What Help Looks Like Here

22nd day of the 6th moon, 1162 HC

They try to make it look casual, just two people drifting through the crowd. But Mulsae has been watching them circle for awhile now. Each slow orbit brought them closer, like predators gauging the safest angle to strike.

Then, at last, they reach him. Valena to his left. Maedor to his right. Flanking him. A coordinated ambush disguised as conversation.

They stand beside him as if they belong there. All three face Hanna, still hanging from the rig, her body trembling with quiet, relentless strain. Damion stands just behind them, his posture alert, his presence unmistakable.

Mulsae greets them without shifting his gaze. "Valena. Maedor." He puts his hands casually into his pockets.

"You look comfortable," Valena says, her voice deceptively calm, "while she hangs like slaughtered game."

If only they could feel how exhausted he is. He's on two nights without sleep. Two nights of holding a pain block steady. He thinks they're ignorant fools.

"She's still breathing," Mulsae replies evenly.

"That's enough for you?" Maedor asks, his tone sharp.

"She's mine," he says. "I intend to keep her alive and healthy for a long time."

"This is far from healthy," Valena says, flicking her gaze toward him.

"You should be helping her," Maedor presses. "Not just standing here."

Damion speaks low, the words barely audible. "He's the Master of the Water Trigram Powers. Think about what he's doing to help her."

Shut up, Mulsae's voice cuts to Damion's mind. *You risk someone overhearing.

Speak to their minds! Make them understand!* Damion insists.

I can't. They have mental shields. I'd need permission. And I can't ask for permission out loud.

Maedor turns to Damion, eyes narrow. "Oh really?" he asks. "What is he supposedly doing?" Neither of them answers. Damion shifts uncomfortably. The silence turns heavy.

Valena rolls her shoulders, as if loosening the grip of frustration. "You're doing nothing," she says. "So I'll do something. I'm going to make another bid to buy her."

No. Panic spikes in Mulsae's gut. No no no. Zudaeshi's jealousy is a storm without warning. Hanna won't survive it.

Mulsae grips Valena's arm. "Don't do this," he says tightly. "Trust me."

Valena shakes him off with a glare. "No one can trust you." She turns and strides away.

Mulsae's heart thuds. "Maedor," he says quickly, "stop her."

He doesn't move. "No."

"She's going to get Hanna hurt!" he snaps.

"She's trying to save her," he replies coolly.

Mulsae watches Valena approach the dais. Watches the space close between her and Zudaeshi. He shoves his magic forward, slamming into Valena's mental walls, but it's useless. His telepathic reach is too weak. Too much of his power is gone, stolen by Zudaeshi and then slowly siphoned off night after night while maintaining the pain block. He doesn't have enough to break in.

Valena turns and glares at him. She can feel Mulsae's efforts, but she just sneers then turns back to her approach toward the throne.

Mulsae's mind races. There's no way to intercept, no words that will slow the momentum. So he breaks character. Abandons the role he's played so carefully for forty-nine years.

He bolts.

His boots echo through the throne room as he surges after Valena, catching her arm at the base of the dais. "Don't," Mulsae growls. "Don't do this."

Valena yanks free. "Your Radiance," she calls, loud enough for all to hear, "your pet master here is so possessive."

Zudaeshi looks down with idle amusement. "He is controlling, isn't he? But quite effective."

Valena bows. "Your Radiance, I request that we enter negotiations for purchasing your newest pet." She gestures at Hanna, her body still straining in unnatural silence.

Mulsae grabs her arm again. "Valena, stop this." Valena shrugs him off like dirt from her sleeve.

Zudaeshi's smile flattens. "Mulsae," she says coolly. "You're no longer being cute."

Valena presses on. "I imagine he wants to keep her to himself. But I can make her sale worthwhile to you."

Zudaeshi leans back and crosses her legs. "And why would this pathetic human be worthwhile to the Flame Sanctum?"

Mulsae stands paralyzed. Expressing any value at all will doom her. Valena delivers it anyway. "Her dance skills are exceptional."

The words hit like a scream. Mulsae feels the bottom drop out from beneath him. The breath in his lungs turns sour. He stumbles back a step. He has failed.

Zudaeshi's expression stills. Then, slowly, her lips purse. "Really now."

Valena nods, blind to the threat in her tone. "Skill like hers shouldn't go to waste. I plan to make her a teacher."

It's like watching a knife plunge straight into Hanna's chest and knowing he handed it to the killer. And all he can do is watch. His fingers twitch and tremble.

Zudaeshi leans back in her throne, wine goblet in hand, but the swirling stops. "A teacher," she says, soft and slow. "How noble."

Her gaze drifts to Hanna, still strung up, still trembling. Zudaeshi's expression doesn't change. Not yet. But something warps behind her eyes.

"She does move beautifully," Zudaeshi murmurs. "That night, when she danced..." She trails off. Her breath hitches.

"When she danced," she tries again, "all of you... you watched her." Her fingers tighten around the stem of her goblet.

"No one looked at me."

A small, wet sound escapes her throat, half breath, half laugh. She turns her face slightly, trying to pull it together. But her voice has cracked. She closes her eyes for a beat too long. When they open again, they are glittering with abject fury.

"I am your Harmonarch."

She stands abruptly. The goblet falls, forgotten, shattering against the marble floor.

"I AM YOUR HARMONARCH!" she screams. "And you—" She can't finish the thought. She wheezes once, fists trembling at her sides.

The audience chamber stills like it's been struck. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Laughter chokes off. A goblet slips from someone's hand and shatters on the floor. Even the musicians falter, a string squealing as a bow drags the wrong way. Every eye fixes on Zudaeshi. And no one, no one, dares move.

Valena stills completely. Her expression doesn't change, but Mulsae knows what this is: trauma masquerading as poise. Valena is the child that learned stillness could be mistaken for safety.

Zudaeshi forces a breath in. And another. And straightens. Her scream hardens her into stillness. Her hands relax. Her voice turns silken. "Malric," she says, voice suddenly calm. "Come here." The crowd spits him out as he steps forward at once.

"I have decided," Zudaeshi says lightly, "that I don't like the way she moves." She smiles, cold and slow. "Remove her feet."