Then something shifted in his face. A decision. “Come,” he said. “Where?” I was wary; perhaps now I would be punished for suggesting deceit. “To my lyre lesson. So, as you say, it will not be a lie. After, we will speak with my father.” “Now?” “Yes. Why not?” He watched me, curious. Why not? When I stood to follow him, my limbs ached from so long seated on cool stone. My chest trilled with something I could not quite name. Escape, and danger, and hope all at once.
