After agreeing to scrub the kitchen tiles and complete other deep-cleaning tasks that Chef Rory had requested while he finished inventory and planned the next month’s menu, Sheeva asked for the rest of the evening off. A simple question Rory had asked had her mind weaving its terrible web, and rather than slinking back to her old ways of “shoving something down until it died,” Sheeva figured she should do herself some good and work it out because time and time again, she’d been shown the folly of her old ways.

  The salty air bathed her face in a soft mist as she leaned against the ship’s bow, admiring the surprisingly still waters reflecting the starry sky and its two brimming, beautiful moons. It calmed her and reminded her of a small pond she’d stopped at in her early years of travel to rest for a couple of days. She felt the small smile at her memory creep onto her face.

  The chitterings of critters and hoots of owls had ensured that the forest around was safe. She’d spent as much time as possible with her body in the crystal-clean water, gazing at the clouds of stars as they colored the night sky beyond a canopy of blue-leaved trees. Despite fall’s fast approach, the waters were warm and purifying.

  She sighed miserably as she wondered if, after a thousand years, the waters would become sullied by man and no longer be angelically pristine. She also wondered whether or not she and Tazaro would get the opportunity to frolic in that same pond. Maybe, the more memories she made with the both of them, the more she would remember in eternal years to come as she carried out her servitude.

  “Thought you’d be pouring over that telescope with Tazaro, Sheeva. Unless you’re too busy trying to feel like the ‘Queen of the world?” Bartholomew called.

  All too easily, Bartholomew had a knack for interrupting her when she wanted to be alone for a few sacred moments. She scoffed at herself and wondered if he could literally sniff out such a thing like a bloodhound after prey, but as she turned with a lifted gaze to direct a false, unamused stare to his face, she realized he was in his disguise. With a huff at herself, she dropped her head to look at “Bart.”

  “No, not tonight.” She started, casting an apologetic glance over Bartholomew’s shoulder at Tazaro as he sketched out a new area of the skies atop the Captain’s Cabin. She promised herself she’d join him later to make up for it. “No, I...needed to work out a few things.”

  Bartholomew nodded and stepped up further to the edge of the bow, crossing his arms and leaning against the elegant curl of the wood knot. He cleared his throat, waved his hand, pulled a bottle from gods knew where out of his chest, and poured her a drink from it.

  “Ah. Yes. Tazaro told me about this. That mysterious...whatever it is...you have in your chest.” She murmured, taking an apprehensive sip of the strong-smelling alcohol. It smacked her cheeks and made them red almost instantly.

  “Honestly? It’s just a linking spell.” Bartholomew explained, holding up a necklace with many religious pendants on it. “I’ve linked these to a storage room.”

  Sheeva’s eyes rose, impressed with the cleverness of the idea, and wondered if she and Tazaro might be able to develop such a thing. Unnerved with the notion of a storage room fitting into someone’s chest, she took another sip of the strong stuff, hoping it would rip the disturbing idea from her head.

  “Anyway, I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing.”

  Sheeva stilled and silenced, staring at Celeste’s green, half-moon reflection on the water. It pulled the truth to the tip of her tongue, and with a heavy sigh, she let the words fall.

  “Considering the future ahead, I’m...I’m not okay.”

  Bartholomew took a drink from the bottle and shivered.

  “This stuff tastes way more potent as a Sferran! Damn!” He blurted, staring at it. “No wonder you guys have a hard time!” He chuckled, giving her a less toothy grin than normal, no doubt, still getting used to the limited yet expansive facial expressions he couldn’t quite perform as a Ta’hal.

  Sheeva wondered if he had even heard her confession, considering she had barely heard it, herself.

  “Whaddaya worried about? You’ve got nothing to worry about, kid. These years will be the best of your life. Make ‘em count. Regardless of what’s happened. You two know where you’re going and what you want out of your lives, right?” He asked.

  Sheeva blinked, somewhat surprised and confused.

  “Well...yes, but–

  –Then be happy with that! That's better than most twenty-something… uh, twenty-five-year-olds, Sheeva; most Sferrans still have their heads up their ass and don't even know what they want at this point!” He gave a hissing, derisive snicker, which caused Sheeva to smile slightly, but the curl faded as quickly as it had arrived.

  “There’s a lot more to it than just that.” She admitted, glancing back at Tazaro with a saddened face. As her heart twinged in ache, she turned back to the sea.

  “Well, tell me. I can at least listen.” He stated, beginning to snicker. “I’m eternal; I have all the time in the world!”

  That’s part of what bothers me. Eternity. Sheeva thought, twirling the glass around the rail with a finger as she lay her head on the rail in a pout. She cleared her throat and finished the last of the clear alcohol, readying herself for blunt, agonizing truth.

  “After all the training we’ve done and teamwork we’ve built, I’m still scared about meeting Zakaraia for the last time, because what if it’s not the last time? What if Tazaro dies? What if I die?” She began, the unsettling pit in her stomach becoming weighty.

  “I wish he wasn’t a threat so that Tazaro and I could just live, and be, and do as we want. If we don’t kill Zakaraia this time, how long must we wait to start the family we want? I’ll train my kids to defend themselves because I believe everyone should know how to, but I don’t want them to be fighters out of necessity.”

  “I wonder–” She paused and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “I wonder who...he or she would have been. I wonder if I’ll always wonder for eternity.” She admitted, voice small and cracking as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

  “And that brings up even more!” She blurted, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. “When I die, would I become immortal to carry out my debt to you? Would I, too, forget Tazaro’s face someday, or even my children’s faces, as you did with Rozaline and Raphael?” She cried, sniffling as she dropped her head in shame and wiped at her eyes.

  “I'm terrified, Bartholomew. Would I witness my own descent into madness?” She whispered, unable to speak much louder as the sobs began to shake her shoulders.

  Her pitiful weeps were interrupted by a surprised squeak as a pair of arms wrapped around her frame and squeezed tightly. She found it strange that a Ta’hal disguised as a Sferran would have a scent, much less the scent of analgesic spray and what she thought might be perfume, but the information was quickly overshadowed by her own embarrassment.

  “Sheeva, who would you be indebted to if I’m dead?” He asked, patting the back of her head. She stiffened and tried to look at him, but he held her head in place against his shoulder. His blunt statement seemed to stupefy her, and she would have dropped to her knees if he hadn’t been holding on to her small frame.

  “What? But, I thought that–

  –Now, now. I’m not about to make you live the eternity I did. No. You’ll live your one, sappy-and-crappy life, and be done with it.” He assured with a chuckle.

  Sheeva collapsed further against him as she wept from relief, grateful that Bartholomew stood in silence as she began to cackle hysterically.

  “I can’t believe–I can’t believe I thought–Gods, I’m a fool!” She snickered at herself, losing the last of her scruples. Bartholomew helped her sit and lean against the rail, an amused smirk on his face. He offered the bottle to her once more, and she denied the offer with a shake of her head and a lazy wave of her hand.

  “Yeah, I think you’re done, too.” He teased, taking a seat next to her and a sip of the bottle before putting it away.

  The calm waves rocked Sheeva to a light, drunken snooze as she basked in freedom from her shackles with a small smile on her face.

  “Hey. Name one of your kids after me, willya?” Bartholomew asked, a serious frown on his face. Sheeva lolled her head to look over at him, then chuckled and nodded.

  “Bartholom-ew Chorea, huh?” She snickered, glad that she elicited a sneering chuckle from the suddenly dark and brooding being. “If we have a son, we’ll do that.”

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  She thought for a moment and nodded to herself.

  “Arseniy Bartholomew Chorea, for you. And, Belias Chorea, for my father–of course, assuming Tazaro and I agree. How does that sound?”

  He snorted derisively, but Sheeva could tell he was flattered by the meek smile.

  “Might want to go with ‘Gabriel’ for the first name on that second one, but sure! That works for me!”

  “Gabriel?” Sheeva asked. Bartholomew nodded, clicking his tongue.

  “That was his middle name in life. Something he held onto when he was your father.”

  “Ah.” She hummed.

  A moment of silence fell between them before Bartholomew glanced at his hand. Sheeva glanced too and saw the blue scales and long claws reappear over light brown skin. He stood, muttering that he needed to go refresh his disguise.

  Sheeva waited for a moment until her head no longer swam and, using the rail to pull herself up, headed for the stern side of the ship. Clumsily, she crawled up onto the crate Tazaro had used to get up onto the roof without using his wings, groaning as she managed to hoist herself onto the Captain’s Cabin and falling dramatically at his side with a tipsy giggle.

  “Oh? Hi?” Tazaro greeted, amused. “Have you, uh, been drinking?”

  “Bartholomew offered me that...potato stuff.” She sighed, closing her eyes as the stars spun around in the sky. Tazaro chuckled, set aside his notebook, and then shuffled her into his lap.

  “I see. Terrible stuff, innit?” He grinned.

  Sheeva curled up against him with a contented sigh, enjoying the warmth he exuded beneath his jacket.

  “Yeh’ve been working with Lenus fer far too long, don’cha-no!” She giggled, attempting a mussy take at Rory’s accent. She must have done decently since he had difficulty stifling his laughter as his shoulders shook.

  They settled and sighed again, enjoying the other’s company as their fingers meshed and mingled.

  “Forgive me, but I heard someone crying pretty hard. Was it you?” Tazaro asked, taking her hands and giving them an encouraging squeeze.

  “Mm. Yeah.” She mumbled. She let out her guilty breath in a forceful Pshew. “There’s– She stopped, hesitant, then sat up a little more to face him.

  “The deal that I made with Bartholomew has been on my mind for a while now. Since our talk in Altea’s Courtyard. I, I thought that, when I died, I’d become a Ta’hal to carry out my debt to him, as he did to the Ta’hal he made a deal with a couple of millennia ago.” She began, holding his hands loosely and playing with his fingers as she finally voiced her troubles.

  “He told me about how, after a while, he’d forgotten his wife’s face, and even his son’s. It was heartbreaking and further heartbreaking to imagine that I’d someday be the same way. That’s why I’ve been wanting to walk everywhere and have been, well, dragging this journey out–to spend as much time with you as I can, just in case things don’t go as planned and I...died.” She admitted, lifting her eyes to meet his at a darkened, concerned “oh.”

  “During our conversation in Altea’s Courtyard, Bartholomew asked me to...grant him his eternal repose.” She stated, using Bartholomew’s words verbatim because distancing herself from the meaning behind the words seemed better than a straightforward, crude statement.

  “He wants you to kill him?” Tazaro blurted, amazed. He jerked his head to look towards the deck, searching for the disguised Ta’hal.

  “Yes. I suppose after a couple thousand years, one becomes tired of living, but...it would also mean that I would be free of my debt.” She stated, dropping her hand and staring down at hers, clutched together in her lap. “Perhaps this is his attempt at a gift of some kind.”

  Tazaro remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “Will he die in the same way as Zakaraia?” He asked.

  Sheeva nodded.

  “In the way that Zakaraia has a stone trinket that we must shatter and that we must drive a tail-blade through his heart, yes. Bartholomew will die much the same. His is a...Ferris wheel that he hides in his back.”

  Tazaro sat back to lean on his arms and sighed heavily, lifting his gaze back up to the sky.

  “I...see.” He mumbled, a saddened frown on his face.

  Sheeva kept her hands folded in her lap.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you until now. It’s...It’s painful. I don’t want to...end the life of a friend.”

  He kept silent, lips pressed together in what Sheeva thought was frustration, and she dropped her gaze back to her hands folded in her lap in guilt.

  "It is painful, so I guess I understand why you wouldn't want to talk about it. I'm not too thrilled about this request, either. But…" He paused and pulled her into a hug. "I get it."

  Sheeva relaxed in his hold, her numb fingers rising into his jacket to bury themselves in his warmth.

  "When that time comes, I'll help you with whatever you need."

  She nodded curtly to show she’d heard him, giving him an assuring, thankful squeeze of appreciation, pleased when he sat forward and pecked her crown, then shuffled her back into his embrace.

  A serene silence washed over them as she rested her head against his shoulder, face tucked in the crane of his neck, and she placed a few chaste kisses on his warm skin as she actually voiced her thanks, finally finding her voice.

  “You took all of that better than I thought you would,” Sheeva admitted. He hummed, and she reveled in the rumble of his chest.

  “Yeah. I-I guess so. If I’m being honest, though, I had...a feeling. I remembered Bartholomew telling me a long time ago about how he’d made a deal to save his son, and when I thought about it, well...” He trailed off and sighed, then kissed her temple again. “I understand the efforts you’ve been pouring into those lists of yours.” He finished with a knowing smile.

  Sheeva gave a self-conscious smile and hid her face.

  “Ah, well, I...you know, I believed...” She stammered, embarrassed.

  Tazaro chuckled mirthfully and snuck in a kiss to her cheek, pinching the other one teasingly. She swatted his hand away.

  “What else have you learned about the stars?” Sheeva asked after rubbing the soreness out of her cheek and laying back against his chest. Tazaro hummed thoughtfully and looked up at the deep, black expanse, littered with twinkling clouds of stars and the beaming, bright moons.

  “Think you’ll be happy to know that I’ve finished Behemoth Minor. Yeah...it and all of its twelve stars compared to Major’s fifty.” He stated, outlining the rows of stars situated for the smaller kin’s dual horns jutting from the top of its head.

  “Other than that, I’ve been working on the constellations for the gods. Seven down, four to go!” He beamed proudly. “I’ve finished Fidelia, the goddess of truth and justice. You can see her scales in that collection of stars there.” He continued, pointing at the northwestern horizon towards Vivroa, and sure enough, Sheeva saw a mass of cloudy stars outlining a pair of scales. She could almost imagine the instrument the goddess saw fit to weigh the contender’s worth against, be it a sword or bow for those who favored war, pens or books for those who sought knowledge...whatever had fancied them in life that would become their token for passage in death.

  “Among those that I couldn’t see before is Alena, the goddess of forgiveness and purity, with her spiral of stars just to the east of Fidelia, and Vokken, god of wisdom and wine–because apparently, you’re only wise if you’re under the influence.” He snickered, pointing out Vokken’s chalice, illuminated by a string of golden stars.

  “You’re so nice to the gods, Tazaro,” Sheeva stated sarcastically with a smirk. “Forgive me, but you would be a terrible priest.”

  “Pfft. Me, become a priest? And miss out on amazing sex with you? No, thanks!” He laughed. Sheeva giggled with him. “For the record: that is why you married me, right? For amazing sex?” He asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  “Feh! Not because you’re smart, funny, and engaging to talk to, no! No, certainly just for the sex.” She agreed playfully, patting his cheek gently as she settled again. She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed its back, snuggling against his side as he grinned up at the sky.

  “I love you, Tazaro.” She whispered, resting her head on his chest and taking comfort in the tender stroke of his hand through her hair and the steady pulse of his heartbeat.

  With a contemplative smile, Tazaro eyed the leather pocket on the casing to the Stargazer, then reached for it to retrieve a wrapped bundle of silk. Out of her field of vision, Tazaro unfolded the satchel, plucked up the ornate ring, and held it out in front of her.

  “Sheeva Jules…Chorea,” He paused to chuckle. “Will you marry me?” He asked.

  She gasped, then laughed and squeaked out a giddy “of course,” watching as his strong, long fingers slipped the smoothed band around her ring finger. Sheeva turned and pecked his cheek as he leaned to rest his chin on her shoulder after sliding his own band around his finger, and they admired the way the dark, heartwood bands seemed to shimmer by the light of the lantern hanging behind their heads.

  “They’re beautiful.” She whispered, entranced with the intricate design etched into the woods and sealed with a light, golden finish. The Malboros vine she favored wound around the elegant, dual-shade, Tarrakkian Cherry and Lucassen Birch band while his signature rested in the background, broken only by the overlap of Malboros leaves. A small, oval-shaped, sea-foam green diamond nestled in a circlet of shanks gleamed back at her, and she swooned over it in its splendor as she wiggled her finger and thumbed the band in curiosity.

  “They’re amazing, Tazaro.” She fawned in awe. She drew his hand toward her lips to peck the back of it, then pecked his cheek once more before settling into his hold.

  “Aren’t they? It really is my best work yet!” He gleamed.

  “Probably will be for the rest of my life.” He added with a mutter, then shook his head.

  “A-anyway, if we’re ever separated…or if I fall to someplace you can’t find me, we can search for each other if we need to. And, there’s an inscription inside for you!”

  Intrigued, Sheeva slipped the ring from her finger and tilted it to peer at the inside of the band. In loopy cursive, she could make out a string of words that read: the meaning of life is…and as he removed his and held it out for her to see, saw that his band finished their silly quote with equally loopy cursive that read: …to give life meaning.

  Tazaro focused, and within a second, her ring began to glow with an ethereal yellow shine, and she squinted her eyes as the light pierced the darkness.

  "You're a clever man, Tazaro." Sheeva complimented, sliding the ring back around her finger. Eager to test the tracking spell, she pooled her energies toward the smoothed band, and as the warmth gathered around her finger, Tazaro's ring began to glimmer with a gentle, grass-green shine.

  “I try.” He cracked with a smile, sighing deeply and holding her tightly to him as he raised his face to look back up at the stars. When Sheeva stirred him awake, unaware that he’d fallen asleep to the gentle bob and dip of the boat, Tazaro tipped his head as she suggested they turn in for what was left of the evening and groggily packed up the Stargazer while she packed up the rest of his supplies.