The trip down from the caravan’s camp back to the town gates of Torrol Market was rougher riding than Lana was used to. She’d only ever ridden in a wagon at all a handful of times, all since leaving Maerin, and this was by far the worst of it. Shed attributed the wagon’s jerky movements to the uneven terrain of the rolling hills outside of the town at first—she could hear rocks, roots, and branches under the wagon’s wheels from the start—but even once they reached the relatively even surface of the road, it did not get much better. It was only made worse by the cramped space she had been shoved into.

The cubby under the bed that she shared with Jormand was far from roomy. She barely had enough space to roll over and she could reach every wall of the small space if she reached for them. Except for the wall to her right. From that direction, she could hear the tiny sounds of another person in the dark. Her instincts told her to flee even though she knew it was only Jormand. It took no small amount of effort to keep them in check

The air in the cubby had grown stuffy within minutes of them climbing in and now the only change in the muggy stillness came from Jormand’s labored breathing.

He hadn’t taken well to the tight quarters. She had expected someone who had spent as much time as he had on ships to deal better with confined spaces, after all what was a ship but a wagon that floated? Apparently that wasn’t the case.

Jormand was getting increasingly more worked up as time went on. She could hear him shifting about, coming to an abrupt halt as he met the confines of the cubby more often than not. The tiny space must be worse for him. Lana was not overly fond of it herself but at least she wasn’t crammed in without an inch to spare. She sympathized even if she wished he would stop moving. The sound would alert the guards when they came to the gates.

Lana hoped that with time Jormand would become accustomed to the small space but it was not to be. His breathing only became louder and faster and the bumps of his struggling only became more constant. She winced to herself. She had seen Jormand take a worse beating than the bumps and scrapes he was probably getting now but that wasn’t what she worried about. Men like Jormand… they didn’t react well to situations they could not control in her experience. She worried about what he would try to do if he let the panic overtake him.

She had to take charge. If Jormand alerted the guards, she doubted if a single member of the caravan would be spared. Gisela, Elyas, Lyra, Tomas, even Jormand himself, people she considered her friends now. They wouldn’t stand a chance, hidden away as they were, unarmed and unprepared. She was surprised for a moment that Jormand numbered among them. Part of her still cringed when she saw him, looming over her in that way of his. He didn’t seem to realize it. Behaviours like that made his brother seem brooding and unapproachable but on Jormand… they made Lana shiver.

Steeling herself, Lana reached over to Jormand with a tentative hand. She found his fingers clenched into a fist at his side, hard as rock and shaking something fierce. Forcing herself to persevere, she worked her fingers into his, prying aside fibers as unyielding as iron bars. It was arduous work, up until the point that she felt his hand relax suddenly. She could tell he was still as tense as before. His hand shook with strain even still and his gasps of breath were as worrying as before but his grip on her hand was… tender. Firm, yes, but not painfully so.

Lana smiled to herself in the darkness. There was something more to Jormand Derran under the battered and bruised exterior, she could glimpse it in that moment. She was touching something that she knew few ever saw. Weak, small, unused to daylight. He kept it hidden away but it peered out now when Jormand was too distracted or weak to keep it from the surface.

Lana felt like the lion tamers she had seen come in from the country from time to time on holidays in Maerin. People who possessed incredible amounts of bravery or stupidity. Sometimes she thought it must be both in equal measure. People who controlled beasts twice their size, easily able to kill their minders in a fraction of a second. Perhaps Jormand was not a lion. Perhaps. But there was a kinship there, between him and the beasts. A ferocity and raw, untempered might that caused others, Lana included, to shy away. And she was only a woman, small and wholly incapable of overpowering him, and yet…

She could feel Jormand’s panic mounting again by the tautness of his tendons as their wagon slowed. They had reached the gate.

Lana felt compelled to huddle into the corner of the cubby. Instincts that she tried to suppress pressed at the mental barrier she had formed. She had to make herself smaller. Surely if they were found, she could still escape notice, she always did. The only thing that kept her from withdrawing into a shivering heap was that tenuous connection with Jormand. Just a hand, nothing compared to the body it was attached to, but it held hers tightly and she held it just the same.

If she was the lion tamer and he the lion, their hands were that tiniest of connections that allowed the tamer to brave the lion’s jaws and back away unscathed. They were that understanding that even as the tamer was the only thing keeping the lion from being feared for the beast that it was, so too was the lion the only thing defining the tamer as what she was. Without the lion she was no tamer. Without the lion she was but a woman, frightened and impotent, hidden away in a coffin of her own choice.

The wagon paused for a long time at the town gates. Truly Lana could not tell whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours but to her it felt like days. For the longest time the only sounds were hers and Jormand’s breathing and the occasional fragment of speech that got through tightly fitted planks.

But as one eternity faded into another, she felt more than heard something else. The creak of a door being opened and then the sharp tap of boots on wood. The groans of the wagon settling under the weight and the shuffling as the interior room was torn apart in their search.

Each sound was deafening in their little hollow. The boards vibrated with it, the very air did, and so too did Lana’s lungs, filled with that air. Her whole body, pressed against those boards. Each sound, each vibration was like a prod on her very person. Disgustingly personal from people who she could not even see.

The search came to a crescendo as Lana heard the mattress being pulled free from the bedframe. It was a deceptively soft sound for an act that could spell hers and Jormand’s demise. Softer than the steps, softer than the door. Strange that it could be the apex of these.

She held her breath reflexively and heard the same from Jormand. She felt his pulse racing in time with hers and the cold sweat intermingling on their palms.

The mattress was pulled free and there was silence.

Painful silence.

She dared not breathe…

She barely noticed the thump of the mattress being replaced, only the clicking of boots exiting the wagon but she did not let out the pent up breath until the wagon began to roll again what felt like minutes later. Beside her, Jormand did the same. They said nothing for fear of being caught but she could feel the same release in him. They were yet far from safety but the worst of the danger was past.

They had survived.

They had fooled the guards. Lana’s plan had worked! A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, still pressed into a fearful frown. Her plan had been the one to save them. Though still overshadowed by anxiety, a tinge of pride suffused her. Ketrim would have to recognize her part in their escape. He would have to. The thought of him admitting to his mistake filled her with a snide sense of contentment.

The wagon continued to roll through the town, slower than when on the open road but still constant. She still held onto Jormand’s hand and he held onto hers. Their trial was not yet done but even as they rolled through a town hostile to them, their worry began to lessen. Their pulse slowed, their muscles relaxed, their palms began to dry.

The guards at the exit gates hardly inspected the wagons at all. Lana heard the tapping of one pair of boots inside but nothing was moved and the mattress was not touched. They left Torrol Market behind them as their wagon and the caravan moved along down the road, heading north towards whatever safety could be found there.

The wagons and their mule teams picked up speed as the town streets gave way to an open expanse of road and the bumping and jostling returned, throwing Lana about inside her small wooden box. Her only anchor was that one hand, still gripped tightly onto Jormand’s. No longer for fear but for hope. It was a reassurance that they had passed the obstacle and made it out alive. It was the pure, human, joy of solace from danger.

***

The wagon train eventually stopped to let those hidden away under the beds crawl out once the walls of Torrol Market were safely hidden behind the hills surrounding the small town.

Lana was eager to be out of the small cubby. Her legs were cramped from the awkward position and could hardly support her as she clambered out but she did not let that stop her. She tumbled onto the wagon floor once the lid was removed, sprawling her way nearly to the door on the opposite wall. The caravaners who had let her out left, chuckling to themselves. Lana didn’t mind, embarrassment was the least of her concerns.

She drank grateful lungfuls of fresh, dry air, one after another, marveling that air could taste so good. The cubby had been beyond stuffy, especially at the end. She was covered head to toe in sweat that made the autumn chill feel like the dead of winter and her clothes were plastered against her skin. She had a crick in her neck and the light hurt her eyes but she was happy to feel it all. She stared out the narrow wagon door to the plain sight of hills and occasional trees as if it were a glimpse of paradise. It felt like it after the ride through Torrol Market.

Eventually the bliss subsided. Her eyes adjusted and her muscles ceased their aching but then she began to feel the cold and her mind began to function once more. They were still not far from the town. They were far from safe here in the middle of a heavily trafficked road. That thought sent her back into the wagon again. She closed the door behind her and bolted it for good measure. The caravan would probably escape notice so long as wanted fugitives kept their faces hidden.

As she walked back through the wagon, Lana took in for the first time the damage that the guards had done in their search. Cabinet doors had been torn off their ornate hinges in a few places and one that had been locked bore a deep gash where the lock had been cut free with an axe. There were smashed pottery dishes across the floor and fine linens had been trampled with muddy boots. The white cloth and lace would never be clean again, not properly.

Lana couldn’t be sure that this wagon had been treated any worse than the others. The damage was nothing that couldn’t be recovered from but she had seen the way that the caravaners cherished their little wagon homes. The love and attention that went into decorating them and maintaining everything within. The dishes could be replaced, the linens too, and the carpentry could be repaired but a deep sadness and guilt still weighed on Lana for it. If not for her and Jormand, none of it would have happened.

She sighed to herself and tried not to look at the broken pottery on the floor as she made her way to take a seat on a bench affixed to the right wall of the wagon. There was a table that could fold off of the wall next to the bench that hadn’t been damaged. Stowed as it was, she supposed the guards hadn’t even seen it. There could have easily been a cabinet behind it, a sizable one too but the guards had not even looked.

The wagon began moving again as Lana sat there, trying her best not to look at the debris and damage that were, at least in part, her fault. It did her no good to feel bad about it. It did no one any good and yet she could not shake the feeling that she was hurting these people by just being there. They did not deserve it, certainly, but it was only made worse by how willing they were to sacrifice their homes for her. It made Lana deeply uncomfortable. Their generosity and the way that they had welcomed a band of fugitives to live with them warned Lana that they must be playing an angle. People didn’t just give away such luxury to strangers.

Lana tried to force herself to believe it was entirely selfless. There must be altruistic people just as there were wholly depraved people in the world but… what if they were the second sort? She had had little reason to trust strangers in her life. Aside from her recent experiences with Galier, Jormand, and the others, she had rarely met someone who had not betrayed her at a moment's provocation for something as small as a crust of bread or a dented coin. She still didn’t quite trust Jormand and the caravaners? It made her feel like she had done something wrong, but she could not bring herself to quite trust them either. Not yet.

Galier though, even though she had known him hardly any longer than the others, she felt that she could trust him. Of course she had been to one to betray him in that case. She tried not to see it that way but… She could have found a way to go back. She was used to avoiding guards, sneaking back into Maerin would not have been a difficult task for her.

The guards had seen her face, yes, but they did not interrogate beggars. She would have faded back into the identity-stripped crowd within the walls. Leaving for her safety was only an excuse. She had wanted to go with Jormand, Ketrim, Gisela, and Elyas. She had wanted to see what lay beyond the city walls, beyond the imperial border. She had wanted to see forests and mountains and plains, but most importantly she had wanted to escape from the in-between world she had stumbled upon her last days in the city.

It felt wrong to fault Galier for what had happened to her, he had done so much for her after all and she was grateful, but she could not avoid the fact that most of it could be laid squarely at his feet. He had pulled her up from the dangerous waters of life in the streets to the parched shore of noble life. For each thing that had improved, there was something else waiting to trample her over.

The plush room at the Captain’s Cat, the rich clothes, the fresh and abundant food, it all seemed like bait to lure her into the treacherous jaws of Galier’s world. In retrospect she saw that of course she should have seen through the gifts, of course he had only wanted to use her, but…

Even now she remembered how kind Galier had been. He had found her as nothing but a waif in the gutter, giddy for the opportunity to sell a coat for a week’s worth of food, and he had offered her a choice. He had never forced her to do his work, she could have just walked away, right? No. Perhaps he had not even realized it but the guarantee of food and shelter was an ultimatum for a girl who had grown up in the refuse of society. Maybe he had not know. Maybe. But it did not matter what his intentions were, he was the reason that Lana was now fleeing from the only home she had ever known with people she hardly knew and she was doing it all for a man who had put her life in jeopardy without a second though. A man she had betrayed by fleeing.

Lana closed her eyes, wanting to block out the damaged wagon. She could only take so much responsibility. She had done what she could. She was nothing more than a leaf in the wake of a barge in all of this. She caused ripples, but they were nothing compared to the wake and she was nothing compared with the barge.

It made her feel painfully small. Not in stature, she was used to that, but compared with Jormand, Ketrim, Galier, even the bloody corpse of Martim Derran she was small. No one would care if she died in their wake, no one would even recognize her face. The thought made her want to huddle into a ball and hide. Maybe the cubby wasn’t so bad after all.

The cubby.

Lana’s eyes flashed open and she stood up with a jolt. She rushed over to the bed where both the mattress and the wooden storage cubby lid were leaning against the wall. In the small space that hardly seemed large enough to fit him, Jormand still lay, his eyes screwed shut and his hands clenched into fists. She thought he was whispering something but she could not made out what it was and his lips barely moved.

Lana knelt down beside the man, her earlier concerns replaced with worry for him. She did not know how long it had been since they had been let out, since the wagon had started moving again, but she knew it was too long.

She prodded him gently and felt for a pulse with a finger on his wrist. His heart was beating, strongly, erratically, too fast for a man lying on the floor.

Her fingers were shaking as she reached for one of his hands. She should have known better than to leave him there like that. She had known he was struggling during their ride through the market but she had been too concerned with the bliss of the newly revealed world that she had forgotten all about him in her haste to see it once again.

With one hand she began to slowly work his fingers apart, one knuckle at a time, while she used the other to gently brush away sweat-matted hair from his forehead. His curly brown hair had grown even more ragged over their week of travel. It made him look like a wild man. Coupled with the beginnings of a patchy beard on his still bruised face, it made him look fierce in the way of a wounded animal. Now it reminded Lana of a corpse, beaten and broken and pale.

Jormand’s jaw was clenched tight, his lips hardly moved. This was not the man he was supposed to be. He did not look frail laying there but he did look weak. Not weak of body, the difficulty Lana was having prying his fingers apart was proof enough of that, but weak of mind. Like the people who went to blood ministries for treatment of feeble minds. They were rarely seen outside again in Lana’s experience.

Not helpful. Lana thought to herself. He isn’t like them, this is temporary. It had to be.

“Jormand,” She whispered into his ear in what she hoped was a calm voice, “Can you hear me?”

He did not respond at all. Lana continued to work on opening the fingers on his one hand, hoping that it would calm him, as it had before.

“Please, Jormand, please say something…” She tried to keep her voice calm and soothing even as her worry grew. She didn’t know what to do in a situation like this but she couldn’t risk leaving the wagon to ask for help either so she did her best to remain calm and collected. One of them had to be. This too would pass, as it had before. She had to believe that, the alternative was…

Stop it. She thought to herself sharply. It did her no good to get worked up into a frenzy over this. It did Jormand no good either. She was still surprised to be so worried about him. Her earlier revelation was one thing, he had helped her after all, but what she felt now was much, much more. If anything were to happen to him… She did not know what she would do, it was so unthinkable and so, with no other options left for her, she did not let herself think about it. This would pass.

***

Jormand awoke slowly, over the course of what felt like hours spent clawing for whatever there was to be felt out there. He wasn’t asleep, not really but he wasn’t quite awake either. He lay in a stupor, devoid of thought for the most part. Whatever small part of his mind was still conscious was so overwhelmed that it could make no sense of what he felt. He felt like a prisoner of his own body. It didn’t respond to him, he was hardly aware of it at all. All he could see, hear, feel was an oppressive haze, like all his senses overloaded at once.

Then there was something else, something that hadn’t been there before. It took him a moment to even recognize what. When he did, he screwed his eyes shut to block it out. The air was suddenly bright, blindingly so. It sent pain shooting through his eyes into his brain regardless. Someone had taken the lid off of the cubby. Was it the guards searching for him? They seemed to be taking their time with disposing of him.

He was vaguely aware of a deep core of panic, like a physical thing in his chest, only it was so hard to focus on now, it was hard to think long enough to even recognize what it was. He shied away from it for the longest time, thinking about it made him cringe back like he had been burned. His muscles, sore from being kept in an uncomfortable position for so long, spasmed wildly in his wooden enclosure, throwing his knuckles and skull against the rough wooden sides

He could not bring himself to open his eyes or his hands that he now felt were squeezed into fists for the closer to the surface of his mind he came, the more aware he was of that deep fear living there.

He inched closer, knowing that he had to wake up. He began to remember what was happening. If the lid was gone it meant either that he had been discovered or that they had made it through the town. Either way, he had to get up.

He tried to force it, to weather the storm as he had been taught to do. A man did not break down when he felt a little nervous and he had faced worse situations. Except… had he? This was more than nerves, far more. It was debilitating and it felt different. So much stronger, so much vaster. Like it was the only thing left in the world.

He could feel himself shaking, rattling against the wooden wagon floor and he could do nothing to stop it. He continued to pull himself further towards wakefulness, fighting for every inch against himself.

In the past, throughout his entire life, Jormand had always been the first man to stand and fight, no matter the odds. He did not fear death, not as long as it was in service to the good. But if not death at the hands of the guards, what did he have to fear? He could not put a finger on it, but somehow he knew that he had to remember. He could not overcome the fear without knowing its source.

He racked his brain, a task made difficult by an unwilling and frightened mind, for anything to guide him. He could find nothing inside, it had all been whitewashed by that force. It was so powerful, how could it come from within him? If it was a part of him, he should have control over it, right?

Then he felt something else. Like a beacon in the darkness, guiding his lost ship to shore. It was small and feeble compared to what he fought against but he could struggle towards it. It gave him much needed direction.

All it was was a simple touch on his hand, caressing his cramping knuckles as gentle as silk. It was all he needed. He held onto it, pulled himself towards it until…

Like a fog boiling away in the light of a rising sun, his mind began to clear. His eyelids fluttered open to a harsh, unwelcome light diffusing through the wagon windows. After the darkness of the cubby beneath the bed it felt like staring directly into the sun. His eyes refused to adjust but he would not let himself blink away the tears forming. To even open his eyes had been a battle and he did not intend to give a single inch of ground so he braced against the floor and, gritting his teeth against his protesting muscles, heaved himself up into a painful sitting position.

The rough wood felt even harsher than before and his eyes adjusted slowly but the hazy image before him was reassuring regardless. He could make out very little detail. Only enough to see that the wagon’s windows were open, filling the little box of a house with light, and there were objects scattered across the floor.All of that was secondary to the blurry shape directly in front of him. It was made of shades of beige and brown, hardly distinguishable to him but it was familiar and calming. He could feel the tension releasing from his body, no longer confined.

“Jormand,” The shape called to him, “Can you hear me?” It took him a moment longer to process the words.

He nodded slowly, even that small motion was difficult. Seizing muscles made it painful too. Then there were hands under his arms, supporting him and gently guiding him up. He followed obediently, grateful to share the burden of his tired body.

With no small amount of help he shuffled out of the cubby and over to a bench set against one of the wagon’s walls. He sat down heavily and leaned back on the bench, too worn to hold himself upright. He felt someone sitting down next to him, so softly he hardly noticed. Lana, she seemed to think no one would ever notice her, that she was invisible. At that moment however, she stood out like a bonfire in the night, warm and welcoming to a weary traveller such as he.

She held him by one shoulder, keeping him from swaying too much with the wagon’s movement. He doubted if he could keep himself upright alone though it was funny that someone so small and apparently weak would be the one supporting him. He knew that appearance was deceiving of course, a life of little food had stripped anything but the leanest, strongest muscles from her diminutive frame, but the image made him grin anyway.

He would have to find some way to thank her for tending to him when their journey was done. Without her, he would have certainly been caught during the guards’ inspection. Without her, he would still be lying, stiff as a corpse, in that cubby. He would find some way to repay her when they got to Derranhall, though he knew he owed her more than could be repaid.

For now he needed to conserve his strength. The road to Derranhall was long even still and even though they had made it through the worst of the danger, their journey would not be an easy one. It was then that Jormand heard hoofbeats, quiet and out of time with those of the mules but growing louder. There were riders on their tail.