Team of Three

12th day of the 7th moon, 1162 HC

The water's gone cold. Mulsae doesn't move. He sits in the tub with his arms draped over the edge, skin pruned and spine curved. No blood on his body tonight. No lash marks. No bruises. But he can't feel his own breath.

Zudaeshi was fine tonight. Just talked, used him, and dismissed. It was the talking that got to him, though. She didn't even know she hurt him. She wasn't trying. But he's stuck and can't move because of what she said.

They were just sitting there in the chairs before the fire drinking wine. She was blathering on, laughing, when suddenly she brought him up.

"The zippy little thing," Zudaeshi had said, "What was his name? Gods, he talked like he was on fire. 'Hello hello hello!'" She laughed. Laughed! But Mulsae dearly misses those greetings and mannerisms.

Zudaeshi had continued, "Drove everyone mad. You were the only one who could tolerate him." She paused, thinking. "Wait, I haven't seen him in ages. Whatever happened to him?"

You killed him, you fucking bitch. No. I killed him. It was her order, but my action. I drowned his light with a flick of my hand. One wave, and he was gone, snuffed out beneath the tide.

He rubs a hand down his face, but it doesn't clear anything. I killed him in more ways than one.

From the other room, he hears Hanna's voice talking to the fire. "You're looking tired tonight, little fire. I'll forgive you if you behave tomorrow." Her tone is light, soft, almost conspiratorial. It's not for him. That's what makes it work. She doesn't know he can hear her.

He closes his eyes. Here's another light in the darkness. Am I going to drown this one, too?

She hums a few bars of a lullaby. Makes up a second verse that doesn't quite rhyme.

The silence in his chest cracks. Just a little. Just enough to let air in. He thinks of how she reads to them every night now. Thinks of her voice skipping along the page, gentle and unassuming. Thinks of how Damion curls in close and smiles into his skin. Of how she talks to the fire like it's a guest and not just fuel. And gods, the laughter. And Damion laughs when she's around, too.

He thinks of the time Damion tried to lecture her about fire. "It's combustion," Damion had said, exasperated, "Not a pet."

Hanna didn't even blink. "You're combustion."

That had been it. He snorted. She lost it. Damion tried to stay serious, failed entirely. They'd all crumpled into laughter like children up past bedtime.

He draws a breath and a smile sneaks onto his lips. He gets out of the tub and dries off slowly. He remembers how she tried to help when his arms couldn't lift the other day. She treats his injuries like it's a shared burden.

He pulls on some nightclothes and walks barefoot back into the bedroom. Hanna is still kneeling by the fire, stoking it gently, murmuring thanks to it for "keeping the room cozy." Damion sits cross-legged on the bed, watching her with quiet amusement. He catches Mulsae's eye and nods.

Mulsae climbs onto the bed. The mattress shifts beneath him. He doesn't speak. He just rests on his knees in the center. Then, without warning, the tears begin to fall. No sobbing. No sound. Just a steady, unstoppable trail slipping down his cheeks.

Damion leans forward and rests a hand on his shoulder. Hanna notices and carefully climbs onto the bed.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly.

Mulsae doesn't answer at first. He sits there, breathing. His eyes are open but unfocused, fixed somewhere far beyond the firelight. Damion's hand still rests on his shoulder. Hanna waits and doesn't press.

Finally, he speaks. "There was someone," he says. His voice is low, scraped raw. "He worked with me until two years ago. Zibri. He was... quick-tongued. Restless. Always moving. But bright. So bright." Hanna shifts closer. Damion squeezes his shoulder.

"They assigned him to me as a joke," Mulsae continues. "Thought I'd hate him. Thought I'd toss him back like spoiled meat. But I didn't. I couldn't just send him back to the wolves. So, I trained him. Taught him to read. Made him into a great assistant. For me."

He swallows. His jaw tightens. "I protected him the only way I knew how: by shielding him. By making sure he only ever had to deal with me. And it worked. For a while. He flourished." Damion lowers his head. He knows the rest.

"But then... I made a mistake. Zudaeshi decided I needed to be punished. She revoked my office. Reassigned Zibri." Mulsae pauses and fidgets with the bed covers. "And he couldn't handle it. Not the pressure. Not the cruelty. I'd trained him too gently. He was declared useless. And she..." He stops, breath catching. Another tear falls.

"She ordered him culled," Damion finishes for him. "And made Mulsae be the one to do it."

Hanna's hand curls against the blanket. "Culled? You mean, like..?"

"Executed," Damion says somberly.

Mulsae looks at her now, and this time, his eyes focus. "I don't know what the right move is. I don't know how to keep you safe."

He glances at Damion, then back to Hanna. "If we continue what we're doing, you could be reassigned, and then be hurt or killed because I didn't train your endurance." He huffs and furrows his brow, "But if I train your endurance, I could hurt you, or kill your spirit."

He looks up at her desperate, "I don't want to hurt you, even if it's to help you. I hurt Damion so much already. I honestly don't know if I can do it again. Even if it's for your own good."

He looks down at his fingers worrying the blanket, "But I'm terrified of you being hurt. I want to do anything to keep you safe." He sighs slowly. "I can't make a decision. I feel paralyzed."

Hanna's quiet for a while. She traces the edge of the blanket with her fingers, thinking. Then, softly, she says, "That sounds like a really heavy thing to carry. I mean... deciding something like that. About someone else."

She glances up at him, then back down again. "But... it's about me, isn't it? My body, my life. I don't think it's fair for you to have to carry all of it. Not by yourself."

She hesitates, searching for the right words. "I know I'm not strong like you two. But I'm not made of glass." She draws in a breath. "If there are decisions about me, I want to be part of the deciding. Even if it's scary."

Her voice wavers a little, but she holds steady. "We're kind of a team now, aren't we? So maybe we should share the hard parts. The worry. The risks. All of it."

Hanna leans in and rests her forehead on Mulsae's. "You're not alone in this." She holds her head steady.

Damion leans in too, resting his head against both of theirs. "No one carries this alone. Not anymore."

Mulsae's eyes close, and more tears fall.

"This sounds like The Agreement," Damion says quietly. Mulsae huffs a tired laugh.

"What's the agreement?" Hanna asks.

Damion hops off the bed, and Hanna and Mulsae sit back to watch. He pulls out an old, worn parchment from beneath the rear leg of the wardrobe and climbs back onto the bed. He unfolds it carefully between them.

"We made this years ago," Damion explains. "A written pact for how to survive together. We made decisions in advance, so we wouldn't break under pressure later." He looks up at Hanna. "It's time you know the plan. It's how we've made it this far."

Hanna lifts the parchment and reads it, brow furrowed in concentration.

The Agreement

1. We are equals.
We speak to each other as
equals and make decisions
together. Neither of us will
give the other orders.

2. We look out for each other.
We promise to help each 
other's well-being however we
can (within reason while under
Zudaeshi's control).

3. We talk.
We agree to speak honestly
about how we're doing. Even
if it's hard. Even if we'd
rather not.

4. Consent under Zudaeshi.
If Zudaeshi gives an order
that involves the other, we
agree in advance that it will
be followed. We will not hold
guilt or blame for surviving.

5. No Martyrs.
We promise not to make
decisions alone that would
endanger ourselves to protect
the other without discussion,
unless there is no other
option. We are worth saving
together.

6. Amendment Clause.
This Agreement is alive. It
may grow, change, or be
renegotiated at any time by
mutual consent.

She looks up at them. "I agree with all of this. It's simple, but... sensible." She hesitates. "You'd let me be part of this?" Damion nods and glances at Mulsae, who nods too.

"Let's do this together," Mulsae says.

Damion slides off the bed and fetches a pen. Hanna pulls her book from beneath her pillow, sets the parchment atop it, and signs her name beside theirs: Hanna Linwood.

She looks up. "That's it, then? I'm in?"

"We're a team of three now," Damion confirms.

=*=

Mulsae slowly draws in a breath, and lets it out in a long exhale. Damion is curled up against his side, one arm draped over his chest, breathing deep and slow as he sleeps. The edge of Hanna's hand is gently pressed against Mulsae's shoulder. She's been drifting toward him, gradually sharing more and more bed space with him as each day goes by. If this keeps up, eventually he'll have both of them with their arms draped over his chest.

Both of them. Here. Solely because of me. He lets out a slow exhale through his nose.

He shouldn't have broken down in front of them. Shouldn't have confessed the story of Zibri. All it did was manipulate them into sharing a burden they don't deserve. They're kind. Too kind. They only want to help because they care, not because it's right. Not because it should be their weight.

He agreed to share that weight. But he knows better. He got them stuck in this palace atop Harmony Mountain, so it is his responsibility to keep them safe. His, not theirs. Not shared. His alone.

That means the question remains: How does he keep Hanna safe?

Her voice echoes back to him from earlier: "I don't want to live like that. Always in fear. That's not living."

She said these past few days were bearable because they shared their lives. They read. They laughed. She smiled. Not in spite of the danger, but right through it. "If that gets me killed, so be it," she'd said, "At least I still laughed."

A smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth. He remembers her giggling when she confessed her need to dance. She apparently has been dancing in the tub! A full smile spreads on his lips. So that's why she always leaves the bathing chamber light on her toes and often with a twirl.

He bites his lip to suppress a huff of laughter. He sees it now. She is always dancing! The little hops and shuffles when she crosses the room. The way her arms sometimes drift behind her like she is trailing starlight.

The thought of having that taken from her sobers him instantly. He takes another deep steadying breath. I have to treat her softly enough that she can still do what brings her joy. If she's reassigned, it's all right if the transition is hard. Because at least she had more freedom now.

His lip quivers. Being soft may kill her. But she told him. She told him what mattered. That laughter matters. That dance matters. That living matters.

It frightens him. It terrifies him. But she says that's what's important to her. His body trembles from the weight of the decision. And he... he has to honor what she said she needs to truly survive: Laughter and dance.