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Answers

               So about two days later (we "all" decided to stop and fuss over poor little wounded Dilanda; EVIL EVIL EVIL!) we were walking again, heading towards Fanalia. I don't know what exactly we were going to do when we got there, but what else are you gonna do? We were sort of at a loss.

               It was warm, but rainy. Allen had given me his cloak (which had the symbol of Fanalia's royal house emblazoned on the back) to make sure I didn't get sick. I wasn't in top condition, but it was better than you'd know from these biddy hens. Space lemons.

               It was getting dark, and the edges of the heavy clouds that were still around threatening to drench us again were bright orange from the sunset. We were right by the ocean, walking along these big cliffs, which got different and very amusing reactions out of everyone.

               Dyln was going on poetically about love and sunsets, a connection I'm afraid I failed to see. Skye is afraid of heights and was hiding behind Allen begging that the rest of us walk further from the edge (we were about ten feet away, I'm so scared). The aforementioned gentleman was describing some military technique employed by his commander twenty or so years back to anyone who would listen, specifically no one. Mom was walking close to the edge, quietly reliving some piece of her childhood I had been previously unaware of (far as I knew she'd grown up in our mountains). Dad was telling the air, though I was actually listening to him, about Lords Fulkan and Van and the huge, feathered angel wings that had sprung from their shoulders when needed. They were the last Draconians, a race of people with wings. His point was, I think, how useful such an ability would have been for us if we encountered some chasm in the cliffs we had to get over later. I don't know.

               All and all, it was pretty peaceful. I was walking at the back and staring into space, not paying attention to much. Idiot. If I'm ambushed one more time…

               That about covers most of what happened. Some soldier dudes, considerably more than before and a mixture of Fanailian and Freidish troops, sprang out at us. Swords or not, we didn't have a chance against that many, and I didn't go berserk for some odd reason. Dad almost did, but Mom managed to calm him down.

               Probably because I was last in line, everyone else was captured before me. I guess I sort of forgot where I was as I backed away from the three soldiers coming after me (they had bows, or I'd have run properly; what a coward). Before I knew what was happening, my heel pressed into the thin air beyond the cliff's edge. I didn't have any balance to regain, and plummeted over the side. Above my own screams, I heard Dyln and Dad shout my name. Everyone else was either stunned into silence or busy struggling.

               It was a long way to the bottom. I tried to "wake up" a couple times, which tells you just how desperate I was. Just before I hit the ground, my hand, as if controlled by someone else, darted to the Dragonslayer's Medallion. By the time I ripped it away, I was on the ground. It had saved me from immediate death, but I knew I had very little hope of survival. I had nanoseconds to think on this before I blacked out. Space lemons…

***

               I have some great luck. When my eyes flickered open it was completely dark, but I knew by the feel that I was in a bed. It seemed as if some other charitable local had found my mutilated body and decided to miraculously nurse me back to life.

               Unlike Dad, this guy was present when I woke. At the tiny groan that escaped me, he lit a candle. I didn't like the look on his face at all.

               "Okay, you Fanalian bitch, you're going to answer a few questions before you die on me," he hissed. I was confused for a second, then remembered the embroidery on the cloak Allen had loaned me. With that on, I could easily have been a general or princess. Space lemons!

               I pretended to ignore him, but was really debating whether or not to explore his brain a little. It had become against my principles to pull that stunt without permission, but this seemed like a good time to ask forgiveness later. An enemy of Fanalia might be a friend or foe to me, and my life probably depended on knowing which he was. This decided me. I reached out, wrapping my mind around his.

               I went backwards. He didn't seem much older than me, and I didn't want to have to start from when he was a baby when whatever bugged him had probably happened a year or so before. Strangely enough, everything I sensed for at least fifteen years was in this little cabin, alone and (creepy!) the same damn age! It wasn't until I felt the little jolt that tended to mean I was going to a time before I'd been born that things started to happen.

               Terror (his, of course) flowed over me in a wave. Locked in a dungeon in Freid for his allegiance to Zaibach and an attack on Allen, in the same cell I'd been forced to endure, he awaited his fate. Someone I couldn't see clearly (I was tired and his memories weren't coming very clearly; God knows which caused the other) came to him. The new arrival was supposed to do something… Save him from Freid! But he didn't. Instead, he forced him to tell terrific lies to get my beloved uncle thrown into the same dungeon. Later, he had escaped, but had found something out about the guy who was supposed to rescue him that he didn't want known. The guy had tried to kill him.

               He'd sneaked up behind him, announced something about "seeing too much" or something like that, and attempted to choke him to death. Just to be safe, one of the fingernails he'd sharpened into claws had been soaked in a horrible poison that elongated life so you felt the chemicals burning away your innards. Ugh! This assassin seemed to have a cruel streak. He jabbed the tip gently through my guy's neck, not even deep enough to leave a discernable mark. The odd power of his sword, absorbed from the Medallion that had adorned it weeks before, had negated the deadly effects of the poison, though it was still painful enough, but not done anything about the life extension effect. As a result, my rescuer had been locked in his present age (fifteen) for fifteen years (one period of time had something to do with the other, but I still haven't figured it out properly). Terrified of a successful murder by the same man and of what the Zaibach commanders might do to him for his failure (I wasn't exactly sure what failure he was afraid of), he had spent most of that time merely surviving in this little house. Only months before, the anti-aging had finally worn off and let him grow again. In that time, he had learned of the death of every friend he'd ever had and made several failed attempts at suicide.

               His name, though I'd already figured it out, flung itself at me. Migel!

               It was mean, but I decided to play with his head a little. "What have you against Fanalia?" I asked regally, curbing with difficulty the uneducated sort of edge my mountain upbringing had given my voice.

               "Fifteen deaths," he snarled. The Dragonslayers had been killed by Van, I suddenly recalled.

               "My heart bleeds." Technically, I wasn't lying. If my tone had been sympathetic instead of sarcastic, he'd have known it was true.

               Migel looked like a volcano about to erupt. I decided to ditch my clever lead up and just let him know who I was. It seemed safer.

               Before I could blurt everything out, he drew a dagger not much bigger than the dinky one. "Name. I'd just like to know what relation of that bastard is getting what he deserves."

               "I'm not related to Van at all," I protested, suddenly inventing a (relatively) clever and direct method. "I'm Allen's niece."

               "His sister married then?" he spat. He was bitter about Dilandau's transformation into Serena. Perfect!

               "He doesn't have a sister," I explained calmly. "She got herself turned back into my Dad. This is yours, right?"

               I pointed to the sword, which was set on a small table near the bed.

               I wonder if Dad learned his little trick from Migel, because you really could have stuffed a melon into his open mouth. I'm evil, aren't I?

               I snapped it shut with the tip of my finger, as I'd read in one or another of my books. "Careful. Something'll fly in."

               He was still gaping. This was stupid. I decided to snap him back into action and recited my revised version of the inscription. So then he goes from gawking to blustering. Men and space lemons. Sigh.

               He eventually got his brain back in place. Luckily, he wasn't quite as dense as I'd thought and figured out that "Dilanda Albatou" was my name. Unfortunately, he was terrified of Dad and had that noblemanish courtliness I hated about Allen.

               He genuflected. "My Lady Dilanda, I beg mercy for my insolence." Pu-leeeez.

               "Ah, shaddup," I snapped. Before he could protest much, I launched into the long tale that had started on my fifteenth birthday (how long ago that seemed!), stressing the reason Dad had been such a psychopath and also that I hate stupid manners.

               As I continued, Migel seemed to relax. Somewhere around getting captured by Chid, he sat down at the edge of the bed. When I finished, he actually dared to smile at me a little.

               "That wasn't easy," he said with a thickheaded male version of sympathy. "At least Lord Dilandau isn't as scary as I remember. Still, don't tell him I threatened to kill you."

               "As long as you didn't hurt me, he'll probably laugh," I assured him. "So how about you? Fifteen years of fifteen?"

               He sighed. "Don't dig around in there anymore. It's spooky. They were all pretty, I dunno, miserable. I tried to kill myself a few times."

               "Everyone I know seems to have," I said thoughtfully. It was true, or almost. Skye had only considered hanging himself while he'd been a prisoner, but Dyln had gone through with an attempt at cutting her throat. Mom had tried to poison herself at one point (I'd picked this up during the two days we'd spent together) because of her battle with Dad, and, though I didn't know the particulars, I'd seen scars on my father's wrists.

               "That's sort of dismal," he supplied with a brighter smile that was, for want of practice, closer to a sneer in shape. "So is this conversation." To get our minds off all the danger and drama we'd just discussed, Migel told me an old legend from his village. It was one of the few tales I'd never heard in any version, and he was a great storyteller. Sharing a good yarn is as good a way as any to make friends, and by the time he finished, we were the best of pals.

               He offered to get us something to eat when he was done. If Migel cooked half as well as he told, I'd be happy. While he was cooking, I suddenly remembered to assess the damage to my person.

               I'd noticed that my arm hurt before, but not paid much attention. On closer examination, I discovered that it was broken in so many places the bone was, for the most part, smashed to pulp, and not only hurt too much to move but wouldn't. It was probably exactly where I'd fallen. The back of my neck and legs, as well as the back itself, were bruised, cut, and generally battered beyond reason or recognition. I had a neat little dent in my skull. Lovely.

Migel turned out to be a reasonably good cook, and I was starving. The odd sort of shellfish and seabird stew he made up was quite filling, and he seemed to have a talent for brewing. Mother's ale wasn't nearly so good.

It's not often I get anything out of supper but food, but this repast turned out to be the exception. We discovered over the meal that we had very similar warped senses of humor, that he liked reading (as well as telling) old adventure stories as much as I did (and do), and that he had his own little phrase: atomic grapefruit. It didn't have quite the charm space lemons did, but it was nice to know someone else had their thingy to say whenever the situation called for it. One good freak deserves another. For the first time in my memory, I also noticed that my companion was extremely handsome.

After we ate, he advised me to get some rest and try to get better. This was a good idea, but I couldn't get comfortable and the nights were cold near the ocean. This made the older wound ache. Migel, taking a leaf out of the books of mothers everywhere, tried to help me relax with another story.

               My god was he good. I'm aware of how soppy this will sound, but "the stories spun by his rich voice did a spectacular job of carrying me away to the Mystic Moon, beyond the stars, to the farthest reaches of Gaea, and the deepest part of the sea" (chronologically).

               As the story ended, I did feel pleasantly sleepy, but felt compelled to compliment him on the job. He blushed. "We're a people who love our tales," he explained, but wouldn't say what people this was. He did sound wistful, and glanced out through the only window in the place at the few bold stars visible through the clouds.

               I still don't know what happened. One second I had only placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, the next his lips were pressed against mine as his hands gently caressed the small of my mangled back. So much for my utter disdain of "stupid mush." I pushed closer, draping my functional arm over his shoulders and nudging my tongue into his mouth. We stayed like this for a few minutes, but suddenly I sensed his brain catching up with him and he pulled away.

               He was remembering my father at fifteen, a man who would have killed without a second thought for a "slight" to his daughter. Poor Miggles. (Space Lemons! Where'd that come from? Miggles?!) Fortunately, I knew how to reassure him.

               Pressing my cheek against his, I whispered, "He wouldn't do anything to you, and I wouldn't let him anyhow."

               Migel smiled weakly. "Even if I was tortured to death, Atladona, it'd be worth it."

               Atladona, I thought blissfully. It's better than Dilly, anyhow, and it's sort of my link to him. After that, I didn't have to think.

***

               I don't know what pulled me awake that morning, but I remember well how I woke slowly to the joy of Migel nuzzled against me, still dreaming.

               I'm generally a skeptic of love at first sight, but what the hell. Something about this seemed so right, as if we really were meant for each other. Perhaps fate had had a hand in keeping him young for so long.

               I shifted slightly so I could see him better. He was even handsomer in the gray, pre-dawn light. His soft brown hair and the adorable bangs that had gotten into both our eyes framed his sweet face. I sent out a tendril of psychic stuff to make him open his eyes in sleep, so I could admire their shape and the gorgeous green that reminded me of the forest near home. The sly smile he wore let me know exactly what he was dreaming about without bothering to check. The one arm still wrapped around me was lean, but muscular. Life by the sea was probably as hard as it was in my mountains.

               As slight as it had seemed, my movements were enough to wake him. The second he was fully awake, he rolled on top of me. "Feel any better, Atladona?" he asked kindly.

               "Sore and sleepy, but happier than I've ever been," I answered, sealing it with a kiss.

               He sighed, and moved off again. "I wish we could have gone- you know."

               I shrugged (ow!). "I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea. Besides, a baby would be a bad idea, and it's about the right time of the moon." I regretted the words as soon as they'd left my mouth. Few enough fifteen year-old boys know about that stuff, and I don't know who'd have told him during the immobile years. I stuttered an apology.

               He grinned. "Hey, I got the birds and the bees off my Mom, not my friends. I didn't have any of those."

               I relaxed, but the last thing he said bothered me. "Yes you did! What were the other Dragonslayers like?"

               I could tell I'd hit on a touchy subject. He looked upset, but answered me anyhow. "Chesta was always… careful. He'd had a hard life, which I guess explained it. He was also pretty sentimental. That might have just been him. Gatti was raised in a traveling acting troupe, and he was always a huge ham. He was pretty good-natured, and I never knew him to fight with anyone even when the rest of us were tearing at the closest guy's throat. Dalet was sort of dark and spooky, and he was always sure evil spirits lurked behind everything. Viole was sort of dull. He got sick a lot and never had much to say. Guimel was on the happy-go-lucky side, but gullible and got picked on a lot. He had really pouffy hair, and whenever you saw him, it was practically a tradition to go 'baaaaaaaa.' Blake was totally gay, which I wouldn't have minded if he hadn't been constantly plotting to jump my bones. He was okay, just kind of a fairy. Damien was just a jerk. The others I didn't know too well. Why?"

               "Just wondering," I answered. "I'm just trying to figure you out. Any reason you call me Atladona?"

               He shrugged. "I dunno. It just came out. Maybe it's because everyone else uses your name or calls you Dilly. I like to have something that's completely mine. By the way, I haven't figured you out by any means, but it doesn't bother me. Does it have to matter? I already love you for yourself, known or not."

               We both stopped a minute at that. We knew it, of course, but this was the first time either of us had said point blank that we were in love. I'd been about to a few times, but somehow chickened out. Migel deserved a reward for that one. I hope a kiss covered it, because what else was I gonna do?

               A few minutes later, it brightened a bit more. Migel suddenly pulled away from me. "Ever seen a sunrise by the ocean?"

               "Only in the mountains," I countered. "I loved that, though. It's the most glorious thing on Gaea."

               "Watching the morning come in is the one thing I like about this place," he said cheerfully. "It's kept me going, at some points. We're lucky; the clouds seem to have moved off and it's a clear day."

               "Good," I laughed. He looked like a little kid about to get a present. With all the gloom in my life around then, it was nice to have someone who seemed so innocent. "Help me up, Migel."

               He did better than that. Once I was standing, he hoisted me off my feet and spun me around. "You're lucky I'm such a featherweight," I teased. "Whee! Do that agian! It was almost like flying!" He did, but I thought I saw some odd shade of emotion pass over his face. It was gone in a moment and I was sure I'd imagined it. I'd vowed never to let myself into his mind if I didn't have a good reason to, and didn't look for anything.

               We stepped outside. I shivered (Migel was fine, though dressed only in shorts and sandals; I guess he was used to it). There was a light mist hanging over the water, but as the sun rose it vanished. The world grew steadily brighter, and I had a chance to look around.

               Migel's house was on a gap in the cliffs that hit the ground about fifty feet long and twenty wide. The fine white sand massaged and tickled my feet after I shed the suddenly constraining boots. There was a little tide pool near the water, full of delightful little fish and sea critters. The cliffs proved to have chunks of quartz in them at our level, and they caught the sun's rays, brilliantly reflecting the red and orange as the life-giving orb. I can be quite poetic if I want to.

               As the sun finally wrested itself free of the unseen giant in the east (this old legend had simply popped into my head; it was among both of our favorites), I stopped exploring and stood at the water's edge, drinking in the sight. Migel stood beside me, his arm around my waist.

               Being with the man I loved at a wonderful moment was enough to draw a little sigh of contentment out of even me. I trembled a little as it escaped me, and somehow Migel caught my pleasure. He pulled me closer, and I rested my head against his shoulder. We held this position for some time, just being happy.

               Suddenly, I heard a tiny sound like air rushing past something large but gentle (how that's a sound I don't know). I turned my head slightly to see what was making the noise. Migel tensed and suddenly stepped away from me. There was nothing there when I looked, but he seemed sort of scared.

               I didn't do it purposefully, but his sudden, strong fear of losing me coursed through my mind. I turned to him accusingly. "What aren't you telling me." It didn't come out as a question.

               He looked away. "N-nothing to d-do with you."

               I was mad, but I still didn't like to see Migel so scared. I sensed a tear hitting the sand, and my heart melted. I covered the few steps to him and kissed his cheek. "Migel, I love you. Nothing will change that."

               He stepped back with his hands on my shoulders and stared straight into my eyes. There was nothing left hidden. I didn't need second sight to see that, more than fear, whatever he was keeping from me triggered a sorrow deeper than I had known was possible. Migel's eyes closed and he breathed deeply, gathering courage.

               A split second of intense concentration, and huge, beautiful wings burst from his bare shoulders. I stepped back, gasping in amazement. A Draconian!

               "Exactly," he spat bitterly. I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. "The last, except for his highness." He looked angry and afraid.

               I realized he must have misinterpreted my awed retreat as disgust. Jealous of wings, wary of power, and instinctively terrified of what they didn't understand, regular Gaeans had been randomly massacring the already dying Draconian race for centuries. Asturia had been responsible for the last great bloodbath about twenty years before, exterminating what was supposed to be the last remnants of the Draconians. Though quieter about it because of Lord Van, most people still spoke of them in hushed tones and they were named as demons in many of the old tales.

               Suddenly, it was my turn to be irritated. Did Migel really think I was the kind of person who would give in to deadly prejudices like that? Then I remembered that he must have lost his entire village (the one he refused to say anything of), possibly to someone who hadn't seemed like that either. I calmed down quickly, and when I realized he was crying any last traces of annoyance turned to empathy. I rushed into his arms.

               He made a choking noise after I kissed him. I put my useable hand behind his head and pulled him down to my level so I could whisper, "Did you think I would care?"

               "You don't?" I'd never heard anyone sound more relieved. "I suppose I'm just used to…"

               "Being considered a demon?" I finished for him, stepping backwards. "Poor Migel. They're lovely, or at least I think so."

               Gratitude mingled with his relief. "Thanks."

               "How big are they, unfurled?" I asked in genuine curiosity. The left wing opened completely. It was bigger than I was! "Gorgeous!"

               It looked like he was just going to fold it back up, but it suddenly swiveled forward more than it looked like it could and swept me against him. I expected that to hurt, with all my bruises and such, but the wing was so soft and gentle I wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been so strong at the same time.

               The feathers of the wing tickled pleasantly. It was like being under a rich, heavy blanket. Migel's arms twined around me. "Atladona love, I was so sure you'd hate me."

               I stared into his eyes, which had somewhere along the line made the transition from furious and sad to adoring. "Not you, Migel. I never could. And I think it's pretty special, being loved by one of the last of a kind."

               "You're one of a kind yourself," he said, kissing my forehead tenderly.

               I was about to reply when I realized that while I was distracted, his hands had snaked up under my tunic and were now resting on various forbidden regions. He pulled me down, and I didn't resist. The next few hours were quite unprintable.

***

               We sprawled exhausted on the sand, Migel's wings shielding us from the strength of the sun that had seemed so… innocently fragile when we'd first come out to watch the sunrise. Very little seemed innocent, all of a sudden. Space lemons. (You'll notice the lack of that phrase for quite a while; nothing space lemonsish happened.)

               "Can you believe how stupid we are," I giggled, running my fingers along the back of his neck.

               "Nope," Migel laughed in return. He caught my ear in his mouth for a second. "I just hope you aren't pregnant. Insaniac or not, I don't wanna know what any Dad would do to me for that."

               "Dad?! Oh, no!" I sat bolt upright. "I'd almost forgotten! What about everybody who got caught?"

               Migel's eyes widened. "Talk about stupid! They could be dead by now!"

               "I know," I groaned, getting up and grabbing my clothes. "I won't ask you to help. This will be-"

               He looked offended. "Dangerous? It's supposed to be the knight who saves the princess, you know, not the knight who lets her go off and get her head lopped off by herself because of the danger."

               I could see he was determined to come and help. Migel can be as stubborn as me, even if his metaphor was stupid to an indescribable degree. "Okay, but what do we do, exactly? Those were a lot of soldiers, and I can't see dashing in with swords raised and banners flying."

               "No, I've got a better idea," he said with a secretive smile. "Come back in."

               Back inside, he rooted through a box he'd stuck in the corner while I plucked sand out of several open, pus- oozing wounds. Charming, but that's what I get for- Never mind.

               A few minutes later, Migel produced a ridiculously long, full dress in orange and green silk, a veil, a scarf, and a pair of fine sandals set with little sparkly bits of quartz. The crystals might have come from just outside, but had a bluish tint to them upon closer examination.

               "You expect me to wear that!?" I exclaimed. "Do I look like a peacock?!"

               "Women wear this in one part of what used to be Zaibach territory," he explained. "It'll keep you well hidden."

               "You better be donning something just as silly," I threatened.

               "I don't need to," he said smugly. "The soldiers we're trying to fool don't know what I look like."

               "Shouldn't you wear whatever it is men have to put up with?" I complained.

               "Be quiet, Una," he said with a grin. "You're a bond servant. A mute one. I'm a spice merchant. Soldiers' rations are always shitty, so they'll do anything to make it taste better. While I negotiate, you dump some of this into the fire and cover your mouth." He handed me a small pouch full of powder. "It produces a sleep-inducing smoke. I'll cover my mouth as well, and the gags on your friends and family should keep them from getting hit. By the way, I'll make you a gift of the sword, but it's hardly the accessory that outfit screams for. I'll carry it for you."

               I agreed sullenly. It looked moronic, but I loved the feel of the silk (for silk it was, though not nearly as fine as the stuff of the scarf Dad got for Mom) and I certainly didn't mind having Migel lace it up for me. With the small powder packet stuffed into my sash and determination in my breast, I was ready to charge out and save everyone when something occurred to me. "Uh, Migel? How do we get back up to the cliffs?"

               "I was wondering when you'd notice that," he said with a fiendish leer.

               "Are you gonna fly us up?"

               He winced. "I haven't flown in years, and I'm rusty. Besides, it attracts attention and it'd be really dumb to fly today. The winds are high." I could tell he was scared to. Perfectly excuseable.

               "So then, how do we do it?" I asked, glancing at how sheer the walls were beyond the quartz.

               "I'll show you," he said, smiling. Grabbing a bag of his herby concoctions that were supposed to pass as rare spices (they were good, so it might work), he stepped out the door and walked to what looked like just another part of the rock. Suddenly, he stepped to one side, forward, the other side, forward again, and back to the first side and vanished. His voice echoed back out. "You have to do it just like that or you won't see the door!"

               I had to try a few times, but eventually did find that a slab of quartz that looked flat really jutted out to hide a tunnel's entrance. It was a bit of a step after you got in, and I would have broken something else if Migel hadn't caught me so neatly.

               After a few hundred yards it was pretty dark. Migel knew his way perfectly, but I had no such luxury. Even with his hand in mine and an occasional "watch this step," "Careful of the ceiling," or "floor's uneven," I tripped more than I walked and banged into things rather more often than I like to admit.

               Suddenly, I noticed a tiny bit of light (from total darkness to being able to just tell the difference between open eyes and closed ones. "Are we getting close to the end?" I asked, bumping into him as we turned a corner.

               "Midpoint."

               "Then where-?"

               "You'll see," he said. That scheming grin of his was on his voice.

               I most certainly did! When we turned the next corner, I found myself in a chamber made entirely of the crystal that studded the outer cliffs. There was a stone bowl in the middle, carved out of a stalactite. It seemed to be filled with blue fire. Migel led me over with that innocently happy child manner I liked so much.

               He stuck his hand into the fire. Nothing happened. "Everflame. I thought it was only a legend, too, but here it is! Never goes out. I think this place must have been a temple, in time immemorial. I come here a lot, and I figured out how to work it." He waved his arm back and forth over the bowl. The everflame (one of my favorite fairy tales had been about the heatless light that shone forever!), which had been only dim, flared up into the equivalent of a bonfire.

               The crystal that made up the room may have originally been a natural formation, but someone (probably several someones and over many centuries) had carved it so that it caught the everflame's light at every angle. It danced, casting gentle shadows and glares. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

               Migel's arms twined around my waist and his chin rested on my head. "Thank you, Migel. I love you." Not the most eloquent thing I've ever said, but definitely the best one.

               "Any chance of…" he trailed off.

               "We better not," I replied with a sigh. "We're short on time, and there's too much chance. Still, perhaps you could bring me back here someday."

               "Yeah, I will," he said with a wistful glance. He waved the arm over the bowl again, and the light faded. We went on, and since then no word has passed between us of that wonderful cavern. It remains one of my most precious memories.

               Both of us stumbled and knocked into things, probably because we were thinking of the crystal room. When we did make it out and back into daylight, we were quite bruised. Migel gave me an almost shy smile. "Come on. It won't be easy to catch up."

***

               It took three days of marching hard before we found the soldiers, who went at a leisurely pace but had a great start. My elegant clothes weren't looking so great, and going so fast wasn't easy on me. Migel made a huge fuss whenever we stopped to camp a few hours, and when I got too tired he'd carry me. If I had been so helpless and dependant on anyone else it would have cut me deep, but love'll do this to you.

               We had sighted a campfire slightly after sunset. Migel had left me to rest and gone ahead to check. When he came back, I knew he'd found them.

               "They're about a mile ahead," he told me. "Everyone's gagged so tightly the smoke shouldn't get to them before we can drag them out. You'd better start working on being a mute, and I won't be able to be nice to you if you're supposed to be a bondservant. That's the next thing to slave, and no one treats them with any compassion."

               I nodded, carefully not saying anything. I hate "being a mute," but my slight accent could give me away and I was liable to lose track of lies. It was for the best.

               We reached the camp quickly. Migel was careful about not looking like he had anything to hide, presenting himself unabashedly to the captain. I made a big deal of keeping my head down, both for effect and so the family eyes wouldn't catch the light. At the same time, I kept memorized where everyone was and kept a close watch on Migel, so I wouldn't miss the signal.

               He was bragging about the variety of spices he carried and suggested we move towards the fire so he could see the labels on his wares more easily. Once we were next to the flames, he carefully opened the bag holding his most savory collection of herbs.

               "Everybody wants this. I've got plenty more." He patted the bag hanging from his belt in apparent satisfaction, though his legs were poised to run. That was our agreed-upon signal! Barely pausing to rip the pouch open, I took a deep breath and tossed it into the fire. Seconds later, thick, oily smoke poured out. Not only were the soldiers falling asleep by the dozens, but those still awake couldn't see much.

               I dived for where Mom and Dyln were sitting. "Heya, people. Get outta here and don't breathe!" I sent Skye after them and heard Migel taking care of Allen and Dad. Despite my scarf and so on, I was starting to feel very light-headed. The second I was sure everyone was gone, I got the hell out of there.

               I literally ran into Skye (who was too dense to even ask why I was still alive or what we did), and the two of us teamed up to find everyone else. Mom and Dyln had managed to stick together, and Cat Girl's animalish senses made it easier to track everyone else.

               When we were finally all back together and I had psychically checked that all the soldiers were far away in dreamland, an explanation was demanded. Oh, well. What did I expect. Space lemons.

               Mom initiated interrogations. (That's fun to say! Initiated interrogations! Initiated interrogations! Initiated interrogations! INITIATED INTERROGATIONS! Okay, I'll shut up. Space lemons.) "Alright, missy. Why aren't you dead and who's this guy?"

               "This guy saved my life," I began, but Migel (and he accused Gatti of being a ham!) decided to enjoy himself and butted in.

               He turned to Dad, who was leaning against a tree and getting his bearings, perfectly oblivious to most of what was going on. Genuflecting the way he had when we first met and I yelled at him, he made a dramatic sweep of his arm to throw his cloak aver his shoulder. "My Lord Dilandau."

               I kicked him. "Ignore Miggles. He has the I.Q. of a turnip. Dyln, we might as well get through you yelling at me before we try getting through any story."

               Dyln, for the first and only time I remember, seemed lost for words. Her eyes were darting back and forth between me and Migel, and she was wearing this smug, knowing expression. I hit her. While we were facing off, Dad did his cute little jaw-drop. I didn't want any of the neighborhood squirrels to store nuts in there, so I breezed through the story (omitting only what had passed between me and Migel). The aforementioned gentleman probably would have done it much better, but he was busy being a dork.

               "Yikes."

               Go Allen! That about summed it up. We all walked along and chattered at each other until Skye found a nice place to sleep. Allen snored and Dyln talked in her sleep. In a strange, stupid, frightening, Dilanda-ish way, I was glad to be back. Space lemons.