If there was anything that depressed him more than his own cynicism, it was that quite often it still wasn't as cynical as real life. -- Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards!

The stranger was sitting on the fence watching her horse graze when Hariye found her. She accepted the bread gratefully and produced a small knife from one of her pockets. Hariye suppressed his instinctive desire to recoil in alarm. All the same he watched very warily to make sure she put it back in her pocket after cutting the bread.

"Are you looking for someone?" he asked, mainly to find out if she knew the house's owners and would later let it slip to them that someone else was living there.

She shook her head. "On my way home. Got lost again. I already hear Jahan laughing about it." Seeing Hariye's confusion she explained, "My sister. She always thinks I will get lost."

She handed him back the loaf. He noticed there was something odd about her left hand. Although she could move it to hold her slice of bread, the fingers seemed stiff and she didn't close them fully around the slice.

Oddly that reassured him most of all. A partially crippled woman couldn't be dangerous. His mind instinctively went back to its default setting of viewing the world as if it was a fairy-tale. In his favourite stories, injured strangers asking for food were usually good fairies in disguise and would bless anyone who helped them. He doubted the stranger was a good fairy -- though considering the last few days nothing would surprise him any more -- but still.

"Where are you from?" he asked curiously. Her clothes and the silver ribbon tied around her hair made her look like she'd just stepped out of a book's illustration.

"Tsalenlaki," she said. Seeing that he hadn't caught that, she repeated slowly, "Tsa-len-la-ki. And you are from Çarisar."

Hariye started. "How did you know?"

The stranger gave him the sort of look his older brothers had used when he said something stupid. "You speak Çarisarian."

...Oh. "I'm Hariye," he said, judging that was a common enough Çarisarian name to avoid raising suspicions.

"Rusudan," the stranger said. "What are you doing here? You are very far from home."

In spite of his worries Hariye found himself pouring out an edited version of his story. He carefully avoided mentioning merfolk or scales. As she listened Rusudan took out the small knife again and peeled the orange, holding it against her chest with her bad hand to stop it rolling away. Her expression changed a few times from surprise to disbelief and finally to something like horror. When he finished she sat in silence for a while, watching her horse graze and chewing one of the orange segments.

"How do you know you can trust Ketevan?" she asked. "You said she keeps you safe from the pirates, but who keeps you safe from her?"

Hariye blinked. He'd never looked at the situation from that angle before. "Well... I saved her life. She's repaying me by protecting me."

Rusudan continued to look grim. "You said she told you the pirates would kidnap you or slave merchants would steal you to sell as a slave. Why? Why you specifically? What puts you in so much more danger than any other boy your age?"

He could hardly explain he was a mer, so instead he came up with, "It's because I'm a foreigner and no one knows me here."

"She brought you from your home, stops you talking to anyone else, then says you're in danger because of things she could have avoided by leaving you alone?"

...Huh. Put like that, Hariye suddenly found himself wondering about Ketevan. He forced those thoughts away. She'd never been anything but kind to him. He told Rusudan so.

She remained unconvinced. "Has she ever told you that your family are untrustworthy? That you should be afraid of other people?"

"Yes, but there's a good reason," Hariye said.

Rusudan made a gesture that suggested she was struggling not to throw her arms up in exasperation. "What reason?"

How could he say 'People would want to skin me alive if they found out what I am' without sounding insane? Or worse, revealing he was a mer to someone who might want his scales too? He couldn't. The best he managed was, "It's a good reason but I can't explain it."

The sun was sinking below the horizon. Overhead the first stars were starting to appear. The house and the meadow were in rapidly-deepening shadow. Rusudan looked around. Hariye finally realised what was odd about her eyes: one of them moved more slowly than the other and seemed to have a faint film over it.

"I have to leave now if I want to reach the river before midnight. I won't ask you to come with me -- I'm a stranger too and you have no more reason to trust me than Ketevan -- but young man, I advise you to run. Run as far away from Ketevan as you can. Go home to your parents."

"I can't," Hariye said quietly.

Rusudan whistled and her horse trotted over. She jumped down from the fence and swung herself into the saddle. Holding the reins lightly in her bad hand, she reached into her pocket and took out the knife. "Take this in case you ever need a weapon. Consider it payment for the food," she added when he started to protest.

Hariye took it reluctantly. "Ketevan protects me, though."

In spite of the darkness he could have sworn he saw Rusudan make a disgusted grimace. She urged her horse forward. It trotted obediently through the gate. Then she reined it in and looked down at Hariye again. "Has Ketevan ever done anything to you that you didn't want? Ever touched you in any way you don't like?"

Hariye was about to deny it when he remembered the strange way she'd touched his lip. His hand reflexively flew up to his mouth.

"No," he said, but he knew his denial was unconvincing.

Rusudan was silent for a minute. She shook her head. "I'll say it again: run. Get the hell out of here and make sure Ketevan can never find you again."

After Rusudan left Hariye found himself replaying everything Ketevan had ever said or done to him. She meant well. She had to. But he couldn't deny there were some things that just didn't seem right. It was only because of their different cultures. Probably he said or did things that Ketevan found odd too. Rusudan didn't know the full context. She was jumping to conclusions based on incomplete evidence. Nothing was wrong.

Then his mind would go back to the way Ketevan had touched his lip. He remembered the way she'd looked at him as she did it, and the last time he'd seen someone look like that. His brother and future sister-in-law gave each other that sort of look. For as long as he could he tried to convince himself he was misinterpreting it. There was no way Ketevan could have looked at him with desire. He was so much younger than her! Why, she had to be nearly thirty! She was at least ten years older than him at any rate!

"Has Ketevan ever done anything to you that you didn't want? Ever touched you in any way you don't like?"

Although Hariye was naïve he wasn't ignorant of certain things. He knew exactly what Rusudan had been implying. She was wrong, of course. She had to be wrong. Ketevan might be a little odd but that didn't mean...

He didn't risk lighting a candle in case someone saw it. When he went back inside he latched the back door, felt his way along the hall and up the stairs, and went into his bedroom. Although he lay down on the bed he didn't sleep. His mind continued to replay everything about Ketevan on an endless loop.

What could he believe out of everything she'd told him? He was a mer, yes, but was it true that his father wanted to kill him for his scales? Was it true that anyone wanted to kill him for his scales? Had she told him the truth always, sometimes, or never?

It was almost morning when Hariye heard the gate open.

For a moment he thought, he almost hoped, it was Rusudan returning. True, he didn't know her any better than he knew Ketevan -- less, perhaps -- but in some way he couldn't explain he preferred her concern to Ketevan's. After thinking about it for a while he realised that it was simply because Rusudan had told him what to do for himself, while Ketevan always told him what she was going to do for him.

Outside a horse stopped outside the front door. Its tack jangled metallically and its hooves sounded heavier than those of Rusudan's horse.

Hariye listened intently. Someone was doing something at the front door, something that scratched and clicked like a lock being picked. Then he heard the door open. He pulled the quilt up to his chin and pretended to be fast asleep. Footsteps came up the staircase. Spurs clinked as the newcomer approached.

The bedroom door slid open. Hariye kept his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. Through the flickering light playing across his eyelids he could tell the newcomer had brought a candle. They set the candle down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed.

As they leant over him Hariye caught a whiff of their scent. Rusudan had smelt of wood and flowers and leather, while Ketevan always smelled of horses and sweat and the sea. He knew at once it was Ketevan in the room. She hovered over him and he knew she was studying his face intently.

Years ago Hariye had perfected the art of pretending to be asleep so he could eavesdrop on his brothers' conversations in their shared bedroom. He'd learnt some very useful blackmail material from those conversations. Something told him that if he stayed still now he'd learn something even more important.

Ketevan didn't move for a while. Then suddenly he felt her lean down. Next all thoughts were driven out of his mind, because she pressed her lips against his.

Only shock and outrage kept Hariye from opening his eyes. He lay frozen as she got up and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her he opened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling, just barely visible in the pre-dawn light, and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. It was so shocking that he could hardly believe it hadn't been a dream. But it couldn't be a dream when he still felt her lips on his.

He sprang out of bed and rushed over to the wash-basin. Hardly caring if she heard him or not, he splashed water on his face and tried to wipe away the feeling of her kiss.

Now he had proof positive that Rusudan had been right. No matter what other differences there were between the two cultures, both Çarisar and Vakaryan agreed that a kiss on the lips was reserved for married couples.

I don't understand, part of him thought helplessly. Why would she fix on me? Why me, when she can find someone her own age and from her own country?

Another part of him, inspired by some of the things Rusudan had said, thought, I suppose it's because she can control me and she couldn't control an adult.

That raised another, even more disturbing question. Did she deliberately set out to bring me here and keep me prisoner?

Rusudan's words came back to him: "I'll say it again: run. Get the hell out of here and make sure Ketevan can never find you again."

Suddenly that sounded like excellent advice.

The bedroom window overlooked the kitchen courtyard. Hariye slid it open slowly. It didn't creak and there was no sound from the other bedroom. He looked down at the ground below. It was a long drop, but ivy clung to the house's wall. He didn't dare risk going downstairs in case Ketevan heard him. The ivy it was, then.

Hariye climbed out the open window. He pushed it closed as soon as he was safely on the outside windowsill. Then he carefully placed his foot on the closest stem of ivy. It was thick and clung securely to the stone. He set his other foot down on a lower stem. Slowly he climbed down. A few of the stems bent under his weight, but none of them broke and he reached the ground safely. He ran round the house, past Ketevan's horse tethered outside the front door, out through the gate and down the road.

Only one thought filled his mind. He had to reach the Blood Water. He had to hide in the deepest part of the sea where no one could ever find him. That was the only place he'd be safe.

Ketevan started awake. She knew at once that some noise had disturbed her. For a minute she listened to hear if Hariye was moving around in the room next door. Nothing. It was something outside, then.

She got up to investigate. When she was half-way down the stairs she spotted the cause at once. The gates were ajar.

"Hariye!" she shouted back up the stairs.

No answer.

She knew what she would find even before she checked his room. Sure enough, he was gone.

Ketevan ran out of the house, mounted her horse, and galloped off. Wherever Hariye was, he couldn't have gotten far. She'd find him and then she'd take him somewhere he could never run away from again.