The shackles were digging into his skin, crushing his bones; he could barely feel his arms, and everything in his body ached. The smell of damp stone, dirt, soiled hay, and blood stung in his nose, and the horrifying groans and screams of other prisoners echoed between the stone walls.

Kasethen tried to remain calm, despite the pain and the overwhelming urge to scream at the top of his lungs. He wasn't like the soldiers, he wasn't like the Vasaath—he feared death. He feared pain. When he was attacked, he hadn't suspected a thing. He wasn't even sure who his attacker had been. All he remembered was a sharp pain in the back of his head, and then everything had turned black.

When he was cruelly awakened by a bucket of cold water, inside this cell, he knew not how much time had passed since he had been struck down. His arms were shackled above his head as he was nearly suspended from the ceiling, and once he was awake, the guards had battered him until he coughed blood. But he never cried. Not once. He would not give them that satisfaction. As soon as they had left him, however, he had not been able to stop the tears.

He tried to tell himself to be brave, to weather the storm with strength and resolve, just as he had once told his beloved, but he was not as strong as his brave warrior. In the darkness and the lonesomeness, and through his tears, Kasethen kept whispering, "I'm sorry, Tiku. I'm sorry."

He knew not how many days he had stayed in that cell, without food or water, with the chilling sounds of the screams and cries around him. He had started hallucinating; in the corner of his cell, he saw Tiku's shadow, judging him with beetle eyes every waking hour—and Kasethen kept repeating, "I'm sorry."

He jolted and gasped when the heavy gates opened and closed, and the harsh noise echoed sharply throughout the dungeons. The other prisoners shouted and rattled their bars, and Kasethen wished that whoever came wasn't there for him—but he knew that was only a foolish wish.

The faint light of the torch flickered slowly as footsteps sounded closer. There was only one, Kasethen could tell. When the visitor rounded the corner, Kasethen could clearly see the man even though the light didn't illuminate all that much. Dark hair, rosy cheeks, and silver eyes—this was Sebastian, Juniper's younger brother.

When the boy stood by the bars, he was silent, but Kasethen could see in his face that he was disheartened. In his hand, he held a bucket of water, but he did not move.

"Have you come to revel at the weakness of my kind?" Kasethen asked, his voice weak and hoarse.

The boy bit his lip and glanced down at the bucket of water. "You're no use to us dead," he then said. He lodged the torch into a metal hoop in the wall and opened the cell door. He seemed hesitant to move inside but took a careful step over the threshold. He eyed Kasethen in his shackles and said, "You're not like the others I've seen. You're weak and small."

Kasethen huffed but immediately started coughing. "Water..."

The boy filled a ladle and offered it, and Kasethen drank greedily.

"Thank you." He sighed heavily but winced by the pain. "Tell me, how did you capture me?"

"You ought to be more careful with who you allow into your midst. Your greed for our people gave us an easy way in."

Kasethen scoffed. "You're right. Of course, you would take advantage of your outcasts and our hospitality. We should have known. That is on us, indeed."

"My father says you are the general's closest advisor," said the boy. "Is that true?"

"Does it matter?"

Sebastian knitted his brows but said nothing. Instead, he filled the ladle again and offered it.

"I'm not a soldier, no," said Kasethen after he had had the water. "I don't spend my days exercising my body, but my mind. I read about history, politics, and poetry."

The boy shifted on his feet and said, "But you must be important to the general, mustn't you? He wouldn't want you to spill military secrets."

Kasethen narrowed his eyes. "And you suppose he fears I'll expose anything?"

"No one wants to be tortured." There was a slight discomfort in the lad's voice, and Kasethen could hear it loud and clear. "Enough pain will cause anyone to talk."

The advisor sighed deeply. "You're not used to loyalty, are you?"

"There is no such thing as absolute loyalty," said the boy. "Everyone has a price, or a limit."

Kasethen smiled, but his face hurt. "It is frustrating, isn't it? Not getting the information you want." Then he sighed. "What did your father tell you to do? Why did you come down here? I don't expect it's only to keep me from dying."

Sebastian hesitated for a moment before giving the Kas another ladle of water. "My father doesn't know I'm here. He doesn't care if you die down here or if you die somewhere else, as long as he can display your body."

"So that's his plan, then," Kasethen nodded, "to display me?"

"He wants to prove that you're mortal," said Sebastian.

"Of course," said Kasethen. "I believe the Vasaath made quite the spectacle that night."

Fear and uncertainty dimmed the boy's gaze for a short moment before he straightened. "He never frightened us. It was the Westbridge army that couldn't stomach it."

Kasethen nodded. "You are made of a different material, I believe. Hardworking and diligent, true people of the North."

The boy glared suspiciously at the advisor. "Yes."

"And yet," said Kasethen, "it must have been a gruesome sight. All those bodies. The blood, the crows..." He frowned at the thought of the terrible deed, but winced at the pain it caused him. "I advised him against it, but his mind was set on it." He carefully shook his head. "I couldn't save those people, but I suppose war is war, no matter if I like it or not."

Sebastian shot down his gaze, but only for a fleeting moment before his face turned into a scowl and he stepped out of the cell and closed the door.

Kasethen wanted to tell the boy to stay, to let him drink just one more ladle, but the boy hurried along the halls with his torch. Before long, the prisoners were left to the darkness once again and Kasethen cried silently in despair and pain.

He drifted in and out of sleep; the pain both lulled him and kept him awake. He was so exhausted and hungry that he could barely hold his head up. Guards came and went. Some stopped to give him a thrashing, while others just gawked at the beaten, strange, grey-skinned man chained to the ceiling inside the cell.

Some marvelled at how dark his blood was, yet they were all surprised to see that it was indeed still red. Most said they thought it would be black. Like tar. Like filth.

His only comfort was that the more battered he was, and the more starved he became, the clearer he saw Tiku in his corner; the beautiful black markings against his dark skin; the fine, strong shape of his arms; the softness and fullness of his plump, dark lips—soon, he would be close enough to touch, and Kasethen would hurt no more.

There was no food and no water, and he must have slipped into unconsciousness at one point, only to be woken up by a cold splash of water in his face. He drew a sharp breath as he returned to the world, only to find the boy in his cell yet again with the bucket and the ladle.

"You're in bad shape," said Sebastian with a serious frown upon his face. "Weakened, nearly dead."

Kasethen couldn't speak, but he stuck out his tongue in an attempt to beg for water. The boy poured the cold liquid into his mouth and Kasethen drank with gratitude.

The boy then put the bucket aside, and to Kasethen's great shock and relief, he undid the shackles and let the advisor collapse in an aching heap on the floor. He could barely move his arms, and it took every grain of strength he had to curl up onto a ball. Sudden waves of coldness came upon him and he started trembling uncontrollably as he lay on the floor.

"You're in shock," said the boy. "You need to eat. Here." From his pocket, he pulled out a piece of bread and placed it right beside the advisor's head. "Don't eat it all at once."

Kasethen glanced at the bread. He could smell it, how fresh it was, but he could barely move—let alone reach for it.

"I'll tell the guards to stop beating you," said Sebastian. "They just do it because it satisfies them." The boy looked away. "It's unnecessary." Shortly after, Sebastian left again.

Kasethen tried to calm himself, and slowly, he regained the feeling in his arms again. After a few good minutes, he was strong enough to reach for the bread and he savoured each bite of it. Now when he was no longer chained to the ceiling, he thought about attacking the next guard that entered his cell, but he knew he would be too weak to win such a fight. He wasn't a fighter—he could hold his own, indeed, but he was no combatant, and he was in no shape to fight anyone.

After an hour or so, he could sit. His whole body ached from the abuse, the starvation, and the cold, but at least he didn't have to keep his arms up. The boy had even left the bucket of water for him, but he was frugal. No one knew when he'd next be visited by a kind soul.

With bread and water in his belly and with his arms closely wrapped around him, he started to feel a little better. He was still in pain, still fearful, but he could clear his mind. He started by trying to think of a way out—perhaps the boy would be a simpler target than an armed guard? But the boy had been good to him, and Kasethen could see that the boy didn't truly want any of this—he wasn't a fighter, no, but he was an excellent judge of character.

Sebastian Arlington was not a cold and heartless man, but a lost and frightened boy with too much pressure upon him. Kasethen couldn't possibly be cruel to the young man. His best chance of escaping, he thought, would be to save his strength and overpower one of the guards. Even at half capacity, he could still put up a fight.

But the next one that visited him was not a guard, but the boy. He stood on the other side of the bars, but did not enter the cell—he was clever enough to remember and recognise that he had released the much larger Kas and that entering would be a risk.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"I am."

Sebastian nodded. Then he cleared his throat. "How's my sister?"

"I was under the impression that you didn't really care about your sister."

The boy huffed. "Of course I do!" He clenched his jaw and fiddled some with the rust on the bars before he said, "My father thinks she is little more than worthless, but I have always been fond of her. If you've hurt her, I hope you'll die slowly."

Kasethen looked upon the boy and he could see that he was sincere. He nodded. "You love your sister. That's a comfort. You need not worry, she's perfectly safe. None of us would harm her."

This made the boy frown. "She's not you prisoner, then?"

"No."

"Then why hasn't she come home?"

Kasethen narrowed his eyes, just slightly. "Can't you think of a reason?"

Sebastian fiddled with the bars again. "You killed Christopher Cornwall, so she isn't bound to him any longer. Why would she remain with you if she's no longer threatened?"

"Yes," Kasethen sighed, "that is a conundrum, indeed. You have no answer to it, yourself?"

The boy wondered for a while before saying, defeated, "She doesn't want to come back."

Kasethen sighed, blinked, and replied, "She misses you. She worries about you. She doesn't want to return to your father, but she defends you whenever she gets the chance."

Sebastian slumped down, his face saddened. "I was very young when Mother passed away. Juniper always took care of me. She has always defended me, even when I didn't deserve it. I should have defended her, but I didn't." He huffed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"We all need someone to talk to sometimes," said Kasethen. "Besides, I suppose I'll die soon enough anyway."

Sebastian's face turned into a troubled frown. "Perhaps not." He chewed on his lip. "My father plans to execute you on the Town Square tomorrow, to raise the morale amongst the guards, but I know it will lead to nothing but war. So I sent a message to your leader. I told him to leave our shores tonight, or we'll behead you by dawn."

Kasethen raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you learn anything from the last time you made demands? The Vasaath does not take kindly to threats. He will not heed your warning."

The boy swallowed, clearly nervous. "What else could I have done? Killing you would have been a declaration of war! I told my father that, but he didn't care. He said that the odds are not in your favour."

"They aren't," Kasethen agreed. "Had I been by the Vasaath's side, I would have told him that. But you made a fatal mistake in capturing me."

Sebastian grabbed the bars as his face turned pale. "Why?"

"Not only am I his closest friend," said Kasethen, "but I am also the one that keeps the Vasaath from acting upon his darkest whims."

"But why would he go into a war he cannot win, when there is another option that would secure the survival of you both?"

"The Vasaath doesn't retreat," said Kasethen. "Not even I could change his mind on that."

"He'd be walking into his own grave."

"Perhaps," said Kasethen. "Or, you've just walked into yours."

Sebastian's face turned even paler. "He couldn't possibly win..."

Kasethen furrowed his brows. "He beat an army of five thousand men with only fifty of his own, and you still doubt his prowess in war?"

"No—that is not true! They were a hundred, at least!"

Kasethen sighed and shook his head. "There were fifty of them. Stealth, speed, and skill. Imagine what two hundred of us can do."

The boy seemed to search for something to say before he grabbed the bars and asked, "What am I to do, then? The message has been sent! I can't undo it!"

"Release me," said Kasethen. "Release me, and I'll talk sense into him."

Sebastian nodded at first but as he reached for the locks of the door, he hesitated. Narrowing his eyes, he said, "You're trying to manipulate me." He took a step back. "You think I'm foolish, don't you?"

Kasethen tightened his jaw. "No, I don't, but walking away from this chance is foolish." When young Sebastian didn't reply but turned on his heel to march out of the dungeons, Kasethen barked, "Don't be foolish, Sebastian!"

But the boy didn't turn back, and Kasethen reached for the door but was withheld by the shackles around his ankles and he fell to the floor. He roared in anger and despair, and he couldn't help but to wish that the Vasaath's aggression would be enough to free him and keep him alive.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Tiku. Not today."