“Steele? Could you… please… put me down? Do you understand? Put me down? Over there?” I felt like I was talking to my daughter again when she was very young as I used hand gestures and overexaggerated movements to direct Steele’s attention to the platform.

There was a hesitance in his movements, and a tenderness as well, as Steele’s eyes narrowed at me followed by the subtlest of nods. I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen or what even was going to happen. All I know, to this day, is that he listened. There was a platform, closer than where I placed the barrels, that was usually shrouded in darkness which I hadn’t noticed before. With the utmost care, his hands glided through the air, unfurled, and tilted so I could easily roll off.

I hit the ground and immediately staggered to my feet, eyes wide and the growing, anxious nausea overtaking all of senses. I felt the acid in the back of my throat and it took every ounce of my being to refuse my body’s request to hurl the contents of my stomach onto the stone beneath me.

“Youl-heiris,” he said softly. I looked up into his eyes again, finding the same sincerity I had in times past. The rest was a complete blur accompanied by shouts and growls, questioning guards and countless reassurances. I don’t remember what I said for the most part, but one thing I do remember saying over and over again was to not hurt him.

“Don’t hurt him. He saved me.” Over and over. I prayed the guards would listen. I prayed for mercy on him as I was practically carried out of the chamber.

What just happened? Did the Ordin just nearly pull free from his chains? Did he save my life instinctually or by choice? Did he understand me? He must have, right? He responded. What did he say? What did he mean? And what are they going to do to him now that he’s shown he could break the chains from the walls and escape if he wanted to?

~~~~~

They had come to torment me. They came to spit their vile words and to laugh. I was being curt and, admittedly, loud; however, I managed to maintain myself when she arrived – the Factotum. None of the others fascinated me the way she did, not that it was my intention to scare the others away with my questions and conversational moments.

The guards shuffled her over to the ledge, for what purpose I couldn’t know. All I knew was I blinked and the next moment she was falling. They were staring down at her, the guards were, obviously horrified at what had just happened.

She was beyond their reach, but not beyond mine.

I braced myself and lunged. The chains clattered around me, their weight vanishing in this spurt of energy I had forgotten I possessed. The bolts and plates crashed and yanked away from the cavern walls, my hand shattering the limits that were placed on me for so long.

I reached her in time.

I dropped my hand so the fall was more gradual, but I could hear her gasping for air. Evidently, the wind must’ve been knocked from her.

She weighed nothing at all, barely a breath in my hand. It was like cradling a butterfly. There was obvious contact between us and, suddenly, I realized what a delicate being she was. My nerves began to get the better of me as I began shaking. Based on the look she gave me and the tremors in my palm, she undoubtedly felt the same. Still, I couldn’t image what she was going through. It was probably something out of her worst nightmare.

“Are you alright?” It was all I could utter over and over. I only received a look of bewilderment and confusion. No. Of course not.

I heard them shouting again in that dialect I wished I could understand. Hadn’t they done enough for one day? I growled and shouted, somewhat foolishly, at the pair of guards who were responsible for nearly sending this woman to an early grave.

“Stop! I’m trying to help!” I began to back away, remembering their wrath came in the form of pricks and slashes and lashes. My fingers instinctually curled and my other hand came up to shield her from the onslaught of spears as I shook my head and let the spear fall from my skin.

I felt shifting in my hand. It was an odd, squirming sensation which sent chills up my spine. I braced myself for a scream of anguish or aid. I braced myself for the spears that would accentuate the lines on my already marked face.

“Steele!” My name cut through the room and through the rising sense of urgency and panic. It was her. I looked her purely out of instinct just as she said the one thing I would never have predicted.

“Thank you.”

My heart stopped.

It was my language. My tongue. Regardless of circumstance, my heart lifted.

It was finally a word I understood.

I latched onto this fragment and watched her repeat herself a few times, uttering the same words I knew, before pointing to a nearby platform. Did… she want me to put her down? Undoubtedly. She didn’t want to be held another second and, frankly, I was too terrified I might accidentally twitch and harm her to refuse.

I brought my hand over to the ledge and tilted my palm, ensuring she could stand. Could she understand me this entire time? Unlikely. Her pronunciation was that of a foreigner. Still, perhaps I could exchange a courtesy.

“You’re welcome.” She was ushered away quickly by the others, and I knew instantly my punishment for breaking the chains would be severe. Still, to hear a single word I understood, and have it mean what it was intended for made my spirits lift. Regardless of what they were about to do, I could endure knowing that one person tried, and succeeded, to connect with me.