Benjamin had lost track of how many days he'd been in the tower.

  A week? Two? The thin light from the high barred window told him day from night, but the days themselves blurred together into a grey sameness.

  They woke him at random. Standard interrogation tactic—deny consistent sleep, wear down resistance. Sometimes after three hours. Sometimes two. Last night a guard had opened the door, stared at him for a full minute without speaking, then left.

  Benjamin had rolled over and gone back to sleep.

  He smiled slightly at that. They were trying. He'd give them credit for effort. But stress about interrupted sleep made it worse—he knew that much. So he simply rested when he could and didn't worry when he couldn't.

  Still exhausted. But functional.

  His body ached from the thin pallet. His stomach cramped with hunger—they brought thin soup once a day, maybe. Sometimes just water. He'd stopped being able to tell if he was actually hungry or if that was just the permanent state of things now.

  He tried to keep his mind sharp. Recited laws. Reviewed procedures. Tested his memory of every document he'd ever read about Eldmere's governance.

  Section One, Article Three: No law shall be valid or authority granted without the written consent of both the reigning monarch and the appointed Administrator...

  But doubt crept in during the long hours of darkness.

  What was the point?

  Jorvan was courting the nobles. Settling in. Every day he held out was another day the occupation became more permanent.

  Would it even matter if he signed? Would it change anything?

  Benjamin pressed his hands against his face. Felt the hollows under his cheekbones. When had he gotten this thin?

  It matters. It has to matter.

  The people needed him to hold out. The nobles needed him. Cocky—

  No. Cocky was dead. The hyena had killed him.

  Benjamin was alone.

  He stood. Paced the small cell. Four steps to the wall. Turn. Four steps back.

  The door bolt scraped.

  Benjamin turned.

  Two guards stood in the doorway. Garanwyn soldiers. Not the usual ones who brought his meals.

  "Administrator," one said. "You're wanted."

  "By whom?"

  "Bishop Valgarr. Come with us."

  Benjamin's stomach tightened. But he straightened his tunic—rumpled, stained now, but still his—and walked between them into the corridor.

  They led him down the tower stairs. Through passages he recognized. The palace looked different now. Had it changed before he’d been put in the tower? Or was this new? He couldn’t remember seeing Garanwyn colors on the walls. Guards at every corner. More of them than before.

  How long had he been locked away? Long enough for this?

  Through the kitchens and down more stairs. The guards opened a heavy door Benjamin had never noticed before. A storeroom, maybe. Dark. Stone walls. Cold.

  Valgarr stood in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. His rings hummed softly in the silence.

  "Administrator," he said pleasantly. "Thank you for joining me."

  "I didn't have much choice."

  "No. I suppose not." Valgarr gestured to a chair. "Please. Sit."

  Benjamin remained standing.

  Valgarr smiled slightly. "Stubborn. I respect that. Truly." He moved closer. "But stubbornness without purpose is simply... exhausting. For everyone involved."

  "I have purpose."

  "Do you?" Valgarr tilted his head. "You sit in a tower cell. Alone. Cut off from everyone. The city moves on without you. The kingdom functions without you. What purpose are you serving, exactly?"

  "I won't sign your documents."

  "Ah. Yes. The documents." Valgarr pulled a rolled parchment from his robes. Spread it on the small table. "Let me show you what you're refusing."

  Benjamin didn't move closer.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "This," Valgarr continued. "More efficient. Better protection for the people."

  He pulled out another document. "This one restructures the Cydweli Order's operations in Eldmere. Brings them into alignment with Garanwyn's chapter. Expands educational programs for youth. Surely you support education?"

  Another document. "Trade agreements. Garanwyn merchants gaining access to Eldmere's markets. Economic growth. Prosperity. Good for everyone."

  He looked at Benjamin. "These are reasonable requests. Beneficial, even. And yet you refuse."

  "Because they're not what they appear to be."

  "No?" Valgarr's eyebrow rose. "Enlighten me."

  Benjamin's voice was steady despite the hunger, the exhaustion. "You're not helping Eldmere. You're consuming it."

  "Such dramatic language." Valgarr rolled the documents back up. "But let's say you're right. Let's say my intentions are exactly as you describe. What difference does your refusal make?"

  He stepped closer. "I have time, Administrator. All the time in the world. You sit in your cell. Days become weeks. Weeks become months. Eventually, you'll sign. And Eldmere becomes ours. "

  "The nobles—"

  "The nobles want stability. Order. Someone competent running things." Valgarr smiled. "Right now, that's me. Not you. You're in a tower. Forgotten."

  Benjamin said nothing.

  "Sign the documents," Valgarr said quietly. "Make this easier on yourself. You could have a land. Decent meals. Your work returned to you if you want it. You could be useful again. All you have to do is cooperate."

  "No."

  Valgarr studied him for a long moment. "Very well." He gestured to the guards. "Take him back."

  The guards gripped Benjamin's arms. Led him back to the tower. Back to his cell.

  The door closed behind them.

  They marched Benjamin back through the palace. Up the tower stairs. Into his cell.

  The bolt slid home.

  Benjamin stood in the center of the small room. Looked at the thin pallet. The barred window. The stone walls.

  Days becoming weeks. Weeks becoming months.

  It has to matter.

  He sat down and tried to remember Section Two, Article Seven.

  The words wouldn't come.

  ***

  The warehouse smelled like mildew and despair.

  Kith lay in the corner, watching her companions with the kind of detached observation that came from being too tired to care anymore.

  Cocky sat near the far wall, staring at nothing. He'd been doing that for three days now. Just... staring. Occasionally his feathers would ruffle, like he was thinking about moving, but then he'd settle again. Very productive day of wallowing, that was.

  Dain sat against the opposite wall, his lute beside him. He'd stopped playing after the beating. His lip had healed—mostly—but the loose tooth was still loose. He kept touching it with his tongue. Kith could see him doing it from across the room.

  Prattle perched on Dain's shoulder, unusually quiet. Even the bird had run out of things to mimic.

  Footsteps at the door. Light. Quick.

  Pip slipped inside, closing the door carefully behind her.

  "Well?" Kith asked, not moving from her spot.

  Pip held up one hand. A single copper coin sat in her palm.

  "Tremendous," Kith muttered. "We could buy... absolutely nothing with that."

  "I tried." Pip's voice was small. She sat down, still holding the coin like it mattered. "I begged all morning. Most people just walked past. One man gave me this."

  One coin. After an entire morning. An eight-year-old child begging in occupied streets while guards watched and did nothing.

  Standards were low. But apparently they could still get lower.

  "We need food," Dain said. His voice was hoarse. He barely spoke anymore either.

  "We need a lot of things," Kith said. "Food. Shelter. A functional king. Competent leadership. A plan. Should I keep going?"

  No one answered.

  Kith looked at them. Really looked.

  Pip was too thin. Had been before, but now her clothes hung off her like she was playing dress-up in someone else's wardrobe. Her face was hollow. Eyes too big.

  Dain was gaunt. The kind of thin where you could see bones shifting under skin when he moved. His hands shook when he held them out. Not from cold. From weakness.

  Cocky looked small. Shouldn't be possible for a cockatrice, but somehow he'd managed it. Feathers dull. Scales lackluster. The mighty King of Eldmere, reduced to a depressed bird in a corner.

  And Kith herself? She'd seen her reflection in a puddle two days ago. Hadn't looked since.

  "Maybe we should leave," Pip said quietly.

  No one argued this time.

  Last week, Kith would have said something. Would have rallied them. Would have insisted they survive, they plan, they keep trying.

  But that was last week.

  This week, she was too tired.

  "Where would we go?" Dain asked. Not hostile. Just... curious. Like it was an actual question worth considering.

  "Anywhere," Pip said. "Somewhere they're not looking for us."

  "There's The Gilded Turnip," Dain said quietly. "In Myr. Garanwyn. Bree would take us in."

  Silence.

  "That's..." Kith started, then stopped. Calculated. "What, two weeks' walk? Three? For people who can actually walk without collapsing?"

  Dain looked at Pip. At Cocky. At himself - bones visible under skin.

  "Right," he said. "Never mind."

  "They're not really looking for us here either," Kith pointed out. "We're just... existing. Barely."

  More silence.

  Cocky still hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stared at the wall like it held answers.

  The king was having another breakthrough moment of leadership.

  "We can't get to Benjamin," Dain said. Listing facts. "Can't help Seren. Can't feed ourselves. Can't..." He trailed off.

  Can't do anything. That was the rest of the sentence.

  Kith closed her eyes. Tried to remember why they were still here.

  Because Cocky was alive. Because Benjamin needed to know. Because Seren had sacrificed herself to buy them time.

  But time for what?

  They weren't planning. Weren't organizing. Weren't doing anything except slowly starving in an abandoned warehouse while the occupation settled in around them.

  "At least we'd all starve together," Kith muttered. "Very heartwarming."

  Prattle made a soft clicking sound. Worried.

  The warehouse was quiet again.

  Outside, church bells rang. Calling the faithful to evening prayer.

  Inside, four living creatures and one bird sat in silence.

  Waiting for something to change.

  Nothing did.