She walked out into the courtyard in a daze, hardly knowing – or caring – where she was going.

She was going to die. It was one thing to go into battle, knowing that death was a possibility. It was another thing entirely to have it looming over her as a certainty.

She was going to die.

And the most that she could hope for, the very most, was that it would be a quick death, with a minimum of torture preceding it.

Feeling very nearly drugged with the horror of it, she half-leaned, half-fell against the nearest wall. The stones were sun-warmed, rough and solid. Dragon loved to laze about on the walls when they were like this.

She would never see Dragon again.

This fresh realization nearly drove her to her knees. As it was, she dropped her head into the crook of her arm where it was braced against the wall.

Breathe deep. Get control of yourself. You are a knight.

She couldn't do this. She had to do this. She –

"Jane?"

She whirled about, pressing her back to the wall, and found Gunther standing a few paces behind her, looking at her critically. "I came to see if you were up for some sparring, but… you do not look well." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you all right?"

She had to be imagining the concern in his voice, because certainly nothing was showing on his face.

"I… just… uhm…" she pulled in a deep steadying breath. She had to keep her composure. Gunther couldn't know; those were her orders. No one could know. She was in this alone.

All alone.

Before she could rally herself to give some excuse or other, though, Gunther's eyes, which had been scrutinizing her face, narrowed. Abruptly, jerkily, he raised a hand and raked it through his hair, muttered something that sounded like, "oh, hell," and then closed the distance between them in a single, purposeful stride.

"Jane."

When she refused to look him in the eye, he grasped her chin and tilted her face upward, compelling her to meet his gaze. "I have to know. What happened last night? Were… were you in any way hurt?"

Backed up against the wall, emotionally shattered from her conference with the king, Jane stared up at Gunther in shock. She could barely make sense of the question, and was at a complete loss to phrase an answer. "I… Gunther, what?"

"Damn it, Jane, did he hurt you!?"

"I… no… only my pride. Gunther, I –"

"What did he say to you?"

She was having a hard time keeping back the tears that had begun to threaten when she'd realized that she would never see Dragon again. She did not want to be having this conversation right now. She could not be having this conversation right now. It was going to push her right over the brink.

"Gunther, I have to go –"

His eyes were practically throwing off sparks by now. "What. Did. He. Say?"

She wrenched her head out of his grasp and turned away from him, bringing up one hand as she did so, pressing it to her forehead, shading her eyes. "He just… he off… offered me compensation to… to…" she couldn't finish. A new insight had just slammed her so hard it was all she could do to stay upright.

I will be lucky if all he does is torture me before he kills me – he probably will rape me, too!

She was so wrapped up in her private anguish that she failed to notice Gunther's physical reaction – the way he blanched almost as if he'd been struck a blow, then clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug little white crescents into the skin of his palms. Even as far gone as she was, however, she could not fail to notice the shaking rage in his voice as he said, "I am going to kill that bastard."

That was what did it. She couldn't stand anymore.

"Why!?" she half-shouted, half-sobbed, rounding on him. "Why, Gunther, why do you care!?"

The force of her anger actually caused him to take a step backward. "Jane, I –"

"Why do you care, and why now!? Why not a week ago, or a month ago, or a year ago? Why now, when it cannot possibly do any good? Why now, when it is too late? Why, Gunther, why NOW?!?"

He was staring at her in open-mouthed shock. 'Jane, what –"

She cut him off. "You know what, never mind. You need not answer, it does not matter. It might have once, but now… now…" She had to stop speaking as her breaths were piling up, one on top of another. It was the tears, fighting to dominate her, fighting to flow. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could hold them in by force.

I will not cry. I WILL NOT.

Damned if she would cry in front of him. She had to get away.

She pushed herself away from the wall. When she spoke again it was in a voice that was still unsteady, but at least approaching normal. "Please forgive me, I… you are right, I am not feeling at all well today. Would you make my excuses to Sir Theodore for me? I do not feel up to practice this morning. And Dragon – when he comes down at midday – would you tell him that I am lying down, and we will patrol tomorrow instead? Could you do that for me, Gunther?"

"Yes, Jane." His voice was quiet, but his eyes were more troubled than she had ever seen them. He turned away.

He hadn't gotten even a dozen paces, though, before yet another stark realization hit Jane. I am never going to see Gunther again, either. Suddenly she couldn't let him go like that; couldn't let the last words to pass between them be so harsh.

"Gunther!"

He stopped. Turned back. He wasn't looking directly at her, though; not this time. His grey gaze was centered somewhere just over her shoulder.

"Yes?" His voice was devoid of emotion again; completely noncommittal.

"Listen, I… I apologize for the things I said a moment ago. I really am not… not myself today at all. I just… I would not want… what I mean to say is… please do not think unkindly of me… later."

For just a split second his eyes flew back to hers, probing, questioning, searching – then he gave a little one-shouldered shrug and turned away again. "I will deliver your messages, Jane," he said flatly, and walked away.

Gunther, do not leave me here! she wanted to shout. God, I am so frightened – how am I supposed to do this, how!?

But she clamped down on the cry in her throat, took a moment to compose herself to the best of her ability, and then crossed the courtyard toward her tower room.

She had a journey to prepare for.

OOOOO

Jane pulled her horse up a stone's throw from the invader's camp. She hadn't wanted to bring the animal at all, and would have walked, except she'd wanted to make good time so as not to risk Dragon spotting her on the road when he flew down at midday. Even so, she'd covered her head in an old, dented helm she'd taken from the equipment room, hiding her unmistakable hair from view.

She dismounted now; she'd send the horse back and cover the rest of the distance on foot. Just because she went to torture and death was no reason to condemn her mount to capture as well. Taking him by the bridle, she turned him on the road so that he was facing back toward Kippernia Castle. For just a moment she stood by his head, stroking his velvety nose, then she threw her arms around his warm, sleek neck and hugged him tight. He was her last connection, after all, with the people and place she loved enough to sacrifice herself. Her last connection with home.

Then a shout went up from the encampment behind her, and she knew she'd been seen. Releasing the horse, she backed away toward his tail and then smacked him, hard, on the hindquarters.

As he took off galloping toward home she turned to face her fate. Half a dozen or so men were bearing down on her at a run.

Ten minutes later, her arms bound behind her with strips of rawhide, she was being half-led, half-shoved into the camp by a troop of hooting, jeering men.