It was the next morning when Emma awoke. She was slightly perplexed, for she couldn’t remember falling asleep. Clearly, she had needed it, after the ordeal of the past few days and having her slumber interrupted twice the day before. Remembering that, she turned to see Jo sleeping peacefully a few feet away.

Emma smiled, then realized she was holding something. Looking down, she was shocked to see that she was still clasping Jo’s hand. Had she fallen asleep doing that? Gently, she released her grip, glad that Jo wasn’t awake to see her face aflame.

Fortunately, she had regained her composure by the time Jo stirred. His walk was steadier, though still shaky, as she helped him to the door of the lavatory. Jo was quietly grateful to her, having at times previously been forced to drag himself to the small room. Emma seethed at the thought, wondering how many more indignities Jo had endured.

Later, both having washed their hands and faces, the pair tried to pass the time as pleasantly as they could. Though happy to have been reunited, both were beginning to experience the unpleasant reality of their confinement. Jo had been alone in his cell throughout his confinement, barring his interrogators and slaves working on various tasks. To suddenly have the near constant company of another rabbit, even a cherished friend, was an adjustment, to put it mildly.

Similarly, Emma also found the new situation difficult. Even during her most difficult days at Cloud Mountain, Halfwind, or Harbone, there had been a measure of freedom. To find herself imprisoned in a small room, never truly alone, was a trial. She had been prepared to die, but hadn’t considered that she would be forced to live in a cage instead.

At first, Emma tried to suggest various games. But she soon learned that Jo, in his own desperate past boredom, had largely exhausted the sort of amusements one could make with no boards, pieces, or other implements. He knew exactly how many bars made up the cell door, and had gone so far as to give them all names. This actually provided a few minutes of amusement, but it ended all too quickly.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so eager to have you catch me up on the news,” Jo sighed. “I’m afraid that the Preylords aren’t too fussy about providing their captives with entertainment. Undoubtedly they prefer to put them to work. But their ‘special’ guests get the luxury of being bored to death.”

Managing a rueful smile, Emma snorted. “I don’t suppose you have any news you’ve failed to share?”

“None that I care to repeat,” Jo replied, his own expression grim.

There was an awkward silence after that. But then Jo smiled unexpectedly. “You know, I don’t think I ever asked you what your favorite story was. From the times of Whitson Mariner and Prince Lander, I mean. Never came up while I was in the Cloud Mountain hospital.”

“You make a good point,” Emma said with a smile. “Well, I’ve always loved the tale of Whitson and Seddle. It’s Heather’s favorite too. Picket’s a fan of The Black Star of Kingston, though.”

“Who isn’t?” Jo smiled at her answering laugh. “How about you tell me your version of Whitson and Seddle? I’m guessing you heard it from Lord Rake or some storyteller at Cloud Mountain. Halfwind’s version might have been a bit different.”

Obligingly, Emma recounted the story as she had heard it growing up. Jo listened appreciatively, then recounted the versions he’d been told at Halfwind. There were indeed some interesting differences between the two. Before long they were comparing versions of Black Star.

Hours passed as the pair discussed story after story. They only halted when a slave arrived with food for the two prisoners. Both were quite ready by then for a drink of water and a break from talking. It was only after they had finished that a thought occurred to Emma.

“Say, Jo…what’s your favorite story?”

“M-Mine?” Jo actually seemed flustered by the question. “Oh, well…I suppose I always liked reading or hearing about Massie Burnson. You know-great archer, even taught Whitson Mariner and Prince Lander how to shoot?”

“I’m familiar with him,” Emma said, her curiosity piqued by Jo’s manner. “But he plays a role in lots of the stories. Isn’t there a particular story you favor? Come on, I’ve told you mine.”

For a moment Jo was silent. Emma wasn’t sure why, but could think of several reasons. Perhaps he was considering the matter, or simply reluctant to share his thoughts. Just when she began to think he would never answer, he spoke.

“The Courtship of Princess Lucianne.”

Emma was somewhat dumbfounded by Jo’s response. It wasn’t that the story wasn’t a good one. But it surprised her that he would choose something that had relatively little adventure or heroism to it. “And why is that?”

Not looking at her, Jo shrugged. “I like a good love story, I guess. And that’s one that ends happily. That wasn’t something I saw a lot of as I was growing up.

“You know my mother died in the afterterrors. Losing her shattered my father. Then I was effectively raised by Halfwind votary does, widows whose husbands had also died in the afterterrors or the years before and after. Sometimes it seemed like no couple I knew, or had known, was fated to grow old together.

“Lucianne’s story doesn’t end like that. She and Lord Blackstar II lived happily together for years, in spite of war and sorrow. I guess…it gave me hope for my own story.” Jo’s eyes had remained averted from Emma this entire time, but he suddenly turned to her as he felt her take his hand.

“Please, Jo, don’t feel embarrassed for liking what you like. You just surprised me, that’s all. I suppose I didn’t even consider that you might enjoy that sort of thing. And…I think it’s sweet.”

Jo’s answering blush made Emma smile softly, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before getting to her feet. Wanting to keep herself in shape as much as to get Jo fit again, she looked about for a means of exercising.

Unfortunately, just as the cell was bare of means of amusement, it was devoid of anything that might assist in her current aims. Picking up on Emma’s growing frustration and guessing at its source, Jo managed a rueful smile.

“We not only have to make our own fun, but our own fitness here at the High Bleaks Inn. That’s when you’re not meeting with the resident interrogators, which serves only their need for amusement and exercise. And leaves you rather less than inclined to do anything strenuous. You might try doing pushups, since you have two hands to do them with.”

Despite Jo’s light tone as he made the comment, Emma winced as he gestured with his stump of a wrist. She had no desire to do anything that would exacerbate the pain of Jo’s loss. A new thought struck her, and made her smile. Doing a few quick stretches, she hummed, warming up her throat and limbs alike.

Before a puzzled Jo could ask what she intended, Emma began to dance. Taking hold of her skirt on either side, she curtsied to him. Keeping her grip, she began to spin, humming a lively tune to accompany her steps. It was a dance she had learned as a small child, and she could almost hear Lord Rake’s happy laughter as she twirled.

To Emma’s gratification, Jo laughed, a noise of pure merriment. It was, she thought, the first purely happy response she had seen from him since their reunion. Feeling her own happiness swelling, Emma continued to the end of the dance. She curtsied again, a little breathless, and Jo managed to applaud by slapping his handless arm against his remaining palm.

Smiling, Emma held out a hand to Jo. Looking suddenly uncertain, he took it, letting her help him to his feet. “Your turn, Jo. If you’re not up to doing one-handed pushups, then we’d better get you on your feet.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer, Emma. To be honest, I wasn’t too good at it even before I got here.”

“Oh, and I’m part of the Kingston Royal Ballet, am I? Just follow my lead, Jo. Well take it one step at a time-literally.”