Joren began backing me toward the wall. I would have tried to stand my ground, but suddenly, I wasn't feeling quite as aggressive as before.

His blue eyes searched my face, for what, I'm not sure. I was worried by heart would beat a hole through my chest at any minute. That feeling escalated when my back brushed up against the wall. The one miniscule part of my brain that was functioning screamed at me to do something, anything to stop Joren from doing whatever it was he had in mind.

Grabbing my arm, the page started to twist it back. He took a breath to say something (vulgar and stupid, no doubt), but was cut off, because Neal had gotten up and kicked Joren's legs from under him.

My arm was promptly released, and the two started at it, attacking each other with amazing accuracy. I figured Neal wouldn't want to have to save me again, so I decided not to wade in.

It turns out I didn't have to. Their fight stopped fairly quickly, ending with Joren running out of the room and Neal slamming the door behind him. Faintly, I remembered that the pages weren't supposed to close their doors when the members of the opposite sex were in their rooms, but I didn't really care and neither did Neal.

He was busy splashing water on his face, trying to clean off the blood without bruising his cuts. Green light shone all around his face.

He turned towards me as he healed a crack in his lip. "Thanks for pulling him off me." He grinned. "You really showed him up."

"Yeah," I murmured. "You too." I gave him a sheepish smile. "I was scared silly."

"You didn't show it at all," he told me. "You could become a warrior if you wanted to."

"No, that's alright." I rubbed the arm that Joren had attempted to snap in half, and informed Neal that I would rather become a Player that go off to hurt myself in a war.

That part of my brain was thinking again. It noticed that the morning bell should have rung; I had been with Neal for at least 15 minutes. But, as usual, I discarded all that information as irrelevant, and continued to blunder through my life.

Neal finished healing his face, which was very disconcerting, since I had never witnessed any magical healing before. He noticed my surprised face and was about to comment when someone tapped on the door. I assumed it was Kel, hoping it wouldn't be Joren or Wyldon, but didn't come close to who it turned out to be.

Disclaimer: I just thought I would pop this in someplace random. Neal, Kel, Joren, and Wyldon are all Tamora Pierce's, but Taina and Cori – ah, the stranger, are mine.

Not even waiting for an answer, a tall, dark and handsome guy walked in. He had deep blue eyes and reminded me of someone, but I couldn't place my finger on who exactly.

The stranger gave me a small, sad, smile. "Do you recognize me?" His voice was soft and had the same melancholy seriousness as his smile.

Even with all these signs, I had no clue as to who this person was. Apparently, Neal felt the same and came over to where we were standing. "Look here, whoever you are-''

"Corinth Rhate." The newcomer answered, looking back toward me as I gasped.

"I wrote you!" A comprehension light bulb exploded in my head. "You're in the story I'm writing, but why are you in Tortall? That's in a totally different universe! You're supposed to be in Beilglam right now. Right? You just got attacked…" I blushed. The last thing I wrote for Corinth was his getting stabbed in the leg and knocked out. And now I was meeting the person on whom I had inflicted all that pain.

An apology was in order. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "But the ending works out better this way; it has to be like this."

I shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. "The author has all the power." In is quiet voice, it sounded like an insult.

The author knows best, I wanted to say, but I didn't think that would be appreciated by two fictional characters, both of whom could kill or maim me fairly easily. Instead, I supplied, "What are you doing here?"

"I don't argue with the author," Corinth raised one eyebrow slightly. "I just follow along with what they make me do."

"But I'm you're author," I pointed out. "And I didn't send you here."

Corinth shrugged, and began to leave. He called over his retreating shoulder, "The authors can do anything they want."

As suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone. Neal stared at me, confusion spelled across his newly healed forehead.

"He's a character in the story I'm writing," I tried to explain. "But I have no idea why he was here."
Neal still looked concerned, but there was no time to keep talking, because it was then that the morning bells chimed.

"That was very strange," he informed me.

I nodded absently, recalling about Corinth's words: The author has all the power.