Forsaken by Shadows 6--Coming of Age

Author’s note: This chapter begins the first of three very bleak excerpts in Kitty and Rismyn’s life. Reader/listener discretion is advised.

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~6. Coming of Age~

Rismyn, Age 16

“Stand up, Rismyn.” 

The kneeling drow prince trembled at the words of his mother, a woman he barely knew. But though he had only ever spent a handful of days in her presence, he knew enough to know that he was right to be afraid. Shrewd and cruel, Matron Xatel had brought House Tear from seventh house to fifth. Which meant she had destroyed two houses more powerful than her own, so completely obliterating them that no one spoke their names anymore. 

She hadn’t climbed her victorious ladder by tolerating weakness. There was only one reason Rismyn could think of for her to summon him now, before her throne, with all the family assembled. 

After five years, his enchantment had finally been discovered. 

He knew this moment would come one day, though he had worked tirelessly to prevent anyone from finding out about his infatuation with the faerie. He’d been so careful; only visiting her on nights Toloruel was on patrol, always checking and double-checking no one was watching. He’d gotten good at making his mind focus on nothing when he felt the probing eyes of one of his sisters on him. Whatever it took to delay this inevitable hour, while still visiting Kitty every opportunity he could. He couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to her, held captive by an invisible leash she had woven around him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he tried to fight it. 

And now he was going to die for it. 

“I said stand up,” his mother snarled, though only a few seconds had elapsed since her first order. “When I give a command you obey!”

The last word hit him with otherworldly force, clawing its way into his brain until he was scrambling to obey, despite the fear that turned his muscles to water. If Matron Xatel wanted to strip away his thoughts and delve into his darkest secrets, he would be just as helpless to stop her as he had been to stop Kitty from enchanting him. 

He was doomed. 

“Look at me,” Matron Xatel said. 

Rismyn only hesitated a fraction of a second before his eyes snapped up, despairing the consequences of lifting his gaze. He flinched involuntarily, expecting her to lash out at him, but she merely remained still and placid on her throne. 

His mother’s appearance defied her vicious nature. Elegant and small, she seemed like a glass doll upon her throne, flanked by her five daughters and dressed in spidery webbed robes. Each of the women stared down at Rismyn with searing disapproval. His eldest sister, Cathella, fingered the snakehead whip on her belt. 

“You are no longer page prince,” Xatel said, and his heart plummeted. She was disowning him so he would be sacrificed without dignity. He held his breath and clenched his teeth to keep from shaking, but was still wholly unprepared for her next words. “As of this moment you are Rismyn, second prince of House Tear. Present yourself with the dignity the honor demands.”

Rismyn was too afraid to speak, too afraid to believe he was hearing the words he was actually hearing. He could only nod slightly, hoping it was the right thing to do. Was he really being…raised? He didn’t remember being instructed for this. How should he behave? 

Whatever Matron Xatel wanted, silence was apparently a suitable response. Her lips thinned into an almost-smile as she bridged her fingers together. “Mindra has done well with you,” she said. Mindra brimmed with pride beside Cathella. Her sisters scowled at the attention she received. “You will go with Kelafein and Naydyn. They will test your strengths to determine the service you will render to this family.” 

Rismyn nodded again, but his heart sank further. He already knew how he wanted to serve the family, now that he realized his hopes were coming true and not his nightmares. He wanted to train with the Weapon’s Master and attend Melee-Magthere to become an elite warrior. He had no interest in studying with Kelafein, the House Wizard.

But he knew better than to voice his thoughts. Instead, he bowed low and murmured, “Thank you, Matron Mother.” 

He backed down the stairs of the dais without turning away from his mother and joined the line of his other male “relatives”. There were only two others aside from Toloruel, for both the role of patron and House Wizard currently belonged to Kelafein. Naydyn, the Weapon’s Master, shifted impatiently and cast a sideways glance his way. Rismyn tried not to imagine he looked annoyed. He very much wanted to study under his tutelage. 

Either of the men deciding his future could easily be his actual father. If it were Naydyn, would that influence his chances of becoming a warrior?  

Likely not. They themselves probably didn’t know who sired whom among Xatel’s children, nor did they probably care. Rismyn would never have thought to wonder if it wasn’t for all of Kitty’s stories about her own father. 

As he took his place in line, his eyes started to slip down again. But he hadn’t been commanded to look down. With considerable effort, he managed to keep his gaze straight ahead. No one yelled at him and no whips bit into his back. 

“You are all dismissed,” Matron Xatel said. “Except you, Toloruel. I have another scouting mission for you.” 

Rismyn bowed again, in perfect symmetry with the Weapons Master and the House Wizard, then followed them out the door as Toloruel remained rooted and stiff where he stood. 

Despite the confusion and emotional whiplash, a glimmer of hope surged through him. He hadn’t been discovered, after all. And now that he was a real prince, he would have more freedoms, more liberties. It was, arguably, the most important thing that had happened to him in his life. All he wanted to do now was find Kitty and share the news with her. And by a stroke of good fortune, Toloruel was being sent to scout again, which meant he would get his chance to see her this very night. 

If he survived the testing. 

---

“A pity,” Kelafein said, standing over Rismyn as he lay face down on the cold stone floor of the training hall. “I had hoped he would be more intelligent.” 

The wizard left, then, while Rismyn struggled to catch his breath. His muscles felt stripped to the bones and his head stuffed full of cave moss, but he had done it. He had proved himself a fighter, not a wizard, and he would get his chance at becoming a real warrior for the glory of House Tear. Despite his pain and exhaustion, he was elated. 

“Get up,” Naydyn commanded, looking over the prince. 

Rismyn obeyed at once, eager to please his new master. His body protested from the beating he had taken trying to defend against the Weapons Master’s blows, but he didn’t dare show weakness now. 

Naydyn regarded him with cool indifference. “You’re not the most promising talent I have seen come through these halls,” he said. “But I’ve seen worse. Your height might give you an advantage if you can figure out what to do with all those gangly limbs of yours.”

His teacher’s assessment hit as hard as his blows, and Rismyn instinctively dropped his gaze. “Thank you, Master. I will work hard to overcome my deficiencies.” 

The older drow snorted. “You will work yourself to death before I am done with you, and then work after that, too.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I advise you to get some rest. We begin tomorrow, before the first light of Narbondel burns.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Had Rismyn not been staring at the floor, he might have seen the fist coming before it connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward with a gasp as his vision flashed. 

“I also advise you to keep your eyes up,” Naydyn said, as uninterested as before. “You’re the son of a Matron. Subservience is unbecoming.” 

“Yes...sir…” Rismyn said, through gritted teeth. He glared at the Weapon’s Master as pain made him forget deference. 

“That’s more like it,” the warrior smirked. “Before the first light of Narbondel. You’re dismissed.”

Anger seethed inside Rismyn as his new teacher turned his back on him. He rubbed his throbbing jaw, trying not to let humiliation taint his victory. He was the Matron’s son. He would be an elite warrior. He would prove himself to Naydyn and everyone. But even as he thought those defiant things, his eyes started to drift downward again. He could scarcely undo sixteen years of conditioning in one evening.

As he turned to leave, Naydyn called out to him again. “Oh, one more thing. If Kelafein finds out you failed his testing on purpose, he will test you again. You may not like the results.”

Rismyn’s anger was swiftly eclipsed by fear and he quickened his steps out of the hall. How did Naydyn know? It had to be a lucky guess. It had to be. There was no way anyone could have known he’d pretended not to sense the workings of the wizard’s magic. Or that he mispronounced the incantations on purpose. It was degrading to be thought of as a simpleton, but worth it to have a chance at learning the sword. Still, the mercy of another drow was a precarious place to be. Especially when mercy was a concept few drow knew of. He wasn’t willing to bet Naydyn was one of them. 

He hurried into the safety of the pitch-black corridors, using his infravision to guide his steps. He ought to take Naydyn’s advice and scurry off to the small cave off the side of the chapel that had served as his room since he was ten. Hopefully, he’d earn himself a real bedroom soon. With a mattress instead of a bedroll and a door that could be closed instead of a tattered curtain. Then perhaps he could convince Kitty to visit him there, where they wouldn’t have to fear Toloruel noticing disturbed dust. 

The sooner he distinguished himself as a warrior, the sooner that dream might come true. Despite his pain and weariness, he couldn’t help but feel like all his dreams were coming true, though he was prepared to put in the work to make them real. But for now, he couldn’t wait to share his joy and hope with Kitty, the sole creature in all of Menzoberranzan who would rejoice and hope with him. She was the one who taught him what those things were, and she was good at bringing them out in him. Though her ideas and philosophies were strange and weak, like the world she came from, her encouragement and support had bolstered him through the last five years of his pageship. He honestly wasn’t sure how he would have survived without her to confide in. 

Not that it hadn’t come without cost. She was more infectious than Mindra’s most potent spider venom, but the toxin felt so good that he kept returning for more. Just as he returned now, already planning out the tale of this day’s deeds in his head. She would be proud of him, even if his mother wasn’t. 

He considered stopping by the kitchens to steal some truffles for the occasion, but ultimately decided against it. It was already far later than he would have liked and he wanted to get some rest eventually. At least he wouldn’t have to sit and wait for Kitty to finish her evening chores. By this hour, she should have retired for the night, shackled to the wall and curled up under her blanket. He wished he knew the command word for the manacle. It never felt right, talking to her when she was like that. 

Rismyn made his way stealthily through the quiet halls towards Toloruel’s room, allowing himself to dream of the day when he would earn his house piwafwi, a cloak that would hide his body temperature and mute his steps. It seemed nothing was out of his grasp, so long as he worked hard. 

He reached his brother’s door and stopped to listen, just to be sure. When he was met only by silence, he slipped his makeshift set of picks out of his sleeve and made quick work of the lock. By now it was second nature, as easy as using a key. 

“Kitty,” he whispered, as he pushed the door open. “You’ll never guess…” 

He froze as his eyes adjusted to the purple light filling the room. He had been half right in his assumptions: Kitty was curled up on the floor. But not in her corner, under her blanket. 

She lay in the middle of the room, face down and utterly still. The long tresses of her dark hair draped over her face, obscuring it from view. Rismyn rushed to her, his heart racing faster than his feet could carry him. 

“Kitty!” he breathed, lifting her face gently. He sucked in sharply at the sight of her swollen, bruised skin. Blood dripped from her nose and mouth, and as he looked her over he noticed her white dress was stained from wounds unseen. 

“Rismyn…” she moaned, her eyes fluttering. 

“Kitty, what happened?” he asked, though he already knew what happened. Toloruel had happened. He tried to slip an arm around her to lift her up, but she whimpered at the contact and he backed away. 

Her eyes opened more fully and he bit back another gasp. The whites had turned red. One pupil had dilated to almost the full expanse of her iris, while the other one remained a pinprick. “Rismyn…” she croaked again, letting her head fall back. 

Everywhere he looked, he saw more wounds on her. He wanted to scream and cry all at once. 

“You...can't…” Kitty choked out. Her voice sounded broken. “You...run…”

“What are you saying?” He leaned in closer. It was hard to understand her in her current state. 

“He’s...coming…” 

Suddenly, Rismyn felt very cold. He had made a crucial mistake. The blood on Kitty was still red and flowing. 

It was fresh. 

Toloruel had done this recently. 

Just as he came to the realization, the door behind him clicked open. 

“Well, now. I wasn’t expecting any guests.” 

Kitty whimpered. Her head flopped forward again so that her face disappeared beneath her hair. Slowly, Rismyn rose and turned towards his older brother, all the feeling in his extremities numbed. 

Toloruel’s eyes were cold and empty as he sauntered into his room. “My dear brother,” he said, languidly. “Breaking and entering. To what do I owe this most audacious honor?” 

Rismyn couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He had been so careful. No one had ever known. He was so close to achieving everything he always wanted. Now, with one foolish blunder, he was caught. He would die for this. Kitty would die for this. Oddly, that thought hurt more. Further proof of her enchantment, for the first lesson a drow learned was preservation of self above all others. 

His eyes started to slip down, before he remembered the still smarting advice he had just received from Naydyn. Toloruel watched him challengingly, his lips twisting into a sneer. 

“They do grow up so fast,” he mused, stepping towards Rismyn. “Yesterday a page prince, today a pest.”

To his shame, Rismyn flinched as Toloruel drew level with him, but though the elder drow smirked, he walked right on past. 

To Kitty. 

A wild thought crossed Rismyn’s mind, then. He wanted to leap in between his brother and the faerie. He even considered drawing the belt knife he wore and driving it into Toloruel’s heart. He would pay in blood for Kitty’s condition!

But that would be truly suicidal. Toloruel was a trained warrior. Rismyn was nothing, barely even a credit to his family’s legacy. So instead he stood by and did nothing as Toloruel knelt and lifted Kitty’s chin. 

“What do you think, brother? She’s almost pretty like this. All the bruising makes her look like a drow.” 

Rismyn’s stomach churned. He wanted to run, to put as much distance between himself and the cruelty before him as possible. But he still couldn’t move. 

“It’s a shame she can’t stay this way.” Toloruel sighed. He pulled a flask from his pouch, popped the stopper with his thumb, then dumped the contents onto Kitty’s head. 

The red liquid made her gasp and writhe, and for a moment, Rismyn’s heart stopped as he feared the absolute worst. Surely Toloruel had just dropped a vial of acid onto her head, if not killing her then permanently disfiguring her beautiful face. He gasped and threw his hand out as if to stop him, but it was too late. 

Then, Kitty’s head tipped back, and he realized her face was changing. The swelling was receding, the bruising seeping away. It hadn’t been acid, after all, but a healing potion. The liquid was absorbing into her skin and hair, until within minutes she appeared as the same Kitty he was used to seeing: beautiful, unscathed, and completely dry. The only evidence of her previous state was the blood flaking against her pearl white skin. 

Toloruel stood and kicked half-heartedly into her ribs. Kitty moaned, curling into a ball and covering her head with her hands. Toloruel didn’t even look at her, but instead turned back to Rismyn. 

“What’s this?” he asked, batting Rismyn’s wrist away. 

Rismyn recoiled a few steps. “I...I thought it was acid…” he stammered, before realizing that was the absolute worst thing for him to confess. 

Toloruel’s smile was wicked and hungry. “And what if it was? Surely you didn’t think to spare the faerie? Because that would be foolish. More foolish than coming uninvited into someone’s room.” 

Rismyn swallowed hard. “N-no!” he said. “Of course I didn’t want to...I...I…I wanted to do it, myself!” 

The lie tasted so bitter on his tongue he nearly gagged. Worse was the sound of his elder brother’s cruel laughter. Surely Toloruel saw right through his feeble excuse. He wanted to drop his gaze, but knew he was lost if he did. Toloruel would devour him like a fly in a spider’s web. 

“They do grow up so fast!” Toloruel repeated, as his mirth died away. He stepped forward suddenly and Rismyn winced, but instead of a strike Toloruel’s arm draped around his shoulders. “My little brother, wanting to throw acid on a faerie. You’re a true drow, now. I’m almost proud.” 

He didn’t sound proud. He sounded evil. Rismyn couldn’t pull away from his grip. Instead he was tugged forward to stand over the quivering ball that was Kitty. 

“So you broke into my room to torture my pet,” his brother continued, light and conversational. “Your only mistake, of course, was getting caught. But your heart is in the right place, and how can I punish you on your sixteenth nameday? This is a rite of passage.” 

Finally, Toloruel let him go, though Rismyn would have gladly stayed in his grip as he watched the older drow grab Kitty by the hair and wrench her up. Kitty gasped and whimpered, tears sparkling in her eyes as she hugged herself. Once more, Rismyn was struck with the insatiable desire to rip out his brother’s throat. 

Instead, he just watched in horror as Toloruel spun Kitty around and shoved her face-first into the smooth stone wall. 

“Acid is an artform, Rismyn.” Toloruel held the back of Kitty’s neck with one hand, as though she would struggle, and with the other he grasped the collar of her dress and tore it down to her waist, exposing the flesh of her back. “You have to be careful with it, controlled. This masterpiece took three years to complete. What do you think?” 

Quite honestly, he thought he was going to be sick. But he didn’t dare say so. Rismyn couldn’t look away from the pebbled design spanning across the entirety of Kitty’s back. The eight-legged monstrosity marred what had once been smooth flesh, as though her very skin had melted. Although it was the symbol of his deity, he found the sight all together repulsive. 

“Well?” Toloruel snapped, sounding less patient. 

“It’s...nice…” Rismyn managed to say.

Fortunately his brother didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. He was staring at his own handy work as if enraptured. “Drop by drop,” he said. “To remind her to whom she is ultimately destined.” He suddenly looked back at Rismyn, releasing Kitty. She didn’t move, as though phantom hands held her in place. “Acid is so tricky. You must never waste it by pouring a whole bottle at once. That would make her uglier than she already is. It must always be measured and controlled. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Rismyn said quickly. “Thank you for your wisdom. I should be going now. I’m terribly sorry for coming uninvited…” 

Toloruel grabbed his arm as Rimsyn tried to flee. “What, so soon?” he said, dangerously soft. “I thought you came to play.” 

“I...just came to see her. It!” he corrected. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the spider scarred on Kitty’s back. “Now that I can raise my eyes, I wanted to look upon the creature that is responsible for so much of our sorrows. That’s all.” 

“Why settle for just looking?” Toloruel asked, with a predatory gleam in his eye. “Would you like me to teach you how to make her scream? It’s deceptively simple, but quite satisfying.”

Toloruel’s grip tightened on his arm, and Rismyn wondered if he could feel his heart thundering. It wouldn't have mattered if he let go, Rismyn was trapped in his gaze, more frightened than he had ever been in his life. He didn’t know what to say. If he said no, his brother would know he had weakness in him. But if he said yes…

“Master!” 

Kitty’s sudden cry made Rismyn jump. Toloruel’s fingers dug into his flesh briefly before he turned away with a disgusted snarl. 

“What?” 

Kitty slid down the wall and knelt on the ground, her arms crossed over her chest to keep her torn dress in place. “I’m so sorry to speak without permission in your presence,” she said, bowing so low her forehead almost touched the floor. “But you told me that you have important work to do tonight.” 

Toloruel’s expression never changed as he placed his boot on the back of her head and drove her down to the ground. Kitty let out a little squeak but didn’t resist. 

“Are you implying that I forgot?” 

Kitty stayed silent for several long seconds, then said in a trembling voice, “I merely feared you would get so caught up in your leisure you would disappoint your mother.” 

Rismyn didn’t have time to panic over the implications of her words before Toloruel had Kitty pinned against the wall by her throat. 

“You insolent little fly,” he hissed, squeezing her throat so that the air choked out of her with a strangled cry. “You know all about disappointing mothers, don’t you? Yours might still be alive if she hadn’t had you to slow her down.”

Rismyn wanted to run as the barrage of insults continued, but he didn’t know which way. He was torn between fleeing for his own life and intervening on Kitty’s behalf. Fear flooded his veins, laced with rage, but indecision rooted him to the spot. 

Worse, Kitty was staring at him over Toloruel’s shoulder. Her eyes were wide and pleading, earnestly trying to say something. Was she asking him to save her? But he couldn’t do that. She belonged to Toloruel, and she had incited his wrath. He had no right to step in, and doing so would get them both killed. 

So, he just stood there, quaking. Her eyes went wider and wider with the words she was unable to say, but he couldn’t answer her plea. He gave the tiniest shake of his head.

Kitty’s whole countenance sagged, and she shut her eyes. When they opened again, she was focused on her master. The genuine fear that filled her expression ripped at Rismyn’s heart. It was too much. Toloruel was going to kill her, and even though he knew that would free him of the enchantment, that same enchantment compelled him to stop it. He stepped forward, not knowing what he would say or do, just knowing he had to do something. 

But before he could do anything, Toloruel stepped back and pivoted, hurling Kitty forward. Rismyn caught her by instinct, and though self preservation told him he needed to drop her on the floor with false disgust, he couldn’t do it. Instead, he held her tighter as his brother advanced, trying to paint his expression stunned. It wasn’t terribly hard to manage, until his hand brushed against the scarred flesh of her back, and he was reminded all the more of his loathing for Toloruel. 

“Rismyn will be your master tonight, Kitty,” the elder drow said. “And when I return we shall continue this discussion. In great detail.” His hand shot out and grasped Rismyn’s shoulder, painfully tight. “I expect you’ll make me proud, little brother. You are a true drow now.” 

And then, he was simply gone, swept out of the room with a click of the door behind him. Rismyn hardly dared to breathe, unable to comprehend why Toloruel had left so suddenly. He stood still in his shock, not even aware that he still held Kitty in his arms until she started to shift around, relieving some of the burden of her weight on him. 

The movement brought his mind back to the present moment, and he stepped back a little so he could look down into her face. Her beautiful, unscathed face. “What were you thinking!?” he demanded. “Goading him like that!”

Kitty’s usually sweet and mild countenance turned sharp as her brows drew down and her lips pursed. “Why didn’t you run away when I distracted him?!” 

“Why--what…?” Rismyn stuttered, completely taken aback by the ferocity of her tone. 

“He told me he wants to kill you,” Kitty said. “You have to be careful; you can’t ever let him find you alone. Walking in here like that...He could have killed you just for that!”

“Well I didn’t know he was going to be here,” Rismyn said. “I heard Matron Xatel give him scouting orders.” 

“Which I reminded him of, so you could get away!”

“I--” Rismyn paused as the full weight of her words sank in. “Wait...you spoke up like that...to save me?” 

“Yes,” Kitty said, sounding exasperated and tired. The hardness in her eyes softened and she pulled herself closer to him, wrapping him in a proper embrace. “You’re a threat to him now, especially since Master Naydyn is training you to be a warrior like him. He assumes you want what he wants: to be the Weapon's Master, and he better slit your throat before you slit his. Rismyn, you have to be careful.” 

She knew. She already knew about his day, and he hadn’t been the one to tell her. In the maelstrom of his emotions, the disappointment of not being able to share his good news with her settled like a stone in his gut.

But then she buried her face against his neck and held him tightly, her breath on his skin stirring a host of tiny bumps to the surface of his flesh. Her hugs always made him feel better, and he desired them as a dying man desired water. Now that he was older and more mature in his understanding of male and female relations, it left him desiring other things, as well. Things only a female could initiate, but so far Kitty had never invited such activities. He was certain she wanted to, though, for why else would she have bewitched him like this? 

He was suddenly very aware of his hands on the bare skin of her back, but rather than allow the situation to delight him further (secretly, of course) he was doused with shame. “Kitty,” he started, his voice tight. He gently extricated himself from her arms and turned away, unable to look at her. “What you’ve said...the things he’ll do to you for it…” 

“It’s alright.” She sounded so confident in her declaration. “Just promise me you’ll run away next time. Better yet, promise me there won’t be a next time.” 

Rismyn could only nod, new horror filling his soul. He had stood still and silent, refusing to lift a hand for her aid, while she readily volunteered for a beating to spare his life. All that fear in her eyes when he had shook his head was for him, not for herself. 

Her selflessness was damning. He didn’t deserve her mercy, wasn’t worthy of her sacrifice. But like the dying man he was, he couldn’t stop himself from drinking from the fountain. Even if that fountain contained poisoned water. 

His hands tightened into fists. “There won’t be a next time,” he growled, more to himself than Kitty. He turned to face her, as shame morphed into anger. “I won’t ever come to see you here again.” 

Kitty’s expression fell and she looked away, but before she could say anything, Rismyn snatched up her hand. 

“Come on,” he said, pulling her towards the door. This couldn’t wait until he earned himself a room. Kitty was in danger now. “Toloruel gave you to me for the night, so we’re going to find somewhere safer to meet.” 

“What?” Kitty gasped, as he pulled her along. “But…how? Where–” 

“There’s plenty of unused rooms in House Tear.” 

“Rismyn, wait!” 

Rismyn turned, frustrated, as she tugged out of his grip. He wasn’t truly angry with her, but rather with himself. For his own weakness and selfishness. Toloruel felt threatened by him? He was nothing. He had only been chosen by Naydyn because he wasn’t quite as bad at fighting as he pretended to be at magic. He had never put any thought whatsoever into becoming Weapon’s Master, and he’d certainly never considered killing Toloruel.

Until tonight. 

His dark mood must have shown on his face, for Kitty took a step back as his gaze fell on her. Which only added to his shame-filled rage. It had been five years and he had never raised a hand against her. Why did she still flinch like he would? 

“Just...just let me change my dress first,” she stammered, backing into her corner. 

Rismyn’s face grew hot as he turned his back on her quickly. “Right, sorry. I forgot…” Which was a complete lie. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the sight of the spider scar on her back, or the knowledge of how it got there. 

He tried not to listen to the sounds of her rustling, tried not to imagine what the rest of her looked like, now that he had seen her back. Depending on which fantasy he landed on, the thoughts were either exciting or enraging, and none of it felt like anything he ought to be entertaining. He was quite grateful, then, when Kitty slipped next to him and relieved him of his idle thinking. 

“Would it be okay if I brought this?” she asked, holding up her torn dress and the little black pouch that he knew contained needle and thread. “I’d like to have this mended before my master returns.” 

“Fine,” Rismyn said, still indignant over the torment that had been done to her. Torment he was powerless to do anything about. He started to take her hand again but found his fingers closing around her wrist as she changed positions. 

“We’ll need a story, of course,” Kitty said, not at all perturbed. He realized then that she had moved her hand on purpose, to keep up appearances. “In case any one sees us, and for when Master returns. He’ll want to know all the details of what you did to me, and if we aren’t consistent then he’ll know we lied.” 

She was so calm, so matter-of-fact. One would never guess he’d just found her on the brink of death not more than half an hour ago. It was frankly amazing. How could she be so strong? It went against everything he had been raised to believe about the faeries. 

He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Aren’t you worried about what he will actually do to you?” 

“Not at all,” Kitty said. “Worrying doesn’t make it not happen, and it doesn’t make it hurt less.” 

“Maybe if we make the lie good enough, he won’t feel the need to punish you more.” 

Kitty’s lips turned up in a weak smile. “Maybe,” she said, in a way that told him she didn’t believe that at all. 

Rismyn gripped her wrist tighter as he realized again that her impending pain had been caused by him. Perhaps she was right to fear him after all, for different reasons. He pulled her close and gave her another hug, wishing he had the power to do more for her than just that. He wanted to say something, like “it’ll be okay,” or “I’ll make it better,” but none of those things were true. He wasn’t like her. He would do nothing, and she would be abused. 

“Come on,” he said, when he let her go. He took her by the wrist again and led her into the dark halls of House Tear, in search of sanctuary in a spider’s web.