She’s been bound. Victus understood what it meant for a prisoner to be bound. He’d bound enough of them as part of his duties. He never relished doing it, but for some prisoners it was far safer for the guards — most people weren’t a threat; they were typically submissive once in their cell, on their best behaviour in hopes of leniency in their sentencing. When prisoners fought arrest or behaved erratically, a guard might decide to restrain them, but that wasn’t binding them. Binding them was code for a full-body restraint — and not just that — whatever the prisoner had done, it had been deemed fair to dish out a little pre-sentencing punishment.

Oh, Magenta. What did you do?

Victus knew what he’d see, but it still hurt him to see it.

He slowed for a moment after he’d opened the door. The ragged prisoner clothes — the smell, dirt and blood — the arms and legs and torso tied to the chair. The dirty sack over the head which twitched in his direction when he opened the door. She looked like any one of a dozen other prisoners he’d beheld just like this before. But he’d never seen a prisoner like this. Not in the way that to look at her was to feel — sympathy. He frowned. When had he learned not to look at all the other prisoners of Bluddrayl that way?

He hastened to her side and pulled the sack off of her head. He saw blood smeared all across her face, a mix of dried and fresh, and a gag across her mouth.

He gently eased the gag out.

‘Thanks,’ she sighed.

He didn’t know what to say — what more he could do. Now that the sack was removed, he could see that there were more binding ropes around her neck, digging into her skin, leaving angry red marks. He let his fingers brush the side of her chin and thought about untying her completely but knew he shouldn’t. He’d be in enough trouble already. How was he going to explain to Everard that he’d lied about having clearance to see Magenta? He just wanted to do something to help her. Now he could end up in the holding cell right next to her for his foolish trouble.

He pushed the thought aside.

‘What — what happened?’ he asked.

Magenta spit out a mouthful of saliva and blood. ‘It looks worse than it is,’ she assured him.

He drew back to stand in front of her and waited for more explanation.

She tried to smile at him. ‘I know it was a bad idea — I mean, I know now. At the time, it was mostly instinct. The two of them were coming toward me and I just, uh, played them a little song. Seems they didn’t much like it. The recorder isn’t for everyone, I guess.’

‘I thought you said you left to get control of your powers.’

‘I did! I do. If I didn’t, they would’ve actually been hurt beyond their egos. I just held them in place while I figured out what to do — that’s all, really.’

Victus closed the door to the holding room and then leaned back against it. He took a moment to regard her. Why would she lie to him now? ‘All right, I believe you.’ He blew out a long breath. ‘What are we going to do now?’

Magenta clenched her eyes as if against some pain. ‘I suppose I’m going to explain what happened and ask for leniency. I was intending to get Tabitha’s help, but, well.’ She said it calmly, plainly, but Victus’ insides tensioned into a knot of guilt.

‘I should have told you about Tabitha,’ he said. ‘I should have known the Gwerr would arrest you on sight.’ He shook his head. ‘We could’ve done this differently.’

Magenta shrugged — as best as she could, given how firmly she was bound in place. ‘I could’ve done a lot of things differently.’ She tried to adjust her seat and gave a brief, sharp yelp. ‘That’s probably why I’m here in the first place.’

Victus frowned. He had never understood exactly what had happened that night. Only that, for whatever reason, Magenta had chosen to leave for good instead of letting him help her. At least, he had thought it had been for good. ‘Why did you do it?’

She recoiled like he’d hit her. ‘I didn’t! I mean, I didn’t mean to. It’s… complicated.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll… I’ll tell you everything.’

Victus startled, standing up and looking back at the closed door. He could hear voices in the hall. How quickly would someone prove his lie?

‘No time for that now,’ Victus said. ‘We’ll worry about the past later. What did they say the charges were?’

‘Arson, theft, assault,’ she said. ‘Something like that. There was a lot less “you have rights as a citizen to a fair and public trial”, and a lot more, ah, knocking around, you know.’ Magenta looked past Victus, in the direction of the voices, just as he had, then to Victus and back. ‘Victus, are you allowed to be here?’

‘Never mind that,’ he said, his ears hot. ‘We have to figure out how to keep you out of jail.’ He ran his frustrated hands through his hair. ‘Don’t try to explain what happened and what didn’t happen. Just lay out only the simplest facts and let them fill in the blanks. If it was an accident —’ Magenta made a little sound of protest ‘— since it was an accident, they won’t be able to prove you were responsible for the fire, so they won’t be able to convict you for it. The money, though —’

‘I’m going to pay it back. That was always my plan.’

‘That won’t be enough.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists, then shook his head. ‘If my father were alive, he could vouch for you. But my word —’ He looked glumly down at his empty palms. ‘My word isn’t worth much.’

‘Oh, Victus, I’m so sorry.’ Her words were tender, quiet. He stood, staring blankly for a moment, before he realised what she meant.

‘I — it’s fine — I mean, it was — it wasn’t — it’s been —’

He couldn’t seem to get a straight thought out. He wasn’t prepared to talk to Magenta about his father. He’d almost mentioned it when they were walking back to town. But what was there to say? His life felt like a complete mess since his passing. His inability to keep himself together since was — was — pitiful. A stain on his father’s memory.

Magenta gently nodded at him, like she understood, but she couldn’t possibly. They both fell into silence.

Then Magenta did something Victus never would have expected.

She began to hum.

It was a simple, low tune. It somehow felt nostalgic and familiar, even though he didn’t think he recognised it. As he listened it seemed to fill the room, yet she never hummed any louder. In one moment it took his breath away, and in the next he seemed to finally be able to breathe again, purer air than before, the smell of iron and vinegar gone, replaced by — by the gentle wool-hardy musk of his father —

And then he laughed. Just one quick, short burst of relief. With the sound went some tightness that he hadn’t even realised was sitting in his chest.

Victus watched a single tear slide down Magenta’s cheek and felt that tear as if it was his own, on his own cheek.

She sighed out the last note of the song to bring it to an end.

‘I’m not much of a singer,’ she said. ‘But needs must.’

Victus didn’t know what to say. He no longer felt that he didn’t want to tell Magenta — to tell her everything — about his father, his sense of loss, not just in his father as a man, but in his own sense of purpose — it just felt like the song had taken his words, all his possible thoughts, and replaced them with feelings. Like there was nothing to say that would match it.

A short shout from somewhere far down the hall broke the moment.

‘Thank you for coming to check on me, Victus. It means more than you know just to see that you’re still on my side — after — after everything. That you still believe I’m a good person. It gives me hope that the council will believe the same.’

Victus nodded but didn’t move. He should go. He needed to go. But what had he done? He’d come here to help her — wasn’t there anything he could do? Useless, his own voice whispered to him.

‘And I will tell you everything,’ she continued. ‘Soon. Just please don’t get yourself into trouble on my account.’

‘But I need to do something to help.’ Victus’ words scratched keenly in his throat.

Magenta nodded. ‘Then there is something you can do for me.’ She cleared her throat nervously. ‘Something important. I can’t explain why right now, but I need you to find my violin. They took all my instruments, but my violin is important.’ Her composure broke. She had done well to keep a brave face before him, despite being beaten and bound to a chair, but here she cracked. ‘You have to find it. Keep it safe for me. Please.’

Victus knew he would do it, but it still didn’t seem like enough. ‘What if we can’t protect you from this?’

What she said next surprised him. ‘Don’t worry about protecting me, Victus. There are forces at play so much bigger than me. No matter what happens to me, my priority is protecting Bluddrayl.’

Although she said it with buoyed determination, it stung Victus. He had sworn his duty to Bluddrayl, and yet he never seemed to be able to keep on task. He feared he was putting Ancita ahead of his duty, and now, was he doing the same with Magenta? Maybe he just didn’t know how to be the person he had sworn to be.

At least, for now, Magenta had given him something to do. Some purpose. He clung to it. Maybe he couldn’t figure himself out, maybe he was a mess, but this, he could do.

Gently, he put the gag back in place and put the bag back over her head. She gave him a crooked smile just before she disappeared under the cloth, as though to reassure him that it would all be okay, and he felt a twinge of shame — it should have been the other way around.

On his way out, he stopped again before the guard posted at the entry.

There was no one else — whoever Victus had heard the guard speaking to was gone. To get Everard? He hoped not. In any case, the guard regarded Victus with open skepticism now. He must know that Victus was never cleared to be there. But Victus didn’t care. He drew himself up to his full height and pointed at the pack and the pile of clothes.

‘Tell me, what have you done with her instruments?’