He opened his eyes. Ah, such eyes! They were deep and dark, and there were shadows around them, as if his sleep—if indeed it had been only sleep—had been troubled by unwelcome dreams.

“I don’t . . .” he murmured. “I can’t . . .”

“Are you all right?” Lily could not stop staring. The voice of common sense urged her to get to the stair, to be ready for a speedy departure, but she could not make herself obey. Oh, she gazed and gazed, and her whole body trembled with new feelings. “Are you hurt? You were lying there so still, I thought you were dead.”

The young man struggled to sit up. His torn shirt revealed rather too much of his well-muscled body, which bore bruises and scratches as if he had been in a fight. Belatedly, Lily remembered her good manners and dropped her gaze.

“Who are you?” the man said. “I thought . . .”

“They call me Lily. I live nearby. What has happened to you? I can fetch help—”

“No!” Such was the urgency in his voice that she looked at him once more, and saw a matching panic in his eyes. “No, don’t tell anyone I’m here, please!”

“But you’re hurt—”

“I’ll be fine. See?” He pushed himself to a sitting position, then tried to stand. A woeful effort, as it turned out; his legs failed to support him. Lily was quick to kneel beside him, but hesitated to touch. “Really,” he said, “you had best just go away and leave me. As you see, I am fit for nothing right now.”

Lily felt a pang of disappointment. Worse than disappointment. Was this mysterious stranger no more than some local lad who had taken too much strong drink and got into trouble with his friends? Had those friends perhaps left him in the tower as a rather cruel kind of joke? Now was the moment to step away, to go home safely and leave him to sort himself out. But she had not smelled ale on his breath. “What is your name?” she asked, sitting down on the floor a safe arm’s length from him.

For the first time, the young man looked at her; really looked. He smiled, and her heart turned over anew. “If you are Lily,” he said, “then I am Ash.”

“Ash.” It could not be his real name, any more than Lily was hers. This felt like being five years old again and playing a game of pretend. But different. There was a wanting in it that left her breathless. “I have a water skin with me. Here.” She took it from the little bag she was carrying on her back and handed it to him.

Ash drank deeply, as if he had been long thirsty. “By all the gods, that tastes good. Tell me, Lily, what brings you up into this chamber? This is not a place where a young lady should be wandering all on her own.”