Apollo regained consciousness in an unfortunately-familiar room. As he rubbed his aching head, he cast about, seeing the same bars on the window overlooking the back garden, the heavy oak door bolted from the outside, and the annoyingly squeaky floors that made too much noise when one took even a single step.

Sighing, Apollo was about to go to the window when he caught sight of a covered something in the corner of the room. The cloth was covering all but what seemed to be a frozen foot. Although he clearly remembered Oswald's fascination with frozen statues, he also remembered what Elsa and Gerald had overheard.

Slowly, the healer approached the statue and jerked the covering off it. Sure enough, he knew the statue—or rather, the statue that had formerly been his cousin, Morgan Shadowbinder. The short, rotund mage had one hand over his heart, his face contorted into a frown of defiance. A single tear frozen on his cheek. His stunning green eyes locked on something that was no longer in front of him. His raven hair pulled away from his face with string.

Apollo stepped back, staring at his cousin. For years, they'd been all the other had ever had. But now, they'd begun to drift apart after Morgan had learned he was related to the dark wizards who were seeking to destroy Vordelle. Darkness and light rarely mixed well, and Morgan had reacted badly, believing that Apollo deserved better than to be cousins with him.

Not that Apollo agreed, considering they'd been raised together. They were more than cousins, they were practically brothers. It had never mattered to Apollo who Morgan's parents had been. Yet it seemed to matter more than anything to Morgan.

Now was not the time to be dwelling on the past. Apollo knew he had to get Morgan out of the ice. After considering the situation for only a few seconds more, he stretched out his hand and touched Morgan's forehead. "Morgan," he said, trying to connect their minds. It was always easier when there was contact involved. "Morgan, can you hear me?"

There was a moment of silence until a response came. "Apollo? No, wait. It can't be you. I saw you die."

"I survived, Morgan. The Lightshield saved my life," Apollo told him mentally. "Why are you a chunk of ice?"

"You ask me why?" Morgan didn't seem to appreciate Apollo's attempt to lighten the mood. "You were gone. Elaine and Daren were gone. Elsa and Cora ran off to who-knows-where. What did I have left? Damian had me prisoner. He was going to torture me until I lost my mind, and then he was going to enslave me. What did you want me to do, Apollo? Let him turn me more evil than I already was?"

For a moment, Apollo didn't know how to respond. He'd never even thought about that, if he was being honest. But he didn't really think that was what Morgan would want to hear. "Then you have to unfreeze yourself, Morgan. Because I'm alive, Elsa's here with me, and Elaine and Daren are alive too. We have to find them before Damian does. Please."

"Easier said than done. I don't know how to unfreeze myself," Morgan admitted. "I'm sorry, Apollo."

Apollo sighed. Why could nothing be simple for them? However, he was definitely not leaving his cousin in a block of ice. "I'm going to figure this out," he said, vocally and mentally.

A typical Morgan response came through. "Good luck with that."

Sighing again, Apollo turned to pace when he became aware of the fact that the doorknob was turning. The healer tensed, watching it carefully, not taking his eyes from it. It opened and a man came in, carrying ... clothes?

"Apollo Lightbringer," the servant said. "Welcome back to the Baron's home."

"I'd thank you, but I don't want to be here," Apollo said. "So ... this welcome is really not a happy thing for me, if you understand me."

"Oh, I understand," the young servant said. "If we're being honest with each other, then I don't really want to be here either. If I try to leave, though, I'll become a part of his collection. He's very proud of it."

"And I assume Morgan is part of his collection?" Apollo asked, hating the words even as they slipped from his tongue.

"Not really, no." The servant put the clothes on the floor. "He never forgave the two of you for breaking out his earlier collection."

"I saved people's lives!" Apollo said. "He hadn't 'perfected' the spell. They were going to die in there!"

"He didn't see it that way," the servant admitted. "These are for you to put on."

"Why?" The word sounded vaguely torn from Apollo's lips as he stared at the man.

"Baron Oswald says that he will not tolerate any 'filth' at his table," the servant said tiredly. "Apparently, he means your clothes are dirty and he wants you to wear these."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then he told me to tell you that he was going to freeze the lady Silvereye," the servant responded.

Apollo said. "How did I just know?" he muttered. "Very well. Leave."

Once the servant had gone, locking Apollo back in, the healer covered Morgan's statue and changed into the clothes that had been set out for him. They were uncomfortably wealthy-looking. The white shirt was pristine, with ridiculously ruffled sleeves, and golden buttons on the sleeves. The breeches were plain and black, thank heavens, but the boots were stiff, uncomfortable, and adorned with a golden lace line going down the side of them.

Once he was dressed, Apollo sighed and uncovered Morgan. His cousin established the connection between them without hesitation. "You look ridiculous."

"I know," Apollo said with a sigh, running his hand through his blond hair. "I feel ridiculous."

"Matches how you look. For once, I'm glad I'm frozen," Morgan said.

"Don't get used to it," Apollo said. "I'm going to defrost you."

"Try to wait until we get away from fat old Oswald, won't you?" Morgan requested.

Apollo rolled his eyes and made his way over to the window. "We're going to get out of here and fix this whole mess, you know," he said.

"You'd better be right. I'd rather not have to freeze myself again. It's cold."

"Oh, I wonder why," Apollo said, chuckling. He was grateful that Morgan could still joke around with him.

"I can hear you, you know. I'm just glad that you're alive, Apollo. You have no idea how glad I am that you're alive."

Apollo allowed himself a tiny smile. "I'm going to do my best to keep it that way."

"Make sure that you do," Morgan answered. "Don't eat anything poisoned tonight."

"I'll do my best not to," Apollo retorted with a small laugh. "You can trust me on that one."

"Do more than your best. Don't do whatever I would do," Morgan warned.

"I never do," Apollo said. "Trust me on that."

Morgan laughed telepathically before his voice faded into nothing. Apollo was a little disappointed that his cousin was gone, but he understood that soon he would have to go. Whether he wanted to or not, Oswald was going to force him into an uncomfortable dinner.

Sighing, Apollo turned back to the door and saw it swing open. A different servant—a pretty young woman—stood there. "Sir?" she said. "Dinner is ready."

"Alright," Apollo answered, casting one more glance at his cousin's frozen statue. Then he followed the girl down the stairs, trying to ignore the other statues littering the entire house.

By the time Apollo reached the dining room, the others, including Oswald, were there already. To Apollo's surprise, he saw that both Juliette and Elsa—not the most ladylike of girls—were both wearing dresses. Red, full-on ballgowns, that went down to the floor. Gerald wore an outfit similar to Apollo's, and looked as if he'd been forced under a razor, clean-shaven for the first time since Apollo had ever known him.

Apollo found himself watching Juliette. She seemed perfectly at ease with the dress, while Elsa was tugging on the sleeves and looked as if she had been forced into a torture device. When Apollo looked at her, she pulled a face at him that almost made him laugh.

Oswald motioned to the extravagant dining table filled with foods that admittedly made Apollo's stomach rumble. Traveler's food just didn't hold him over as well as real food did. "Come, eat with me!" he invited them. "I have much I want to discuss with you."

Juliette led the way to the table, sitting down gracefully. Apollo had never really pictured her as a lady, but in that moment ... His train of thought was disrupted when he realized everyone but himself was seated at the table. After a moment, he settled down beside Gerald, who was fingering a butter knife.

"Tell me, did you have a pleasant journey, coming here to Zor?" Oswald asked with a smile.

"Pleasant until I saw yer ugly mug," Gerald muttered into his plate of pork. He didn't seem to mind the food, though, and ate and drank the wine with great vigor.

"Don't be rude," Oswald said. "I can't abide rudeness, even from people with low class, such as yourself."

"Low class?" Gerald raised his eyebrows and seemed amused by that, for some reason.

Elsa picked at her food, looking uncommonly reserved. Apollo, remembering Morgan's words of caution, watched Gerald for a few minutes, waiting to see if he was going to turn purple or some other foul kind of poison. When it became apparent that Gerald was completely fine, Apollo started eating as well.

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they all ate. Apollo could see Gerald studying Elsa, trying to figure out why she wasn't saying or really even doing anything. In truth, it was puzzling behavior for Apollo as well, but he knew staring at her would only serve to make her uncomfortable and therefore less likely to admit what was wrong.

The only sound for a while were the clinking of the silverware against the china plates. The food was, admittedly, the best that Apollo had eaten in quite some time. He didn't partake of the wine, though, since he believed in keeping a clear mind for whatever challenges lay ahead. Knowing Oswald as he did, he had no doubt that the conniving Baron was already planning on how best to turn them into statues.

Finally, Oswald broke the silence. "Is the meal satisfactory?"

"It is, actually," Apollo said, in an icy tone the Baron would have done well to notice. "Much better than what I got last time I was here."

Gerald, Elsa, and Juliette all looked up in interest. Oswald's eyes narrowed as he scowled at Apollo. "I got a better cook," the Baron said stiffly.

"And how long until you decide to make us into your decorations?" Apollo questioned, gripping his fork harder. "I know it's coming, you can't hide that from me."

"Decorations?" Gerald asked, glancing from Apollo to Oswald curiously. Elsa, Apollo noticed, was suddenly interested in the table and wouldn't meet his eyes. Oh dear.

"The statues," Juliette said. "I thought they were far too intricate to be actual statues. Are they people, Baron Oswald? Real, live humans?"

Oswald seemed a little put-out at Juliette's question. "They're my decorations," he insisted. "Nothing more, nothing less. Why must everyone get so disgustingly sentimental about it?"

"Disgustingly sentimental?" Elsa repeated, sounding horrified. "Don't you know what your 'decorations' go through?"

"Peace," Oswald insisted. "It's peace, to be free of worldly worries."

"Peace?" Apollo was aghast. "You say it's peace, I say it's torment. It's torture. When do you plan on doing it to us?"

At that, Elsa's face paled, and Apollo knew. "Elsa, no."

"What would you have me do? Watch you all die before me?" she answered. "He'll let you all go, even to fight Damian by doing so. Otherwise, you get handed over to him, Apollo. Do you really want me to selfishly save myself to kill you and the rest of the world? It's my fault we're in this mess in the first place."

"Ye be going to let yerself be turned into a statue?" Gerald said, his voice ringing in disbelief.

"Do I have any other choice?" Elsa asked.

"There always be a choice," Gerald answered, and snatched up the butter knife, lunging at Oswald. Everyone rocked backwards in their seats, staring at him in shock as he attempted murder by silverware.

Oswald caught Gerald's wrist. The slightly-overweight man had demonstrated no fighting prowess in the time that Apollo had known him, and he was horrified to see the muscular mercenary caught in Oswald's grasp. Like a fish on a lure. "You should never attack your host! How rude."

Gerald struggled, grabbing for Oswald's other steak knife. "I'll attack ye over and over if ye try and turn me companions into frozen art!" he snarled back as one of Oswald's guards caught his arms and pulled him away from the Baron.

"Gerald, please—" Elsa didn't look as if she knew whether she should be amused or horrified.

Gerald kicked at the man holding him, earning his freedom. He lunged at Oswald again, this time managing to wrap his hands around the man's throat and knock him backwards, off his chair. Pinning him to the floor, Gerald tussled with the overweight Baron for a few moments before gaining the upper hand. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't snap yer neck right here, man."

"Because if you kill me, your friends die," Oswald said, and his guards stepped forward, grabbing Elsa and Apollo around the throat. Although one tried to get Juliette, all he ended up with was a fist to the head, knocking him out cold in seconds. She likewise grabbed a butter knife off the table, looking as if she wanted anything but that as a weapon.

Apollo tried not to cringe at the weapon against his neck. He couldn't even swallow for fear of getting his throat cut open. "Oswald," he rasped out. "You won't get anything for me if I'm dead."

"Then tell your friend to let go of me," Oswald answered.

"Gerald ... please."

"Ye must promise not to turn Elsa into a statue."

"Would you rather she be a headless statue?" Oswald answered.

Gerald froze, looking at Elsa. She was very carefully not meeting his eyes, but that was enough for him, it seemed. With great reluctance, he released Oswald and stepped back, scowling. "Ye be treading a thin line, mate."

"On the contrary, I believe that it is quite thick," Oswald answered, brushing off his ridiculous coat. He jerked his head at the guards, who both stepped forward and grabbed Gerald's arms. The mercenary didn't brush them off, but his face reddened. "Take him to a cell to cool off. I'll decide what to do with him shortly."

"You told me you'd release them!" Elsa burst out. "I believed that you would honor your deal—"

"And I will," Oswald interrupted smoothly. "When the time comes. But for now, he tried to murder me with a knife. Do you really expect me to let him wander around freely?"

"If he's hurt, then I'll be the one to murder you!" Elsa retorted. "And don't think I'd hesitate with a monster like you."

"Oh, really?" Oswald sounded disappointed. "Such violent tendencies, Elsa Silvereye. You disappoint me so terribly."

"Leave her alone," Apollo said. He'd noticed that, as the guards dragged off the unfortunate Gerald, Juliette had slipped off. Perhaps to get them aid, though he didn't know too many people who would rush to their aid.

Oswald glared at them both and flicked his hand in an annoyed way. "Take them out of here," he ordered. "I grow weary of their company."

. . . . . . . . . .

Some time later, Elsa paced her temporary room, feeling restless. Her braid had fallen, and she held a pin in her hand. However, she made no move to pick the lock. If she tried, would she only be making it worse? Would she get the others into trouble, and herself frozen anyway? Trying to come to a decision, the small thief leaned against the door, listening for any sounds. Everything was quiet ...

Voices. They sounded relatively close. Elsa pressed herself against the door and listened. It seemed to be two servants speaking. "—seems wrong," one of them, a young girl by the sound of her voice, was saying.

"I know it does, but it's that or become like that," a man said. "Trust me, sweetheart, this is the only way."

"But Papa—"

"He won't feel a thing," the man assured his daughter. "Trust me. He'll go peacefully. And one could almost say he had it coming, for trying to attack the Baron with a knife."

The little girl sounded like she was on the verge of hysterics. "But Papa, poisoning him ...!"

Elsa pressed herself even closer to the door, swearing internally. They were going to poison and kill Gerald, for the simple reason that he had attacked Oswald with a butter knife. And Oswald's plan would have worked, too. Elsa wouldn't have been the wiser until the poison had entered Gerald's system and killed him—likely long after she had been turned into a frozen statue.

Elsa kept herself pressed against the door, listening as the father and daughter walked past in the hallway. Once she was sure they were gone, she slipped the pin into the lock, jiggling it around. After only a few moments of trying, the door swung open. Simple.

Elsa slipped into the hall, casting about to make sure nobody was out there. As soon as she saw that nobody was there, she moved forward, having removed the uncomfortable heels Oswald had forced her to wear. Her bare feet padded on the floor quietly, barely making any sound at all.

The most obvious place for Gerald to be would be the basement. If Oswald was like every other arrogant noble, he'd have a cell down there for anyone who tried to break into his home or anyone who tried to hurt him. She'd seen them herself multiple times, though she'd never ended up in one herself.

It wasn't difficult to find the stairs going down. Nor was it hard to avoid Oswald's servants, who had taken to traveling in pairs and conversing in loud tones. Presumably, that was to chase off the uncomfortable feeling of people watching them, given the rather creepy looks of the statues that seemed to follow Elsa as she walked.

As she went downstairs, Elsa noticed that there was a distinct lack of the gaudy decorations the further down she went. She assumed that meant that Oswald did not frequent this area as much as he did the other areas of the house. What further cemented that in her mind was the lack of frozen statues downstairs. That was a relief, considering that every time she saw one, she thought it was someone sneaking up on her.

Once she reached the basement, Elsa saw cells lining the walls. No torch illuminated the dark cellar, but thankfully, Elsa's eyes had successfully adjusted to the dim light, and she could see reasonably well. Unfortunately, though she could see the six cells, she didn't see Gerald in any of them. Advancing forward cautiously, she dared to speak. "Gerald?" Although soft, her voice seemed to reverberate throughout all the cells.

For a moment, there was no response. Then Gerald emerged from the shadows in the back of a cell and crawled to the bars. "Elsa? Ye came for me?" He sounded astounded.

"Shh," Elsa hissed, going to his cell. "They were going to poison you, you fool. What did you think you could do with a butter knife?" She started picking the lock on his cell.

"It were worth a try," Gerald protested. "I mean, ye would not want me to have just sat there and let him threaten ye, did ye?"

"I don't really need any help, thanks," Elsa said, focusing on the lock. It was more complicated than the ones upstairs. "But it's good to know you think you need to have my back."

"Aye," Gerald said. "I do have yer back, love. Good to know ye've got mine too."

"Don't try and make this romantic," Elsa answered, slightly distracted. "I'm saving you because you're helping me save my sister. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I see." Gerald's gaze slipped past Elsa to something behind her. His eyes widened significantly. "Els, look out!"

Elsa swung around and saw someone swing a sword at her. The lithe thief jumped back, and the sword clanged against the bars of Gerald's cell, forcing the mercenary to retreat deeper into his cell. Elsa reached for her knife before remembering—Oswald had taken it away from her.

The man was standing there mockingly, leveling his sword at her throat. Elsa watched him, her fists clenched. This was not how she had anticipated her rescue attempt turning out. "Surrender, Silvereye," the guard demanded. "The Baron does not want his decorations tarnished."

"I am not his decoration!" Elsa yelled, and tried to lunge past him, to escape. The man made a desperate grab for her hair, catching her braid and jerking her backwards. The utter pain shot through Elsa and she screamed, clawing at his hands with her nails. The man growled as he pulled her along behind him, backwards, away from the exit.

When she dared to glance over at Gerald, he looked positively guilty. She had no time to consider why it mattered so much to him before her captor shoved her to the floor, holding his sword close to her throat. She couldn't even move for fear of getting it sliced open. As a result, she simply stayed where she was, watching Gerald.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs. Elsa froze, having the very good and likely accurate idea that they weren't friendly. She tried not to let anything resembling fear pass over her face, instead staying on her knees. Ignoring the sword pressed against her throat was hard, particularly when she swallowed nervously and felt the sword tighten. Something sticky started dripping down her neck as her captor unintentionally drew blood. If he got more nervous than he already was ...

"Lady Silvereye. I cannot claim that this rescue attempt was entirely unexpected." Elsa did not need to turn her head to recognize Baron Oswald as the speaker. She chose not to speak, since she wasn't overly fond of digging her own grave. More than she already had, at least.

Oswald came and faced her, ignoring Gerald's choice names of the Baron from the cell behind him. He reached out his hand and touched her chin, forcing her head up. Much as she wanted to pull away, she knew the sword would cut if she tried. As a result, she simply stiffened and put as much hatred and fury into her gaze as she possibly could. That did not seem to impress the Baron. "Must you be so hateful?" he asked, releasing her chin and stepping away. "So undignified? I thought you were a noble lady, Elsa. Have your years on the streets really dulled your sense of nobility so much?"

Elsa met his eyes. "I am not a noble. I was never a noblewoman. My parents were taken from me long before I could lay any claim to that title," she said. "If you expected me to stick out my pinky while I drank tea and stand by and let one of my friends get poisoned because I was afraid to chip a nail, then I'm not sorry that I disappointed you."

Oswald sighed. "But you did disappoint me, Elsa, and I'm very afraid that it's too late for you to make amends. You see, my collection is filled with noble blood. I can't have a street rat ruining my collection. And you'll only make trouble for me if you escape."

"Don't ye dare," Gerald snarled.

"I think I shall," the Baron answered. "I am most displeased, and it is a disappointment that you have to die when you had such potential. Alas, that is the way of the world. It seems you were always intended for this fate. You had such potential," he repeated.

Elsa made no response. Her only regret for what she'd done was that now, she would never see Elaine again. And that burned. Perhaps Elaine had ended up with Daren. Maybe she was safe ... or maybe she was already dead. Whatever the case, perhaps Apollo's faith would be well-founded, and Elsa would be reunited with Elaine. Could a thief get to Heaven, or would they be immediately sent to Hell?

She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind. It was too late to be questioning her life choices. So instead of doing so, she stared at the cell, her eyes open but unfocused. There was little surprise at the type of death she was dying. She had somehow always known that to be beheaded was the fate awaiting her.

In the end, Elsa decided to close her eyes and hope that it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would, but she hoped it wouldn't. Either way, she hoped it would be over soon. Oswald struck her as the kind of person who would want to make an execution be as painful and excruciating as possible.

Elsa bowed her head as much as she could with a knife at her throat, and felt her executioner's grasp tighten.