Chapter 4

Link followed Sheik down the dimly lit, narrow alleyways of a part of the Hylian Quarter that he'd never visited before. It sat on the outskirts of the city, far away from Castle Dragmire, and the buildings here were shabby, paint peeling and wood rotting. People here were hunched, their eyes suspicious, their faces unkind. Link tapped his fingers on his crossbow, both as a warning and just so that he was ready for any eventuality.

Mystral would kill him if she knew he was here. Once, when he was younger, he had wandered off out of her reach, finding himself in an unfamiliar part of town, the buildings and people dwarfing him. He had tugged at people's tunics, begging for help, but they had angrily jerked free of his grasp. Eventually, his sister had found him, but the tear-streaked, grief-contorted look on her face had scared him. She had hugged him tightly, weeping, while she both cursed him and asked him if he was alright. The anger in her eyes had made Link think that she would hit him for the first time in his life, but she hadn't. For the next few weeks after that she wouldn't let him out of her sight, panicking if he did not respond to her calls.

Jonah had once dared him to enter the 'Outlands', as this part of the Quarter was called. Still only eleven summers old they had both approached the edge of the area, their stiff faces hiding the fear they held inside. They hadn't got far. One scowl from a fat, toothless Hylian had made them flee, screaming. Jonah had tripped over a bucket, twisting his ankle and knocking over a fruit stall. The owner had raged, a broken pitchfork in one hand. Link had thought fast, using the fallen fruit as weapons and throwing them at the angry man. He'd made sure that he had used the fruits with the hardest shells as he pulled Jonah away to safety. Once they were clear, they had fallen in a heap, grinning and relieved. Jonah had solemnly declared that they were now 'brothers for eternity' after Link had 'saved his life.' He smiled at the memory.

The young man turned his attention to Sheik, curiosity about the girl now prodding his mind. Without really knowing it, Link's eyes fell to her chest, noticing how flat it was. No wonder she looked like a boy.

Sheik caught him. "What are you looking at?" she said, her voice acidic.

Link looked away hastily. "Nothing."

A sudden wave of shame hit him and his cheeks burned. He'd done something out of turn yet again this day. He knew it was wrong to look at a girl like that. Panic rose within him. For some reason he wanted this young woman to think the best of him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She looked at him, offering no response, before turning away. They continued walking, Link hanging his head and looking at the dirt and grease on the ground. Obviously nobody cleaned this place. It reminded him of his bed chamber.

"Why are you in the Hylian Quarter?" he asked, looking up. His gaze searched her ears, looking for the tell-tale sign of her race, but her head covering blocked his view.

Sheik looked at him again, and once again did not reply. Anxiety fluttered in his heart. Had she been too offended by his earlier actions? It couldn't be – she was still letting him walk with her.

Link tried again. "What's your name?"

"Sheik," she replied simply.

"Is that your real name?" he asked.

She fixed him with a fierce stare. "It is to you."

"Why do you have a male name?" he asked.

Sheik continued to look at him. "Why do you have a woman's scarf?"

Link sighed audibly, his hand automatically reaching for Mystral's scarf. This was going to be harder than he thought. She spoke less than he did. His forehead creased as he fell into silence, trying to think of other things to say. It seemed strange to refer to the girl as 'Sheik', but he guessed he had little choice. He was broken out of his musings by the sound of her voice.

"What's your name?" she asked. The young man felt his heart stir at her interest.

"Link," he replied. "My family name is unknown."

She nodded without making comment, and he felt his optimism evaporate just as quickly as it had arrived, like the popping of a fragile bubble. Sheik stopped at a rusted metal ladder and, grasping it with both hands, she shook it to test its stability.

"Come on," she said, looking towards him.

Link froze, caution making him wary. "Why?" he demanded. "Where are you taking me?"

She rested her head against the ladder. "You looked sad," she said softly. Link was surprised at how quickly her voice would shift from venom to honey like a weathervane battered by the wind. "I'm going to cheer you up."

"Why?" he asked, still not convinced, though the cheerful certainty in her voice was alluring.

"Just," she said, starting to climb. "Come on!"

Taking one look around him, he assessed the situation out of his assassin's habit. All was still. Judging everything to be safe, he climbed up after her, the ladder shaking under his weight and flakes of grimy rust clinging to his hands.

Reaching the top, Link was surprised to see other people there, hidden in the darkness. They carried intricately constructed, curved wooden bows, ancient relics from an ancient time. Link wondered where they had got them from. He'd dearly love to own one himself, and he even felt his mouth water at the prospect, but knew them to be too expensive. His fingers tightened, as though they wished to reach out and touch the weapons, so tempting was the idea.

Sheik watched him with mild disinterest as she greeted some of the men and nodded at others. She seemed to be well-known here. Link noticed that she would lower her voice to a harsh whisper when she spoke to them, so it was unclear whether she was male or female. She didn't do that with him though. Link felt his heart surge. What did that mean?

The air was more biting up here, and Link tightened the scarf around his neck, suddenly grateful that Mystral had given it to him. He continued to watch the men, noticing that they were all Hylian. Some lounged against the wall at the building's edge, steaming mugs in their hands. Laughter floated over to him, and Link felt himself relax. He was glad others were here. He'd feel guilty being alone with a girl. Old Hylian customs were hard to shake off, and he could almost feel Mystral's eyes on him, even though she was safe at home.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Look," Sheik replied simply, pointing. Link peered, seeing faint, round targets painted crudely on the wall of the adjacent building. The targets were peppered with holes and the paint was flaking away. A sharp glint of silver made him turn back, and he saw Sheik pull her thin daggers free. She grinned, though he could only tell by the way the wrappings around her lower face stretched. "This is what we do to do unwind here," she said. She nodded over at the targets. "Think you can hit the centre?"

Link's eyes narrowed as he focused on the red dot at the centre of the targets. "Of course I can," he said.

Sheik chuckled. "Confident." She stepped away. "You first."

Hooking an arrow into his crossbow, he aimed it at the target, steadying his hand as the breeze tugged at it. He bit his lower lip as his squinting eyes tried to judge the distance. Flicking a switch, the weapon whirred, tightening the string. His arm held straight and firm as a rock, he lifted the crossbow a hair higher. Satisfied, he pushed down on the release trigger.

The arrow flew, the accompanying orange flare making some of the men look up sharply. Faint curling smoke still hanging in the air and making his nose itch, Link focused his eyes, trying to see where his arrow had landed. He saw it jutting out a little higher than the red spot.

"Not bad," Sheik said.

"Not bad?" Link said indignantly, as Sheik pulled back her arm. "It was just a little off the target."

Sheik gave him one last amused look before propelling her arm forward and releasing the dagger. Link watched its path as it curved through the air, hilt over tip. The silver blur snapped his arrow in two and embedded itself at the tip of the dot.

Link's mouth fell open and Sheik chuckled again. He felt a cold wall rise in his heart. Determination ran through his veins.

"Try that again," he said, gripping his crossbow tightly.

Sheik looked at him, curious. She opened her mouth to speak, but then the reluctance in her eyes vanished. "Alright."

She flipped the other dagger up into the air, letting it spin, before catching it in a fluid movement. Her eyes rested on him one last time and then she pulled back her arm and threw.

In an instant, Link swung his weapon up, locked in an arrow, and fired. A volley of sparks erupted in mid-air as the arrow collided with the dagger, throwing it off target. This time it was Sheik's turn to gape. Link felt himself grin in satisfaction. A small cheer rose from the other men, watching intently now, and Sheik flicked an annoyed glance at them.

She turned back to Link. There was a pause as their eyes locked. For a moment, Link thought that he'd gone too far again, and had embarrassed her in front of her friends. Slowly, her chest started to shake and, at first, Link thought she was going to weep, before realising that she was chuckling. Her mirth grew and she began to laugh louder now, clutching onto the wall to steady herself. Link smiled uncertainly, though he wasn't exactly sure why he was sharing in her humour.

"That was good," she whispered, her eyes narrowed to icy blue slits. She reached for her belt and pulled out a handful of daggers, a challenge in her eye. Link was ready.

One by one, Sheik threw, faster each time, and Link hurried to grasp at arrows from his quiver, ready them, and fire. Sometimes he would stop her daggers and the crowd would cheer, and at other times he would fail, eliciting an even bigger roar from the audience. They continued for some time, throwing playful jibes at each other and smiling. In the end, she ran out of blades and he almost ran out of arrows. They collapsed to the ground, exhausted and laughing.

Giddy with excitement and feeling at ease in the girl's company, Link pulled his final arrow free. He spied a lone cucco, hopping at the top of one building. Not caring how it got there, Link aimed, hoping to impress his new friend. Focusing the steel tip on the bird's neck, Link squeezed his finger around the trigger.

"Hey!" Link was startled as Sheik pushed his arm violently, letting the arrow go awry.

He looked at her, confused. "Why?" he asked simply.

"You were going to kill the bird!" she replied.

Link shrugged, still not understanding. "And?"

"Why would you want to kill anything for?" she said. "To hunt, I understand that. For food, yes. But for a game?"

Link felt his heart plummet, confusion and misery whirling in his head. Suddenly he felt a wall between them, a wall that he knew would be insurmountable. He turned away, the pain welling inside. Still, he wanted to fight what she thought. "What about self-defence? What about murderers and people who commit horrific crimes?"

Her eyes flashed with confusion and Link could sense her hesitation. It satisfied him.

"That's different," she said uncertainly. "You wanted to kill the bird for nothing."

Silence hung between them and, once again, someone else's words were giving Link uncomfortable thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

Link shook his head. She thought that she was in the wrong! "It's not you," he said.

"Then?" she asked. The gentleness in his voice made him hurt even more. Mystral's voice whispered to him. How much will you lose, Link? Just so we can eat and have a roof over our heads. He felt anger wash over him and he was glad. It drowned his pain. Two days ago he wouldn't have thought twice about his path in life. Why had everything changed so quickly? It was that Hylian woman's fault. If she hadn't leapt in front of her husband, all would be well now. He bitterly wished he had killed them all now.

Even the baby? a voice whispered in his mind.

He'd heard stories of this before. Assassins that went mad after a lifetime of murder and paranoia. He hadn't even had one true kill yet, and he was suffering from the same affliction. He used to scoff at those stories, thinking those men to be weak. How could they wallow in their self-indulgent depression like that? All the targets of the Assassins League deserved to die. It was, if someone thought about it intently, a noble profession. And now here he was, upset because his new-found friend was shocked that he wanted to kill a cucco. A cucco!

It was strange that this girl had managed to sink her words into where neither Fran nor his sister had been able. He hissed inwardly, pushing the doubts away. Who was this strange woman anyway? And why should he listen to her?

Sheik was still watching him, waiting for him to speak. Link swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into his mouth. "It's nothing," he said.

She walked up to him with cautious steps. "Let's get something to drink, shall we?"

Link nodded and followed her as she led the way to a small wooden hatch built into the roof. Let your heart grow cold, he told himself, trying to still his thoughts. It worked, and he felt his face tighten into a frown as he climbed down. This was not turning out to be a good day. First, the glares he had received at the Meeting House and now the edgy tenseness he could sense from the girl. A sour sense of irony rose in his throat. The first was because he had tried to prevent someone from being killed and the second was because he himself had been the one that had tried to kill.

They entered a dimly-lit, dingy tavern with windows boarded up and stained tables. The usual murmur of conversation was absent here; instead people spoke in hushed whispers. Clearly a place for those who did not want to be noticed. Sheik stood, searching the room, before settling on a table in one corner. Link grimaced as he sat down beside her, noticing the pooling water that seeped in from the ceiling and the stagnant smell that hung in the air.

A plump, greasy skinned serving woman shuffled up to them, complete with too much face paint and a practised scowl. "What will you two gents be having?" she drawled in a bored voice.

Link looked up at her, slightly fearful as to what sort of things would be served in a place like this. "My friend here isn't a gent," he said, nodding at Sheik.

The woman turned a large eye towards the young girl.

Sheik looked back impassively.

"Tell her," Link insisted.

Sheik raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, sonny," the serving woman said, turning back to Link. "It doesn't bother me what you do in your free time. I just serve the drinks. Now what'll be?"

Link gawped at the implication in her words. "Water," he croaked. Sheik nodded vigorously in agreement.

As the woman spun away, Link glared at the young girl. "You did that deliberately."

"Link," she said gently, uttering his name for the first time. She flicked at the edge of the table absentmindedly, breaking off chips of wood. "Don't you think there's a reason why I'm in disguise?"

"Which is?" he asked quickly, eager to leap on the opportunity.

She turned away and Link there would be no answers for him. He looked around at the other patron's, but everytime he caught someone's eye, they would hastily turn away. The water continued to drop. Link wondered why Sheik would choose to visit a place like this, but then he remembered how she had said that her family was poor. He wanted to ask her about it, but wasn't sure how. He didn't want to probe at anything that was sensitive to her. Their drinks came and the uneasy silence between the two grew.

"So," he said finally after clearing his throat. "Interesting happenings last night. The moon was darkened and the attack on the castle."

Her eyes lit up at that last statement. "What do you think about that?" she asked. The excitement in her voice puzzled Link. "About the attack?"

Link shrugged. "Harkinians." He virtually spat the word out, its sour taste rolling around his mouth and prompting Sheik to look at him oddly. He didn't offer an explanation and she sat back, obviously deciding not to pry. He was relieved. Thinking about the Harkinians made him remember his Test. Even though Commander Kisho had passed him, the memory of the night still made him feel uneasy.

"Listen," she said, shifting out of her seat. "I have to go."

Link felt panic rise and he almost reached out to stop her. Let your heart grow cold, he told himself, and pushed his emotions down.

She looked at him with an inquisitive eye. "I had a good time," she said.

His training melted away and Link felt the grateful smile come to his face. The dull throb in his heart, a result of his time at the Meeting House and the aftermath of his attempted kill of the bird, evaporated. "So did I," he said.

"Can you make it home on your own?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, still smiling.

"Confident," she said, a smile in her eyes. She turned away and made for the exit.

A thought sprung to Link's mind. "Wait," he said, looking up. "When will I see you again?"

But she had already gone.

...

Impa peered at the decaying scroll, blowing off the dust while bringing her lantern closer. The dust tickled her nose and the heat of the light stroked her cheek. She sniffed, the musty smell of old parchments distracting her.

"Look at this," she said, her voice echoing around the small, dark room.

Montero glanced up, his eyes bloodshot. They had gone down to the Castle's Library painstakingly sifting through all the most ancient of scrolls, searching for crumbs of information related to the Triforce. Impa could tell that the Librarian had been aghast at the mess they had caused, but he kept it hidden, not wanting to offend the new King. Only the tiniest twitch in his cheek had given him away.

Then they had come to this old, disused storeroom so that they would not be disturbed, unless it was absolutely urgent. Only a small table, the wood already rotted, and a pair of chairs that wobbled when too much weight was placed on them inhabited the place. The walls and floor were bare, a far cry from the lavish decorations in the rest of the castle.

"What is it?" the King said quietly.

Impa blinked, trying to free the fatigue in her eyes. Despite her earlier reluctance she had been caught up in the chase, feeling a slight thrill whenever they discovered something new. Even Montero had taken on an aura of seriousness and once again she had been surprised at how easily she had underestimated him.

"It says here," she said, shifting in her chair and holding up the scroll. "That one hundred years ago, the Triforce was once again split into three. One part was buried in the grave of someone known as the 'Hero of Time.'" She looked up, catching Montero's intense stare. He offered no words. "The other was buried with the original Gerudo who held one of the pieces. He'd been finally slain." Impa chewed her lip, frowning. "I wonder why they buried it with him."

"And the other piece?" the King asked, ignoring her musings.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the parchment. It crackled under her touch. Finally, she shook her head. "There's no mention of it." She held up the scroll, revealing the moth-eaten holes that punctured it. "It might have been written there, but it's lost now."

Montero leaned back in his chair, his features creased in thought. "I wonder why they wanted to hide it. It was an object of great power, after all.

Impa rubbed her fingers together before picking out another scroll. "This one is interesting," she said. "All it says is 'The Triforce is not what it once was'. It gives no more details than that though." She paused to stifle a yawn. "Maybe that's a clue?"

"Hmm," the King said, stroking his temples. "I found something too."

"Oh?" Impa said, raising an eyebrow.

"Mmm," he mumbled, shifting through the pile of scrolls in front of him. "Where is it…?" He coughed as the dust rose, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "Here!" He pulled one free as Impa waited patiently. "This one speaks of a sword as 'black as the night'. Whoever touches it would be driven mad with despair." Montero looked up, grinning. "Sounds like one of my father's speeches."

Impa laughed despite herself. For a brief moment, she felt her heart flicker in warmth towards the King. She pushed the feeling away hastily.

"Then it continues," Montero said. "It says: 'Bring all four together and the Cycle will be broken once and for all.'" Shaking his head, he glanced up at Impa. "The Cycle?"

She felt her mouth go dry. The Cycle. Ganondorf had spoken about it so much that it was branded into her mind. A hero, an evil and a princess. She found the concept laughable. Who in this world could be described as completely heroic or completely evil? Still. Her curiosity was piqued. There was a way to break the Cycle? Keeping her face as still as possible so that she would not give anything away, Impa merely shrugged, hoping that her eyes betrayed nothing. If anything, Montero would probably think she was as confused as him.

"Bring all four of what together?" he continued, idly scratching at his wrist.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully.

He blinked, looking as tired as she felt. "We need to find those graves," he said, his voice suddenly gaining strength.

Impa sighed, feeling a twinge in her heart. "Still want to reclaim lost Gerudo pride?"

Something flashed in his eyes that she couldn't interpret. "Yes," he said slowly. "Exactly."

"What good is it without the third piece?"

"We'll find it," he said confidently. "We just need to read more scrolls."

Impa felt a tug at her heart. Something was bothering her about the last scroll she had read out. "Have you considered," she said cautiously, "that the Triforce wasn't meant to be found anymore?"

He shrugged. "The graves?"

She grit her teeth, searching through the heap of parchments again. She had marked one with her quill, and the wet, black cross caught her eye now. Pulling it free, she scanned it quickly for the information that she needed. "The Hero of Time is buried here," she said. "Where New Hyrule Town now stands."

Montero nodded. "And the Gerudo?"

Impa read through the scroll thrice, making sure that her weary eyes had not missed anything. Finally, she shook her head. "Nothing. I don't know where he's buried." Turning her head to keep her neck from aching, she looked at the King. "What should we do now?"

A rap at the door, short and sharp, prevented Montero from replying. He gestured at Impa and she rose, nodding, to open the door. She almost slipped, her legs having gone numb from sitting in one position too long. She scowled in exasperation as the tingle of returning blood made her wince. Opening the door revealed a messenger boy, lantern in one hand, creased scroll clutched in the other. There was an impatient look in his eyes, but Impa waited, hoping he could compose himself. If someone worked at Castle Dragmire they should know how to present themselves properly. There were standards that needed to be kept.

Finally realising what she wanted, the messenger took in a deep breath, straightening his back.

"Yes?" she asked.

"A message for the King," he replied.

"Really?" Impa said with a dry voice. "A messenger boy visits the chamber where the King is studying and wants to bring him a message?" She couldn't resist the tease. "Interesting."

The boy did not even flinch, holding himself steady and keeping his patience. Satisfied, Impa nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. He rushed over to Montero, who snapped the wax seal on the scroll and unfurled the parchment. As his eyes darted over the words, his mouth slowly curled into a smile.

"What is it?" Impa asked as the messenger left the room. At the back of her mind, she was happy to note that the boy knew when to give the King his privacy. If he kept this up he might be in line for a higher station when she next reviewed the staff.

"Good news," Montero said, folding the scroll and laying it neatly on the table. "We've found the Harkinians."

...

Sheik walked through the gates that linked the Hylian Quarter with the Kokiri Quarter, her footsteps breaking the silence. There were very few people out and about now and she could glimpse the blood-red streak of the approaching dawn on the horizon. Absentmindedly, she nodded to the gatekeepers, her boots scuffing against the dust ground. Her thoughts, though, were elsewhere.

She was drawn to the Hylian boy, though she didn't know why. Something about him scared her mildly. That intense look in his eyes, the all too confident way he handled his crossbow. And yet, there was something about him that was oddly familiar. He seemed to have a naive charm to him too, though she told herself she didn't want to think of him of anything more than a curiosity. She had far more important things to concern herself with.

Sheik stumbled as the world swam in her vision, the old whispers coming again, prodding, taunting, inciting. Reaching out to steady herself, she shut her eyes tight, begging for it to end. She still did not understand the words, but the malicious undercurrent of them was clear. Her heart felt constricted and the air seemed suffocating. And then, once more, they melted away.

Sheik waited a moment, tense. Realising that the voices were not going to come again, she moved on. It was her secret, something she did not share with anyone else, even her other family members. She couldn't make any sense of it and didn't know why this was happening to her. The whispers had started four seasons ago, slowly at first, then gaining in intensity. They frightened her.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, she angrily kicked old crates out of her path. Finally, she stopped in front of a half-hidden door and rapped on the door.

A pair of eyes appeared. "Pass~"

"Ocarina," she said impatiently. She was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

Entering the safehouse, she felt her eyes go heavy, ready for her to fall into slumber. The comforting warmth enveloped her like the embrace of an old friend. She heard something shuffle in the near darkness and she looked up. Someone was waiting for her.

"What is it, Kafei?" Sheik said as he blocked her path. She tried to move past him, but he shifted his position. Glaring, she waited. "I'm tired."

"Where have you been?" he said, his voice showing no hint of sympathy.

"Out," she replied. Sheik studied his face, trying not to laugh at his stern expression. Sometimes she lost track of how everyone in the safehouse was related to the other. All the last surviving Harkinians, and even some of their distant relations, were living here. Their numbers were dwindling, picked off one-by-one by the Dragmires' assassins. She felt a dull hatred at the bottom of her heart.

There were about twenty-five of them left now, including the children. The low number depressed her, but she knew that they all had to keep positive if they were to continue. Despair was paralysing. What she did know was that Kafei was not her father, despite how he tried to act around her. Both her parents were long dead, and Kafei was nothing more than an uncle who had, reluctantly it seemed, taken on the responsibility of caring for her. She bit down her rising resentment. She felt that she could take care of herself perfectly well.

"One night after the attack?" he continued, pinning her with his stare. "That was foolish."

"No one saw me when we attacked," she said. "No one would recognise me."

"The Elders still aren't pleased."

"When are they ever?" She paused, not able to resist her next words. "They're just angry that people are looking to me for action. A 'little girl' has more influence than they ever could." She heard the smugness in her own voice, but she didn't care.

Kafei ignored her last statement. "What was the point of that attack?" he said. "All that trouble to redecorate the Castle?"

"It was symbolic," she replied quickly. "To show the people we still exist."

There was a pause. Sheik knew what was coming next. The silence was smothering and she could barely hear the rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the house.

"There are other ways," he said carefully.

"No," she replied sternly. "That would involve killing. It would be chaos."

He cocked his head to one side. "How else do you propose we take back our Throne?"

She sighed, once again falling into the same argument she had had with him many times in the past. "I don't know," she replied. "If we can win the people's support, we could force the Dragmires overthrow."

He snorted. "Silly childish foolishness," he said, and she felt her cheeks burn. "The only way is to take the Castle by force." His voice grew softer. "We know you dislike it. But you're no stranger to fighting and killing, no matter how much it sickens you."

She grimaced at the truth of his last words. "I do what I have to do." Her voice sounded empty and cold, the memories like bitter marks scorched onto her soul.

"Right," he said, his tone still cautious. She thought he could see his mind calculating in the darkness. "What you have to do. And what we have to do is force our way to what is ours by right."

Sheik felt temptation curl around her heart, but she pushed it away. "What would be the point? If we staged a revolution the people would never accept us. Especially if bloodshed is involved."

"And what about your way?" he replied quickly, already familiar with her line of thought. "You want to win the people's support. Well, most of the people are Calatian. Why would they ever support us?"

She looked past him, spying a room that had faint light pouring out from the under the door. "Is she awake?" she asked.

Kafei looked over his shoulder, surprised at the change of subject. "Yes," he said. "She's waiting for you. She was worried too."

"Let me see her," she said.

Kafei paused for an instant, holding her gaze. Finally he relented with a nod, turning to one side and letting her pass. Sheik darted past him, relieved. Throwing him one last look, she entered the room.

A fire was burning, crackling softly and filling the room with the scent of charcoal. In the middle of the room a chair stood, facing away from Sheik. Someone was sitting there, rocking back and forth.

"You shouldn't worry us like that," a female voice said. There was strength there, and her accent was more refined than either Sheik or Kafei's. Just hearing her voice made Sheik's heart bubble with love, and she felt a twinge of guilt to have made her wait through the night, no doubt troubled.

Sheik swallowed, letting the heat of the fire spread over her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I needed to get out."

"I understand," the other said with a hint of sadness. The compassion that was absent in Kafei's voice was thick in hers.

The female stood up, turning around to face Sheik with a smile. "I'm glad to see you, Sheik," she said.

"And I'm glad to see you," she replied, bowing her head slightly. "Princess Harkinian."