Pretty much anything beats cockroaches as the first thing to see after you wake up.
The second thing my eyes focused on was a clump of rotten straw right in front of my nose. I felt its squishy, prickly touch on the rest of my body, even where it was still covered by clothes. Even after my night in the gutter, it made me scrunch my nose.
On reflection, cockroaches just edged out the straw in the struggle for my disgust. Weirdly, the nasty things looked so busy with doing their thing, it was hard to stop tracking them with my gaze.
"Ismar?"
Before I registered that I wasn't alone, a torrent of frigid, salty water splashed onto my head.
"Good morning, Miccola," I groaned.
The dirt-beaten floor masked with the pile of straw devoid of country freshness. I had enough of looking at it, even with the puddle rapidly spreading over it. I looked up and my gaze met a rough wooden wall. Further, but not much further, a slop bucket with a streak of brown down its side lodged in a corner. The cramped space smelled of urine, vomit and sweat.
For company, Miccola squatting next to me. Her fingers drummed on the second bucket. It was upturned and, mercifully, not previously used for offal by the look of it. She just carried water in it.
"Deadhead Company have their own prison cell?"
"Where there are soldiers, fights and drinking happen. Sometimes, the troublemakers get a second chance after cooling off in the lock-up."
I picked at the stinging cuts. Someone plastered them over with goo. Disgusting, but it smelled healthy and neither blood nor puss seeped through it. That was quality stuff. Pricey stuff that saved my life. If the Company spent this much on patching me up— and I did do good by turning in that pouch--
Hope surged through my veins, like fire inside the distant mountains. It erupted out of my throat. "Troublemakers like me? Did Captain-Commander accept me?"
"Nope, not like you," Miccola said. "Her Maxima ordered to put you in here, because you'd have bled to death on the way to the city jail. I'm here to protect you against mischief before you're fit to be questioned."
"Mischief? What do you mean?"
She rolled her eyes.
The understanding slowly dawned at me. I saw things clearly, but since nobody else had a full story... Mythra's talons! When I ran into the Deadheads, I had on me a black velvet pouch emblazoned with a scorpion. Inside it was a token with a profile that graced every coin in Palmyr. A much beloved profile, belonging to the highest person in the realm, who spent generously on keeping her subjects happy.
I grabbed Miccola's sleeve. "Is the Queen safe?"
"That's what they'll ask you tomorrow. The city is all topsy-turvy looking for your cohorts."
I blinked. "My... what? I've killed the scorpia assassin at that house! Please, trust me!"
"Ismar, they found nobody suspicious, dead or alive in the whole block. Nobody, that is, except for a girl pretending to be Safic. That girl tried her darndest to join the Queen's personal guard for weeks. And she was cut up ritual-style with a scorpia assassin's misericorde, that she also somehow carried."
Pouch--yes, token--yes, but this other thing? "Miseri-what-now?"
"Misericorde--the mercy-killing weapon."
"Oh! The dagger!"
"The black steel dagger. For all the world, it looks like you are a minion disposed of when the assassin found another way to get to the Queen. Or a punished traitor. Or a sacrifice to the scorpia's cursed Bhuta patron."
I slapped a palm over my eyes and groaned. "No. No. Noooo...."
"That's all you have to say in your defense? You must be more convincing than that tomorrow."
"Please, stop torturing her." A familiar voice! Such a sweet familiar voice! "She looks so ill."
I jerked upright to see if he truly came to visit me or he was the figment of my imagination.
He wasn't.
Behind Miccola's giant torso and in the dim light of the lock-up, I didn't notice the hooded male figure. Now that he had moved, I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed him beforehand. If only it was Parneres to calm the sucking void in my stomach and also testify on my behalf!
Where was Parneres anyway? What did she do to him? Or was doing to him, if she was alive?
"The Head Priestess will vouch for you, Ismar." Kozima's voice shook so badly, I had a hard time deciphering his words. "They'll believe you. Gala will take you back. You have nothing to be afraid of."
"Why're you here, Kozima?"
"The pretty little thing begged me to see you," Miccola replied instead of him. "Do you want me to throw him out?"
I picked up on a hopeful note in that last sentence. Well, Kozima could be trying on the nerves with his extreme shyness. And I should say 'yes' for his sake. Make sure he wasn't associated with me in any way. "No."
"I'll give you two lovebirds a few moments, but don't get too comfortable. It's my skin if someone finds you here," Miccola said, before stepping outside through a crudely made, yet sturdy door. The bar fell down with a thud on the other side of it. Many women must have kicked and pounded on it in a rage. It withstood their attacks. There was no escape this way for me.
Kozima followed the direction of my gaze with his. "I lost my head at first too, Ismar. I even chose this cloak with the thought that I could trade places with you and come what may."
Warmth spread through my heart as I crawled toward him. He'd do it for me too... "Nonsense! You're at least a head taller than me, sweetheart."
"I know," he whispered.
I leaned against him and he offered me his soft lips, despite the shoddy washing job I had received. He should look upon me with the same sentiment I observed a cockroach earlier--and he didn't. Or his lips wouldn't have parted so readily under the pressure of my tongue.
"Your hips are narrow. Your shoulders are wide even if you slouch." I took the measurements between kisses, comparing our builds. "Everything is directly opposite to what I have."
"I know, I know! But I went mad. Ran to the Theatre first, tried to find Parneres—"
My throat locked. I grabbed his face between my palms. "Please, tell me he's alive!"
"I don't know, Ismar. He's disappeared like smoke."
As my arms fell to my sides, he caught them and pressed my palms to his cheeks. The stubble prickled me. Funny I didn't notice it while kissing him. "You're growing sideburns?"
He kissed the top of my head. "Your hair is coming back too, Ismar."
I loved the warmth of his body as he cleaved to me. "Do you believe that I've killed the scorpia? I swear, I put my knife right through her heart. I swear!" Or whatever organ pumped her blood through her body.
"I believe everything you say, Ismar. You never lie to me," he whispered. "Though sometimes I wish you did."
"How come?" First, this sounded crazy. Second, I lied to him about my feelings for Parneres. I didn't know why. I just did.
"I wish you said things like you could accept their judgment and your fate. That you could live a life of serving Gala once they returned you to the fold. That my love would be enough to make you happy. That you'd love me to the dying breath." He sighed. "The kind of lies any man wishes to hear!"
I told him the truth instead. "I love you, Kozima. You make me happy. Today. Right now."
His cheeks turned wet and I kissed the tears away. "But I will run away again. I'll join Safic pirates maybe or try my luck with the smaller companies in the Patchwork Courts. That's if you are right and the Head Priestess vouches for me."
"And if not?"
"Then you'll get your 'love till her dying breath' wish." I simply wouldn't have time to fall in love with anyone else if they behead me for an attempt at the Queen's life.
"I'm right about it." He didn't sound pleased with his deduction, just hollow.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Kozima! Don't be sad."
He lifted me up, clean off the floor. So strange to see him growing strong. His hands squeezed me tight... as tight as he squeezed his eyes.
"I thought of a few things I can do while waiting for you to wake up. Some people I need to talk to," he said.
The thought of him prowling the city alone made me queasy. Getting around unmolested was hard for me, a fighting woman. For a young man of his gentle persuasions. And this good-looking... because he was really blossoming. When he straightened his shoulders, when he looked up, he was looking more and more like someone women would chase down the streets. No wonder Lydia and Anastasia's choice fell upon him.
"No, sweetheart, no! Just get back to Gala's Rock and stay safe. Nobody in their right mind would believe I had conspired to kill Her Majesty. Promise me to—"
It became really hard at this point to put in the words between our kisses.
Just then, Miccola stuck her head inside, whistled, and slipped all the way quickly, slamming the door shut behind her. "Are you trying to fit an hour worth of your services in a quarter of the time, pretty boy?"
Kozima flinched.
I swung to strike her, but thought better of it—my friends were few in Palmyr. Still, I wouldn't tolerate Kozima being insulted. "He's not some whore! He's an orphan at the Temple of Gala!"
"A pity, he has a mouth for the job," she commented mercilessly, gripping his shoulder. "Wipe your lips and off with you."
"Miccola, be kind to him, please. He's all I have in the world."
She grunted and pushed Kozima outside. Just before the door of my jail closed again, Miccola threw me a withering look over her shoulder. "I am being kind, Ismar. Other people won't show the same consideration if they see you with him like that."
"He isn't a fool. He can hide what's happening. Nobody would know that he's a fallen man!"
Miccola snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."
Shame tasted no better than fear. My knees gave out, and I dropped on the rotting straw, scaring away an enterprising squad of cockroaches. I hugged my knees to the chest, stuck my nose between them and prayed.
I prayed to Mythra to accept me. I prayed to Gala to forgive me. And to Indara to sharpen my wit. I needed all the help in the world, in Nirvana and from the bottom of the River Vash to get us out of this mess. Finally, I prayed to all the Divines at once for Kozima. Let them inspire him to do nothing. If he did some stupid thing for no gain—what could he do but come to harm?--I swore, I would... I would...
I closed my eyes. Just keep him from harm. From me.