Is there a lot of fruit in Spain? It comes out without much thought and I flush as he looks up at me curiously. I rush to explain my meaning. I meant is there a large varietyhere we mostly grow what we canmainly corn and squash but He looks at me unreadably, but I feel as though he might break into a smile. We have hundreds of fruits and flowers and cropsif that is your meaning, he begins to stir the porridge again.

So nobody starves? I ask curiously.

He stops stirring and takes a knife and starts chopping the pear into a bowl in cubes. Not altogether.

I watch as he adds milk to the table.

It can be that you are born into a poor lifestyle, or that you are left with one parent instead of boththat is usually when your heritage is very sour until you are of age to make your own futureunless you are a girl, for then you must only be wed well if it is possible.

I watch him, trying to figure out whether he was rich or fair or desperate. I long to ask him but I know it is improper to ask him such a question.

Why? His question breaks through my thoughts.

I was justcurious.

He stirs and there are a few seconds of silence until he speaks. What is your favorite fruit?

I watch him confused but entertained by the light conversation. I love berriesbut that is mainly all we grow here.

Have you ever eaten dragon fruit?

I frown. Neverand I am unsure of the want to.

His lips turn up a bit. Dates?

I am now very confused. Dates?

He looks up and I watch as his smile is definitely noticeable. We are still on the topic of fruits, are we not?

I blush. I have never heard of a date before except for the type of date used for addressing time.

He smiles more. Avocado?

I shake my head silently.

He frowns thoughtfully. You do not grow much here.

I look him in the eyes. Nomost comes in shipments from other placesbut since the protestant killings started we keep losing what we did have.

He watches me, the smile now gone. I am sorry for this place and its people.

It is despondent and not what he should be sounding like...would be sounding like if he was just a soldier. And he was just a soldier. Is just a soldier. A soldier and a writer. I am no more than a prisoner though.

I swallow hard. You cant be. Youve never felt starvation before.

He is watching me softly. How do you know so?

You are not my equal, I say it slightly, tepid water seeming to drown out the momentary fun wed enjoyed together.

He looks to me, then back to his work on the stove again. How so?

I pour the beans from my hands back into their bowl, sieving them without purpose. I am your prisoner, and you are my supervisor.

He does not turn, but thinks over my answer before he replies.

No. It is gentle but powerful. You must see that we are equal despite being in different positions. For instance I dont see it like that; you are my guest, no more and no less. I gain nothing from it, so what is the point of keeping a prisoner?

If you gained something from keeping me a prisoner, would it be unequal?

This time he almost turns. No.

You gain something from keeping me as a guest though? It is quiet and indecisive. I myself dont know what I am asking for by requesting explanation.

He does not look at me. I dont understand what it is you are asking me.

I swallow. Never mind.

It takes me a moment to find another topic as the heat in my chest wavers. The last conversation we had flickers to my mind.

Why did you ask me the question of favored fruit?

He puts down the ladle and I know the answer.

You were going to the market.

He watches the porridge then nods. I am.

I feel the air being caught in my chest as I forget to breathe. He doesnt trust menot after the Hanging Gallows. My throat tightens and I dont have the nerve to address it.

He turns back to the stove and draws the ladle from its resting place and scoops it into the porridge. I watch his movements absently, and the thought occurs that I had gotten used to his actions. The thought is absent too though, so I do not punish myself for it.

Gilch.

He looks up at me and my heart runs away from control. I force myself not to follow it. I I feel my heart speed. I am sorry for running.

His eyes watch me and I watch their movement as they run over my features. I wont againand I do want to go outside.

He continues to watch me.

I was running from my pastI thought running towards what was present I might wake upbutI I look down remembering the vulnerability Id felt before he had sheltered me from danger. I remember his body being so close to mine. I overestimated my handling skills.

I feel his eyes wandering over me, as though trying to read clearly what I have said. I do that too.

I look up and meet his gaze.

I run from something and it ends up that it is also towards somethingand then I overestimate what I can handle.

He watches me back.

I feel a small flicker in my stomach begin to grow to something bigger and bigger as we continue to watch each other. Finally, he takes accountability and looks to the oatmeal, picking up the ladle once again ready to stir.

Are you hungry?

Chapter 17.

There is a light breeze and chill in the air as I step out into the street. Nadeje steps after me to lock the door. I wait until he gently passes me and takes the lead. We walk in silence and I breathe in the fresh air around me gratefully. Nadeje winds back and forth between the sides of stands, guiding me and passing around others who also crowd the place. Entering the desired area, he goes first to the fruit stand and makes me smile as he trades four pears from his storage for a pack of wild berries left at the fruit stand. He then leads me to one of the various ink stands where he orders two jars of black.

I watch as we pass my moeders favorite stand to gossip at with her friends, the bakers stand. Currently her favorite baker is arguing with a man whom I do not recognize as one of our people from Leyden. His dress is much too formal and his fashion reminds me of the stories my vader would tell me of his sailings to Holland. I tense as the man fists the table as if frustrated or impatient, and that is when I see the baker look in my direction.

He freezes as though shocked. He must be. I remember that I have been lost to this place since my moeder and sister were taken. The man seems to notice his adversarys expression, and slowly he turns to follow the bakers gaze. For some reason, my face begins to burn and I feel too exposed. I scoot closer to Nadeje, feeling protected that way. I glance back at the stand and my heart skitters as I find his gaze still glued to me. I look away, shying from the attention and telling myself there is no meaning in him looking so long. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man turn all the way, and though I cannot see his face, I feel that it is smug with fulfillment.

I beg Nadeje as we walk on not to cross the street and try to block myself from the baker stand by staying closer to his side. Fortunately, Nadeje meets my wish halfway by not crossing the street, but the other half is unfortunate as he leads me to the butchers stand. It is absent of meat, but the remaining sight and smell, even the thought of all the blood after the Hanging Gallows event makes me draw back slightly. I try to ignore it as Nadeje passes a slip of paper from his pocket, but I can hardly breathe.

He notices and seems to understand. You can move on to the next stand if you would prefer.

I nod quietly and step quickly to the second stand down from where he is. This would be the pottery stand.

I lightly trace geometric designs over the beautiful ceramic pot I am looking at from the selection of earthenware. I ignore the feeling that I do, alone now, not want the sensations of fear. Then, I feel it. The air is cut off from its normal draught against me as it passes. There is another person standing at my shoulder. I move away to the side to make way for the other shopper, but the man from the bakers stand steps in beside me. I do not say anything, or walk away, despite the rising want to. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he lifts the tiny pot I had just been admiring before, and traces its pattern with his fingertips. I regain the knowledge that I have not been breathing and try to calm myself.

Did you know that this pot has six and a half different generations of work on it?

I hold my tongue and find that I am balancing myself with the table.

Did you?

I swallow. I did not, I respond politely.

He smiles craftily then sets it back down again. That is true treasure.

I hate myself for it. It depends on what its cost is.

He turns. Yes, it does indeedmiss.

I look up in fear of him addressing me, for this means that he is now requesting an interview His eyes follow my features for moments too long. May I speak with you?

I am unable to see passed him to Nadeje and wish not to have to respond. We are conversing now, I meet his gaze and his holds mine so that I feel unable to look elsewhere.

Away from the stand, he proposes.

I cannot see Nadeje. This makes me uneasy. I have been directed to stay here I look to him again. Out of danger.

His face darkens. Come.

Without further explanation he strides towards the center of the square. I do not follow, but search the crowds for Nadeje. He is gone. My heart races with confusion. The man waits a few yards off, but when I do not come, he returns to me instead.

Ms. Thimlet, correct me if I am wrong?

I stare at him and back up a little. Please, I request that you understand that I am not here for open conversation. I am waiting for someone and if I leave they may no He takes my wrist and pulls me after him to the center of the street. I cant find my voice or the brains to come up with anything to protest. When he stops he does not let go, even as I try to snatch my hand back.

Lyra, I have urgency to speak with you on behalf of I think I glimpse a Spanish soldier and tug at his hold. Let me go.

He grips my wrist tighter and my heart falters. Lyra, I must speak with you Please let go, I beg.

Your blood runs in only one place apart from your moeders I am shocked by the statement and for a moment lose my ability to speak.

He pulls me closer. Lyra, your moeder is goneyour sister has not been seen sinceyou are leftyour blood needs to be protected I am too terrified by his words to fight.

Your profit as a person is too high to even comprehendif anyone harmed you I feel his fingers wrap tighter and his voice grows husky and quiet. Your birthright is chronicle to this citys support and safetyyou arent who you have been raised to believe Another body appears at my side but I cannot seem to look away from the man, hardly taking notice of the other.

Miss Thimlet.

Nadeje.

The man looks slowly to Gilch and his eyes obscure. Spaniard. He says it darkly.

Nadejes eyes fall onto the mans hand which still retains my wrist and his face hardens slightly, though he maintains a calm tone. Release her.

The mans grip grows painful. She is speaking with me.

Nadeje looks to me but seeing my face turns his eyes back onto the man. I feel otherwise The man does not look at all ready to relent, but with a scowl he releases my wrist.

Is there something you need?

The man looks to me. Only to warn her of whom she chooses to be of importance to.

I cant move.

Meaning that you are of importance and must soon come to understand howyour vaders blood kin are of importance and you are the last here left.

I am too stunned to reply.

He looks satisfied. You shall see what I mean in some time, he looks to Nadeje. You Spanish will fall, he looks him deep in the eyes. I will be enjoying the after party.

I realize what he is proposing was to happen and feel a twang of pain in my stomach. I wish him gone. Please go.

He looks to me for a moment, pauses, and then bows stiffly. Ms. Thimlet, he excuses, and then departs from our place.

Nadeje takes a moment, as though trying to process what the man was implying here. Then, he gently takes my wrist a moment. All goes quiet as his thumb tenderly brushes down the underside of my wrist. He drops it and begins to lead me down the street. It takes a few seconds to do so, but I follow.

The road feels cold and misty by the time we reach his home, and the sun is beginning to set. Nadeje unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting me enter first. I am grateful. I realize I have not eaten in some time as my stomach tightens at the smell of the leftovers from breakfast. I glace to the back door and scan the room, feeling a little cautious after the encounter with the man in the market. Finding nothing to worry about, I step into the kitchen and pull down the shawl from my neck to feel the temperature of the small space.