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They give him shallow bows, then hurry on through to the gallery, snickering as they go.

Gabriel’s face burns.

He turns around and runs.

He wants to go down, to sink below the earth and into the belly of its warmth. He hurries through the palace like a rat through a maze and finally stumbles on a guarded doorway with a stairwell leading down. The uniformed man and woman don’t stop him as he barrels through and takes the stairs as if he’s terrified they might collapse beneath him if he does not move.

Then … the dungeon.

He stops and closes his eyes and breathes in the closeness of the stone walls, the thick, impenetrable shadows, the smell of iron and flame.

Relief settles over him like a blanket.

There are two other guards down here, but they recognize him immediately and stand to attention.

The dungeon of the Emerald Palace is made up of two levels with the top level reserved for prisoners of name or money. The lower level is for political enemies, those who must be kept close because of the threat they pose.

Gabriel looks down the hallway of the first level, the hair on his arms standing up.

Suddenly, the blood is pounding through his veins, and he steps forward before he can decide why.

He follows the hall. Every ten feet, a lantern hangs from an iron hook fastened to the stone, the light pulsing like a heartbeat.

The first three cells are empty. But the fourth one he finds occupied by a little furry creature curled into a ball on a quilted pillow that rests on the floor.

“Hello,” Gabriel says.

The creature lifts his head and blinks at him with dark, glittering eyes.

Gabriel knows he should go. He no longer has to spend his days and nights in a dungeon. But he can’t seem to move. Instead, he finds himself sliding down the stone wall across from the cell and settling into a spot on the floor.

The creature watches him, then decides he’s of no threat and hops down off his cushion, coming to a stop at the metal bars lining the front of his cell.

“I spent several years in a place just like this,” he tells the creature and looks around. The ceiling is taller than it was in his cage but only by a few feet. It’s not quite as hot as it was in the West’s castle, but maybe that’s because she was so terrified of water seeping in. The air here is a little damper.

“I dreamed of freedom every waking day and now that I have it, I feel suffocated by it.”

When a burning comes to his eyes, he scrubs at both with thumb and index finger, driving away the tears.

What does he have to be sorry for? He is out. He is free.

Isn’t he?

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to just sit here awhile.”

The animal huffs, his whiskers fluttering, and Gabriel takes that as a sign of consent. He draws his legs up, locks his arms around his knees.

The hair on his arms settles and his heart slows down and his breathing evens out.

He did not find a god tonight, but at least he found some peace.

He lays his head on the rise of his knees and closes his eyes and finally, he can rest.

EIGHTEENDorothy

Watching the Tinman sleep off his drug is far more intimate than what we just did so I turn the chair away from him, giving him my back. I curl up with the book about the gods and keep an eye on the street below.

Everything has quieted down, including the anxiety in my own head.