms. "Why are you doing this? Why are you even here?"

"Because I bloody care about you!" he hissed.

She lowered her voice to match his. "No, you don't. You wouldn't have lied to me if you did. And you sure as hell wouldn't have—"

His lips crashed against hers—soft, warm, and tasting of ale. For a moment, she let herself sink into him, letting the anger recede like a draining tide. The tip of his tongue flickered across her lips, and she opened to him. He deepened the kiss. She sensed the pound of his heart through his armour, his chest pressed to hers, and inspite of the heat of the day, they were back in that alley in Amadore again, her back against the icy bricks, his hands everywhere. His knee nudging her legs apart. That same knee that had ploughed into her uncle's face. Rage slammed back into her like a storm surge, and she bit him. Hard.

"Fuck!"

Olav lurched back, but not before his blood filled her mouth. Lights streaked about her, and that hollow hunger bloomed. Her fingers itched to grab him to her and pull him to her and drink—his blood; his energy—he'd let her. The knowledge sent a thrill through her body.

His thumb came to his mouth and wiped the blood away. He looked at it, then her, his face ashen.

"I shouldn't have done that, Ri. I'm so sorry. It was wrong. Please, I..." his words faded, but his eyes were intent, asking for permission to hold her again.

She stared back at him—the urge to take him swept her like swell battering a lighthouse.

He took a step toward her. She took one back. He pinned her with his gaze an instant longer, then his arm dropped, and he backed away, slumping against the gnarled trunk of an ancient olive tree.

The wail of an eagle overhead caught her attention. She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hand, the shadow spiralling in the azure sky. Had it come from the south? From Old Denea? Perhaps it had flown over Fin's ship. Her free hand fumbled at the neck of her dress and pulled out Fin's crystal, gripping it, and her heart lightened. Until a strangled, broken sound began.

White specks burst through her vision, like snow in winter, and the wood was unusually dark. It took a moment to realise Olav's body trembled. She narrowed her eyes. Was he—crying? Rina hadn't seen a man cry, let alone a guard, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

She wanted to hate him.

Thankfully, it didn't last long. His body stilled, and he sniffed. Red-rimmed eyes rose and fell upon her, heavy as a sack of wheat slung across her shoulders.

"Do you love him?" he asked in a whisper.

Her stomach clenched.

Olav's eyes darted down to where her hand wrapped about her crystal pendant. Quickly, she tucked it back in her dress. She shrugged.

"Did you—did you lay with him?"

Her face heated, and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"Fuck!" Something thumped. When she looked up again, Olav's hands fisted his hair. He moaned and shook his head. Then he ripped his hands away and stalked to her.

"He doesn't love you. He's using you. He wants..." Olav began to pace, each beat of his boots mirroring her heart. "He wants..."

"What does he want, Olav? A quick bit of fun? Like you wanted that time. Well, he took me to a garden, not an alleyway, and so he got—"

She yelped when he grabbed her again, shaking her so that her teeth rattled. "Don't be stupid. Don't be so fucking stupid. He wants something from you. Don't you see it? The Magisterium does, too." He paused and spoke so quietly she barely heard him. "And so does Mai. I just hope to hell they're not the same thing."

The words fell about her, sinking into her and cooling her body like sleet.

When he pulled her to him, she didn't stop him. "I won't let them hurt you," he said, holding her like she might blow away with the wind, his chin in the crook between her neck and shoulder, breath tickling her ear.

His grip was looser when they resumed their walk, silent now, except for the grind of dust and pebbles. Rina blinked at the midday sun when they left the trees. Rows of palms trailed the path, the odd frond across the way. She heard a waterfall, and soon tasted the freshness of the cool fine mist. The guard tower loomed near the edge of the magisterium-level promontory—an imposing, round structure of meleke stone, aged to a light-gold. Not fifty metres from it, sat a smaller building of the same material, beside a metal cable that ran up to Mai's level and down to the lower ones.

They passed the gate, the guards saluting Olav, made their way through a small garden of lavender bushes, and into the tower.

Another guard, with a salt-and-pepper beard and deep lines around his eyes, approached them. Just before he let her go, Olav inclined to her and whispered, "Try to do what you're told and look penitent—if you can manage that."

Rina shot him a look but gave a nod.

As they descended a spiral staircase, the temperature cooled, and the sheen of perspiration coating her back grew cold. She shivered. The door to the cells swung open on a creak of rusted iron and clanked shut. A line of doors with small bars sat on one side, the faint green of mage lights emanating from within. Regardless of the age and the hint of damp, the space was clean and fresh. Rina sighed her relief and resolved to rest while she waited for her interrogation. Perhaps she could comfort Sara.

But her guide continued past the cells, opened a door at the end of the passage, and led her up yet another winding stairway. A breeze moved across her skin. She wanted to ask where he was taking her but doubted he would bother to answer, so she followed him until they stopped before a carved oak door, and he pulled out a large iron key.

His hazel eyes contemplated her a moment. The corner of his mouth quivered like he was holding back a grin, and the crows' feet around his eyes deepened. It was clear he thought he'd played a fine joke, scaring the Denese girl.

Her teeth ground together, but she didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she faced the door.

The guard's gloved hand pushed it open, revealing light and spacious room. With a mocking flourish of the arm, he indicated for her to enter. She stepped inside, stiff-backed. The door closed behind her, and the lock clicked.

She stood alone at last, clenching and unclenching her hands, and worried her lip. The room was underground, a crescent cut into the mountain itself, opening on the cliff edge, a wide balcony in place of one wall. She walked to the balustrade. The rock was slippery from the condensation of the waterfall that fell just to the left, and she trod with care.

Below her, the city spread out in layer, upon layer, like fans of mushroom tails growing on a beech tree. Above her, she saw the taught metal cable and detected a hum.

Inside, red carpets scattered across the marble tiles, leather-bound books lined a bookshelf, a set of lounge chairs before it. A four-poster bed hung with burgundy tapestries sat against the far wall. Behind a screen, she discovered a small corridor leading to a bathing room and a separate garderobe. She washed and dressed in a saffron silk dressing gown, then returned to find bread, olives, oil and cheese at a table. There was also a cut-glass bottle with blood-red wine. Her mouth watered. She was still so thirsty. She put her hand to her lips, remembering his kiss.

Her instincts told her she wasn't in any danger here—not with Olav above, but Rina couldn't bring herself to drink it. Especially not as the memories of Cassander, Sara, and Martha danced through her mind. No, that was a lie. It was Olav's lips crushed on hers that held her attention, and she wished they'd left her ale so she could taste him again. She also wished she could drink something that didn't make her think of blood—that didn't make her ashamed.

She reached into her robe and pulled out Fin's crystal, holding it and forcing her thoughts to him. It thrummed in her hand as if telling her he would return. Perhaps he would soon.

Suddenly, she felt very, very tired.

★☾●☽★ 

A/N: Thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to vote!  oxox