Rhys’ eyebrows went upwards as he turned back to Dorothea from his place already in the doorway. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” She hurried after him. “Not at all.”

“Then follow me. Closely, please.” He stepped through an unsealed ovular entrance, swallowed in its immediate dark, and they began to scale a winding staircase. Although it was cast in dim light, Dorothea still noticed the occasional spider scuttling in fear for its life at their feet, webs drifting ghostlike over their heads.

On the way up, they passed a space where there were two doorways leading outside of the middle of the tower, and Rhys explained that these opened out to the top of the fort wall outside. Finally, at the peak, they emerged into a narrow room where the breeze from two open windows circulated to chill the space.

Rhys gestured for her to plant herself in front of the window that faced the city with him. “Come on and look.” He tucked both hands into the pockets of a sleeveless golden vest with unfastened brassy buttons.

Dorothea hesitantly obeyed, and he shifted over so their shoulders wouldn’t touch as they shared the space to both get a full view. Appreciating his tact, she turned to face this strange new place.

What first caught her eye was a white with a glittering golden roof; it seemed to shimmer and undulate in the distance as the heat shook the horizon. She judged the building itself to be in the direct center of the settlement. The blue splotch of a lake could be seen, and some forest had also been captured along most of the settlement’s perimeter. Curving along the leftmost side of the dwellings was a curved building that stood out for its distance from other buildings. Most of the smaller ones, businesses and residences, no doubt, that were charming in their pastel tones, lined neatly sectioned streets. On the fort wall itself, she spotted three more watchtowers.

She looked back to Rhys with wide eyes. The breeze, more pronounced at their elevated height, jostled her hair and loose clothes and helped to dry some of the lingering sweat clinging to the still warm crevices of her body. “This isn’t what I expected at all.”

His lips curled with gentle amusement. “What did you expect, then?”

“Something…more imposing. Or, well…” It was embarrassing to say it aloud, as revealing her presumptions made her lack of knowledge and understanding all the more clear.

Rhys laughed. “The inside and the outside don’t match, I know. But that’s intentional. The fort discourages attack so the civilians inside can go about their daily lives with a better sense of security.” He smiled once again. “Officially, welcome to Springen.”

Dorothea bowed her head and folded her hands in front of her. “Thank you for having us. Your assistance is more valued than I can say.” Luckily, they seemed to be getting along well enough. Hopefully Shark was also on their best behavior with the commander.

Rhys nodded to acknowledge her gratitude. “I’ll give you a quick rundown. That”—he indicated the curving building—“is the soldiers’ barracks. Many other places you can see are family residences. We, Sacerians as a culture I mean, usually share homes with our close relatives and extended family members. You’ll find that places of business are usually two to three stories with the businesses on the first floor and dwelling spaces on the second tier and above. There’s also the market, but you’d be better off seeing that for yourself.”

“Ah, okay.” That explained why the homes themselves were much larger than what she was used to seeing. They all paled in comparison to the center behemoth, however. “So that”—she pointed to the glittering roof of the mansion—“is really someone’s home?”

“I noticed you staring at it,” Rhys laughed. “But yes. That’s the home of the Creed family. Cerid’s one of them, as you probably already know. The noblest of all nobility.”

“Nobility,” Dorothea murmured. She’d read a bit about it. “So, to Sacerians, that’s very important and comes with certain privileges. Right?”

“Right. Here, the most valuable magics are in the lines of the most noble families. Attending the most battles, being on the front lines and such earns them those privileges.”

“Then you and the commander, you’re both from noble lines since you’re in positions of power?”

Rhys frowned. “That’s usually how it goes, but you could say Iree’s a bit…complicated. Best not to ask her about it. Anyways, you’ll find the houses of most other noble families near the Creed estate.”

Dorothea nodded. “Though Sirpo doesn’t have any ranking of nobility per se, I can understand the system. Living with family, too. We’ve lived in the same home for a few generations.” She shook off the ghosts that threatened to weigh her heart at the merest reminder of her family with a smile.

“It’s roughly similar, then. Family is important, you know? It just seems natural to a lot of us here to stick together. Especially since times are the way they are.”

“Right…” Down here, they could lose one another at any moment. Dorothea had no way of understanding that sentiment. At least, she hadn’t felt that dreadful tension since she had seen her mother on her deathbed. “Of course.”

Rhys’ shoulders rose and fell as if he were sighing or releasing a held breath, but he didn’t make a sound. “Yeah.”

Dorothea wondered if, like her, he had someone specific he remembered when he thought of loss. Before she could think of a way to switch topics, however, she made the mistake of looking down and not out. The reminder that she was, in fact, deathly afraid of heights hit like a blizzard. Letting out a whimper, she screwed her eyes shut.

Different images splashed behind her eyelids now, ones bright and fuzzy on the edges with age.

A child, a leafless tree on the outskirts of a snowy village, the feel of its rough bark tickling her palms as she shimmied up, up, grasping its branches like holding a friend's hand. The view from the top, the black pinpricks of the treetops extending around her like a barricade. Maybe the blue above her was really the ground, and the world itself was filled with upside-down people and things. Getting down wasn’t a problem until one of the branches let go of her hand. She was told later that her spine had been broken. Laying there on the ground that was perhaps the sky, screams unheard.

Hours before her father’s voice reached out, his hands on her face before he left with promises to come back. Terror at the security of his arrival being instantly ripped away. Her mother, then, incoherent and sobbing, the way she could barely pull it together enough to use her magic. The reversal of time on Dorothea’s body making her feel like she could run forever, climb dozens of trees.

But she never would again, of course. The sensation of her mother’s tears soaking into her scalp as she crushed Dorothea’s body to her own had been so reassuring, somehow. There was no anger towards her foolish, horrible child who had whittled more of her waning life away with this reckless act. Yes, Dorothea was horrible, and neither her mother nor her father were there to help her now.

In the present moment, she was again unsure of how much time was passing because of how singular she felt in her terror. Still, a voice reached her once again, and there was a hand between her shoulder blades anchoring her in a period of time where fear helped no one.

“Are you alright?” Rhys was looking at her with genuine concern tempered by wariness.

Dorothea’s hands were clenched painfully to the window ledge, and she knew that she’d paled even beyond her normally waxy complexion. “Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” How pathetic she must seem, especially to a soldier. “I just…” The desire was there to tell him, to justify herself within the childish weakness she had just presented. But no, she would keep her reasons close. She didn’t want him or anyone else to see her for the horrible wretch she really was. “I’m not good with them. Heights. The short of it is that I once fell from a tree.” Telling a partial truth didn’t make her feel any better.

Rhys winced sympathetically. “Oof. Now I understand.” He cast a quick and subtle glance, one Dorothea didn’t miss, at her shaking legs; the flesh of her calves wobbled, rippling beneath loose pants. “Can you get down the stairs on your own?’

“Yes, of course. Again, I’m sorry to worry you.” It was either get herself together or fall down the stairs, so she’d just have to become very collected very quickly.

Still, the remembrance had come as a sobering shock. She had almost forgotten what kind of person she was. Cerid had been right to call her on it. How could she dare to live under the illusion that she was right to claim a life for herself? A worthless girl who had been unable to save her mother and father, living selfishly and pretending she knew the difference between right and wrong. What was the right thing to do to atone? Fight and die, just like Ophelia? Questions of morality mixed with indignation, helplessness, a constant screaming at the world and its confusion, its hypocrisy…

Feelings that simply couldn’t be sorted ached within her, always.