After waking up in the hospital wing with an intense headache, multiple bruises, and what felt like a busted nose and broken collarbone, Tazaro had taken what felt like a couple of hours in quiet contemplation as he stared at the flickering wick of the lantern hanging above the patient’s bed he occupied. Ivan had healed him as well as he was capable, and Tazaro felt bad for making the man exhaust his magical capacities, especially since the man had several patients currently residing in the wing, though Sheeva was not one of them. He supposed that they had decided to keep them in separate rooms, and it only intensified the shame that burned on his face.

  Despite the throbbing pain racking his body, he didn’t even bother to heal himself and could only half listen as Hasch tore into him about the circumstances of their fight. Most of the things the furious man had to say were things Tazaro found himself already thinking.

  Hasch insisted that they attempt to make it up to each other and talk, to which Tazaro simply nodded his agreement; it’d been the first thing his muddled brain had decided upon after wondering why the hell Hasch had punched and broken his nose in the first place.

  Bizarrely encouraged by the forceful lecture Hasch gave him, Tazaro rested his hand on the doorknob that kept the sliding door shut to Sheeva’s bedroom, having followed Hasch’s advice to give Cassie the time she needed to scold Sheeva. As the moons rose in the sky, he figured that enough time had passed for Cassie to drive whatever point she needed to make. He wondered if Cassie had “used words that Sheeva would have to look up,” as Hasch so poetically put it.

  After a glowing light sprouted and changed color, he took Sheeva for being awake. He cleared his throat and rapped on the door with his knuckles, wincing at their bruised state.

  “Sheeva?” He called out, wondering if she would even respond to his call. His heart ached as her voice echoed in his head and called him an idiot. It cut him to the bone, and he dropped his hand, about to turn away in discouragement. However, when his feet planted themselves to the floor, he froze, decided against waiting for a better time, and turned back.

  Though she had not answered, Tazaro opened the door anyway and slipped into her room, currently illuminated by a glowing, golden orb of light that she absent-mindedly circled around the ceiling in contemplation of something.

  The room itself was in disarray, something entirely out-of-place for the tidy woman. Her ever-growing pothos plant that had to be as long as Bartholomew was tall now lay on the floor, a stream of potting soil cascading down the side of the wall, ultimately piled into a heap amid the broken terra-cotta pot. The ragora plant she’d named “Kara” snipped cannibalistically at the poor plant. He strode to it, picked up the hungry thing to move it out of reach, and if he'd been in better spirits, would have scolded it with a "don't you know it's not nice to eat your friends?"

  A chair was overturned, the matching tea-table pushed over on its side, and as he righted the two pieces of furniture, he noticed the mirror she’d recently begun to use after becoming comfortable in her own skin once more thanks to his touch. Now shattered, the ornate, once-beautiful thing hung off one hinge with webbing cracks from what looked to be a punch in its center and splayed glass reaching across the room. He didn’t further acknowledge the broken piece and instead glanced Sheeva over as her light flicked out. She shifted away from him, appearing uncomfortable in his presence.

  Tazaro crossed the room at the foot of her bed to the paper window and opened it, gracing the room with an inflow of fresh air to replace the smell of potting soil and tin from dried blood and sweat. Turning back to her at the sound of shuffling sheets, the splash of pink on her cheeks and the way her lips curled into a pout of self-pity made him stare down at his feet shamefully in kind.

  Still, he had a goal in mind and wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t go through with it.

  “Sheeva, I…” He attempted to look at her, but she avoided his gaze. The scowl grew, and she pouted more, dipping her head as she let out a shaky breath. Sparkles traveled down her reddened cheeks, and she further shied away from his gaze.

  Beneath the thin silk sheet she wrapped and tightened around her shoulders, he could see the shadow of a bruise on her chest, and he thought he saw the coloration of bruising on her knuckles as well amid the dim moonlight streaming in. It still reflected gorgeously off her alabaster skin and the off-white sheet now slipping down off her shoulders to reveal a discoloration of the shoulder he’d twisted. Neither of them had thought to use restraint, even with their passive shields, apparently, and it drove his stomach into the ground.

  Even as Tazaro approached her bedside and sat down on it, she didn’t look at him, but the streams of tears on dirty cheeks and the turn of her head away from his lingering gaze further pained him. It seemed to foster the initiative he needed, and he reached out to take her hand in his and lift the soft-skinned part to his lips for a tender kiss. Beyond the puffy, sore spot of his split lip, he could tell her hands were mildly swollen around the knuckles, and he trailed his finger across her hand and up her arm in gentle palpation.

  He waved his hand, and light rose from his aching palm to illuminate her face. He watched her expression switch rapidly between fearful, ashamed, sorrowful, and strangely, relief, all in response to witnessing the appearance of his likely blackened eye, split lip, and a purple nose. Even during a spar, never before had they fought to such an extent, but...they had also never been driven by blind-red-anger and deep-rooted fear.

  Tazaro inched closer and rested his hand on her cheek, thankful that she didn’t move away. Instead, her eyes closed with a hesitant sigh, and eventually, she angled her head for him to support the throbbing cheek in his palm. Another tear slid down her cheek and spilled around his thumb, and he did his best to wipe the thing away, further pacified when she held his hand in hers and turned her head to place a grateful kiss on his palm.

  The simple action made his heart swell with reprieve, and he scooted closer to place a loving peck on her forehead, then bowed his head against hers to plant a kiss on her lips. His spirit lifted, and his heart soared as she rested a hand on his chest and returned it.

  As their lips melded together, it stirred something within him, and he urged her closer into an embrace, doing his best to hide his grimace of pain as she firmly grasped a handful of hair connected to what felt like a gnarly goose egg on the back of his head. Whether from Zakaraia’s assault or her swiftly sweeping him off his feet, he wasn’t sure.

  “I apologize, I did not mean to hurt–

  –you didn’t.” He insisted, attempting to cut her off. He stopped and tilted his head to look at her when she pushed lightly on his chest with an irritated grunt. A brief display of it showed before the shadow of meekness covered her face.

  The way she nibbled on her lip was cute, and the sincere, apologetic glow in her eyes humbled him. He settled, too, intent on listening to what she had to say, regardless of how much it might hurt.

  “Don’t...hide like that. We can’t do that. Tell me–regardless of how I did it, if I hurt you. That goes for me, too. I need to-to listen, even if it's not something I want to hear.” She insisted.

  He nodded his acceptance of her request slowly, letting out a tense breath, then cleared his throat.

  “Ok.” He agreed, feeling sheepish at the anxious tone in his voice. “Uh, well...Pretty sure I might have a concussion.” He admitted with a nervous chuckle that echoed on the walls. She chuckled in kind, then wrenched her eyes shut with another apologetic frown on her face, reaching out to tenderly touch the area.

  “Yeah, I can-I can feel it. Not a concussion, though, just, uh...” She trailed off, gave a pfft at herself, then traced a sigil for a healing spell and gently touched the bump on the back of his head to deliver the beginnings of what made Tazaro sigh in relief. Her hand traveled to his face, and he rested his cheek in her palm as she delivered more soothing, healing energy into the bruise around his eye and the pained bridge of his nose. He gave another lax sigh and took a grateful breath of air.

  She shifted herself closer and tucked her head against his shoulder, dropping her hand to slip it beneath the collar of his shirt and wrap it around his neck. Cold, slender fingers quickly warmed between his skin and fabric, and he felt the smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

  Inspired by the gesture, he returned it by healing the cut on her knuckles from her mirror strike. Deciding that he should follow Hasch’s advice and make sure they saw what they had done to each other, Tazaro brightened his light and stripped himself of his shirt, wincing as a twinge of pain shot through his shoulder.

  As he looked himself over in the cracked mirror, he finally saw the damage done to his body in its splintered reflection. His elbows and forearms held gnarly bruises that were, without a doubt, present on his knees and shins as well. Green discoloration marbled his torso, and as he pulled off the medical tape on his shoulder, he fully saw the extent of the damage done.

  No wonder Sheeva thought he’d been run through with Zakaraia’s blade; by the severity of it, he basically had. The bruising of the wound spanned up into his neck and down to his upper arm with a ragged, fresh-pink scar of healing tissue. Unable to look at himself any further, he lowered his gaze to where Sheeva sat in her bed.

  She wasn’t looking at him and had further covered herself with the silken sheet, retreating into a shell he hadn’t seen her crawl into in an incredibly long time. Saddening as it was, he supposed he could understand; Sheeva was likely blaming herself just as he was blaming himself.

  “I...I need to see you. See what I’ve done. I, I have things to say, and I’m sure you do, too, but I want to start by giving you the care and respect you deserve.” Tazaro murmured, healing a cut he hadn’t noticed on her forehead. Sheeva’s face contorted to one of extreme guilt, and she wrenched her eyes shut. The simple act confirmed his previous musing, and, eager to assuage her strife, he tucked his finger under her chin to raise her ruby eyes to meet his genuine citrines.

  “I want to show you that the woman I fought beside is still beautiful to me and still deserving of forgiveness, and that the...ass-whupping we gave each other is not the end of the line, and that we will conquer this and move past it. It’s just a hurdle, Zvezdaya. We fucked up. We both fucked up. But, we can’t let this fuck us up.” He finished with a chuckle at his vulgar self and an honest, warm smile on his face.

  “Alright.”

  Tazaro reached for the tuft of sheet bunched in her hand to coax it away from her chest, and she let out a heavy, emotionally pained sigh as the fabric fell to reveal her torso. Time moved slowly as her rugged state was bared to him, and Tazaro hung his head in deeper self-reproach of his actions. She was just as discolored as he was, specks of purple and blotches of blue scattered over her chest, sides, and even above her hip, where his shin had collided with it in brute force.

  The agonizing realization sunk in, and his brows furrowed, feeling the heat in his eyes and on his cheeks as his composure broke. He buried his face in Sheeva’s lap, trembling with disgust at himself for what he’d done, and as heaving sobs racked his body, his hands gripped the sheet pooled around her waist until they ached.

  “Gods, what have I done?” He cried, a voice uncommon to him as he wailed his lament.

  Sheeva said nothing but offered a pacifying trace of her hand through his hair, trailing her fingernails down the back of his neck and along his spine before starting again from the top of his head. When he’d calmed, he stared into space at her navel in misery, almost missing her call softly to him to break him free of his depressing thoughts. He blinked and turned his head in her lap.

  “I could have...I could have killed you.” He admitted his grim discovery.

  “And I could have killed you, Tazaro.” She replied, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

  Tazaro lifted his head from his lap to sit up and look her in the eye, though he already knew what she said was true; she’d announced the fact many times after he’d refused to tell her the extent of his pains from a strike-gone-wrong during a spar. He swallowed his surprise and tipped his head in humility.

  “We behaved like children, Sheeva. We can never fight like that again. I never want to fight like that again, or cause you pain like I did, or treat you with such...” He paused to find a word, even though he’d drilled it over and over in his head before he’d gone to her door with his heart in his mouth.

  “Disrespect? Disregard?” He mused with a confused expression as he searched for the distant, hazy, perfect word his brain had drafted earlier. As he grasped at smoke, he sighed. “Either way, that’s not the man I want to be, especially not with the woman I want to–He stopped himself and shook his head. “Love." He finished.

  Tazaro fought a scoff at himself in disbelief. Had he seriously considered confessing his desire to marry her? Here? Now? After they’d just beaten the ever-loving shit out of each other?

  Have some fucking class, man! He chided himself.

  “Just because we fought like that and said and did terrible things doesn’t mean I love you any less.” He whispered, fighting to get the words past a tight throat thickened with pain. “Gods no. I still love you, Sheeva. I’ll always love you, no matter what.” He insisted, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss on the back of it to seal the premise of his promise.

  “Tazaro,” She called to him in a firm, serious tone, and he shot his head up, feeling his stomach sink into the floor before springing back up to rise from his throat with the sharp, short, gasp of useless breath. Still, he stared, the wind caught in his chest.

  “Y-yes?” He asked cautiously, awaiting whatever she had in store for him as a peaceful, soothed smile spread on her cheeks. He blinked, caught off-guard when her hand rested on his cheek, and when she urged him upward and lowered her face to his to kiss his lips, he let out a muffled “hm?” of confusion.

  “I never want us to fight like that again, either. Not even during a spar. If we must, we will find a way...or walk away for the moment, though I’m impressed that you were able to counter me even after my malicious intent to blind you. You tried to tell me to stop, and I did not listen. I was blinded by anger and aggression and...fear, and yet you still dared to tell me I was in the wrong–and I was, no matter what you may think or tell yourself.”

  When she kissed him again, he snapped to reality and returned the gesture with as hard of a kiss as he could muster without paining his wounded lip. Her finger trailed along the wound, and as he felt the invigorating tingle of a healing spell mend the split, he sucked in an excited breath, mildly surprised with himself.

  He pulled her close with a trembling hand, further excited by the warmth of her body against his. The experimental kiss they shared quickly grew passionate, and a confused riptide of desire shot through his body at the unmistakable hum of arousal she gave. Steady, strong fingernails grazed along his scalp as she kissed him fiercely–despite the sound of pain from her bruised lip–as Sheeva pushed herself into his lap.

  His hands grabbed gently at her hips, but as she pressed herself against the growing erection in his pants, Tazaro’s hands gripped them to guide her into doing it again, moaning at the sensual contact. One hand rose into her hair to tighten on it as his mouth latched to her neck in passing before hastily bidding her to her knees to level her chest with his face.

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  Pleased to find her nipples perked, he took one between his teeth to nip at it hungrily. The unabashed “oo,” the heady, thick-with-arousal sigh, and the tightening of her hands where they lay filled him with uncontainable zeal, and as he performed the action again, it elicited an even more pronounced moan and unmistakable roll of her hips.

  He lowered his hand from her butt to tease his fingers across her mons pubis and down along her inner thigh, giving a wry chuckle at the deep moan she gave.

  Stirred by anticipation, he slipped his fingers between her legs, pressing his thumb against her labia majora to massage the area, the skin quickly becoming rosy, slick, and puffed with arousal at his deliberate motions.

  "More," she demanded with a buck of her hips, and as he obliged the request with burying his fingers, she gave one hell of a sultry moan followed by a vulgar, drawled, "fuck!"

  Her hands found the buckle of his belt and fumbled with it as she drew him into a needy kiss, their tongues fighting for dominance. As soon as he registered that she’d successfully undone his belt and the zipper of his pants, eagerness took over as he rolled onto his back, helping her to shrug off his pants.

  Sheeva wasted no time aligning her hips with his, and as her warmth invited him and her body enveloped him, her name fell from his lips in a whisper. He bit back a low, deep hum and sighed with content as his head fell back, drinking in the moment of bliss upon being fully inside her. He lifted his tired arms to clasp his hands around her waist as she began to circle her hips, the mix of the vulgar, pleasured expression driving him to blurt out: “that’s fucking sexy.”

  It seemed she had only just begun when her sudden orgasm took both of them by surprise, and as she furiously bucked her hips to ride it out, it fueled a darkened desire within him. Tazaro pulled her to his chest and rolled over, intertwining her fingers with his as he pinned her hands above her head. He began to thrust in a steady, strong rhythm as her legs locked around his waist and her body writhed against his. As her crescent-shaped nails dug into the back of his hand, it made him recall a moment where she’d clasped his wrist to drive her elbow into his chest during their fight, and as he felt the fury coursing through him, he shifted to bury himself deeper into her body.

  “You...you and I beat the shit out of each other.” He growled, feeling his torso tense. He hid his face in her neck and grabbed a fistful of the sheet she’d previously covered herself with, now spread beneath her. He felt his tension rise as his brows furrowed to convey his emotional pain amid confused arousal.

  “You called me an idiot, and–

  –I, I know. I shouldn’t have–

  “No,” He grunted, sat up, scooped his hands beneath her hips, and lifted them to continue working out his frustrations, thrilled as the moans rose an octave and a shocked, excited glint glimmered in her eyes.

  He knew she knew he was no idiot, and it soothed his vexation. Every time she picked his brains for ideas or bounced plans or dredged up new spells, she’d always appreciated it. Even if there were silly things that she disagreed with, she would eventually come to appreciate it.

  “No. If I’m an idiot, then I’m your idiot.” He managed, tightening his firm grasp of her hips as he picked up his pace. The excited shock was almost too much, and Tazaro swooned in bliss as he felt his release beginning to build. He barely heard her short laugh before it became drowned out by moans.

  “Then I’m your selfish woman.” She answered, beckoning him closer. He chuckled and kissed her, picking up his pace and holding tightly to her hips as one hand fisted his hair and the other clutched at his backside, dragging nails across his skin that made him purr and lose his mind.

  When he felt her legs flex hard around him and felt her shudder from a second orgasm, Tazaro’s impassioned “fuck!” tore through his chest as his body tensed from his own orgasm. As his brain swam, high with the influx of endorphins, the pillow tucked beneath her head cooled his brow as he panted for air, appreciating how equally worn-out she seemed to be as he caught his breath and settled, stroking the outside of her thigh. As he registered the aggravation of his shoulder, he reluctantly sighed, placed a tender kiss on her shoulder, then mentally prepared himself for the stinging, stabbing pain as he shifted to settle at her side, fighting the wince that spread on his face anyway.

  She offered a weak, massaging healing spell that was barely effective, offering an apology as her hand dropped, and she voiced her own exhaustion with a breathy “Pshew.”

  “Other than tired, I am so...so...” Sheeva muttered, raising a hand as though to snatch words from the air, then dropped it at her side. “I don’t know.”

  “Confused? Blissful? Relieved?” Tazaro offered with a mumble, trying to equally grasp the conflicting things coursing through him amid his growing need for sleep.

  “Yeah.”

  He huffed, then chuckled, pulling her to roll over with him as he turned to lay on his back and drape the sheet over the both of them. She settled against his uninjured shoulder and wrapped an arm around his middle, lifting her leg to rest it over his hips.

  "I'm sorry for not listening to you when I should have. Being afraid of the answer or what-ifs isn't a reason to–

  –Shh, Sheeva." He soothed, pecking her head and rubbing her arm with a pacifying stroke. "I know you are, and all is forgiven. Sleep. We need it." Tazaro murmured, letting go of a sigh and relishing her curl into his form for comfort and warmth.

  Though the companionable silence was nice at first, Tazaro caught himself staring at the ceiling, lost in heavy thought. A nagging something invaded his peace and bothered him, and he glanced toward the window in contemplation of the veil. Should Zakaraia return, would Aglis’s statue hold out against another relentless assault?

  “Tazaro?” Her voice called up to him, a determined inflection in it. Whatever she was about to say, she was going to say with unshakeable certainty. Preparing himself to hear it with a deep breath in through his nose, he sounded out a “hm?” that rumbled his chest.

  “I want us to leave the temple.”

  Tazaro sighed as he released his held breath and felt his chest sink into the bed. The frown formed on his face instantly, disappointed, though he could understand. As soon as he began to hear the hushed gossip from the other people in the place that only drove shame into his heart, he highly considered departing to be one of the first things they talked about, assuming the apologies went well.

  He wondered if the others hated them now for luring Zakaraia here or blamed them for the death of their leader. The bright, optimistic side of himself struggled to assure that he only thought the others felt this way because it was how he felt about himself. He blinked, humbled by the sudden epiphany, which helped keep him from his downward spiral.

  “Zakaraia destroyed the veil, and in turn, Altea’s statue.” Sheeva pointed out.

  “Tam,” He mumbled, the fact becoming more fodder for discouragement.

  “From what I understand, Algis gave his life to restore the veil and protect us.” She continued.

  “Tam.” More fuel, though this time stirring a fire for vengeance and a hidden need for revenge as he thought of the stalwart temple’s towers and its walls.

  When she sniffled, she pushed herself up to sit at his side, wiping at her tired, puffy eyes with the back of her hand. She stared at something across the way in contemplation of something, sighed miserably, shook her head, then sighed again as determination took over.

  “Zakaraia will recover and come back. I don’t want to risk the chance Aglis’s veil cannot withstand an attack. So...we will bring the fight to Zakaraia instead. Away from here. Away from everyone else. We can figure out a way to kill him while we’re hunting him to the ends of Sferra and back.” She insisted fiercely.

  Her conviction and resolve emboldened him once again, and as he felt his fears melt away, he sat up, looking back and forth between her ruby eyes, burning with fiery admonition.

  “Ok.” He agreed. “Wherever you go, I’ll be there.”

  Sheeva gave him a short smile, then dropped her head in thought.

  “Cruinia. We start in Cruinia. That’s where he wanted to meet the first time.” She decided. Tazaro nodded in agreement. Even if their search proved futile or had them cross paths earlier, it was a good starting point.

  “When do we leave?” He asked, reaching to take her hand in his. “I think we should at least rest up first, take the time to help restore what we can, and say good–

  –I don’t want them to know we’re leaving.” She insisted.

  This threw him for a loop, and he stared at her, bewildered for a moment.

  “The longer we stay, the more it’ll give the other people time to...conspire.” She muttered. “No, I...I cannot face that. We should slip away before we are forced out–if they’re not already planning such a thing.”

  Sheeva gently retrieved her hand from his grasp and stood out of the bed. Too tired to cast an illumination spell, she stepped toward the dresser, dug in a box for a match, struck it, and ignited the wick to a lantern, which she carried with her to the other side of the room. Tazaro eyed her naked form as she limped to her old travel bag, and he told himself the limp was due to soreness from sex rather than either of the fights she’d been in, though he knew better. She crouched as she fished through it for something, muttering things to herself. Tazaro stood out of the bed as well, took a moment to shuffle his pants back around his hips and buckle them, then cast his light as he crossed the room and observed over her shoulder as she rummaged almost elbow-deep in the deceptively expansive thing.

  Beneath the black hair that cascaded to a stop at the middle of her back lay a blotchy scuff mark from a sliding impact with the ground amid the purple-and-blue marbling of bruises, and he huffed, concerned with her hastiness.

  He called to her softly, and when she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and tried again.

  “Sheeva, wait a moment.”

  “What?”

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, arms still buried in her bag when he didn’t answer.

  “Come here. Sit with me.”

  Begrudgingly and pouting, Sheeva did as he requested. She stood and sat down on the chair he gestured to that he had to stand upright upon entry. He sat in the other and leaned on the tea table, offering a hand for her to take.

  “I love that you’re ready and eager to go. It’s inspiring. I could pack up my stuff, and we could leave now if we wanted to.” He began. “But, we can’t. We owe it to ourselves to take a few days to heal, and we owe it to the others to at least, uh, find out how they feel–whether or not they really want to run us out of town with torches and pitchforks.” He cracked, snickering at himself. He felt better as she scrunched her nose and snickered, then bashfully looked away and covered her mouth.

  “Been there, done that. It’s terrible–uh...a terribly good exercise, I suppose.” She chuckled, apparently shifting what she’d wanted to initially say.

  Even though it was a joke, Tazaro felt a strange sense of realism as he understood that being literally run out of town by an angry mob was well in the realm of possibility in the next part of their journey. He briefly wondered how his life had become so bizarre, then rolled his eyes at himself. As if flying the skies, fighting evil beings, casting spells, and enjoying sex with a “Valkyrie” isn’t wild enough!

  “You owe me the story about that. But, later. Right now, we need to rest, reconnect, and prepare–properly. Besides, I know we’ve scoured the library’s books on what little they have of ta’hal, but we should check again, now that we’ve fought Zakaraia a second time. We know that his tail-blade seems to prevent stuff from growing back, at least, grow back instantly.” He suggested, scratching at his cheek in thought.

  “What?” Sheeva asked quickly. Tazaro looked at her, giving her a quizzical look at the shocked expression on her face.

  “Yeah, you were there when Bartholomew cut off–Oh.” He stopped, waved his hand at his folly, and flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry, sorry. You were...unconscious.”

  He gave a wry grin at the circumstance.

  “So, apparently, ta’hal tail-blades can really do some damage to other ta’hal, too. Bartholomew hacked off Zakaraia’s hand, and the thing didn’t grow back immediately.”

  Sheeva bolted upright, eyes darting back and forth as she took in the crucial information, staring at him in disbelief for a moment, face appearing even paler amid the mix of colors from the lantern and his spell. She looked in the direction of the plaza, then back at him with a puzzled face.

  “They can really use their tails against each other?” She asked for confirmation. Slowly, Tazaro nodded.

  “Seems so. I even used it to clip Zakaraia’s wing. Hopefully, when we find him, he won’t have all his faculties in play.”

  “That’s…” Sheeva trailed off, an impressed, amazed look on her face. “That’s brutal.” She admitted, face scrunching in morbid fascination at the circumstance. Her eyes caught his, wide and hopeful.

  “Do you still have it?” She asked. Tazaro thought for a moment, trying to think back to the helter-skelter of the fight. He was sure he had seen the thing fly out of his hands and skid across the bricks.

  "Not on me, but I'm sure it's out there somewhere."

  Sheeva clicked her tongue and nodded.

  "Perhaps the one I cut off is still around if it didn't get blown away by that tornado. We will go look and see if we can find them in the morning." She suggested, growing silent as she thought about something.

  Tazaro let his mind wander, shivering as he recalled the terror he felt as his hand slipped from Laerso's handle while hanging from the cliff.

  His attentions were snared for the better when Sheeva snorted and broke into a laugh.

  “You’d have been so proud. Zakaraia tried to taunt me by asking, didn’t your mother ever teach you to play nice with the other kids?” She puffed up her chest, squared her shoulders, and turned up her nose to mock their foe, causing Tazaro to snicker. “And I responded with No, she taught me how to kick the other kid’s butt!” She cackled, her lips curled in a cheesy grin, red eyes glowing with glee and pride in herself.

  His laughter erupted from his chest as he barked out a “fuck, yeah! That’s my girl!” of approval.

  “Sheeva?” He called, sorry to break her from her giddiness as she looked him over and settled. “What happened while I was out?” He asked, feeling his insides flutter with fright at the truth.

  She sat back to cross her arms over her chest and cross one leg over the other, eyes fixed on a space in the floor.

  “After you dove for him and he cast that messed-up...time-warp spell, I tried to catch him off guard. Maybe, he would be distracted or worn out, but...” She stopped herself and waved her hand dismissively at whatever she wanted to say. “It didn’t work, but I realized the veil kept him out, and that gave me time to recoup and search for you.”

  Her lips formed a thin line as they pursed together, disappointment heavy in the contours of her face. She brought her fingers to her lips to further comfort herself.

  “I watched the veil push back a fireball that scorched the earth and destroyed the blacksmith’s house. If I hadn’t freed them, Ezrah and his family would be dead. Zakaraia tried to summon a blizzard that was also rejected, but at that point, I realized the barrier was weakening. I followed the cliffside to the docks, then to the riverbank, where Bartholomew had fished you out of the water.”

  A funny, sad smile formed, and her brows furrowed in concern, lessened by warmth in her eyes. She sat forward to lean on the tea table.

  “I need to talk to Bartholomew the next time we see him. He, he said some things that...well, make a lot of sense, now. It’s, uh, funny, I–” She chuckled softly and dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I am here today also because of him, and I have much to thank him for.”

  She grew further concerned and looked up at Tazaro hopefully.

  “Is he alright? He wasn’t shoved out, too, was he?” She asked.

  Tazaro noted the amount of worry in her voice and reached for her hand, finding himself smiling in gratitude and relief.

  “No, he wasn’t. He helped Aglis throw Zakaraia out, actually. I, I think he’s alright. He didn’t seem too banged up, last I saw.”

  The ease that shadowed her face was contagious, and Tazaro felt himself swoon, pacified. He became pacified enough that he really noted the tire in his body. It yearned for the comfort of a bed, and as he yawned deeply, his aching muscles stretched and pulled.

  “We should try to get some sleep.” He suggested, forcing himself to stand out of the chair. Sheeva stood too and stretched, blinking sluggishly and following him to the opposite side of the bed. She winced as she crawled into it, shuffling herself onto her side.

  “Ow. I’ll have to sleep like this for a couple of days.” She mumbled, lifting the sheet for him to crawl in and lay next to her.

  “Sleep naked? I certainly don’t mind.” Tazaro joked, a rumbling chuckle warming his chest as he slipped in and settled. Due to his injured shoulder, he couldn’t lay facing her and turned to his other side. As her arm wrapped around his side, Tazaro was sure he was blushing as he felt the bashful smile squiggle across his face. It wasn’t often he was the one being spooned.

  She pecked his backside and nestled her forehead against him, giving a grateful squeeze.

  “I’m...I’m glad you’re still around so I can, uh, kick you in my sleep.”

  He snickered and grinned.

  “Mm, me too. I’m happy I can still torment you with nonsense psychobabble.”