The Mariner’s Inn is a run down hovel by the docks, frequented by all manner of unsavory characters. Like sailors, for example, but tonight it’s a refuge for a runaway Princess and her bodyguard. The briny odor of the harbor wafts in through our open window. There are gaps in the rot-gray planks big enough to stick a finger through, and the floor creaks loudly in protest whenever we step on it.

I’m lying face down on the bed. That tunic I bought earlier is a total loss, slashed to ribbons from the fall and ensuing tumble. What’s left of it hangs off the corner of the bed in dirty, bloodstained tatters. I took some damage, but Arcadia’s wind magic spared us the worst of it while we fell. At the moment she’s finished cleaning the gashes and scrapes on my back, shoulders and arms, and now she’s rubbing some kind of cool medicinal salve on them. It smells nice. Minty.

“Don’t fuss over it too much,” I say. “The wounds will be closed before morning anyway.”

Arcadia shakes her head weakly. "No, I don't want you getting infected because of..."

Because of me. That’s what she was about to say.

She finishes applying the salve, wipes her hands clean on the wet rag she used to wash my back. Then she turns so that her legs hang off the bed, bends over, and begin to unfasten her tall boots. I sneak a look at her while she does so, noting with amusement that her costume, with the corset and the puffy-sleeved white tunic, makes her look like she belongs in a place like this. Like a piratess, an adventurer. I’d say as much, but her frown, her sagged posture and her vacant stare warn me not to.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

She sighs as she struggles to slowly kick her shoes off. She almost falls out of them. Then she gives the same treatment to her corset and cape, both of which are discarded onto the floor. After that she lays out on the bed next to me, facing the wall, and curls up, wrapping herself in the blanket like a cocoon.

And then the room is quiet. In the back of my mind I’m worrying about the stir our exit caused at the Magnotto household. I’m worried about Cyrus Cato, how much he saw, and the lengths he might go to to mend his wounded pride. I’m worried about the flight of that girl Cadie. I can’t help but feel like she was running with as much purpose as fear. But I have a larger problem than all that, and it’s lying next to me.

I reach out for Arcadia, grip her shoulder and give it a light shake. “We should talk,”

The touch makes Arcadia jolt. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, and I hear her voice muffled by it, "Talking won't fix anything."

“It might,” I say. “It’s better than stewing in silence, anyways. Just speak your mind.”

More silence. Arcadia rolls onto her back, gazing up at the ceiling, her expression blank. Her eyes close as she slowly draws a breath of air in through her nostrils, and it comes out as a ragged sigh.

“When I was fourteen, I ordered a dress from the finest tailor in the city. I paid a servant girl to fetch it, and to select some good quality cosmetics while she was down in the forum. I told her it was for a girl I fancied, but that was a lie.”

She gathers fistfuls of the blanket in her hands, squeezes them. “It took more than one attempt to do the makeup. I began to worry that I’d run out, and that I’d have to send for more. I didn’t need to though. I got it right. And the dress was a perfect fit. I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror. She was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. That’s when mother came in.”

Arcadia lets out a bitter laugh. “She didn’t recognize me either. She was about to scold me for being in her son’s chambers. I think my smile gave it away. I’ll never forget the disgust on her face.”

“She ran at me. Took my throat in her hand. Then she was wiping the makeup off my face, screaming at the top of her lungs. She said I was an abomination, that I was lucky she was the one who caught me, so the family could be spared the humiliation. She said the gods had given me everything, and I spit in their eye.”

As I listen, I feel my chest hollowing out, full of nothing but cold, heavy air. I reach out and lay a hand on hers, looking down at it as I give it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t remember this,” I say. “I thought I was with you when you were fourteen.”

Her hand remains limp within mine. “It was just before I hired you.”

I join her in staring at the ceiling. Talking was my idea, but now I don’t know what to say. More moments pass in silence while I try in vain to find the right words. I feel like I’m lowering a rope to Arcadia, but she’d rather sit at the bottom of the well. I have to make her want to climb up again. Somehow.

"Perhaps she was right,” says Arcadia. “I'm just a freak. Some kind of sexual deviant.”

That makes me turn to look at her, my brows furrowing. “You’re not. Do you want to know how I know?”

She’s looking out the open window when I ask. She doesn’t quite roll her eyes, but it’s close. “How.”

“Because of the way you’ve been acting. Your smile. The sound of your laugh. The life in your voice. That’s how I know it’s the real you.”

I give her hand another light squeeze. This time she squeezes back, and lets out a weary breath. "Thank you,” she says.

I frown, but she doesn’t notice. I was hoping I’d lift her spirits a little, but she’s too distant. Outside, on the street, I hear a drunkard loudly singing a sea shanty to himself as he stumbles farther and farther away into the lonesome darkness.

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s the truth,” I roll onto my shoulder to face her, making the ancient bed frame groan in protest. “I’ve seen more of the real you in the last day than I have in years. This is what you knew you needed. You’ve made your plans. You’ve taken your first steps. Now we’re going to see this through to the end. Together.”

She doesn’t turn to face me, but her eyes shift toward mine. For a while she searches my expression, her own face neutral. Then her lips twist into a slight frown.

"You'd be better off leaving me and going wherever you like," she says.

I risk a grin. “What if being by your side is the only thing I want?”

Arcadia's eyes widen. It takes her a moment to process that, before she lets out a weak laugh. "Then you're a fool."

Arcadia slides across the bed and wraps her arms around me, hiding her face against my shoulder. I put my arms around her and crush her in against me, forcing a soft, whining squeak out of her throat. The cuteness of it makes me smile.

After a while Arcadia pulls away, to look up at me. "If my mother catches us, we'll meet a horrible end. I might at least survive, but you..."

“To Hades with your mother. She won’t beat you. You’re stronger than her.”

I’m looking her in the eyes when I say it. It sparks a glimmer of fire in those pools of emerald green, and puts a stern expression on her pretty face. She squeezes my hand back, and nods.

“Much stronger,” she says.