The guard let her in without question at the conflicted look on her face. Namryn leaped to his feet when he saw her, wonder in his eyes, but when she neared him, a faint, strange smile appeared on his lips and he turned his head away. "Ah," he said softly. "Did you win the competition, then?"

She paused, momentarily startled from what she had to say. "No," she replied hesitantly, wondering why he asked, "I did not."

He nodded his head slowly, his long, pale hair falling down before his face. "Then you have made your decision of your own will," he said. "Good. I am glad. I was worried that you would let such a thing dictate your choices, when having your will stolen could never make one as fine as you content. He is—a fine person, king or not."

"I..." she stammered, her chest seizing, "I don't know what you're talking about."

The fairy glanced at her, his blue eyes striking against the whiteness of his skin, and she was both startled and stricken to see anger for the first time in that expression. "I did not think you, of all people, would lie to me or play the fool," he said with quiet fierceness. "His scent is all over you."

Cyphonia straightening, her own gaze flashing. "I didn't mean that!" she said hotly. "Of course I'm not going to deny that I was just with Martin to you. I simply didn't realize that fairies could smell things like that; that's what I was confused about."

"Oh," he said. They were both silent for some time, staring at the other, communicating nothing through the muddled, dusty air. "Then—may I ask why you've come?" His expression was hesitant and pain-filled, and made transparent his thinking. Did he believe she would come to flaunt over him, to tease him with what he could not have? Anger swelled in her chest as she contemplated the idea.

"I thought that I was going to lay with Martin," she blurted out. "You see, I need newly-turned maiden's blood for a spell, and I thought—well, I thought it made sense to sleep with him. If I laid with Martin and became pregnant, then I would have to marry him, and everything would be taken care of."

To her shock, Namryn for the first time reached out through the bars to grab her wrists, his eyes wide and panicked. "Do not," he breathed. "I meant—my words have nothing to do with Martin, or you laying with another, or any such thing. But to cage your spirit so, forcing it to the confines of your body: your fire would die in a single moment of agony. Please, if anything I've ever done or said has meant anything to you, do not do this to yourself. I could not live with that knowledge you had your choice stolen from you."

Heart in her throat, she stared at him, shocked. Finally, she swallowed it back down and said quietly, "Nothing to do with Martin?"

Namryn released her immediately and spun around, spreading his hands on the opposite wall and hanging his head. "If you have ever had any regard for me," he said hoarsely, "please do not ask that again."

Cyphonia winced, a little annoyed with herself, but then she sighed and raised her head high. "But I must," she said simply. "I must know if your reasons are completely altruistic, because I am asking for—help as I have only done so once before." He glanced over his shoulder hesitantly, then turned around again in puzzled surprise as she slowly settled down to her knees.

"Tell me why I should not be with you," she ordered him. "Convince me. This I beg of you."

His pale, long-lashed eyes widened. "But you have named a dozen reasons already," he pointed out in a stunned voice when he could speak, "all sound and sensible. Why do you wish me to name more?"

"Because," she said firmly, "none of those have swayed me in the least. I need other reasons."

"More...?" he breathed, then shook his head. "May I come out of here? Or you in? It seems strange to talk through these bars of this."

"I'm not certain," she pointed out. "If I am by you, I may have to kiss you."

He took a step back as quickly as if she had punched him, his hand flying to his forehead as it did whenever he was hopelessly embarrassed. "Why would you have to do that?" he asked timidly.

Cyphonia lifted her shoulders. "Because I'm not convinced yet why I shouldn't," she said.

"Ah," he said, his mouth opening and shutting hopelessly. Even around her, she had never seen him at such a loss for words—though often quiet, when he spoke it was always with confidence no matter how private or damning the subject, but now it was as if no words could pass through his lips. "Ah. Then. Yes, you should stay outside."

"My reasons," she reminded him gently, and the fairy took a deep breath, forgetting to blink as he stared at her. This time, Cyphonia found that she didn't really mind the unnerving gaze.

"Reasons," he murmured, seeming to collect himself. "If you were at my side, your people would shun you. None approve of a fairy and a human together; if my people had not already done so after I became a murderer, they surely would exile me for such a thing. Also, no one approves of a lady and a gladiator criminal matched—you would be branded as the lowest sort."

Cyphonia shrugged again. "I don't like people anyway," she pointed out. "The only ones I care about are Sophia and Martin, and I don't think they'll really mind." Well, Sophia certainly wouldn't; she didn't really want to think about Martin for awhile. "Oh, and also I care about people who own magical scrolls, but those aren't the sorts that mind this sort of thing either." The ones that did could be stolen-with-the-intent-of-returning from anyway.

"Ah—all right. Fairies cannot be employed by humans; I could make no money for either of us."

"I've already figured that one out, too," she said, "and it was foolish for me to state it as a reason initially, and I apologize for that. I will make the money, of course. I can be a traveling adviser to kingdoms, telling them how to improve their economies, then get paid on commission. This way I don't need to deal with any pesky business licenses. Plus, if you wanted to, you could start doing quests with rewards, like leading armies or taking care of royal assassins or stopping marauding dragons, and the like. They'll have to pay you then."

"We won't have anywhere to live." She couldn't tell if the tone in his voice was desperation, wonder, or a bit of both. "Every kingdom in the land would turn us away."

"Then we'll just need to find a kingdom of our own," she pointed out. "Lots of rewards for solving kingdom troubles or completing quests are half a kingdom. Surely we could manage to fit a house on one of those, even if the original kingdom was as small as Arcadia."

Namryn reached up to rub his forehead, although this time it seemed more like the human motion of exasperation he had picked up from Sophia than fairy embarrassment. "I do not wish to leave the gladiator grounds for good," he told her. "What I said before about doubting that the calming effect of your aura will remain firm in all cases still holds true. For me at least, no matter how you prove it will not, I will not be able to rest comfortably," he added before she could protest. "The bars are strong here and will hold me. I will not live in a half-kingdom by day and slaughter its people by night."

She noticed he was still considering the idea of living in such a kingdom, however. "Then you could stay here when you will, and with me when you will," she replied. "I will not be your keeper, nor you my pet."

He retreated to the back of his cage, so that she could not see his face clearly in the dimness of the light, and was quiet for a long time. "I..." he said hoarsely, "I am in no way worthy of you."

"Nor I of you," she admitted quietly. "Today I set out to seduce a man just so we wouldn't have to have this conversation. And—I'm not really as pretty as Sophia, nor as kind nor thoughtful. So on that account, we're even—but then isn't it right that peers in sins should be together, evenly matched?"

"Are you trying to talk me into giving my name to you?" he asked of her finally. "I thought your request was for me to convince you of the folly of being beside me, not for you to convince yourself that you ought to be."

Cyphonia folded her arms and scowled at him, not sure whether or not he could see her through the gloom. "It was," she told him petulantly, "but you haven't yet convinced me. I'm simply telling you what the illogical parts of your thinking are."

"Very well," he replied, quiet. "I—I have no other argument left, except to say that I do not think it is a good idea, and those are words that convince no one."

"Yet they might convince me," she said with a sharp shake of her head, rising to her feet at last. "Because I don't want to be with you against your will, Namryn. So if you will not marry me, then I will continue this competition with a free mind."

"But, the contest will force—" he moved forward to grab the bars, his eyes concerned, and then he sighed. "No, I see the wisdom in your words," he said sadly. "I do not have another answer for you." He swallowed, then said quietly, "Yet. One day. Will you give me one day to come up with an argument to convince you?"

"If you want it," she said, brows raised, "I will even give you two, since the last competition isn't until then. In two days I hope to hear your best argument about why I shouldn't take you from your cage, fairy."

"I will have it," he agreed. He watched her for a minute, then said softly, "About what you said earlier—that you would have to embrace me, were I near you. You said that so you could keep these between us, am I correct?" Lightly he brushed his fingers against the rough bronze bars.

"No," Cyphonia said coolly, tilting her head back somewhat. "I mean what I say." She reached out and coiled her fingers on top of his, and this time he did not retreat or recoil, but simply watched her as if he could read the truth of her words on her face.

In reply, the fairy bowed his head down and slowly lowered it to her hands, so that his cheek just rested on her fingertips. It was not a bold kiss nor a courteous gesture, but rather a movement so fragile and loving that Cyphonia was for once taken speechless. When the light in the pens began to dim into night, he drew away and murmured, "I am sorry for that. I will find your reason—do not fear."

The next morning she was awoken by shrill cries, and Cyphonia sat up very quickly in her bed, clutching her sheet to her chest and listening hard. She heard a voice that sounded passingly familiar shout, "Shh, no, it's alright! I mean you no harm! Please lower your skillet!" This did not sound very much like something a rampaging pillager would say. Cyphonia picked up one of her most intriguing magic scrolls just in case and tiptoed silently to her door, pushing aside the cloth flap and peering down the hallway.

She heard her mother, out of sight, shriek, "Don't tell me she's running around with an army now!"

"Or sleeping with one," she heard her brother mutter, although that was swiftly followed with a sound of a sharp smack, so Cyphonia didn't mind so much.

"The sorceress would not do that," the original voice growled, and she placed it at last as the head soldier of the group she had saved weeks ago. Quickly she pulled on a dress over her night clothes and cast a spell to make it look more presentable—something she realized belatedly that she could have done some time ago—and strode quickly towards the front room, where her parents, brother, staff, and the small cadre of soldiers were all standing.

Her mother looked furious, although whether at Cyphonia herself, her brother, or the offending soldiers she could not tell; her father looked tired, annoyed, and confused; the staff looked like they hadn't seen anything so grand in years; her brother looked shocked and fuming, one hand on his cheek as he glared at the soldiers from across the room. Cyphonia cleared her throat loudly, and raised her head when all gazes turned her way.

"What is the matter here?" she asked.

The head soldier brightened and moved her way. As he passed under one of the just-paling sky lights, Cyphonia noticed he had a good deal of blood flecked onto his armor. To her great surprise, he sunk down to one knee in front of her, bowing his head, as the other soldiers jumped and belatedly took his positioning. "Oh great lady who once saved our worthless lives," he said fervently, "we call upon you once again. Please, we beg that you do not forsake us in this time of need."

Cyphonia blinked at his elaborate phrasing, growing concerned. Behind the soldier's back, her mother was making crossing movements with her hands and her father was making shooing ones, neither which enlightened her to their suggestions. "What is it you need?" she asked the kneeling man.

"The gladiator escaped," he said, clasping his hands out in front of him. "We must have your help in retrieving him, before—before the worst should happen."

Cyphonia drew in a startled breath, her fingers stealing over her mouth in thought. His words were a shattering blow to all of the wishful dreams that had danced in her head the previous evening; all the pretty pictures of Namryn's graceful smile and the coolness of his skin against her hands splintering into fragments at her feet. Those he had killed on his last foray of freedom had all been soldiers and warriors, and so he had been sent to the gladiator rings for war crimes, but were he to lay a hand upon citizens, children and the elderly... his sentence would be death, a horrible one proportionate to the horrible acts he would have done in his blind madness.

"Do you know what this man is talking about, Cyphonia?" her father said in a warning tone. Another day she might have answered him, but not that one, with the image of carnage across her mind. She reached out and placed her hands on the soldier's shoulders, eyes intent upon his face.

"In what direction did he head?" she asked him, voice trembling. "Where to?"

"We don't know," the soldier replied, shaking his head. "But we thought that if we took you to Kyorou, and you could get a piece of his hair or the like, you could use your magic to track him down..."

Cyphonia pursed her lips. "I may be able to do that," she said slowly, "or at least it won't hurt to try. Let me grab some supplies from my room, and—" But as she stepped away her father grabbed her arm, his face dark with anger.

"No," snapped the normally mild-mannered man, "I have tolerated this foolishness quite long enough. I am not about to let you traipse about the countryside with a group of strange men!"

Cyphonia flicked cool eyes over his face, her thoughts elsewhere. "If it is strange men you fear, then I would invite mother along with us," she replied, "but I doubt she can ride."

"That is not in keeping with the spirit of my request," her father informed her sternly, although he seemed a little put-off by her retort. "Until now I have let you leave at all hours of the day and night, without question or punishment. I did not demand that you return the money you earned through who-knows-what means, and I stood by while you dragged your poor friend Sophia into this mess, trusting that you knew what you were doing. But I can imagine no hypothetical circumstance in which soldiers would come to our door, ask for your assistance in capturing a criminal, and have it be appropriate woman's work!"

"Woman's—" she took a deep breath and held it, staring at him again. Some battles she must win, she knew. And some... Cyphonia knew that if she took this exception now, she could force her way out of the home with the soldiers at her back. But if she did, that would be the end of her family and their patience. Her magic would not work against them, and her parents could very easily keep her imprisoned in the house from that day on with their own anti-magic auras. And if the worst should happen, if Namryn had a village's blood on his hands at the end of if, and she had to let him face the executioner's sword alone because she was trapped in her home—

Cyphonia whipped around and shot a bolt of light across the room. Two lengths away from her startled brother it disappeared into clear air. He took to his feet like a scalded cat, all but melding himself into the wooden wall behind him in an effort to escape. "Take Blaesus with you," she told the soldiers quietly. "I will seek Namryn from here with my magic, and direct my brother similarly. He is no mage, but he should be good enough for what you need. I may be of more use to you here, where I can use my powers to their full extent."

Her words were even true, she realized glumly, since she could not bring all of her gathered scrolls along on the road, but could easily access them in the house. Her father relaxed, and she found herself hating him for it.

The head soldier frowned, glancing between her and her father. "Are you sure—"

"Yes," Cyphonia said sharply. Then, somewhat stiffly, she bowed forward, surprising everyone in the room. "When you capture him," she murmured, "if he has not yet done anything forgivable, will he be able to live in the gladiator grounds still?"

She saw the soldiers shift from the corners of her eyes. "I don't know, madam mage," their leader said in an apologetic tone. "I saw his cage when he was done with it; he had wrenched iron apart like it was straw. It seems that he was just biding his while by staying there when he could have left at any time."

"I understand," the girl replied, and tried not to show how much his words bothered her. What would Namryn do now if they found him? Where could he live in a place that had bars stronger than iron?

Nowhere, she knew, because he could only live if he hadn't yet killed anyone, and he had been gone so long now that this was impossible. Cyphonia whispered a silent prayer to no god or goddess in particular, then, ashamed at her uncharacteristic foolishness, bowed again and fled to her room. Behind her, she heard the gentle murmur of voices, and then the clinks of armor as the warriors departed.

Cyphonia threw herself at her stack of scrolls and unrolled each, tossing them over her shoulder if they didn't seem useful and tucking the more likely ones down at her feet. She didn't need a spell to turn frogs into rivers or cure warts, she didn't need magic to stop a bleeding wound or make it rain for eighty days straight. She kept anything having to do with binding and transportation and communication, and, as an afterthought, decided to find the bleeding wound scroll again, just in case Blaesus came back in little pieces.

She cast a locator spell so that she could track her brother's movements, using a piece of hair she found in his room, and when he got to Kyorou, she activated a speaking magic. "Blaesus, what do you see?" she spoke aloud in the empty air of her room.

She heard a startled yelp on the other end, then her brother's halting voice. How... did... you... do... this? he asked.

Cyphonia sighed. "Don't worry about that. Just tell me what you see."

Blood, he replied after a moment's silence. Lots of it. It looks like this berzerker guy cut up the guard on his way out—he's swearing like none other. Heh. Called this guy a sheep's ball roasted, sliced, and fried in the blood of the damned.

"Yes, Blaesus, that's very clever... wait," Cy said, sitting up straight. "You say he 'cut up' the guard, but the guard is still alive?"

Oh, yeah, he just had his arm nicked. Lots of blood, though. Smells bad.

Cyphonia leaned back, her mind racing. She was glad that the friendly guard hadn't been killed, but it was certainly strange. There was no way that Namryn in his madness would let someone live—she tried to squash the wishful thinking that lead down that route. Instead, there had to be another explanation. "Is he sure that it was Namyrn who cut him? Tall, white hair, really pale skin?"

Silence for awhile. Yeah. Says it can't be anyone else.

She held perfectly still, barely daring to breathe as she thought. "Mind control, maybe?" she murmured. "Or an impostor—someone who wanted to kidnap Namryn for his skills, and so sent a double as a distraction while they took him away? Or maybe his curse is weaker at certain times of the day or month... although that doesn't explain how he was able to bend the bars..."

What?

"Oh, sorry," she said automatically, then scowled when she realized she was apologizing to her money-leeching brother. "Which direction does the guard say he went?"

Uh... north, he says.

"North," Cyphonia mused. "What did—"

From the front of her house, she heard her mother scream.

Cyphonia dropped the spell immediately, her heart hammering in her chest as she listened for further noises. After a moment she berated herself for being a coward and rose to her feet, creeping towards the front room for the second time that morning. This time, though, she was trembling in genuine fear. Maybe she was just startled by a mouse, she thought, or maybe she's playing some kind of inopportune joke on me... She tried to frown sternly, but her mouth wouldn't work correctly; it kept whispering "please be all right, please be all right."

Her father shouted, a low sound of rage and fear, and she ran. When she got to the front room—it was indeed Namryn standing there, covered with stinking blood, and a bare and filthy sword in his hands. He was crouched over her mother's body in a fighter's position, his eyes trained on her father. The older man was holding a knife, his eyes wild as he shouted at the fairy to get away, but it was obvious that any sort of conflict between her fat, balding father and the land's best swordsman was not going to end well.

Cyphonia's voice didn't seem to be working when she went to order them to stop, and she found that she could do nothing but stand there in the doorway. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted to shout: a furious cry of grief at the sight of her mother, an angry order on the behalf of her father, or even a faint-hearted disbelieving welcome. The young woman settled for whispering, "Namryn."

His pale, blood-splattered head jerked upwards when he heard her, and his blue eyes fixed upon her face so intently that it seemed a physical rope between them. The fairy lowered his sword, although she noticed he kept it tilted at her father, a clear warning not to attack while he was distracted.

Namryn's lips parted and closed again several times, seemingly just at a loss as Cyphonia was. He finally said, "I am afraid that she fainted when she saw me. I presume that I am an alarming sight."

"Oh," the girl replied, and felt her heart unclench as she realized that her mother wasn't dead. She cleared her throat, moving a sudden lump past it, and managed to tear her own gaze away from Namryn to glance at her father. "Father, don't worry," she said. "Fairies can't lie; she'll be fine."

"Not while this monster is by her," he growled without lowering his knife. Namryn immediately bowed—although she noticed he did not cross his arms across his chest, and realized suddenly that his sword-free arm was hanging limply down at his side—and moved several paces away

"See, fine," Cyphonia said, before she ran to Namryn's side and lost track of the world completely. He pulled her against his side, clenching his fingers in her hair and burying his face against her neck. The fairy smelled terrible, his sword's hilt was digging into the back of her skull, and he was probably getting blood all over her recently-cleaned dress, but Cyphonia couldn't have been happier if he had turned to solid gold.

"I am a fool," he whispered, "a right fool. You have to come outside to see what I brought you—"

"Oh, shut up," she said, and kissed him, dragging his head around and rising up on her toes. His mouth was cool and soft and perfect after all the worry of the day. Namryn pulled back far too early, but she forgave him, since he was laughing and happier than she had ever seen him.

"Cyphonia," her father growled low behind her.

"Sir," Namryn replied, turning and bowing again. "I beg your forbearance for just one more moment. Please see to your wife... I will give your daughter back shortly..." He put his arm around Cyphonia's waist and all but dragged her out the front door, quivering with energy against her.

"What is it?" she demanded, and nearly tripped over the answer. On her front bulstrade was the head of a monster, as tall as she was and twice that long, bearing a mouth of fangs the size of her arm and glistening tentacles like the one over which she fell. Its scales were perfect shining diamonds, and in place of eyes it had two rubies, each the size of her head. "What is it?" she repeated in disbelief. "And how did you manage to get it here? It must weigh more than a whole herd of cows!"

"I have no inkling of an idea," the fairy replied happily. "To the latter, that is. I only truly regained my mind here, of course. As to the former, my lady, I present you with the head of the lengendary basilisk Phaid."

"Oh," Cyphonia breathed, reaching out to place her hands on a greater fortune than any she had ever hoped to see. "That's...." She spun around, glaring. "Namryn, you idiot, you were supposed to fight it in front of a crowd so that the owner of Kyorou will let you go!"

He smiled simply and shrugged, and she found she couldn't be too angry. "I am certain your great mind will find some solution."

"Well, that's going to take some work," she muttered, already starting to consider how they would spin this. There were more important things at hand, however, so she impatiently shook the thoughts away. "You're hurt—do you have any injuries aside from your arm? And did you...." she took a breath, then said, "is anyone dead?"

"I do not believe so," the fairy replied, growing a little more somber. "Even in my madness, all I could think of was how foolish I was if it was a swords feat that kept me from your side. I ran immediately to the mountains as soon as I was free. There was—there might have been a problem at the gladiator grounds, but I do not know this for sure."

Cyphonia flicked her hand. "Oh, my brother said you nicked the guard, but he was fine. That reminds me, I should probably let him know to call of the search." She started to look through her scrolls for the right one, then stopped with a scowl. "You didn't tell me where you were injured."

"Cyphonia!" Sophia collapsed against her friend, panting with the exertion of her run. "I came as soon as I heard. Namryn, good to see you well! And isn't that a bloody mess?" Sophia squinted into the beast's mouth and shuddered. "What a smell!"

"All in due time," Cyphonia said imperiously as she started looking for healing spells. There wouldn't be too many, since it was a field she distinctly did not care for, but one might have ended up on a more interesting scroll. She stopped when white fingers touched the back of her tanned hand, and looked up to see the fairy's earnest face tilted down to her, a soft smile on his pale lips, his long hair drifting in this wind around them.

"Calm," he said. "There are topics of greater importance to broach. Though I thought long and hard, I was unable to come up with the reasons you desired. Now I can only ask you thus: what do you choose?" His blue eyes were suddenly apprehensive, and Cyphonia didn't need to guess to know what he meant.

She looked at her house, where she could hear her father's hushed but angry tones, and her mother's soft responses. She looked at Sophia, crouching now to poke the beast's tongue in morbid curiosity, and raised her head to the east, where Martin's kingdom stood. "Well," she said, and swallowed. "Well. My name is Lady Cyphonia of Parcado."

The boy drew a stuttering breath, taking her hand and raising her to her feet. "My name is Namryn, formerly of the Kyorou gladiator grounds, formerly of the Seashine lands."

"Ah," interrupted Sophia, staring at them, "you two did know that already, right? You can't tell me that after all these months, you never heard each other's names?"

Cyphonia opened her mouth to reply, but found to her surprise she was blushing too much to say anything at all. Namryn started laughing, which made Sophia gape at him, too, since it was something he almost never did.

Oh, well, Cyphonia thought. Everything would be explained in time. For now, she had a fairy to repair, and parents to console, a search to call off, an engagement to dissolve and possibly a wedding to plan, a basilisk to explain and barter for a million trillion gold pieces, no doubt an irate friend to comfort and a prince who needed an apology. For now, the air upwind was sweet and the future had a promise of coin. She breathed deep, and smiled.

Perhaps things weren't that bad after all.

A/N: When I came up with the idea for this story, this was probably going to be the end of it. Then I realized that I was actually interested in the part where the Jewel was started, and Sebastian's childhood--and at the very least, I need to finish up the trials for Martin's hand! Expect at least a little more of this story, in other words. I hope you've enjoyed it so far!