He led me past cells, some of which were occupied, and some of which weren’t. They were narrow, small things built of metal wire. They were not wide enough to lay in and not quite tall enough to stand in, even for an elf. I call them cells but really they were cages. Some of the prisoners shook the doors of their cells and pleaded with the keeper for freedom. Some of them slunk into the corners of their cells, away from the light. “Nahsiyya! You’re wife’s here for you.” He whistled. “She’s angry. I see why you strayed from such a nagging shrew.”

Up ahead, just out of the reach of the torchlight, I heard the sound of a body slam into the metal meshwork. “Ariah?”

“I’m here!”

“Oh, sweet mercy. Trees and streams. Spirits and sanity.” The keeper swung the torch at Sorcha’s cell. Sorcha cried out in pain. “Let me out, you bastard!” he roared.

The keeper laughed. “That’s getting close to disruption of public order, ghalio. You keep on, and I’ll leave you in there. And this one, he might play wife to you but he’s a man on his papers. Might have to throw him in lockup, too, if you keep on.”

Sorcha caught my eye. I gave him a slight, tense shake of my head. He clamped his jaw shut. The keeper laughed his acid laugh again and unlocked the cell door. He grabbed Sorcha by the wrist. Sorcha screamed and fell to his knees. The keeper dragged him out, and Sorcha scrambled upright, drawing shallow breaths. His shirt was torn. His boots were missing. I guided him out onto the street as soon as we were in the lobby, stopping only long enough to retrieve his papers. I didn’t get a good look at him until we were a block east of the precinct. I’d been walking as fast as I could without it properly being called a run. I had hold of his arm and pulled him along with me. I heard the unevenness of his breath, but I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t think much of anything just then besides getting him back to Dirva’s.

“Ariah,” he said. His voice was razors and tears. “Ariah, hold on,” he said.