My stomach lurched with nausea. Rider.

I waited impatiently for the guards to leave his cell. When I was sure they were gone, I pushed the loose stone from the gap. Rider’s room was dark, but I saw him lying in the center of the floor. I was too far away to see if he was okay. I began to panic; I could barely see him moving. I could not even hear him breathe.

“Rider,” I whispered loudly, hoping he would hear my call. But he did not move. “Rider!” I called, louder, but not even a flinch of acknowledgment came from him. I squinted my eyes trying to see more, but I could not.

I tried for what felt like an eternity to rouse him. When Rider still did not stir, I jumped to my feet and began banging on my door, all worry of punishment fleeing my mind. “Brother Stephen! Sister Ruth!”

They rushed to open my door. “Harmony, quiet,” Brother Stephen begged, nervously looking out of my cell window.

“It is Rider,” I said quietly. “He is not moving. I think he is really hurt.”

Brother Stephen glanced at Sister Ruth and my stomach sank further. “He is, is he not? They have hurt him badly.”

Sister Ruth reached out and touched my arm. “He is not conscious. He is not awake. He”—she winced—“I am not sure he will come back from this. He is beaten very badly, Harmony. Maybe too much. I cannot tell.”

“I need to see him,” I said firmly. “Help me get in to see him.”

“Harmony—” Brother Stephen shook his head.

“No.” I cut him off. “He has been here for me. I . . . I care for him, greatly. I will not see someone else hurt. I cannot . . . ” I confessed, unable to finish my sentence. Sympathy flooded Sister Ruth’s gaze, and her shoulders sagged.

“Solomon and Samson have just been called away. The prophet has called an emergency meeting.” Hope filled my chest. Perhaps I could get to Rider without being caught. “But I do not know how long they will be, or if they will come back alone.” I heard the warning in her voice.

But I did not care. She must have seen that in my face.

She left the room. In seconds she was back, holding a brass key. “Come,” she said hurriedly. Picking up the hem of my dress, I followed her into the silent hallway and to the cell next door.

Sister Ruth opened the door and let out a gasp. I brushed past her. My hand flew to my mouth when I saw Rider on the floor, battered and bruised, his body awash with blood. Tears built in my eyes, but I chased them away to turn to my guardians. “Get me buckets of clean water and rags. We need soap too.”

“Harmony,” Brother Stephen said worriedly, but I raised my hand.

“I do not care if I am punished for this. What does it matter anyway? The prophet needs me alive, and I will not leave Rider this way.” I moved to Rider’s broken body. “I am sure he would not leave me in this state if it were me. And I know you know this to be true. You have listened to us talk. You have heard the kindness of his soul.”

Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth shared a concerned glance, then hurried off to fetch what I had asked for. I dropped to the floor beside Rider, my hands trembling with nerves. I never thought I would ever see him in the flesh, face to face like this. My eyes tracked over his body. He was large: tall and extremely broad. He dwarfed my petite size. I did not know why, but I liked that he was bigger than me. He looked like a fallen warrior—strong and brave.

I leaned forward, gently pushing back the matted, dirt-ridden hair from his face. All I saw was bloodied skin, bruised and harmed. “Rider,” I whispered, stroking a finger along his cheek. “I am sorry they have done this to you.”

He did not stir. I was sure he had not even heard me.

Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen came rushing into the room. They placed the rags, towels and soap I had asked for on the floor beside me. Sister Ruth had brought a comb and scissors too.

“Good Lord,” Sister Ruth said as she drank in Rider’s injuries. “What have they done to him? He looks awful.”

I did not want to answer her. I feared I would break if I did. I made quick work of wiping down his arms and chest. His legs were covered with what looked like filthy tunic pants—I guessed they were once white, now they were anything but. I would not touch them though. I would never violate him in that way.

As I wiped at his arms, I frowned, seeing colored pictures peeking out from the coating of dried blood. My stomach lurched as I looked closer. Pictures of devils and evil beings were scattered over his skin.

“How did he get them?” Brother Stephen asked. I shook my head. I glanced up at Rider’s face, but it was once again shielded by his unwashed hair.

Too busy washing Rider, I failed to hear someone arrive at his door. I heard an anguished cry, and turned to see a woman standing in the doorway, holding a basin of water in her hands. She stared at Rider on the ground, her face paling at the sight. She looked at me, and her blue eyes widened further.

My heart thudded. Jumping to my feet, I said, “I am being kept in the cell next door. I saw that he was injured and came to help.” I pointed to Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth. “I pushed past them to run in here when I saw the guards had left the building. The fault lies with me.”

The woman listened but did not respond. She looked behind her, then entered the room. “Who are you?” she asked curiously.

“My name is Harmony.”

The woman swallowed. “Are you . . . are you a Cursed woman of Eve?”

Straightening my spine, I said, “Yes. I have been declared so.”

“The prophet has you hidden away from us?”

“Yes,” I replied truthfully. I had been caught; there was no reason to lie now.

I expected the woman to run out of the cellblock and fetch the guards. I did not expect her to step further into the room and place the basin on the ground. Her eyes fell upon Rider, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. I noticed bruises and marks on her skin too. A sudden jolt of fury settled in my chest. Is everyone here getting hurt? What is happening to our people?

The woman crouched down next to Rider. “This man attacked the prophet.” Cold infused my senses and my eyes widened in shock. “He was called to meet with Prophet Cain, to repent his sins. Instead he attacked him.”

“What?” I said in a disbelieving whisper.

The woman nodded her head. “I heard the guards boasting about their beating of him. The prophet ordered them to truly make him pay.” She sighed. “This man was only trying to protect his people, I know he was. He was trying to keep us safe . . . and the prophet did this to him.”