It takes me a long time, but I manage to let out the question. Your sister?

Though I am not interested, it could distract me from my current pain. Why do I need distraction? The thought is lost as he begins to speak.

Yes, it is calm and soft, comforting, but I can tell that it pains him. I was young still when my moeder and vader died It is quiet a moment. Then he starts again. First it was my vaderthen my moeder after remarriageI planned to take care of Carmelabut she left as well I listen halfheartedly. I got stuck thereafter my family had gonemy step dad would have shared some of the moneybut he would have remarried again and I could not stay with him. So I leftand became what I am now. It is silent in the house. There is more to itbut that is a summary of my story.

I swallow dryly. Are you still stuck?

He is quiet a moment, as though contemplating it. No.

I choke back tears. How did you get out?

He is silent longer than last time and I am afraid he did not understand or did not hear, but then he says it carefully. I got help.

I close my eyes and wish it would end. I cant think of anything that would ever He waits. When I do not follow through with it, he interrupts the incomplete sentence. You have to find it.

I dont know why, but it triggers something loose inside me, and I feel myself break down. I sob once, twice, three times. I feel the tears as I breathe shakily and too loud.

Dutchling It is gentle and for some reason I like it, but I do not respond.

I wipe my nose and try to stop the tears, but they continue. My chest is shaking too hard to stop it and I feel worried. He does not reach for me. I am grateful.

Help me, I whisper it, still turned away.

He watches a moment, unsure I suppose, if I am referring to physically or the corner. How?

I shake in the shoulders and slowly sink further. He seems to see past the physical gesture and to the point where harm could be done by this action, for one moment he is a good distance, and the next, I feel his presence close in.

No I beg. He stops midway from taking me and coming closer as I look up. Nodont hold me.

He stops and obediently returns to his post beyond the moat, at a distance. I look away again, and after a few more moments of my sobs, he speaks to me.

Do you wish me to leave you for now?

I wait a moment as a tear tickles down my nose and drips into my lap. I nod.

He is still seated for a little while, lingering and watching as though making sure I am okay. He slowly begins to leave. I curl up into a tight ball against the wall as he rises and I hear him step away. I glimpse his boots stepping over the floor into the room with the bookshelf out of the corner of my eye. I rock as another sob takes me into a fresh batch of tears and I let it.

Eventually I grow tired of knowing he can still hear me easily, and I slowly uncurl. I crawl to the bedroom door and turn the knob, crawling through and shutting it behind me.

At first I just sit here, and wonder if the tears are gone. Then I see the bed and remember home and Meyleia, how I used to sleep so close to her. I command myself to stand, and to my own surprise I do, weakly. I head out for the bed, and when I reach it, I quietly crawl in and collapse onto my side. I only wait a minute for the tears to overtake me again. My throat burns now, and I do not care. I sob. I do not move from here for the next few hours.

Chapter 9.

When I wake up, it is in his bed. I dont remember much of it. Only the sear burning in my throat and my red eyes can attest that I had cried for quite a while. I lift myself from the covers without thought, like any other wild creature, living life the way they instinctively can, not hoping for anything, not questioning anything, just being.

I step to my clothes and unbundle the pile from the shelf. I slip off the nightgown and instead fit over the Spanish dress I have been wearing since the bath a day or so before. I look to the window a moment and observe not the wonders outdoors, but my own reflection, clearly shining back at me across the pane of glass. Looking at myself I feel reckless, knowing I still look like that girl who lost her family makes me feel reckless, so I walk away without tending to the disrupted hairs on my head.

When I enter the kitchen, it is silent and not empty. Nadeje is walking across it as I step in, and hearing me, he stops and calmly reads my manner. I feel like I am a statue and he a man walking passed and observing its complexity. It makes me feel slightly ill, though not as much as it would have before, all my emotions at present are diluted with the grief I let go of earlier. I feel like stone; a stone statue.

Are you better?

I try for a nod, but it is a lie. I shake my head when it refuses to come.

His cavernous eyes are not judgmental, but definitely hold some deep thought. Could something help you? Someone help youI wish I could help.

I stare at him and ignore the flood of warmth filling my chest. No, it is gentle.

He watches me a bit longer, and then sighs and turns to the stove to stir something. I wait, not wanting to do more without his request. He stirs the food hard, as though it is thick, and I absently watch his back work, gazing over the faint muscles beneath his shirt and not noticing any fault in it until he stops and turns.

I hate myself.

Could Ibring you something? Or He stops. I watch him for a few moments and the room is silent. Seeing something further inside me that I dont see myself, he seems assured. I almost want to go back into the bedroom as his eyes venture into me. I do not.

I wish to supply you with something for comfort and usebut I dont know what you would like, he tilts his head and looks down as though knowing it is wrong. Would you like me to get you something from a shop?

I feel a small flutter of hope inside at his offer. I do not know what he could possibly gain from it other than my better regard or his punishment. Surely it was not allowed for me to remain and for him, my protector, to go out, not even for his own needs, but for mine. I am not sure whether I should feel wary for him or not, not because I dont know if it is permissible or dangerous, but because I am wary presently.

It is disallowedbut because I am your guardian I feel we could make accomodations for yoursecurity, he looks at me questioningly. Lyra? I need you to answer me before I may think of how to plan it and go.

I nod a little, taking my time to warm up to the idea of him caring enough to do this. Do I look like his sister?

He straightens to my response, and looks at me as though judging and charting something I couldnt see. He then looks down.

I will have to call on Arturo He says it as though speaking to himself and I stand watching him as he contemplates deeply. He tunes back in as though just noticing me for the few seconds of absence. Are you able to walk a distance? He inquires purposefully.

I look at him still from my place at the door, unsure. I nod.

He watches me a moment longer. Then he seems to remember. He gently adds in. When you feel the need, there are cucumbers and nosh upon the table, please help yourselfwhat would you like?

I take a moment to understand his question.

He notices the confusion and clears it for me. Shopping-wise.

Isnt itnot safe? I inquire uncertainly. I feel resistant to ask but seeing no regret or softness to my request I continue. Couldnt your Commandant find outor if anyone noticed He shakes his head assuredly. Today is generally my shiftwe take turns walking through the streets so that there are not too many in number. If I am there at the time I usually am then it should be of no trouble to the others. I will have to be careful though.

I am too taken back to think straight. Why?

He looks lost.

Why are you doing this?

His face is expressionless. Someone has to do what is right. It comes out firm and sincere.

It makes sense and it makes me senseless.

He watches me quietly. Food? OrnoI have enough of thatdo you enjoy reading?

At the first part I realize with a little resentment, that the storage he has is filled with everything weve eaten so far. A little envy and anger at the Spanish fleet for having such provisions and us nothing glints in the bottom of my gut, but at the second part I feel my heart spiral with undeniable delight that plummets to guilt. I have never been offered such things. Never have I been spoilt.

I would love to readif I ever did He looks at me frowning thoughtfully. You have never read?

I look him in the eyes. Not these past few years ofdisadvantage. When I was little I used to learn how to read signs and occasional lines in the letters my vader receivedbut the books my moeder once had owned I didnt get to He looks confused. I quickly fill up the space of absence. We had to sell her few copies for necessities.

He seems to understand. I aim to mend that by tomorrow. What are your favorite genres?

Poetry, I enjoy poetry.

I love to read anything, but poetry is different somehow. Maybe because vader used to make poems about silly things with me when I was young or maybe just because of the tangled secrecy in each individual writing, all I knew, was each one left me breathless for more, and every time I read another the more breathless I got.

I know of a small outer shop for books and written worksand little to your liking goes in there without poetrythough heroics I grimace.

I do not enjoy the bold show-offs of those who wish to be recordedbiopicsno. I enjoy fiction with history.

He nods. Then this is the placeI will guide you away from my favorite sections of heroism then, and try to find you a ladys proper guide to pleasure.

I swallow. It takes me a moment to get my voice to come back to me to say the words. I do not want you to spend every bit of money upon me, I say it remembering my proper respect and a ladys poise.

Though, half to my sorry, he is not listening. I will have to come up with a plan through the streets and rides and contacts he turns away from me, leaving behind his low murmur, also leaving the hanging feeling of the weight tying me to him now. For now I cannot go. Not after he has left me here, without chains tying me to the foundation of his house, or interdiction of the door at my back. Not after he has left me without being harmed, not after he has left me undoubtedly with trust, tying me here with intangible cuffs.

That evening I move quietly towards his shelf of books, wanting nothing more than to find something suitable to put me to a calm sleep and keep me in a drowse throughout the rest of the night, and doubting upon finding such in maps and heroism. Scanning the shelves I find that my eyes land on what seems to be a dusty old journal, a few maps of some sort, a few old poetry papers, and some bound books of the newer kind. Reaching out, I withdraw one of these.

I suspect you shall not find what you wish inside that one.

I look up quickly, turning my gaze to the left to find him standing within his hallway doorway, leaning lightly upon the frame. Her books tend to carry thick information on weaponry and the nursing laws from last yearand the slight physiology of the body discovered by her husband, who is a politician for the King and a respected surgeon it takes me a moment to process his words. With rights, of course, to write such things in copies for us militia. Understanding how this was not meant for me, I silently reshelf it to its place.

If you are interested in such you may read it, it is just, I find, somewhat frustrating andtedious.

I do not respond a moment, then I turn. You will be going then, tomorrow morning?

He steps to lean against the shelf instead, not looking at me. Yes.

It takes everything that is left inside me to voice the question, but I manage to let it out. It isnt safe for you to gois it? I have to know; need to know if it is true that he takes no benefit from it other than my peace of mind.

He looks at me and those ocean blue eyes are somewhat curious. I do not break the gaze, I must not or else it would show how weak I feel in this moment.

No, but I considered that already.

It is calm and honest, and I cant tell if it scares me more than it gladdens me. I look down to the ground space between us and am thankful there is this much of it. I like poetry.

I can tell he is still watching me, but I cant tell if I want him to or not. I do too.

I look up and find him watching me as I thought he would be. Am I staying alone?

He takes a second to answer. I have a friend, who will watch you. He is different from me, but he is not unkind.

I watch him suddenly alert. He?

He sees my pale face and understands. You can stay in my room if that would make it better. He will be left to stay out of it.

I still watch him. I know I couldnt have hoped for freedom, but secretly I had. I nod slightly, realizing I liked this option better than being in the same house and the same room as an unknown Spanish soldier. I breathe once deeply and look to the floor.

You should get to bed.

It is quiet, and it takes me a moment to register he is speaking to me. I look up and read his eyes a little longer, before I nod and step towards the route to his room.

Chapter 10.

I have been here sitting in his room at least a quarter of an hour. Nadeje left at the same time I trapped myself in here away from the man. I estimate that Nadeje should return soon. At least I hope.

The man, Arturo as Nadeje calls him, stepped inside the house casually enough that quarter of an hour ago, but by the way I had to turn my chin up to look into his face far above me, and by his well-built height, I immediately reserved Nadejes room for the time Nadeje would be absent. Arturo is tall and brawny, and despite the kindness in his face, his piercing grey eyes and chestnut hair made him look like a powerful victim of God. He seemed curious, but I could tell that his strength was far above mine, and his paler complexion made him look ill-tempered. His character was unknown, but with the combination of all I knew I decided not to stay to learn it. The moment Nadeje excused himself I dismissed myself to his room. Since then I have been here, and my boredom, worry, and grief put together are doing me no good.

Outside the window, the weather is misty and cool to those in it. A faint fog seems to drift through the breeze over the streets, and though I am not in it, I can feel the fresh cold blanketing my skin. When a few Dutch soldiers pass, my hands tense around each other and the sour taste in my throat comes back from after I heard the news. They didnt even protect them. The thought is cold and dribbles down my conscience like a drop of dew on an icicle. I try to ignore it. It wasnt their fault. They hadnt known. The more I think of it though, the more I wonder how no one heard us screaming for mercy.

Suddenly, I realize what I am doing. Moeder would be cross. I stand silently and wonder if she can read my thoughts now that she is a part of the supernatural world. I shake a little at the thought and turn from the window. I cant go against my own people. I swallow hard. I cant let this rule me.

I step past the curtain that I had messed with before to tie it back, its long end sprawled out in frenzy upon the floor. I remind myself to ask Nadeje to fix it before I sleep tonight. Heaven knows I will get no rest if that window remains uncovered in the dark. Especially after moeder and MeyleiaI stop the thought in its tracks and head for the door. It would kill me if I thought of them. I place my hand on the door knob and pause to reconsider. Despite the alternatives risk, I feel the urge to open the door, to not be alone in this room anymore.

What if hewhat? What could he possibly do to me without getting repositioned or removed from his dignity? Anything. I swallow. Nadeje left me with him. I remember Nadejes kind eyes, his sincere speech yesterday, and his response to my wild thoughts and grief. I remember his virtue and his truth. His words whisper into my ear like music seeps through a hush. Someone had to do what is right. He wouldnt leave me with someone who would do the wrong. I turn the knob. Nadeje trusted this fellow with his life by leaving me with him. So I trust this man.

I step out and at first the room is even quieter than the one I just left. Then I hear a slight creak to my right, and a movement catches my eye. Arturo sits with his feet propped up on the table, leaning back into his chair so that it leans precariously on its back two feet. He does not look up, but keeps his gaze to himself. In his hands there is what looks like an article, and he looks very absorbed in it. I am taken aback. Not because of his inappropriate position, no. I could see him being disrespectful with an odd manly love towards Nadeje, but when I first met him I had never pictured this muscly, burly, God-like creature picking up a book to do something like read it for a pass time.

When he notices my regard, he slowly raises his gaze to me over the object he had been staring at. Seeing him like this, even if he is huge in his place, I have no tremor passing through me, the pierce of his eyes not too intense as others have been before. I can tell he is guarded, but his open nature is displayed by the way he is sitting, and how he doesnt even try to conceal his emotions or to move in response of my presence.

You are Lyra then?

The sound of his voice catches me off guard, and the way that he calls me by my improper name is almost listless.

You may call me Ms. Thimlet, it comes out soft, and not as planned. I can tell he means no harm by it, but still I feel I need to stand my ground.

He raises one hand as though I won and keeps the other on his book. Very well then, Ms. Thimlet.

His tone is kind but more booming than Nadejes. Half the power behind it seems reserved, the other half seems to come from over-confidence.

So, he sets down the book in his lap but does not remove his legs from the table. You are enjoying your stay with my friend then?

Despite the formality of the question, my cheeks heat up and flare in the cold room. I curse myself and the soul across from me. Not entirely, my answer feels chalky.