I would like to report that I faced my captors with calm and courage.

  I suspect, however, that you know me too well for that. The truth is that I was disoriented, faltering, and yes—terrified for my own life.

  My sense of touch was first to return. Something coarse encircling my wrists, binding them together. Rope. And the same again around my ankles. A cold, hard surface against my back… I was propped up against a wall. My head felt inflamed, as though my brain was pressing against my skull, but there was no pain. A small blessing, in retrospect, though it did little to reassure me.

  I opened my eyes to a small, gray, unadorned room. The bloated face of Doctor Siltstrom hovered not a foot from mine, leering at me with those sunken eyes of his. I instinctively tried to crawl backwards away from him, but there was nowhere for me to go, and so instead I lost my balance and fell over onto my side.

  He said something I couldn’t understand.

  A pair of rough hands reached past Siltstrom and pulled me back up to a seated position. Not the soft, delicate hands of a physician, but powerful, calloused hands. Their owner regarded me with cold hazel eyes; satisfied that I wouldn’t fall again, she let me go.

  For the briefest moment, I considered appealing to her. If I could find the words (which was unlikely, considering I couldn’t use my language spell with my hands tied), perhaps I could convince her that Siltstrom was a madman. I could get her to help me.

  But then I saw her face. There was no anger or hatred there. Rather, there was an utter disregard for whether I lived or died. I parted my lips to say something—ancestors know what it was—and all that came out was a whimper. I pressed my back against the wall.

  Another voice, or perhaps a growl, issued from behind them. A man, massive, watching with crossed arms. I looked up to him, desperate to find in his eyes what the other two lacked. Some mercy, some kindness, some hint of whatever it was they intended to do with me. I was shaking and it was so cold and why couldn’t I think and—

  Siltstrom’s fingers dug into my jaw, holding my face still. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he spoke slowly and methodically, though his meaning was entirely lost on me. He turned my head, first one way and then the other, examining me like I was some specimen. Like I was something to dissect.

  I could taste his sour breath, his face was so close to mine. Revulsion roiled in my stomach, and I retched, and the sensation brought me back to myself. My arms jerked up, and I grasped at the front of his coat, awkwardly clasping the loose fabric with my bound hands. Siltstrom shoved my face into the wall behind me, yelling, as I tried to push him away and to the side.

  And then, cacophony. Shouting broke out behind him, and a great deal of thumping and thudding, and then Siltstrom was away and I was left stunned and blinking.

  No one was watching me anymore. The woman’s had turned her back, and the man was slumped against a wall. Next to him stood—unbelievably—Jacque, with his cane planted in the man’s stomach.

  With a grunt, Jacque pulled the cane free, and a steel edge flashed in the dim light. He pointed it at the woman, shifting his weight to his good leg as he took on a loose fighting posture. The woman had drawn her own sword, a heavy-looking thing with a cross-shaped guard.

  Perhaps I have not remarked upon it, but one of the more curious differences between Panzea and Guntao is the conspicuous lack of swords here. I had seen only a handful since arriving, and now, suddenly, my fate was being decided by a duel—and Jacque had been carrying around a cane-sword this whole time.

  It seemed more likely that this was all some manner of hallucination.

  But everything felt real enough. It was tempting to let myself go slack and wait for Jacque to save me, but, while the man clearly had some surprises up his sleeves, his opponent had the look of a professional soldier. If I was to survive this, I would need to do something.

  The man he’d stabbed with his cane was curled up on the ground. He’d had a sword, too, and he’d managed to draw it, but it now lay uselessly at his side.

  With a cry of “Ha-ha,” Jacque lunged at his opponent blade-first. She leaned to the side, allowing his blade to pass by harmlessly. Then she closed the distance between them in a single stride. With a slap from the back of her hand, Jacque went staggering to the side.

  I’d crawled over to the man, wriggling forward like a low worm, and had set to sawing the ropes off of my wrists with his sword. I could feel his eyes on me as he lay there, clutching at his bleeding stomach, but he was either unable or unwilling to intercede.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Jacque rounded on his opponent, feinting high and then thrusting low with surprising agility. It was to no avail, as the woman forcefully parried his cane-sword aside with her own blade. He had to grasp his weapon in both hands to keep it from flying away. Siltstrom shouted something, and the woman grunted in assent.

  She pulled back her arm, preparing a thrust aimed squarely at Jacque’s throat.

  A flash of light enveloped the room. I had been watching the fight through the corner of my eye, engaged as I was with undoing my bonds, and so I managed to close my eyes before I was completely blinded. I turned all of my attention to cutting through my ropes, clinging desperately to the action. My very survival depended upon it.

  There was another shout, this one of pain, and the sounds of a scuffle. By the time I could see again, the woman was clutching at her bleeding arm, her sword on the floor. Jacque stood with his blade pressed to her chest, a triumphant grin on his face.

  The woman gave a heavy sigh. Catching his cane-sword with her padded sleeve, she shoved it aside, and suddenly she had Jacque in a headlock with her good arm. In the time it took her to do this, his grin hadn’t yet faded.

  It became a grimace as she started to squeeze. Just then, I managed to slip my hand free.

  I will spare you the details of what followed. It is better that you don’t know. Suffice it to say, a few minutes later, the woman had her good hand around Siltstrom’s throat, and Jacque was hunched down on the ground, gasping for breath.

  “What…?” Jacque asked.

  “We leave,” I said. I staggered forward, ignoring the growing ache in my head, and helped Jacque to his feet. Leaning against each other for support, Jacque and I made our exit to the sound of Siltstrom’s meaty palms slapping impotently against the armor of his own mercenary.

  ***

  You will forgive me if I don’t take the time to describe the city watch station or the interview I endured when we arrived. It was a brief affair, in any case, and Jacque furnished most of the details.

  It was several hours after we escaped Siltstrom that my head began to clear. Jacque and I sat side by side in a waiting room intended, I suppose, for the victims of assorted crimes. The station was in a part of the city I’d never visited before, as apparently Siltstrom had taken me to a vacant building in one of the more impoverished neighborhoods.

  I raised my head and looked at Jacque. “How did you find me?” I asked.

  He’d been sitting at attention the entire time, eyes straight ahead and half-closed, looking as though he hadn’t just stabbed another man—perhaps fatally. “I have been watching Siltstrom,” he said without turning to face me. “I could not prove it, but I was certain he would try something. Two days ago he took up residence in that squatter’s nest, so I kept to the shadows and I watched. Imagine my surprise when he returned tonight with two hooligans and a suspicious Why-sized package.”

  I thought about this for a moment. “Why did you not call city watch?”

  His lip curled. “You have an odd way of saying thank you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You know about, how is it called, big-knife-hitting?”

  “[Sword fighting]. Or, more precisely, [fencing].” The disdain melted away as he smiled. It was the sort of smile warmed by a deeply held sense of pride rather than any true benevolence. “As it happens, I was captain of the fencing team at Brent. I certainly put those ruffians in their place, no?”

  “Mm.”

  I sunk back into a dull thoughtlessness. His smile was short lived, and when next I looked at him, he was watching me.

  “That is not quite right, is it?” he said. “That woman, she had me by the throat. But then, suddenly, she was shouting at Siltstrom about her payment, and accusing him of not having enough money… Why should she think such a thing, at just such a time?”

  I shrugged, a gesture I’d seen Olrick deploy countless times to avoid uncomfortable lines of questioning.

  We sat in silence for a time, Jacque stealing the occasional glance but otherwise accepting my non-answer. No one had told me what we were waiting for, and I was too tired to care. The answer became obvious enough when the Seabornes came in the door.

  I didn’t want to face them. Should I have been relieved to see my friends? The couple who had taken me in and become the central figures in my life? I wanted nothing more than to collapse into a pair of familiar arms and cry, but there were no such arms in this world.

  There are no such arms in any world, save for yours.

  Jacque stood to meet them, and they shared a whispered exchange. I could ignore them no longer when Olrick cleared his throat, and I looked up from the spot on the stone floor that I had been intently studying.

  “It’s been a long day,” he said. “Why don’t you come back and rest, and we can figure out what’s what in the morning?”

  What else could I say to that?

  ***

  This morning, upon waking, I wrote my previous entry. Certain thoughts were beginning to stir in my mind, and working through yesterday’s events helped to crystallize them. Perhaps I needed to face death in order to wake up from this…whatever it is I have been doing all this time.

  Sixty-seven days. It has been sixty-seven days since I’ve come to Panzea, and I’ve made precious little progress in retrieving your body. I have allowed myself to become distracted by academic pursuits and vague fears, but the fear of what will happen if I do not act is anything but vague: I will lose you forever.

  After I finished my morning writing, I went to see Nadine straight away and we had a long conversation. She acknowledged that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to work for Madame Colvar if it weren’t for me, and she agreed that it was only right that she should go ahead in her pursuit of the House Valia position. You do not need to know any more details than that.

  I spent the rest of the day recovering from another headache. You may worry that a certain pattern is emerging here, but I assure you that it is not. I am only doing what is correct and necessary to return you to my side.

  We deserve so many more years together, my love. I am determined to see to it that we get them.