Arabella paced restlessly the following morning, listening through the canvas as Sven and Vlad again spoke about how they would best display Erik that day. In spite of the refunds she knew had been demanded, Erik's face had drawn in a near fortune compared to the usual fees. If they could find a way to exhibit him that would prove less offensive to the crowds, he could probably make them rich men before the week was out… which would presumably help the entire camp. She wrung her hands in agitation, wanting so badly to storm in again and demand they release Erik, before he could be brought to any further harm.

But her previous interferences – however good they'd been for Erik and his health – had brought her nothing but a payment of misery. Her father, having been notified of her latest crusade of mercy, had been close by her the entire first day of Erik's 'performance career' and kept her away from the distraction of her protective nature as much as possible. Any time he turned his back – even for a few moments – she had quickly stopped dancing for the crowds and tried to make her way in to offer anything she could to the distraught captive boy.

None of those efforts had worked. By the end of the day, Yaakov had smacked her more times than she could count, keeping his temper under control so she might continue dancing for their profit. It was only at the end of the day, after he accompanied her to Tsifia's tent and assisted closing up her business that she managed to put together that meager care package and hand it off to Gloria with her instructions. The tiny woman had not been pleased with providing her services as an errand girl, but hadn't argued. She'd seen Yaakov – who'd been temporarily distracted by dealings with another gypsy – coming back to find his daughter. The girl had no intentions of standing around debating her position in the camp when the man had such a cloud of rage over his head.

While Gloria hurried off, her father had approached and grabbed her by the arm, following quickly by seizing her hair at the nape of her neck and steering her towards their tent. He'd spent the night ridiculing her, bringing her mother into the 'conversation' at every possible turn. Arabella didn't know how many times she'd been struck – or how many objects he'd used to do it. But she did know that as her mother finally drank herself into oblivion, Yaakov's savagery was only beginning. It hadn't entailed beating, or kicking her. Last night he'd resorted to painful groping, stinging bites, and even more forbidden behavior.

If she could have escaped him… she would have made sure the gypsy council knew how far his savagery went years before. No one particularly liked him, and wasn't even a real gypsy. It would have been easy to have him banished. The trouble was… if Yaakov was banished, it would include his entire family. Arabella would be forced to go with him, and she would never see her grandmother again… and he would never feel the need to even vaguely hide what he did to her. The 'civilized' world would be of no help. They would see Yaakov – so many years now spent in the gypsy colonies – as nothing but a gypsy. They would be third class citizens… animals beyond reform. According to them: of course gypsies beat their children; of course they lusted after them like animals. What more could they expect from such people?

She was just as much a prisoner as Erik was. The only escape she could hope for was one that disgusted her… because the only man interested in marrying her was Adnah. The last thing she wanted was to go from her fathers' house to his. She already knew – in spite of his occasional kindness – that he was not a great deal better than her father. He would expect total compliance from her. He would not understand the disgust she held for anything sexual anymore. The wonders of a marriage bed were not wonders at all to her, but terrors. It would be like leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Her entire life, she'd only had two things that kept her from giving completely into the despair. One had been her grandmother, who knew everything but was just as worried about Arabella's banishment as Arabella herself was. The only way she'd been able to help her young granddaughter - without the council what was happening – was to offer her home to Arabella in the worst of times as a sanctuary. The other thing that helped Arabella survive was helping the so-called freaks that endlessly marched through their camp. She could look those people in the eye, relieving just a touch of their own agonies. Their gratitude – often underwhelming but existent none-the-less – and ability to see her as so much more than the full-blooded gypsies who barely recognized her as a second-class citizen… to be looked at with something far greater than pity or disgust…

It was a look worth living for. It was a look worth nearly any amount of pain she suffered on her own part. She much preferred being beaten for her insistent interference than for no reason at all. It made her almost happy to know that she was making the tiniest of differences for the good in people's lives.

But she'd done much more for Erik than she had for many others in the past. Most 'freaks' were too far gown down the road of hatred or brokenness to accept her attempts at kindness and mercy. Erik had been the rare exception, considering those like Gloria were well and capable of being part of the freak group due to lack of nowhere else to go. They weren't forced to remain in the tent or under the employ of Sven. The fact that Erik's first payment of her generosity had been to knock her unconscious and attempt an escape had barely even fazed her, considering it was no more or less than the torture she expected day after day.

She jerked her thoughts violently away from her anguished musings. It didn't sound like Sven and his fellow tormentor were reaching any decisions on how to deal with Erik. Listening intently, she worried that her new friend was in very great danger of being beaten to death due merely to his stubbornness. From the sounds alone, she could tell he was giving them a damn good struggle trying to repeat the roped crucifixion of the day before.

It was better to turn her mind to Erik's problems. Was there a way that she might convince the men to take it easier on him? Without speaking his language, could she somehow still convince him to just try and give in a little in spite of the degradation?

"You are a stubborn one."

The sound of Adnah's voice startled her, and she spun so hard that she caught the toes of one foot on the heel of the other, and she fell almost completely against the canvas tent. Feet away, having come around the back corner of the tent, Adnah stood with his arms folded across his chest with a wide grin on his face. On the other side of the canvas, Sven demanded to know what the Hell was going on out there, and his heavy footsteps marched in her direction.

"It's me." Adnah called quickly, stepping as close to Bella as possible so that his excuse seemed plausible. "One of the children must have been playing back here. I tripped over a misplaced tree branch."

"Clumsy fool!" Sven called back, although he was chuckling with sincere mirth as he could be heard plodding back away again.

Arabella straightened up and stood very still for a long minute, glaring at Adnah expectantly. He continued to smile at her easily, apparently enjoying how he'd surprised her not only by sneaking up on her but on covering for her. When it was clear he was in no rush to talk, she stepped away from the tent.

"What?" she demanded in a low voice. "Do you expect me to say thank you or something?"

"You, say thank you to me?" Adnah chuckled, also keeping his voice low. "You wouldn't deign to thank a lowly man like me."

Well, at least he had something right.

"So, you want to trade something." She guessed. "You kept me from being discovered by this tent again, so now I owe you?"

Feigning horror, Adnah planted his palms across his chest.

"Why would I put a price to such an act of thoughtfulness?" he teased. "Although… since you're so determined to get in our way here-"

"-Our way?" Arabella scoffed, but Adnah wasn't listening.

"-then maybe I can arrange for a visit… or maybe even a change of ways in there."

He jerked his head in the direction of Erik's cage within the tent. "They listen to me, you know. I'm going to be running things in there someday. I've already taken up some of the duties. It would be easy to make some of your ideas sound like mine. All it would take-"

"-and here's the price we were speaking of." Arabella hissed. Once again, Adnah ignored her interruption. He merely stepped close enough to make her lean backwards in distaste, and reached up to catch a strand of her hair and curl it around his finger.

"-Is for you to be nice to me. Nice and nothing else, for one whole week."

Arabella shuddered. He might say he only wanted her to be nice to him, but she didn't want to know what he thought being nice entailed. It was almost unendurable just to be breathing the same air as Adnah most days, in spite of his strange lately. It was almost as though having a new freak in his uncle's tent put him in a particularly good and easy-going mood. How was she supposed to even consider being nice to him when she had no clue as to his motivations? He might use her owed good behavior as a way to get more from her, claiming that it was part of the deal.

But the welfare of others was the only thing she was capable of suffering for…

Why not take Adnah's offer? Could it really be so harsh? He wasn't allowed to touch her without a bride price having been agreed upon, and she doubted an offer was anytime in the making.

"How do you think you're going to fix anything?" she demanded cautiously.

Adnah shrugged, reaching up to smooth his hair back and scratch at his neck.

"I haven't figured that out just yet." He admitted. "Give me a day or two… I can figure something out. Do we have a deal?"

Arabella narrowed her eyes at him.

"Let's see what you come up with." She decided. "I'm not making a deal with you out of blind faith. Faith is for the faithful."