All characters in this story are taken from the Darkhaven novels by A.F.E. Smith.

(Author's note: This is my first ever fanfic! Still trying to figure out how everything works! Advice and constructive criticism would be amazing. Thank you!)

"I remember the first time we met," Ayla says.

"Really?"

"Well, don't you?"

"Of course I do." By the tone of his voice, it goes without saying. "But I didn't think you would. You must have been introduced to a lot of new Helmsmen over the years."

"Tomas … you do remember what you did, don't you?"

"Nothing, really." He looks confused. "You were walking along the corridor towards me. In a hurry, I think. You were what, twelve? And I was seventeen. Children, though it didn't seem that way. You were so far beyond me …" He shakes his head. "I wanted desperately to impress you – all of you. The Nightshade line. So I ran back and held the door for you, thinking you'd sweep past me without a glance like your father had earlier that day, but you didn't. You stopped and looked up at me for a moment, quite gravely. And then you thanked me, and went on down the corridor." He shrugs. "I really didn't think it was significant enough for you to remember."

"You smiled," Ayla says. "I was used to the Helm being distant and faintly disapproving, though they only got really bad after my mother died. But that day I'd overheard two of them talking about me, about her, saying we had tainted the bloodline … I was upset. I thought if I could just get to my room quick enough, I could hold back the tears until I was alone. But then you opened the door for me, and you looked straight at me – not through me, but at me – and you smiled as if you were pleased to see me. Actually, more than pleased." She smiles herself, unable to help responding to the memory. "The expression on your face … it was like you were amazed by me. I always remembered that."

"I was amazed," Tomas says softly. "And I always will be."

Ayla hadn't meant to eavesdrop. If she had, she would have listened to something nicer. Her father yelling at her brother. Her mother crying over it when she thought no-one was around. Anything would have been better than this.

"He never should have married her," one of the Helmsmen said. "We know that. Captain Travers knows it. Even the old Firedrake himself knows it, for all he dotes on her."

"I dunno," the other man replied. "He had to marry someone after Myrren's mother died."

"But her? She's a common girl. You can find half a dozen of her on any street corner. What sort of match is that for Nightshade blood?"

That's my mother you're talking about. Ayla wanted to jump up and confront them. Failing that, she wanted to stop hearing what they had to say. But she was hidden behind the curtains on the window seat, with no way to creep out except past them – and if she showed herself unexpectedly, they'd probably kill her before they realised who she was.

They'd probably kill her when they realised who she was.

"Besides," the first man went on, warming to his theme. "She's only given him one child, all this time. What use is that? Surely the point was to produce as many heirs as possible. But instead …"

"Ayla." The second man said it with a disparaging twist.

"Yeah. The half-blood."

Ayla jammed her hands over her ears, but she couldn't block out their voices.

"Funny how she looks so much like a real Nightshade."

"She's not, though, is she? The blood's tainted."

"Tainted by her common mother."

"I bet she'll never be a Changer …"

"I bet she'll never be anything."

"You can see it in her eyes, you know. Look closely, and you'll see the green in 'em. It's her mother's stain. Shows she's not a true Nightshade child."

Finally they were moving away. Ayla listened until she could no longer hear their footsteps. Then she slid out from behind the curtain and fled in the opposite direction, tears burning her eyes. If she could just make it to her own chamber without letting them fall, that would be enough. If she could just –

But another Helmsman was approaching along the corridor.

She lifted her chin, blinking rapidly. Don't let them see how it hurts. But as the blur of face and striped coat resolved itself into detail, she realised this was a Helmsman she didn't recognise. A young one, perhaps only a few years older than her. Tall. Brown skin. Hair that managed to give the impression of being tousled, despite the military crop. He must be new. Perhaps he wouldn't give her that look, the distant, disapproving one that said she was a blot on the history of the Nightshade line. Perhaps he'd simply ignore her. She would welcome that, being ignored. There'd be a refreshing lack of judgement in it.

Instead, as she neared him, he retreated to the door at the end of the corridor. It took her a long, stupid moment to understand he was holding it open for her.

That's different.

She couldn't help but look up as she passed him, and what she saw made her hurried stride falter. He wasn't staring through her, or flicking sidelong glances at her like small, accusatory arrows. He looked serious, maybe even a little awed. But when her gaze met his, he smiled. It was a shy smile, but … joyous. As though he'd just seen something amazing, something he'd waited his whole life to see.

Yet he was looking at her.

Next moment, he ducked his head and murmured, "My lady." He swung the door open wider. She scanned his averted face, but there had been nothing but respect in his voice.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and hurried on. Once the door had closed behind her, she stopped for an instant and looked back, but there was nothing but an empty corridor.