She dragged a stone across her wall, adding another tally to the existing four.

Day five of her hunger strike was finished.

The night that Balem had her beloved cousins murdered before her eyes, Amareth had changed. She did not remember being hauled back to her chambers. She did not remember Fayel's calming voice or soothing stroking of her hair, gently removing pins that dug into her scalp and dressing her in soft silks before guiding her into bed. She did not remember the darkening skies that blotted out the oozing, blood-red clouds that marred the day. It was all a nightmarish blur.

But she did remember the dream.

She walked in fields of golden, blazing flowers. All around, the sweet smell of honeysuckle permeated the nearly unbearable lightness of the air, bringing her back to a hopeful and innocent childhood summer. Far beyond lay a far green country, and a swift and burning sunrise shone brilliantly off the glittering sea. Mountains rose from the hills to the south, their ridges and valleys purple in the hues of a rising dawn.

"Amareth."

The voice sounded behind her. She turned, eyes brimming with tears at the beauty of the landscape and at the sound of the familiar voice whose tones she had so longed to hear once more. The woman before her might have been Amareth's reflection. Dressed in simple, brown robes that flowed down her graceful body, the woman was the picture of natural beauty. Her face was scarless, unmarred, perfection, and was framed by dark brown, braided hair that cascaded down her back. And her golden eyes, like Amareth's, were spilling with tears.

"Mother," Amareth responded, throwing herself into the older woman's outstretched arms.

They held each other tightly, as though they were clinging to rocks in a stormy sea. Amareth sobbed into her mother's shoulder, forcing from her mind the awful and terrible memories of the older woman's death. That did not matter now; they were reunited once again. When Amareth finally released her mother, she leaned back slightly and gestured to their surroundings.

"Where...where are we?" she asked, wondering at the sights of this strange land.

Her mother smiled, raising soft fingers to Amareth's face and wiping away tears that streaked across her cheeks.

"Your ancestors called it Ἠλύσιον πεδίον, my daughter," her mother said, pausing when she noted the confused look spreading across Amareth's face, "But you might know it better as Elysium."

Amareth stepped back, eyes wide with wonder. She again spun slowly and took in the landscape. The smells of honeysuckle, the mountains arising from the south, the growing dawn, the sounds of the faraway sea...it was all, simply, perfection. Of course, the afterlife demanded such perfection.

"The Elysian Fields," she whispered. Suddenly, a great feeling of simultaneous hope and fear arose in her chest, and she struggled to form the words of the next question, the question that demanded an answer. "Why am I here, Mother? Am I dead?"

Her mother shook her head, a flicker of something akin to sadness flashing across her face. Amareth might have missed it if she had blinked.

"You are alive, daughter," she responded. "You walk the line between dreamland and reality. You are here so that the fields of Elysium and the lands of your ancestors might give you strength."

Amareth's eyes brimmed with tears. She had almost wished for death; this land was beautiful, unscarred, happy, lacking all pain of her current life; more importantly, lacking the Abrasax royal who held her captive. She turned back to her mother.

"But Mother, I am not strong enough to - "

She stopped suddenly when she realized that her mother had vanished. To her surprise, anger, and sadness, the older woman was gone; it was as though a mirage had appeared and disappeared before her very eyes.

But before she could react in anger, a soft chorus arose around her, matching the sighs of the ocean waves and the ghostly touch of the breeze that danced through the flowers of the golden fields. Voices of her ancestors, of her passed relatives, rose around her, chanting the songs of her people, filling her heart with strength and devotion. They spun around her in the fields of the dawn. And as daylight broke across the wild plains and as brilliant hues of red and purple broke and streaked across the sky, the chorus found its pinnacle, and Amareth closed her eyes to fill her heart with the hope of their voices.

When she opened them again, she was awake in the palace of Balem Abrasax. But she was no longer alone, and she was no longer afraid.

As the sixth dawn of her hunger strike arrived, Amareth rose from the comfort of her bed and shakily walked toward her washroom and observed her reflection in the mirror. Her cheekbones were prominent. Her eyes were sunken into dark circles, and her skin was papery, as though threatening to tear with the slightest trauma. But her eyes shone with the newfound strength from her dreams, from the encouragement of her ancestors, and Amareth took renewed courage in her mission; she was an Ostaran, the last of her Dynasty, and Balem Abrasax would see a new challenge, a stronger royal, when he next returned to tempt her soul.

It appeared that she wouldn't have to wait long for that opportunity.

When her morning meal arrived, Amareth was seated in a corner chair, pouring over the pages of some strange book from her library. She had to grant Balem a small amount of thanks for that, at least; her quarters were comfortable and engaging. The reading brought her some small measure of comfort. She did not even look up from the pages while speaking to the guard who brought her food.

"Take it away, please," she muttered disinterestedly, flipping another page of the novel.

"Not this morning, Amareth," came the harsh whisper, and Amareth nearly dropped the book in shock.

Balem stood alone in the room, gazing down at her with a look that was either anger or pride - or perhaps a combination of both. On her side table, someone had laid out a meal for two: a basket overflowing with fresh fruit, a decanter of wine, and a small pot of something warm and steaming that smelled of cinnamon and home and that pulled Amareth's stomach toward its contents. But the table, Amareth noted again, was set for two, and she glanced up at Balem with a question and a challenge in her eyes.

"I will not eat, and certainly never again with you," she responded, again taking up the pages of her book and attempting to ignore Balem's presence, something that proved difficult when the novel was suddenly snatched from her hands and throw harshly across the room.

"I will not have you starve to death," Balem said, crouching down to her level and gazing into her challenging eyes. "You will break your fast with me, and you will do it this morning."

Amareth shook her head too violently, and a wave of dizziness overcame her as blackness crept in at the edges of her eyes. Breathing slowly, she calmed herself and smiled at Balem, recognizing that she, at last, had the upper hand in her captivity. She relished in the brief moment of pride that came with her realization. Strength from my ancestors, indeed, she thought, as she saw the same recognition flash across Balem's face. But the Abrasax royal regained composure and again emanated an encapsulating form of power and control as he spoke again.

"You have changed, Amareth," he whispered, his voice a mere breath against her lips. "But remember, Ostaran, that you will never be a match for me; you will never be my equal here."

A shiver went through her bones. Balem's eyes narrowed as he leaned in, capturing her lips with his own, demanding dominance. She was weak, so weak, and could not even raise her arms to push him away as he again moved down her neck, his mouth ghosting over her prominent collarbones. He needlessly grabbed her wrists, ensuring her immobility as he continued his slow but steady path across her shoulder. And in that moment, Amareth realized that her biggest fear was not Balem's violence or unpredictability; rather, her biggest fear was her heartbeat that had started to race as she felt herself relaxing, almost imperceptibly, into his body. As the realization struck hard, she recognized why her ancestors had gifted her with their strength, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat, forcing out a shaking voice.

"I will eat," she said, her voice hardly a whisper.

Balem stopped short, letting her words sink in. His lips grazed against the side of her neck as he suddenly stood up, gazing down at her curiously before offering her a hand. Amareth stared at it, still lost in the sensation of his lips across her own and his mouth upon her neck. When she took his hand and went to stand, she found her legs incapable of supporting her weight. Collapsing back into the chair, her face burning, she muttered some sort of apology through her shame.

Suddenly, strong arms lifted her from the chair, and Amareth realized that Balem was carrying her to the side table. Exhausted in mind and body, she leaned slightly against his powerful chest, closing her eyes against the spinning world as Balem gently placed her in a cushioned chair at the table. All she wanted was sleep, and she kept her eyes closed as her head fell back against the softness of the fabric. Somewhere, she remembered long, cold fingers spooning something hot and comforting into her mouth. She recalled a faraway whisper urging her to drink another sip of water. She thought she remembered strong arms lifting her from the chair and carrying her to the bed, soft lips leaving a ghostly kiss upon her temple before she passed into blissful sleep.

But she was also far away in fields of honeysuckle and golden flowers, walking in the pale and fragile dawn of a new day.