I push my way through the Red bar, filled to the brim with men and women sipping delightedly on beer and alcohol. Although I leave the stuffy, familiar air of the castle not only for my own escape but to see my own people- well, my future people, anyway- it feels stuffy enough in here too, too stuffy for me to handle. Shoving and elbowing people like everyone else, I escape through the door.

The night is cool, the glowing silver circle that is the moon bright over head. Scraps of gentle, gray clouds float quickly across the sky, blown by a breeze that is gentle down here but must be harder up there. I am so focused on the sky, on the stars and the strange patterns and constellations they make, that I nearly don't notice the pressure of someone's finger hooking around my coin pouch. Nearly. I'm a prince, a soldier born and bred, and I'm trained to notice these things. I jolt and twist, my anger at the thief making my skin hot, and grasp the wrist of whoever was trying to steal from me. The thief was in the shadows, so I snatch them out, not quite able to see them. They struggle, trying to pull away, but suddenly stop.

"Thief," I say in surprise, still recovering. Not many people try to steal from me.

They blink at me. "Obviously," they say, not bothering to protest, which surprises me further. I narrow my eyes a little, looking this burglar up and down. The robber is a girl, just slightly younger than me, small with faded hair. She has dirty clothes and worn boots, and her eyes are defeated-looking. She is obviously a Red. I quickly exhale a breath, and, feeling a strange pity for this girl, release her wrists. Her tired eyes widen as she stares, simply stunned. I reach into my pocket, fingering one of the coins, riches from my position as prince.

The hell are you doing, Cal? She's just a Red. A stupid Red. You shouldn't care about her, a voice in my head screams.

I do it anyway.

I take a tetrarch, a silver coin worth a whole crown, out of my pocket, and before I could possibly decide otherwise, throw it to the poor Red. Her mouth drops open and her eyes go even wider, and I watch in slight entertainment, suppressing a smile, as she recovers just in time to catch it.

"That should be more than enough to tide you over," I say, before she can answer in any way. She doesn't say anything for a moment, standing her ground, her hands clutched tightly around the coin I threw her. Her eyes skim up and down over me, taking in my appearance like I took in hers earlier, and I wonder, for a moment, that despite being a Red, she will somehow recognize me. But she doesn't say anything about that, to my relief. I expect her to thank me, sputtering in wonder and excitement, but she doesn't.

"Why?"

The question surprises me, as does her cold, harsh tone. She's . . . strange. Truthfully, I don't really know. I don't know why I care. I don't know why I pity her- I don't know why I, a Silver, gave a coin worth a crown to her, a Red. I just did. I shrug, trying to cover up my uncertainty. "You need it more than I do."

She looks hesitant, and she grits her teeth. Her hands clench tighter around the coin, half like she expects me to take it back and half like she wants to throw it in my face. "Thank you," she forces herself to say.

I can't help myself. Her reluctance to thank me along with her strange yet interesting attitude is pretty entertaining. I let out a laugh, and she eyes me strangely. "Don't hurt yourself," I tell her. I shift my weight a little, and step a little closer to her. She looks at me like I am insane, and I can't help feeling the same. What are you doing, Cal? My gaze flits back to her worn clothes and then to her faded hair. "You live in the village, don't you?" I'm referring to the Red village by this bar, called The Stilts. She obviously knows that, though.

"Yes," she answers, gesturing to herself. But instead of looking down at herself, she looks at me. I understand why- we look very different. Her hair is brown, dirty, and fading, while mine is glossy, clean and black. Her clothes and shoes are dirty and worn, mine are fine and soft. I shift a little, feeling uncomfortable as she stares, and play with my collar. I don't know why I am nervous because of her- a lot of Silvers watch me all the time, crowds and crowds, because I'm the Prince, but one Red and I'm uncomfortable? Pull yourself together.

My eyes dart around, away from her and back again. I don't even know her name. "Do you enjoy it?" I ask her. "Living there?" She looks strangely like she wants to laugh, but I'm serious about it.

She hesitates a moment, then says, "Does anyone?" Point taken. I fall silent, and frown a little. She's poor and doesn't enjoy where she lives. Like all Reds, but this one...

"Are you heading back?" I ask, knowing it's rather sudden, and I gesture down the road.

"Why, scared of the dark?" she shoots back, folding her arms, but she looks even more uncertain than I do. Well, we're the only two out there- it's logical.

The smile returns on my face, however. She looks strangely comforted, and I wonder how that is- we're strangers. "No," I say, "but I want to make sure you keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night. Can't have you driving half the bar out of the house and home, can we? I'm Cal, by the way," I add, stretching my hand out to shake. The girl doesn't take it, setting off down the road. It's easy to see how she is a thief, her steps fast and soft, hardly making any noise.

"Mare Barrow," she says over her shoulder.

I catch up to her quickly despite how fast she walks. "So are you always this pleasant?" I ask, strangely curious to know about this Mare Barrow. Mare's hand is still clenched tightly around the silver.

"The lords must pay you well for you to carry whole crowns," she shoots back, obviously not wanting to talk about her pleasantness. I retreat immediately, not liking this new topic.

"I have a good job."

"That makes one of us," Mare says gruffly.

"But you're-" I start, confused. She's only a bit younger than me.

"Seventeen," she finishes. "I have some time before conscription."

Conscription. The word makes my lips form a line. I may have been born as a soldier, but she wasn't- I don't know what it is about her, but she's too good for that. For war. My voice is sharp, harder. "How much time?"

"Less every day," she says, like it's casual, but she looks upset.

I gaze at her, more focused on her than the woods around us. I wonder, what job could she be good for? "And there are no jobs," I murmur, half to Mare and half to me. "No way for you to . . . avoid conscription."

Mare looks at me, puzzled. "Maybe things are different where you're from."

"So you steal."

She frowns, her eyes looking even more sad than usual. "It's the best I can do." Her mutter is flat, showing she's obviously uncomfortable. "My sister has a job though." Suddenly she looks conflicted, obviously struggling to keep her face straight. I watch her, thinking about what could have made her so upset. Maybe something happened at the Hall today?

"Were you at the Hall today?" Probably she was. "The riots were terrible."

"They were," she forces out in response.

"Did you . . . ," I press in the most quiet way I can muster, and her mouth twists.

A flow of words spills out her mouth, like she is a dam that I poked a hole in, and there, in the darkness, on a lonely road by a pub, Mare tells me everything. How her sister snuck her in so they could get money to survive. How she got her hand broken, and what Mare had done to her and her other family. She sputters about how she disappoints her mother, how she embarrasses her father. How she steals from everyone that is her community. She wails about how terrible she is, to me, a complete stranger. Sometimes she just fumbles around with the words, not making sense, but I don't ask her anything. I let her talk, I let her spill it all out, because I can see how she needs it.

"It's the best I can do," she finishes, and then her voice cracks and breaks.

She needs it more than I do.

She needs everything more than I do.

I slip another coin out of my pocket and press the silver into her hand. My hand is not warm. It is cold, like Mare's hand is. "I'm truly sorry for you, Mare," I tell her, and it's true. "Things shouldn't be like this."

She takes the coin, not even holding it that tightly, like telling everything has sucked away all her strength. She doesn't even frown, just looks defeated. "There are worse lives to live," she answers me. "Don't feel sorry for me."

The mud, dirt, and overall uncleanliness of the Stilts unsettles me, a stark contrast to everything I've known. Plus, I don't feel like going further and get recognized somehow. And the nobles might get worried. Maybe.

I leave Mare at the edge of the village, leaving to let her walk alone through the town. I left before she could even bother to thank me- I'm not even sure if she would, she's such a strange Red. I don't mind much, anyway.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

I don't know how I'm going to do it either.

There's something about her; something about this poor Red girl- and I don't know what it is, but it's unique.

So I'll get her that job.