Dearest Zann,

Acea stared after us as his soldiers took me away. Of course that’s all he did. He didn’t want to talk to me nor I wanted to talk to him. I loved him. But clearly, clearly, the best thing would be if we never saw each other again.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t speak. What was to say? There was nothing I wanted to know or wanted anyone else to know. I made no mystery about what Acea was doing here; he had heard that the people of Crideon were being repressed by Lord Clear and the greenkind, and he came to help. Just like he and I used to do in other places. And here I was.

The rebel soldiers would put me in a cell. And eventually Acea would come and talk to me. And we would hurt each other. And nothing would be resolved. And he’d let me go, because why not. And then I’d slink off and scheme some more.

“In here,” one of the soldiers said, shoving me toward a door, not too rough.

“No,” I said, putting out an arm against the doorframe. “Wait.”

He thumped me with a spearbutt. “Acea said–“

“I know what he said. But I’d like to do something useful here. Can we do something useful?”

They both had their spears leveled now. “What are you talking about? You’re a Rosolla, and–“

“I came here to try to fix things. Not to fight you fellows. Or anybody. Well, maybe Lord Clear. But all I can do from in there is to make Acea feel bad. Can we do something else instead? Can you think of anything else you can do with me? Ay, keep me out of trouble. But don’t leave me in there like potatoes.”

“Just get in,” the first soldier said, but the second one interrupted.

“No, no; I get this. Well, partly. Let’s take him upstairs. That’ll be fine. We can keep an eye on him.”

“You believe him?” the first one said.

“A little. Come on. Let’s see what happens.”

Grateful as I was, I winced on behalf of Acea. If I was leading a rebellion and one of my men wanted to disobey my orders about a prisoner to ‘see what happens’, my head would pop off of my neck and go bouncing down the lane.

They led me upstairs and out into a little courtyard. There were soldiers training with spears and swords, but also some in a corner sitting around drinking water. They brought me to this corner and shoved me down on a bench. One of them called, “Ancient!” and an officer trotted over.

It was Fafafa. “Oh,” he said, “you’ve got Ybel here. I guess that was inevitable.”

“You know him, sir?”

“I’m his friend,” I interrupted.

Fafafa looked at me, fondly, I thought. “Are you? Still?”

“I don’t know if you’re my friend, but I’m yours.”

Fafafa grinned and sat down. He beckoned a soldier and said, “Could you get my friend some water, please?”

I drank it. Cold and clean.

Love,

Ybel