The Gift

Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply


Doubar's head aches.

He groans as he shifts his bulk in the narrow bunk Talia has allotted him on the Serpent. He hates this ship. Everything about it. It's too narrow, too small for his body, and it makes him feel even clumsier, even more like a beast than he already does. Firouz comparing him to Fortasa, a killer of women and children, makes him a monster. The innards of Talia's slender little ship only confirm what he feels inside. He's too big, too rash, too out-of-control. Sinbad helps people. Doubar only hurts them. Part of him wants to run, to abandon ship and slink away somewhere, somewhere his former friends won't have to look after him anymore. But another part of him is paralyzed, too afraid to make such a final decision. Without his crew, his brothers, what will he do? Where would he go? He's nothing without them.

And then there's Sinbad. If he ever returns south, it's the Nomad he'll seek. If Doubar leaves, he'll never see his little brother again. Sinbad won't come looking for him, he's sure of that. Doubar crossed a line when he struck Maeve, and his brother has made it clear that this is an unforgivable betrayal. Doubar gets it. He didn't until Firouz took the time to put it into terms he could understand, but now he does. He let his anger get the better of him. Usually when these things happen, Sinbad is there to pick up the pieces, smooth over whatever hurt Doubar caused, and make things better again. But this time, this time Doubar hit too close to home. He turned on a member of the crew, a woman who didn't deserve it and was apparently with child besides, and that was more than Sinbad could take.

Doubar understands.

He hates it, and he still thinks it's unfair that he was constantly lied to yet expected to know the truth anyway, but he understands. He did this. If Sinbad loses his soul, his blood is on Doubar's hands. Doubar betrayed the sacred trust his father placed in him the day Sinbad was born. He didn't mean to, as he never means to cause trouble or hurt innocent people, but he can't deny it any longer.

Rongar forbade him from venturing into the city to find a tavern, but neither the Nomad's new captain nor Talia said anything about trading with other sailors on the docks. The small cask of wine he purchased from a friendly crew out of Tripoli was beyond welcome at first, and it helped him slip into a deeper sleep than he's managed since his banishment, but now he wonders, as he struggles to wakefulness, if that small mercy was worth it. His head pounds, he's bleary and befuddled, and he feels adrift, no idea of the time or why he woke so abruptly.

Lying still to save his aching head, he lets the sounds of the harbor bleed into his ears. He's been at sea since he was a young man, more than willing to sign on when his baby brother needed a forgiving first crew. Most seasoned sailors were unwilling to trust their lives to an inexperienced teenager, no matter how compelling Sinbad's presence. But Doubar saw it as an opportunity to remain with his brother, and that was more important to him than his own life or relative safety. It still is.

His experienced ears now take in the odd silence hovering thick around Talia's ship. He hears the scattered spatter of raindrops here and there, the ever-present creak of timber and hemp, but nothing else. No voices. No footsteps. Talia is not a quiet person, and his ears tell him firmly that she is not aboard. This disturbs him. He has no idea how long he slept, but a trip to ask a soothsayer a simple question shouldn't have taken much time. She should be back, if not aboard the Serpent then aboard the Nomad, moored right next to them, possibly in conference with Rongar. She and the Moor are thick as thieves these days. Doubar would suspect a romance was blooming if he didn't know better.

But, then, maybe he doesn't know better. The gods know he didn't see what was going on under his nose between Sinbad and Maeve. Rongar and Talia could be married by now for all he knows.

His body feels stiff and achy, but he suspects that's the aftereffects of too much wine after a long dry spell, not too much sleep. Silence envelops not just the Serpent but the harbor around her, too, and that is not normal. The harbor is the lifeblood of any trading town, full of bustle at all hours. But Bollnah's docks were nearly deserted when the Serpent and Nomad arrived, and they sound even emptier now.

Something's wrong.

Doubar's intuition isn't the greatest and right now he's blunted by wine, but he's sailed with Sinbad long enough to know when trouble's afoot. His brother attracts danger like flowers attract bees, and Doubar learned long ago how to read this particular tension in the air. Rongar is better than him at placing it and probably knew to beware the moment they docked. But he was dead-set on visiting that soothsayer, and maybe that blinded him to the threat? Doubar doesn't know. For Talia's part, she doesn't just attract danger. She causes it. And "cautious" isn't in her vocabulary. They wandered off into the city together, one on a mission and the other perpetually itching for trouble, which means that whatever danger Doubar now senses, he's pretty sure they're in the middle of it. He scowls as he lifts his head. His vision swims, and the wine he swallowed earlier threatens to make a reappearance, but he forces himself upright anyway. Two of his best friends went traipsing into a city where something is clearly very wrong, and they haven't returned yet. That means he's going to have to roust Firouz from the Nomad and disregard Rongar's previous order, heading into the city after them. He's supposed to stay with Firouz at the docks and wait for Rongar's return, but no way is that happening now. His friends may no longer be his friends anymore, but that doesn't mean he can just sit here and drink his wine and pretend nothing is wrong.

Doubar groans as he levers himself upright and kicks the half-empty wine cask out of his way. He's caught between irritation and concern, and it's a very familiar place for him to be. Sinbad causes this emotion all the time, and has since he was old enough to walk. Dim-Dim was a caring mentor, but he was not a parent in the sense that he shadowed the little boy's movements, keeping him from toddling into fires or behind peevish horses. That was Doubar's job. From the time they lost their parents to the moment Sinbad signed on as cabin boy with the Adventurers, he was his little brother's supporter and defender. The one time he wasn't there to protect him was the day Harun al-Disar pushed Leah into the oncoming tide, and Doubar blames himself for this tragedy. For not being there to prevent it. For not teaching Sinbad how to swim sooner. Al-Disar was afraid of him and would never have dared lay a hand on Leah or Sinbad with Doubar present. Doubar swore that day, swore anew as he had the day Sinbad was born, not to fail him again. And he didn't—not until he lashed out in anger against Maeve.

He can't do anything to right that wrong now, though. Sinbad and Maeve are both very far away, and as Firouz says, they may not ever return. So much is up in the air and out of his hands, and Doubar hates it. In a strange way, he welcomes the trouble his gut now senses in the air. He can't do anything to right the monumental wrong he's committed, but he can try to help his friends. Rongar is usually the coolest head and clearest thinker among them, but today he went and rushed into danger just as Sinbad often does. It's not really like him, but he was so set on seeing this soothsayer. Maybe being captain has gone to his head? Or maybe the Nomad is cursed, Doubar grumbles to himself as he heaves his bulk up the ladder to the Serpent's deck. Maybe the Nomad's captain, no matter who he is, is doomed to rush headlong into dangerous situations that require valiant heroics. Maybe they should have Dim-Dim exorcise the ship when they find him, just in case.

If they ever find him.

Doubar isn't prepared for the sight that greets his eyes when he climbs to the slim deck of Talia's little ship. The Nomad, which was moored directly beside the Serpent, is gone. There's no sign of her anywhere in the harbor or on the horizon. Only two other ships remain in the nearly-deserted harbor, and he spies no other sailors, no signs of life anywhere. Eerie silence presses thick against his eardrums.

The dock is singed black and pocked with burnt-out holes in several places, as if Maeve went at it with her fireballs, and the faint scent of tarry smoke hovers in the air. The bodies of several lifeless soldiers in metal helms and waterlogged grey cloaks bob in the sea as rain spatters down. The evening feels thick with foreboding—not night yet, but full dark is coming soon.

Most concerning out of all of it, even more than the bodies softly bobbing in the water, the Nomad is gone. Doubar stares dumbly at the empty space where Sinbad's ship belongs. His wine-muddled mind struggles to make sense of this. Everyone is furious with him, yes, but he didn't think they were angry enough to abandon him and sail away alone. They wouldn't.

Would they?

No. No, that can't be right. Doubar has a naturally suspicious streak, but even he can't believe his friends abandoned him. He's not bright, but the evidence doesn't add up even to him. Even if they decided to slip away without him, that doesn't explain the deserted harbor, the burned docks, the dead soldiers. And Talia would never leave the Silver Serpent, no matter how furious at Doubar she might be. She just got it back, and she loves this little ship every bit as much as Sinbad loves the Nomad. She may or may not be willing to abandon Doubar, but she would never sacrifice her ship to do it.

All of this tells him that, yes, his shipmates are in trouble, just as his gut told him when he awoke, and this time Sinbad isn't here to save them. Only Doubar is. They're furious at him and none of them want him around anymore, but he may be their only chance at getting out of whatever mess they've stumbled into. He inhales a deep, bracing breath and, decided, strides down the gangplank. There's no hero coming to save the day, so his friends will have to be content with the aid of a sacked second-in-command.

With the Nomad now missing, so is Firouz. Doubar eases himself onto the dock, not entirely trusting the burned planks to support his weight. They do, though they creak ominously when he moves. He pauses as his jumbled head tries to settle on a plan. Planning has never been his forte, and a flash of irritation fills him. This isn't supposed to be his job, and he doesn't want it to be. Firouz or Sinbad or Rongar are all better at planning than he is. Maeve and Talia are not—no worse, he's forced to admit, but no better. But with everyone else missing, he's the only one left. So he forces his drink-muddled mind to focus.

He's going to have to head into the city, just as Rongar told him not to, in order to find his people. He has no idea what he'll discover there, but he knows he's walking into trouble. Casting a glance at the water, the raindrops dimpling the surface of the sea, his eyes fall again on the soldiers bobbing in the murky green.

Ordinarily he'd ignore them. Let the sea claim them for its own, the most honorable end a man can have. But his eyes fall on their helms, their grey cloaks tossed slowly by the tide. A disguise. It's something he and his shipmates have done countless times, concealing themselves to blend in with a crowd. Maeve doesn't blend in well no matter what she does, but the rest do reasonably well. Now he grabs an abandoned mooring pole and swipes at the largest of the soldiers, pulling his body toward the dock.

A waterlogged adult human body plus wet leather armor weighs more than even Doubar can manage on his own, so he doesn't bother fishing the body completely out of the water. He divests it of its helmet and cloak, then lets it slip back into the choppy harbor. The heavy grey cloak is saturated, but he wrings it out as best he can and ignores the uncomfortable drag of wet wool as he puts it on. The rain picks up, gusting on a sticky, humid wind, and he knows he'll be wet through soon anyway, cloak or no cloak. He jams the helmet on his head, checks the movement of his sword below the folds of grey wool, and starts into the city.

Doubar casts an anxious glance at the darkening sky as he strides into the town. He's been on countless rescue missions before, but never alone. He feels uneasy doing so now, but he has no choice. Rongar and Talia should be back, and the Nomad is now missing, with Firouz aboard. It's Sinbad's job to fix these messes, but Sinbad may never return. Hell, Doubar doesn't even know what day it is, how much longer they have until All Souls Night. He did, but that fucking wine stole the number from his memory. He'd give anything, even his own soul, to have Sinbad safe with him once again. But as so often, it's not him Scratch wants. It's never him anybody wants. They only ever want Sinbad.

The muddy streets of Bollnah are as deserted as the harbor. Doubar scowls into the rain. None of this is right. Even during an uncomfortable rainstorm, business is still business. Evening is one of the busiest times of day in a southern market town, after the fiercest heat of the sun has cooled but before full dark sets in. He should hear the cries of merchants selling their wares from storefronts and street stalls and handheld baskets, should smell the succulent scent of meat roasting over hot coals. Instead of the hot, close press of bodies, the streets are deserted. No chickens or dogs underfoot. No laughing little boys darting through the crowd. Many doors have been smashed in and houses and shops looted, now dead husks of buildings standing empty and dark. There are people here, there must be. But Doubar feels eerily alone as he trudges through squelching, muddy streets. Something is very wrong here, something more than he figured when they first docked.

And that presents him with a problem. He frowns. His plan, such as it was, was to find Zorah, the soothsayer Rongar was so desperate to visit, and demand some answers. It's not much of a plan, but then, he's not much of a planner. He's more like Maeve. They both prefer to solve problems with their fists, nice and quick and efficient. A small, mockingly bitter smile touches his mouth, hidden behind his wet beard. He misses her. It's hard to admit even to himself, but he does. And he's so sorry for everything. For doubting her. For the viciousness he threw at her. He's still angry that she lied to him, but he misses what they were together, all of them. A crew. A...whole. Sinbad used to insist on calling them a family and hell, Doubar won't argue about that anymore. The words don't matter. He just wants his people back.

But he can't do anything right now to get Maeve and Sinbad back, and it's looking like he can't do anything for the others, either. He assumed he could use the crowd to point him to Zorah, but there is no crowd. He doesn't see another living person in the wet and the gathering darkness of the evening. No shops seem to be open, and if there are candles burning behind any of these walls he can't see them. Frustrated, Doubar ducks down a smaller side street. How is he supposed to help anyone if he can't find them? He rubs water from his face and shakes it from his beard. Ducking under a waterlogged awning for a moment, he squints into the murky shadows of the alleyway.

A flash of movement catches his eye, and he turns his head. Yes, he sees as he squints, it's not just his imagination. A little girl huddles just inside the empty doorway of an abandoned house, a ball of skinny limbs and wet linen, her hair braided tightly to her head in numerous tiny rows.

Doubar hesitates. He's happy to deal with little boys. He adores little boys, in fact. They're cute and funny, and usually much smarter than people tend to give them credit for. They notice things adults don't, and they've been invaluable help on numerous adventures. But he does not deal with girls. The only one he can remember off the top of his head is Serendib, whose rescue got them in this mess in the first place, and she was Sinbad's doing, not his. Doubar would have rather not entered the City of Mist at all.

But he's now standing in a downpour that gives no sign of letting up anytime soon, all of his friends missing, and there's no one else here to ask for help. For all he knows, he and this little girl may be the only people in the whole fucking city.

So, with no other choice that he can see, Doubar bows to the inevitable. He trudges across the street, toward the doorway where the child huddles.

She tenses as he approaches. She's a skinny little thing, and she rolls up onto the balls of her bare feet, about to dart away into the darkness.

"Don't run," he begs. "Easy there, kid. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." He ducks under the torn awning above the doorway. "I promise. I just want to ask you a question."

She pauses, staring at him with cautious black eyes. The hard set of her mouth startles him; she's too young to wear an expression like that, and it doesn't suit her. "You're not a soldier."

Doubar blinks. He didn't expect to be caught out so quickly by so small a child. "Uh...not exactly," he hedges.

"What do you want?" She draws herself cautiously to her feet. She's smaller than he thought. She regards him with a suspicious caution that isn't quite fear. Her clothes are made of thin linen that looks finely woven and were probably excellent quality at one point, but they've outlived their useful life. "I don't do what soldiers usually ask for," the kid says firmly. "Mama said not to."

Horrified, Doubar draws back. "No, kid. It's not like that at all. Who's been asking you to? I'll fix them. Fix them so they can't walk."

The girl looks intrigued. Doubar's just sick. This kid can't be more than...okay, he's not good with ages, but she's young. Far too young to even be suspicious of what he might want. He's perfectly aware that some men in this world are sick monsters who prey on children, but he's never been accused of it himself and the idea makes him ill.

"You're a very strange soldier," the girl says finally.

Cursing under his breath, Doubar yanks the helmet from his head. "I'm not a soldier at all. You were right the first time." He pats his pockets. The kid's way too thin, but he doesn't have any food on him to give her. "Listen. I'm not a soldier, I promise, and I need some help." He holds up a silver coin. Instantly her eyes lock on it. He definitely has her attention.

"You're too fat to be a soldier anyway," she says, and Doubar can't help his grin. She's not wrong. No matter how strong he is, most warlords and petty kings wouldn't want him in their employ. He's too much to feed and clothe.

"I'm not from around here. Listen, I need to find someone. The soothsayer Zorah. Do you know who she is? Where she is? I'll pay you for your help." He glances around him. "On second thought, I don't see any merchants. If I give you coin, can you use it? Buy yourself some food, a nice cloak or blanket? If there's nowhere left to spend coin here, I'll get you provisions from my ship instead." He'll give them to her anyway, even if she doesn't help him. She needs them too badly, he can tell from the state of her skinny little frame and ragged clothing.

The girl's bright eyes snap to him when he mentions the soothsayer. "You want Zorah?" Those eyes are way too big for her thin little face.

"Very much." He holds out the coin, letting the last pale slivers of daylight shimmer on its surface. It's a caliphate-minted dirham, and most kingdoms know and respect the caliph's coinage no matter what the local currency might be. Even if this one does not, the silver still has inherent value.

The girl tips her head to the side, her eyes flicking from the coin to Doubar's face and back. She wants that bit of silver badly, he can tell, but she hesitates. And then she asks the last question he expects. "Are you the hero Sinbad?"

He freezes. "What do you know about Sinbad?"

"What do you?" she shoots back.

She has a mouth on her despite her suspicion. That combination reminds Doubar strongly of Maeve, a bittersweet reminder of yet someone else he's lost. "More than you do," he says firmly. "And I think I'll ask the questions for now."

She doesn't argue with him, staring instead at the coin. Ordinarily he'd never offer more than a copper fal for directions, but this girl needs help and he needs answers. Especially now. She mentioned Sinbad, and now he's wary, too. Something's going on here, and he's beginning to be more and more afraid that Rongar and Talia maybe didn't just accidentally wander into trouble that doesn't concern them. People don't come looking for Sinbad unless they desperately need help.

"What do you want to know about Zorah?" the girl says after a moment. She licks her lower lip, still staring at the coin. He gives it to her. He knows better, but he can't stand that hungry look in her eyes. She may bolt once she has the coin, but he can't make himself dangle it in front of her any longer.

She doesn't run. He's kind of surprised, honestly.

"Why did you ask about Sinbad?"

The girl's dirty fist clenches tightly around her prize. "The soldiers are looking for him," she says, giving Doubar this information readily.

"Why?"

"Are you Sinbad?"

He holds up another coin. Talia would call him a sucker if she were here, but he doesn't care. The kid needs it. She's not a little boy, but she seems to know more than he does about the local situation and right now that trumps custom. "I said I was asking the questions. Why are the soldiers looking for Sinbad?" It makes no sense. Sinbad isn't here, and as far as Doubar knows, he never has been. Unless someone recognized the Nomad, they'd have no cause to be looking for him.

"I don't know why. They just are." The girl looks at the entrance to the main street as a mob of soldiers pass, loudly complaining about the rain. They're the only other people Doubar has seen since leaving the docks. He tenses, but they don't even glance his way.

"Why did you think I was Sinbad?"

"Because you said you had a ship," she says readily, "and you're looking for Zorah. Everyone's supposed to be watching for a sailor looking for Zorah."

"Everyone?" He frowns. "Are you telling me you're a spy?"

"What's a spy?" she asks, utterly guileless. Doubar's never been good at reading people, but for the life of him he can't be suspicious of her. Not when she looks at him so puzzled like that. "Everyone in Bollnah is supposed to tell the soldiers if they see Sinbad."

"And you don't know why?"

She shakes her head. "But Zorah will. Zorah knows everything."

Doubar hesitates. He wants answers, and Zorah seems to be the only way to get them, but this is starting to feel more and more like a trap. Not the kid, but the soothsayer. If the soldiers are looking for Sinbad, surely they're watching Zorah?

"Are you sure you're not Sinbad?" the girl asks. She's still staring at the second coin in his hand.

"Very sure," he tells her. "I'm a sailor looking for Zorah, but I'm not Sinbad. My name is Doubar." He gives her the coin. "What's yours?"

"Zainab." She closes her fist over the coin.

"That's a pretty name." He manages a smile. She's a cute kid, or she would be if she wasn't so painfully skinny. He's not used to seeing little girls alone in the streets and can only assume that means she has no one to look after her. Little boys run wild in cities like this, not their sisters. But this one seems to be alone. And that's unacceptable. She's too small to be on her own, even if she is a canny thing like Maeve and Talia. "Listen, Zainab, can you tell me what's going on here? A city should be full of people. Trade. Bustle. Why are there no merchants? Why is everyone in hiding?"

"They're scared," she says, which he can see for himself. This place isn't a deserted ruins; he can feel that he and this child are not alone. But no one dares leave the relative safety of their hiding places, at least at the moment. "The old prince went away and a new one came. His soldiers take everything. They take people, too." She cradles her coins to her chest.

Doubar's jaw clenches down and his headache worsens. He now really wishes he hadn't had so much wine. He's seen kingdoms bled dry before and he knows the signs; the child's story is not unusual at all. He wishes she could give him a little more detail, but she may be too young. Who knows if she even remembers a time before this new prince came?

"The prince's soldiers take people?" he asks, a growing suspicion gnawing at him. "Is that what happened to your parents?"

"He took papa," she says, staring at the coins cupped lovingly in her palm. "Then mama got sick. She died. Uncle took auntie and their boys and moved away. He took my little brother with them. Not me."

Doubar feels sick. He may be a monster as Firouz says, but he could never just abandon a niece, a little girl as small as this, to whatever terrible fate the streets might grant her.

"Look, kid," he says, his voice gruff, "can you use those coins? Calm down, I won't take them back. But I need to know that they'll do you some good. Is there a black market still, at least? Somewhere you can buy things?"

She nods. "I know where to find things. I know a lot."

She must, and she had to learn quickly. She wouldn't be alive still if she didn't. "I'm sorry. Truly. I'm not Sinbad, and I'm not a hero, but I promise you, I''ll do what I can for this place. For you. I don't know what that means on my own, but I'm going to try."

"You're not a hero?" She tips her head to the side.

"No," he says swiftly. He's no hero, and he doesn't want anyone thinking he is. He's made far too many horrible mistakes to ever claim that title again, culminating in an attack on his own family. He apparently has a defective conscience, because the voice in his head was telling him to do it, but he can't blame that voice for everything. Sooner or later he has to admit that he was the one to attack Maeve and his...niece...himself.

"What are you, if you're not a hero?" Zainab asks, blinking at him through the rain. "Not a soldier. Not a shopkeeper. Farmers don't wear swords. What else is there?"

He smiles at the girl. He used to love playing the hero—helping people in need, and reaping the rewards. But he can't claim that title anymore. He doesn't deserve it. "I'm just a sailor, little lady. Just a simple sailor. But I have a niece of my own, and for her sake, and her mother's, I'll do what I can." He holds out a third coin. "What about those directions to Zorah? You know where she is, don't you?"

"I'll take you," she says readily.

"No." He stills her movements with a gentle hand when she tries to leave the doorway. "I don't want you out in this wet, and it may be dangerous besides. If you knew I wasn't a soldier, they will, too."

Zainab laughs. "Those soldiers are dummies. They don't know anything." She takes the coin from his hand.

"Even still. They could be watching Zorah's place."

"Not in the rain," the girl says confidently. "They're very lazy. Some shops might even open tonight if the rain stays. And the prince is scared of Zorah. He won't let the soldiers bother her."

"Why is he afraid of her?" Doubar asks cautiously. The last thing he wants is to be led into a den of black magic or something worse. He's had his fill of that for the rest of his life. Can soothsayers go bad? He doesn't even know, and he doesn't want to find out.

"Because she knows his future. But don't worry. Zorah's nice. She'll let me sleep by her fire if I bring her a customer."

Doubar hesitates, but he knows when he's been beaten. He'd rather the kid just gave him directions, but if guiding him will get her a warm, dry place to spend the night, he can't deny her. "Lead on, then, kid," he says, following his little guide out into the rain. "I'd give you my cloak, but you'd drown in it. Literally and figuratively—it's sopping wet."

She shrugs. "I can't get any wetter anyway."

This is probably true, and the evening is warm, if uncomfortable. She's not going to freeze. Doubar stops protesting and follows willingly where she leads.

Very few windows glow with firelight as night sets in, giving the city a looming, ominous feel. The humidity doesn't lessen as the rain pours down, the air thick and hot and oppressive. Doubar hates it. He curses everything about this day: his missing comrades, missing brother, missing ship. Being alone. Having to think through his actions possibly for the first time in his life. There's no one to save him, save his friends, if he fails. He has no backup—heisthe backup. It's not a comforting thought, and he hates it more with each squelching step through the rain.

Zainab leads him steadily, confidently, to a covered staircase leading upward. They climb, Doubar grateful for the small reprieve from the rain, the stone steps leading to a latched wooden door. The little girl pounds on the door with her fist and a moment later the door cautiously cracks open.

"Who—Zainab!" The woman's voice is soft. Doubar can see nothing but the briefest flash of a saffron-colored headscarf and veil. "What are you doing out in this wet?"

"It's my fault, ma'am," Doubar says, moving into her line of sight. Bright black eyes fix on him through the crack in the doorway. "I asked her to bring me."

The woman eyes him with suspicion. "Who are you? You're no soldier. It was a nice try, whoever you are, but you're not fooling anyone."

Doubar removes the helmet with a sigh. This trick usually works when Sinbad tries it, but of course it didn't for him. Why can't he seem to get anything right? "Please. I need some help. I'm looking for my friends. They came into town earlier today searching for the soothsayer Zorah."

The woman freezes. He can see nothing but her eyes and a small stripe of smooth forehead between her veil and her headscarf. "You know Rongar?" she demands, her voice tense.

"He's my captain, at the moment. Sort of. And my friend." Doubar takes a quick step forward. "Please. Did he find you? What's going on? He wouldn't tell me anything, but he never came back and now the ship's lost and—"

"Inside. Quickly," the woman snaps, opening the door further. She grabs Zainab by the girl's wet shoulder and pulls her into the room. Doubar follows as swiftly as he can. He doesn't miss that she bolts the door securely behind them.

"Were you going out in this mess?" he asks, taking in the dark blue cloak and large wicker basket by the door.

"Yes. I have tasks that can't wait." Zorah palms the child's cheeks, tipping her face up to assess her. "Take the blanket from the bed and go sit by the fire. Go on. You're warm now, but I don't want you getting chilled. You should have come to me before it started to pour."

Zainab obeys, wrapping the light blanket around herself and sniffing with interest at the small pot resting in the ashes of the fire.

"Take it. I'm leaving in a moment, and I don't know when I'll be back."

The kid doesn't need to be told twice. She uses a fold of blanket to pull the pot closer and attacks its contents with a wooden spoon hanging by the hearth.

"Are you Zorah?" Doubar asks, looking at the strange woman. She's dressed in flowing, shapeless linen and he can see nothing of her but her eyes. That doesn't make him eager to trust her, but no man would dare ask a woman who chooses to veil herself to remove it.

"I am," she admits, inclining her head slightly to him. She has a quiet, dignified bearing that he likes and is immediately inclined to trust, though he knows he's not a great judge of character. He needs to take care. "You are a sailor on the Nomad?"

"Yes and no—it's complicated. But Rongar and Talia are my comrades. Were they here?"

"Yes," she admitted. "They were here."

"What happened?"

She throws the cloak over her shoulders and fastens it securely in front. "The prince happened. He and his dark sorceress."

"What does that mean?" Doubar demands. "What dark sorceress? I've had my fill of those for a lifetime, but I need to find my friends. Where are they now?"

"In the dungeons, I assume. The sorceress cast a spell and I slept. When I woke, Rongar and the woman were gone. I went to the prince demanding to know where they were, but he wouldn't tell me."

Doubar scowls. "If you're a soothsayer, shouldn't you know where they are without being told?"

"That's not how this gift works. Listen—there is more. Much more. But, as I said, I have an errand that can't wait. It's a matter of life and death, and I can't ignore that, even for Rongar. I will tell you everything if you come with me, and after we can try to find Rongar together. Or you can stay and look after the girl."

"I don't need looking after," Zainab says, her mouth full of what smells like spiced chickpeas.

"Not usually," Zorah agrees. "But the soldiers are unsettled tonight because they can't find Sinbad or the bright woman supposedly with him. Heads will roll if they continue to displease the prince."

"I don't like anything I hear about this prince," Doubar mutters. "And Sinbad isn't here. Neither is Maeve." His mouth clamps down tightly; he doesn't want to say any more. He's unsure yet whether he can trust this Zorah, and he does not want to admit that he chased Sinbad and Maeve away himself.

"I suspected as much when Rongar appeared," Zorah says, "but the sorceress doesn't believe it, so the prince does not believe it. So the soldiers continue to search, and fear for their lives should they fail."

"Is that why Rongar was taken? Because he sails with Sinbad?" Doubar demands. None of this makes any sense. Why should this prince want to capture any of them at all? They've never done a thing to him, at least as far as Doubar knows.

"Come with me and I will explain, or stay and wait," Zorah says, lifting her basket. "I'm sorry, but people are counting on me."

Doubar casts a quick glance at Zainab, who seems perfectly content cuddled at the side of Zorah's hearth, finishing her meal. "You stay here, kid," he says firmly.

"Why would I go?" She screws her face up in an expression of disgust. "It's wet out there. I'm not a dummy."

He chuckles. "No, you're not," he agrees. "You make more sense than anyone else in this blasted town. Just stay put. If those soldiers are as desperate as Zorah says, I want you out of their way."

"And bolt the door behind us," Zorah adds. "Don't let anyone in. There's plenty of wood for the fire and food if you need it."

Doubar takes the basket from Zorah's hands as she slips out the door. It's much heavier than he expects, and warm to the touch. He says nothing about it as he follows her from the room. "You promise you'll explain?"

"If you do the same," she says. "We have a long walk, but mine is a long story."


Rongar used to love nighttime in his homeland.

He remembers soft, sweet air, cooling and gentle after a day of blazing sun, evening breezes full of the scents of pomegranate and orange orchards, the faint sharpness from hardier eucalyptus scrub up in the mountains. As a child, in the evenings, he would settle at his windowsill with a candle to finish his daily studies where the soft night air could reach him, fluttering the pages of his books and setting the flame dancing.

Not so tonight.

Rain pours heavily from a muggy, oppressive sky. The cages have no solid roof, only bars, and Rongar, Firouz, and Talia are quickly wet through. He tosses his heavy woolen cloak over Talia as an apology. She accepts it, and sidles up close to Firouz, draping its folds around him, too. It's too hot under the wool, miserably wet outside it. Rongar chooses the wet. There's not room for three grown adults under one cloak anyway.

Ali Rashid's guards were thorough, removing every weapon they had on them, including everything that might be used to pick the lock on their prison. Firouz doesn't exactly travel light, his pockets often full of odds and ends he thinks might come in handy with his inventions, but they took every last bent nail and bit of wire he had, as well as the razor blade Talia had embedded in the thick leather heel of her boot for emergencies. As a team they're endlessly resourceful, but together Ali Rashid and Rumina seem to have exhausted those resources. They're not interested in giving their new captives any chance of escape.

Rongar understands. This is a business transaction, and he and his comrades are unfortunately part of the price. Rumina still thinks she presents a viable option for Sinbad to escape Scratch's clutches, which is so ridiculous he'd almost call it laughable were it not for the very real danger he and Firouz and Talia now face. Rumina is being deliberately obtuse at this point, refusing to admit the truth: Sinbad doesn't need her, and his soul isn't a dear enough price to make him succumb. He was willing to agree to be hers for the sake of little Serendib's life. He would likely do the same for the sake of his crew, were he here to bargain them free. But his own soul doesn't mean more to him than his freedom, and Rongar doubts he'd attempt the Tam Lin Protocol with Rumina even were she the last woman on earth. He'd never doom his child to life with Rumina as its mother.

Which leaves Rongar and his friends in limbo. Considering what they're facing, it's a very uncomfortable place to be. They remain Rumina's prisoners for now, bait to lure Sinbad. Except Sinbad isn't here, as she refuses to accept. He's very far away, safe somewhere in Maeve's homeland far to the northwest, and he has no idea his crew is currently caged like animals in a despotic prince's menagerie. What that means for them, Rongar doesn't know. How long will Rumina wait before she finally admits defeat? Until Samhain? Longer? Ali Rashid won't let her delay forever; he wants Rongar dead, and he wants the price on Talia's head. He won't get either until Rumina is satisfied that Sinbad isn't coming to rescue his crew.

But, on the other hand, Rumina clearly also wants the use of the Sword of Imra, which she won't get until she hands them over, and may not get at all if she can't produce Maeve, who isn't here. It's a tangled mess, and one Rumina's on the losing end of any way Rongar looks at it. But, then, so is he unless he can get everyone free before Ali Rashid loses patience with this game.

A muffled thud sounds from the direction of the cage housing the mysterious creatures Ali Rashid values so highly. Rongar glances their way out of reflex, though it's too dark to see much of anything. Whatever those creatures are, he's worried for them, too, and he's less and less willing to believe they're merely animals as the night closes in. One of them spoke. He swears it spoke, pleading with him not to divulge Maeve's location before falling silent once more. And animals don't speak. Not with human voices. Some birds can mimic, but he's doubtful it's more than just a trained response. This was different. That creature, whatever it was, spoke. He heard it. Talia heard it. Even Firouz, who can't explain it and therefore does not want to admit that he heard. And that leaves Rongar with an unsettling number of questions. Those creatures could be more beasts of Rumina's making, poor human souls turned into monsters as she turned Goz and would have turned Sinbad. But that makes no sense. Ali Rashid seems to value them, and there's no reason for him to value Rumina's beasts. He has dungeons full of people Rumina could turn if he wanted her to, making her beasts all but worthless to a collector of oddities.

Whatever they are, Rongar worries for them. They're not well. None of the animals in Ali Rashid's menagerie look happy or content, but he can't see any others so visibly ill, so still and quiet. Soft sounds of movement and the mutterings of wild things come to him through the dull roar of the sheeting rain, and closer to his ears the high, light whine of Firouz's snores as he dozes fitfully under stifling wool, his head bobbing on his slumped shoulders as rain pools on the rough wooden floor of their cage. Ali Rashid may say he values those creatures, even calls them his "treasures," but he clearly doesn't care enough to concern himself with their wellbeing. No pampered pet should be outside in weather like this, and no wild thing should be penned so it can't seek natural shelter.

A flash of lightning brightens the sky for a moment, throwing the entire menagerie into stark illumination. Thunder follows less than a heartbeat later, ominously close. Firouz jerks awake, smacking his head against the bars of the cage with a loud clang.

"Ow," he grunts as he shudders upright. The cloak falls from his head, exposing wet hair dripping soggily into his face.

"Look on the bright side," Talia says. She knocks her shoulder into the inventor's with the ease of long camaraderie. "The food's not so bad."

"Did they bring us any?" Firouz groans, rubbing his head.

"No. That's why it's not bad. For all I know, they'll expect us to eat hay like the beasts." She kicks at the locked door of the cage. It rattles and clanks but doesn't budge. Not even Talia expected it to, Rongar knows. They spent the afternoon going at it with both brute strength and science, neither of which worked. Firouz's brain isn't worth as much without tools to implement his ideas, and Rongar and Talia can't hold a candle to Doubar's strength. Were the big guy here Rongar suspects he could break this lock without a fuss.

"Most of the creatures I've thus far identified can't digest grass any more than we can," Firouz says, pushing his dripping hair out of his face and ducking back under the cloak with Talia. "Tigers certainly can't. The creature just there is a urangutan, I'm certain, despite never seeing one before in my life. The description in the Sanskrit Ramayana is quite clear. It may or may not be capable of eating hay or grasses; I admit I'm unsure."

Talia gives him a disgusted look. "I don't care about the prince's beasts. He could have all the orangu-thingies in the world and I wouldn't care. Can it break those bars and come get us out? If not, shut up."

"They're said to be quite strong. Though simple deduction would indicate its inability to free itself, therefore—"

Talia balls her fist and punches his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"I warned you. Maybe not this time, but often enough." She leans forward, setting her elbows on her knees. "I don't want to die like this, boys. In battle or a storm at sea is fine, but not for the enrichment of some spoiled-ass dickless prince."

"We've been in tight spots before," Firouz says, huddling further under Rongar's cloak. "Of course, usually Sinbad arrives in the nick of time to bail us out. I, ah, don't believe that's happening today."

Rongar shakes his head slowly. No, it's not. Sinbad would be a fool to leave his safe haven before Samhain, which is still two days away. He doubts Ali Rashid is willing to wait that long to kill him.

"You all bailed Sinbad and me out last time," Talia says. "When we were strung up as breakfast for that spider. Call me a hypocrite, but given the choice I'd rather feed the spider than have my bounty line the prince's pockets."

The crew did end up rescuing Talia and Sinbad on that occasion, Rongar recalls. But they were at full strength back then. They had Doubar's brawn and Maeve's magic, not to mention the invaluable assistance of Dermott's flight. Now their feathered comrade is locked in a cage down the row, Maeve is gone and her health uncertain, and Doubar is...who knows where. Keeping out of trouble, Rongar fervently hopes.

A dim light blooms in the far cage, and he jerks bolt upright. It's just a tiny flame, the glow of a single candle, and it flickers wildly before steadying, as if the glass casing of a lantern has been drawn around it.

"Did you—" Firouz begins, but Rongar waves him to silence. Someone's out there in the darkness. He can hear the muffled sounds of hushed voices. Not their words, but voices. His ears strain through the darkness and the dull rushing sound of the rain.

Someone's chanting. The feel of magic presses against his skin and he tenses. Rumina? Surely not. She doesn't do mud, and the menagerie is now a pit of it. She also doesn't do anything without dramatic fanfare.

The voice continues. Rongar's eyes widen as, so slowly he at first thinks he might be imagining it, the bars of the far cage begin to glow. The light appears slowly, a soft, soothing pale blue, and grows steadily until not even Firouz could deny its existence.

"What the fuck is going on?" Talia demands, drawing the cloak from her body and standing. She grabs hold of the cold, dark bars of their own cage and rattles them. "Hey! What the hell? Leave those beasts alone! Haven't they been through enough? You want a fight, you pick it with me. And preferably let me out first."

A male cry, deep and shocked, sounds from the darkness. A moment later a giant man clothed in a dripping grey cape lurches around the side of the far cage, skidding dangerously in the mud. He recovers as his feet hit the white gravel walkway and pounds to a stop in front of Talia.

"What—" Doubar pants, body heaving with his heavy breaths. "What—are you all doing—in there?"

"What are you doing out there?" Talia demands in kind as Firouz reaches through the bars to grasp Doubar's hand. "How did you find us?"

"Entirely unintentionally," a female voice says, and Rongar's heart lifts as swiftly as Dermott's wings ever carried the little hawk.

Zorah.

He cries out softly, and a moment later his sister's hand is in his. She's swathed in dark blue wool and still veiled, which was not her custom before he left, but right now he doesn't question this change. He presses his wet forehead to hers through the bars of the cage, leaning down as she stretches up to meet him.

She's okay. She's fine. He was beyond worried, considering that he was found with her. Ali Rashid could very well have interpreted his presence as betrayal on Zorah's part. He could have imprisoned, hurt, or even killed her for that. But she's here, she's whole and hale and free, and Rongar will willingly face his punishment for returning to Bollnah so long as that remains true.

"What are you doing here?" she says, her hand squeezing his shoulder for a long moment before releasing him. "I assumed Ali Rashid had you in the dungeons, but he refused to tell me. Doubar and I were going to go search as soon as I attended to these." She nods at the glowing cage.

"The dungeons are apparently too full," Firouz says, releasing Doubar. "I didn't see myself, but the guards said so."

"They are indeed full," Zorah says, her voice dark.

"So the prince really is snatching people off the streets?" Doubar's voice is appalled. "That little girl told me so, but I didn't know what to make of it."

"Yes and no." Zorah scowls. Rongar can't see her mouth but her forehead wrinkles. "Zainab's father Nasir was one of Rongar's advisers, the last to remain loyal to him after Ali Rashid took over and therefore the first to go into the dungeon. After him came the merchants who resisted Ali Rashid's new policies and taxes. Then, slowly, more and more people as their livelihoods were strangled and they were unable to pay their taxes."

"How long has that child been without her father?" Doubar demands. Rongar would like to know, too. He doesn't remember the child, but he remembers Nasir, a faithful advisor whose wisdom he trusted and who warned him from the first against Ali Rashid. Could the man still be alive somewhere in the dungeons? It's possible, but knowing Ali Rashid, Rongar doubts it.

"Several years," Zorah says. "She and her mother and her younger brother got along well enough with the help of her father's brother, but then her mother died. Zainab's uncle adopted the boy as his son and took him when he left Bollnah, as so many others with the means have left. But he refused to take the girl."

Doubar's silence is dangerous. Rongar wouldn't say anything even if he could. Doubar's sense of right and wrong has always been very strong when not applied to his own failings. He's furious at the treatment this child received from her uncle, but whether he can connect the dots and admit that he did worse to his own niece is anyone's guess.

"What have you been doing while we've been caged, besides befriending waifs?" Talia demands of the giant. "I'm pretty sure I ordered you to stay with the Serpent."

She did, but this isn't the time Rongar would choose to quibble about a disobeyed order. Not when Doubar is free and they're sitting in a cage.

"I've been trying to figure out where you went!" Doubar grunts. "When I came up top this evening, looking for you, the Nomad was gone and the harbor deserted."

*The Nomad's gone?* Rongar wheels on Firouz.

"I told you the prince's soldiers took over," the inventor says. "The two contract men we had aboard ran off, and I don't blame them. I tried to hold the guards off, but there were too many of them. They said they were taking her to the royal pier, but I don't know where that is."

*I do.* Rongar glances grimly at his sister. The royal pier is on the other side of the palace grounds, and usually holds only the royal barge and any merchant ships making direct deliveries to the castle. The Nomad is closer there than it was at the public harbor, but under far heavier guard. Whether that will make their escape easier or more difficult he can't say yet.

"Hey, why didn't the prince get mad at you?" Talia demands, squinting through the rain at Zorah. "How come you're not locked up with us?"

Zorah's dark eyes gleam in the weak light of the single lantern and the glowing bars of the far cage. "He knows I was unaware Rongar sailed for Sinbad. And he is afraid of me—of what I know. So long as I remain under his thumb, I can do what I please."

"Is that why you're here? What did you do to that cage, anyway?" She points across the walkway.

Zorah's eyes turn solemn. "What I do every night. I bribed the guard who patrols this watch to let me tend to those poor souls, so long as I do not free them."

"Souls?" Firouz lifts his head. "You mean those are people in there?"

"Of course they are," Zorah says.

Rongar squints through the rain. He ignored the glowing cage the instant he heard Doubar's voice, too caught up in the relief of finding first his crewmember and then his sister. Now he turns his attention to it. The light from the glowing bars and single small lantern is dim, but enough that he can now see what he couldn't before.

As the...people...slowly sit up, Rongar sees why he couldn't make heads or tails of them before. They're both wrapped in dark cloaks or blankets that turn them into shapeless lumps when they lie against the wooden floor of their prison, but as they sit their true shapes are revealed.

And, as the gentle light falls on two exhausted faces, Rongar is horrified to discover that he recognizes them.

Not well. He knows no names. But he knows the face of the winged man who appeared on the deck of the Nomad moons ago, the man whose anger felled Maeve as easily as Doubar's fists did. And, more horribly, he'd know the tall beauty beside him anywhere. Maeve called the girl her sister, and he remembers as clear as starlight the way she hurled herself at Rumina, taunted and spat at her, daring the dark sorceress to fight. He remembers catching hold of her to keep her from harm, as Sinbad protested that she's not a trained fighter. Maeve can attack anyone she likes. So can Talia. But no one untrained—man, woman, or child—stands a chance against Rumina.

"People," Firouz says, sounding like he's been punched in the gut. Whether he recognizes them Rongar can't tell, but he's furious at this revelation. "He's keeping people caged out here like animals?"

"He's keeping us caged out here like animals," Talia says, shrugging.

"That's different! There was no room in the dungeon, and we're not permanent," Firouz protests. "What does he want with them, anyway? They're obviously unwell, and you can't just lock human beings up like dogs in a kennel and expect them to accept it happily!"

Zorah's eyes flash bitterly. "Did I say they were human? I said they were people. It's not always the same thing. Ali Rashid wants them because of what they are, and what he thinks they can bring him. And he won't listen to me. I've told him over and over that he'll kill them if he keeps them behind cold iron bars much longer. My spell lifts the effects of the iron, but I'm not strong enough to keep it going for very long. Without the respite every night, the girl would be dead already. Maybe the man, too, I don't know. He hasn't been here quite as long."

"Long enough," he says wearily, turning his head in Zorah's direction. Dull black eyes blink at the sailors. Rongar regards him. He hugs his blanket close as the rain pours down, frizzing and flattening the tight black curls of his hair. Rongar remembers him as being a warm, nut-brown color, but there's a sickly grey pallor to his skin now and he doesn't think it's just from the cold blue light of Zorah's spell. "I know you." He watches them. "So this prince is collecting his own kind, now? Not just so-called beasts?" A small, dark smile lifts one side of his mouth but vanishes almost as swiftly as it appears. "Guess there's no hope for any of us."

"What's wrong with iron?" Doubar frowns as Zorah takes her basket from his arms and lugs it to the other cage. She removes a stack of flatbread wrapped in a cloth to keep it warm, and bowls that steam in the humid air. They barely fit through the spaces between the bars, but she manages. "Iron doesn't make anyone sick."

"It's poison to them," Zorah says as they slowly begin to eat. "I thought everyone knew that? It thwarts their magic, and eventually builds up in their blood."

Killing them. Zorah doesn't say it, but Rongar hears what she doesn't say as clearly as what she does.

"You're the man with wings," Talia says, wrapping her arms loosely around the wet bars and leaning her forehead against them, staring across the walkway in fascination. "The one who came and yelled at Maeve."

He flinches as if struck. The woman lifts her head from her bowl, watching him. "You did what?"

"It doesn't matter now," he mutters. "We're dead anyway."

"But she isn't!" The woman turns to Rongar's cage, and he sees her face for the first time since she left the Nomad. She's not well. Her proud bearing hasn't left her, but her body slumps, worn and haggard, and she's paler than the man beside her. Her dark eyes find Rongar's and lock on. "You. You held me back from attacking Rumina."

"You did what?" the man demands, dropping the scrap of bread in his hand.

A small, bitter smile touches her lips. "Now we're even." She turns back to Rongar. "Where is my sister? Please. I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but she's...in a delicate condition. I need to know that she's okay."

He bows his head to her, trying to convey everything he feels in this one gesture. How sorry he is that she's here. That his enemy has now somehow become her enemy, too. That he can't even explain things to her in the voice he once had, the voice stolen from him by the man who has now also stolen her freedom. *She's safe,* he signs, but they don't know each other and whether she'll understand him he doesn't know. Some do. Some don't. Talia picked up his signs quickly, but then, she's quick at most things.

"She and Sinbad went north ages ago," Talia says, coming swiftly to his rescue. "With that other man, the one with all the sons. A friend of yours?"

"Our brother," the man says with evident relief. "They're safe, Ness. No one can touch them at home."

"One small blessing," the woman mutters. "What did you do?" The hand holding her bowl of food shakes, but her voice does not as she confronts the man caged with her. "Why would you yell at Maeve? She didn't provoke Rumina, I did."

"I know that. Now." The man shrugs his blanket further up his shoulders.

"How do you feel now?" Zorah asks, stepping close to the bars. She reaches for the caged woman's hand and clasps it briefly. "I'm sorry I can't do more."

"You're the reason I'm still alive," the woman says, squeezing her hand back. "If we ever get out of here, it will be because of you."

"I can't promise anything," Zorah warns.

"No. No one can," the elegant woman says. Despite the iron slowly poisoning her, Rongar thinks she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life.

"I still don't understand why the prince caged you outside like animals," Firouz mutters angrily.

"I was inside at first," the woman says around a mouthful. Rongar's stomach growls, but he doesn't begrudge them. They need that food far more than he does, and Zorah didn't know he'd be here. "Ali Rashid locked me in iron manacles and put me in with his harem. The iron stopped me from escaping, but it was eating through my flesh at the same time. I would have lost my hands." She extends a long arm through the bars, exposing the soft underside of her wrist. Rongar can't see well from this distance, but there's a visible mark, a scar or scab of some sort. "Rumina was the one who suggested putting me out here, since the iron cages were already available. And Ali Rashid would never have let Antoine stay with his women, anyway."

"As if I have any interest in his captive ducks." The man's low voice is thick with disgust.

"So...what? He's just going to keep you caged until you die?" Firouz demands.

"No other ruler in the world currently holds a fairy captive," Zorah says. "Any man with enough money and bravery may own a lion, a crocodile. Ali Rashid alone holds them." She nods at the cage, her voice bitter. "And he's convinced none will unless they buy them from him."

"I don't know your prince well, but it seems to me he'd rather have the notoriety of holding fairies prisoner than the money someone might give for their sale," Firouz says.

"Oh, he has no intention of selling us," the woman says, a cold smile touching her mouth. "He wants us to breed for him. Too bad for him, he managed to capture a brother and sister."

Rongar feels sick. Ali Rashid is a dangerous man to cross and may not care that his new "treasures," as he calls them, are blood kin. He's not really surprised, however, that the man would dare attempt to breed for profit people who are clearly people. Not animals. Even people captured and enslaved, generally speaking, have a legal right to their own children, and slavery is usually not a bondage passed down through generations. But if Ali Rashid had his way, it would be.

A sharp grunt of disgust leaves Talia's mouth. "We've got to get you out of here. Now. Doubar, get those bars. They can't wait."

"No," Zorah says firmly.

"What? What are you talking about?" Firouz protests. "They need to get out of here! We all do, point of fact, but especially them. Surely you can see that? You're the one tending to them, keeping the full effects of the iron from them."

"And I am also the one living in this kingdom," Zorah says tightly. "I want them free as much as you do, but not without a plan. I can keep that spell going for an hour or so, but after that, Antoine and Nessa will return to the state they were in before I cast it. Even if Doubar is able to break them out of that cage, the buildup of iron in their blood will take weeks to dissipate. They can't fly, they can't walk, and they can't use their magic. I bribed one guard to let me feed and tend to them while he's on watch, not the whole palace contingent, and the grounds and city are swarming with soldiers. How do you plan to get to your ship, now guarded at the royal pier, with Ali Rashid's two priceless treasures plus the deposed prince, not to mention the price on your head?" Her voice softens. "I want them free. I do." She turns to the glowing cage. "You know that."

"I know," Nessa says gently. "This isn't your fault."

"I've caused so much harm, made so many poor choices," Zorah says. Her voice hitches, and her shoulders curl inward, against some unseen pain. Rongar understands, and he wishes he could ease it. Zorah carries too much guilt for things she needs to put behind her. He has. He made mistakes, too, but he can't live his life while constantly looking backward at all his misdeeds. It's ironic to him that his sister, with her gift of foresight, is the one who needs to learn this lesson. "I can't cause more hurt," she says finally, her head tipping forward as if it weighs too much for her shoulders. "I'm sorry. But that's what will happen if we try to run now, without a plan."

Rongar holds his hand out for her. She moves slowly, leaden, like a sleepwalker, but she comes to him just the same and takes his hand.

"We have to find a way to help these people, too," Doubar says. "They're hurting. And I promised that kid. Her uncle abandoned her. I can't let her down, too."

Rongar nods. These are his people, and Doubar's correct. They're hurting. He needs to find a way to help them. But this is his fight, not Maeve's family's. They need to get out of here as soon as possible. They're no help to anyone right now, and Ali Rashid is killing them.

"I don't understand anything," Talia mutters. "We have the better part of an hour before that spell goes away, you say? I want an explanation. A real one this time. From everyone. Maybe that will help spark some ideas for a plan."

Rongar couldn't agree more, and from his cage down the row he hears a screech of approval from Dermott. A small smile touches the corners of his mouth. Maeve and Sinbad are missing, but otherwise the gang's all here. And the best way to solve any problem, he's convinced, is together.


By the time Antoine falls silent, Doubar's head is whirling. Too many people have made too many admissions in too short a time for his mind to fully take in.

Rongar is a prince. A deposed prince, aye, but still a prince. His sister, the soothsayer, betrayed him horribly and almost got them both killed because of it. She's the reason his tongue was cut out and he can no longer speak. She willingly helped put Ali Rashid on her brother's throne.

Yet now she's here, lavishing care on strangers in need, the fairies Ali Rashid has nearly killed through his callous treatment, and attempting to help her brother break free and regain all he's lost. She's doing all she can. And Rongar accepts her fully, accepts the mistakes she made in the past and her attempts now to right those wrongs. The harm can never be undone—she will always wear the scars she showed them briefly before veiling her face again, and Rongar will never regain the voice he lost when Ali Rashid took his tongue. These things cannot be fixed. But Rongar stands with his hand in hers, separated by cold iron bars but not by anger or bitter resentment. Rongar has a quality to him that the imams often speak of—he believes they call it ruth. Compassion, but not just that. A gentle love and steadfastness that somehow survives despite great strain. Whether Zorah deserves this from him or not doesn't enter into the equation—not for Rongar. And Doubar isn't sure that he knows what to think of that. Zorah betrayed her brother badly—possibly worse than he betrayed Sinbad. But Rongar is here. He returned to her in a time of need, seeking help, trusting that she wouldn't betray him a second time.

Whereas Sinbad? Sinbad is gone. There's no forgiveness coming, and Doubar understands that. He doesn't love his brother any less. But he does envy Zorah the second chance Rongar has granted her.

And the story Antoine and Nessa tell is just as shocking as the revelation that Rongar, their Rongar, is a prince. Maeve is no royalty; quite the opposite. But she's not alone in the world, either, as Doubar long assumed. She has a blood brother, cursed by Rumina to spend his days in the form of a hawk until Maeve can best the dark sorceress and set him free. She also has a large, cluttered family of chosen siblings and their children, the names of which Doubar can't keep straight and doesn't bother trying. It's enough for him to understand that the two caged fairies—he can't pronounce the word they call themselves—are her family. Antoine hurt her badly when he yelled at her that day on the Nomad, and now Doubar finally understands. He didn't bother trying to piece together the man's angry words that day on deck, too stunned by a man with wings appearing on the ship at all. Now he does. He blamed Maeve for Nessa's disappearance, which is utterly stupid, because anyone who knows Maeve would know her sisters must likewise have minds of their own. Nessa took off when Maeve told her Dermott was missing, Antoine took off after Nessa, and they both ended up caught by Ali Rashid and Rumina when they came to rescue the bird. Not a bird, he corrects himself. Maeve's brother. He's still not sure why Dermott left the Nomad in the first place, but though Dermott is here he's unable to explain himself in a way the humans can understand.

"The prince's hunters caught him in a net," Zorah says as the rain pounds down, "and he would have ended up on the dining table, but they saw the remnants of jesses on his legs and assumed he must be trained. Hunting birds are valuable, so they took him to the mews instead, and there he stayed until Rumina arrived seeking Ali Rashid's aid in removing her necklace. She recognized the bird on a tour of the palace, and hatched a different plan instead."

"To lure Sinbad," Doubar says, his voice dark. He's relieved Rumina's plot didn't work. Everyone else may be trapped, but Sinbad and Maeve are not. They're safe. He can only hope that remains true as Samhain nears.

"Aye," Zorah agrees.

"What about that necklace?" Firouz's head pops out from under the waterlogged cloak. "It was longer when she used it to cast her time spell on the Nomad, I'm certain of it. Now it looks quite uncomfortable. Is that a common style around here?"

"No," Zorah confirms. "She accepted that necklace as a gift from Scratch at some point, and traded Sinbad's soul for the magic in it to remain after Scratch would have withdrawn it. I don't know what their earlier dealings were about—she didn't say, and Ali Rashid didn't ask, at least not where I could hear. But she double-crossed the demon by offering herself as Sinbad's champion against him, and Scratch does not take betrayal well. The chain holding that bit of hellfire, the chain she willingly fastened around her own throat, began to tighten the day he discovered her treachery. Bit by bit it's growing shorter, and starting to choke her. She hasn't been able to break it thus far, and she came to Ali Rashid seeking the use of the Sword of Imra to try."

"Is this some sort of magical artifact?" Firouz asks. "Will it work?"

"It is a very powerful magical sword indeed," Zorah agrees, "but whether it's stronger than Scratch's punishment for double-crossing him, I can't say. Rumina seems to think so. She wouldn't be here flattering the prince otherwise. They have very similar personalities, but I don't think she likes him in spite of that."

Doubar wouldn't know. He's never understood Rumina, only her obsession with Sinbad. That has always been perfectly clear, and perfectly disgusting. "What happens if the sword doesn't work, or the prince doesn't agree to let her use it?" he asks.

"What do you think? That chain will choke the life out of her, and then her soul is forfeit. Scratch may get two souls for the price of one, if your bright woman fails to free Sinbad on Samhain."

"She'll free him," Antoine says confidently. "Maeve is strong. I'd say the strongest girl I've ever met, but you don't know my Keely."

"We do," Doubar says with a groan. "Believe me, we do." That little green girl's attitude is far worse than Maeve's ever was, and he's relieved in a way to learn that she belongs to Antoine. Not so much to learn that the child she carries does as well. That means everything is riding on Maeve and her baby. There is no backup. She's Sinbad's only hope.

The light from the iron bars flickers, and Zorah exhales a sharp breath. "I'm sorry," she says, gripping Rongar's hand. "I can't hold it much longer."

"I know," Nessa says, huddling further into her saturated blanket. "It's okay. Thank you."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Zorah vows. "The same time, just as always. Hopefully between us, we can come up with a plan by then."

"It's getting harder to think during the day," Antoine says, drawing his sister close to his side as the night finally begins to cool. The rain hammers down, refusing to slake. "But I'll try."

"The iron doesn't affect us," Firouz says. "Though hunger might. Are they ever going to feed us?"

"In the morning," Antoine says, his voice trailing into a soft groan as the gentle blue light from Zorah's spell flickers again. "You'll wish they didn't."

"That's what I was afraid of," Talia says, tucking herself against Rongar's side and offering him a fold of his cloak. "Hey, Doubar? Remember Falujastan? They had this incredible kebab stand, with the most succulent roast meat. I don't know what it was, and I never want to. I still have dreams about what a wizard that man was with charcoal and meat."

He groans pitifully. "I remember. I'd crawl on my knees through the driest desert for a burnt crumb from his spits." His stomach growls and he rubs his belly soothingly. Maybe when he gets back to the city Zainab can tell him how to find some food. He'll bring provisions from the Serpent to his friends tomorrow night when he returns with Zorah, he swears it. And hopefully a plan, too, though that's usually Firouz's thing. Or Rongar's. He watches, sick with revulsion, as Zorah's spell finally fails and the bars fall dark. Her little lantern casts only a dull glow, but he can see as Nessa drops like a stone the moment the light fades, the effects of the iron returning instantly to her body. Antoine, who is larger and hasn't been trapped as long, cups his hand behind her head and helps ease her down to the floor before his own body gives out and he becomes a shapeless lump under his sodden blanket once more.

Doubar's own previous words ring in his ears as he stares at the now-silent cage. He railed at Maeve after Antoine appeared on the Nomad, accusing her of being a fairy, even pulling aside the soft curls of her bright hair to see the rounded tops of her human ears for himself. He was angry at her for bringing those women aboard without telling him the truth, though he realizes now, as he was not willing to admit before, that the flock of pretty girls on the deck of the Nomad was none of Maeve's doing. It was Nessa's. And he enjoyed it, he admits, until the revelation that at least some of them were not human.

He's ashamed now, as he stares into the darkness of the pouring night, for how he acted. The words he said. He was angry at Maeve because he was always angry at Maeve and was glad to have an excuse to fuel his bitter rage. And he didn't understand. Now that he does, he wishes he could take it all back. These people may not be human, but they're still people, and they don't deserve to be caged like beasts, any more than his new little friend Zainab deserved her parents being taken from her and her uncle abandoning her.

It all stops now.

He can't apologize to Maeve or help Sinbad, but he's going to try his hardest to fix things here. To free Maeve's family, and remove Ali Rashid from Rongar's throne. It won't fix the pain he's caused, won't undo whatever injury Maeve sustained when he hurt her. But Zorah's efforts now won't heal Rongar, either, and she's still trying to do what she can. Doubar has never been good at taking direction from women, but he can take a hint. The world is telling him that he's going to have to learn. And he followed a little girl today, after all, which seems like...a start. A first paddle in the shallows, maybe.

Removing Ali Rashid won't bring Zainab's mother back, or erase the damage done when her uncle took in her little brother but abandoned her. But if her father's still alive down there in the dungeons, he might be able to reunite them. And that would be something. For her sake, and for his own niece whom he may never meet, he's determined to try.

"Rest, brother, if you can," Zorah says, touching Rongar's wet arm. "They can't harm you while they wait for Sinbad, so the dark sorceress's refusal to listen may work in your favor. I'll be back tomorrow. I'm sorry I can't do more."

*Go,* Rongar signs, his movements nearly invisible without the glow of Zorah's magic. *Keep safe. We know how to look after ourselves.*

They do. Doubar has every faith in them. He's having a harder time keeping faith in himself, but for the sake of everyone around him he has to try.