Pomiza Port was a coastal city with crisp, salty air, and as they passed through the gates and headed towards the docks, Tazaro found himself on edge. Not only was he in unfamiliar territory, but both of them were still psychologically battered from their capture and escape from Midna's Overlook. To top it off, sleeplessness from recurrent streams of nightmares did not help in the slightest, with the most recent one causing him to wake in a cold sweat and gripping at his pillow so tightly he wondered if he would have torn the thing to shreds in his sleep. The terrifying nightmare that frequently starred him committing matricide in the same way Mildred had been killed in waking life had begun to wreak havoc on his psyche, and he wondered how much longer he could handle such dreams before slipping away into madness. Perhaps he could handle it better if his reality was better than his plague of nightmares. Unfortunately, thanks to the fact that he and Sheeva had hardly spoken to one another in the last three weeks, his dreams seemed preferable.

  While nothing strikingly significant happened on their three-week travels, their bouts of silence were broken only by short, to-the-point questions and mumbled answers. Their unenthusiastic answers drove Tazaro nuts, and, while he tried to exercise as much patience as he felt he was capable, the situation only grated on his brain when he didn't know how to fix their problems.

  He'd mustered as much restraint as he could, and had put aside asking her to talk about her demons, desperately trying to hold faith that she would strike the conversation when she was ready…if ever. They hadn't embraced since their bath together in Agonia, and when he'd tried to welcome her into his sleeping bag on a particularly clear night so they could stargaze and cuddle like they used to, Sheeva refused and continued to give him the cold shoulder. If her aloofness was not due to their recent misfortunes, Tazaro wondered what he had done...if anything at all.

  Even the innocent brush of his hand into hers as they walked was met with subtle recoil, and she would deliberately speed up or slow her cadence to avoid being at his side.

  It cascaded from there with avoidance of innocent glances, both finding constant droning tasks to keep them occupied and further distanced, reaching an unspoken point where they'd begun to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. Even when they'd found a natural spring, Tazaro found himself turning away rather than diving in to join her and didn’t peek at or gaze upon her beauty, nor did he make an advance toward making love as he might have wanted to. When it came to him bathing, Sheeva didn't offer to join him, either, and instead poured her focus into setting up protective traps for them to feel somewhat safe during camp…because although one of them now always kept watch, it didn’t feel like enough.

  Gods knew Sheeva was having her fair share of nightmares and trauma too, and while Tazaro recognized her long-abolished habit of shutting others out to shoulder the burden and deal with it herself, it didn't make it hurt any less.

  Not to mention, as the shocking revelation that Sheeva had indeed been with child settled into his brain, his chest ached for the both of them, and, instead of reaching to Sheeva to mourn their sudden loss, he closed into himself even more and wept bitterly into his pillow while she was asleep. It didn't seem fair, knowing how close he’d been to being a father, even under their current circumstance, and how violently Sheeva had been stripped of something so pure and natural as pregnancy. Sheeva’s distraught state with this, too, he had no idea how to fix, forced to listen in painstaking silence as she sobbed herself to sleep and refused his comforts.

  Somehow, to cope, he entertained how it might have been regardless of how dangerous wishful thinking could be. Before, and especially after their marriage, he had daydreamed how, when their pursuit of Zakaraia was over, they’d start the family they craved, but since the dream had been so close, his fantasies seemed more realistic than surreal.

  How might he watch, day by day, as her body changed? When would she feel their unborn child kick? How it would be to feel a baby kick from within, and would she grab his hand in excitement to press it to her belly so he could witness it, too? Would it ripple her belly like the playful prod of flavored gelatin or appear as something eerie and sinister? How many jokes would Tazaro make–of course, at Sheeva’s expense–that their child would be getting revenge for all the times Sheeva kicked him in her sleep? Like other expecting couples, would he gain the notorious “sympathetic pregnancy fat,” and would he also worry Sheeva would not find him attractive? Or instead, would she be even more in love with him despite his looks?

  He caught himself in thought about it again and glanced ahead of himself for where he’d last seen her in a moment of appreciation for the woman he loved and married, but when she seemed to have disappeared, his face fell. Shooting his hopes at wanting Sheeva to open up to him about things, Tazaro took her for having left to tour another vendor somewhere, assuming it to be in eagerness to get away from him as she had been doing consistently lately.

  Tazaro stopped at a vendor's stand to distract from this dreary understanding, browsing the selection of fresh, still-living crustaceans crawling around in a fish tank with pincers tied shut with twine. He'd never had the things before, and to his knowledge, neither had Sheeva. Perhaps, he could convince her to try cooking and eating the poor bastards with him as something of an awkward ice-breaker. Maybe they’d slather the suckers in butter, with fluffy, savory fried rice on the side, but he turned his nose up at himself—whatever meal he made for them would likely go to waste. How could he even think of food when they had little to no appetite?

  When the cheerful, desperate vendor mumbled something about how bivalves were an aphrodisiac, Tazaro gave a disinterested hum and crossed his arms. Sex with Sheeva was the last thing on his mind at the moment, too concerned with getting her to talk, let alone interact with him on a basic intimate level.

  He scoffed at his brain as it thought, twisted as it might be, maybe what they needed to break their tension was a good meal and fervent fuck.

  Down the street, Sheeva paused by the side of a crowd, peering at the sight of the towering masts of ships docked in the port. When she didn't feel Tazaro's presence nearby, the adrenaline of fear stabbed its way up her spine, and she wheeled around to scan for his tall stature amid the crowd she assumed she had lost him in, a wary hand on Abraxas in case of ambush. Her eyes pierced in anger at his calm appearance in front of a vendor, undoubtedly distracted by something on the stand.

  She stormed over to him, trying to ignore the prickle of paranoia on her face.

  “Tazaro, how dare you! You need to tell me when you leave! I thought something might have happened to you!” She growled, stopping in front of him. His eyes were just as baggy as hers felt, but she hardened her gaze as he narrowed his eyelids at her appropriate reprimand.

  “Feh!” He tutted, the tight frown crossing his face in an instant. “‘Scuse me? You left me behind! Besides, you’d just ignore me if I tried to tell you!” He argued in defense of himself, gripping the fabric of his jacket to prevent his hand from flying up to point an accusatory finger in her face.

  “Ignore you? I have not been–

  –Like hell you haven't! You’ve been ignoring me for three weeks!” Tazaro shot, feeling the flash of fury rip through his spine.

  Sheeva felt her face burn in embarrassment, and she scoffed, crossing her arms to alleviate the pain striking her chest at the jab. It didn’t help her eyes welling with tears, and she averted her gaze to a deep-sea blobfish, boorishly grey and disgustingly snot-like as it lay flush against the floor of its tank.

  Usually, Sheeva’s flustered state at a jab would have been cute, but his deliverance was neither joking nor was her reception jovial, evident by the flash of tears he saw threatening the corners of her eyes. Tazaro frowned, annoyed with himself, and he couldn’t blame this one on lack of sleep or attentiveness since he’d been upfront and deliberate. He sighed, now feeling like an asshole. Hopefully, the apology he was trying to find the words for would spur her to do the same, and they might begin the process of good communication they needed to support one another and deal with their tragedy.

  “Listen, Sheeva, I’m sorry. I thought that we could–

  –Do not bother speaking to me! I would simply ‘ignore you,’ would I not?” She hissed, turning her back on him and stomping off a few steps.

  Tazaro scoffed indignantly, amazed with such a rude side of Sheeva.

  “Wha–oh, for fuck's–really Sheeva?” He called after her. She didn’t stop and continued on, but the slight hesitation in her gait showed she’d heard him. He broke into a jog to catch up with her.

  “Hey!” Tazaro called out as he neared Sheeva, reaching for her hand to stop her. She jerked it out of his reach and snapped an angry “what?” at him, driving the heat of his need to defend from the pit of his stomach up to his face.

  “I’m trying to apologize and talk with you! And, and to get you to do the same!” He blurted, feeling the heat of blunt disrespect toward his humbleness.

  “There is nothing to talk–

  –Bullshit, Sheeva! We’ve been pissing in bee’s nests for–He bit his tongue, swallowing the urge to raise his voice as it welled up in the back of his throat.

  “Vilg!” He swore beneath his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  Tazaro looked away for a moment as he paced out his frustration, forced a deep breath in through his nose, wiped at the sweat upon his brow with his sleeve, then exhaled a heavy, shoulder-slouching pshew, feeling the tension fade with his softening gaze. Slowly, he turned back to look her in the eyes, but dropped his gaze to his feet in humility.

  “Look, Sheeva…we’ve been going about this for weeks, now, and...” He began, putting his aching heart in his mouth. “I miss you.” He started.

  “I miss comforting you, and I think–I think you need that. I need that. Everything that happened to you, me–us–I mean, the imprisonment, the torture, the...” Tazaro swallowed past the knot in his throat. “The loss of our child.” He’d hit the nail on the head with this one, evident by Sheeva's quickly averted gaze and glare towards something down the way. "I can't even begin to…I, I didn't know, and I'm-I'm sorry."

  Tazaro took Sheeva’s cold hand and held it in his warm ones, giving it a squeeze as he brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on it. He was ever more thankful that she didn’t pull it away.

  “It takes two, you know? I’m a part of that, and it’s killing me, too. I’m in agony–and I can only imagine how it's making you feel, but–" He paused, drawing in a shaky breath as his nose began to run and eyes watered. "Dealing with all of it is even worse when I-when I feel like I don’t have you.”

  Tazaro tenderly reached up to tuck his finger beneath her chin and direct her gaze back onto him, citrine eyes darting back and forth between pained, tearful rubies.

  "Please, talk to me."

  Sheeva’s heart ached, and she felt sick as she finally realized that she’d inadvertently disallowed him an opportunity to mourn by trying to shoulder the responsibility of mourning their loss for herself. She hadn’t even thought that he would have needed to, considering that not only was it her burden to bear but that she had failed in what, biologically, she should have been well able to do. But of course, such an incredible, natural thing "took two," and Tazaro was indeed a part of it...so why shouldn't he have been allowed to mourn, too?

  She blinked a couple of times, stunned as her tired, overclocked, malnourished brain fought to digest the ugly fact of how incredibly selfish she had been. Unable to look him in the eye anymore from shame, Sheeva sighed heavily and dropped her chin out of the crook of his finger, but her fingers still mingled with his as he held them in hope, thankful for their presence as they warmed her chilled hands.

  Silence snared her tongue, and she could only feel the disappointed airs grow in her husband’s aura at her lack of reception. It spurred a deep-seething well of self-hate at her involuntary muteness, and as she struggled to keep the fury at bay, she barely felt him step back. Still, his fingers hadn’t left hers, likely stuck there with the smidgeon of hope he still had that his words had pierced the veil of negativity.

  As his hands began to pull away from hers, she clasped them tightly in hers, hoping that the unspoken gesture conveyed what she needed: his unyielding patience and deep, true understanding. When she refused to let go and stammered over words with the stagnant air caught in her chest, he stepped closer, and Sheeva let go of the tense breath she held in a huff that, if they were alone, would have been the detonation of a dam holding back tears. She finally managed to fully breathe again when he pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and looping the other around her waist. Her arms snapped up to hold him just as tightly, and as she buried her face in his chest, the heat he gave off beneath his shirt warmed her wind-chilled cheeks.

  Her face scrunched in misery and shame at herself as her facade began to crumble, and the hot tears spilled clean streaks down her rosy cheeks as she sniffled and trembled. Knees wobbling, she was grateful for Tazaro’s current ability to stand firm and support her as she shuffled her feet closer to get a better footing.

  I'm so sorry, Tazaro.

  This had been their first embrace since their hellish night of freedom, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d clung to his shirt this desperately, not including moments of passion where they didn’t bother to wait to undress each other fully. He still smelled of pine, cedar, and soap, though his clothes now also carried the scent of smoke and sweat, and she cursed herself for pushing him away. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been subjected to the upwind draft of last night’s fire, uncomfortable in each other’s presence and unnerved by their taciturnity.

  “I’m sorry.” She whispered, unsure that her choked voice had even carried amid his chest until he hummed in response.

  “‘M sorry, too.” He mumbled, pecking the top of her head while rubbing her back with a large, warm hand.

  Much as he didn’t want the sincere embrace to end, there was a limit to how hard he could hold her to his chest, and that limit had shortened immensely, his limbs weary from not only running for their lives for three weeks, but lack of any proper sleep and nutrition. While Sheeva had still cooked for the both of them, he had hardly had an appetite. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d eaten a full meal.

  His arms gave in, and while he fought to hold onto her jacket with his fingers, the chill of the salty sea air numbed them and made them useless.

  He cleared his throat and dropped his arms to link them loosely at the small of her back, pressing his cheek against the crown of her head. When she slipped her hands beneath his jacket, he bit his lip to hold back a squeak and shivered from her chilly fingers sapped at the warmth of his skin. At least she wasn’t torturing him with the press of cold feet at his back beneath the blankets, he supposed, but if they were able to talk things out and become comfortable in one another's presences again, the misfortune was sure to be in his future.

  “Perhaps we should finish what we set out to do before we miss our chance, then check into an inn for the night. We can...we owe it to ourselves to discuss things uninterrupted, and definitely at least somewhere warm.” Tazaro suggested, even more cold as the opening Sheeva had made in his jacket brought with it the drafty air of the seaside town. He hadn’t known how chilly a coastal city could be in early fall, always imagining them to be warm most months out of the year, or, at least, warm into late fall.

  “Okay. Yes. We can...do that." She agreed, though, judging by the apprehensive sound in her voice, it would be just as painful for her to say as it might be for him to hear.

  "Hopefully, there is a ship wanting to head for Rascal’s Cove.” She announced, being the first to pull away.

  Tazaro took a calming breath. Sheeva was straight to business as always. Still, she seemed to have slowed her stride and paused to glance back at him when he did not follow, a softened edge to her expectant expression.

  “Is something the matter?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing together in worry.

  Tazaro shook his head, tightened his jacket around his torso, and hurried to her side.

  “No, nothing.” He assured, feeling a foreign curl on his lips. He felt funny about the notion that a smile would be considered foreign, but as Sheeva saw the curve in his face, she began to smile, too. When she pressed her fingers to her lips in confusion, Tazaro didn’t doubt she had similar dawn but chose not to point it out for fear of ruining her peaceful moment.

  Though they didn’t walk hand in hand like they used to, Sheeva still walked on his right with a careful hand on Abraxas’s handle. The airs between them seemed calmer, and for that, Tazaro was eternally grateful. He held faith that their much-needed conversation would prove fruitful.

  Despite her stoicism, he noticed the fabric of her old wool cloak tighten around her frame as she shivered from an updraft of wind as they began to make their descent down a steep hill towards the sea-blue waters. He shivered, too, and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from turning numb by the bite of the air.

  If only we had a spell to keep us–He paused mid-thought, tutted at himself, and gave himself a complimentary eye-roll. The warming spell Sheeva had created and that he had perfected was the whole reason they could stargaze in the middle of winter or train in the snow, among other...frivolities.

  “Hey, Sheeva, here.” He beckoned, forming the sigils with his left hand.

  “What–Oh?” She murmured, looking at him as he delivered a warming spell with a small squeeze of her hand with his right. She stopped walking and turned away to hide the funny, bashful smile on her face.

  “I completely forgot we could do that.” She admitted meekly, hoping her cheeks were warming due to the spell and not a blush.

  Tazaro felt himself smile again, smitten with her now cute, flustered state. How long it had been since he’d last seen it!

  “Yeah...me, too.” He mumbled. “But, uh…” He hesitated, wondering if it was a good enough moment to crack a joke. “Don’t tell my wife. I don’t consider myself her idiot for nothing.” He smirked, chuckling at himself. As the cheer bubbled in his chest, his chuckle grew to a laugh, and while Sheeva had begun to protest his unfair jab at himself, she soon caught on to his reference, and her giggles quickly joined his.

  “How terrible of you, Tazaro!” She managed, and as Tazaro looked back at her a second time, the silly smile of hers had returned.

  “As your...teacher, you ought to be ashamed for-for insulting yourself so!” She snickered.

  A well of love and relief took his breath away, and he found himself grinning madly at her. There you are, moya Zvezdaya.

  Unable to resist, Tazaro pulled Sheeva into his arms again and raised a hand to rest it on her cheek, further testing the waters as he stroked the cheekbone with his thumb. His chest warmed with delight as her small, slender hands rested on the lapels of his jacket, and when he saw the bright glimmer in her eyes as they darted back and forth between his, his heart leaped into his throat.

  They were so close that their noses touched, and as her eyes slowly closed, he pressed his lips against hers in an experimental kiss. His skin broke out in goosebumps, and he felt the rush of air with her thrilled, surprised gasp past parted lips as her fists grasped his coat.

  The spark of life ignited, and as he pressed his lips to hers again, his hand pressed against her lower back to envelop her further in his care. Relief and peace coursed through his body as their sweet, innocent, powerful kiss seemed a bandage to the wounds their relationship had incurred over the last few weeks. Tazaro couldn’t help but pour the gratitude from the simple fact that she was still here, in his arms, kissing him and clinging to him as though lovers separated by long years of war.

  Slowly, the fire faded, enough for Tazaro to collect himself, and he knew Sheeva could feel how his body trembled from sensory overload. He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers, relishing in the close proximity they shared.

  “Sheeva, I...I love you.” He whispered. “I still do. I mean, a-always.” He babbled, feeling that those three words they’d learned to say to one another couldn’t come close. “I mean, I never stopped–and I want you to know that. I hope you know that. Wait, no–of course, you know that, but I just meant–

  Sheeva shushed him with a gentle “shh” and a finger to his lips, as though she could pull a string of words from them for herself since her brain had ceased to come up with something on its own, too occupied with processing the overwhelming serenity he’d just brought her.

  “I love you, too, Tazaro Chorea. Always, I do.” She announced softly, tired eyes shining with a warm, welcome glow.

  He pulled her in for another tight hug, feeling far more tired than before as his anxieties and discomforts subsided. Still, she was the first to pull away, a small smile as she took his hand and led him down the steep hill toward the docks. His fingers entwined with hers in palpation, and he played with them as they wandered to the watchman’s post.

  Tazaro studied a lighthouse from afar as Sheeva discussed which ships to ask for passage to Cruinia with the watchman. In its towering, white-walled majesty, the beacon lit by what had to be a massive stone brazier spun around and around, projecting a beam of firelight into the horizon. He wondered if it was connected to a power source of some kind, and as he traveled down the string of steps, he saw a floodgate with a long, steel propeller spinning around as the waters flowed back through with the fall of the crashing tide. It was an interesting take on a water wheel connected to a nearby stream.

  “Apparently, we are to talk to a Captain Jensen Burke aboard the Hafez. They’re docked on pier four.” Sheeva announced, breaking Tazaro out of thought, immersed in mapping out the gears and axles needed to maneuver such a large construct.

  “Oh, you found someone?” Tazaro asked, surprised. Since winter was around the corner, he had thought that most ships wouldn’t be taking a voyage onto the seas until spring, and that they would simply fly for a while. Of course, this was well before their precious wings had been pulled from their sheaths and plucked.

  “They are fishermen. Apparently, Silver Sailfish migrate from the northeastern waters to the southeastern waters in the fall and stay there until spring. For now, we have little choice. Otherwise, it might be a long wait.” Sheeva explained as she followed the signposts towards the far-left wooden ramp.

  As they neared the ship, Tazaro gawked at its grandeur, never having seen a fishing ship in person before, limited to providing repairs for the simple farming equipment and constructs most people used in landlocked Roussell.

  Sheeva, however, held a look of contempt for the thing, lip curled in distaste as the sour reminder of rotting wood surfaced, recalling how she’d had to hide in the stowage amid rats and barrels of whiskey and festering potatoes as a child. She hoped that as a paying passenger, that would not be the case here and that she could get to walk about the deck for as much fresh air as she pleased.

  They headed up the gangway and sought out the first, most "captain-looking-gentleman" they laid eyes on. A tall man with a blue wool coat, white and navy striped shirt, and a warm winter cap on his head greeted them, cackling in humor as Sheeva addressed him as "Captain."

  Apparently, this man was not the captain but the first mate, and after an awkward conversation and the usual cautious glance at the sword attached to Sheeva’s hip, they learned that Captain Burke was enjoying time off in The White Squall Inn. Sheeva expressed annoyance that they had walked by the building shortly before their descent down the hill, but Tazaro brushed it off. They were getting somewhere, and once they finished their negotiations with the captain of the Hafez, they could get some much-needed rest.

  After almost crawling up the steep hill, they stopped in front of a building so thin that they might have missed it if they hadn’t been scouring the nameplates of buildings. As the name implied, the off-white painted building seemed unassuming yet suddenly threatening as it towered over the shorter building at its side. Sheeva hoped they didn’t happen to become buffeted by any sudden storms while out at sea, but the cynical part of her felt it would happen, anyway.

  Because after all the things that happened three weeks ago, why would the gods not continue to toy with us?

  The lobby of the inn was warm and inviting, offering shelter from the growing chill of the air as evening began to fall, and Tazaro realized how much different the climate was here as he felt the mild dampness of his jacket when he reached into his pocket to retrieve the still-heavy coin satchel.

  Even after needing to replace their blood-soaked clothes and Tazaro’s missing shirt and coat, the bulky thing Bartholomew had chucked at them before disappearing through his bizarre portal seemed no lighter. Tazaro’s lip curled in amusement as he wondered if the thing was made of magic and refilled itself.

  Curious, he offered to pay for a room for them, and while he stepped up to the clerk at the counter, Sheeva tapped him on the shoulder to tell him she would start searching for the captain in question.

  Some men who were not accompanied by a woman, save for one who received an angry slap on the arm from his offended wife, paused in their jubilate drinking and chatter to gawk at her as she made her way through the dining hall. She ignored their stares and the occasional catcall, scanning the tables with a watchful eye for what she imagined the man would be: a dignified, to-the-nines officer with carefully kept dress blues and a navy cap.

  Contrary to previous situations like this, Sheeva wished she had a ring around her finger so that strangers would leave her alone. Pausing, she concealed a disguising spell beneath her cloak as she fashioned one as close to what she could remember of the one Tazaro had been working on. An air of pride followed as she glanced at her hand to check her work, finding a sense of peace in the fake accent around her slender finger.

  A boastful cheering from one group and a loud, collective groan from another caused Sheeva to look up. Toward the back of the room, a large group of about twenty men and one woman were crowded around a table, a pile of Inue in the middle and playing cards strewn around the edges. Spotting a man with a navy-blue coat and matching cap draped over the back of his chair, she hoped she’d found the crew they were looking for.

  With a cautious hand on the handle of her tail-blade knife, Sheeva approached the table, unlatching the silver-leaf clasp holding the cloak together around her shoulders. To present the ringed hand, Sheeva draped the cloth over her arm and held it close.

  “Excuse me. Are you the captain and crew of the Hafez?” Sheeva asked, finding a moment of hesitation in her voice. Eyeing the way a barmaid stepped in to deliver a round of drinks and shot a flirty look at a man that placed a kiss on the back of her hand, Sheeva’s hand on her knife tightened as she felt the invading drag of Nikolai’s fingers up her stomach and the ghost of his licentious grasp of her breast. She froze, barely registering how her eyes gave them an unwarranted icy stare.

  “Tam. Whatsit to yeh?” The decorated man asked, retrieving the smoldering tobacco pipe from his mouth when he spoke. Blue, aged, Tarrakkian eyes lifted to look at her, then down at the clutch of the knife at her side.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Relax, madam. My crew wouldn’t harm a lady, despite Kam’s flirtatious reputation. I’d kick ‘em offa my ship if they did. Unless...they did, and you’re here to punish them for it? Punish away then, and I’ll deal with the rest.” He announced, his grey beard curving with his smile as the crew members immediately began to protest, all of them saying variants of how they’d “never met this woman!”

  Sheeva blinked, then relaxed her grip on the handle, keeping her hand rested there in case she needed it.

  “I...see. No, that is not the case. I wanted to negotiate passage to Cruinia for my husband and me.” She explained. Burke clenched his pipe between his teeth as he grabbed the pile of cards and began to shuffle them. Smoke billowed from his mouth as he took a drag of the pipe.

  “Business in Cruinia, madam?” He asked.

  Sheeva turned to look as Tazaro joined in at her side. Still feeling the ghost of Nikolai’s unwanted touch, the settle of Tazaro’s hand at the small of her back ignited discomfort within, and she stepped forward to lean on the table.

  “We are pursuing a murderer. He was kind enough to give us his final destination. It would be quite rude to decline his invitation.”

  Though her eyes conveyed her resolve, Sheeva fought to still her tremble, and as he stared at the both of them with careful eyes, they quickly turned to a scathing glare.

  “You appear to have the rattles. That's gonna be a 'no' from me. I don’t harbor drug addicts.” He dismissed.

  Sheeva blinked again, feeling that she’d botched their chances, and stood back, cradling an arm in her hand to deflect her shame.

  “We’re not,” Tazaro growled behind her, thankfully stepping in. He caught Sheeva’s appreciative glance and felt emboldened by its sincerity.

  “We were…” He paused, looking over at her again. Eyes downcast and ashamed, Sheeva slowly nodded at him. “We were held captive in Midna’s Overlook. We fought our way out and escaped three weeks ago. They forced a dose on us. Neither of us has willingly touched the horrible stuff–before or since.” He stated, feeling the burn of anger on his face. “Our capture may have likely been at our target’s behest, the conniving bastard.”

  Sheeva looked up and over at him, the thought that Zakaraia was behind even that hellish misfortune not crossing her mind before then, but when Tazaro avoided her surprised gaze and rubbed at his earlobe, Sheeva nodded slowly to herself in understanding. They were playing the bluff game.

  Still, it was a disgustingly accurate statement that made her stomach churn, considering Llyud had been behind the circumstance of her initial capture.

  When the captain arched an eyebrow and looked at the both of them skeptically, Tazaro decided that, perhaps, bribing with money would be the way to go. Tazaro dug into his coat pocket for the still-heavy bag of Inue and lobbed it at the captain.

  “Please, reconsider. We’re not addicts, and we’re not loafers. We’re just...trying to stop a murderer so that we can move on with our lives.” Tazaro sighed, looking to Sheeva for...something, unsure of what exactly. Approval? Acceptance? That look of pride and love? Instead, she seemed to cave further inward, raising a hand to twirl a lock of hair.

  The captain scoffed at the bag, then gestured to the pile of money he had stacked in front of him. Whatever game they were playing, it was apparent who was whupping them all.

  “Please, boy! Yeh think I need money? Take your coin back!” He countered, picking up the heavy thing and lobbing it back at Tazaro, who managed to snap out of his astonishment to catch it.

  “Tell me: Can yeh work?” Burke grunted, pointing a long, wrinkled, bony finger at Tazaro, who resisted the urge to flinch so hard that it hurt.

  “Y-yes. I was a woodworker in Roussell before I left. I can, uh, repair whatever you need, even the hull of the–

  –yeh, yeh, yeh, alright. And, you, madam?”

  Sheeva felt out of place, unsure, as her bounty-hunting skills wouldn’t be of any use on a ship.

  “I’m...versatile.” She offered. “Suppose if you need help roughing someone up, I could do that.” She muttered, crossing her arms.

  “I could use some help in the galley, Captain Burke.” One of the crew offered. Burke pointed at him in acknowledgment of his suggestion.

  “Can yeh cook, madam?”

  Before Sheeva could answer, Tazaro blurted out a cheerful “Hell, yeah, she can!” earning a chuckle from the crew and a flattered, modest smile that Sheeva hid behind a hand.

  “Ah, well, yes, I suppose that’s–

  –Alright. Settled, then! We’ve just begun our two-week shore leave, so sit tight. We leave on the 33rd of the month. I recommend Abelas Root extract for the shakes. Damn thing cures everything. And, before you leave, what do we have the pleasure of calling you two?" Burke interrupted, giving them a smile that they could only tell was a smile thanks to the curl of his big, bushy beard.

  Sheeva nodded courteously, introducing herself and Tazaro with the still undecided last name Chorea. Though, she secretly admitted to herself, the more I say it, the more it grows upon me.

  "Welcome aboard the Hafez, then, Sheeva and Tazaro Chorea. As I said, we leave in two weeks. Use this time to buy what you need aplenty; you might not find much on Cruinia." He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and his wise suggestion.

  Sheeva felt a chill sweep over her as reality set in. Here they were, the next part of their journey set in stone. Not wanting to waste the man’s generosity, she turned and headed towards the inn entrance. She hesitated following Tazaro up the stairs, calling out to him before he got halfway up the things.

  “Wait, Tazaro,” She stopped him.

  Tazaro had to pull himself out of his thoughts, already busy preparing a list of what he needed to ask and say. The concerned, apologetic look on her face budded worry in his chest. Bracing himself, he clung to the rail and tried to keep a straight face.

  “Something...wrong?” He asked. Did she not want to talk over things now?

  “I think we should take Captain Burke’s advice and grab what we need. Cruinia is hot and dreary. A desert. That, and since we will be at sea for some time, we will likely need extra sets of clothes to keep ourselves dry and warm. I do not want us to get sick. We have been through enough.” She voiced with a determined look on her face. Whether it was because she was adamant about the list of things she needed to get or because Sheeva was deliberately trying to avoid the topic, Tazaro was not sure, but if it was the latter, perhaps she would need more convincing.

  It was funny how their roles had changed since they first met; he desired to face this circumstance head-on, and she currently worked to avoid it.

  “We can…” He began, wanting to suggest that they tackle that beast in the following days to come. Inhaling deeply, he let out a breath between pursed lips, sputtering in annoyance at the delay of the conversation they so needed to have.

  He blinked and stared at the loveseat tucked in the hallway by the stairs as the terrible thought crossed his mind that, maybe, she believed he was going to tell her something heartbreaking, something shattering, something along the lines of let’s get a divorce.

  Tazaro even felt offended on her behalf, considering that divorce would never be a contestant for solutions to their problems, outside of infidelity.

  “Sure. We can do that.” He mumbled, relinquishing his desire to discuss things to her desire to prepare for the next two or three months of being out at sea, or perhaps her need to ready herself for their discussion in whatever way she needed it.

  When she offered him a thankful smile, Tazaro realized that she probably hadn’t been thinking such dreary thoughts and was just down to earth and straight to business as she always was. He chuckled at himself and took a moment to shove his sheepish look off his face with an awkward scratch of his chin.

  “We can split the list. I’ll take care of any herbs and medicines if you gather clothes. We may need some extra water-skeins, too.”

  “Hm. Sure.” He stepped back down the stairs and reached for her, pulling her close to peck the top of her head in silent apology for his hidden accusations. If there was any inclination that she’d been able to guess what lack-of-faith things he’d just been thinking, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she melded into his hold and pressed her cheek against his chest.

  “Meet back here in an hour, then?” He asked, unwilling to feel her leave his embrace.

  She nodded, leaned up to peck his cheek, then hustled away, disappearing through the front door. He waited for a few moments while his mild disappointment dissipated, then headed through the door.

  Sheeva glanced over her shoulder as she paused in front of an apothecary’s shop, admiring the tiny, carefully trimmed Mandragora plant beneath a warming lantern. The sentient plant currently snoozed, petals weaved closed over the little kettle-drum reservoir for its nectar.

  A bell tinkled above the doorframe as she stepped in from the chilly air, and after tipping her head in acknowledgment of the older woman’s “welcome, ma’am,” Sheeva perused the shelves lined with dried herbs on one side, then the fresh growing plants on the other.

  She was surprised to see the tiny store’s variety, feeling a twinge of homesickness for the greenhouse at the temple. Covered from extra light with a curtain, funguars of different kinds chittered amongst one another, then clicked angrily when she peeled the curtain aside to peek at them. Their spouts were covered with satchels to collect the spores they’d secrete in alarm, and they puffed, a diminished cloud seeping from the seams in the leather.

  On the shelf beneath the angry, perturbed funguars rested a fish tank. A stump with a bright pink shroom grew in it, and as Sheeva read the name Russula Emetica, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why on Sferra would someone cultivate and harvest something that would make them vomit?

  On the adjacent rack, a small Malboros with a ripe, yellow bulbous fruit ready for plucking reached for her with its tendrils, and she offered it a finger to latch onto with a smile. She played with the sucker-pads of the tendrils and chuckled at herself for it.

  “Ah! You have an appreciation for my babies! So nice to see! Most people shirk away in fear of my darlings.” The woman behind the counter beamed, stepping to Sheeva’s side, likely to ensure Sheeva wasn’t taking advantage of a five-finger-discount.

  Sheeva jumped, looked at the woman, then back at the Malboros that received her attention, embarrassed by her childish behavior. The woman obviously treated the plants as though they really were her children, evident by their vibrant, lively colors and unshy behavior in her presence. A pang shot through her chest as she thought of how nonsensical she could be and how being so motherly towards plants was a shared point between her and the shop owner, and she couldn’t fight the melancholic twist of her face.

  “O-oh, ma'am, what’s the matter?” The woman asked, setting a hand between Sheeva’s shoulders to pat her back, immediately retrieving her hand as Sheeva flinched violently.

  “I–”

  The tears welled and flowed, and before she knew it, Sheeva was sobbing in a heap on the ground, her fingers still entangled in the Malboros’s vines. She felt them release her hand and let it drop, thankful that the woman had tickled the fruit since she doubted her ability to do so herself at the moment.

  She cared less about the shuffle of feet behind her and more about the relief at letting herself mourn, calming down as the woman draped a blanket around her cowering frame, so pitifully curled in a ball upon the wooden floor.

  The shopkeeper smelled of myrrh and lavender, and in her stark vulnerability, Sheeva shamelessly babbled her situation as though she had ingested the pink, poisonous shroom sitting three shelves above their heads.

  As Tazaro heard pacing footsteps in the room he reserved for the both of them, he paused and looked down at the light streaming from beneath the door. A shadow flashed back and forth. Not recalling giving Sheeva the copy of the key he’d gotten from the innkeeper in his moment of frustration, Tazaro knocked on the door in the pattern they used, and Sheeva’s voice called back to release the ward she had cast on the door.

  His hair swayed with the rush of energy past his face, and he shivered at the funny tickle in his chest, then twisted the handle to open the door as he juggled a wrapped gift in his other arm.

  His shoulders felt instant relief as he swung his bag off them, leaning the now-weighty thing against the wall. It was stuffed with extra clothes and even a new set of whetstones and a jar of wood polish.

  Turning back to face Sheeva, she appeared to have been incredibly busy during the hour-and-a-half that he'd been taking care of his portion of their list. The herbs and medicines she had bought were neatly organized on an enlarged and elongated table, and a steaming kettle rested atop the lit wood stove. She opened her mouth to greet him, barely getting out a “welcome,” then hurried to the stove and snatched up the kettle as it began to whistle at her.

  She grabbed a teaspoon and scooped three scoops of what Tazaro assumed was powdered Abelas root into a teacup, filled it with piping water, and stirred it around. The teacup tinked at her when she covered it with the saucer while the bitter root steeped. Tazaro scrunched his nose at the earthy smell and stepped further into the room.

  “You have been busy.” He commented, tipping his head toward the array of herbs.

  “Yes. The lady at the apothecary was...generous. She gave me a discount.” Sheeva answered, pursing her lips together. Tazaro wondered what had happened for Sheeva to receive the said discount and imagined her scaring the lights out of the shopkeeper as she had done to someone when they arrived in Agonia and were searching for the painkiller Feria root.

  The man behind the stand had held up a sprig of purple-scythe nightshade, and after Sheeva tore into him for his assumed luck and stupidity, both she and Tazaro admitted their amazement that the man hadn’t accidentally killed himself or someone else–a mere nick of the thorns into one’s skin would deliver enough poison to kill a Sleipnir.

  “So...what all are we looking at? I see Feria root and powdered Abelas root, but...what’s this?” He asked, reaching for a jar containing a piece of dried, pink mushroom. Sheeva reached out to stop him and he hesitated. Judging by the reaction, it would likely wreck him by proximity.

  “Russula emetica. Induces vomiting.”

  Tazaro quickly withdrew his hand, reminding himself not to reach for anything else lain out on the table.

  “Wow. Uh, I know most wives prefer to murder their spouse with poison, but I always imagined you’d want to do it upfront and personally!” He muttered as a joke. The heavily confused look that spanned Sheeva’s face verified that she hadn’t bought the thing to use on him, which caused him to chuckle, feeling his lips curl with amusement.

  As Sheeva stared at Tazaro in honest surprise, she blinked and huffed, shaking her head at his folly. She didn’t have the patience to put up with witty comments at the moment, trying to get their things squared away. In honesty, she knew she was only delaying the inevitable faith-shattering conversation they were about to have and that his jokes were just his way of abating his nerves.

  She grabbed the teacups with steeping Abelas root and handed one to him after chilling it with a spell, ordering him to drink it while assuring him it wasn't poisoned. Downing the vile stuff in a shot, she groaned and made a face of distaste, shuddering and reaching for the sugar cubes the herbalist provided with the stuff that would cleanse their bodies of Iphsium. She dropped one in Tazaro's palm and popped the other in her mouth to drown out the mouth-drying bitterness of the medicine.

  Clearing her throat and continuing with her task, Sheeva reached for the jar of dried chamomile, the flower's small yellow cores and white petals appealing as they pressed against the side of the glass. Next to it was something she could use to reduce any fevers they might happen to suffer, Feverfew, with the scientific name Tanacetum parthenium in elegant cursive beneath it. If she had to liken it to something, it reminded her of a bundled bunch of fresh parsley. She shrunk and tucked both items in a row labeled minor discomforts.

  Scanning the rest of the items on the table, Tazaro recognized ginger root sitting in a giant bag, and he eagerly picked off a small chunk and popped it in his mouth, puckering his lips as the stuff snapped his senses clear.

  “If you like, I can get you your own bag of ginger if you’re going to just eat the stuff. We’ll need as much of the stuff as we can stomach during our time at sea.” She commented, giving an aggravated sigh as she pulled the bag out of his reach, shrunk it, and stuffed it into the chest she held her herbal remedies in.

  “Oh. Sorry. You’re not using it for cooking?” He asked. She shook her head.

  “Ginger helps ease seasickness.” She mumbled with a reluctant sigh.

  Rather than admit that he wouldn’t have a problem with seasickness and embarrass her for her misfortune, Tazaro stole a look at the package beneath his arm, then cleared his throat to catch her attention.

  “Hey. Can you pause all that for a moment?” He asked, offering her a hand to take.

  She stole a look at the items left on the table, weighing something, then nodded and took his hand, stepping away from the table and toward the loveseat couch in front of a fireplace built into the wall. The green, silky fabric and plush padding were more comfortable than Tazaro expected, but he pushed the thought from his mind, produced the wrapped gift beneath his arm, and held it out for her.

  This came as a pleasant surprise to Sheeva, who took it gently with a smile, fighting a blush at the hopeful cheer in his eyes. Untying the delicate ribbon and unfolding the parchment paper that the soft, pliable mystery gift was wrapped in, she stopped and stared, taken aback as she unveiled the item.

  She now held a new cloak, crimson-red and with gold trimmings, and as she squeezed the fabric, found it to be sturdy and plentiful. It would certainly keep her warmer than the tattered black cloak she’d had for years, torn by snags and full of burn-holes by stray embers, and she grinned. To top it off, it was incredibly soft and had a hood that would cover her head. More exciting still, a pocket that she could use to conceal something...or use to keep her hands warm, she supposed had been Tazaro’s original intent.

  “Wow, Tazaro, you, you bought this for me?” She asked, beaming as she looked back and forth between him and the cloak in gratitude. She stood, and so did he, helping her put it on over her shoulders, shrugging it into place to rest comfortably. As she pulled the hood over her head, she rubbed the silky interior against her cheek, tickled pink at the soothing hug of the cloak on her body.

  It seemed to have even been tailored to fit her short stature, hemmed such that the bottom of the cloak hung around the middle of her calves.

  “It’s fantastic! Thank you!”

  “Mm, yeah. Well, I, I knew you needed a new one, and…" He trailed off, suddenly becoming serious.

  "Consider it a promise.” He explained, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on it. “No matter how...bad things get, I won’t leave you, and I’ll do what I can to make things work, so long as you promise me the same.”

  “Leave me?” Sheeva asked, mildly confused. Somewhat dizzy and frightened of his implications, she sat down. She swallowed, then lifted her gaze to meet his, the wistful, hopeful expression on his face causing her to frown.

  “Tazaro…” She sighed. “Sit.” She requested, patting the space next to her. His face fell, and with a worried look, he knelt down in front of her instead.

  “Before you dismiss me, let me try. Let me try to fix things. Even if I don’t know what you need me to do, just say the words, and I’ll do it. I’ll talk, or give you space, I'll do–

  –Stop. Stop, Tazaro!” Sheeva insisted, setting her hand on his shoulder and shaking him. The pained expression flashed on his face again, and Sheeva swallowed past the lump in her throat. Wishing to console him through this bizarre moment of madness, she pressed her hand to his cheek. It was warm, heated by being so flustered.

  “Did you...believe I would leave you?” She asked carefully.

  The look of guilt in his eyes betrayed him, and he slowly nodded, pouting.

  “I mean, I tried to tell myself you wouldn’t, and-and I hope you won’t, but, I–

  –No. No. Stop it, Tazaro. That’s enough.” She said softly, shuffling herself off the small couch and into his lap.

  "You don't need to torment yourself like this, you know." She whispered, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. She took in his typical woodsy scent, wrapping her arms around his chest and holding him tightly to her, sniffling as she felt sharp stabs of her own festering guilt assault her stomach.

  “Tazaro, I’m...I’m sorry. I feared you would leave me.”

  She felt him jump, no doubt startled with her confession.

  “What? Sheeva, that’s preposterous! Why the hell would I leave you?” He asked angrily, the bile of disgust at the idea foaming in the back of his throat. More roughly than he meant to, he grasped her arms and pushed her back to look her in the eye. She avoided them, lids narrowed in self-reproach.

  “It's…it's stupid, but…because of the miscarriage.” She answered, voice small.

  Tazaro softened, too, releasing his harsh grasp of her arms and letting his hands drop to her sides. The cotton of the cloak tingled his fingers as he raised his hands to hold her, sighing heavily and sinking his head against her shoulder.

  “Gods, Sheeva, no. No, that wasn’t your fault. Not at all. I’d never hold something like that against you. Never.”

  Painfully, Sheeva wept into his chest, and Tazaro hoped he was effectively consoling her as he rubbed her back with one hand and patted her head with the other while he wrestled with his own revelations. His chest felt light, and he caught himself finding the irony of their situation almost laughable–he’d been so caught up in a downward spiral that he’d actually believed that Sheeva wanted nothing to do with him, only to find out that she warred with the same, similar ridiculous shackles.

  The wood crackling away in the stove in the corner occupied their space for a moment as they both enjoyed the silence, basking in their embrace, both starved for physical closeness.

  “Do you...feel like joining me for a bath?” Tazaro asked, picking up on his unattractive, rancid clothing and wrinkling his nose at it. Reluctant to put aside their touch, he figured this would allow them the opportunity to become closer and maintain the cleanliness that both of them–as Sheeva also made a face at herself–needed.

  She didn’t speak but nodded her consent, getting to her feet and helping him stand, too. He stepped over to the elegant, claw-footed tub, stopped it with the plug chained to the faucet, and turned, spilling hot water and a dash of bubbly, smiling at the guilty pleasure that had secretly grown on him since they’d left the temple.

  Expecting Sheeva to eagerly be undressed by the time he even stripped himself of his shirt, he was surprised that, when he turned around, the only item of clothing she had removed was the new cloak. It sat carefully folded on the loveseat.

  Sheeva held an arm in a hand, a gesture of self-consciousness that he hadn’t seen in her since before they made love for the first time. A small, soft “ah” of realization flew past his lips, and he bravely ventured closer to tip her head up with a tucked finger beneath her chin and plant a kiss on her lips.

  “Sheeva, I would...still gaze upon your beauty." He smiled, pleased with his poetic self. "Regardless of that guard putting his hands on you or your...” He hesitated to say it, but he knew the more they said it, the easier it would become to talk about and move past it. Putting it in words would make it real. “Regardless of...our miscarriage. I, I hope that’s appropriate for me to say. ‘Ours.”

  The flustered pink splashed on her cheeks, and she adamantly shook her head.

  “I believe it’s appropriate, but that’s not why I’m, uh...” She trailed off as her nerves grew and stuck her thumbnail between her teeth to grip it as the other hand went to her hair to twist it. “My body’s just changed.” She defended. “I havn’t eaten well since...before we were captured.”

  “O-oh.” Tazaro scratched at his chin, feeling sheepish. He hadn’t thought of that, but it was still good that she was brave enough to verbally admit her trauma. It was a strong start, and hopefully, it would end with a liberating finish.

  “Well, um…” He thought of something to say, thankful for his comedic pastime. “Can’t be anything that Pyuritan apples, a couple of black and blue gut-busters, and some chocolate stuffed croissants can’t fix, right?”

  While the mirthful chuckle flew from Sheeva’s lips, Tazaro slightly rued the comment as his stomach rumbled at him, highly interested in the savory sandwich they’d tried to mimic in Raynak to no avail. Sure, it came close, but they hadn’t been the same. If they ever doubled back to Rin’s tavern, they’d have to convince the man for the recipe to the "gut-busting sandwich".

  Feeling the tension alleviated, Tazaro took the initiative, pulling her into a hug and gently plucking at the buttons of her shirt, not minding that she nervously fumbled with his shirt in return. True enough, as the shirt pooled around her feet, followed by her chest bindings, pants, and underwear, it revealed his wife’s vastly thinned body. It was just as sorrowful a sight as it had been when he’d forced himself to witness the damage he’d done during their fight before departing from the temple.

  With a carefully crafted hum to prevent showing disapproval and, instead, his concern, Tazaro pulled Sheeva into his arms to shield her body from the room’s chill despite the wood stove emitting heat in the corner of the room. He hadn’t wanted to make his determined palpations obvious, but as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt to snake them up to his sides, he realized his own body had changed drastically, as well, when he felt the thud of her fingers against his ribcage.

  “Oh, Tazaro...I’m sorry.” Sheeva apologized, stroking the patch of chest hair as she hung her head. Her other hand grasped intently on his hip to silently voice her disappointment.

  “I didn’t notice I’d changed, too, until now.” He admitted, finally allowing himself to thoroughly examine her with a careful hand, finding it strange that he would fear harming her from a combination of her new, unknown fragility and his own strength.

  Deciding he would mask his woeful curiosity by washing her as he’d initially intended, Tazaro shuffled out of his pants with ease, another stark piece of evidence toward how much weight he’d lost from lack of appetite.

  Their clothes forgotten on the floor, Sheeva ignored the full-body mirror propped in the corner reflecting her state as she stepped in, instantly soothed by hot water and slick, tickling bubbles, averting her eyes to the intricate design on the faucet as Tazaro stepped in and sat down across from her.

  Was it still okay to shamelessly lay eyes upon his naked body?

  Though she kept her knees tucked to her chest to give Tazaro the assumed space he might have wanted, Tazaro didn’t shy away, and with a smirk, he playfully poked at her with his foot beneath the water. Still, she calmed and lay back against the tub, draping her legs over his, jumping when he grabbed her foot beneath the water and began to massage the painful thing.

  She returned the small gesture with no protest, and after a short wash, Sheeva found herself laying against his chest as they watched the bubbles slowly pop in silence. She repaid his curious touch in kind, finding her anxiousness thrown to the wind when, while he seemed sad about the fact that her hips protruded more than they used to and her spine was well visible, he also placed sweet, chaste kisses on her shoulder, cheeks, and lips while murmuring his promises to treat her to her favorite foods.

  “Sheeva?” Tazaro called, sad voice joining the sound of the slow drops of water from the faucet as they plopped into the tub.

  Here was the second moment of reckoning, Sheeva felt.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you...know you were pregnant?” He asked, rubbing her arm with his thumb as he hugged her.

  “I had my suspicions when I realized I was, ah, late, but especially when I began to pine for those...damn water chestnuts of yours.” She replied with a small, albeit forced chuckle. Still, the attempt made Tazaro smile, and he tilted his head forward to rest his chin on her shoulder.

  “Mm. Bummer–I thought they’d really grown on you!”

  Rumbling, held-back chuckles grew to laughter, and Sheeva wiped at the tears welling in her eyes.

  “When we got to Agonia, I was going to check with a doctor or midwife.” She continued. Tazaro hummed to show he was still following along.

  “Initially, I was cheerful and excited to think so, and I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to be sure. And...I was also worried. Worried about being with child while on the road and pursuing Zakaraia–I mean, what would we have done?” She asked, waving an empty hand for emphasis as though the room would magically grant an answer. “I...I had–have faith that we would have agreed upon something.”

  “Ah. I think we would have worked something out,” Tazaro agreed.

  Sheeva sighed and settled back into his hold, playing with his now wrinkly fingers as she held his hand. As Tazaro weighed the words on the tip of his tongue, something else seemed to worry her, and he sighed.

  “When we’re done with Zakaraia, would you…” He began, clearing his throat as it dried. “Would you want to try again?”

  By how she stilled, then sighed miserably, it drove Tazaro’s worrisome mind into overdrive.

  “What if we cannot? What if this is a sign? I...am borne of a Sferran and a Ta’hal, after all. Perhaps I am... Incapable.”

  Tazaro paused, not having considered infertility on Sheeva’s part. It was a viable “what-if,” and a gloomy one, at that, and not one he had contemplated an answer for before.

  What a pity, especially when she had fostered such care and love for the children Micah agreed to take in.

  He blinked, then smiled.

  "Then, we'll adopt."

  Sheeva gasped and turned around in his hold to face him, glancing between his eyes for a few seconds.

  "You would consider that?"

  Tazaro smiled and moved a strand of wet hair out of her face.

  "Of course, Zvezdaya. Tyler cared for me as his own. Rose cared for you. They love–er, loved...” He trailed off, wondering which was politically correct, then sighed at himself. “Well, I think we both know that parental love isn't just for biological children. It's a choice." He agreed. "And, if that is something that would make us both happy, I would love to do that with you, Sheeva. And, hopefully, we might be able to give a child a loving family and a wonderful life they might not have otherwise."

  Lost for words, Sheeva could only beam and grin at him before hiding her face in his shoulder and squeezing him as tightly as she could muster.

  She relaxed into his warm, broad, strong arms, sighing with content and smiling from the daydream she was entertaining with a lazy thumb stroking his chest. He returned the lazy stroke, letting his head lay back on the slant of the tub, feeling the swim of tire fog his brain as his body began to prepare itself for the heavy sleep it needed, anxieties abated, and frustrations subsided…for the most part.

  Eager to crawl into the warm bed as the water began to turn cold, Tazaro pulled the plug and shuffled Sheeva into a bridal-style carry, earning a squeak when he stood up much faster than expected. Apparently, he wasn’t used to Sheeva’s new weight, but he wasn’t about to tell her so.

  He cleared his throat and set her down, reaching for the stack of bath towels on a stool, then wrapped it around her body. Inspired by a sudden thought, Tazaro slowly began to dry her off, rubbing the fluffy fabric over her warm, reddened skin.

  Sure enough, her body had changed, and as he rested on his laurels at her feet, his hand took hers to place a gentle kiss on it. With a slight tug, he pulled her close, snapping his arm around her waist to support her in her awkward stumble and kissing the skin beneath her navel when she got close enough.

  When her free hand ruffled through his hair, it ignited a flash of desire within, and as his kisses on her body became more firm, so did the receptive grasp of his shoulder and a tuft of his hair.

  The sensual tease of his mouth against her pelvis was met with a more deliberate buck of her hips as she shuffled closer, and it was all he needed to be ready to go.

  Sharply, he stood, scooped her up, and hurried to the bed, using his foot to shove aside the sheets. He carefully lay her down in it and then settled at her side, occupying her mouth with kisses as his hands roamed her body in a sensual stroke. When she cast his contraceptive spell on him, Tazaro gladly cast hers on her, though still hesitant as he hovered above her, the tremble of caution battling the zeal of sex.

  Convincing him with a gentle grant of permission, Tazaro moaned softly and shivered from their initial connection, lost in the pleasure that enveloped him and pacified by the overwhelming forgiveness that encompassed and cradled his soul.

  Comfortable in lying on their sides as they slowly moved together, her hands and leg tightened on his body as her soft moans of pleasure tingled in his ears. Placated by the look of passion in her face, Tazaro never let go, enjoying every moment of the sensual and slow act. After the waves of their powerful orgasms ebbed away, Sheeva clung to him in thirst for physical affection. Tears spilled from her eyes as she tenderly wiped away the tears that Tazaro wept as his body relaxed, feeling a massive swell of relief, love, and bittersweet as he pulled her close against him in a lax cuddle. The tears broke into unbridled giggles and laughter before dying into sniffles and whispers of affection.

  Sleep took them both quickly as they shifted to curl into one another, legs entwined and sheets tucked up onto their chins.