It's long after midnight when Yemia slips into the treehouse. Den has been here for hours, reading a book and drinking her coffee. The treehouse is carved on the inside of Yemia's sequoia, so it's very cozy and the scent of her wood is all-pervasive--and absolutely wonderful when mixed with the scent of strong coffee and hanging cinnamon pouches.

Den is curled up in a wide, comfortable chair on the upper balcony, just beneath the staircase leading into the tree's branches. Yemia walks over, dropping clothes along the way as if she can't get them off fast enough. He doesn't doubt it--she reeks of brandy and cigars. She reaches for his cup of coffee and Den catches her wrist.

There are several round burn marks on her forearm--a sight he knows well from the times he's had the same. His eyes narrow and he looks up at Yemia, but she just looks... tired.

He knows she won't report it. She isn't the first courtesan Naum has burned--nor will she be the last. Iralaae won't do anything except heal the marks so they don't leave scars, and without proof the magistrates can do nothing.

Den and Yemia stare at each other for a moment before she shrugs him off and disappears into the wooden wall. He gets up and goes downstairs to the kitchen, where he refills his coffee cup and pours a mug for her as well. She likes it spiced with cinnamon, so he adds a healthy dose before carrying both cups back to the balcony.

When Yemia returns, hair dripping from a shower and dressed in a little white silk robe, she stands by his chair and drains both mugs.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," she says, absently fingering the burns on her arm. Den knows she'll pick at them until they're close to infection, and only then will she go to a healer--and only because it will hurt her tree if she doesn't. If she could, she'd keep all the scars.

So would Den.

He shrugs and scoots over so she can sit beside him in the chair. With a smile, she does, curling into his side with her head on his shoulder. Den pats her leg and goes back to his book.

He's read three more chapters when she finally speaks again. "You were close to paying her off, weren't you? Another month... and you would've been free. If not for me."

Den looks at her, but she isn't looking back. He reaches out and takes her chin gently between two fingers, turning her head so she has to meet his eyes. He shakes his head once, telling her she's wrong.

She smiles sadly. "I know you don't blame me, but I blame me, Den. It isn't fair. You're so..." she lifts a hand and brushes a few unruly strands of his shoulder length silver hair out of his eyes. "You're so young, Den. How old are you, anyway? Have you even come into your Gift yet?"

He shrugs. She looks frustrated.

"You have your whole life ahead of you, Den. This isn't the way it should... it shouldn't be this way."

He knows that. But until he pays Iralaae off, this is the way it's going to be. He pats her leg again and looks back at his book.

"You're never going to speak to me, are you?" She sounds sad. Den stares at the page. "They say you can, but you just... don't. No one knows why."

Den does. He knows all too well--he knows every day, every hour, every minute, and that in and of itself is the reason.

It's how he remembers.

He doesn't look at her or respond, and after several minutes of staring at him, Yemia sighs and stands. "I need more coffee. Want some?"

Den nods once, and she takes the mugs before disappearing down the stairs.

When she comes back, there's something else in her hands. Den smells the bite of the metal before he even looks at the pouch, and he arches a brow when she stops in front of him.

She plays with the pouch strings, biting her lip. "I got a settlement from the magistrates," she says. She sounds bitter. "They said it's compensation, but it's just a payoff to keep me quiet about Anic." Den's jaw clenches. They should have locked Anic up. Yemia isn't the first woman he's kidnapped.

But he's a Lord, so they won't do anything to him.

He probably got off with just a fine and a warning.

"I want you to have it, Den," Yemia says, quietly. Den goes very still. "I know you don't take charity," she holds up a hand as if knowing the direction of his thoughts. "And it's not a gift, either. You're the one who saved me, so you deserve this money. And it will pay off your debts, it's a lot. You'll be free." She looks at him, her moonstone eyes sparkling with tears. "Free, Den. Don't you want to be free?"

He does. But he won't accept her money. He frowns at her and shakes his head once. She takes a deep breath.

"Den, I know you don't like gifts, but I promise that isn't what this is about. I want to give this to you, do this for you. Please, let me... let me help you." She's pleading. Den shakes his head again and gestures at her.

She looks frustrated. "I know, I need it too--but Den, I've been here a lot longer than you, remember? This won't even begin to cover my debts. And anyway, I'm a goddess of lust just like Iralaae. I'll have to do this whether it's for her or myself or someone else--I don't mind. But you don't have to live this way."

Den stares at the ground. Subject closed.

"Den, please," Yemia's voice breaks. "Don't you want to be free?"

Of course he does. But not at her expense. Not this way. He keeps staring at the ground until she curses and stalks back downstairs.

She doesn't come up for a very long time, and when she does her hair is messy as if she's been raking her fingers through it. She still looks frustrated, and her body vibrates with energy when she stops in front of him.

"Fine, you won't let me help you," she says, bitterly. "What can I do? I have to do something or I'll go mad, Den!"

He looks at her and doesn't know what he can give her. He doesn't want anything from her--doesn't need anything.

She waves a hand helplessly, her moonstone eyes a wasteland. "Let me... please..."

Den hates to see her this way, hates that it's his fault. He only wanted to help her, and he doesn't understand why she thinks he expects some sort of payment for that.

He almost opens his mouth, almost speaks the words--but in the end, he doesn't. He just takes her hand, and pulls her closer, and places a gentle kiss on her arm. The angry burns are hot and rough against his lips.

One of her hands slides into his hair, along his cheek and the golden guards covering his long elfin ears. When he looks up at her, she's crying, silent tears that don't seem to have an end. Whether the tears are for herself, or for him, Den doesn't want to know.

He pulls her to him, and uses his body to tell her the things he can never say--loves her in a way he knows no one else does, as if she's what matters.

The sun is past rising when he finally leaves. He doesn't say goodbye.