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Chapter Text

FALL OF YEAR 399, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

Everyone in the village takes a great interest in the stranger, and Tatiana is peppered with questions whenever she so much as leaves the church.

“Where did he come from?” asks a woman.

Tatiana balances a heavy basket against her hip, her grocery shopping interrupted. “Oh, uh. Well…”

“Who is he?” presses another, who gently grabs her arm.

Tatiana hums. “I don't-”

“His name?” questions an older woman.

The basket nearly falls from her hip, and Tatiana purses her lips. “Uhhhhh…”

“Is he handsome?” a final lady asks.

Finally, something she can answer. Tatiana gives a solid nod of her head and says, “Very.”

The stranger is still baffled by his surroundings, and so weak that he can barely move in his bed. He's sitting up, however, when she comes into his room, and it’s a good sign. His eyes light up when he sees her.

“Tatiana,” he says. “It's good to see you today.”

She eases herself down into a stool, resting her shopping atop a bedside table stacked with books. “It's good to see you today, too.” She pulls the cloth off the top of the basket and pokes around inside, looking for the bread. “Anything come to you today? Do you feel better?”

The stranger frowns and shakes his head, then looks curiously at her rummaging. “What have you there?”

She stops turning things over. “You've only been eating the church’s cooking, and while Hannah makes good porridge, I thought you might like to try some new food.” She finally finds what she wants and pulls it out: A small, hard loaf of lumpy bread, tinged slightly green, and she offers it to him.

He takes it, eyeing it so dubiously that Tatiana laughs.

“That's salt bread,” she explains, and she shows him her own loaf. “Local seashore specialty. The crust is wrapped in seaweed and rubbed in coarse salt to give it some flavor.”

The stranger sniffs it. “Salty bread?”

Tatiana puts her own loaf down and reaches for his, gently taking it from him. He watches her closely as she breaks it open, crumbs shattering into her lap, and she shows him the inside.

“Just pick out the inside, if you don't want the crust,” she suggests. “I guess it isn't for everyone, darling.”

He does just so, and she pulls more out of her basket. What the village’s market has to offer is meager, but the Rigel Plains possesses some of the richest soil in the country. What she is able to buy here is much more than she’d be able to almost anywhere else.

“Do you remember if you have a favorite food?” she asks him.

He sets down the crust of the bread and looks troubled. “No. I fear not.”

“We can find you a new favorite, then,” she tells him, and she hands him an empty plate. “Rigel is a country that’s always a little short on food. Our soil isn’t very good. You’d find better pickings somewhere like Zofia, or even far off in Archanea.”

The stranger scrunches his face a little at the mention of Archanea, and Tatiana determines that she should bring it up again at a point. Given his features and accent, she wouldn’t be surprised if he were from further east.

“We have good food though,” she assures, and she starts settling it on the plate she’s given him. “Lots of meat and root vegetables. We also fish a lot, and we make our own bread.”

He holds out a hand after a moment, the corners of his mouth tipped up just slightly, and she realizes she’s piled his plate precariously high with her market purchases.

“You should eat,” is all she tells him, and she stands as he figures out where he should start. “I have to go help in the garden, and then I’ll be back to check on you. If you need me, just call and ask.”

“I shall,” he assures. “But I will try not to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Tatiana echoes. “You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time! You’re no bother to me at all, sweetie.”

He tries smiling again—an emphasis on “tries.” It looks like it doesn’t come naturally to him, like his face is too stiff to manage it easily, and Tatiana wonders once more who this man is.

“If I don’t see that plate cleaned by the time I get back, mister, I’ll be really mad!” she warns, and she places a finger firmly against his nose for emphasis. “All that came out of my own pocket so you could get nice and healthy again, so eat up.”

She leaves the stranger in a hurry, her face admittedly a little pink from his attempt at a laugh.

Tatiana hears a lot of the men in the village grumbling about the stranger—when they think she isn’t listening, that is. They clearly don’t see her tending to the garden, and she can hear every word they say.

“He’s mooching off of Sister Tatiana’s kindness,” they mutter to each other. They’re all standing in a large group, and she marches her way towards them. “He’s sapping up all the church’s resources! Our tithe is meant to feed us.”

“Your tithe is meant to help the needy,” Tatiana scolds, and the group of them all jump. She’s disappointed to see a few friendly faces from her childhood in the midst of them, but sets any of her bias aside. “That poor man was seconds away from death when I picked him up, and we will all treat him with kindness. Do you understand me?”

They mumble and grumble and break away, shuffling off into different directions. Tatiana huffs and pins her fists on her hips, her cheeks puffed out in indignation.

“I say they’re just jealous,” a wavering voice says from behind her. Tatiana turns to see the head priest, Alexi, stumbling up behind her.

“Why would you say they’re jealous, Father?” she asks. She kneels back down in the dirt and checks the blackberry thicket for more plump berries. A thorn pricks her finger, and she sucks on it for a moment before proceeding more carefully.

“You’re quite a beauty, Tatiana,” Alexi muses, and Tatiana flushes.

“Not at all.”

“Humility is a virtue,” the old man recites, then continues. “But you’re 19. Many of the men in this village have had their eye on you for a long while. They’re jealous of that stranger coming in here and scooping up all of your attention.”

She frowns and turns a plump blackberry between her hands, then plucks it off the stem expertly. It joins the others in her basket. “I’m really not sure what to say to that. I don’t mean to make anyone jealous.”

“How they feel is their own business,” Father Alexi tells her. “You’re doing a great service in the eyes of Duma and Mila by helping that innocent man. You just keep up your work, sweet Tatiana.”

The stranger is up and walking around the next week, and Tatiana is a little bothered that he doesn’t have a name. She thinks it’s probably lonely, not knowing even what your name is, and she hopes that maybe she can help him remember. They take long walks together, every day, and she asks constant questions to try and pull something up out of the corners of his mind. She’s always trying, asking, “Do you remember?” and he’s always saying, “Nothing.”

He appears especially troubled today, but she keeps pressing on.

“Let’s go back to trying to figure out your name,” she says. “Is that okay?”

He sighs and looks down the road, obviously unsettled. “It is.”

“Alexander?” she suggests. She kicks a pebble out of her path. “Does that sound right?”

“No,” he replies, twisting his mouth.

“Oh…” Tatiana taps her lips with a finger and scrounges around for another name. “Maybe something like Will?”

The stranger stops for a moment, clearly giving it deep thought. Excitement sparks in Tatiana, and she wonders if maybe, by chance, she’s struck upon the right name. She places a hand on his arm, eyes sparkling, but then he gives a disheartened sigh.

“Definitely not.”

“Drat,” she says. They continue walking, and she can start to smell the sea. Here is where their walks usually stop, and she turns to him. “Do you want to take a break? We can go back now.”

He shakes his head and gives her a warm look. “I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?” Tatiana asks. She looks him up and down, searching for any sign of exhaustion. He really does look healthy again, though, with more of his strength coming back every single day. If someone looked at him, they’d probably be unable to tell that he was on Death’s very doorstep only a couple of weeks before.

“Perfectly certain, Tatiana.” The stranger gives her a hard look, and then gestures to a nearby tree. “You, on the other hand, look a little tired. Do you want to sit down for a moment?”

It’s probably true that she looks a little exhausted, considering how she’s been pulling herself thin with her church duties and tending to her patient. And, if she’s being honest with herself, she’s not the sturdiest woman that the gods ever made. The long walk has left her feeling a little tired.

“One short break,” she relents, and they sit underneath the tree. She looks up at the nearly-bare tree branches, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Maybe… Sirius?”

“Pardon?”

“Your name. I’m not giving up until we find it.”

“I don’t think it’s ‘Sirius,’” he says. “You don’t have to keep fumbling around for a name, Tatiana. I’m sure it will come back in time.”

She sighs and slides her back down the smooth tree trunk. “I just want you to remember. It must be lonely, not even being able to remember something as basic as your name.”

“It is a bit lonely. It feels odd,” he concedes to say. He looks up at the overcast sky, and she studies the profile of his face. “It feels like it’s right there, but when I reach, it never is.”

“That sounds so terrible,” she murmurs, and she slumps her head against his shoulder. “I really wish I could help you, but I just don’t know how. I’m terribly sorry.”

The stranger looks at her, and she glances away herself. She doesn’t want him to catch her staring. Regardless, Tatiana likes it when he looks at her. His brown eyes are warm and gentle, almost tired, but she thinks they look sweet. The shape of his jaw is appealing, and she just adores his nose. He's handsome. Pleasant.

“You’ve helped me plenty already, Tatiana,” he says. “You’re truly extraordinary.”

Extraordinary? Tatiana doesn’t think so, and she waves her hand. “I already told you. Helping others is common decency, and it’s my passion. Did you really think I was going to stumble across you and then just leave you to bleed out?”

The stranger appears amused. “Well, no. But I didn’t expect you to bring me to your home, spend days upon days pulling me back to the living, and then clothe and feed me. It’s amazing.”

Tatiana frowns. “I’ve got no clue what else I should’ve done. You were suffering, and so clearly. I just had to take you in.”

He hums. “Regardless, I’m immensely thankful. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Tatiana tilts her head and looks at him. His eyes still look so worn and tired, and she says, “You don’t have to. Just being around you is a payment in-and-of itself.”

Rumors start spreading after another week. They’re completely unfounded, baseless lies that the village’s guest is a Zofian spy. Perhaps, he’s even an Archanean spy—they’ve got a war or two going on over there, don’t they? Maybe they’re looking to drag Rigel in, somehow.

Tatiana isn’t surprised that the same people spreading the gossip are the ones initially resentful of his presence. She’s disappointed in them, and she tells them so when they come by the church next. They look guilty when she starts her scolding after their prayers are done, their consciences made more acute by being in the church. The gossip tones down, for a while.

The stranger is incredibly useful around the village, so much so that Tatiana wonders if he was maybe a handyman wherever he came from. He’s big, strong, and excellent at doing most any chores that people put him to. He never complains, never accepts a lick of payment, and many of the old ladies in the village have become fond of him. He’s seemingly oblivious to the way they all come out and sit on their porches when he’s chopping wood or fixing something, and Tatiana has a good laugh about it.

It’s concerning to Tatiana, though, that he’s not under her watch and care every second of the day anymore. They don’t go on walks as often. She has to peruse the village for a good hour every day before she finds him, fixing the wheel on a wagon, lifting crates, chopping wood, or doing something else that’s helpful and makes him even more dreamy.

Today, he’s all the way on the other side of the town, the blacksmith, Maksim, tells her. Gone down to the shore to help pull in the fish haul for the day before the big storm starts. Tatiana thanks him, accepts the fond pat on the head he gives her, and sets off, pulling her shawl closely around her frame. She’s in her warmest clothes, but the wind is blowing wildly and nipping at her nose. The sky above is dark gray, and the heavy rain clouds threaten to pour down at any second. She hears thunder rumbling in the distance, and picks up her pace. A Rigelian storm is never fun to walk through.

“Hello?” Tatiana calls when she gets to the shore. The fishermen look up at her from the beach and wave.

“Sister Tatiana!” The head fisherman calls back. “What brings you down ‘ere, lass?”

“I’m here for my friend,” she says. She carefully slides down the slope and stumbles a bit on the softness of the sand, but gets her footing back. The wind blows even more harshly, and she wonders if she should’ve worn a thicker shawl. “It’s going to storm soon. You all should get home, too.”

“We’re just about ready, thanks to your friend,” he tells her, and he points to where the stranger, with his sleeves rolled up over his forearms, lifts a large basket of fish, settles it on his shoulder, and carries it to a shed. “The man’s a workhorse! Caught onto whatever task we gave him quick, and did it perfectly. You found a real helper, Sister Tatiana.”

“Maybe he was a fisherman,” she suggests.

The old man chuckles. “Too burly. See those arms of his? Looks like a soldier to me.”

Tatiana feels as though she should keep the fact that she studies his arms very closely to herself. After all, she’s a woman of the cloth.

The stranger looks over after setting down his load, glancing at her briefly, and then again when he recognizes her. “Tatiana?”

“Let’s go home,” she calls to him over the howling wind. “The storm is gonna be really big! You’ll catch your death of cold, dear.”

He looks to the old man, who nods him away, and hurries over the sand to Tatiana. He rolls down his sleeves and sticks close to her, and she’s grateful for his broad frame to block out the harshness of the wind.

“Is it a hurricane?” the stranger asks, bewildered at the next gust of wind that nearly sweeps Tatiana off her feet. People around them scurry, heading into their homes and locking the doors, and eventually, it’s just the two of them walking down the road.

Tatiana smiles and rests a hand on his arm. “Oh, no, sweetheart. It just gets very windy when it rains on the Plains, and it gets awful cold, too. It’s best to stay inside while it storms.”

And, in the speed of a blink, there’s a clap of thunder and a stroke of lightning in the sky. There’s a drizzle for but a second, and then it’s pouring rain that pricks Tatiana’s skin like needles. She gasps and holds her hands over her head uselessly, but the stranger whips her shawl off her shoulders and holds it over her like a canopy.

The rain is already so heavy that she can barely open her mouth without getting a swig of rainwater, but she blinks up at him with a sheepish grin in thanks. He tries smiling back down at her and they press on, fighting against the storm. The church is a short distance away, but it feels as though they’ll never get there, what with the wind fighting them.

The gust has picked up, and a particularly harsh push of it nearly sends Tatiana sprawling back. Her shawl is soaked through and not doing much to protect her, so the stranger folds it over his arm and wraps the other around her, squeezing her closer to his body and pushing through the storm for the both of them.

She thinks that, even though he’s as soaked and freezing as her, he’s addictingly warm.

They finally get back to the church, burst through the doors with a gasp, and then immediately bar them behind them. An old cleric rushes over to them with towels, fussing and mopping them up, and Tatiana is sad when the stranger lets her go. She hopes that he chalks the flush on her face up to the freezing cold. 

Sometimes the stranger wakes up, gasping for air and looking absolutely terrified. It’s not really surprising to Tatiana; he got those wounds from somewhere, after all. Whatever gave them to him must have been terrifying. A battle perhaps, a war, an ambush, something.

She wraps her arms around him whenever he jolts up, spluttering and coughing, and shushes him until he calms down. He grips her back on occasion, digging his fingers into her shoulder blades to the point where it hurts and bruises. He doesn’t realize it, though, so it’s okay. She pats him soothingly, whispers things she hopes are comforting in his ear, and hopes he can go back to sleep.

His body may be healed, but his spirit is still a bloody, dying mess, and it breaks her own heart.

Tatiana is out shopping for dinner ingredients when Jerome’s knights come to town. She’s on dinner duty, and she thinks that a nice, hot soup will be good for the late autumn season, maybe with a side of fresh bread, and some berries with cream and a sprinkling of sugar for dessert. Maybe this time, she’ll actually remember that she’s cooking, and she won’t burn her food to a crisp. Her cooking is actually quite good, people tell her, when it isn’t charred black.

She picks up a bag of sugar and weighs it in her hands, and suddenly, people are rushing past her. The merchants lean over their booths and stare quizzically out into the small flood of people exiting the market, and for a moment, Tatiana wonders if something terrible has happened, like bandits invading.

Her fears are laid to rest when she grabs someone’s arm and they say that, no, there’s nothing like brigands storming the village. Her heart settles, but then they tell her that Jerome’s knights have ridden in, and that they’re looking for a Zofian spy.

“‘Zofian spy?’” she echoes, and her stomach churns with anxiety. “There’s no spy here.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what they’re talking about either, Sister,” they say. The rush of people has left, leaving befuddled shoppers in their wake.

They leave, and Tatiana is standing there, puzzled out of her mind. Jerome’s knights, there for a Zofian spy? No one new has entered their village in months, except for-

Her gut lurches and she drops her basket. She runs, as fast as her legs will take her, and sees a cluster of people huddled in a large circle as she nears the church. Her lungs are aching, and she feels as though she’s about to be sick when she hears the unfamiliar sound of someone punching someone else.

The people in the circle are marveling, and as Tatiana pushes through without even saying “excuse me!,” she hears what they say:

“He’s beaten down two of Jerome’s brutes now!”

“With just a shovel, too..”

“Who is he?”

Tatiana finally bursts through the clamor of people, nearly stumbling into what she can only call a makeshift fighting ring. Two men, whom she recognizes as some of Jerome’s better knights, are on the ground, blood gushing from their faces, and she gasps at the sight of them. What truly almost makes her faint is that her stranger is also gushing blood, but is standing strong and firm, his teeth bared in a snarl as he wields a flat shovel exactly as a soldier would a lance. The knight in front of him has multiple dents in his armor, his helmet has been knocked off, and his eyes are bloodshot with rage.

“S-stop! Stop, please!” she cries, and her stranger’s stance shifts immediately.

His face slackens into surprise and he lowers the shovel slightly, looking over at her as though he’s never seen her before. His bangs are clumped with a little bit of blood, and his face is a bruising mess. The shock switches into guilt and hesitation.

“Tatiana?” he says, takes a step towards her, and the knight takes advantage of his relaxed guard.

A heavy fist collides with his face, and she shrieks as he falls to the ground. The knight bends down, pins his chest with his knees, and starts pummeling her stranger hard enough that even Jerome’s other men on the opposite side of the circle look unnerved.

“Stop!” Tatiana keeps begging, and she runs over, desperately pulling at the man. Her fingers scrape over his armor as she tugs, but she has no effect.

Her stranger is guarding his face well enough, but he has the glassy look in his eyes that means the weight on his chest is suffocating him.

“Stop this!” she yells again, and she turns to beating a fist against the back of the knight’s head. Her fear and anxiety has washed out into anger at the sight of the brutality. “You lout, you horrible-!”

The man swings his hand back so suddenly that she doesn’t even really see it coming. It’s hard and heavy as it strikes her across the face, and it feels hot, like someone has held fire right up to her flesh. The force sends her sprawling back, and she throws out her hands to catch herself. Another searing pain fills her senses and she squeaks, lifting up her hand to find that a sharp rock has lodged into her palm.

“Wench!” the other man spits, and she barely hears him. The blow has her head spinning, and there are tears of pain in her eyes that she unsuccessfully keeps from pouring over. She hasn’t been struck like that since she was a child, since before being abandoned at the church. Even then, the blows weren’t from a heavily-armored fist.

The crowd around her starts shouting disapproval, as though someone has just committed a foul in a game. Someone—she thinks it’s Maksim the blacksmith—scoops her up easily, retreats out of the circle with her in his arms, and shushes her when she lets a pained sob escape. Another person checks her hand and picks out the dirt, and she hears her stranger yell her name. There’s a mix of cheering and yelling from the crowd, and through her teary eyes, Tatiana sees him bowl over the knight and relentlessly smash his face in.

“Stop this at once, fools!”

Tatiana recognizes that voice, and it frightens her, as she’s sure it does the other people in the crowd. She blinks away more tears and recognizes Jerome, standing above her stranger and the knight with annoyance writ all over his expression. The fighting stops immediately, her stranger frozen in place, and the knight beneath him groans.

The general’s eyes laze over to his other collapsed men, then land on the pummeled face of the one at the mercy of her stranger. Finally, he looks over at her, and she resists the urge to curl up against the blacksmith as she did when she was a child.

Jerome’s lip curls and he kicks out, his boot digging into her stranger’s shoulder. He yells and falls off the knight, who scrambles up as fast as his armor will let him. Tatiana squeezes her eyes shut as Jerome advances on him, his strut slow and menacing, obviously practiced into picture-perfect intimidation.

“This is the Zofian spy?” he asks. “Well, he’s certainly no commoner, based on the way he’s disposed of these men. I’d say this violence is reason enough to take him in.”

Tatiana opens her eyes to see Jerome jerk his head from his remaining men towards her stranger, and her blood runs cold when he says, “Arrest him. We’re taking him to the capital for punishment.”

Maksim lets Tatiana down when she starts struggling and protesting, and she rushes over to where Jerome’s men are reaching down for her stranger. He’s panting on the ground, flat on his back, and holding his shoulder. She falls to her knees and throws herself on his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as best she can, and ignores his pained groans. The knights move back, shocked.

“He’s not a spy!” she shouts, and she buries her face into the bloody crook of his neck. “Go away! He’s not going anywhere!”

“Ta-Tatiana…” he groans, weakly lifting an arm and resting his hand on her back.

She hears an exasperated sigh, the crunch of boots over gravel, and she knows that Jerome is standing over them. She doesn’t dare look up, nor does she dare let her stranger go.

“It’s you,” he says. His voice drips with displeasure and annoyance. “You’re always a problem, aren’t you, Sister Tatiana?”

The crowd around them is dead quiet, and Tatiana doesn’t break the silence with a response. Her eyes are brimming with tears again, and she slowly, very slowly, releases streams of healing magic from her fingers until her stranger’s groans subside a little. She hopes Jerome doesn’t notice.

“Off of him,” Jerome says, and he prods Tatiana firmly in the side with his boot. “I have no desire to kick a cleric, you know, no matter how she’s wronged me in the past. I’m a gods-fearing man, after all.”

Jerome is no gods-fearing man, she wants to spit, but she doesn’t.

Father Alexi emerges from the crowd and hobbles over, bowing hurriedly to Jerome, and he leans over her and her stranger.

“Tatiana, release that man,” he implores. “They’ll take you as well.”

“No,” she protests. She squeezes him harder. “He’s not a spy. I won’t let them kill him.”

“Tatiana, please,” the priest pleads. “They’re getting impatient.”

She opens her mouth to protest again, but the sudden rumble in her stranger’s chest startles her. She pulls back and watches as he screws his face up, trying to muster the strength to say something.

She shushes him and shakes her head. “No talking. You’re beat up bad, and-”

“Tatiana,” he works out. His hand is still on her back, and he pats it haltingly, but comfortingly. “Let… go. Let go… Tatiana.”

She swallows and shakes her head. “No, I-”

“You heard the man.” Jerome reaches down and presses a hand on both of their chests, shoving them apart.

Tatiana falls back into Alexi's arms, and he pulls her to her feet and holds her as Jerome picks up her stranger in a much harsher manner.

“Don’t hurt him!” Tatiana calls out desperately.

“He’s a spy. Of course we’re going to hurt him, daft girl,” Jerome sneers. “But, I suppose we’ll hold out until the emperor determines what he wants to do with this trash.”

Maksim comes and helps the head priest hold her as she struggles, yelling obscenities not appropriate for a saint. She can hardly bear to watch as they bind his hands too tight, and as they throw him on the back of a horse like a sack of flour. Her stranger’s eyes wander up from the ground to her, and she thinks that, if he wasn’t so thoroughly beaten, perhaps he’d be trying to give her a reassuring smile.

She cries as they ride out of the village, her own stinging pain forgotten.

Chapter Text

“Please, don’t go,” a cleric begs her.

Tatiana continues stuffing her bag, trying to get as much into it as she can. A couple of dresses, a thick shawl, stockings. For food, she has salt bread and dried blackberries, along with a skin of water. She’ll carry her staff in her hand, and it’ll work as a nice walking stick, she thinks.

“Tell her not to go,” the cleric implores the others, and they do.

“You can’t go all the way to the capital,” someone protests. “It’s getting cold, and it’s a two week journey!”

“You haven’t been since you were a little girl,” another adds. “You’re just a country girl, Tatiana. The city is scary.”

“Let the man go,” says another.

The comment snaps at Tatiana, and she closes her pack roughly before slinging it over her shoulder. “I won’t let him go! He’s an innocent man, and I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

“Are you sure you just aren’t sweet on him?”

She flushes to the tips of her ears and storms past everyone, heading for the doors of the church.

Three days have passed since they took her stranger away. Her face is healed, with only the barest hint of a bruise left, though she can’t say the same of her pride. Despite the constant protesting, Tatiana has resolved to go after him. She hasn’t been to the capital since she was a small child, right before her parents left her at the priory, but she’s 19 now, and she thinks she can handle herself.

“They’ve taken him to the emperor,” the head priest, Alexi, reminds her. “How do you intend to get to him?”

Tatiana freezes for a moment as she laces up her travel boots, and chews on the inside of her cheek. “Well, I guess I’ll figure that out, won’t I?”

“For heaven’s sake, Tatiana, what if they arrest you?” he says.

Tatiana doesn’t answer that.

The other clerics and priests are watching nervously from the hallway as she rests a hand on the door. Some have their hands clasped over their pendants, praying profusely, and others look as though they’re about to faint. There’s one more bout of protesting that flares up, but she opens the door, leaves, and shuts it behind her. She has no more time to listen, because the traveling peddler who has offered her a ride on the back of his cart is waiting for her to be ready.

“I can take you as far as the Falls, Sister.” He helps her climb onto the back of the cart and hands her her bag to hold in her lap. “From there, it’s about a week’s walk, unless you can find someone else to pick you up.”

“I understand,” she responds. “I’m not really that strong, but hopefully I can make my way there on my own.”

“There should be a few people willing to help out a traveling cleric,” the peddler says. The cart jumps a little as he loads something else on. “You’re probably in a better position than the average person.”

It makes her feel a little bit guilty when he says it that way, but she decides to count her blessings instead of lingering on it.

While the peddler gets his things in order, a few people come to see her off, mostly in the form of a couple of children clinging to her skirts and begging her to bring back souvenirs. She laughs and pats their heads, tells them that she’ll do her best, and hopes that she’ll be bringing back her stranger as well.

The peddler drops her off at the Falls, as he said he would, four days later. Tatiana’s food supply is running low, so she heads to the nearest village on her map and restocks on bread and some dried meat. She buys an even thicker shawl as well and offers her old one to a frigid woman on the streets, but regrets all the others she cannot clothe.

Rigel suffers from early winters, and the further north one goes, the quicker it settles in. It feels as though with every mile Tatiana walks, the colder it gets. Snow starts to fall in soft flurries after a day of walking, and she can see her breath when she huffs and puffs after climbing over a fallen tree in the road. The bread and meat in her bag is filling, but she wishes she had something nice and warm like soup to eat.

She worries, more and more, about how her stranger is faring. Traveling on horseback the entire way, there’s a good chance he’s in the capital by now. If he didn’t die on the road, that is; she knows that the cold would do little to help his wounds, his aches and pains after his severe beating. Jerome and his men could bundle up, sure, but Tatiana is certain that they wouldn’t even throw her stranger so much as a mitten to keep him warm. She unconsciously keeps her eyes trained on the trail, where she does see faint horseshoe prints, and hopes that she won’t see any signs of violence or blood.

Tatiana encounters some Terrors on the road, but they don’t frighten her that much: They’ve been popping up all over the place lately, for some mysterious reason, and they roam the Plains. Sending out a priest or a saint to deal with the ones that get too close is just about a regular chore by now, one that Tatiana knows well. Her battle magic might be lacking—she only has a weak Nosferatu that barely hits its mark, and a Seraphim—but she’s the only saint in their village, or any around, for that matter, who knows Seraphim well.

It does get tiresome, however, because she can’t sleep that well when piles of bone and blobs of lumpy flesh are wobbling around, looking for a living thing to snack on. She hasn’t come across a village or town to take shelter in for a couple of days, and her eyes are starting to feel sore. She stops taking breaks at night to so much as sit down, hoping that she’ll stumble across some sort of safe haven. Every snap of a twig alarms her, and she holds her staff tighter when she hears the wailing and rasping of Terrors in the night.

She comes across a group of three in the middle of the night. They’re yellowed, old, with scraps of skin still stretched over their ribcages. Fragile things, not the worst she's seen. She shudders at the sight of them but braces herself, and deals with them fairly easily for the most part. One of them lashes out just as it explodes underneath the heat of her Seraphim, and gives her a fairly nasty gash on her arm.

Blood runs down her arm in a steady stream, and she does her best to try and clot the wound while she walks. Healing magic is effective on patients, but on the wielder itself, it barely works. Something is better than nothing, however, and she keeps leaking magic into her arm, refusing to stop walking. The capital is only three days ahead, if she takes minimal breaks from traveling, and the thought of getting a hold on her stranger keeps her going.

However, she collapses after only half-an-hour, but fortunately wakes up in a warm bed at a nearby church. A priest on his way to clear the forest of Terrors had, quite literally, stumbled upon her in the middle of the road. He’d patched her wounds up and brought her back to the church, and the clergy don’t let Tatiana leave until she’s bathed, had her wound cleaned and healed again, and eaten something hot. It takes up about four days of her time. She prays at the altar before she goes, thanking the gods for sending someone for her, and goes out with renewed vigor.

The road ahead, the closer the gets to the capital, is relatively Terror-free. It gets colder, however, but she’s so close that it doesn’t mind. Her luck gets even better, and only a day away from the capital, a merchant picks her up and agrees to take her the rest of the way for a small fare.

Tatiana only has faint memories of the capital, but it looks exactly as she remembers it: Bustling and busy, with vendors in the streets, towers and manors stretching towards the sky, and colorful banners waving to attract customers and visitors. A large waterway goes through the city, frozen over in the cold. Beyond the beauty, however, there’s also people in the shadows of the buildings, those whose skin is practically hanging off their bones. Some cough and wheeze, some are flushed with fever, and Tatiana wishes that she could take as much time as she needs to sit with every one of them, feed them hot food, and heal their ailments. She knows, however, that it would take a century, and that the clock is ticking on her time to find her stranger. There’s a chance that it’s already run out, even, but she doesn’t want to think of that.

She holds her staff close to her as she walks through the streets, peering eagerly at each tempting stall whose owners call out to her. One stall is selling coveted oranges and peaches, shipped straight from the southern Zofian islands. Another releases the meaty, filling scent of fresh piroshki. An artist is selling beautiful tapestries that nearly pull Tatiana in, but she resists and presses on.

The castle looms into view after a while of walking, and she swallows and stares up at it with great anxiety. People push around her as she stands in the middle of the road, and she’s suddenly faced with the task of actually getting in and getting her stranger out of trouble. What does she do? Waltz up to a guard, exert her holy influence, and try to worm her way in? It could work, but Tatiana is a lowly saint, not even an Exemplar, and she doesn’t know if she wants to risk it.

Perhaps, she can just start with asking.

Nearly an hour of walking gets her to the castle gates, finally, and Tatiana tries to look as calm and cool as she can when approaching tall, armored guards who could snap her like a toothpick. They glare down at her as she stops in front of them, but she looks past to the inner courtyard of the castle. She can see the flowerbeds, but due to the cold, nothing grows in them. However, a beautiful fountain in the likeness of a maiden holding flowers still spouts water, and the stone path is shining and sparkling where they dim light hits it.

“Can we help you?” one guard asks. His eyes flicker to her staff, and he tacks on, questioningly, “... Sister?”

Tatiana beams at him with her best, happy, innocent smile, and prays to Duma and Mila both that it works. “Yes. I was wondering, do you gentlemen know if a man has been brought here recently?”

The guards look at each other, then back at her. “A man?”

“You see, a man under my care was taken from my village about three weeks ago. Some rumors that he was a Zofian spy spread, and so the general in the area came and took him away.” Tatiana swallows and clenches her staff in both hands. “I- I came all the way here to look for him. They said they were going to take him to the emperor.”

The guards look at each other again, expressions on their faces that Tatiana can’t entirely read underneath their helmets. One of them looks at her after a long moment and says, “Well, General Jerome did come here a few days ago, and he did have a man who kinda fits that bill.”

Her heart leaps and she hurriedly steps forward. “Oh, really? Please, was the man injured? Was he alive? Did he seem well?”

One of the guards holds out his hand. “Soft, sister! Far as I know, there haven’t been any executions.”

Well, while not much information, it is something, and she sighs with relief. It feels like a weight has been taken off her shoulders, and she asks, carefully, “M-may I…. Well, is there any chance you could let me in?”

The guard looks apologetic as he responds, “I’m sorry, Sister, but you can’t come in unless you have the proper documents, or are at least accompanied by someone possessing them.”

Her heart falls as quickly as it leapt before. “Oh.”

Had she really trekked all the way to the capital for nothing? Had she really expected to bat her eyelashes, ask politely, and get through the castle gates? She feels foolish, discouraged, but her stranger is somewhere on the castle grounds, and she knows that she must get to him.

She just doesn’t know how.

The guards look up from her suddenly, jolt into stock-straight positions, and go as still as statues. The sound of a horse clopping over the rocks echoes through the street, and Tatiana looks over her shoulder. A massive black horse looms behind, eliciting a squeak from her. Riding it is a man in dark clothes, with black hair and fair skin, a sword hanging from the saddle of his steed. His presence is terrible and suffocating, but what’s truly terrible is that she knows that he’s Lord Berkut, and that he’s looking straight at her.

“You’re in my way,” he says coldly, and the horse skitters anxiously on the rock.

Tatiana sputters, her ability to speak intelligently lost—Lord Berkut is looking at her!––and she quickly moves to the side of the road. She bows her head and holds her staff politely in front of her. He says nothing else, so she hopes he’s satisfied with her manners. The guards swing open the massive gate in a combined effort, and the horse starts to move.

“Hold,” he says suddenly, and Tatiana dares to let her gaze rove up to him. He’s still looking right at her, but his expression is less annoyed and more questioning. “That staff… Might you be a cleric?”

Tatiana swallows. “A saint, actually. I hail from the Rigel Plains, Lord Berkut.”

He narrows his eyes. “I assume you can heal?”

Confusion fills her, and she keeps her eyes trained towards the ground. It’s both polite, and she thinks that she might combust if she makes straight eye contact with him. “I can, my lord.”

“Fevers, even?”

His voice has softened not much, but a noticeable amount, and she looks up again. He looks much less angry. “Yes, my lord.”

Not another second passes before Lord Berkut swings himself off his horse, his boots hitting the pillowy snow with a soft crunch. Tatiana flinches as he approaches her. Her waist is starting to hurt from being bent over for so long.

“Why do you want entrance to the castle?” he asks her.

“I- I am searching for a man who was in my care. He was arrested under false pretenses and brought before the emperor.” Tatiana swallows. “I just want to take him home.”

Berkut is silent, and then sighs. “I’ll allow you in.”

One of the guards says, “My lord?,” but Berkut lifts a hand and effectively silences him.

“Stand up straight,” he tells Tatiana. “I’ll let you in, on a condition.”

“A condition?” she asks as she draws herself back up. She barely comes up to Lord Berkut’s shoulder, and wonders if there’s ever any shortage of people who seem like they can snap her in half.

“Follow me,” he says, and he walks past the gates, leaving his horse with one of the guards.

They get into the castle, which is so splendidly decorated that Tatiana doesn’t even know what to look at. She doesn’t have much time to wonder at it either, because Berkut is walking quickly, with purpose.

He finally deigns to speak, once they go up three flights of stairs and walk what feels like a mile. “Most of the healers in this castle, Sister, are equipped to heal battle wounds. Illness is a little out of their area of expertise.”

Tatiana listens, and the decorations around her change from reds and blues into softer whites and grays. There’s the bitter smell of medicine, and she realizes that they’re walking into a hospital wing.

“My betrothed, Rinea, recently came down with a fierce fever,” he explains. “She’s strong, and it won’t do her in, but she’s terribly uncomfortable. I want her healed as fast as possible, and no one here is up to task.”

“I can take care of a fever, no problem,” Tatiana tells him. “I treat those more than I treat any battle wounds.”

The hospital area is completely quiet, not even a cleric walking the halls. Tatiana swears she could hear a pin drop. Berkut is just as silent until they come to a door. He knocks, waits a moment, and then opens it. Inside is a woman, lying upon a plush bed, covered with fine silk blankets and surrounded by fluffy pillows. The room is filled with flowers, which Tatiana finds unusual for the season. She wonders if there’s a greenhouse somewhere on the castle grounds, and longs to see it.

She follows Berkut to the bed, where the woman is sleeping. Her skin is pale and clammy from her illness, her cheeks are flushed, and a sheen of sweat shines on her brow. Beyond that, Tatiana thinks that she’s quite pretty, with her round face and pastel blue hair. Her features are more soft than elegant, yet tense from discomfort.

Berkut sweeps a hand over her forehead, and slowly, her eyes flutter open. They’re glazed over, but Tatiana sees recognition flicker in them, and the smallest, most tired smile creeps onto her face.

“I’ve brought you a doctor, sweetest Rinea,” he murmurs. His hand cups her cheek, and he swipes his thumb under her eye. “She says she can help you feel better.”

Rinea’s eyes travel slowly over to her, lips still tilted into a meek smile. Tatiana smiles back, reaches for her hand, and gives it a quick pat.

“I’ll have you feeling better in a jiff,” she assures. “You just leave everything to me.”

A hoarse “Thank you,” comes out of Rinea, and then she closes her eyes and sinks back into sleep.

Tatiana sets her bag and staff down on a nearby chair, rolls up her sleeves, and puts her hands on her hips. Berkut removes his hand from Rinea’s face and regards her, his expression back to cold and indifferent.

“Now, here’s the deal,” she tells him, and he raises an eyebrow, so she tacks on, “my lord.”

“What is your deal?” he asks.

“I’m perfectly happy to heal Lady Rinea here, and I’ll do it absolutely free of charge,” Tatiana says. “In exchange, can you help me find my friend? He’s tall, blond hair, sweet eyes-”

“I think I know who you mean,” Berkut interrupts with a grimace. “A man like that was brought onto the premises recently.”

Tatiana clasps her hands together in a quick prayer of gratitude, then asks, “Oh, was he hurt? Please, tell me he wasn’t hurt!”

Berkut makes for the door. “He’s alive. Tend to Rinea immediately, and I’ll make sure you see him soon.”

The door slams shut, and Tatiana gets to tending to her patient as though her own life depends on it.

 After a day, Rinea’s fever has gone down considerably, and she’s well enough to get out of bed and take a bath. Tatiana helps her bathe, scrubs her free of sweat and sickness, and even combs some fancy oils she finds lying around into her hair. They get her back into bed once she’s refreshed, and with some color back into her cheeks, Tatiana thinks she’s pretty as a summer rose.

“I thank you,” Rinea says. “I haven’t been allowed out of this bed in days. I sorely wanted to bathe.”

“No need for thanks,” Tatiana says, and she picks up her staff and settles back down on her stool, which has been her permanent residence for the past 18 hours. “Now, do you want to call for some food? It’s never a good idea to use healing magic on someone who has an empty stomach.”

The girl smiles and shakes her head. “I think I’ll wait a while longer before eating something. You can take a break, Sister Tatiana. I’ll survive without a bit of healing magic for a while, don’t worry.”

“You’re certain?” she asks, but she would truthfully love a break. Her body is sore, and she’s exhausted from releasing so much magic over the night. It’s nothing she hasn’t done before while taking care of her neighbors, but she would still like a nap and a meal.

“My lord Berkut set up a guest room for you,” Rinea says. “And I believe he’ll help you find your friend soon enough. He’s a man of his word.” A coy smile slips onto Rinea’s tired face. “Besides, you don’t want to look so messy when you see him, do you?”

“Oh, do I really look that bad?” Tatiana asks.

Rinea laughs. “Just a little scruffy. Please, go rest.”

Tatiana does a check of Rinea once more, then allows a servant to take her to a room that’s just down the hall. She takes a brief moment to appreciate the fine vases, the carpets, and the well-carved furniture, but mostly she just appreciates the plush feather bed that she collapses against.

She’ll take a quick nap, and then she’ll be off to find her stranger.

Chapter Text

Ezekiel is still incredibly sore from his beating, and getting up in bed is painful. Not agonizing anymore, granted, but most definitely painful. Still, dim morning light is coming in through the window, so he gets up with a groan and reaches for the shirt hanging up next to the bed.

The room is the epitome of luxury. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the carpet is made of fine furs and embroidered with great care. Every piece of furniture has been carved with amazing detail, and all are embellished just enough to be tasteful. The bed is the softest thing he’s ever slept on—or so he thinks?—and the bathtub in the connected bathroom is large enough, even for his size.

He still misses sleeping in the priory with Tatiana sitting by his side, though, luxury be damned.

A knock comes at the door as he finishes buttoning his shirt, and the door opens before he even gives permission. Two guards enter, stand on either side of the door. The emperor strolls in right after, a maid behind him with a tray. Ezekiel bows, flinching in pain as he tries to fall to a knee, and the emperor laughs at him.

“No need to be so formal, Ezekiel,” he says. He nods at the two guards and they leave, shutting the door behind them. He gestures to the table in the middle of the room, and the maid sets the tray down and removes the lid, revealing a breakfast of eggs, fruit, bread, sausage, something truly fit for a king. He supposes that it is, since the emperor sits down and begins helping himself.

“Good morning to you, sir,” Ezekiel says, and he waits for an order.

“Sit down, my boy,” Rudolf says, and he dismisses the maid with a wave of his hand. She leaves, shutting the door quietly, and Ezekiel takes a seat opposite of him. The emperor sets a plate in front of him, stacked high with food, but he waits for the old man to start his meal first.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks.

“Well, sir,” Ezekiel lies, and then he relents to say, “Sore” when Rudolf raises a thick brow.

“Unsurprising. You may have fought off those soldiers, but they definitely gave you a beating in turn.” They eat in silence for a while, and the food is delicious, but he misses the simplicity of the meals back at the village on the plains.

He mostly misses Tatiana’s cooking.

“You have my apologies once more, for the way you were treated,” Rudolf tells him. “A good man like yourself doesn’t deserve to be brutalized like that.”

Ezekiel grimaces. First, he had to be dragged all the way far north over crags and mountains, slung over a horse like a sack of flour. He was given nothing to eat but crusts of rye bread and stale water with twigs floating in it. And then, after being paraded through the city, he’d hoped that his stay at the castle would at least be marginally better, at least until he was brought before the king, but alas-

“I wish I could say I don’t believe that any of my generals would sic their soldiers on a defenseless prisoner, but Jerome has always been-” Rudolf frowns and sets his knife down. “Aggressive.”

A whole squadron of men had descended upon him in the courtyard, and if Tatiana had been so horrified by what he suffered in the village, Ezekiel is certain that she would’ve fainted if she’d seen what they'd done to him here. They came at him with sticks, rope, whips, and he is honestly fortunate that he’s still alive after the thrashing he got.

“It wasn’t your fault, Emperor Rudolf,” he responds. He pushes a sausage around his plate, attempting to not think of the harsh blows from the sticks that had nearly broken his back. “I should thank you, in fact, for putting it to a halt.”

Rudolf throws his head back and laughs at that, slapping the table so hard that their cups nearly turn over. Ezekiel rights them, struggling to quirk his lips up into a smile, but he doesn’t see what’s so amusing.

“Boy, you hardly needed me to break that fight up,” he says. “As soon as you got one of those sticks out of their hands, you had half of them running with their tails between their legs!”

The same had happened in the village: Tatiana’s garden had been looking a little wilted, and all he’d been doing was watering the plants and plucking the weeds, then he’d been surrounded by knights when he’d turned back around. They weren’t ones for words, they’d shown, when they’d attacked him without warning. After the first blow to his face, he’d blanked, and he’d only come to when Tatiana had called out to him.

He doesn’t know how he beat those men down with just a shovel. Ezekiel doesn’t even recall when he picked it up. He has better memory of what happened in the castle’s courtyard, though: A recollection of his movements, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the way his mind raced and his muscles told him just what to do, how to lunge, how to dodge, the proper force to wound, but not kill.

Ezekiel knows now that he was most definitely a soldier, wherever he came from.

He just doesn’t know anything else.

“You must have been one hell of a knight to not only fight like that, but to do so when you have no recollection of anything. It’s in your bones,” Rudolf tells Ezekiel. “Fighting is engrained in you. You only get that from seasoned, skilled fighters.”

Ezekiel hopes, wishes that he was a good knight. “I wish I could remember exactly where I learned it, sir.”

Rudolf finishes the food on his plate and leans back in the chair, his eyes studying Ezekiel intensely. “You’re quite fine with becoming an officer, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, and he sets down his fork. “In fact… It almost feels right.”

“You’ll do well on the Plains,” Rudolf says. “It’s more fertile than any other area in Rigel, which isn’t saying that much, in all honesty. But, it provides enough food that it’s frequently plundered by bandits and the like. Jerome doesn’t do great work down there protecting the people, but perhaps with your influence, he’ll improve.”

Ezekiel looks towards the ground out of the corner of his eye. “Did he take the news that I was to be assigned to him well?”

Rudolf smiles tightly and folds his hands together. “I don’t care if he takes it well or not. His orders are to work well with you and to clear out the crime on the Plains. If he fails to do so, he’ll be reporting back to me soon enough, and he won’t like what I do to him.”

He tries to smile again, but his face feels stiff and odd when he does it. “Very well, sir. I’ll do my best to serve the people, and Your Majesty as well.”

Rudolf stands up from his chair. “By the way, Berkut told me something interesting at dinner last night. When we first met, after you came to, you spoke of a woman. A saint who took you in, yes?”

Ezekiel’s ears feel hot as he recalls how desperately he’d gone on about her, in the haze of his pain. “Yes, sir. What about her?”

“Berkut told me that he found a saint at the gates last night, in a tizzy and looking for someone who fits your description. She was trying to get through the gates, and he let her in so that she could tend to his fiancée, Rinea.”

His heart gives a great leap and his hands twitch. The legs of his chair scrape the floor harshly as he gets to his feet. “T-Tatiana?”

The emperor shakes his head. “I’m not sure of her name. I don’t think Berkut thought to grab it, either. But, she should be in a guest room in the hospital wing. I’ll have a servant escort you there, if you think it’s her.”

“It must be her,” Ezekiel says. He grabs a black coat off of the end of his bed and throws it on, his soreness forgotten. “I know of no one else foolish enough to come all the way here to look for a near stranger.”

Rudolf’s lips twitch in obvious amusement. “No hurry. Dress yourself properly.” He steps forward and pushes Ezekiel’s bangs out of his face. “Fix your hair, lad, look nice for the girl. She trekked all the way here for you.”

The emperor leaves, and Zeke absentmindedly races his hands through his hair to push it back. He probably does look a little disheveled, seeing as how he’s just climbed out of bed. If there’s even a hair out of place on his head, he thinks he knows Tatiana well enough to know that she’ll have a panic. He takes his time to put on his new uniform, to fix his hair in the mirror, and he frowns at the bruises on his face. They’re faded, but still there, discolored and ugly. There’s nothing he can do about it, however, and he leaves his room.

A servant is waiting for him with a practiced smile, and he takes him through the castle, towards the hospital wing where he was not too long ago. It’s a barren place, and their footsteps echo loudly. His stomach starts twisting, and he wonders what he’ll say to Tatiana, or if he’ll even be able to get a word in before she starts fussing and prodding at his visible wounds.

“This is the room she’s been assigned,” the servant says as they arrive at a door. “If you’ll excuse me, General.”

The servant’s footsteps sound all the way down the barren hallway, and Ezekiel sighs and holds a fist up to the door. It should be a simple thing to knock, but he feels anxious.

He remembers her getting slapped across the face by that knight, hard enough to send her sprawling. He remembers his blind rage, and it makes him afraid. If he hadn’t ever been there, she wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. It’s clear she isn’t mad at him, seeing as how she’s here, but he’s still upset with himself. How could he let any harm befall her, the person who has ensured his existence? The only person he has in this world?

With a deep breath, he knocks on the door, folds his arms behind his back, and waits.

Shuffling comes from inside, a gentle, tired voice that is most certainly hers calls out, “Just a moment, please,” and there’s more shuffling, the sound of clothes being put on.

Ezekiel stares at the ground and waits, feeling just a little bit warm.

A click of a lock and he straightens back up, a sudden panic rising up in him. The door opens just a crack, and warm gray eyes peek out at him.

He clears his throat. “Tati-”

“You!” She throws open the door so suddenly that he jumps, her entire face suddenly awake from amazement. She looks so exhausted, with tired rings under her eyes and pale skin. “You’re alive!” She throws her arms around him, and despite her exhausted looks, she’s certainly well enough to squeeze the life out of him.

A pair of maids choose to pass right then, and they stare at the scene, laugh behind their hands, and hurry off. Ezekiel’s face is burning hot, but he doesn’t have the heart nor desire to pull Tatiana off of him. Her embrace is warm, soft, and comforting, and he likes it.

She pulls back in a hurry, but still keeps one of his biceps in a death grip, the other reaching up to softly rest on his face. “You’re bruised all over! What did they do to you?”

“I didn’t receive a warm welcome,” he says bitterly. “But, I’m fine now.”

Her eyes swim with tears, and she embraces him again. It’s not unpleasant, the way she buries her face in his chest, and he awkwardly reaches up to pat her head.

She speaks, her voice muffled against him. “Oh, I thought they were going to kill you for certain. I was worried I wouldn’t get here in time! I was able to get a ride from a peddler halfway here, and then I had to walk the rest of the way, and when I got here I had to get into the castle, and I’ve been healing this sweet girl so I haven’t had time to-”

“Peace, Tatiana,” he interrupts, and her rambling stops. Tatiana digs her face deeper against him and he hears a distinct sniffle come from her before she’s quiet again. “Are you alright?”

She pulls her face out of his chest and looks up at , her warm eyes tinged with just a little bit of red. “Me? I’m just fine, darling. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Ezekiel sees the smallest shadow of a bruise on her cheek and reaches up to touch it. She doesn’t flinch at all, instead smiling.

“Oh, that? It’s been awhile since I was hit that hard, but it’s okay. It was nothing compared to what they did to you.” Her eyebrows knit together and she frowns. “I was so worried.”

He notes the way she says “awhile,” but doesn’t dwell on it much in the moment.

“Tatiana,” Ezekiel says firmly, and he pulls her arms off of him. In the spirit of reassuring her, he keeps her hands in his own, and she looks up at him like a lightly scolded puppy. “Why on earth did you come all the way here?”

She looks confused. “Because you’re in my care.”

“I’m a stranger,” he scolds her. “You shouldn’t put yourself through such trouble for a person you hardly know.”

It’s her turn to look a little miffed, and Tatiana squeezes his hands. “You aren’t a stranger. You’re my friend. It’s proper to go out of your way for friends, don’t you know?”

The innocence with which she says it absolutely melts his heart, and he sighs. “You have a heart of gold, Tatiana. I’m lucky it was you who saved me.”

She smiles at the ground. “I think I’m lucky that I was able to save you. You’ve really made things exciting for me, you know. I like it.” She looks up and squints at his clothes suddenly, her nose scrunching up in a cute, confused fashion. “What are those clothes? You look so fancy.”

Ezekiel lets go of her hands and awkwardly brushes at his sleeve. “Well, the emperor gave them to me. He gave me a great many things.”

Her eyes go wider than he’s ever seen them. “Emperor Rudolf? He clothed you?”

“He also gave me a name. And a position.” He tries smiling again, then stops himself before he looks pained. “He seemed to be very impressed with the way I fought off my assailants. I think I was a soldier before I washed up here, Tatiana. A knight of some sort.”

Tatiana blinks up at him, and he doesn’t know what he expects her to say in response, but it's not, “Hey, why didn’t you let me name you?”

He tilts his head and sighs. “You were too fixated on trying to find my previous name. And besides, you were choosing the silliest ones. I mean, Sirius?”

She narrows her eyes. “I think it sounds dashing! But come on, let me hear it! I want to know what I can finally call you.”

“Ezekiel,” he tells her. He likes the name, in all honesty. It’s simple, refined.

She pauses before she speaks, and then she smiles softly. “Ezekiel… It suits you. A handsome name for a handsome man.”

He flushes and looks away from her.

“And what about this position he gave you?” she asks. “What is it?”

“He’s made me a general, and assigned me to the plains with General Jerome.”

Her eyes get even wider, and he thinks it’s probably cause to laugh at their size. “Y-you mean you can come back?”

“The emperor says I can reside in the village, should I wish, though I will definitely have to travel and go where General Jerome tells me to.” He feels his expression soften as he looks at her. “But yes, I will be coming back with you.”

“This is splendid,” Tatiana says with delight, and she grabs his hands. “I was expecting a lot of things when I came here, but never such a great outcome! Not only are you alive, you’ve got a name, fancy clothes, a job! The only problem is-”

Her face falls in the matter of a blink, and Ezekiel frowns at her. “Tatiana?”

She lets go of his hands and reaches up to fiddle with a stray lock of her hair. “The Plains are a little bit dangerous, Ezekiel.”

“The emperor said as much,” he responds. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

“It’s not bandits and pirates like he probably told you,” Tatiana says, and she leans out the door, looking left and right before urging him into her room. He awkwardly steps in and waits while she shuts the door and locks it.

“What’s so dangerous, Tatiana?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”

She sighs and sits down in a nearby chair. “The Rigelian Plains are run by two people: Jerome, whom you’ve already met, and Nuibaba. They’re the ones that are really dangerous. Sure, we deal with some scruffy hooligans every now and then, but they aren’t the problem.”

Ezekiel sits in the chair next to her. “General Jerome and… Nuibaba?”

Tatiana looks at him, and her face is clearly frightened. “She’s awful, Ezekiel. She’s an arcanist who sold her soul for unimaginable power.”

“Sold her soul?” he asks, baffled.

“Rigel is a... difficult place,” she further explains. “Our patron god, Duma, believes in men becoming strong and surviving that way, in contrast to the matron god of Zofia, Mila, who believes in protecting and giving to her children. Power is everything here, and people go to great lengths to get it.”

He fights a shudder. “That’s awful.”

Tatiana sighs. “It truly is. Nuibaba has been around since I was a little girl, and long before that. She sacrifices beautiful girls all over the Plains and beyond to monsters to keep herself young and beautiful. She doesn’t bother us in the village that much, since we offer food as tithe, but…”

“Your god accepts these sacrifices?” he asks.

“Duma is complicated.” Tatiana sounds defensive of her patron god, but looks uncertain. “Gods change based on their believers, you know. I guess once people started believing he was a god who would accept human sacrifice, then he became that way. It’s people like Nuibaba who’ve led to the corruption of the Faithful.”

Tatiana reaches for his hands and fixes him with a serious, intense look. “Jerome is awful too. Always taking what he wants, when he wants, without any consideration for others. I’m warning you now, working under him isn’t going to be pleasant. You’ve probably made him look like a fool in front of Emperor Rudolf, so he’s going to do everything in his power to beat you down.”

“Tatiana-”

“Terrors have also been showing up in recent months, and they like wandering around in the dark. They aren’t so tough, but you have to be careful with them, okay?”

He doesn’t know what Terrors are, but her face is growing more distressed. “Yes, Tatiana, I-”

“You have to promise me you won’t do anything that’s really dangerous,” she says imploringly. “If you go against Jerome and Nuibaba, I don’t know what they’d do do you. It would break my heart if you got hurt.”

Her eyes are so wide and begging, he has to look away. “I can’t promise to not do anything if they cross a line, but…” He glances back at her. “I’ll do my best to keep safe, for you.”

Her face lights up, though the fear in her eyes is still there. “Great. I’m sure we’ll all feel much better with you to keep us safe from bandits and the like. It isn’t like Jerome does much for our sakes.”

Tatiana gets up from her seat and brushes the gown of her skirt down. “I have to go check on my patient, and then I’ll be headed into town. The children at home kept begging me to bring something back, so I think I’ll peruse the market.”

She makes for the door, and Ezekiel stands as her hand lands on the doorknob. “Tatiana?”

She looks back, and he’s once more struck at how warm her eyes are, even when they’re such a cool, refreshing color, just like the sea at twilight. “Yes?”

It’s difficult to work out, feels a little wrong to be so soft, but he says with all the feeling he can muster, “I’m truly grateful that you are my friend, Tatiana.”

She stares at him for a long moment, and then gives a bright smile. “And I always will be.”

Chapter Text

Jerome doesn’t send Ezekiel on that many assignments, but Tatiana doesn’t really mind that. It means that he’s in the village more often than not, helping around like he did before, and that she spends a good deal of time with him. It also means that Jerome ventures into the village far less than he used to, mostly due to not wanting to so much as even see Ezekiel, and everyone is better off for it.

The winter has just begun in earnest, and she can tell that Ezekiel isn’t very used to such frigid temperatures. He doesn’t have a varied wardrobe, either, and she spends all her free time knitting a scarf and sewing some gloves. His wounds are still fresh, she says to justify it to people who ask about her projects, and she doesn’t want the cold to bother them.

Tatiana rushes out after him when he leaves the church in the morning, the garments that she stayed up all night putting the finishing touches on piled in her arms. Ezekiel pauses lacing up his boots and looks up at her, then gets to his feet.

“What have you there, Tatiana?” he asks.

She sets the pile of clothes on a table near them and throws the scarf around his neck, wrapping it around. “You’re going to catch your death of cold out there, darling! You don’t have the proper clothes, so I made you some until you can get better ones.”

With dismay, she finds that she’s made the scarf a bit too long. On the bright side, Ezekiel looks almost comical, with the scarf wrapped so high that it covers his lower face, and she tries not to laugh. The dark red looks handsome on him, she finds, and she’s pleased with her work. She picks up the gloves next and hands them to him.

He pulls the scarf down and turns the gloves over in his hands. They’re black, and Tatiana spent a little more money than she’d like to admit on the materials for them. The outside is fine deerskin, and the inside is lined with rabbit fur that she’d haggled with a hunter for, probably for longer than she should have.

“These are exceptionally fine, Tatiana,” he says. “You made these yourself?”

“Indeed I did,” she responds. “I’ve been sewing and knitting my whole life.”

“And this is why you were studying my hands so intensely the other day?”

“W-well, obviously! Why else would I be?”

He slips the gloves on, and she’s relieved to find that they fit just fine. He’s able to move his fingers in them, and he comments that they’re already incredibly warm.

“Mittens are usually warmer, and they’re what I tend to make for the children,” she says, “but I tried to make something that would make wielding your lance easy in.”

Ezekiel’s lips twitch. “Assuming Jerome ever utilizes me.”

“He’s just bitter that the emperor likes you more than him. Doesn’t want you to get too much glory,” she quips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll get your chance to be a big hero soon enough.”

He leaves soon after to report to Jerome, and Tatiana busies herself in the kitchen with the dishes from breakfast. The chapel is clean, and others are taking care of all the other chores, so it’s the only thing she can find to do. Normally, she enjoys it, since she gets to look out into the gardens. Now, it’s a little sad to look out the window while she works and see all her bushes and flowers wilting underneath the weight of the snow, but she has hope that they’ll grow back, come the spring.

“Tatiana.” A cleric pokes her head into the room. “You have some visitors at the door. Should I let them in?”

She pauses scrubbing a pot. “Visitors, for me?”

The cleric shrugs. “It’s just some of the kids. Seems their parents let them out on the loose to have some fun in the snow, and they made a beeline for you instead.”

“Oh, sure, let them in.”

The cleric leaves, Tatiana dries her hands on her apron, and soon enough, there’s a rush of small footsteps racing through the halls. A few voices yelling, “Don’t run!” call out, but they do nothing to abate the visitors.

The five children practically burst into the kitchen, all bundled and dressed for the snow, and they run to her immediately. She crouches down to meet them, and wraps her arms around the ones who hug her.

“Auntie!” one says. “It’s snowing outside!”

“It is,” she responds. “You look like you’re perfectly ready to go out and play in it! Is that what all of you are doing?”

Their excited chattering doesn’t slow down, five voices at once, and Tatiana already feels a little bit of a headache coming on, yet she smiles and bears it. She really does like the children, so she can put aside a little headache for a while to spend her time with them.

She stands and they tug on her hands, crying out, “Auntie, Auntie!”

“Why don’t you ever call me that?” a passing cleric says to the kids. “Don’t you like me?”

With all the tact of a child, a girl says, “Not as much as we like Tatiana.”

Tatiana laughs when the cleric playfully scoffs, and she urges the children towards the door. “You go outside and play now, and remember to walk in the church next time you come visit.”

“You can come play with us,” a boy suggests. “We’re going to have a snowball fight.”

“And make snowmen,” a girl adds in. “Do you want to come?”

There’s still a stack of dishes that need washing before dinner, but the children look at her with such big eyes that she can’t say no. They babble excitedly to one another, and she sends them outside while she goes to put some winterwear on. She’s got chores to do, sure, but she’s certain that their parents will be grateful to have them supervised and out of their hair for at least an hour.

When she gets outside, they’re already split up into teams. Some are forming lumpy, lopsided snowballs, and others are building up walls. Tatiana stands to the side and waits for one of the children to direct her to her proper team. She crouches down next to the kids, twitching her nose at the intense cold.

“Can you throw good?” asks a girl, and Tatiana nods solemnly.

“I’m the best thrower you’ll ever meet,” she says, and the girl, very seriously, puts a snowball in her hand and nods back.

Tatiana turns out to not be the best thrower they’ve ever met, because she throws much too hard, hits the side of the church, and then gets nailed straight in the face with a snowball.

“It’s cold!” she gasps, and the children laugh at her while the powder falls off her nose.

They play like that for a while, and despite trying her hardest, Tatiana is ashamed to find that no, she cannot win a snowball fight against some children. She gets absolutely creamed, and is mercilessly taunted by the children.

“Auntie should play with us again,” one suggests as they end. “All of us against her.”

“That’s not nice,” she complains. “You just want someone to be your target practice!”

They laugh at her, and she resigns herself to the fact that she’s not the snowballer she used to be.

After taking them back to the church for something hot to drink and to wipe the water out of their hair, she agrees to walk them all home. She knows from experience that their parents like them all home at a certain time, and that without an escort, they’ll wander around and play for who-knows-how-long.

They have a spat over who gets to hold her hands, which is more heartwarming to her than anything. It’s nice to be liked by children, and she’ll take it over being admired and respected by adults any day. Adults may respect her for her religious position, but the kids simply like Tatiana for being Tatiana. She’s not really sure what’s so great about her in comparison to some of the other clerics, though.

She drops off two of them before things start going wrong.

“Do you like it when it snows?” she asks the last three. She kicks a snowdrift, sending the powder flying.

“Snow means that our parents send us outside,” a girl says. “But they don’t let us play for very long.”

“If you play in the snow for a long time,” Tatiana says, “you’ll catch a cold, and then you’ll have to come to me to get you fixed up.”

“That’s fine,” another says. “You make good soup, and you’re always really gentle.”

“Some other clerics scold us when we get sick,” someone complains. “You’re nice, Auntie.”

Tatiana smiles and swings the arms of the children whose hands she holds, and they laugh with delight. She wishes they lived a little closer to the church, rather than towards the seashore, but at least it means that she gets a little more time outside in the cold, crisp air.

The snow crunches under her boots, and while winter isn’t her favorite season, Tatiana enjoys the cleanness of it. Clean snow, clean sounds, clean air. She likes the winter food: Hot stews, hearty breads, cinnamon, gingerbread. She likes watching the snow fall, even if she doesn’t like being in it that much, and she especially likes how warm the church is, and how relaxing it is to sit by the altar and pray when the ceremonial fire is going.

She starts thinking about what she should cook for dinner that night, if maybe she should use the last of the berry stocks to bake a pie before they go bad. She wonders if, maybe if she asked nicely, Ezekiel would even join her for dinner.

Just the two of them.

She really hopes he would say yes to her.

One of the children freezes in her spot, very suddenly, and Tatiana stops with her. She looks down, concerned at the happy girl’s suddenly stiff face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and she follows the girl’s scared gaze.

Tatiana’s blood freezes in her veins, and it’s not because of the cold.

Five men with axes and swords strapped to their waists are walking down the street, right towards them. Tatiana looks for any sign of military wear on them, but her hope falls lower and lower as she recognizes their clothes, a little worse for the wear and dirty, as those typically belonging to brigands.

“Get behind me,” she hisses to the children as she lets go of them. They stand stiff and still, terrified as the men get closer, and she says much more harshly, “Get behind me and run! Go run to the church!”

The three children finally find their senses and go. The sound of people shutting their windows and locking their doors floods the street, and eventually, it’s just her standing between the armed men and the rest of the village.

“Hey there, lass,” says one man, and he looks her up and down. “How are you today?”

Her hands are shaking as he swings his axe up on his shoulder, but she can still hear the children’s feet crunching through the snow, and she has to stand strong. She works a smile onto her face. “Quite well. Can I help you with anything?”

They look towards one another for a moment, toothy smiles on all of them, and the leader speaks again. “Well, if you could bring us all the alcohol and food you got, we’d be appreciative.”

She swallows, her heart thumping. “I’m afraid I don’t want to do that. You aren’t welcome here, and I’d thank you to turn right around.”

“You say that with such certainty, lass,” he says, and then he gives her a good, long look that sends a shudder up her spine. “But you’re shakin’ in your boots.”

He’s not far off the mark. Tatiana is indeed shaking; brigands haven’t come to their village in a while, and every single time it’s happened, they’ve been lucky enough to have Jerome and his men lurking around. It’s not often that Jerome stands up to fellow criminals, but if they encroach on what he deems as his, he doesn’t have much of a problem having them meet the end of his lance.

But there’s no one in the village except for Ezekiel, and he’s gone for the day, off to see Jerome only to be scorned and thrown aside.

She grits her teeth and slackens her fist, feeling the air move around where she wants her staff to manifest. A weak Nosferatu and a slightly better Seraphim will have to help her for the time being.

It finally shows up and she clenches her hand around it, wielding it like a blade against the men. They roar with laughter, not unnerved a single bit, and it brings any slight confidence she had crashing down.

“Please leave,” she says once more. She fights to keep a quaver out of her voice. “We have nothing to give you.”

“Nothing to willingly give, that is,” the leader says. “Stand aside, lass.”

The air around her shifts as she focuses on casting, and already, Tatiana feels tired. Battle magic really, truly isn’t her specialty, and she’s probably got only a couple of casts in her before she collapses. A Nosferatu will help her get her strength back, but the chances it hits are significantly lower than the Seraphim, so the latter is her best bet. She can try and get in close to cast the Nosferatu, but that means risking getting close to their blades.

Tatiana doesn’t want to die on the blade of some nasty, horrible man, and says a prayer.

She holds out her staff, swings it, and a burst of light comes forth. The men dart out of the way, swearing up and down, and the snow melts where her spell lands. Her legs feel wobbly, and she curses herself for missing.

“She’s a saint!” they shout to each other, and when she blinks, their weapons are drawn. “Careful!”

She lunges out of the way of an axe swing and tries to focus on casting Nosferatu, really tries, but a sword comes at her from the other side. She stumbles back, prayer after prayer rushing through her mind. She aimlessly swings out with her staff and is delighted when it crashes into the skull of one of the thugs, and it keeps him back enough for her to step a few more paces away.

“A feisty one, aint’cha?” the leader asks. “But you’re still a little thing, fancy magic and all. And you look awful tired now, just from one cast. You’re bark, no bite.”

She swallows, tries to stop herself from shaking, and holds her staff out again. She’s sure that, as she backs up down the street, passes house after house, that someone is watching, but she knows they won’t come to help. That’s fine with her; she’d rather everyone stay in their homes for as long as possible, safe and sound, and leave things to her. She only hopes that, when she falls, they can all manage to get away.

“Don’t put a scratch on her, lads,” he says, and he sheathes his sword.

A spark of hope starts in her, and she lowers her staff just a little, but puts it back up when she sees him go for a coil of rope on his hip. Her lip curls, and she does not enjoy where he’s going.

“She can be a guest at dinner tonight,” he suggests to his men, and they look like wolves when they bare their teeth in appreciation.

She swings her staff out again with a yell, releasing a large burst of light that they lunge and avoid. It nicks one of the men on his side and he collapses, and she’s grateful that they at least have some intolerance to magic. It’d be even better if she could actually hit them, if her legs didn’t feel like pudding, or if her head wasn’t so foggy and tired.

“Leave this place,” she urges once more. Her hands shake more from exhaustion than fear, and she can hardly see straight. “Duma protects us.”

“He seems to be doing a bang-up job,” the man says, and he takes a step towards her with the rope. The way he approaches her, hunched forward slightly with the rope extended, is similar to the way that one might approach a dog or another animal. It both fills Tatiana with rage, and a lot of fear.

She prays, prays, and prays some more as she backs up. She prays to Duma, Mila, whatever god will listen to a sinner’s pleas. Thinking that she had any more than a couple of casts in her was generous, especially after that whopper of a Seraphim that she released in her panic.

The back of her feet hit something hidden by the snow, and she stumbles. The brief lack of balance is enough to encourage the man, and the world flips as he tackles her. She hits the snow, gasping at the chill, and struggles as the man sits on her stomach, takes her wrists, and wraps the rope around them.

It brings back a bad memory, of someone terrible leaning over Tatiana in much the same manner, and anger washes over her. She struggles, kicks, and bites as much as she can.

“Off-” she gasps. “Get off!”

“I ain’t gonna crush you, lass,” he says with exasperation. “Stop struggling so fierce, and I’ll ease up a bit.”

She would rather he crush her here than do whatever unholy, disgusting nonsense he has in store for her later, so she struggles more. When his hand gets close to her mouth as he ties her, she snaps at it, and he scowls and slaps her across the face. She winces, but the adrenaline pumping through her dulls the sting.

“Insufferable woman,” he mutters as he finishes with her wrists. “I oughta-”

Her head is still spinning, but she faintly registers the sound of footsteps rushing through the snow, and the man and his thugs yell as he’s tackled off of her. Tatiana gasps, coughs, and immediately struggles to her knees. Her head spins, and she makes a grab for her staff, but she’s too tired to hold it. It falls out of her hands uselessly, and she instead turns to the scene, trying to focus.

What she sees nearly brings tears to her eyes, and she thanks the gods immediately for answering her.

Ezekiel is there, panting and clearly tired from running, but he is there. She blinks a few times, just to ensure that she isn’t so exhausted that she’s seeing only what she wants to. He turns from the group and looks down at her, and there’s a rage in his eyes that makes her want to flinch. They soften considerably as he focuses on her.

“Are you unharmed, Tatiana?” he asks, and she knows she should nod yes, spare him the worry, but her stomach is undoubtedly bruising, she’s ready to pass out, and she can’t get that terrible, awful memory out of her mind.

She shakes her head no as best as she can.

Ezekiel explodes.

It’s quite a sight to see, Tatiana has to admit. The men barely have time to draw their weapons, but they’re completely useless, even when they’re only up against his fists. His reflexes are too fast, his experience obvious, and every swing misses him. Her fuzzy gaze goes to the snow, and she watches as blood splatters against the white. It’s sinful to feel this way, she knows, but she’s satisfied when they fall to the ground, with their faces smashed in and their limbs broken.

The cracks make her sick regardless, dreadfully so, and she leans back against a nearby post, tries to free herself from the bindings, while he does his work. There’s occasionally a scream from a bandit, a yell from Ezekiel as he throws them over his shoulder. Their weapons fall, and yet, he doesn’t even bother to pick them up and use them against them. His fists are all he needs to crack their bones and make them bleed, and Tatiana has to be honest with herself, even through her haze:

It’s kinda, sorta hot.

It feels like a long time before he’s done and all of them are turning the snow red, but she’s sure it was actually only a couple of minutes. Ezekiel stands in the midst of the destruction, panting, and he swipes his mussed hair out of his face. He gets a streak of red in it, but doesn’t seem to care as he rushes over to her. He crouches down and takes her hands.

“Gods, you should have run away,” he tells her as he pulls at the rope. “You’re foolish, Tatiana.”

The rope falls away and her arms go slack. With dismay, she finds she doesn’t even have the energy to lift them.

“I had to stall them,” she mutters blearily. Her own voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away. “I’m sorry.”

His face grows fuzzier by the second, but he clearly sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose. She lets her eyes drift shut as he wraps his arms around her and scoops her up out of the snow.

Tatiana wakes up later, blinking in confusion at the ceiling of the church. It takes a moment to remember where she is, why she’s so sore, and what happened. She groans when she does recall, lifting her hands and covering her face with them.

“Are you awake now, Tatiana?”

She turns her head on the pillow and finds Ezekiel walking into the room. His coat and embellishments are gone, leaving him in his shirt with his sleeves rolled up. His hands rub into a towel, and the cloth comes away with small red spots. She feels hot and turns her head away.

“Do you still not feel well?” He crouches down next to the bed and reaches to settle a hand on her forehead. It’s heavy and warm, and she appreciates his touch. “The priest said you have a couple of bruises, but you’re mostly just tired.”

“I’m no good with battle spells,” she mutters. She reaches up and rests her hand atop his before he can move it. “They sap up a lot of energy, y’know.”

“It appears so.” He moves his hand insistently, and she lets him remove it. “My heart nearly stopped when the children came running.”

She blinks open her eyes and looks at him. “The children came and got you?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I was just getting back to the church when they stopped me. They were so hysterical it took a minute to figure out what was going on, but I made it in time.”

Tatiana hums and shuts her eyes again, mumbling, "They're good kids."

Ezekiel sighs and stands. “You get some more sleep. I’ll bring some food later, alright?”

“Okay,” she responds, already closer to being asleep than awake.

She most definitely wakes up when he leans down and gives her forehead a lingering kiss, and she doesn’t go back to sleep for another couple of hours.

He was warm.

Ezekiel manages to find the head priest, Alexi, later, after he leaves some soup for Tatiana boiling on the stove. He leaves the kitchen and rushes after the old man, feeling anxious and nervous, but determined.

“General Ezekiel,” says the old man when he finally catches up. Father Alexi is a man of average height with thick eyebrows, a kind face, and flecks of white in his dark gray hair. He looks about sixty-five and is shriveled, but has a body that speaks to great strength and vigor in his youth. He's a gentle man, and Zeke doesn't mind asking him any questions. “How can I help you? After helping our Tatiana, you just say the word, and it’s done.”

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “I need no compensation or favors for helping Tatiana. I just had a question, if you don’t mind.”

Alexi blinks. “Yes, of course, my boy.”

He takes a deep breath, works up his courage, and asks, “I was wondering: What is the church’s stance on their clergy having… romantic partners?”

The head priests’ eyebrows rise so high that they almost hit his receding hairline. “Romantic partners, you say?”

Ezekiel swallows, hopes he isn’t being obvious, but he knows he is. It’s exasperating, and he doesn’t know what else to do but blunder through his words. “Yes. I mean, I know some religions are staunchly against their clergy having romantic and sexual relations, and-”

“Sexual?” Alexi echoes, looking wildly amused.

Ezekiel plants a hand on his hip and buries his face in the other, feeling more heated and anxious than ever. He’s being toyed with now by an old priest, of all people. “Y-yes, I mean, I just- I didn’t mean sexual, I meant-”

“Oh? Do you not find our Tatiana lovely?”

He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “No, I-I do, and that’s why, uh-”

“You do mean to have ‘romantic and sexual relations’ with her, then, Ezekiel?” The delight in Alexi's voice is driving him crazy, and he gets hotter and hotter with every passing second.

“Oh gods, please, sir. No more. I’m a simple man with a simple question.”

Alexi bursts into peals of laughter so loud that a few other people take a peek down the hall at them. Ezekiel is certain that it’s quite the sight, the head priest nearly laughing himself to death and the new general with his face in a hand.

“Oh, young people,” he wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye before settling his hands behind his back again. “To answer your question, Ezekiel, our church has no qualms with its clergy pursuing, as you put it, ‘romantic and sexual relations.’ It’s encouraged, in fact.”

“Please, may we forget that I worded it that way?”

“Oh, my boy, I’ll tease you about that even when I’m in my grave!” The old man hobbles off, still chuckling under his breath.

Ezekiel’s attempt at a soup is boiling over, back in the kitchen, but he couldn’t care less.

Chapter Text

Jerome accompanies Ezekiel back to the village that night, and not a word passes between them as they ride down the trail and over the moors. He’s only accompanied Jerome once or twice before to a couple of other villages, and with each visit, Tatiana’s accusations against him are proved right.

Jerome doesn’t care for serving the people. He cares greatly for his own comfort, however. He walks in as if he owns the place, raids the food storages that are already sparse in the middle of the winter, and it makes Ezekiel crazy. There’s food enough at the military base that Jerome hardly touches. He takes what the villagers have just for the sake of them having less.

Bandits? Brigands? The only villains Ezekiel sees are Jerome and his greed.

The village comes into sight, and a disdainful sniff comes from his superior. “I do loathe coming to this place.”

He looks over his shoulder at Jerome and his horse. “Why is that?”

The commander’s lip curls. “Nasty people, especially the clergy. I detest that woman of yours especially, Ezekiel.”

“She is not ‘mine.’” His hands tighten around his reigns. “And I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jerome fixes him with a sneer and digs his heels into his horse’s side, spurring it forward faster so that he’s right next to him. “You make sure you keep her in line, do you understand me?”

There’s no use in further protesting, so he grits his teeth, ducks his face into Tatiana's scarf, and says, “Yes, sir. Understood.”

As they get closer, he sees the doors to the church open. Tatiana herself steps out, puffing into her cupped hands to warm them. She turns towards the sounds of the horses, and a bright smile lights up her face. She lifts a hand and waves, then immediately stops when she sees who rides next to him.

“Speak of the devil,” scoffs Jerome. “I’ll be headed to the stables, Ezekiel. Go ahead and have your insufferable lovey-dovey time with the lady.”

The horse breaks into a gallop, passing the church and narrowly missing Tatiana. She stumbles back and glares after Jerome, but is all smiles once again when Ezekiel dismounts next to her.

“I see you brought a guest,” she says, and her voice is bitter. Her hands reach up and cup his face, and he’s glad his face is already crimson from the cold. “You’re just about frozen solid. I’m cooking dinner tonight, so come back right away when you’ve taken care of your horse. We’ll get you warmed back up, sweetie.”

“I’m sorry that he chose to come with me,” he apologizes. “I know how much everyone here dislikes him.”

Tatiana shakes her head and folds her arms. Her breath is visible when she sighs. “It isn’t your fault. He loves passing by and tormenting us every now and then. We’re just lucky that you’re here, too.”

She grabs a couple of split logs off the firewood pile and retreats back into the church.  Ezekiel sighs, takes the reigns of his new horse, a plucky and stubborn steed named Ephraim, and begins guiding him towards the stables. The normally lively people of the village all look depressed and annoyed, and he’s more than certain it’s Jerome’s presence that has caused their sour moods.

Jerome is patting the flank of his horse when Ezekiel enters the stables, and he gives him a curt look.

“I suppose I’ll be joining you for dinner tonight, Ezekiel,” he tells him. “I may dislike the clergy here, but they are excellent cooks, and there’s always a spare bed somewhere in that church.”

“I’m sure they’ll be more than gracious to have you,” he lies. “Allow me to set my horse up, and I’ll escort you back.”

Jerome waits, tapping his foot, while Ezekiel removes the horse’s saddle, shuts the gate, and ensures that there’s feed near Ephraim. He even takes a moment to drape a blanket over him, just to tack on an extra minute and keep Jerome away from the church as long as he possibly can.

There’s clearly some bad blood between him and Tatiana in particular, and he determines that he wants to get to the bottom of it.

Most of the clergy take their meals to different rooms when Jerome makes himself at home at the dining table. The looks they give him are wary and angry, and rather than being perturbed, the commander seems to thrive under the negative attention. It’s not long before the entire dining room is cleared out, leaving just Ezekiel, Jerome, and Tatiana in the back kitchen.

He sees Father Alexi passing by the room, and he stands up suddenly. Jerome glances up at him lazily.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have something to attend to,” he explains.

“Go do as you will,” his commander says, and he lifts a hand to check his nails. “I won’t be going anywhere.”

He’s a bit wary, leaving Tatiana alone in close proximity to Jerome, but this is her home territory, and he hopes that makes her feel safer. He leaves the dining room and enters the hall, glancing left and right before he finds the elder priest. He goes after him, calling his name, and he stops.

“Ezekiel?” he asks. “What is it?”

“I have something to ask you,” he says as he stops next to him.

He smiles wryly. “Does this have anything to do about the ‘romantic and sexual relations’ you intend to engage in with Tati-”

“Lower your voice!” he implores, glancing down the hall, and fortunately, there’s no one in sight. “I can’t believe you keep going on about that.”

Father Alexi laughs and keeps walking, urging him to come along. “It’s all the gossip among us old folk now! We’ve been waiting for Tatiana to find someone for a long time.”

“The question has nothing to do with that,” he says, and he hopes his ears aren’t so obviously red to the old man. “Although it does involve Tatiana.”

“Let me guess,” the priest says, then halts suddenly. “You want to know why she and General Jerome have such particularly bad feelings towards each other.”

“Well, yes,” he admits. Alexi sits down in a nearby chair, and he sits in one across from him. “It’s no secret that most everyone in this region despises him, but he made it very clear on his ride over that he detests her, in particular, in turn.”

Alexi hums and rests a cheek in his wrinkled hand. “Well, it’s not that complicated. She gave him a concussion, once.”

“She-” Ezekiel blinks and tilts his head. “She what?”

“Tatiana’s a pretty girl,” he elaborates. “And you’ve seen the way Jerome takes whatever he wants. Well, he wanted Tatiana, and she would have none of it.”

“And she gave him a concussion,” he repeats stupidly.

“He was here for dinner, and when she passed by, he made a rather lewd grab at her. She clocked him over the head with her tray.” The old man laughs and slaps his knee. “It was hilarious! You ever notice that his nose is a little lopsided? That's her doing.”

His mouth twitches. “It- It is an amusing visual. I didn’t know Tatiana had the strength in her to give a man a concussion.”

“I think it was the shock that gave her the strength. The men in this village are very polite towards the sisters. She’d never had anyone make a pass at her like that before.” Alexi sighs and stands. “Now, hopefully we can feed that brute and get him out of here first thing in the morning. I swear to the Father and Mother, the grass dies where he walks.”

He takes his leave then, and Ezekiel heads back to the dining room. Tatiana is standing politely by the door, and she smiles at him when he enters.

“Your meal is on the table,” she tells him. “I think I’ll retire to my room for the night. I can’t stand to be near him anymore.” She rests a hand on his arm as she passes. “Call if you need something, alright?”

Jerome is still seated at the table, a bottle of wine across from him, and his face is already flushed from the alcohol. Ezekiel frowns and contemplates taking his own meal to his room, but then, who would ensure that the commander doesn’t wreak havoc on the poor clergy during the night? He takes a seat across from Jerome and eats his food in silence.

“You be careful with that wench,” the man says, and he swirls the wine in his glass. “She’ll beat you over the head for nothin’. Nasty girl she is.”

Ezekiel fights the urge to slam Jerome’s head into the table and give his nose another break.

 He’s unfortunate enough to meet Nuibaba only days later. The feeling she sends throughout the village isn’t one of disgust or annoyance, but pure terror. People are in their houses in a heartbeat, the second she steps foot inside the village bounds. The fear in the air is so thick, so heavy, that Ezekiel can essentially reach out and grab it.

He’s helping Tatiana chop firewood for the week, and he looks up when she stops chattering and doesn’t set the next log on the block. He lowers the axe and looks over at her, and she immediately latches onto him, wrapping her arms around his bicep and inching behind him. Her face is pale, and he wonders what it is that has her so worked up.

“Tatiana?” he asks, and she takes a step back, pulling him with her.

“Let’s go inside,” she whispers, and he finally takes a look at what it is that has her so spooked.

The woman can be no one else but Nuibaba, Ezekiel immediately decides. She’s beautiful, in some inhuman, surreal way. Her skin is a brown that’s actually closer to an ashen gray, he discovers as she draws closer. Her hair is a pale red, and a golden mask covers half of her face. He can’t decide if the horns sprouting from her head are a part of the mask, or a side effect of her soul no longer being in her body. The winter robe she wears is fine, black and lined with gray fur, and she waltzes towards them as though she’s some sort of royalty.

Ezekiel nudges Tatiana behind him. “Stay close.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” she warns softly, with a quaver in her voice.

Nuibaba stops a few feet from them, turning her head suddenly enough that even Ezekiel jumps. She smiles, showing off perfectly white teeth, and lifts her hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting. “Sister Tatiana! I see you~”

Her nails dig into his arm, and she peeks out from behind him.

“Beautiful girls oughtn’t hide,” Nuibaba says, and she clicks her tongue. She draws closer, her gaze never moving from her. “And quite the beauty you are. You’d put years back onto my life, if I ever got my hands on you.”

He pushes Tatiana behind him again and draws himself up to his full height.

Nuibaba rolls her eyes. “Relax, I’d never lay a hand on a sister, particularly not one as… sweet and vulnerable as Tatiana.” Her lips curve up. “It’s too easy.”

Tatiana’s quivering voice comes from behind him. “If you’re here for your food allotment, we have it ready for you.”

“Not so fast, Sister Tatiana!” Nuibaba says, and she steps even closer. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to tall, dark, and handsome here? Did you finally land yourself a sweetheart, dearest?”

Tatiana’s is shaking like a leaf against him, and he speaks up for her. “I’m the emperor’s newest general, Ezekiel.” He lowers his head in formality. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Nuibaba.”

“A polite man!” she crows. “Well, don’t let me intrude on you sweet lovebirds any longer. I’ll take my food and leave. I’ve got something simmering in the cauldron at home, after all! Don’t want to leave it on the burner too long.”

Nuibaba leaves, each footstep causing a loud crunch in the snow, and Tatiana relaxes against him. She moves away quickly, her face pink and her hands clasped in front of her.

“I’m sorry for that,” she grumbles. “I shouldn’t have clung onto you, but I-”

“Gods, I don’t blame you,” Ezekiel tells her. “She practically had me shaking. I was a little hesitant when you said she ‘sold her soul,’ but there’s no doubt about it now.”

A breathless laugh leaves Tatiana, and the color slowly comes back to her cheeks. “She’s always terrified me, since I was a girl. I’ve had some... bad run-ins with her, in the past.” Her hands clench together until they shake, and she turns a few shades paler than normal, until she’s almost the color of the snow.

Ezekiel places a gloved hand on top of her head. “It’s fine now. She won’t harm you.”

“So long as the food keeps coming,” she mutters. “After that, who knows how many girls she’ll snatch up. The older she gets, the more she needs.”

Ezekiel looks after the footprints that Nuibaba left and knits his brows together. “What does she do with them?”

“Well, I told you back at the castle that she’ll feed them to monsters,” Tatiana says. She bends down and grabs a log to place on the chopping block. “But, she’ll also turn them into witches.”

“Witches?” he echoes, and he picks up the axe. “How do you mean?”

Tatiana is pale again. “A woman whose soul has been sacrificed to Duma, willingly or not. It grants them immense magic power, but they become husks of who they used to be. Some retain sentience, like Nuibaba, but most are brainless foot soldiers for their arcanists.” She exhales, her breath clouding the air. “It’s a fate worse than death.”

“Well, I shan’t allow her to lay a hand on you,” he assures.

She smiles nervously up at him, but her hands are still shaking.

Chapter Text

SPRING OF YEAR 400, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

Jerome had been very obviously irked when Emperor Rudolf summoned Ezekiel to the castle and not him, but didn’t fight against the order. Leaving the Plains unsupervised with Jerome leaves Ezekiel feeling uneasy, but he figures that not much damage can happen in a month, and tries to focus on the business that needs attending to. There’s much of it, and he also has to make time to see Emperor Rudolf for a period of time each day.

“How are things, Ezekiel?” the emperor asks. They walk through the halls, a small party of soldiers far behind and ahead of them.

“They are well, sir,” he responds. “I haven’t seen many criminals.” He tries to put on a smile. “Perhaps I’ve scared them off.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Rudolf says, “but I was talking more about your personal life. Any memories come back to you?”

He frowns, and vague images comes to mind: A woman with blonde hair and a sad expression, a gleaming lance, a fight raging around him. Unfortunately, every wisp of a memory disappears as soon as he reaches for it. “Nothing, I fear. I wish I could remember, but alas.”

Rudolf appears troubled. “I wish I could be of help, my boy, but not even the finest healers in the land can fix a damaged mind. Perhaps it will come back with time.”

In all honesty, as much as he wishes at least some of his past would return to him, Ezekiel is oddly fine with where he is. His life he has now isn’t bad. He’s good at his job. He has a good place to sleep. He has Tatiana.

As if reading his mind, Rudolf carries on. “Whatever happened with that girl who came all the way here to get you?”

He breaks form and rubs the back of his neck with a grimace. “She’s my… friend.”

They turn a corner, and Rudolf lifts a brow. “A friend?”

He inhales deeply. “I’ve discovered that the church does allow for, well, romantic relations.”

“I see.”

“And… I have yet to engage in them with her.” Gods, he feels like he’s giving a military report. He hopes he isn’t too red.

“Well, I’d court her while you have the chance,” Rudolf says. “You don’t meet a woman willing to cross the country for you every day, you know.”

“No, sir. You certainly do not.”

He spends another two days after that in the castle, filing reports and training with the local soldiers. The cold is starting to let up, the sun is coming out more, and sometimes, he can see grass peeking through the snow on the ground.  It won’t be long before things start to grow again, Rudolf tells him during a walk, or grow as much as anything in Rigel ever does.

It means that Tatiana’s garden will be back soon, and he’ll be able to sit in it with her.

When his two days are up, Rudolf gives him a slight sum of money for his “troubles,” but the look he’s given tells Ezekiel that he’s supposed to buy something nice for Tatiana with it. On a more official note, he’s given reports and tasks to return to General Jerome, and he decides to leave early to get them back in a timely manner.

He’s just pulling his horse from the stables when a quiet voice speaks up behind him.

“Excuse me?”

A short woman has approached him so quietly that he’s shocked. Nobody has ever been able to sneak up on him—at least, not in recent memory. Her hair is a pale blue, braided down her back, and she holds a letter and a bag in her hand.

“My lady,” he says. “How may I serve you?”

“General Ezekiel, you’re Sister Tatiana’s… husband?” she asks questioningly.

He coughs into his hand and clears his throat. “No, no, just a friend.”

The girl blushes at her mistake. “Oh, well, I’m Rinea, the patient she treated when she was here a while ago. You two left before I was officially allowed out of the infirmary, so I never had the chance to truly thank her.” She holds out the letter and the pouch. “This is just something for Sister Tatiana’s troubles. Could you deliver it to her, General?”

Ezekiel takes the offerings, and hears the sound of coins clinking together. “Tatiana would be embarrassed if you tried to pay her for her services.”

The girl fiddles with a loose strand of her hair. “I know, but it’s all I have to offer her. I mean, I didn’t even get to say thank you in person. I’m sure she could put it towards the church, or something, if she doesn’t want it for herself.”

She looks like she won’t take no for an answer, so he opens the pouch on his saddle and sets the latter and coins carefully inside. He thinks of pooling it with the coins from Rudolf to buy a present for Tatiana. “Very well, my lady.”

He mounts his horse and Rinea approaches once more, her eyes betraying slight anxiety, but still earnest. “Next time you come, you should bring her. I’d dearly love to speak with her more.”

 Near the beginning of spring, many Rigelian villages have parties. It’s a tradition, at least on the Plains. Everyone makes their best family recipes with the crops and stock they have left after the winter, some people play some music, and the village mills around and has some fun. There’s mostly dancing for the adults, but the church always sets up some games for the children and leaves a few people behind to monitor them. There are prayers in the chapel at the end of the night, where people pray for the soil to be kind to them and for the sun to shine and the rain to fall.

All in all, it’s a big to-do, and Tatiana has been rushing around all day. The church has to be cleaned to perfection, the courtyard has to be cleared of old, soggy leaves and twigs, and there’s also food to be prepared. She leaves the last task to the other sisters, and they take the chore readily. With all her dashing about, she’s sure to leave the bread in the oven and let it bake until it’s practically a brick.

She’s sweeping the leaves and twigs into a pile to take to the farmers for mulch, and there’s a sudden pulling at her hair. She winces and leans back to alleviate the pressure, and glances down to see a small girl with her hair in her fists, transfixed on the color of it. Her mother comes soon enough, sweeping her up into her arms, and Tatiana recognizes her as a childhood friend.

“Sorry about that, Tatiana,” she says. “She just thinks your hair is fascinating.”

Tatiana smiles and self-consciously pats it. “Well, I guess it is a weird color. And kinda long. She can play with it, if she wants, so long as she doesn’t pull so hard.”

She offers the girl a lock of her hair with a sweet smile, and accepts the fact that it’s probably going to be in knots by the time the child is done with it.

“Where’s your friend?” the woman asks. “General Ezekiel.”

“He’s been at the capital for business,” she says. “I think he’ll be back soon.”

“Is that so?” Her friend puts her free hand on her hip. “It’s a little weird to see you two apart. You’ve been almost inseparable since you brought him here.”

Tatiana sighs and absently sweeps around with her broom, careful to not move much and pull her hair from the child’s fascinated grip. “I guess maybe I am a little protective.”

“Do you like him?”

She stops sweeping immediately and heats up. “Like him? Yes, he’s my friend! Why wouldn’t I like him?”

Her friend scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You know what I mean. You’re a scatterbrain, but you aren’t dumb.”

Her stomach ties itself in knots, and she wrings the handle of the broom in her hands. She’s never said so out loud, but… “I guess I do. I really like him.”

“This is surprising. I’ve never seen you take romantic interest in anyone, ever! And you haven’t made a move... why?”

“I’m worried about his memory,” she confesses. “It’s shallow, maybe, but I don’t want to get attached in a more… intimate way, only for him to remember that he has another lover, friends, family, and then leave. I don’t want to get my heart broken that badly.”

The other woman looks sympathetic. “That’s understandable. But, I think he likes you, too. He could stay in that fancy military base with his commander and his men, but he lives here, in the village, for you.”

“But-” She furrows her eyebrows and watches the child play with her hair. “What if I’m not really in love?”

“If his memory came back, would you let him go?”

Tatiana blinks. “What does that have to do with-?”

“Would you let him go, Tatiana?” she repeats.

Half of a moment passes, and she says, “I suppose I would. If he has loved ones, I’m far less important than them. He’d have to go back, no matter what. Even if it hurt me.”

A smile brightens her friend’s face up. “That means you love him. What’s that old saying? If you really love something, you’d let it go.”

“What if the attraction is shallow? What if I just like him because he’s handsome?” Tatiana carries on, and she gets hotter by the second. “I mean, have you seen his face? And his arms? Gods, when he rolls up his sleeves, I just-”

“I don’t need to know the details,” she cuts in with a raised hand. “Keep your fantasies to yourself. You’re a holy woman, after all.”

She blushes even deeper. “I’m sorry.”

Her friend takes Tatiana’s hair from her daughter and waves as she goes. “Well, I’ll see you at the party tomorrow, alright?”

Tatiana waves in return, and starts her sweeping once more.

She’s got everything just perfectly swept and the farmers have taken it away, and then she hears a horse galloping. Her heart stops in her chest and she sets the broom against a wall, heading to the church’s entrance.

Ezekiel is dismounting his horse when she gets there, her heart is hammering once more, and she can’t stop herself from smiling.

“You’re back!” she says, and his expression warms when he sees her.

“Tatiana,” he says. “I missed you.”

She ruffles a hand through her hair. “I missed you, too.”

Silence passes between them as they both look anywhere but each other, and then Tatiana sees a covered basket in his hand while she’s avoiding eye contact.

“What do you have?” she asks.

He looks down at the basket as though he’s only just remembered it, and hurriedly holds it out to her. “Oh, uh, I passed through a market on the way back. I remembered you telling me you liked oranges and peaches, so I purchased some.”

She pulls back the cloth, and sure enough, the fruit is there. She hasn’t been able to afford the imported fruits in so long, and she immediately starts thinking of everything she can bake with them. “Oh, there’s so much! This must have cost you an arm and a leg, dear. Are you sure I can have it?”

Ezekiel makes that expression again, like he’s trying so hard to smile, but can’t manage. It’s endearing to her at this point, but she also wishes she could get an actual smile out of him. “I bought it with you specifically in mind. I insist you accept it.”

“I can make something really good with these for the celebration,” she says, covering the basket back up.

“Celebration?” He takes the reigns of his horse and starts walking towards the stables. She walks with him.

“A lot of villages on the Plains have a party when spring is on its way,” Tatiana says. “It’s just some music, some dancing. Nothing big. Everyone makes food though, and we all have a good time. After, we pray for better soil and good weather.”

“It sounds nice." He passes his horse to a stablehand. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow night,” she says. “We’re all getting ready for it now. I’m glad you made it back in time.”

“As am I. I am invited, correct?”

She smiles. “You live here, don’t you?”

“I suppose I do.” He glances back towards the church. “If you don’t mind, I’ve been riding all day. I’m going to go clean up. Will I see you later?”

“I’ll be doing chores almost nonstop, but you can join me.”

“I’ll do just that, then. Give me just an hour or so, and I’ll put myself to work.”

He turns and starts the walk back to the church, and Tatiana's heart skips a beat as she remembers something she’s been meaning to ask. “Ezekiel!”

He stops right in his tracks and waits for her to catch up to him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just had something to ask you.” She takes a hand off the basket and swipes her hair behind her ear, working up the guts to ask him, “I was, um, wondering if I could call you something different?”

Ezekiel looks perplexed. “Something different?”

“It’s just, you know, Ezekiel is kinda stuffy,” she elaborates.

“You said it suited me when I told it to you,” he protests.

Her lips quiver as she tries to not laugh, and he narrows his eyes good-naturedly.

“I feel like Ezekiel is the general and such, so I was thinking that I could call you something else. You really aren’t a general in my eyes.”

“Pray, what am I, then?”

Tatiana rolls a response around in her skull, trying to think of something substantial, yet honest.

“My closest friend,” comes out of her mouth, and Ezekiel appears taken aback.

“You truly think of me that way?”

Tatiana feels crestfallen for a moment; does he not feel even remotely the same? “Y-yeah, I do.”

The next expression Ezekiel makes is truly the closest she’s ever seen him come to a smile, and it feels like someone has gripped her heart and squeezed. Tight.

“I think of you the same,” he replies. “What were you thinking of calling me?”

“Oh!” she gasps, coming back to her senses. “I thought something like Zeke might be kinda cute.”

“‘Zeke,’” he repeats. “It sounds nice.”

She perks up and they start walking again. “Do you really think so?”

“It’s short and sweet,” he assures. “I like it very much.”

“Zeke, then,” she says. Her stomach keeps flipping, and she contemplates if she should say something else that she wants to. “I had something else to ask.”

“Yes?”

Tatiana runs her hands over the wick of the basket, her courage flickering like the flame of a candle. “The party tomorrow night…”

“Is there something about it?”

“I was wondering, if, you know.” Her fingers drum against the basket. “Maybe you’d like to go. With me.”

“With you?”

“Yeah. We could dance together, or something.”

He fixes her with a glance that seems a little shy. “I’d be delighted to accompany you, Tatiana.”

The hammering of her heart turns to flutters, and she tries to not look incredibly, embarrassingly delighted. “Great! We’ll have some fun, okay?”

He gives her that warm look again, and goes on ahead to the church. Tatiana stands there, smiling like some goof at the gift in her arms. Things seem to be going her way, and she couldn’t be more delighted.

The chores are finished at a reasonable time that night, thanks to Zeke’s help. The courtyard is cleaned, the chapel polished and furnished, and even the candles have been swapped out for new ones. Everything is picturesque, and Tatiana can hardly wait for the following evening.

She’s getting ready for bed, brushing her hair and pinning it up, when there’s a knock on her bedroom door. It’s late, the sun having set at least two hours ago, but she calls out, “Come in,” anyways.

She didn’t know who to expect, but the baker, Elena, was definitely not someone. The woman comes in, a garment carried carefully in her arms, and Tatiana tilts her head. Elena is someone that Tatiana has known since she came to the village as a child, a stocky woman with the muscles to show that her life’s work includes carrying bulging sack after bulging sack of flour. Tatiana remembers her fondly for sneaking her all manner of treats when she was a girl, and doesn’t particularly mind the invasion of her room by her at so late an hour.

“Tatiana, I heard you were going to go to the party tomorrow with General Ezekiel!” she says excitedly as she sets the garment down on the bed.

“Oh.” The baker had really come all the way to the church, to her room, just to talk about that? “Well, yes. We might have a dance or two. Is there a problem?”

“The problem is you haven’t a thing to wear!” she scolds. Tatiana watches from her vanity, a little puzzled, as Elena makes her way over to her small wardrobe and throws it open. She rummages through, mumbling under her breath, and then shuts the doors again. “See, nothing!”

“I don’t have nothing,” Tatiana protests. She stands from her seat and nervously twists her hands together. “I was going to wear that nice blue dress. You know, the one I wear to weddings?”

“Pah!” The baker sets her hands on her hips. “Nice, sure, but not nice enough to catch yourself that man!”

“Oh!” Her face turns red and she wrings her hands together harder than ever. “I- I’m not trying to seduce him, Elena, I- I just wanted to go to the party with him. He’s my friend.”

Elena hums and picks the garment up from the bed. She holds it by the shoulders and displays it to Tatiana. “I’ve never seen you look at any of your other ‘friends’ the way you look at General Ezekiel. Come on, let me help. This dress will do it.”

The garment is indeed beautiful: A long-sleeved, soft gray gown, the color of the sea in the evening.  It’s embroidered with black thread, such a deep color that the strands catch the candlelight and reflect it beautifully, creating panels that almost look like stained glass windows. The shoulders dip a little, creating what Tatiana thinks might be an off-shoulder style, and she tilts her head at it.

“What a pretty dress,” she says. She looks back at Elena. “Is this yours?”

“I haven’t fit into it for a few years. Put on too much muscle. But you, you’re a little thing. I think it’ll fit you well.” She steps forward, urging the dress into her hands. “Try it on!”

The fabric is smooth, unblemished, and she holds it nervously. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“You ain’t imposing! I’m the one who stormed into your room and gave you the dress––I’m the imposer! Now, go on, give it a whirl. I’ll turn around, so let me know if you need help.”

Elena whirls around, placing her hands over her face like an excited child, and Tatiana once more eyes the beautiful dress. She swallows, lays it over her vanity chair, and slips off her nightgown. The inside of the dress is lined with something soft and silky, perhaps an animal fur, and it brushes her skin comfortingly as she slips it on. It feels fine so far, but she can’t quite grab the silk-covered buttons at the back of the dress to put it on in full.

“Could you button me up?” she asks.

The baker whirls around, her eyes alight, and claps her hands together. “Already looking like a beaut! Turn around, let me get it for you.”

Tatiana picks up her hair, moving it over her shoulder while Elena finishes buttoning up the dress. Her face is hot from her reaction, and she wonders if maybe, maybe she looks a little bit pretty. Maybe she looks beautiful, even, like some fine noblewoman. Like Lady Rinea, perhaps.

Elena finishes the last button, but lets out a hum of disappointment. Tatiana turns her head, giving her a questioning look.

“Your waist is a little smaller than mine was,” she mutters, and Tatiana realizes that she’s right as she takes a good pinch of fabric on either side of Tatiana into her fingers. “Hmm.”

“Oh no,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hold on a moment, don’t get misty yet. Where’s your sewing stuff?”

Tatiana gestures to under her bed, and the baker crouches down to pull a bucket out. It’s full of fabric scraps that she can’t will herself to get rid of, ribbing, lace, and ribbons of all shapes and sizes. It’s a mess to behold, and she turns pink as Elena gives her a look.

“I can’t throw it away. I might need it,” she defends softly.

She hums, a doubt in the sound, and starts to pull things out. Tatiana kneels next to her, carefully doing so in the dress, and neatly folds each scrap of fabric as it’s set on the ground. After a few moments and far too many fabric scraps later, the baker finds what it is that she’s looking for.

“Aha!” She gets to her feet, and Tatiana follows. In her hands is a roll of wide black ribbon, made of a silky material, and she unfurls it. She wraps it around Tatiana’s waist, her tongue poking out of her mouth. “We can tie this around, and- Oh! It looks so nice, Tatiana.”

She holds the skirts of the dress in her hands, doubtfully looking down at herself. Her chest area feels a little breezy, and she feels awkward in such a fine garment. “Does it?”

Elena gestures to the vanity. “Have a look.”

When Tatiana looks in the mirror, she notes that it does in fact look very nice. It’s off-shoulder, like she suspected it would be, and the black ribbon allows the dress to accentuate her hips very nicely. What she notices just after that, though, is that the chest area is breezy because the neckline is rather low, lower than what a holy woman like herself is used to wearing. In fact, it’s much lower, and it reveals a considerable amount of cleavage. Her face starts to heat up the longer she stares in the mirror, the more she realizes that it’s actually very, very provocative.

Her head swings towards the baker, and she rests a hand on her exposed chest. “W-was it this low cut on you?”

The baker laughs and slaps her on the back. “I got my wife in that dress. It’s certain to knock that man of yours dead. Thank me after you snag him, alright?”

All Tatiana can think as she continues to stare at herself in the mirror is that she didn’t even know she had that much to show off.

The people in the village are working hard to set up for the celebration, and Zeke figures he can do his part by making sure that Jerome doesn’t come along and ruin the evening. He rides out to the military base early the morning of with all the reports and tasks from the Emperor in hand, and hands them over to his commanding officer by midday.

Jerome snatches them out of his hands, grimacing, and flips through the multiple papers. “This is all the emperor gave you?”

Zeke stands straight with his hands behind his back. “It is, sir. You ought to get those filed and tended to tonight, if you want to please His Majesty.”

“I was thinking about crashing that silly party in the village,” he mutters under his breath, and he scratches at his moustache. “But, I suppose this comes first. Emperor Rudolf would have my hide if he knew I slacked off on this.”

“I’m sure he would, sir.”

Jerome glares up from his desk at Zeke, annoyance plain on his face. He buries his face in the paperwork and waves a hand in a shooing manner. “I like working in silence. You’re excused for the day. I’ll send word if I need you, Ezekiel.”

He feels successful, having averted the crisis of Jerome’s very presence at the party, and Tatiana is visibly relieved when he comes back to tell her.

She has the basket of fruits next to her, and a knife in her hand as she spirals the skin off a peach. A couple of children are hovering near her eagerly, taking the pieces she cuts and gives to them almost reverently. “He won’t be coming? That’s great news! I was worried he’d ruin all the fun.”

“Your fun is safe for the night, Tatiana,” he says. “What are you doing with that fruit?”

She lifts a finger to her mouth and takes a lick of the juice there (he makes it a point to glance away), and then goes back to peeling. “Just making a pie. Nothing special. All the other sisters are doing some cooking, and I thought I could help a little.” She smiles and nods her head towards the delighted kids. “And they gave me such puppy-dog eyes when they saw all of the fruit, I couldn’t help but give them a snack.”

“How kind of you to share your gift,” he tells her. “I’m going to go bathe before the party begins. Do you mind?”

“Go right ahead,” she tells him. “Take as long as you need. It’s a real casual event, so you don’t have to show up until whenever you want.”

He leaves her with the fruit and the eager children and heads to the washroom. He soaks probably for longer than he needs to, but his mind is abuzz with conflict, and the water somehow calms him. He thinks that he shouldn’t be so fond of water, considering how he nearly drowned before Tatiana pulled him ashore, but he is.

What occupies Zeke’s mind is that he thinks he would like to confess to Tatiana that evening. Her affection for him is obvious, or so he thinks. Maybe he’s only seeing it that way because that’s what he wants to see. Maybe she really only does think of him as a close friend, like she said the other day.

If he tells her that he cares for her, and then gets rejected, he’ll never be able to show his face in the village again. His only true joy in life will have slipped through his fingers.

He lifts a handful of water and splashes it over his face, then runs his hands through his hair. If she says no, rejects him, it’ll be embarrassing, but maybe it won’t kill him. He must’ve gone through worse at some point in his life, right? Maybe? He doesn’t know. He wishes he knew if he had experience with anything similar to this or not, but he doesn’t.

The hazy image of the forlorn woman comes to mind, but fades in an instant. He doesn't much mind.

He dries himself off, rubs the towel over his hair, and puts his clothes back on. He paces the washroom for a moment, and then decides that perhaps his full uniform is a little overkill, a little too formal, and so he removes his heavy coat, the cravat, and his gloves. When he glances back in the mirror, he wonders if he looks too casual.

He’s a grown man, and he tells himself so when he scowls into the mirror. He shouldn’t be worrying so desperately about how he looks.

In the end, he elects to dress down even further, trading in his high collared black shirt for a simple button-up. He doesn’t want to stand out too much from the rest of the crowd, so it should work. It’s a casual affair, Tatiana had said. It’s not a party at the castle. It’s a group of common people having a casual time together.

Zeke doesn’t even know if he can even be casual, but he’ll give it a try.

It’s dark by the time he heads out, just after sunset. The sky is a perfect, deep blue, and he can see every star. Simple music floods the village, a mixture of strings and piano. A table is set with a wide variety of foods, a fair amount for the late winter season. It appears as though everyone has dipped into their reserves to make the evening as plentiful as possible.

The air is calm, still, and it makes the night seem warmer than it has been in a while, like spring is truly just around the bend. Zeke hears a couple of crickets chirp for the first time in the year, and it’s a soft, familiar sound. The chirps blend nicely with the soft piano and strings, and even with other people milling around them, couples dance under the stars.

It’s relaxing, and Zeke tilts his head back, breathing in the calm.

He wonders if his old life was ever like this, so picturesque and soft.

“There you are, Ezekiel.” Alexi appears behind him, and Zeke ducks his head in respect. “You were in the washroom for so long, I was starting to worry you had drowned.”

Zeke looks back at the stars. “I had something on my mind.”

“I think I know what it’s about, young man. You aren’t very subtle, after all.”

“With all due respect, sir, if you make mention of the whole ‘romantic and sexual relations’ matter, I will-”

“If you’re going to confess to our Tatiana, don’t put it off.”

Zeke snaps his jaw shut and scratches the back of his neck.

“Tatiana’s beautiful. Always has been, since she was a little girl. She’s got plenty of suitors waiting to snatch her up,” the priest says. “Only problem is, she’s too dense to realize she’s got them, and not much interest to boot. You may’ve scared them off for a while, but they’re going to get their courage back soon enough.”

“Do you think she’d say yes to me?” he asks.

“Hm. I wonder. Tatiana’s had a little bit of a rough history with men, and never had much romantic inclination.” Alexi gives a dry smile. “But, won’t know until you ask, Ezekiel.”

“Oh, there you are, Zeke!”

He jolts a little, and the head priest wanders away. Zeke turns his head towards Tatiana’s voice, and nearly chokes as his heart leaps into his throat.

She looks so radiant, dressed in an embroidered gray frock and with her pale green hair braided down her back, that he regrets dressing down. She walks towards him and he averts his eyes, his ears burning, as he gets an eyeful of just how deep the dress is cut in the front.

It feels like she’s trying to kill him.

As if reading his mind, she admits with a flushed face, “The dress is from a neighbor who really wanted me to wear it. It’s got a bit of a low neckline, doesn’t it?”

“Low” is an understatement. “Plunging” is probably the word Zeke would use, and whenever he takes so much as a glance at her, he’s given an excellent view of her chest. He boils a little as he sees a few others take a good, hard look at her, their eyebrows raised so high that they almost invade their hairlines.

“It’s lovely,” he tells her earnestly. “If I’d known you were going to dress up, I’d have put my uniform back on. But I didn’t want to look like I was trying hard, so-”

She laughs behind a hand and puts the other on his arm. “I think you look handsome always, even if you’re not all fancy, Zeke.” She looks out into the small crowd of people, a relaxed expression on her face. “Looks like a lot of people have taken their kids home at this point. I can’t believe I took so long to get ready. Did I keep you waiting?”

“Not very long, no. I was passing the time with Father Alexi.”

She looks towards the area where couples are dancing, then looks up at him. “Do you know how to dance?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Perhaps.”

Tatiana smiles and takes one of his hands in both of hers. “Do you want to give it a try? I’m not really that good, but I like doing it.”

It’s most certainly not ballroom dancing, Zeke decides. It’s mostly swaying, lovers pressed up against one another while they talk quietly, and he lets Tatiana pull him closer to the music. They stand close to one another, and he settles a hand on her waist, waiting while she reaches up to rest hers on his shoulder. Their remaining hands fold together, and he can smell the faintest hint of perfume coming from her.

He takes a step forward, starting the dance, and he thinks he sees at least a couple of people giving him envious looks. He looks down at Tatiana, who seems like she couldn’t be more at peace, or any more oblivious to those who glance at her, and wonders if he really should say something to her.

She steps a little on his toes and he winces, broken out of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” she apologizes lamely. “I did say that I wasn’t that good.”

“Barely felt it,” he assures.

The music is slow, relaxing, vaguely romantic, and Zeke’s anxiety crawls higher and higher with each passing movement they make together. He keeps searching for an opening, a perfect moment to say something to her, and suddenly realizes that he doesn’t even know what it is that he wants to say.

“I love you” is too serious for where their relationship is at.

“I like you” is too general, and she could easily misinterpret it.

He can’t think of an in between.

Tatiana’s hand moves slightly farther up his shoulder to brush against the back of his neck, and she softly, so softly, rests her forehead against his chest. A slight content hum comes out of her, a sweet sound. He swallows thickly and hopes she doesn’t pay any mind to the way his heart beats a thousand miles per minute, if she can hear it.

Zeke figures, with the full moon and stars, the new grass, the sweet music, now is as good a time as any to say something, anything.

He stops moving and looks down at her. “Tatiana.”

She lifts her head from his chest and looks up, her eyes slightly tired. “Something wrong, darling?” Her hand moves from his neck to touch the side of his face, and she appears concerned. “Your face is red. Are you feverish?”

“No,” he says. “I’m in perfect health.”

She puts her hand back on his shoulder. “Is there something else wrong?”

He takes a breath, squeezes her hand a little tighter, and begins the slow-paced dance again. “I... just wanted to say something.”

“Is it bad?” she asks.

“No.”

“But you seem so serious.”

“It’s a serious matter.”

“Well, you can tell me anything, you know,” Tatiana tells him. She fixes her warm gray eyes on him and gives him that serene, gentle smile that he truly adores. “We’re friends.”

Their movements slow as her eyes pull him in. When he looks closely, he can see flecks of green in them, brightening up the gray. Tatiana’s eyes are like the sea, and Zeke can barely think when he looks into them. It feels like he’s going to be swallowed whole, consumed by her gentle voice and soft touches, and he doesn’t realize that he’s let go of her hand and stopped moving completely again.

“Zeke?”

His hand slides up from her waist, and he cups her face in both of his hands. The people around them all but disappear, and her own hands rest over his. Her eyes move towards his lips, then flicker away, embarrassment obvious in them, but she doesn’t pull back. Tatiana moves in closer, standing on her toes, and her head tilts slightly to the side as he leans down closer and closer. Zeke’s eyes drift shut, and he decides to completely stop thinking, to let his instinct do whatever it needs to.

Their lips brush together, and his stomach stirs from just that. Not even a kiss yet, and he already feels faint. Her breath is sweet against his face, carrying the scent of oranges and peaches, and Zeke wants to consume her as she has consumed him.

A little closer. A little closer is all, and-

The music stops.

Zeke is suddenly incredibly aware of the people around staring at them, and Tatiana appears to be as well. She falls back, flat on her feet, and lets her hands fall from his. Her face is incredibly bright, and she almost looks ashamed as a few people whoop and catcall. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t embarrassed himself, that he wasn’t burning under the comments and the whistles.

He lowers his hands from her face, straightens up, and takes a step back. He clears his throat as people groan in disappointment.

“Boring!” a few call.

“You were just getting to the good part!” someone else yells out.

The musicians look plenty amused as they pack up their instruments, and Tatiana is gone when Zeke turns back to look at her, an apology on his lips instead of a kiss.

Zeke finds Tatiana a little while later, after he helps clean up. She’s sitting on the beach, atop a washed up log, even though it’s still much too cold to be near the water. She doesn’t appear as though she has a care in the world, however, and she doesn’t turn towards him as he approaches. The waves roll up on the shore steadily, and the wind brushes past her, doing its best to pull her hair from its confines.

“Tatiana,” he says as he stands behind her, and she jumps.

She looks over her shoulder to stare up at him, and her face is still visibly red, even after all the time they’ve had to cool off. She doesn’t look angry or upset, but instead smiles and looks back towards the waves.

“Zeke,” she says quietly. The crash of the waves is the only sound they can hear, the sounds of the village far behind them. “I’m sorry I ran off like that.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her.

Tatiana coughs a little and scratches at her cheek. “I just, uh, got a little scared I guess. I’ve never been good with intimacy. And with men, or anyone, really, I’ve never-” She sighs and puts both of her hands behind her against the wood. “I got scared.”

Zeke sits down next to her, leaving a good space between them for her comfort. Her braid is coming undone, and he leans over to push a curl behind her ear. “You didn’t run off because I pushed too hard?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Tatiana insists. “I just forgot we were in public in the heat of the moment, and I had such dreadful anxiety when I realized people were looking at me.”

He feels a great relief, like a weight is off his shoulders. “I see. I was worried I’d stepped far out of line.”

She smiles sweetly and shakes her head. Her hands rub together against the cold, and she looks back out at the sea instead of at him. “Not at all, sweetest.”

Zeke takes a deep breath and crosses his arms, looking out at the water with her. It’s pitch black, but the stars and the moon reflect off of it. He’s not exactly sure what to do with himself, what body language he should display, where his hands should be, so he simply does as she does and enjoys the view. But, now is the right time to ask, if he’s ever going to, and he tries to work up his courage.

“The serious matter I mentioned earlier,” Zeke starts, setting his hands on his knees. Tatiana glances over at him. “I still wanted to talk about it.”

Tatiana moves down the log to sit closer to him and reaches for one of his hands. The touch sends a shock through his body, but he gladly lets her turn his hand into her own and rub his palm.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I was wondering-” Zeke swallows again, feeling his throat dry up as his anxiety closes in on him. He has to get it out. He wants to get it out. He wants her to hear, and he opens his mouth:

“Would you consider being mine, Tatiana?”

Tatiana’s eyes regard him with an expression he can’t read, and her silence does well to fan the flames of his anxiety. Her hands don’t leave his own, and he just wishes she would say something, anything, so that he can just-

“Do you really want me?” she asks quietly. She lets go of his hand, but he grips hers in retaliation. “A scatterbrained cleric?”

“How can you even ask that?” he breathes. “You’re much more than that. An angel among women. Among anyone. I look to you as the sun.”

Her expression grows dark. “But, you know… I’m worried.”

Zeke leans down towards her a little, trying to meet her eyes. “About what?”

“Your memory,” she says softly. “You have a whole entire life you left behind. I mean, what if you-” She takes a visible swallow, and her eyes start to glisten. “What if you have a lover? Back where you’re from? If you remember, you have to go back.”

“Tatiana-”

Her voice tightens with every word she says, and she’s practically choking by the end. A couple of errant tears escape her, and she covers her face with her hands. “I’d want you to go back, Ezekiel. I want you to be happy.”

He reaches out and folds her into his arms, pressing her close to his chest. His touch only causes her to sob, and she clenches her fingers into his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and runs a hand over her hair. “Oh, sweet Tatiana. I’m happy with none but you.”

Her arms are trembling. “It scares me. That you might go back, and I’ll stay here.”

Zeke’s heart aches with every shake of her shoulders, every sob that escapes her, and he plants his lips against her hair again, and again, and again, but nothing alleviates her tears.

“I may never remember,” he suggests, and it still does nothing. “I don’t want to be lonely either, Tatiana. Would you deprive me of loving you, because you fear something that may never happen?”

She takes a deep, quaking breath, but doesn’t pull her face out of his chest.

“If there is something I left behind,” he tells her, “I do wish I could remember it. I would like that part of me back. But, even if that were to happen, I believe I care for you too greatly to ever leave, Tatiana. What I left behind is gone. It’s far, far away. But, you are here, and I am here.”

Her tremors stop gradually, her sniffling abides, and she nervously removes her face from his shirt. Her eyes are rimmed red from crying, and he tilts her chin up towards him. It aches to see her so distraught, and he leans in to kiss her forehead. Her skin is hot, but she still smells sweet, a little bit salty from the sea breeze, and he relishes the contact.

“Are you sure you want me, of all people?” she prods again. Her voice is still a little tight. “There are a lot prettier girls than me, who probably have their heads on straight all the time.”

“They won't literally rub salt in my wounds. Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, and she laughs, if only slightly.

Her eyes move up to his face, finally, and she looks a bit taken aback.

“What is it?” he asks, and he loosens his embrace the slightest amount.

A slow grin creeps onto her face, and she tells him, “You’re smiling. How about that?”

His face feels stiff, odd, like there’s an unfamiliar expression upon it, and he realizes that she’s right. He kisses her forehead again, smiling against her, and she laughs once more, a bit stronger than the last.

“It looks nice on you,” she says. “It’s a good expression.”

“I think I enjoy it,” he tells her, and he cups her face again, but instead of the hesitant, wary leaning in from the gathering, he presses his lips against hers immediately. She makes the slightest sound, then leans into it just barely, her lips moving against his own.

Zeke remembers himself then and breaks the kiss, pulling back with an intense feeling of guilt. “I’m sorry, I- I forgot myself. Are you alright with-”

Tatiana reaches up and places her fingers against his lips, her expression dazed and her eyes heavy-lidded. Her fingers smooth over his lips, as if finding traces of herself there, and she says in a soft, nervous voice, “Can you kiss me again? Please?”

He laces a hand in her hair and pulls her to him again, their lips melding together just right. Tatiana tilts her head to the side, another soft sound coming from her. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, and he pays close attention to the way her lips move, if she likes when he puts a hand on her waist, the way she responds if he nips at her a little.

She moans softly into his mouth, and Zeke struggles to keep his composure. He’d like nothing more than to have her without abandon, to do as he pleases, kiss her even more deeply, but he wills himself down and takes great satisfaction in her shudder as he smooths his tongue over her bottom lip.

He breaks the kiss, and she complains with an impatient sound. He reaches and cups her face, pulling her in close to place feather-soft kisses against her eyelids. She giggles and he can’t help but smile. He turns his lips to the corners of her eyes, down her cheek, and her laughter turns into a slighter, softer sound as he presses his lips against the line of her jaw.

His name escapes Tatiana, a soft sigh that she repeats, and he drags his teeth against her flesh. She lets out a slight gasp, and she grips his hair into her hands as he moves his lips against her soft skin.

She breathes his name once more. He leaves her jaw be and is about to move lower, towards the dress’ plunging neckline, but the sound of someone clearing their throat startles the both of them.

Tatiana squeaks, and Zeke stiffens, his face going hot and as red as hers when Alexi says, “I was wondering where you two were. It’s too cold to be sitting by the ocean. Get home soon.”

She leaves Zeke’s embrace and stands up, calling after the head priest, “Oh, it wasn’t what it looked like. I’m so sorry, Father!”

He only calls back once more “Mind yourselves!,” and then his footsteps fade. The crashing of the waves is deafening again, and Tatiana appears petrified.

Zeke nervously coughs and threads his fingers through his bangs as he stands up. “Well.”

“Yes,” Tatiana repeats. She laces her hands together behind her back. “Well.”

“I liked that,” he says.

She blushes and looks at the ground. “I also enjoyed myself.”

They stay quiet for a very, very long time.

“I’m, um, going to go back to the church now,” Tatiana says quietly. “I had fun, dearest.”

“I’ll retire to my quarters as well.” He takes a deep breath and tries to look composed. “Thank you for inviting me to come with you.”

They do both retire to the church and their separate rooms, but neither one of them gets a great deal of sleep, the feeling of one another’s lips on theirs still too fresh to ignore.

Chapter Text

The air is warming up more and more, and with it, the seashore starts to become Tatiana’s favorite walking spot again. The fishing is getting better, and her garden is starting to grow back, a little at a time. A couple more weeks, and her seasonal vegetables and flowers will be ready to be planted, and she’ll have something to occupy her time beyond just cleaning the church and praying.

With warm air, it also means that the good old Rigelian fog will start easing up, and the night sky will be clear again. It’s filled with countless stars, especially at the beginning of the spring, and Tatiana has always loved to sit out and look at them. The stars have always been one of her greatest comforts, no matter what tragedy and pain has befallen her.

And, she hopes that they’ll be a great comfort to her now, because she really, really needs some comfort. Or, maybe not comfort, but rather, she would like some familiarity. She's a long way from her comfort zone, after all.

A pair of hands slam down on the table, and Tatiana jumps, nearly stabbing herself with her sewing needle. A childhood friend, tall and lanky, stares at her incredulously over lunch, slack-jawed and visibly amazed.

“He kissed you!?”

Tatiana swallows and drags her needle through, creating a new seam. “Um, I did kiss back. It was mutual kissing.”

“You kissed? You’ve never kissed anyone in your whole life, Tatiana. Why start now?”

A small strain of annoyance builds up in her, and she gives her friend a rather peeved look. “It’s not that big of a deal. I guess I just never wanted to kiss anyone before now. You know.” Her needle drags through the fabric, and she pulls it tight before slipping it back in. It moves in a steady pattern across the quilt; the repetitive task calms her. “I don’t really have an easy time with men.”

She sits back down, pushing at the scant food on her plate. They’re on the last of their winter reserves, and the harvest can’t come soon enough. “I know.” She takes a bite of venison. “What makes Ezekiel so special?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just like him. He makes me feel calm.” Drag the needle under, pull it up, tighten the seam. “It feels like he’d never put a hand on me. It feels safe.”

A dim memory of a rough hand on her wrist builds up in her mind, but she shakes it away. She doesn’t have time for unpleasantries like that.

“What happened after you kissed?” A coy smile lights up her friend's face. “Did you take it somewhere more private?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Of course not! W-we went back to our own rooms, and we haven’t had the chance to talk since. General Jerome needed him the very next morning to help clean out some thugs near the pine forest.”

Tatiana feels a great loneliness when she explains the situation, and then feels silly; Zeke has only been gone for five days. But it does bother her that there wasn’t even a chance to talk after what had happened. When she’d woken up the next morning, his horse was already gone, and there was a note tacked to his door in the church explaining the situation. The tone of the note seemed apologetic; regretful, even. His absence only serves to stir Tatiana up into some sort of tizzy.

“What if he comes back and decides it was a mistake?” she blurts out to her friend, who looks plenty shocked at the unprovoked outburst. “Wh-what do I do?”

“He won’t,” she attempts to assure.

Tatiana puts her sewing down on the table, feeling herself get a little more worked up. “What if he’s gone for such a long time that he has time to think about it, and he thinks about how stupid and bothersome I am, and that he doesn’t really want to be with a woman who accidentally rubbed sea salt into his wound one time, or-”

“You rubbed sea salt into his wound, Tatiana?”

“The bottle looked exactly like my salve!”

A sigh escapes her friend, and she rests a cheek in her hand, appearing bored. “I personally don’t think Ezekiel has any right to say that the person who pulled him out of the ocean and saved his life is ‘stupid and bothersome.’ You’re basically the best person I know, Tatiana.”

Tatiana swallows and picks her sewing back up. The quilt is something she’s been working on for a few months, a project that she started the day that she found Zeke, in fact. After scrubbing out his wounds, stitching him back together, and spending hours on end washing healing magic over him, she’d decided to take it up as something to do while she sat next to his bed. It’s a nice quilt, she thinks, perhaps some of her best work. A simple gray with black bordering, and a soft underside made from a warm, silky, fuzzy fabric that had cost her a near fortune. A swirling pattern that is a little reminiscent of the curl of waves is carefully embroidered in with pale thread, and she’s nearly done with it. It’s large enough to throw on a bed made for two, and that particular detail doesn’t seem to escape her companion's notice.

“What’s that for?” she asks.

“Nothing.” Tatiana holds it a little closer to her, away from her leer. “Just a project. Keeps me busy.”

“Well gee, I wonder what you’d need a two-person quilt for.”

“It just wound up this big,” she mutters, then sighs and regards it. Her stitches are nice and even, and she wonders just how she got it that way when she feels like her hands are shaking constantly. “I like him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. It’s kinda scary.”

“All love is frightening,” Margaret assures. “But if I were you, I’d be scared as well.”

Tatiana’s memories of living in the church are happy and bright. Awash with love and care, surrounded by friends, never frightened. She likes lingering on those memories, fondly recalling the clerics who cared for her, the villagers who raised her. They make her feel like she’s been wrapped in something warm and comfortable.

But, there are memories from before then.

Dark, murky memories of a cold house, a cruel person, and pain. Pain in her arm, pain in her cheek, broken bones and bruises that no one seems to pay much of any mind to. Tatiana doesn’t like these memories, tries to not think upon them, but there are times when you can’t help but remember the past.

In this particular memory, a hand closes around her throat, another pins her wrists, and Tatiana wakes up immediately, choking on nothing.

A bad dream. A bad memory, and nothing more. She sits up slowly in bed, glances out the window, and the moon is high in the sky. The church is dead quiet, and she figures that it’s probably very early. A look at the grandfather clock in the corner of her room confirms that it’s 2:18 in the morning, and that she should be asleep.

Tatiana sits up, swings her legs out of bed, and sits there for a moment. The clock ticks, some sort of animal scurries outside her window, and she rubs her wrists unconsciously. She still feels the hand wrapped around them and scowls, wishing that the sensation would go away. It’s ugly, slimy, and makes her want to retch.

She makes for the washroom, quietly stepping through the halls, and pours water into a basin. She sits on the edge of the tub for a while, holding a damp cloth in a death grip, and washes her hands. She grabs the soap nearby, and rubs it over her wrists, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing her hands in the basin, then scrubs with the cloth again. She’s clean by now, she knows that, but the feeling of the hand still lingers. Tatiana scowls at her flesh, scrubbing harder and harder.

It doesn’t go away, even as she sits there for what must be half-an-hour, and she sighs finally. If she can’t sleep, and she can’t clean the memory away, she may as well get up and walk around. Going back to her room, she finds her boots near her bed and laces them up, then reaches for a heavy cardigan slung over a chair. She should be warm enough, she figures, and tries to open every door leading to the outside carefully, but they squeak, no matter how she shuts them. They need to be oiled and cared for; she adds it to her list of chores for the morning.

The night isn’t as cold as Tatiana expected, though it’s still nippy enough that the tip of her nose goes numb. Still rubbing her wrists, she exhales, testing to see if her breath is visible in the air, but it’s not. Another sign that the warmth of spring is growing, and eventually, they’ll have a good harvest. Another sign that the stars will be out soon.

She gets a good distance from the church, wandering down towards the beach, before she hears the sound of a horse. She jumps, moves to the side of the street, and watches for it warily. There aren’t that many people who would come in by horse in the dead of night, except maybe bandits, Jerome, or-

The horse slows next to her, and its rider stares down at her with great confusion.

“Tatiana?” Zeke looks exhausted, but still soft and warm. He swings his leg over and dismounts his horse, moving towards her.

“You’re back,” she says, and she smiles. She already feels better, his presence more cleansing than any amount of washing and scrubbing.

His voice takes on a soft, scolding tone as he tells her, “It’s the dead of night. Why are you up and walking around?”

Tatiana follows as he starts guiding his horse to the stables. She fiddles with the long sleeve of her sweater. “I woke up and didn’t really want to go back to sleep, so I thought I’d take a walk.”

Zeke looks up at the sky, and she notices that, despite the fact that it’s gotten considerably warmer, her handmade scarf is still slung over his neck. “It’s a nice night. Perfect for a walk.”

He looks at her, and her mind immediately rushes back to their kiss: His lips against hers, his hands settling lower and lower on her waist. The sound of the waves rolling up on the shore as she'd kissed him back, working against him just as fervently, desperately, as though he could disappear at any given moment. She remembers exactly how his skin felt when she had traced her fingertips over it, how hot his flesh was when he pulled her in closer, the soft noises produced as the kiss dragged on and on.

It feels like he reads her mind. He stops, his horse giving a short protest with a shake of its mane, and Tatiana stops next to him. His cheeks are red, and he doesn’t meet her eyes as he says, “Listen, about suddenly leaving like that. I-”

“It was work,” she interrupts. “It’s okay.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, it was work, but I’m still sorry. I intended for us to have a discussion, but the messenger came so early, and, well. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Tatiana repeats. They come to the stables, and she watches as he removes the gear from his horse and herds it into a stall. “You were busy.”

His hand slides across the horse’s nose, and he leaves it be for the night. He shuts the gate behind him, takes off his gloves, and looks up at the sky again, as though he is waiting for something. Tatiana doesn’t know what it is, but she looks at the ground, dreading many of the multiple things that he could say to her.

“Let me walk you back. Is that alright?” he asks.

She nods, and takes the arm he offers her. She slips both her arms through to grip him tightly, and she’s probably closer than she needs to be, but she likes it. She likes the warmth he gives off, the scent of pine that lingers from his time in the forest. She likes it, she wants to be near it, and he doesn’t seem to mind her indulging. Tatiana feels like she could kiss him again, right then and there, even though nothing at all has happened to tempt her.

“I, well, was thinking about what happened on the beach,” Zeke says.

Tatiana shifts her hands on his arm and looks away. “Me too.”

He could completely reject her right now. Peel her off of him and kick her to the curb, leaving her to wallow in her misery. Leave her with the stifling feeling of a filthy hand gripping her wrist, the memory of breath against her ear, an angry slap against her cheek.

She can feel the hand on her wrist again, even as she thinks of it barely, and tightens her grip on Zeke. He seems to notice, and he stops walking.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

His voice is warm and kind. Tatiana looks away, letting her grip on him slacken.

Zeke’s free hand touches her chin, tilting her face up, and she can’t keep avoiding eye contact with him much longer. His brown eyes are tired, but filled with concern, all for her. His mouth is set in a tight line, and his gaze doesn’t stop searching her face. He holds her chin against the curve of his fingers, but brushes his thumb against her cheek comfortingly. Tatiana feels like she might just melt.

“You had a bad dream,” he guesses, and she stiffens. His eyes grow more sad than tired. “Am I right, Tatiana?”

He looks so worried, and she tries to put a smile on. It’s not really that hard, not when she leans into the touch against her cheek and relishes the warmth she finds there. “Yeah. But I feel better now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his voice lowering to a hush even though the village is dark, silent, and no one is around to hear. “I’ll listen to you.”

Tatiana doesn’t want to tell him everything, not now, at least. She trusts Ezekiel with her entire life, her heart, her soul, but there are things that she feels she should not burden her dear friend with.

Still, she admits to him, “I sometimes have nightmares. About bad things.”

Zeke’s brow furrows. “‘Bad things?’”

She smiles and reaches up to put her hand against his, feeling much like a needy, affection-hungry cat as she pushes his hand closer against her cheek.

“It’s nothing,” she tells him. “Everyone has bad dreams. They’re nothing special.”

There’s an edge to Zeke’s voice that she hasn’t ever heard before. It’s tight, a little pained, as he says, “And yet, you seem particularly bothered by what plagues you.”

She shakes her head and shuts her eyes, enjoying his hand. “Maybe I’m just a little overdramatic. It’s fine.”

Zeke is displeased, she can tell that much. He doesn’t press further, however, and she appreciates it. She’s had suitors in the past, pushy people who want to know every little detail about her as quickly as possible, trying to urge her secrets from her at their own convenience. She’s always hated that, and her affection for Zeke doubles, triples, as he says, “Alright. If you say so. But, you can confide in me, whenever you so wish.”

His arm must be hurting from holding it up to her for so long, but Tatiana reasons that he’s used to holding a lance up for hours, and uses that logic to be selfish and hold him for a while longer.

“Tatiana, about the beach.”

Her eyes drift open, and she lets go of his hand. He lets it fall back to his side, and she feels almost naked without it. “Oh, yeah.”

Zeke takes her hand, lifting it to his lips to press a warm kiss against it. He holds it gently, then rubs his other hand over the top, filling her with a warm feeling.

“If it seemed I was forcing myself on you in any way, I have to apologize,” he tells her, and all her hesitance and worry evaporates. His face is worried and shy, and he doesn’t look anywhere but her hand. “You looked very beautiful, and I-”

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Tatiana says. “I liked it, remember? I said so after.”

“You liked it,” he repeats, and a smile softens the lines on his face. “Good. That’s… It’s good. I liked it as well. Very much.”

She smiles herself and watches as he sets his lips against the back of her hand in another warm, soothing kiss. One of his hands glides over her wrist absentmindedly, and suddenly, the sickening feeling of someone else’s there vanishes. Tatiana could cry she is so relieved, but she settles for just taking a step forward and pushing her face into his chest.

Tatiana feels clean.

Zeke jumps, but drops her hand. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, the flush gone from his face as he looks down at her. He looks at peace, Tatiana would say, as though he feels like this is where he belongs.

He tilts her head back, resting it back against his arm, and lets out a soft sigh as he presses his lips against hers. He’s just as warm as Tatiana remembers from the beach, and she tilts her head, opening her lips against his chaste kisses to invite him in further. She wants more of him, for him to devour her, but knows that he’s much too reserved, too gentle and polite, to do so on his own.

She sneaks her tongue past her own lips, pressing it against his, and he sighs into her mouth. The smell of pine is so strong now that it makes her dizzy, but she doesn't care. Underneath that is his natural scent, something like a tinge of iron, warm clothes. Her knees feel weak, and she's glad that he's holding her up as he moves his lips over hers. Her hands rest on his chest, and he pulls her slightly closer to him. His tongue wanders over her lips, his teeth nip at her so gently that it's maddening. When he's done, he leaves a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth, and runs a hand through her hair.

Tatiana blushes and looks away, but smiles as he leans down to press his forehead to her own. Zeke’s arms move from her shoulders down to her waist, and he looks more relaxed than she's ever seen him before.

“I thought you were going to reject me,” she says quietly.

His eyes fly open suddenly, a mortified look on his face. “After everything I told you on the beach?”

“Paranoia, I suppose,” she admits. She pulls her forehead away from his and leans her head against his chest, roving her fingers up towards his collarbones slowly. His heartbeat is as steady as the wash of waves on the seashore, and she feels that she could stay like this forever and ever, if only the gods would allow her.

Zeke kisses the top of her head, then leans his cheek on it. After a moment, she feels him move, like he's once more looking up at the sky.

“The stars are out,” he tells her. “You told me once that you liked them, when we first started going on our walks.”

Tatiana shifts and glances upwards, and sure enough, the stars are there. There are still wisps of fog and stray clouds drifting around, but the soft light drifts down despite them. They aren't the brightest, but they'll grow clearer with time, as Rigel warms. She’ll be able to see every constellation she can remember, sitting on the shore for hours to try and find them all, just as she did as a child.

“Tatiana, my sweet.”

The pet name sends a chill down her spine, and she looks back at Zeke. His eyes are heavy and tired again, and he shifts around, folding her up in a hug. With her face buried against his shoulder and a hand on the back of her head, she can't see his expression.

“I asked you before, but I wanted to ask again. Is that alright?”

She nods to the best of her ability.

“I know I’m just half-of-a-man. I’m not really… complete, so to speak.” He squeezes her a little tighter in an unconscious action. “But I do truly care for you. I want to be yours. I know I’m just a simple man of war, but I-”

Her eyes sting with tears, and she cuts him off then by shaking her head. “No more of that self-degrading talk. I don't care if you say you’re ‘half-a-man,’ and you're not just a soldier.” She wraps her arms around his neck, breathing in his scent once more as she traces her fingers over the bare skin on his neck. “You're a very kind, gentle man. You’re who you are, and I love that.”

“Sweet Tatiana,” he breathes, sending a soft shudder up her spine. “You're too beautiful.”

Zeke pulls back and kisses her again, harder, until she feels like she really will faint. She takes a swallow of air when he pulls back. Tatiana’s face is hot again, and she traces the creases in his coat nervously while he looks down at the ground.

“So you… really want this?” she asks. “With me?”

He laughs breathlessly and pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. “With all my heart, my sweet.”

Chapter Text

People poke and prod at Zeke and Tatiana now, and while it makes Zeke uncomfortable, he’s more concerned about the state Tatiana is in. She turns red as a sunset, steam practically pouring out of her ears, whenever someone so much as elbows her and gives her a sly smile. There are times when Tatiana reaches for him, and then quickly throws her hands down at her sides the moment that she thinks anyone is looking in their direction.

“It’s not a secret,” Zeke tells her, and then he furrows his brow. “Is it?”

She shakes her head, pulls a lock of hair into her hands, and nervously pulls on it. “It’s not, but, you know, I hate when people look at me.”

A stablehand is peering into the stable as they speak, but he whistles casually and strolls off the moment that Zeke shoots him a look. With the bystander gone, he grabs her hand, pulls it away from her hair, and gives it a soft kiss. “No one is looking at you, Tatiana.”

The look she gives him is doubtful. “I assure you, everyone is looking at me. Earlier, one of the older clerics was asking me if I’d had ‘romantic and sexual relations’ with you yet, and I-?”

“You heard nothing,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

His face is incredibly hot, and he wonders if he shouldn’t sit the church’s clergy down for a stern talking-to. “They weren’t talking about anything. You heard nothing.”

“Alright, alright.” Tatiana watches as he pulls Ephraim from the stables, and steps back as he takes him to the entrance. “Are you even going to do anything today?”

“I’ve been explicitly summoned, so I can only assume so. I’ll probably be back soon.” Nervously, Zeke twists the reins in his hand, and then looks at her. She appears equally as nervous, wringing her hands together and staring at the ground. “I, um.”

He should kiss her. Or something. They haven’t kissed since they properly agreed to a relationship, over a week ago. Tatiana seems flustered at all times, jerking her hand back after she reaches for his, turning her head away after she leans up for a kiss. Even her friendly, affectionate touches from—resting a hand against his cheek, fixing his clothes, taking an arm he offers her—are gone.

Zeke knows he shouldn’t mind. She’s not withholding her affection out of any anger, or spite, or anything like that. She’s just shy, her anxiety is high, and in all honesty, Zeke doesn’t really know what to do with himself either. When should he kiss her? When should he hold her hand? When is the appropriate time for a hug? Is public intimacy okay?

It gives him a headache, but it’s a headache he’s glad to have.

“Be safe.” Tatiana’s face is flushed, and she doesn’t meet his eyes, even as she says such a simple thing. “I’ll miss you.”

He hesitantly settles a hand on her shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to embarrass her much. He allows for a smile, satisfied at the normal reaction. “I’ll miss you as well. Do you… want to do something special when I come back?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Such as what?”

Oh, gods damn it all. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

“Well, perhaps we could share a meal together. Alone. Or, um, go on a walk. Alone.” He looks down at the ground, running a hand through his hair.  “Or, uh-”

“Stargazing.”

Zeke looks up at her. “Pardon?”

Her vicious red blush has faded into a soft pink, and her eyes shine. She looks vastly more relaxed. “I know all the constellations. If it’s clear outside, I can show them to you. Does that sound nice?”

Tatiana is smiling now, and every anxious feeling he has washes away. “Yes, that does sound nice. Stargazing it is. On the beach?”

“There’s actually a hill right outside the village that’s even better, and it’s not as cold there. I- I can put together some food and we can go up. It’s really pretty, I promise.”

Zeke places a hand against her head, stroking her hair softly, and is satisfied once more when she doesn’t lunge away. “Even if it isn’t pretty, I’ll simply enjoy your company.”

She reaches up and wraps her hand over his, giving a slight nod. “You should get going. Do your best, alright?”

He walks towards the entrance of the stables again, and their fingertips linger together for a moment before he leaves her.

Zeke always has to fight against the urge to roll his eyes whenever Jerome so much as opens his mouth. He’s sure that most of the soldiers do, except for the ones who enjoy kissing up to his high status and hoping they get something out of it. Their base is rather evenly divided up between those who side with Jerome, and those who oppose him. Zeke doesn’t really know how he wound up being the ringleader of the opposing side, but he is, and the soldiers constantly come to him with complaints.

“I don’t understand why no one informs His Excellency about these behavioral problems,” Zeke says. He’s walking down the hall, towards the briefing room, with a mage and an archer behind him.

“It’s dangerous,” the mage says. “General Jerome is from a very prominent noble family, close to the crown. It’s just a risky business.”

“Yes, but-”

“Even if someone reported Jerome and got him demoted, or arrested, his family has enough power to make anyone’s life hell,” the archer says. He sighs and shakes his head. “We all just gotta keep our heads down, sir.”

“There should be no need for ‘heads down,’” Zeke quips. “Generals shouldn’t bully their subordinates, and especially not the people they’re sworn to protect, into silence like this.”

“This is why you should have his job,” the mage mutters under her breath.

Zeke opens the door to the briefing room and allows his soldiers in, holding the door for them. Jerome is standing at the head of the table, and the snide look he shoots Zeke doesn’t go unnoticed.

“No need to sit. Briefing is simple. Ezekiel and I will be riding out to a nearby village to check up on it. It was recently hit hard by brigands.”

Furrowing his brow, Zeke says, “I heard no such news about and raids."

“That’s because I chose not to tell you,” Jerome replies, and he doesn’t even give a reason as to why he chose not to tell. “Come along, I’ve already got the horses ready.”

The archer and mage shoot him nervous looks as he follows Jerome out of the room.

The village that they visit isn't so different from the one where Zeke lives, but being on the plains, rather than on the seashore, it has some subtle differences. The houses are sturdier, built to fight the wind, and it feels a little less open. The clothes the people wear are a little heavier, even though spring is starting.

The people are afraid, he can tell, and Jerome and Zeke’s arrival doesn't seem to assure them much. In fact, they seem almost more nervous, and everyone does their best to not look at them directly. Some even lock their doors, and it’s disheartening to him. Knights should make the people feel safe and protected, not so scared that they cower in their homes.

The evidence of a herd of bandits coming through the village is obvious, what with the smashed windows, ruined brick, the charred patches on the ground. If he looks closely, Zeke can even see scrubbed away blood on the stones.

Jerome dismounts his horse after a while, standing straight and glowering at the surroundings with disdain. Zeke follows in suit, rubbing Ephraim’s flank as he peers around. The damage is obvious for certain, but it isn't overwhelming or horrible. Merely inconvenient, he thinks. Nothing is completely destroyed, nor beyond repair.

A young woman walks up, silently taking the reins of Jerome’s horse as he thrusts them at her, not even sparing her a glance. She crinkles her nose, visibly displeased at his lack of manners, and then regards Zeke warily before offering a hand.

He holds out the reins and smiles as she takes them. “Thank you, miss. Ephraim here is gentle, so he won't bother you much.”

The girl blinks in surprise, and then allows herself a slight smile. “You're so welcome. I’ll take good care of him.”

As the young lady walks off, Jerome elbows him harshly. “You don't need to thank them.”

Zeke fights a scowl and brushes him off. “Of course I need to. She did something kind.”

Jerome sighs and swipes a hand through his hair. “Come along. A young man was taken from the village during the raid, and we must speak with his family.”

He glares as Jerome walks by, tightening his hands into fists behind his back. “Someone was taken? And you still didn’t think to tell me?”

Jerome doesn’t reply.

The family seems quiet and meek, even as Jerome and Zeke pose question after question. They look nervous, their eyes darting about, and he knows that they're more than hesitant to rely on Jerome for any sort of help. Even though desperation washes off of them, their trust is obviously being withheld.

“Is there any reason they would take your son in particular?” Zeke asks.

The woman shakes her head. “No. Well, I mean… H-he was trying to protect some of the children, and they just snatched him.”

“You aren’t being helpful,” Jerome snaps, and the woman winces. “And if he was getting in their way, it’s his fault that he was taken. He should’ve minded his own business.”

The woman looks near fainting, and Zeke nearly reaches out to grab Jerome’s arm and pull him aside, but then thinks against it. He grits his teeth and stares at the ground, wondering how Emperor Rudolf could have ever trusted someone so terrible with the lives of so many.

A slight bit of movement catches his eye, suddenly. When Zeke looks to the corner of the room, where an open door leads outside, he spies a small child peering in through the doorway. He raises his hand in a subtle wave, offers a tiny smile, and she immediately jumps and retreats. She moves back into sight, however, and her eyes linger warily on Jerome before snapping back to him. Her eye contact is deliberate this time, and she slowly moves out of sight again.

Zeke narrows his eyes, and then looks at Jerome, who is still pestering the family. “I’m going to take a walk around the perimeter, sir.”

Jerome waves a hand. “Not like you’re being much help here, anyway.”

Zeke excuses himself and makes for the door, giving the family a sympathetic glance as he passes by. He shuts the door behind him when he exits, and he finds the little girl still waiting there. She's kicking the ground and staring anywhere but him, but doesn’t seem scared to be in the presence of a strange man. She can't be more than seven, and he crouches down to her height.

“Hello,” he says softly. “It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you.”

She is still silent, but looks at him and offers a smile. She sticks a hand out, and he gives it a polite shake.

“I'm Ezekiel. What's your name?”

The girl glances at the ground, back up, then taps her throat and shakes her head.

“Can you not speak?” he asks.

She nods in affirmation, appearing apologetic.

Zeke frowns. “I see. But, you have something important to say, am I right? That’s why you were looking at me. You wanted my attention.”

Her expression turns nervous, she looks around, and then nods again.

“The young man who was taken—your brother?”

She shakes her head, fiddles her hands together, and appears perplexed. She makes a few swift hand gestures, then sighs when he shakes his head.

“Her uncle. He's her uncle.”

Zeke turns his head, and finds a young man standing behind him. His resemblance to the little girl is striking, and given the fact that they can't be more than ten years apart, he assumes they're siblings. He's a tall, lanky boy, who regards Zeke with visible caution before looking at his sister.

“Anya, be careful with strangers.”

The girl pouts, shakes her head, and then makes more hand gestures. The young man nods as she continues, and then looks at Zeke again.

“Anya says that you seem better than General Jerome, so she wanted to talk to you. She wants me to translate.”

Zeke looks back at the girl. “So your name is Anya? What a cute name.”

She appears pleased, and then signs something to her brother.

“She says that she saw what happened.”

“Is that true?” Zeke asks her, and she nods. “What did you see?”

Anya’s brother moves closer as she signs for a long period of time, and his expression grows angrier the longer she goes on. Zeke’s legs start to hurt from crouching, and he stands, leaning against the house as she rambles desperately to her brother.

“You’re sure?” the young man asks as she finishes. She gives a firm nod, her face a little pale.

“What did she see?” he asks the young man.

“We weren’t unprotected when the bandits came through. Our uncle shouldn’t have been taken.” The boy narrows his eyes and shoots an accusing glance towards the house. “Apparently, General Jerome was here, and he didn’t do a lick about anything.”

Zeke stands up from the wall. “What?”

“Anya says she saw him even talking with the bandits. He said they could do whatever they wanted, so long as they didn’t bother him.” The young man’s fists clench. “He let them take our uncle!”

A sniffle comes from the little girl, and Zeke drops to a knee and rests a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring rub. “Anya, why did you not tell anyone? Were you frightened?”

She nods her head vigorously.

“General Jerome isn’t well-liked around here,” her brother says. “I wish I could say this was the first time he’s ever done something this low, but…” He’s cut off as Anya signs rapidly again. “She says you can’t tell anyone that she told you. She doesn’t want to get in trouble.”

“I won't say a word about this,” he promises. “You won't get it any trouble, don't worry.”

She smiles, but she still quivers and signs one more thing to her brother.

“Anya says thank you,” he tells him. When she goes off, turning the corner of the house and is out of sight, the boy looks at Zeke. “You probably won't find our uncle. He- he's probably dead.”

“Why do you say that?” Zeke asks.

“Those bandits aren't new around these parts. We know them. And they're as ruthless as they come.” The young man shrugs and crosses his arms, scrunching his shoulders up. “They probably killed him and gave him to Nuibaba. She buys that kind of stuff, you know?”

“She-” Zeke blinks, baffled. “She buys corpses?”

“Men’s corpses, usually.” He's attempting to appear strong and bold, but the tremor of his arms doesn't escape Zeke's notice. “Body parts to use in her potions, or to experiment with. But she doesn't like them when they’re still breathin’, so she buys them off of brigands and stuff. It's only ever the women she takes alive.”

Zeke's blood chills, and he swallows. “I see. I- I will still look for him.”

The young man allows a smile, but it's nervous and wobbles. “You're new around here. You seem alright. Better than that lousy craven in there, anyway.”

A sudden scream cuts through the air, and the clamor of a crowd comes with it. Zeke turns suddenly, holds a hand out to the alarmed boy, and firmly tells him, “Stay there!”

He runs to the front of the house, just barely beating Jerome, and what he finds makes his heart stop.

Zeke has only seen Nuibaba once before, but there's no way he would ever forget something like her. She stands in the midst of a crowd, her hand buried in the curly locks of a young woman, who is unconscious and held up off the ground only by her grip. An older woman is at the front of the crowd, restrained by a few people, and she yells and begs. Nuibaba appears annoyed by her, merely examining her nails as the woman howls.

“Stop, please!”

Nuibaba sighs and waves a hand. “Come now, you knew I was coming soon for a new pet. Don't throw such a tantrum.”

Zeke spies his lance leaning against the house, where he left it when he entered, and grabs it. “Unhand her!”

“Ezekiel!” Jerome hisses.

Nuibaba gives Zeke a surprised glance, and then appears truly delighted. She waves, as though she’s greeting a friend. “Oh, General Ezekiel! What a coincidence meeting you here today."

“Unhand her, witch!” he demands again. Upon closer examination, he recognizes the unconscious victim as the girl who'd taken his horse for him, not even half-an-hour ago.

Her smile falls and she looks to Jerome. “I see. You haven't told him how this works?”

Jerome turns his head, as though pretending to not see the awful scene in front of him. “He’s a stuck-up bastard.”

Zeke ignores the comment and shifts his grip on his lance, moving it into position. The crowd of people around are waiting with bated breath, and some even inch away. He can’t blame them, because he doesn’t really want to be witness to this scene either. He doesn’t want to see the older woman weeping, the victim squirm under Nuibaba’s grip, or have the witch’s eyes fixed so intently on him.

“Put the lance down, boy,” she warns. She raises a long-nailed hand towards him, appearing unimpressed. “This is how this works: I take what I need, and the military leaves me alone. I even support you! You don’t even know how many of my Terrors and witches have laid waste to all the pesky problems around here.”

“I will not condone this behavior,” Zeke insists. “I need none of your ‘support’ to do my job properly, and I will not abide by these murders!”

Nuibaba appears genuinely offended. She rests her hand on her chest. “‘Murders,’ you say? I give these girls a higher purpose.”

It’s not even a taunt; Nuibaba seems so certain of what she says. It makes Zeke’s stomach turn.

“They need no ‘higher purpose,’” he says. His lance is poised, ready to rip right through the witch, and he needs only wait for the proper opening. More people in the crowd are starting to clear, leaving a wider range for him to move in. He needs to wait for her to be semi-occupied with something. He needs her to not use the girl as a potential shield. “I’ll warn once more: Put the young lady down, and leave quietly. I’ve no desire to harm you.”

Nuibaba sighs and shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “Men are such foolish ones. I’m not putting the girl down, and you cannot force me.”

He narrows his eyes and lowers his lance into a better form. “I like my chances. Put the girl down. Leave.”

Zeke hears Jerome mutter “fool,” watches as Nuibaba waves her free hand casually, and waits for something terrible to happen to him. Nothing happens for a long moment, however, and then a slight sound comes from the thin crowd to his right. It’s small and strained, barely audible, but he still catches it and snaps his head towards the source.

The little girl from behind the house is holding her throat, her body jerking as she heaves, and her eyes are wide with shock. Zeke realizes after a moment that she’s suffocating, and quickly at that, as her face turns red and Nuibaba smiles sweetly.

He takes a hand off his lance. “Stop!”

Nuibaba tightens her hand, as though she is squeezing, and Anya squeaks. She crumples to her knees, clawing at her throat, and there are terrified tears in her eyes now. The people around her rush forward to help, and then scramble back when Nuibaba’s eyes so much as sweep over them.

“Anya!” Her brother rushes forward out of nowhere, and runs directly into the arm that Zeke throws out. “Anya!”

“Stay back!” he implores the young man, and something in his voice must convince him. He moves back, but grows paler with every jerk of his sister’s body.

Zeke’s eyes snap over to Jerome, and he finds that his superior officer is merely examining his nails, as though nothing of import is happening around him. Nuibaba begins speaking, and he gives her his full attention again.

“I’m not an unreasonable woman, so I’ll make a deal. Let me leave with the lady here and I let this little one go. Or, I can give the lady back, but let the girl choke to death.” Her eye falls on Zeke, and she looks truly demonic, despite her beauty, as she smiles. “You choose.”

He nearly feels as breathless as Anya as his eyes move back and forth, from the young lady to the little girl. An intense panic is rising up in him. He can’t wait a second longer, because Anya is nearly purple and is desperately trying to inhale, and he knows Nuibaba won’t let up while he decides.

While he decides who dies.

A small amount of movement catches his attention, and he looks over to see the young woman in Nuibaba’s grip stir a little. Her eyes drift open, and she glances around, towards Nuibaba, towards him, and towards the little girl. They finally settle on just him, and Zeke stares back at her desperately, hoping that even in her magic-induced haze, she’ll understand what he wants to communicate to her:

What do you want me to do?

The young woman gives the smallest movement, the tiniest little motion, in the form of a slight nod of her head towards the little girl.

Zeke throws down his lance, and it clatters against the ground with a hollow sound. His hands shake as he throws them up in surrender. “Let the child go.”

Nuibaba quirks her lips up in a sneer. “A noble decision.”

She snaps her fingers, and the second she does, Anya takes in a deep, rasping wheeze. The people around her are still too terrified to move, and Zeke is the only one who rushes forward to catch her as she falls towards the ground. He catches her just barely, before she hits her head on the stone, and nearly gasps with relief. She’s small in his arms, sobbing and coughing, tears streaming down her face, and Zeke holds her close.

Her hands are small and shake as she rests one over his. Her face is still red, but the color is dying down into a normal shade, and her eyes are focused, if not a little glassy. Her entire body trembles as she cries, and he brushes the hair out of her face as he rests her head in his lap.

“It’s fine now,” he says. “I’m sorry. Oh, gods, little one, I’m sorry.”

Her brother rushes towards them, shouting her name, and scoops her up to hold her close. Jerome appears annoyed when Zeke looks up, and is giving him a pointed glance. The older woman from before is sobbing again, crumpled against the ground as people gather to comfort her. The villagers are all wandering away, nothing more to see and nothing more to do.

Nuibaba and the young woman are gone.

The sound of pages flipping echoes in the night. Zeke watches quietly while Tatiana flips through a book. Her knees are pulled up, the book propped against them, and she occasionally looks down at the writing and diagrams, and then up at the sky.

“Let’s see,” she mumbles to herself.

Only a day since the accident in the village. The sky is clear and bright, and the stars are sparkling.  It had been Zeke who’d insisted on Tatiana’s suggested stargazing that night, eager for something to focus on besides his own crippling failure, and she’d obliged with great excitement. The hill that she’d mentioned was a good half-an-hour walk away, not “just outside the village,” but the grass on it is plush and green, already growing back from the winter cold, and a wide umbrella tree indicates that it’s probably ideal for summer stargazing as well.

Tatiana herself looks radiant, even though she’s dressed down in a simple gray skirt and soft blue blouse, and Zeke enjoys himself with simply watching her. Her seafoam hair is held up with a fluffy white ribbon, and the waves of it cascade down her back. Her profile is intoxicatingly beautiful, with her soft, plump lips and thick lashes prominent in the starlight.

A basket of fruit and cheese sits between them, and Zeke pulls out a pear. He doesn’t eat it, but rolls it around in his hands while watching Tatiana.

“Are you going to show me any of these constellations?” he asks.

She blushes a little and gives him an exasperated look. “I am! It’s just been a little while since I actually showed anyone the stars, so I want to make sure I’m getting it just right.”

“Hmm. The book?”

She lifts it and turns the cover towards him. “Just an astrology manual. I use it whenever I take the children out to stargaze. It’s really helpful for when they have questions.”

After another moment of her studying the book, she starts pointing up at the sky and tracing out patterns with her finger. Her voice is sweet and lovely, soft as she says the name of each star, each constellation, and tells him their stories. Zeke stretches out after a while, resting on his side with his head in a hand, and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t really need the stars, not when he can listen to Tatiana’s enchanting voice.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes, surprised to find that she’s suddenly so close to him. She’s sidled up close, only a foot away, her astrology lesson forgotten in a second. Her book is abandoned in her old spot, sitting in the grass.

He takes a deep breath and sits up. “Nothing.”

“I know that’s a lie,” she says, and she scoots even closer. “You’ve been off since you came back yesterday. You were so gung-ho about coming up here, like you wanted some sort of distraction.”

“Or, perhaps I was eager to be with you,” he replies, but Tatiana doesn’t seem convinced.

Zeke sighs and threads his fingers into his hair. He only hums, because he just can’t figure out what to say, or what to do. How does he tell Tatiana that he let a girl be dragged off to her death in front of him? How does he tell her that he failed, so utterly and completely? How does he bear what will undoubtedly be such a disappointed expression on her face when he admits?

“Zeke,” Tatiana says firmly. She reaches out, emboldened by the lack of people around them for the first time since they last kissed, and rests a warm palm against his cheek. “What’s the matter, honey?”

Her eyes are more beautiful than any constellation that she has pointed out, soft and tired, but with a firmness in them. The wind gently ruffles her hair, and she looks like such an absolute angel then that he can’t help but want to tell her everything.

Zeke starts by asking, “Are you safe here, Tatiana?”

Her hand moves from his face, and he misses it. “That’s a weird question. What do you mean?”

“I mean-” He swallows, trying to figure out how to pose the question. “The Plains. Here. Are you safe?”

Tatiana’s expression shifts into concern. “What did you see? What happened? What did they make you watch?”

Her barrage of specific questions almost startles him, but he answers them all. He tells her about Jerome’s deal with the bandits, the way he’d allowed them to carry the young man off. He tells her about the brigands selling body parts to Nuibaba. He talks about the little girl and her brother, about Nuibaba’s abduction of the young woman, and having to choose between her and Anya.

“Oh my,” she whispers. Her hand rests against his cheek again, then roves farther towards his hair. She gives him a reassuring rub. “Oh, dear.”

“Are you safe here?” Zeke asks again. His skin feels hot, a strong pressure behind his eyes, but he blinks it all away.

Tatiana pulls her hand away and draws her knees up to her chest. She keeps her eyes trained on the stars for a moment, and then says, “I really love this place. I’ve lived here most my life. I love the sea, the moors, the forests. I love the people. I became a cleric to care for them.” She takes a deep breath and looks down to her knees with a slight shake of her head. “But just because you love a place doesn't mean you can be disillusioned with it.”

The comment strikes something within Zeke, but he doesn't know what.

“It's dangerous here,” she tells him. She wraps her arms around her knees. “Jerome is a tyrant, and his family and those loyal to him would do everything in their power to destroy us if we ever said anything. He takes what he wants, when he wants, and never gives anything in turn. The one time I ever saw someone stand up to him, he was whipped half-to-death. We keep our heads down.”

“It's unfair,” Zeke tells her.

“I know. But it's just how it goes. He's nothing compared to Nuibaba, though.” He thinks she turns pale, but can't tell that well when she's illuminated only by the light of the moon and stars. “Women live in fear of her, frightened that they'll be next. What you saw the other day is common.”

Zeke watches her fidget anxiously, then carefully asks, “Has she ever taken anyone from here?”

Tatiana is silent for a while, and then says with a fond smile, “When I was a girl, there was this really pretty cleric who helped raise me. She had beautiful red hair and bright eyes. I was the only child in the church, so she cared for me like I was her own. If I ever had nightmares, she'd come to my room and read or sing to me.” Her smile slips, and she rests her head on her knees. “But, she went out to the market one day, and she never came back. I was only thirteen, so everyone else tried to sugarcoat it for me, but I know what happened.”

“Tatiana-”

“Another time, a really nice merchant who worked in the market in a village over suddenly disappeared. After that, a hunter who would always bring us her extra catch. And then, even my-” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I've seen Nuibaba take them. It's truly terrible.”

Her voice wobbles slightly, and she clears her throat. Zeke leans into her, resting his hand on hers, and shuts his eyes. Warmth radiates off of her, pure and good, and he takes a deep inhale.

The Rigelian Plains are not safe.

Her breath stirs against his face as she lets out a shaking sigh, and then she says, “Sometimes… If girls become pretty, their mothers will disfigure them.”

His eyes fly open and he reels back, unable to comprehend what she has said. He watches the way her hand roves up to her shoulder, rubbing nervously, and his stomach sinks.

“Oh, Tatiana...”

Her bangs hang in her eyes, but the look in them is still blank and void, he can tell. Carefully, she undoes the first few buttons of her shirt, and then pulls the neck of the blouse down over her shoulder. Zeke does his best to not flinch at what she reveals.

A burn scar, a mark faded after many years, covers the top part of her shoulder. The area isn’t wide, but the scar is so large that it’s very noticeable. The blemish is discolored, blotted with red and pink marks, and the skin there is eerily smooth.

Tatiana puts her hand atop it, still not meeting his eyes. “When I was about six, my birth mother threw boiling water at me. She obviously meant to get my face, but she was so hysterical, she kinda completely missed.”

Zeke doesn’t know what to say, and he fumbles for something in his mind.

“Whether she was trying to protect me from Nuibaba, or whether it was something else, I guess I’ll never know.” She pulls the collar of her shirt back up and fixes the buttons. “But I’ll never forget that look in her eyes when she threw the water. She didn’t look sane.”

He still can’t think of what to say, and doesn’t realize he’s just staring stupidly at her shoulder until she raises a hand to it.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and he can see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I know it looks gross, but I just-”

“It’s not,” he hastily assures. He settles a hand on the shoulder in question and makes eye contact. “I just- I’m horrified that that happened to you. It makes me feel ill. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say.”

Her eyes drift down to the ground, and she rests her hand over the one Zeke has on her shoulder. “My point is, this place just isn’t safe. It’s beautiful, but it’s fraught with danger. And strong as you are, my dear, you just can’t protect everyone from all of it. Jerome will be Jerome, and Nuibaba will be Nuibaba.”

“How do you all live with such fear?” he asks.

Tatiana smiles, her eyes clear once more, and rests her forehead against his. “That’s rather simple. We simply love, and it gives us strength to carry forward.”

“Love,” he mumbles. The word sounds reverent when she says it, but it feels strange in Zeke’s mouth, like it doesn’t belong there. Like he’s never really said it before.

Or, more like, it hurts him.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers to him. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I told you before, when you woke up: I’m taking care of you now.”

He narrows his eyes, but smiles, the ache in his heart gone at the mere sound of her voice. He takes his hand off her shoulder, gently casting her own aside, and takes her head in his hands. He tips it towards him, pressing a kiss against it, and smiles at her.

“You say such, but you’re hopeless. I take care of you.”

“Next time you pull me out of the ocean, you can say that.” She laughs as Zeke ruffles her hair in his hands. “I’ll take care of you, and you take care of me. Deal?”

“And I will protect you,” he promises.

Tatiana leans in, pressing the smallest kiss against his lips. “Do you still want to look at the stars? I know you weren’t listening to me while I was talking about them before.”

“Yes, of course. By all means, continue. Or, rather, maybe start over completely.”

They adjust, and he pulls her into his lap. She has the book back in her hands, and he reads over her shoulder while she flips through it. The moon is bright, and Zeke thinks there’s no one on the planet who is more beautiful in that moment than Tatiana.

No one on the Rigelian Plains is safe.

He curls his arm up, resting his hand on her shoulder again, while she reads and points at a patch of glimmering stars above them.

Tatiana is, inherently, not safe.

And so, Zeke figures that if his strength is for nothing else, it’s for protecting her.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Zeke wakes up and thinks, “Hey, I would like to have a normal day.”

He’d like to have a normal day where he isn’t dealing with violent bandits running rampant, or a corrupt superior officer, or some insane, soulless witch who’s obsessed with kidnapping young women. Zeke would like a day where he can maybe stay in the village, sit on the beach with Tatiana, perhaps even do some light reading. He doesn’t think that’s a lot to ask for. He thinks it’s pretty reasonable, in fact.

And he gets that normal day, if for just a little while. His shoulder has been hurt slightly after getting roughed up during a spar with one of Jerome’s favorites, and after Tatiana had clung to him, given him big eyes, and begged for him to rest, he’d relented to stay and read until noon. After that, they’d gone down to the beach, and while her time had mostly been occupied by the children they had met there, he’d gotten to relax and listen to the waves for a bit. Now, when they head back to the church, Zeke thinks that there’s a book in the church’s library on Archanean history that he wouldn’t mind looking into, and decides that he’ll pick it up before the day is over.

He’s having a normal day. He feels pretty good.

When Tatiana leaves to head to the bakery to pick up something for dinner, he’s relaxed enough that he even gives her a kiss in front of the tittering clergy who pass by them. He lets the kiss last for a little longer than he normally does, then sends her off with a fond smile.

It’s right after that that things go to hell.

Zeke is about to turn and head back into the church, even though he knows that he’s going to be pestered by the people inside for his scandalous display of affection, when his instinct starts to tingle:

Someone is going to attack you.

He frantically turns his head, wondering what in the world is going on, where the assault will come from. He wonders if there even is an assault, or if he's just paranoid.

“Goddamned bastard!”

A first enters the corner of his vision as he once more turns to the left—he jerks back in time to prevent it from colliding squarely with his jaw. It still catches him, however, and the force of the punch is nothing to sneeze at; it still serves to snap his head to the side and nearly send him reeling.

“What the-?” he chokes out, and he glances over.

There’s a man standing there, nearly as tall as Zeke, his fists clenched and a fire in his eyes. He’s slender, a little willowy, but obviously packed with muscle, if his swing is anything to go by. His skin is a dark, warm brown, unusual for the region, and his eyes are a color to match. His clothes are those of a travelers: Loose pants and shirt, a vest, and a sash tied about his waist. A cloth headband covers his hair, tied messily.

The man’s face is stoic, despite the burning in his eyes, though there’s still something in the furrow of his brow and tightness in his jaw that suggests rage. He smiles in a very unfriendly manner, suddenly, and draws his fists back. “How many times do I have to beat you damn army bastards, huh?”

It occurs to Zeke then that this man thinks he’s with Jerome, because he is wearing his uniform today, and he tries to defend himself while rubbing his smarting cheek. “Please, sir, I’m not-”

“When are you gonna leave Tatiana alone? How many times does she have to turn you lot down before your desperate asses stop comin’ around?”

“Excuse me?”

“Forcing a kiss on a girl? That’s low as it comes.”

So the clergy hadn’t been the only spies, then. Zeke holds his hands out in a nonthreatening manner. “No, you’ve misunderstood, I’m-”

He narrowly dodges another punch, aimed at his throat, and is shocked at the man’s speed and quick tactics. The throat is an excellent area to aim for, and if he wasn’t desperately trying to avoid getting a black eye, he’d commend the man. Zeke catches his arm as he swings again, satisfied that he has ended the fight. He is then, unfortunately, forced to be impressed with the man’s agility, as he twists in such a way that he’s able to kick Zeke squarely in the side. He grits his teeth at the sudden burn of pain and shoves the man away from him.

“Can’t leave this damn village for two seconds before you pigs are all over her, panting like dogs in heat. Y’must be new around these parts, huh?”

Despite the fact that he knows that this is all a great misunderstanding, Zeke is starting to get really, very irritated with this man. He obviously knows Tatiana, and considers himself some sort of protector based on his words and tone. Alexi's comment from the party a few weeks before occur to him:

“She’s got plenty of suitors, waiting to snatch her up.”

Zeke clenches his jaw and ignores the throbbing pain in his side as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves of his coat. He shrugs it off, tossing it to the side, and settles his own hands into fists. The clergy and a few others have crowded around them by now, muttering to each other, too shocked at the sight to even speak.

“I don’t care for your tone,” Zeke says. “Perhaps I’ll beat some respect into you. You seem like you could handle it.”

The man narrows his eyes, his expression once more burning beneath the stoic facade. “I don’t like the way you were eyeing Tatiana, you lousy son of a bi-”

“What’s going on here?!”

Tatiana’s voice is frantic, high with panic, and Zeke lowers his fists immediately at the sound of it. She stands at the front of the small crowd, which is already dispersing, now uninterested at the lack of a fight. Tatiana holds her basket limply in a hand, the other raised to her face in a mixture of shock and horror.

The man rushes past him in a blink, and something in Zeke boils as he takes Tatiana into his arms. It’s not an embrace of affection, necessarily, but more one of protection. He gives her a subtle squeeze, raising his shoulders to shield her from Zeke’s view, before urging her towards the doors of the church.

“Go inside,” he tells her. “I’m gonna take care of this, and then he won’t bother you again.”

“But-!”

“Inside,” the man says more insistently. “Don’t come out until I come get you.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tatiana warns, and she squirms in his grip. “August, let go!”

Reluctantly, the man does as she asks, watching carefully as she steps into the open space between him and Zeke. She grips her basket tight and whips her head back and forth between the two of them, still utterly baffled.

“What is this?” she demands. “I’m gone for ten minutes, and a fight breaks out?”

“I saw him moving in on you,” the man spits. His eyes burn. “I’m trying to bludgeon some respect into him.”

Zeke almost feels like a child pointing fingers as he says, “He attacked me out of the blue. I had nothing to do with this violence.”

“Yes, and that’s why you’ve taken your coat off, looking as though you were about to beat him half-to-death,” she accuses, and the disappointment in her tone scolds him. “For shame, both of you! In front of a church no less.”

“I’m sorry,” Zeke mutters.

The other man reluctantly puts his fists away, straightening up and glaring at the scene. His eyes flicker from Zeke to Tatiana, and he asks, “Did I misunderstand something?”

Tatiana sighs, her shoulders heaving. “Mm. But no one is hurt, so no harm done.”

“Aw, hell.” The man rubs the back of his head, then looks to the ground as he adjusts the scarf on his head. “What’s going on?”

Once more, she sighs, and Zeke moves forward to stand behind her. “August, this is General Ezekiel. Zeke, this is my good friend August. He was the one who helped me carry you to the church when I found you.”

There’s a feeling inside of him that he doesn’t recognize or understand, but he has the urge to step forward and put a hand over Tatiana’s shoulder. He tries to put his anger behind him and behave civilly. “August. A pleasure.”

August’s eyes slip down to his hand on her, then peer at him with an unreadable expression. All the fire from before is gone, and his face is cold and purely unreadable. “You the guy that washed up here? I’m honestly shocked you woke up.”

“August!” Tatiana scolds.

“He bled all over me. Those wounds were nothin' to sneer at,” he snaps back. “Nobody but you thought he was gonna shake it off.”

“Well, you could always benefit from a little positive thinking,” she quips. “Anyway, a lot happened while you were gone, and now we’re, uh-” She looks up at Zeke, face a little red, as she clearly looks for a word. “Together?”

That certainly seems to get August’s attention back, and he once more stares at him. His expression is obviously surprised, but beyond that, there’s nothing that Zeke can read. This man is somehow guarded yet relaxed, stoic yet emotional, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. It's frustrating, not being able to read him.

“Okay,” is all he says. He claps his hands together, dispelling the dust and freeing them of the brief skirmish. “That’s good.”

Tatiana’s voice is exasperated as she says, “You can’t be a little happier for me?”

“Can you not see the utter joy on my face?” August asks, but his expression is unmoving and blank. “I’m practically pulsating.”

“Oh, fine,” she mutters. Her hand moves up a little, settling over the one Zeke has on her shoulder. “Did you just get back?”

“Been here for all of ten minutes,” he mutters. “I’m going home. I’ll see you later?”

“Oh, yes, go get settled back in!”

August steps forward and offers a hand to Zeke, and his face is still unreadable as he says, “Sorry about that. Really thought you were one of Jerome’s pigs.”

Zeke gingerly takes his hand and gives it a shake. “Well… I suppose I should thank you for looking out for Tatiana.”

“No need for thanks.” He picks up a pack that Zeke had not noticed before, shoulders it, and walks past them.

Tatiana sighs when he’s out of sight. “I’m sorry about him. He’s… not very fond of the troops who come by. He’s always fought with them, ever since Jerome came around. And on top of that…”

She trails off and looks at the ground, then shakes her head.

“Are you close with him?” Zeke asks. He still has that funny, heavy, unrecognizable feeling in his chest, and it grows tighter as he asks the simple question.

“I am.” She squeezes the handle of her basket and makes for the church doors. “When I first came to the village, August was the first one who ever spoke to me. I’ve known him for almost forever. He's very dear to me.”

“I see.” Not really surprising, based on the way he spoke about her, the way that when he’d grabbed her, she didn’t flinch.

“You’ll think he’s kind of an aloof type, because he’s kinda stoic, but he’s real sweet. I think you two will get along well!”

Putting the fight in the past, Zeke’s relationship with August gets off to a rather rough start.

The day after, he’s been summoned to the base for actual work—actual, real work—and he goes to Tatiana’s room to bid her farewell. He ignores the teasing glances, the snide comments from the clergy (“Off for an early morning visit, Ezekiel? Do take care of her!”), and doesn’t bother with knocking on her door. At this time, she’s always awake, studying at her desk, ready to greet anyone with a smile.

He turns the knob and opens the door. “I have to go today, Tatiana, so I’m-”

He freezes, and August and Tatiana freeze as well.

August. And Tatiana.

August. Who is climbing through her window.

Zeke opens his mouth, staring blankly. Tatiana smiles at him, a sweet tilt to her head, and August finishes climbing in through the window. He locks it behind him and sets a bag down on her bed, as though this is the most natural, casual thing in the world for him.

“Mornin’,” August says.

“Good morning, Zeke!” Tatiana chirps. “What were you saying?”

Zeke is perplexed, to say in the least, because how can he not be, when a man has just climbed in through her window in front of him and made himself at home? He doesn’t say anything, and simply looks from August to Tatiana, fumbling around for his composure.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

August ignores him entirely and opens his bag, rummaging. “Brought you back some stuff. Sorry I didn’t give it to you last night.”

Her attention turns from Zeke over to him, and she frowns. “You don’t have to bring me presents every single time you come home.”

“Too late. I already bought ‘em. Let’s see here.” He starts putting things on the bed, humming as he does so.

“August is a merchant,” Tatiana explains to Zeke without prompting. “He’s been traveling lately.”

He turns his head towards the man, his bewilderment fading into annoyance. “Is that why I’ve never met you?”

“I left the day after we dragged you off that beach,” he responds. “In fact, I was supposed to be gone another month, but I decided to come home early.”

“You should’ve stayed longer,” she chides him. “From the letters you wrote, you were making great connections and trading partners.”

“Can’t leave this place alone for too long. Never know when Jerome will come slinking around,” August mutters, and he scrutinizes a pouch in his hands before handing it to her. “Here. These are crocus seeds. Remember you sayin’ you wanted them.”

“Oh, thank you!”

August stands and throws his pack over his shoulder, and nods to the rest of what he’s left on her bed. “There’s other stuff right there. Some fabrics, some books. Stuff.”

“You don’t have to bring me things,” she says again.

He throws an arm around her, giving her a lopsided embrace, and then pats her head when he lets go. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

He nudges past Zeke through the doorway, offering a polite glance and a quick, “General,” before he leaves. Almost immediately, Zeke hears people approaching him, chattering on about his trip and what he did, what he saw, who he met. Zeke stares out after him.

Tatiana sets her gift to the side and approaches him, reaching up and resting her hands on his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“He just climbed into your bedroom,” Zeke says stupidly.

“He does it all the time,” she says simply, as though this will comfort him, make him feel better. “Now, what were you saying before?”

He leans down, giving her a quick kiss, and straightens back up. “I’m going. I’ll be back soon.”

“Bye!”

Zeke shuts the door to her room behind him, and finds that the strange feeling is back, stronger than ever, and he still doesn’t know what it is, nor how to describe it.

He notices, over the next few days, that people rely on August for a great many things. He’s not just a resident of the village, but something like a guardian over it. He knows everyone by name, and they all speak fondly to and of him. People go to August for things that they need, like a door fixed, the wheel on a wagon adjusted, or a horse soothed.

The children in particular flock to him. The poor man can’t seem to catch a break at any time, Zeke notices, not when he’s outside his house. He watches from the church’s gardens, hovering behind Tatiana, while August sits on a bench. He’s got a block of some half-carved wood in his hand, a whittling knife with him, and he only just presses the blade to the project when a small group of children come up to him.

August sighs, flicks the blade back into its casing, and looks at them. “Kids.”

“Uncle, come show us that really cool knot you did with the rope the other day,” one implores.

“The one for the hunting trap?” he asks. “You guys don’t need to know that. You’re too young to go hunting.”

“Show us anyway,” they all implore. “Please, Uncle!”

Tatiana stands from her garden, clapping her hands together to beat away the dust, and crosses the road with her hands on her hips. “You kids be nice! August is tired, and he’s right: You’re too young to go out hunting, so you don’t need to see it.”

“But it’s really cool when he does it, Auntie,” one child protests. “Make him show us, come on!”

Half the children begin pulling on her skirts, while the other half shake August by the shoulders. Both of them appear exasperated, giving each other knowing glances while the children continue to beg, calling out “Auntie, Uncle, please!”

Hearing them referred to as such gives him that damned feeling again: It’s a tightness in his stomach, heat on the back of his neck, a twitch of his eye, and he still doesn’t know what in the hell it is.

It’s another couple days later, another couple days of August invading the church like he owns the place, another couple days of him giving Tatiana casual touches, another couple days of his agonizing presence, that Zeke finally knows that the feeling is.

It’s the middle of the night, and he’s walking through the empty roads down to the well. There’s no water in the church’s kitchen, so he decides to make himself useful, since he can’t sleep. He’ll fill a few of the water jugs, and then there’ll be water for the bread in the morning, and more of it to drink. Better that he does it, instead of Tatiana, who might get distracted and let the bucket slip out of her hands.

He hears voices as he draws the water from the well; he immediately freezes as he recognizes one of them as August’s. He stills immediately, nearly holding his breath. Besides the voices, all he hears is the dripping of the water from the bucket, back down into the depths of the well. It’s stupid to eavesdrop, he knows that, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing it, especially seeing as how he was impartial to the conversation before he recognized one of the voices.

“Aunt Hill, you’re bein' overdramatic about this,” August says. Zeke leans to the side, and he can see him and an older woman sitting close together on a bench near the stables.

“I am not,” the old woman titters, and she sighs. “You lost your chance.”

August hunches over, and Zeke notices that he has his woodworking project in his hands. “I didn’t lose nothin’.”

Zeke narrows his eyes, slowly pulling the bucket from the well. He crouches down, tipping it into the water jug, and tries, really tries, to not focus on the conversation.

“You should have done something before you left,” the woman is chiding. “And now, that man has come in here and swept her right off her feet. No surprise, really; he’s very handsome.”

He tightens his grip on the rim of the bucket, taking a deep breath as he pieces together the context of the conversation.

“It’s all fine,” August is muttering repeatedly as his aunt carries on.

“It’s not all fine!” she insists. “You should have proposed to Tatiana before you left!”

Zeke nearly breaks the bucket under his grip.

“We were all waiting,” the woman says. “And you did nothing. You’ve had all these years! Tatiana was of marriageable age four years ago, and you should have-”

“Gods, Aunt Hill, she was 16! Besides, she never wanted to get married. And I never had any intents with her or nothing.”

“You take care of her like a husband should,” the old woman says. “And you’ve done so since you were children. You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you never wanted to marry such a pretty lass.”

“Here, watch while I look in your eye and tell you: I never wanted to get hitched with Tatiana.”

Zeke stands abruptly, and fortunately, they still don’t notice him. He stares blankly into the bucket, trying to control his breathing, and then lowers it back into the well for another load of water.

“Cheeky boy! Oh, you’ve lost your chance to some foreigner—a complete stranger to her, nonetheless. Again, he is very handsome, but it still should have been you.”

“Did you not hear a goddamn word that just came out of my mouth?”

Zeke recognizes the hot, tight feeling now, and what it is doesn’t make him happy:

He’s jealous.

“Thanks for coming over and making dinner,” Tatiana says.

August is chopping vegetables at the counter, his back to both her and Zeke. “Not a problem. Looked like y’all could’ve used a rest tonight. You were organizing the library all day.”

“Up since the crack of dawn doing it,” she sighs. “But, it had to be done.”

“I could have helped you, you know,” Zeke tells her. He sits at the table, poring over that book on Archanean history he’d intended on getting to days before.

“You had better things to do,” she says. She hands a jar of spices to August, then goes over the cabinet for some dishes. “Besides, we got it all done.”

“And it’s only after sunset,” August mutters. He slips a couple fillets of fish into a pan, and moves away while they sizzle. The buttery scent immediately fills the room, and he turns his gaze to Zeke. “You cook, or anything like that?”

“I don’t,” he admits. “I tried a few weeks ago, but, well…”

“He nearly cut his hand open,” Tatiana says with great amusement. “He’s so talented with a sword and a lance, but he had no idea how to even hold a kitchen knife.”

August’s lips twitch, and he shifts the wilting greens in another pan around before sliding them into a bowl. “That’s fine. Guys like you don’t really have to be domestic types, huh? You got plenty of other useful talents.”

The comment stings at him, just a little, but he feels better when Tatiana throws her arms around him from behind and kisses the back of his head.

“He’s good at being handsome,” she teases. “And he’s good with the horses. He’s also good at doing repairs for other people.”

Zeke takes her hand from his chest and lifts it, giving it a quick peck while he continues studying his book. “You make me blush.”

Her soft lips push against his cheek before she leaves him. “I’m going to go grab some hand towels. Back in a jiff!”

Silence fills the room, filled only by the sounds of the food cooking. It smells divine, if Zeke is being honest, though he’s a little irked at the fact that August is nearby.

He’s still—dare he say it?—jealous.

Zeke is just lifting his mug of coffee to take a drink when August asks, “You two slept together yet?”

The question is random, uncalled for, sudden, embarrassing, and he nearly chokes on his drink. He coughs, spluttering, and slams the mug down on the table. "What did you just ask me?”

The other man doesn’t look at him, but his body language appears amused while he flips the fish fillets over. “Father Alexi told me all about your intents to have both ‘romantic and sexual relations’ with Tatiana. He was nearly in stitches. Never seen the old man crack up so hard in my entire damn life.”

“I’ve not laid a disrespecting hand on Tatiana,” he defends.

“There isn’t anything ‘disrespecting’ about having a little alone time with someone you love,” August replies, and he shrugs his shoulders then. “I’m awful sorry, I didn’t know you’d take offense. I was just trying to poke fun. I won’t mention it again, promise.”

Zeke scowls at the table, rereading a line for the tenth time. He really, really has to have a talk with the clergy in the church, because if he has to hear about his “romantic and sexual relations” blunder one more time, then-

“Are you two getting along in here?” Tatiana comes back into the room, a pile of hand towels in her arms.

“‘course we are,” August says. “Mind handing me that plate? Fish are done.”

“No problem.” Tatiana slides a plate over to him, then comes to stand next to Zeke by the table.

August slides the fillets off the pan, then pauses, staring at Tatiana closely. His brow furrows, and he sets his lips in a tight line. “Walk over here, then back to the table.”

She freezes up, casting a look down at her leg. “Why?”

“Do it,” he insists.

She huffs and does as asked, walking the length of the counter, and then stands back in her previous spot. Zeke stares at her puzzled, and then turns his eyes over to August. He has a hand on his hip, the other resting on his chin, and he glares at her legs.

“Sit,” he says.

Tatiana frowns. “What’re you making a big deal out of? I don’t need to sit.”

He crosses the counter, stands in front of her, and shoves her down by her shoulders in a firm, but not unkind, movement. Zeke watches, his face heating up, as August kneels in front of her, sweeps her skirts over her leg and onto her thigh in a single fluid motion, and then pulls her stocking down. Tatiana squeaks, blushes, and shoves her skirts back down, but August holds out a hand and stops her from pushing it all the way back down her leg.

“Don’t hassle her!” Zeke defends, rising out of his chair. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sight of her skin, but she’s obviously uncomfortable.

He stops as his eyes land on the front of her leg, and he reaches out on instinct when he sees it. A large bruise covers her flesh, a thin cut runs down the middle, and her stocking is coated with small spots of blood.

August narrows his eyes and pushes on the bruise. “Where did you get this? Why are you walking around on it?”

Tatiana frowns, her face turning even more scarlet, and looks away. She stubbornly refuses to say anything, even when Zeke rests a hand on her shoulder and implores.

August presses his thumb on the wound even more. “Tatiana.”

She lets out a strained hum and doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“Please?” he asks, and she turns her gaze down to him finally.

“A ladder fell on me earlier, while I was organizing,” she mumbles. “It landed on my leg.”

“A ladder fell on you?” Zeke repeats. He squeezes her shoulders. “Why did you not tell me?”

“You didn’t need to know,” she says.

“You shouldn’t be walking on this leg,” August scolds. “Go put it up and rest it after dinner, okay?”

“No, I’m fine-” Once more, he pushes on the wound, and Tatiana jumps in pain. “Okay, okay, fine! At least let me do the dishes when dinner is over.”

“Dishes, then rest,” August relents.

“Fine, fine! Ju-just let me put my skirt back down. Having it hiked up in front of others is immodest!”

August’s eyes flicker from Zeke, then to Tatiana, and then he says, “You guys really haven’t done anything outside of really tame kissing yet, have you?”

“August!”

Tatiana starts on the dishes when the meal is over, and Zeke now notices that she’s definitely favoring one leg. Guilt sweeps through him for not noticing before, but he pushes the feeling aside. He’ll have time to come back to it, but for now, he makes a beeline for August, who is putting his coat on and seeing himself out.

His hand rests on his shoulder, and the merchant looks over at him.

“I need to speak with you outside,” Zeke says, and lowers his voice as he says, “Now.”

August doesn't appear phased by the seriousness of his tone. “Sure. I have to go check on the horses, so how about we go over to the stables? Sound good?”

It’s late, and the roads are empty. A soft wind brushes over the village, rustling the leaves of the trees, which are just starting to show their green again. The night is still as they walk to the stables, and August climbs over the fence to walk among the horses. Some of them have settled down for sleep, but some are still milling about. The awake ones nuzzle August affectionately as he pats their manes and whispers to them.

“What did you need?” he asks after a moment. “C’mon, spit it out, both of us are busy men.”

Zeke clenches and unclenches his fist, races a hand through his hair, and sighs. He knows what he wants to say, but he just doesn’t know how to word it. How to word that he’s jealous that someone is more familiar and casual with Tatiana than he is, that he feels put out, and all of the thoughts racing through his mind. How does he word it without sounding possessive and green-eyed?

“I- I just, well, wanted to say that- Um-” Zeke shakes his head and scratches at his neck. “This isn’t coming out well. I just wanted to inform you that-”

“You’re jealous of me.”

Zeke’s head snaps up, and he stares at August. He has a scathing reply on his tongue, but bites it back as the other man shakes his head and rubs his jaw. He appears guilty.

“I don't say that in a giddy sort of way. I’m awful sorry. I know the way I act with Tatiana is… familiar. But I don't have any intentions with her, no matter what anyone spouts.” He meets Zeke’s eyes. “I should've considered how you might’ve felt about our friendship. I’ll back off.”

“No!” Zeke bites his tongue again and sighs. “No, you seem to make her happy. And it's not as though I think she can't be friends with other men in particular, it's just that-”

Zeke trails off, fumbling for what he wants to say.

“You're jealous,” August states again. “For more than one reason. Mind if I guess?”

Zeke grumbles and leans against the fence, buries his face into a hand, and nods.

August leans next to him. “You're jealous because I know Tatiana better than you do. You're jealous that I know how to take care of her. Hell, you're probably jealous that she lets me take care of her.”

Zeke lowers his hand from his face and fixes the other man with a stern look. “I take care of Tatiana.”

He shakes his head. “I'm willing to bet in some roundabout way you do. Like, protecting the Plains and all that. But that wound she had on her leg earlier? She wouldn't have told you about it. You know that."

Zeke opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“See, I’ll tell you something about her, from an insider’s perspective.” August leans in, pointing a finger to accentuate his point. “She's all soft and mushy, right? So you think she's gonna open up to you, let you in, let you take care of her and all her problems. And I can tell, you're the kind of guy who genuinely wants to take care of her. You're not just lookin’ for a warm body and a pretty smile.”

Zeke is silent and stares at the ground.

“But tell me, when was the last time she bothered you with something? Or told you about herself, unless you really pushed?” August crosses his arms. “I’ll bet she's never even asked you to get something off the top shelf for her, am I right?”

Zeke thinks about it, and realizes the only thing she's ever told him is about her mother throwing the boiling water at her. He realizes that she's always showering him in her affections, taking care of every little scrape he gets, smoothing every worry away with a kiss, and what is he doing?

“She never tells me anything,” Zeke admits. “Never. She never so much as tells me she's tired.”

“Mmmhmm. That's what I thought. And that's why you're jealous of me.”

“I want her to bother me,” Zeke insists. “I care for her. I- I want to take care of all her problems.”

“She won’t let you,” August says. “Not unless you force your way in and let her see that it’s okay. She just worries that if she’s too direct, or too ‘needy,’ that no one’ll wanna be around her.”

“What you’re telling me is that Tatiana’s harder to crack than she lets on?” Zeke asks.

“Precisely. Tatiana… has a lot of love and care inside of her. In a place like Rigel, she’s a commodity, a rarity of the highest degree: She’s loving, with no selfish intent behind her affection.”

Zeke shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. The wind is soft and whistles by. “That she is. I adore her for it.”

“As many do. As I do. I’ve always admired her for being the way she is. I think it’s great.” August crosses his arms once more. “But, you know, the thing about that is, she has a lot of affection to give others, but she won’t take care of herself. It’s why I am the way I am with her. She doesn’t take care of herself, so I gotta do it for her, and I gotta make her let me. Like that dumb bruise on her leg today—if i don’t take care of it, she sure as hell ain’t.”

“Why does she open up to you and let you care for her, and not me?” Zeke presses. “I’m admittedly a little hurt by that.”

“Nothin’ personal, General, it’s just that, well.” August furrows his brow and ruffles his hair. “I’ve known Tatiana since we were kids. And she’s more relaxed around me. She’s probably worried that if she bothers you, you’ll turn on your heel and leave her.”

“I won’t,” he insists, and then rubs the bridge of his nose. “I want her to let me care for her. I want to care for her the way you do.”

“I’ve been with Tatiana since the beginning, so don’t you feel bad if it takes you another little while to get her to crack, okay?” August points across the street, to where his home is. “I was right there when she got tossed out of that wagon, sobbing her eyes out. Poor kid.”

Zeke jumps and stands, and the fence creaks as his weight leaves it. “What?”

August stares at him, his eyes widening in a rare display of emotion, and he shakes his head. “I said nothing. You didn’t hear a word from me.”

“You said ‘tossed out of that wagon.’” Zeke grabs his shoulder and makes him face him. “What do you mean?”

August shakes his head at the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. “I was right over there. It was the middle of the night, and I was checking the horses, and- They threw her, and I- She didn’t tell you a thing. She really hasn’t told you a thing about herself.”

Zeke’s head is spinning now, and his grip on August tightens. “She-”

All he knows is that her mother threw boiling water at her.

“She told me one thing. Just- just the one thing.”

“You know that she was raised in the church, right? She was an orphan.”

“Of course I knew that. I knew that. Yes, yes, I knew that about her.”

August’s eyes are dark as they meet his. “Ain’t my place to say the explicits, sir. Tatiana’s the only one who can tell you all those. But, you know, Tatiana wasn’t orphaned because her parents died.

“Tatiana was orphaned because her parents didn't want her.”

His head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton, and he swallows. “They what?”

“It was snowing, just a little. It was the beginning of spring. She wasn’t any more than eight. I remember, I was just checking the horses in the middle of the night, when this wagon rolled up. There was a lot of yelling, and begging, and they threw her out. And they rode off, like that was that. Never once looked back, as far as I could tell.”

“Tatiana’s parents left her here?” He feels heat rising up in him, an indescribable anger boiling in his stomach. “They threw her out of a wagon? They just left their child?”

“I was the one who picked her up, brushed her off, and took her to the church. That’s what I mean when I say that I’ve been with her from the beginning. If I hadn’t helped her, she might’ve been sobbing in the snow all night.”

“They left her. They abandoned a girl that old?”

August turns his eyes to the ground. “Unusual, right? Most parents abandon their kids when they’re too young to remember. Makes it less painful for everyone. But Tatiana’s folks? Oh man, she remembers them.”

Zeke leans heavily against the gate again. “Tatiana didn’t tell me. Why didn’t she tell me something so important about herself?”

“I told you, she’s harder to crack than you think. And besides, something like that is really personal.”

Tatiana, thrown out of a wagon.

The love of his life, only a little girl at the time, abandoned and sobbing in the snow.

He covers his mouth and rubs his jaw. “I see. I see now.”

“If you really care about Tatiana, promise me,” August says. “Promise me that you’ll make her let you take care of her, before she runs herself into the ground.”

“Where did you go off to?” Tatiana asks. Her hands are soapy, and she rubs them off on a dishtowel. “You’ve been acting so weird these past few days.”

Zeke only mumbles and watches from the doorway as she sets dishes up in the cabinets. The church is otherwise quiet, and he narrows his eyes. She looks happy and peaceful, humming a song, but when he scrutinizes her closely, he sees bags hanging under her eyes.

“Are you tired, Tatiana?” he asks her.

She turns and looks at him, confused, and then laughs. “Me? Never! I’m wide-awake, sweetie, don’t you worry.”

He flinches.

Don’t you worry, she says.

It’s his damn job to worry.

He steps closer to her as she turns from the sink, and she looks up at him with a startled glance. He’s very close, very suddenly, and her face turns pink as he tilts her chin up towards him.

“Please, don’t lie to me,” he implores. “You have bags under your eyes. Your leg must hurt. You’re weary, my sweet.”

There’s a flicker of an unknown emotion behind her eyes. She shakes her head in his soft grip. “No, I’m not. I’m fine.”

“Tatiana,” he says firmly, and he lets go of her. She walks off instantly, turning her back to him as she hovers near the table. “Please.”

“I’m fine,” she insists more firmly, and she wraps her arms around herself. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I want to worry.” He advances on her again, and she turns just as he looms over her. Startled, she leans back against the table, and he traps her between his arms. The wood is warm beneath his palms, and he curls his fingers as he grits his teeth. “You’re tired. Why won’t you tell me such a simple thing?”

Her eyes are wide and search his, and she noticeably swallows. “I- I just-”

“You just what, my dear? It’s okay; tell me.”

“I don’t… want you to think that I’m a bother,” she admits quietly, and she looks up at him from beneath her lashes. “You do so much, so I just-”

“How am I doing so much when I’m not properly looking after you?” He reaches a hand up to brush the hair from her face, then sets it back on the table. “My deepest desire is to care for you, and you deprive me of it.”

Her face reddens more, and she shakes her head. “I don’t need you to take care of me. R-remember, I said I was going to take care of you, back when we met.”

Her hand reaches up to cup his face, and he takes it before it lands, squeezing it tight in his own. “That isn’t how this works. I am yours, and you are mine. Are we in understanding?”

Slowly, Tatiana nods her head.

“Then, as you take care of me, I will take care of you. You said, when I first awoke, that it would be your honor to care for me, and it shall be mine to do the same for you. I adore you, above all else. I want you to relax against me, to let me ease your worry the way you do for me.”

She stares at the ground, a sigh leaving her.

“I want you to tell me when you’re tired,” Zeke insists. “I want you to tell me when you need help of any kind, even if you’re just asking me to get something off the top shelf for you. I-” He swallows, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “I want you to tell me more about you.”

Tatiana’s eyes drift up to him, and her lips are cemented in a slight pout. “But Zeke… You’re important. You have other things to worry about. More important things than me.”

He nearly recoils, and shakes his head. He leans into her, pushing her up against the edge of the table, and takes her face gently into his hands. “For the gods’ sakes, Tatiana. You are more important than anything else.”

She swallows.

He strokes his thumbs along her cheeks, and leans in, his eyes drifting down to her pink lips. “It wounds my pride to know that the woman I love won’t rely on me. You won’t even tell me when you’re tired. There is no greater heartache, my friend.”

“Ezekiel-”

“And I’m ashamed that I never even noticed that you withheld yourself like this. I’m disgusted with myself for having to have it pointed out to me.”

She's quiet for a long moment, and her hand reaches up. Her soft fingers brush over his lips, and she leans back against the table as he leans in. “August… He told you stuff, didn't he?”

“He knows much about you,” Zeke admits. He pushes his face into her neck and breathes in her scent before pulling back. “And as I’ve realized only tonight, you are a woman of many reservations. My heart aches when I think of how you don't trust me.”

“I trust you!” she protests with a gasp, and she wraps her arms around him suddenly. “Oh, my dear, I trust you so much! I just- I just spend so much of my time worrying for others that I forget about myself. And I- I worry that you will tire of caring for me and leave.”

“Tatiana, no.” He wraps an arm around her waist, his other still on the table for balance. “I adore you above all else. Caring for you is my greatest honor.”

She pulls back, cupping his face, and her eyes are a little misty. “I didn't know you felt like this. I’m really sorry.”

He leans in and gives her lips the softest kiss, and his bruised ego heals a little at her apologies.

Her lips are fixed in a wobbling pout when he looks back at her, and he immediately steals another quick kiss before letting her talk.

“I’ll try my best to give you chances to care for me,” she assures. She looks at the ground, then up to him with pink cheeks. “W-will you spoil me, just a little?”

He nods, leaning further into her.

Tatiana sighs and shakes her head. “I’m tired. And my leg hurts really bad.”

“As I thought.”

“I broke a plate earlier while cleaning, and I still feel guilty about it.”

“It's only a plate.”

She's rambling now, and she holds her head in a hand. “I hit my head today, and it hurts. And- and I-” She shakes a little and raises her hands to her face, and he realizes that she's on the verge of tears. “And I feel really bad now. And I really want you to hold me, and kiss me, and maybe pat me on the head, and-”

Zeke sighs, puts his hands on her waist, and lifts her to sit on the table. “So many things, my darling. And yet, I’ll take care of all of them.” He stands between her legs and takes her head in his hands, tipping it forward to place a kiss on the crown. “It hurts here?”

Nervously, she nods, and gives an anxious laugh. “A book fell on my head.”

He pulls her into his arms, resting his chin on her hair before kissing her head again. “Be more careful, I beg of you. I’m always worried that you’ll trip and crack your head open.”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I’m just always trying to do five things at once, and then I can’t focus, so I-”

He squeezes her and nuzzles her hair. “That’s fine. You have a lot of things to do. I just want you to take care of yourself a little bit.”

Tatiana nods against his chest. “Okay. I can try.” She glances up at him then, her eyes a little watery still. “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies either,” he tells her. “Come now, just relax. I’ll take you to bed, and you can rest your leg, alright?”

She nods, turns her gaze down to his lips, and then looks away. Not a second later, though, she looks back, then up at him, and he takes the hint. Instead of lowering her lips to hers, however, he goes deeper, and she gasps as he kisses her neck. Her skin is sweet, and he hums, pulling his lips off of her with a slight smacking sound. Tatiana shudders under him, her hands wrapping around to press at his shoulder blades, and she chokes back a sound as he nudges her head back with his nose and kisses the hollow of her throat.

“You’re warm,” he whispers between wet kisses. “I could stay here all day.”

Tatiana shakes her head. “You don’t have to start with all this false flattery.”

Zeke rests his hands on her thighs, squeezing them, and listens with delight to her sounds. “No false flattery here, my sweet. You are more addicting than any wine, if I may be so bold.”

“Gods, where do men like you come from?” she mutters, and he laughs against her skin.

“I don't know either,” he lightly jokes, and he tugs some of her skin between his teeth with a hum.

She huffs, rests her hand on the back of his head, and pouts when he pulls back to meet her gaze.

“I want you to touch me more,” she says bluntly, and then reaches up to cover her face in her hands. “Sorry.”

He leans forward, their lips brushing just so, and he can feel her breath stirring against him. “Can I satisfy you with a kiss, my sweet?” He races his hands up her covered thighs, his touch slow. “And, perhaps with a touch here?”

She nods and leans in, melding their lips together. He shifts his grip and squeezes her thighs tighter, bending over her and parting her lips. Her body is hot, but not in an unpleasant way; rather, it’s a soothing heat that relaxes his muscles and melts away all his worries.

He helps her to her room after they spend much longer than intended in the kitchen, ensures that her leg is comfortable and the cut isn’t infected at all, and bends over her for one more kiss. She clings to him, cupping his cheek, and insistently holds onto his hand.

“I want you to stay here tonight,” she says.

Zeke smooths her hair out of her face. “I should not. It isn’t polite.”

“Nothing has to happen,” she whispers, and despite what she says, her voice sounds like a sweet seduction. “You said you would spoil me. I want you to sleep in here tonight, with me. Is that okay?”

“Whatever for?” he murmurs.

Her expression turns a little guilty, and she takes the hand caressing her and kisses it, then holds it to her chest. “I don’t know. Just in case I have a bad dream. Your presence comforts me.”

He lets his fingers rove over her lips, then hangs his head as he thinks upon all the bad things she might dream of:

“My birth mother threw boiling water at me.”

“Tatiana was orphaned because her parents didn't want her.”

Zeke sighs, stares into her eyes, and then moves to sit on the bed. He pulls off his shoes, loosens the cuffs of his shirt, and then inches his way onto mattress. Tatiana’s smile brightens, and she moves over as he mutters, “Make room.” The bed is small, intended for only a single person, and she winds up lying on him when he finally gets comfortable. He sighs as she slides her arm over his chest to rest on his shoulder, and puts an arm over her waist in response.

“This won’t be good for your leg,” he mutters as he shuts his eyes.

“Don’t care,” she mutters. “You’re warm. I like it.”

“Hmmmm.”

He finds that he drifts to sleep easily, comforted by the feeling of Tatiana brushing her fingers through his hair and pressing kisses to his jaw, and sleepily wonders if this is him taking care of her, or if this is her taking care of him.

In any case, he finds his previous jealousy slipping away easily.

Chapter Text

Tatiana is sweeping the church’s courtyard during the afternoon when August comes riding back into the village, the wagon attached to his horse weighed down with goods, and she sets aside her chore to go and greet him.

“What’s going on?” she asks. “Got any nice stuff?”

Her childhood friend swings himself off his horse, gives her flank a pat, and then wordlessly goes over to the covered wagon. While he shifts through his things, Tatiana smiles at the horse, a beautiful Clydesdale with honey gold hair and a creamy white mane. She rears her head and shakes her mane as Tatiana holds out a hand and rubs her, and then nudges at her apron with her nose.

“Let’s see what treats I got in here,” she mutters, and she rummages around the pocket. Acting surprised, she pulls out a handful of sugar cubes, and the horse snuffles them up out of her palm when she offers them. “Good nose, Honey.”

“I still wish I hadn’t let you name her,” August mutters from his position by the wagon. He’s thrown the tarp off, and is standing atop one of the wheels (Tatiana doesn’t think that’s safe), and digging through his merchandise. “What kind of name is Honey?”

“A cute one,” she says. “I could’ve named her Apples. Or Melon. Melon is a cute name.”

“Melon is even worse than Honey. You pick terrible names.”

“You just have no sense of fun or enjoyment,” she shoots back, and she wanders on over to him. “So, what do you have?”

“Stuff,” he says, and then goes, “Ah,” when he finds what he’s been looking for.

“What is it?”

It’s a book, obviously, but it’s wrapped in brown parchment paper. He offers it to her, saying, “Bought this for you. Seems like something you’ll need.”

Tatiana presses her fingers on the edge of the paper, peeling it back, and says, "Thank you."

August interrupts her suddenly, hopping down off the wheel and dusting his hands off. “Where’s the general?”

“Out,” she says. “He’s off being heroic and dashing and beating up no-good scoundrels. Isn’t he just the best?”

“The dreamiest,” August replies. “I got other stuff in here to unpack.”

He starts pulling his load off of his wagon, and Tatiana goes back to unwrapping her present. She wonders if it’s a new cookbook, or perhaps a collection of sewing patterns, and hums happily as she pulls the paper away and sets it in the wagon. She rubs Honey’s flank while she purses her lips, studying the cover. It’s awfully dull, a solid red with fancy golden letters that, honestly, she can’t even read through the swooping and looping font.

“What is this?” Tatiana mutters, and she opens it up.

Immediately, she slams it shut.

After a moment, she opens it back up.

She slams it shut again, hard enough that the force blows her hair back. Her face definitely feels very red.

“August,” she says, and he looks over at her. “What is this?”

He shrugs. “A book.”

“August,” she repeats, and she holds the book up. “I just read the words ‘anal sex.’”

“Yeah.”

Tatiana blinks, still a little shocked, and then she explodes. She thrusts the book out at him, shrieking, “What is this?!”

“Careful!” he snaps, and he moves away like she’s holding a torch out at him. “Geez.”

“What in the Father’s name is this monstrosity?” she yells, and she’s really glad there’s no one around. She doesn’t want them to see her burning face, her clenched fist, or to hear her shrill voice, and she really doesn’t want them to see the borderline pornographic hellbook in her hand.

“It’s a book on sex,” he says simply, and he narrows his eyes at her.

“I don’t want it!” She throws it on the ground and crosses her arms, huffing and puffing.

“Hey!” He scoops it back up and brandishes the cover at her. “This”—He shoves it back towards her—”is educational.”

“I don’t want your smut,” she spits.

“Th-this isn’t-!” August flounders for a moment, and then shoves it at her more insistently. “It’s literally an official, academic book, put together by smart, educated people, about human intercourse.”

“Ugh!” She threads her hands through her hair and steps back as he thrusts it out at her. “I don’t want it!”

“Take it.”

“No!”

He shoves the book into her hands, and they struggle over it, pushing it back and forth. “I just want you to know how to have safe intercourse!”

“Oh, gross!”

“How is this gross?”

“The fact that you’re even thinking about me in that kind of situation, it’s-”

“I’m not! I’m just worried.”

“Oh Father, I thought you’d brought me back a recipe book or something.”

August gives her a rare, wicked smile then. “Well, follow some of the stuff in this book, and you could definitely make something.”

Tatiana wrenches the book from his hands, her chest heaving, her cheeks red, and smashes it against his shoulder. “Gods damn you!”

“Just take the damn book,” he scolds her as she beats him again. “It’s an educational experience, not some smutty novel. You should know about sex for when you-!”

Someone clears their throat. Tatiana stops, the book just about to smash down onto his shoulder again, and August freezes as well. They look across the street and find Elena the baker, smiling nervously, a sack of flour thrown over her shoulder. Mortification builds in Tatiana, and August looks like he’s regretting every single decision he’s ever made when she looks over at him.

“I heard nothing,” Elena says, and she walks away, whistling.

The baker is a good ways away before Tatiana starts beating August with the book again.

“I didn’t mean to elbow you so hard,” she mutters as she sits on the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry.”

August grumbles as he puts together a sandwich, then sighs. “It’s okay.”

“Why’d you get me that book?” she asks.

“Told you. I just wanted you to know about safe intercourse before you went into it.” He finishes laying a cut of chicken on the sandwich, looks at her, and raises an eyebrow. “Do you like him that way?”

Her face flushes, and she tries to not think of how nice and handsome he looks when he rolls his sleeves up. “Well, I guess.”

“Okay then, here’s what we’re gonna do.” August takes a bite of his sandwich, then gives her his full attention. “I know a guy who sells scented candles-”

“Oh no.”

“We get some wine, some scented candles, you know, set a mood. We find somewhere real nice, real private for you two to go.”

“Please don’t talk anymore.”

“I’m thinking rose petals on the bed.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“We’ll buy you, like, a really hot nightgown. I’m talkin’ all lace and a plunging neckline, kid.”

“Father Duma, please deliver thy humble servant from this dire situation.”

August ruffles her hair and holds her face in his hands. “I’m trying to create as sensual an experience as I can. Now, how good are you at leaning on doorways and looking vaguely sexy? Show me your seductive eyes.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Fair enough.” August lets go of her, takes another bite of his sandwich, and leans against the counter. “How long you guys been goin’ steady?”

Tatiana shrugs. “Two months? Probably a little more.”

“I’m honestly surprised you two haven’t jumped each other yet,” he says.

Her face heats up. “Remember that you’re talking to a cleric! Don’t be so uncouth.”

“What, I can practically feel the tension between you two whenever I walk into the same room as you.”

“Sometimes we sleep in the same bed,” she admits. “But we don’t touch each other.”

“You just sleep?”

“I mean, I kiss him and stuff. But nothing heavy or suggestive. We just like being near each other.” She lowers her eyes to the ground, and she traces all the cracks in his kitchen floor. “Sometimes he has bad dreams. He likes when I hold him. Says it calms him down.”

“How sweet,” August says. “Well, I was jokin’ about the scented candles and stuff, but you should read that book. I flipped through it, and it was legitimately informative.”

Tatiana frowns at the book on the table, her stomach churning. “Okay.”

He chews his sandwich, looking at her, and tilts his head. “What's wrong?”

She grips her skirt in her hands. “Nothing.”

“Liar,” he mumbles. “Are you worried he might hurt you?”

Tatiana lets out a dry laugh and shakes her head. “He’d never.”

“Are you worried he might not find you attractive?”

“N-not really. I think he still likes me.”

August hops up onto the counter with her. “So this is an actually real problem, ain’t it? What's up?”

Tatiana doesn't want to say it, because what she feels is selfish, and it's wrong. However, she can't tell any kind of lie to August, so she hesitantly admits.

“Zeke really doesn't remember any of his past. It's all a big blank whenever we sit down and try to pull something forward. I know he doesn't worry about it much, but I do.”

He folds his arms. “Mmhm.”

“I haven't tried to take things further because I don't want to impose, or do anything wrong. I mean, he's so great, that I- I know there was probably someone, back where he's from.” She leans forward with a sigh.

“You're worried you’re the other woman,” August guesses, and huffs when she nods. “You can't be the other woman if Ezekiel doesn't even remember the other. Besides, ain't like he's gonna leave you.”

“You don't know that,” she mumbles.

“Yes, I do, because it's obvious that he loves you. You aren't just a filler, a body to keep his bed warm while he waits for his memory to come back.” August pauses, then leans his elbows on his knees. “He never say that he loves you?”

She flushes, her heart throbbing. “Not really. But I haven't either.”

“Well, one agonizingly slow step at a time, I guess.”

There’s the sudden sound of footsteps, those that Tatiana recognizes, and she smiles in delight as Zeke passes by the doorway. He stops as he spots them and enters the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are. I wanted to tell you that I was back.” He looks tired, exhausted enough that he can't even smile, but his body relaxes when she gives him a grin.

“Hey! You should go wash up and rest. You look like a mess.”

He sighs and moves towards the table. “I think I’ll eat something first, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll whip something-”

August jabs her in the side suddenly, and she squeaks and swivels her head towards him. His eyes are wide as he gestures to the table, and Tatiana’s gut sinks as she remembers that the godforsaken book is sitting there, right there!

She turns her pleading eyes to August, silently begging for help as Zeke moves to sit, and he hops off the counter.

“General, hey!” August puts his hands on Zeke’s shoulder and starts steering him out of the room. “Got some nifty stuff while I was out, why not come take a look?”

“I -I don't really need anything-”

“Sure you do, we all do!” August pushes more insistently, and a weight flies off Tatiana’s shoulders as they move towards the door. “Come on, off we go.”

She forces a smile and waves as they leave, and lunges for the table as soon as they're gone. She fumbles with the book for a moment in her panic, and then rushes towards her room. Her mind fills with multiple places where she can hide the damned thing, and she tries to not look too suspicious as she holds it close to her chest.

Tatiana turns a corner a little too quickly, and smashes into someone. Both of them stumble back, and she immediately apologizes—”I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!”—as everything that both of them are holding goes sprawling on the floor.

“No problem, Tatiana,” the other cleric says, and she sighs at the mess on the floor. “Watch where you’re going next time though, okay?”

Tatiana’s eyes snap to the book on the floor, and her stomach lunges into her throat. She contemplates lunging for it, snatching it up, but doesn’t want to make a scene. “I will. I’m sorry.”

“Here, let me get that for you.” Her fellow sister leans down, starts scooping up her things, and grabs August’s book by the cover. “Fancy looking thing.”

The pages flip open, and Tatiana waves her hands. “Oh, don’t-!”

She nearly shrieks as the cleric’s eyebrows fly into her hairline, and she buries her face into her hands. Her heart races, and she wonders, “Why, Father, why does this have to happen to me?”

“This is some interesting content,” the cleric says.

Tatiana only makes a choking sound in response.

When she peeks between her fingers, she’s being given a devilish grin, and the sister says, “Do my chores for five days, and no one will know anything about this.”

Tatiana grits her teeth and snatches the book, her eyes burning with embarrassed tears. “Fine! Now leave me alone!”

“I can’t believe you’re finally getting ready to put the moves on the general, you sly dog. And you actually are reading up on it, too? This is just-”

“I said leave me alone!”

Zeke knows that he was in love with someone. He knows that he was very in love with someone, because when he thinks upon her, he gets an ache in his chest that won’t fade for hours.

He remembers what she looks like, because she is the forlorn woman that he previously only had fuzzy recollections of. But now he knows that she was slender and elegant, lovely beyond compare. Long blonde hair the color of sun-kissed wheat, soft blue eyes, and with remarkable poise and grace. In the few recollections he has of this woman, she is always dressed in amazing finery, and through that, he deduces that she must have been a woman of great status and import.

Zeke remembers a few things about he and this woman: He recalls kissing her, stroking her hair, holding her hands, protecting her with his entire life. He remembers delivering her across a mountain passage, for what reason he knows not, and sending her away as an army closes in on him.

“I want to stay with you,” the woman tells him, yet Zeke remembers her leaving with a few knights regardless. He had been trying to protect her, and that is why he had left her, but he remembers such tears in her eyes and the feeling of his heart breaking.

“You’re all zoned out there. Something wrong?” a villager asks.

Zeke opens his eyes, pulled out of his scant memories, and blinks. He must have been nearly asleep, because he feels groggy, and the sun burns his eyes. He waves a hand to the villager. “I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

They appear worried, but leave him alone regardless. Zeke shakes his head, dislodging the awful memory of the beautiful woman’s tears, and focuses on what is in front of him, rather than what is behind him.

Perhaps the woman in his memory is not “lovely beyond compare” after all.

Tatiana is humming cheerily as she pulls a sheet from her basket, and she shakes it out before throwing it over the laundry line. It’s finally warm enough to hang laundry in the open air, and she seems almost excited by the fact, and she does the chore without a single complaint.

He can hear the sea beat on the shore in the distance, and tips his head back to the sky with a deep inhale. The sound of waves stirs something else in his memory, and he wonders: Was his homeland by the sea? An island of sorts, or a seaside nation? Was the woman in his memory the princess of his country, or of elsewhere?

A squeak catches his attention, and he glances up to find Tatiana drowning in a sheet, carried off of the line by the wind, and he gets to his feet and makes his way over to her.

“You are hopeless,” he says fondly as he pulls at the cloth. It’s damp, and clings to her stubbornly. “Here, be still now. I will save you.”

He finally pulls it off of her, and she gasps as she is freed. She pulls stray hairs back into place, and glowers at the sheet in his hands. “Pesky thing, flew right off before I had the chance to clip it down.”

Zeke hums and throws it back over the line. “A dangerous foe.”

She hands him the clips to secure it in place, and her face is flushed. “You know, I wish I could say that’s the first time a sheet has almost suffocated me, but, um. It’s not.”

He laughs, and reaches to stroke her hair. “Perhaps you need my protection while you do the laundry. Fear not, I shall keep you from all harm.”

Tatiana blushes even more fiercely as he pets her head, looking up at him sheepishly. “Don’t tease me. It’s not nice.”

He only smiles in response and threads her hair between his fingers, pulling the silky strands along his skin. Her hair is such a beautiful color, like the sea at noon on a summer day, and he never tires of the waves and curves of it. When he’d awoken in the church for the first time, the color of her hair was what had first snagged his attention.

He catches her eyes, realizes she’s staring at him with a very expectant expression, and leans down. She stands on her toes, resting her hands against his shoulders, shuts her eyes, and then yelps as the ends of a sheet billow in the wind, smacking her right in the face.

Zeke laughs again as she sputters and holds her against his chest.

His memories are most vivid in sleep, and he wishes they weren’t. He wishes that he didn’t remember at all, because what he remembers are not happy memories. He remembers, after leaving the woman in safety, throwing his weapons down at the feet of a general, falling to his knees, and allowing himself to be arrested and dragged off.

He remembers chains, blood in a dark stone room, recalls every torture imaginable. He remembers his pain being dulled with potions and spells, needles being slid under his skin, and the burning agony that slowly, slowly, slowly built as his senses gradually came back. He remembers being held under in tubs of water until his lungs burned, being pulled out and allowed to gasp for air, before being thrust back in. He remembers the hot lash of a whip against his back, his skin blistering and opening under the leather, and how the bits of coarse metal braided in had bit his flesh. He remembers a hot poker, stirred in the coals of a fire in front of him, being rolled firmly over his palms.

Zeke remembers screaming.

Zeke remembers someone hissing in his ear, “This is the price of your disobedience, your chivalry.”

Zeke remembers being afraid.

He jolts up, gasping, clawing at the sheets of the bed, dry heaving and coughing as the scars on his body burn like molten lava. Sweat races down his skin, and he stares at his burned, rough palms, and he can recall the exact shape of the poker that had maimed him. The sight of his wounds sickens him, and he buries his face in his hands, still heaving and choking.

A cool hand rushes over his chest; he lunges at the touch. It’s familiar and soft, however, and he shakes as he looks down at Tatiana. She’s wide awake, despite her her hair and clothes being rumpled from sleep. Her gray eyes are heavy with anxiety, and she runs her hand further up, over his shoulder, to rest on the the side of his neck.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” she asks, and she brushes her fingers over a scar that decorates the side of his neck. “Here?”

Zeke shakes his head slowly, then faster. “No,” he whispers, and he hates himself, because he keeps shaking like a newborn foal when he should be strong.

Tatiana shifts, getting on her knees, and places her hands politely in her lap. “Do you want me to leave? Do you need to be alone?”

Alone?

Never.

He leans in, wrapping his arms around her, and buries his face in her neck. “No, please.”

Tatiana smells like cinnamon and lavender, and he shakily inhales her scent. Her hair brushes comfortingly against his cheek, and he squeezes her tighter, tighter, and only stops when he thinks that she might break if he holds her any firmer.

Her arms are restricted, but she lifts them the best she can to rub him. “It’s all okay now, my dearest. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Zeke only lets go of her after a long while, and rests his head in her soft, warm lap while she kneels. Her fingers pull at the strands of sweaty, matted hair in his face, and she hums a relaxing tune, which turns into a sweet song. Zeke has never heard Tatiana sing before, and he doesn’t exaggerate when he says that she has the voice of a siren.

He falls into sleep while she pets his head and sings, but it’s still hard when he remembers the sound of someone laughing at his pain.

“Hey, Ezekiel.”

Zeke turns at the sound of August’s voice, and finds him with a small group of children behind him. As usual, they peer at Zeke with caution, no matter how he lowers himself to their level and smiles at them, and it frankly wounds him. He’s very fond of the children—he wonders if he had any family back where he was from, any little siblings, nieces, nephews? He seems to have a natural inclination towards dealing with children, but doesn’t know where it comes from.

“August,” he greets.

“What’re you doing?” the merchant asks.

“I am just heading back to the church. I was tending to the horses.”

“You know where Tatiana is?”

Zeke frowns. “I haven’t seen her in a few hours, no. Why do you need her?”

A small girl, perhaps nine, speaks up. A heavy book is in her hands. “She’s gotta read to us!”

“And what will she read to you, my friend?” he asks her.

She blushes and twists the book in her hands, looking at the ground.

“Just a story,” August replies for her. His hands reach out, ruffling a couple children’s hair while he pulls them closer.

“I see. Why don’t August or I read it for you?” Zeke suggests.

“Auntie has to,” another girl insists, and she pulls at August. “She has to read.”

“I’m perfectly capable of reading,” August argues, and the children speak up about that, all at once.

“Not as good.”

“Auntie’s voice is prettier than Uncle’s.”

“You only read the scary stories!”

August’s expression shifts into a near-pout as the criticisms drag on. “Ungrateful midgets! I care for you day and night, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Find Auntie,” the girl with the book insists.

“We’ll take a look around,” Zeke assures before August can open his mouth. “She’s around here somewhere. Did you already check the church?”

“Father Alexi told us she went out.”

“Perhaps we should check the market area first.” Zeke glances at the children, who are still clinging to August and refusing to look at him. “Do you all mind if I come along? I can leave, if you want.”

They eye him nervously and shake their heads.

“They’re just scared of you ‘cause you’re big,” August tells him in a hushed voice as they peruse the small shopping area. “And you don’t smile a lot.”

“You’re big,” Zeke points out irately. “And you don’t make any facial expressions at all.”

August grabs two of the boys by their collars as they attempt to rush off. “Please, I practically raise them. You’re still just some guy who’s stealing all of Tatiana’s attention.”

Zeke buys them all a treat before they leave the stalls, then gives them ample space for their own comfort, and this seems to get them to warm up to him, if not just a little.

They find Tatiana a while later, sitting on a grassy slope above the beach. The sea breeze is ruffling her hair while she kneels, sending it streaming behind her, and her attention is focused on a quilt in her hands. Zeke can tell that she’s focused, because she doesn’t hear their approach, nor is she doing anything like humming a tune while she pulls the needle through her project.

“Auntie!” The kids rush past them up the slope, and she pulls her attention away from her sewing.

“Hello,” she says, and she sets the quilt down in her lap. “What are you doing?”

“The story,” the girl who holds the book says, and she holds it out to her. “Please read it.”

Tatiana’s eyes go up to Zeke and August. “The story?”

August scowls a little and shrugs. “They insisted that you read it. We’ve been looking for you for an hour.”

“I’m sorry. I was just doing a little bit of sewing.” She twists, setting her project in a basket on her other side, carefully folding the corners of it so they don’t drag on the grass. She turns back to them and holds out her hands, and the girl hands her the book. “Now, what are we reading this afternoon?”

“Is it a collection?” Zeke asks August.

“Yeah. Some fancy storybook I found while on a trip a couple years ago. It’s got quite a few in there, and the kids never get tired of ‘em.”

“I want the one about the priestess,” a small girl says. “Please!”

“That one?” Tatiana asks, and they nod. “Alright, alright. Let’s find it.”

“You can go now,” August tells Zeke. “Or you could stay, if you want.”

Zeke watches while Tatiana flips through the pages of the storybook, the children inching closer and closer to her, and sits down on the grass next to August. “I think I’ll stay.”

August lies back on the grass while Tatiana starts to read, and Zeke does the same, crossing his arms over his stomach. The relaxed position feels odd, but not bad, and he shuts his eyes while she starts.

“There was once a kind priestess who lived in a priory, deep in the forest, where the evil witch, the Baba Yaga, reigned in terror. The priestess was respected by all for her wisdom and bravery, and protected her people from the ruthless behaviors of the Baba Yaga.”

Zeke takes a deep breath as the wind blows the scent of the ocean towards him.

“The Baba Yaga resented the priestess for her kindness, and for the way she was beloved. The priestess was very beautiful, and the witch used this as grounds to pursue her relentlessly, for the Baba Yaga was fond of the souls of beautiful women-”

He wonders when the last time he had been so relaxed was.

“-with the increase of atrocities the Baba Yaga showed her people, the priestess lost her closest friend and companion to a curse-”

He wonders if his old life was anything like this, so serene and quiet, and then remembers the scars that mar his entire body. He figures that his life was anything but.

“-the priestess was filled with great sorrow by the Baba Yaga’s cruelty towards her people, and more so by the loss of her closest friend, and offered herself as a sacrifice to appease the witch. Little did she know that her selflessness would-”

Zeke clenches his hands tightly together, and tries to not think of what he had done to warrant such terrible cruelty. Should he have not saved the woman? Was her safety a mistake? Why did he even need to save her?

“-the witch was repulsed by the priestess’ kindness-”

Did he do something wrong? Was he a bad person? Was the woman a bad person? Was he in the right, or the wrong? What other things did he do?

His eyes fly open as Tatiana finishes the story with a cheery, “-and the priestess, having overcome her grief and rid her people of the Baba Yaga’s torment, lived the rest of her days in peace. The end!”

The sky is just a little dimmer than it was when the story started, and the sun is starting to shift closer to the sealine. August sighs and sits up next to Zeke, reaching for one of the children.

“Why’d the priestess’ friend have to die?” one of them asks. “That’s not fair. The priestess was nice.”

“Unfortunately, just simple kindness won’t get you through life sorrow-free,” Tatiana says, and she hands the storybook back to the girl. “But the loss of her friend gave her bravery to confront the Baba Yaga.”

“But she didn’t even go to the witch’s house intending to stop her,” points out another child. “I don’t think what she did was smart.”

This sparks a debate among the children, and Tatiana holds out her hands nervously as they all start talking at once. “Now, now. I’m glad that we’re having a nice discussion, but let’s all just-”

“Time to go home,” August says, and he picks up two of the children under his arms before setting them on their feet. “Thanks for reading, Tatiana. Sorry to bother you.”

“Not a bother,” she says, and she stretches an arm over her head, hooking the other behind it. “Reading is fun.”

“Read again tomorrow,” a child implores. “Please? Can we read The Firebird and the Prince?”

“Mmm, I suppose we can,” she replies. “Now, let August take you home. Your parents will be looking for you soon.”

The gaggle of children pout and whine, but laugh with delight as August scoops some of them up and swings them about, and willingly follow him down the slope. They’re still arguing over the story while they leave, and Tatiana sighs as she picks her sewing back up out of the basket.

“They have so much energy,” she comments fondly. “And I have no idea what they see in me.”

“You’re nice to them,” Zeke responds, and he moves a little closer to her. “That’s a nice quilt you’re making.”

She smiles. “I’ve been working on it ever since I found you. I started it to pass the time while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“You waited by my bedside the whole time?”

“Of course I did,” she replies, and her expression is obviously confused. “I only ever left to grab food, or to bathe, or if I needed something I couldn’t ask someone to bring me. I thought you might be scared when you woke up, or confused, so I wanted to be there.”

“Well, I was most certainly both of those things.” Zeke picks up a portion of the quilt. “Your work is exquisite, as usual. Who taught you?”

Tatiana drags the thread through an area, quiet for a long moment. “Self-taught. And then, when I came to the church, that nice sister I was telling you about a little while ago gave me formal lessons. It was one of the only things I was ever naturally good at, so it kinda just caught on.”

“You’re good at many things,” Zeke assures.

She makes a skeptical sound and continues her work. The silence between them drags on, and Zeke listens to the waves beat on the shore. It’s a constant, steady rush, and the feel of the mist on his face soothes him. He rubs his hands together, feeling the outlines of the burn scars, and shuts his eyes.

This is peaceful.

He likes it.

“Are you okay?” Tatiana asks suddenly, and he opens his eyes.

“What makes you ask that?”

“Well, you’ve just seemed a little zoned out lately,” she admits, and she puts her sewing in her lap. “Like, staring into space, being quiet for a really long time, stuff like that. Not to mention all this waking up in a panic in the dead of night, or-” She bites her lip, and he notices the way her hands clench as she asks, “Are you remembering anything?”

Zeke could tell her a lot of things: He could tell her about the torture, first of all, explain the number of scars on his body. He could explain the vague recollections he has of his motherland, of a beach and green fields. Zeke could tell her about his past lover, about how much he loved her back then, and how it broke his heart when he sent her away, through some mountain pass. He could rely on Tatiana’s sympathetic ear and relieve his heart of all its worries and put all of these unpleasant memories behind him.

But he looks into her eyes and wonders how she would react to something like that.

“We have to send you home,” she might say. “We have to find out where you’re from and send you back to her!”

Zeke doesn’t want to go, and he doesn’t want Tatiana to break her own heart.

“I’m not,” he lies, and he frowns at the slump of her shoulders. He knows that there’s really no answer that would make her happy, however.

“I see.” Tatiana stares at the quilt in her lap, makes a weak attempt to pick it back up and start sewing again, and then lets it flop back down. “You don’t remember anything at all?”

Zeke shakes his head. “Not a single thing.”

She stares up at the sky, taking a heaving sigh, and then shuts her eyes. A slight burst of wind rustles past them, pulling her hair along, and for what feels like the millionth time, he marvels at her soft beauty: Her smooth skin, her thick lashes, her pink lips, the soft curve of her jaw.

The woman in his memory is beautiful, but she is so distant, so distant in the past.

What he sees now, has within his reach, squeezes at his heart and makes him feel short of breath. This is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, in body and soul, and she replaces the painful ache in his chest with a better ache, an ache that fondly says, “If I am not with her for all of my days, I might as well be dead.”

He loved that woman truly and deeply, he knows that, but...

“I love you.”

Tatiana’s eyes open, and she gives him an uncomprehending look. “What did you say?”

Zeke swallows, but he doesn’t feel hot or embarrassed at all. He places a hand in the grass and leans towards her a little more, repeating with all the conviction he has in him, “I love you.”

Tatiana doesn’t say anything, and the look in her eyes doesn’t change. The waves continue to crash down on the shore, flocks of seabirds continue to fly overhead, and the sounds of the village carry on behind them, but the world may as well be still while Zeke waits for something, anything to come from her.

“Are you… teasing me?” she finally asks. Her expression is nervous, and she peers up at him through her lashes.

He shakes his head. “No.”

She presses her lips together and looks down at the ground. “Oh.”

A sudden despair washes over him, beating at him like a strong current, and he grips a handful of the grass in his hands. “You don’t have to say it back. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He pulls away from her, staring out at the seashore. “I just really wanted to say it.”

A slight sound comes from Tatiana, and she asks very forcefully, “Are you kidding me?”

Zeke looks at her, and she’s leaning far forward, both her hands planted against the ground, a rather miffed expression on her face.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that for months! I love you, too! What do you mean, ‘you don’t have to say it back?’ Of course I’m going to tell it to you.”

The despair falls away as quickly as it had struck him, replaced with a torrent of what he can only describe as delight, and he leans in towards her. “You-”

“I love you!” she says almost desperately, and she takes a hand off the ground to press it against her chest. “I’m mad about you. M- my chest gets so tight when you so much as look at me that I can’t even breathe, you ridiculous man.”

“I- I can’t breathe either,” he admits stupidly, and he reaches across the grass to grab her hand. It fits perfectly in his own, and any lingering thoughts he has of his lost lover are gone. “I’m sorry, this is embarrassing, but-”

“Please, will you tell me again?” Tatiana asks, and he squeezes her hand a little tighter as she ducks her head in a pleading gesture. “I want to hear it, just once more.”

She is the most heavenly being that the gods have ever created, the wind ruffling her hair, the slowly setting sun illuminating her figure, and the seashore so perfectly complimenting everything about her. His breath catches in his chest for a long moment, his stomach tightens, and he can barely breathe out, “I love you.”

The expression she shows him then is gentle and a little unreadable, and she purses her lips as she moves closer. “Again?”

Her lips are within reach, and Zeke lowers his head to capture them with his own, softly parting from her to whisper another, “I love you.”

Her eyes shut and she smiles against his next kiss. “Can you say it-?”

“I love you,” he says again, and he kisses her a little firmer this time. “Tatiana. I love you.”

Her hand reaches up to brush along his neck, and she moves her lips carefully over his. It’s a light kiss, just a simple brushing of lips and affections, but it feels so much more important than any other kiss he can remember, from this life or from his past one. The feel of her smile against his lips is intoxicating, and he pulls back to tell her again, not for the last time that day:

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

EARLY SUMMER OF YEAR 400, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

Odessa is a city in the middle of Rigel, considered a great vacation spot for nobles and commoners alike. It’s got beautiful architecture, lovely dancing halls, delicious food, and a beautiful canal flowing right through the middle of the main street. Magic lights up the city at night, giving the streets a beautiful glow, and it’s considered an excellent spot for lovers.

Tatiana doesn’t know exactly how she wound up in Odessa, but she kinda wants to go home.

Zeke tells her that she’s in Odessa because she’d gotten misty-eyed when he’d said he’d be gone there for a business trip for a month, but Tatiana distinctly remembers that he had also asked her to come along with him. It’s not that important, and it’s certainly nothing worth arguing over, so she’s let it go, but she knows the truth.

In any case, Tatiana has packed her nicest clothes, some sewing projects to work on, and she hopes she can survive a month in the city. Zeke is already in meetings, whisked away within their first hour of being there, and Tatiana is sitting with their luggage in the more-than-a-little-scary military base, waiting anxiously while each soldier who passes her gives her a look like they’ve never seen a lady before.

“I’ll be out soon,” he’d said, but four hours later isn’t really “soon,” at least by Tatiana’s standards.

She’s sitting on a chest and tapping her foot, trying not to look too irritated. Already she’s tried perusing the hallways of the military base, which is really much more beautiful than the one on the plains. This one has the look of a manor, warm brown stone on the outside and finery and comfort on the in. There were tapestries and the like hanging on some of the walls for her to admire, some pretty vases and pottery, but beyond that? Nothing.

Tatiana supposes she could pull her quilt out of her luggage and work on it a little, but she doesn’t want to let her guard down around the soldiers regarding her curiously. She could give them a good whack with her staff if they got too close, but she doesn’t really like the idea of Zeke getting in trouble for bringing an “unruly guest” along with him. She knows that everyone in this building, every officer and commander and general, has their eyes on him, because he’s the emperor’s new favorite, because he’s a clear foreigner who claims to have no memory of his past. They’re all just waiting for him to step out of line and give them an excuse to point fingers at his treachery, to put a new notch on their ladder of personal success.

Tatiana gives a heaving sigh, rests her chin in a hand, and jumps as she hears someone calling her name, a quiet, “Sister Tatiana?”

She lifts her head from her hand and looks down the long, looming hallway, and a pretty woman has stopped her walk through it. She’s dressed in a cute white gown, a soft pink shawl draped over her arms, and her pastel blue hair is tied up in a prim bun. The makeup on her face is applied with the greatest care, and her painted pink lips turn up in a delighted smile after a moment of them regarding one another.

It’s the sweet smile that finally gets Tatiana to recognize her.

She scrambles up from her makeshift seat, beating her simple red dress free of any dust, and hesitates as she wonders what she should do: Bow, curtsy, nod, smile? She does none of those things, and all she does is let, “L-Lady Rinea!” stumble out of her mouth.

“Oh my,” Rinea says, and she closes the distance between them. “It is you!”

Rinea looks so different when she’s not sick in bed, and Tatiana is embarrassed that it took her more than ten seconds to recognize her. Her eyes are so bright, her skin so filled with healthy color, that she almost looks like a completely different person. As Tatiana suspected during their brief time together at the castle, Rinea is as beautiful as a summer rose with her health intact.

“What are you doing here?” Rinea asks. Her hands are clasped together politely, and she waits patiently while Tatiana gathers her thoughts and manners.

Tatiana bows her head, then snaps it back up immediately when Rinea says, “Oh, no, don’t do that! How embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “I thought it was respectful.”

Rinea laughs. “It is, but hardly anyone ever does it for me. It’s almost alarming.”

“Th-then no head-bowing. Or bowing of any sort.” Tatiana rubs the back of her neck and shifts her feet. “I’m just here with my Zeke. We were supposed to-”

“Zeke?” Rinea tilts her head.

“General Ezekiel,” Tatiana corrects herself. “I came here with him. I assume that Lord Berkut is attending these meetings as well?”

“Yes, he is. He’s mostly in charge of them, in fact. I have family here in Odessa, so I decided to come with him and pay them a visit.” Rinea pauses, and then her eyes brighten. “You came here with General Ezekiel? Are you two together now?”

Hearing someone else say it makes Tatiana’s heart flutter—how embarrassing!—and she struggles to not break out in a grin. “For a little while now, yes.”

“How delightful!” Rinea’s smile is genuine, her voice lively and bright, and Tatiana appreciates her enthusiasm to brighten up the halls. Her face falls in a moment however, appearing embarrassed, and she admits, “I’m afraid that when I last saw him, I assumed you two were husband and wife. I embarrassed him terribly.”

The thought of Zeke blushing and waving away such a thought amuses Tatiana, and she laughs. “Aw, he embarrasses easily, actually. I wouldn’t feel too bad about it, were I you.”

Rinea appears relieved, and a silence passes between them for a moment while they flounder for something to say. Tatiana doesn’t really know what to speak about to a lady of such refine and beauty, and she imagines that Rinea doesn’t know what to say of a clumsy, lowborn cleric. While she might talk to her friends at home about chores, hobbies, little tidbits of village gossip, Rinea is most certainly deserving of more important topics of conversation.

Tatiana just doesn’t have anything important to say, however.

It surprises her when Rinea speaks up suddenly, tucking a curl of stray hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “Y-you know, I am glad that you are here, Sister Tatiana.”

“G-glad?” Tatiana crosses her arms, eying Rinea’s lovely outfit, and suddenly feels a little self-conscious in her simple frock and boots. She wonders if the lady isn’t teasing her.

“I mean it,” she says, as though reading Tatiana’s mind. She looks around the hall, which no one has passed through since they started talking, and her shoulders seem to relax. “I don’t get along so well with many people here.”

“You don’t?”

Rinea shakes her head. “I’m from a house that’s somewhat fallen in prominence and respect the past few decades. As I’m sure you know, the generals and commanders here are from very respected families.”

“Well, yes.”

“Even being engaged to the crown prince hasn’t done much for people’s opinions of me.” Rinea sounds not so much sad, but perhaps a little annoyed, a touch exasperated. “There’s a room here for the officer’s significant others to gather in, so they can talk among themselves, but, well-”

A little irked, Tatiana thinks, I wasn’t invited to that, and then remembers her plain appearance and figures that no one would want her in there anyway, and she wouldn’t want to be in there.

“Many of the people in there are very kind, but there’s just enough of them who detest me that I can’t bear to sit with them. They give me such pointed looks, and say such unkind things, and it stresses me greatly. I fear I’ll never find favor with them.” Rinea turns her sweet eyes up to Tatiana, and a relieved smile brightens her face back up. “But you are very kind, and I like you very much.”

Her cheeks feel hot. Tatiana looks to the ground with her heart thumping against her chest. “O-oh, you do?”

“You were so kind to me, in the short time we spent together,” Rinea explains. Almost hesitantly, experimentally, she reaches out and pushes a strand of Tatiana’s hair behind her ear. Her touch is gentle and fond, and she appears relieved when she isn’t slapped away. “I don’t find kindness easily in others. I took it to heart, truly.”

“It wasn’t anything special,” Tatiana says hastily. More and more, she feels self-conscious of her simple appearance, but at the same time, her heart is soaring.

Lady Rinea likes her.

Rinea frowns. “It was indeed special. Among court, you don’t find many kind people. You’re very special, in my eyes, at least.” She makes for another experimental touch, taking Tatiana’s hand loosely in her own. “Would you mind if we took tea together tomorrow?”

Her heart jumps into her throat. “With me?”

“With you.”

“Oh, my gracious.” Tatiana wants to. She really wants to. Instead of immediately saying “yes,” however, she mutters, “But I’m just, well, a cleric from some village in the middle of nowhere. You’ll damage your reputation if you take tea with me.”

Rinea crinkles her nose in a defiant expression. “I couldn’t care less what a bunch of rude, stuffy fools think of my company. They dislike me anyway, they dislike you anyway, and they’d say nasty things no matter what.” Her face opens up in surprise, and then she turns her eyes to the ground. “Oh, perhaps you don’t want to?”

“I want to!” Tatiana blurts out, and she squeezes Rinea’s hand back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t. I’ll definitely have tea with you tomorrow, and as many times as you want to after that."

Lady Rinea’s smile is as bright as the sun, and Tatiana doesn’t feel so self-conscious anymore.

The meeting ends up lasting five hours, and Zeke comes out looking exasperated and exhausted. He only mumbles when Tatiana asks what’s wrong, helps take their luggage, and Tatiana shoots nasty looks to the greasy-looking men who come out of the meeting room after him when they give him glares.

Their inn is a short distance from the military base, and when Tatiana asks why they aren’t simply staying there, he says shortly, “We were not invited.”

“Is it because of me?” she asks softly, and his expression softens as he looks at her.

“No, no.” He hesitates as they come up to the inn, which looks as lovely as the rest of the city, and then says, “Well, it is some of you, but mostly me. Many of the other officers and generals find me detestable.”

“But you’re so sweet,” Tatiana protests as someone guides them to their room. She’s got her own bags, and Zeke has everything else. “Why don’t they like you?”

“You say that like you don’t know,” Zeke replies. He offers the young lady helping them a gold mark, and she smiles with delight as she walks off.

Tatiana huffs. “Jealous grouches, all of them.”

“I’m grateful to be in the emperor’s favor, but also admit to being annoyed by it.” Zeke opens the door to the room, letting Tatiana in first. “I’d rather not have my colleagues belittle me and shoot juvenile insults at every turn, and- Oh.”

The room is lovely, really, at least three times larger than Tatiana’s own little space back home. The floors are made of warm brown wood, the walls covered in an elegant floral wallpaper, and the furniture is simple, but appears to be of fine make. What makes Zeke say “oh” is the bed, and the fact that there is only one.

One bed, clearly built for two.

“We requested a room with separate beds, didn’t we?” he mumbles.

The back of Tatiana’s neck feels hot, and she chooses now, of all the damn times, to recall August telling her teasingly, while helping her pack for the trip, “You guys are gonna have some alone time. Why not put the info in that book I bought you to practice?”

Why not put that info into practice indeed?

“I’ll go speak with someone about this and see if we can’t get this fixed,” Zeke says, and he moves for the door. “Wait just a moment here.”

“Oh, no!” Tatiana grabs his arm, and he stops. Her face is red, she’s sure, and his expression is puzzled.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

She scrambles for something to say, something that is direct, but not outright telling him that she really would like to get intimate with him.

“This is fine,” she finally says, and his unreadable expression is making her nervous. She keeps blundering through her words. “We don’t have to bother anyone. This is fine. W-we can share the bed. Sleep together.”

“Hm.” Zeke rubs a hand over his jaw, then sighs. “I suppose we do sleep in the same bed often, back home. I suppose there’s no harm.”

Tatiana’s heart sinks, and she wants to say, “No, no, I don’t mean we can literally sleep together, I meant the other way.”

Instead, she shuts her mouth and puts a nice smile on her face while he starts unpacking, even though she feels like banging her head against the walls.

Zeke is not looking forward to another day of scoff and scorn from the other officers, people who would have no problem, and might in fact be delighted, if he were stripped of his rank and thrown in a cell to rot. He takes comfort in the fact that he’s a better man than them and prepares himself for another full day of meetings in that way.

What’s a larger problem than just some random commanders and officers spitting insults at him is the fact that Lord Berkut, whom Zeke has never spoken to before, treats him with great suspicion and contempt. He had greeted him as “the spy,” snidely refused to show him any important papers or statistics, and excused him from the meeting with a scowl. Berkut had made it very, very clear, to him and everyone else, that Zeke was not as welcome as the emperor would want him to be.

And now, today, he has to suffer the same abuse at his hands.

He also takes comfort in the fact that, after a day of discussing criminal activity, food rations among battalions, training regimens, he’ll have Tatiana waiting for him. Waking up next to her is a comfort as well, even if he thinks she was a little stiff the previous night. Now, she walks to the base with him, wearing a nice dress, and he offers her his hand to hold while they walk through the streets.

Odessa is a truly lovely city, and the morning is filled with the scent of nearby bakeries and their fresh, morning treats. Zeke has heard that the food in the city is exceptionally good, and wonders if he’ll have any time to take Tatiana out. He wonders how city food differs from simple countryside cooking, and figures that he’ll enjoy her meals better than anything a fancy restaurant has to offer him.

“Don’t let what they say get to you today,” Tatiana encourages. They’ve come up to the stairs of the base, and she squeezes his hand.

“I shan’t.” He notices then Lord Berkut standing at the top of the stairs, glowering down at them. Despite it, he cups Tatiana’s face and gives her a quick kiss before asking, “You say you’re having tea with Lady Rinea today?”

“I am!” Nervously, she fiddles with the skirt of her dress, smoothing it down unnecessarily, and then pulling at a strand of hair. “Do I look bad? I- I’ve never been to anything fancy like this before, so I’m-”

“You outshine the sun and stars,” he interrupts, and then he gives her one more kiss. “Send a servant for me if you need anything. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“I won’t bother you,” she insists, but agrees to do so after he gives her a stern look.

He climbs the stairs, feeling Berkut’s fiery gaze on him with every step. When he gets to the top of the steps, however, and gets a good glance at the crown prince, he feels like his gaze is a little less hostile than it was before.

Odd.

Rinea receives Tatiana with a nervous, but delighted, smile, standing up from her seat immediately, and all Tatiana can do is stare at her, then at the room, and back to her.

The room is fancy; really fancy. The wooden floors are covered with a floral rug, and the walls are decorated with white wallpaper. Paintings of flowers and fields brighten the room, along with cabinets and chests that are made of fine, brightly polished wood. The table in the middle is large enough for two people to sit across from each other, with enough space in the middle for a tray with a tea set to sit. Besides that is a tiered cake stand, filled with cutely decorated pastries and soft tea sandwiches.

“Wow,” is the only thing Tatiana says.

Rinea blushes. “I wanted it to be nice.”

“It’s very nice,” Tatiana assures, and she gives Rinea an up-and-down glance. She’s wearing a very fine dress, light blue like her hair, and the skirts of it are flared out with a fluffy petticoat beneath. The shawl tied over her shoulders is pure white, made of a soft-looking fabric, and her slippers are slate gray and tied in cute ribbons. “You look very nice.”

Her blush deepens, and she takes a seat at the table. “I haven’t had tea with another woman in so long. I wanted to impress.”

“People really don’t like you.” Tatiana takes a seat opposite of Rinea, and she admires the tea set in front of her. The pot is decorated with the image of pink peonies, and the cups and sugar bowl are lined with delicate gold.

“They truly don’t,” Rinea replies, but she doesn’t sound all too saddened by it. “I don’t need the attentions of such shallow people, however. I’m content with Lord Berkut and a few choice friends.”

There’s silence as Rinea serves the tea, making sure to pour Tatiana’s first. The drink is fragrant, a little sweet, and a lovely light brown. It even looks like it has a hint of pink, when it catches the light while it’s poured, and she can tell that it’s very different from the old, common blends that she drinks back home. Tatiana insists on stirring in the cream and sugar herself after trying it as is, and Rinea sits back to pour her own cup. The clink as she gently sets the pot back down on the tray echoes through the room.

“I hope you enjoy.” Rinea’s voice is nervous. “This is my favorite blend. It’s black tea, infused with roses.”

The drink sounds really, really fancy, and really expensive, and Tatiana is almost nervous to try it. Then again, Rinea’s own cup is untouched, and she’s leaning slightly forward, as though she’s intent on seeing Tatiana enjoy it before she herself has so much as a sip. It feels weird, to take a drink while someone studies her so closely, but she raises the cup and helps herself.

It’s floral, slightly sweet, and not too heavy. It’s just the right temperature for pleasurable consumption, and Tatiana looks down into the cup before looking at Rinea.

“Delicious!” she says, and she sets it back down on the saucer. “Like, really yummy!”

The lady’s face brightens up, her hand rests on her chest as she gives a sigh of relief, and she then helps herself to the sweets and sandwiches on the tiered stand. “I’m so glad. I was worried you wouldn’t like it, Sister Tatiana. Berkut thinks it’s too sweet, but he drinks it anyway.”

She also helps herself to a small slice of vanilla cake, the same that Rinea has. “Is it good paired with this one?”

“Absolutely.” Rinea appears delighted at every positive comment Tatiana makes, and it only makes her want to say more.

“The tea set is so beautiful,” she comments. “Mine at home is so old. I wish I had a pretty one like this.”

“It’s my favorite set,” Rinea says. “I had it brought with me, just in case. Do you really like it?”

“It’s lovely,” Tatiana assures. “You don’t have to be so anxious about every little thing, Lady Rinea.”

Rinea is prettiest when she smiles, and she’s doing much of it right now, but she sounds nervous when she asks, “W-would you maybe just call me Rinea? And I can just call you Tatiana?”

Tatiana nearly chokes on the next sip of her tea, but composes herself and tries to hide her shortness of breath with a refined clearing of her throat. “What?”

“Just call me Rinea,” she repeats. “And I’ll just call you Tatiana.”

A little rush sweeps through Tatiana, a flare of delight, and she struggles to not break out in a grin. She ducks her head, focusing on the pastry on her plate to hide her expression. “Okay.”

“Good, good.” Rinea takes a sandwich from the platter and sets it on her plate, then stirs the tea around her cup a little. “So.”

“So.”

Another silence drifts between them, but instead of being almost unbearably awkward, both of them are suppressing smiles, and the amusement in the room is clear.

“Tell me about General Ezekiel,” Rinea says after a moment. “He’s so composed and refined whenever I see him. What’s he like behind closed doors?”

Tatiana is taking a sip of the tea while Rinea speaks, and when she finishes, she slams her cup back down on the saucer. Rinea jumps.

“He’s dense!” she exclaims suddenly.

Rinea blinks and slowly stops stirring her tea. “Oh?”

Her frustrations from the previous night are back in a blink, and she rests her palms on the table, even though it’s probably bad manners. “I came here with him because I wanted somewhere private, and he’s just so dense! You know, our inn even made a mistake, and they gave us a room with a single bed for two, and he still doesn’t get the message.”

“Oh my!” Rinea’s hand flies to her mouth, and her cheeks are pink. “When you say privacy, you mean it in that way.”

Tatiana snaps her mouth shut and nervously lifts her cup again. “I’m sorry. How inappropriate of me, ranting about my intimate life.”

“It makes me feel… trusted?” Rinea says, and then she smiles with great amusement. “I admit to not being able to relate. Berkut and I are watched almost constantly, to ensure that we don’t ‘defile each other before marriage.’ You, on the other hand… You don’t have those expectations, do you?”

Tatiana hums and puts a finger to her lip while she thinks. “Umm… I’d be lying if I said I’ve always been warned away from sexual intimacy before marriage, but no one in the church ever called it a sin or anything. We’re just kinda all about love, you know?”

“That sounds nice,” Rinea says wistfully. “I can’t so much as hold Lord Berkut’s hand in public without some old lady snapping at me for being a ‘brazen little hussy.’”

“How rude!” Tatiana exclaims. “If someone ever called me that, I’d have some choice words for them.” She pauses, wincing a little. “You know. I’d, uh, think about what I’d say to them at night, while lying in bed. I guess I’m not brave or clever enough to shoot back a witty reply on the spot, you know?”

Rinea laughs heartily, and the sound is like sunshine. “I do just the same! Crafting whole conversations and comebacks while I lie awake, imagining just what the lot of everyone would look like if I spoke back. It’s almost therapeutic, I think.” She takes a long sip of her tea, and then sets it down firmly. She leans forward a little, her eyes bright. “And don’t worry, you’ve got a whole month here! I’m sure you’ll be able to get across to the general if you keep at it.”

“Maybe,” Tatiana mumbles. She pushes the slice of cake around her plate, and then asks, almost too nervous to meet Rinea’s eyes, “Can we have tea again tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’d like that!”

Zeke finds himself telling a few officers off later in the day, annoyance bubbling within him, because he’s heard them saying less than polite things about their wives all day. He could deal with one little, “I hate to go home to her, she’s such a nag,” an occasional, “She’s always bothering me,” but a whole day of them?

Ezekiel has little patience for it.

“Your poor wives,” he scolds at the end of the day, and the group of men appear shocked to be approached. “Shame on the lot of you for saying such horrible things! If you don’t love a woman, or you’re going to complain about her the whole of your day, don’t marry her.”

One opens his mouth, as if to speak back, but then looks over Zeke’s shoulder and blanches a little. They scoff, shrugging their shoulders (“What does a young man like you know?” they say as they saunter off. “Just wait until your lover is nagging you to help with the chores.”), and Zeke glares after them.

He turns to see what had the one man so shaken, and almost blanches himself at the sight of Lord Berkut, also glaring after the men. He turns his gaze to Zeke, and his eyes aren’t expressionless, but the emotion he’s giving off is hard to pin down.

Zeke clears his throat and rests a hand on his chest as he bows. “I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so harshly to my colleagues. I simply have short patience for those who say such rude things.”

Berkut is silent, and he glances at Zeke, up and down, before speaking. “I can tell you are fond of your lover.”

“Tatiana? I- You couldn’t really yet classify us as ‘lovers,’ milord, but-”

“I too am fond of my fianceé,” Berkut says, and he’s obviously forcing a casual tone. “Interesting.”

Zeke is silent for a long, long moment, processing what the prince is saying, and then, haltingly, he asks:

“A-are you attempting to bond with me?”

Tatiana takes tea with Rinea every day, and every day, they find something new to talk about. One day, Tatiana talks about what life in her village is like, about her friends and her duties as a cleric. She talks about August, about the beach, about the beautiful color of the sea at noon in the summer, and Rinea listens with a wistfulness in her eyes.

In response, Rinea talks about her life the next day, over the same blend of rose tea and sweet cakes. She talks about her stuffy upbringing, her parents desperately grooming her to be as desirable and sweet as possible, in hopes that she would catch a respectable suitor’s eye and restore their house. She talks about her gardens, the love she has for her dancing lessons, the parties her parents sent her off to, and how they had inadvertently led her into Berkut’s path.

With each passing day, Tatiana also tells Rinea about her frustrations involving Zeke. They sleep in the same bed every night, hold hands, kiss, and yet he refuses to make a move on her. Not so much as an impolite hand on her hip, and it’s starting to drive her mad.

“How many hints do I have to drop?” she exclaims. “I think I’m being obvious. As obvious as I can be.”

Rinea lips quiver as she lifts her cup to them. She takes a long, long sip, clearly holding back a laugh while she drinks, and then sets her tea back down. “I’ve never had talks like these before. How amusing.”

Tatiana rests a cheek in a hand; she’s found out in the past couple weeks that Rinea doesn’t mind if Tatiana puts her elbows on the table, or if she slouches just a little, or if she eats all the eclairs and cookies by herself. “All my friends at home are married, and they always talk to me about this stuff. Sometimes, you feel like, ‘I didn’t really wanna know that,’ but mostly it’s kinda fun. It means they trust you.”

Rinea is quiet, a thoughtful expression on her heart-shaped face, and then she asks, “Do you trust me?”

Tatiana smiles. “Yeah.”

She breaks out in a sweet grin. “How lovely.”

It’s Rinea who suggests a change in wardrobe might help, and Rinea who comes over to the inn in the middle of the day, almost giddy with delight while she helps Tatiana pick out an outfit from the few pieces she’s brought along with her.

“I’ve never done something like this,” she keeps saying as she holds every blouse and skirt against Tatiana, trying to find a good combination. “This is fun!”

It’s Rinea who finally puts together an outfit, after bringing some of her own clothes over to share: A modest brown skirt, but paired with a blouse that dips to show an ample amount of cleavage. The bodice of the shirt is tight, pushing at and accentuating her curves, and Rinea even goes so far as to braid her hair for her. At this point, Tatiana is doing it less to catch Zeke’s eye, and more because her new friend seems beyond delighted to do such simple things, and she likes her when she smiles so brightly and vividly.

The outfit almost works. When Zeke comes back from his meetings, exhausted and a little grouchy, it almost works. She can see him eying her waist when she walks, subtly throwing glances at her cleavage while folding the laundry, and it almost works. She has him kissing her not even thirty minutes after he comes back, his lips heavy and desperate against her own as they lie on the couch, and it almost works. His hand slips to her thigh, gripping at the fabric covering it, and the outfit almost works.

And then he is up, panting and clearing his throat, and he leaves her breathless and desperate for just one more touch, one more brushing of his fingers against her covered legs, one more something, one more anything. But he’s straightening his clothes and hastily making for the bathroom door, muttering about taking a bath before bed.

Tatiana finds a bottle of wine on the nightstand, that she bought the night before on a frivolous whim at Rinea’s encouragement.

She changes out of the cute outfit, has three glasses, and flops facedown on the bed.

Zeke throws cold water in his face and gasps, sinking lower into the tub with a groan. His body is hot, boiling, burning, but gradually cools down the longer he soaks in the freezing bath. He shudders and pulls more chilly water up and over his face, and grits his teeth as he tries to push the image of Tatiana in that cute outfit out of his mind.

He tries to push the image out, but the outfit had emphasized her curves so well, shown such a good amount of her ample cleavage, and he’d been on her before he’d even realized what was happening. He’d even attempted to rudely touch her thigh, and he’s mortified at the mere thought of the other things that he’d been tempted to try.

Zeke is a gentleman, a polite man with good standards, and he shouldn’t be getting excited at the sight of some cleavage and a tight bodice. Tatiana deserves better than that, and he hopes she doesn’t think too lowly of him for almost losing his composure.

Odessa is filled with little cafés, and when some of maids and butlers accidentally burn the cakes for Rinea and Tatiana’s afternoon tea, they use it as an excuse to go visit one. They windowshop, find a small place to eat that’s nice and quiet, and Rinea offers to treat Tatiana to whatever she wants.

Tatiana is tired and a little grouchy, and even the plate of delectable paska doesn’t do much to help her mood.

Rinea eats two of the sweetbreads before finally speaking. “You look so downtrodden. Did last night not go well?”

Tatiana throws her head on the table, sending some of the silverware rustling, and she lets out a long, long groan. “We were close! So close.”

“But not there?”

She puts her elbows on the table and rests her face in her hands. The busy sound of the streets almost annoys her, and she takes a deep breath.  “How many hints do I have to drop before he gets what it is that I want? How blunt do I have to be?”

“Who knows?” Rinea eats another paska, then asks, “So, what happened exactly?”

“He liked the outfit. We kissed for a while. And then, he just got up, said he was going to take a bath, and left me there.” Tatiana takes a loaf of the bread in her hands, rips it apart, and half-heartedly eats it.

“And what did you do?”

“I had three glasses of wine and went to sleep before he even got out.”

Rinea’s eyes crinkle, that cute way that they do when she’s trying to not laugh.

“I give up!” Tatiana exclaims suddenly, throwing the paska down on the plate. “He’s dense! Unbelievably dense. We’ve only got a week left here, and I give up.”

Perhaps if they were alone in their tearoom, Rinea would laugh, but here in public, her shoulders only shake while she politely covers her mouth. “I wouldn’t give up. The general seems to love you. He’s just polite, and he’s probably just being held back by his own concepts of chivalry and manners.”

“He’s so polite. And he’s so sweet.” Tatiana gives a long, heaving sigh, resting her head in a hand and staring off into the street, bustling with people. “I love him. He’s so cute.”

Rinea smiles. “He is handsome. But not more so than my lord Berkut, I’ll have you know. I mean, have you seen those beautiful, dark eyes of his? Incredibly handsome.”

Tatiana wags a warning finger. “You come back to me when Lord Berkut’s face is even half as gentle and handsome as my Ezekiel’s, and then we’ll talk.”

Rinea scrunches her nose teasingly, then picks up her drink. “You are simply fond of the allure of an older man, aren’t you?”

She smiles and pops a piece of the paska in her mouth. “Mm. Perhaps.”

“Scandalous,” Rinea teases, and she fiddles with her coin purse when the waiter starts walking over. “Now, don’t you give up. I’m sure things will fall into place, in their own time.”

“Take the night off,” Berkut tells Zeke. “The meeting tonight isn't important. And why not take tomorrow off as well?”

Zeke sets down a paper, excited to look away from the long strings of numbers and budget information. “I could not possibly.”

The prince looks annoyed, and glowers down his nose at Zeke. “Take that girl of yours out, alright?”

“I would love to, but-”

“Go,” Berkut says. “You’ve spent nearly this entire month in this stupid base, poring over papers that don’t even concern your battalions, while these other fools have been off without permission, frolicking with their lovers when there’s work to be done.”

“So you’re saying I’ve earned tonight and tomorrow off?” Zeke asks.

Berkut scoffs and tosses his head. “I’m saying that the poor girl you dragged here deserves some of your attention. Give it to her. Or else.”

Zeke puts on the best clothes he’s brought with him—some nice pants, a button-up, a waistcoat—and does as suggested. Tatiana puts on the nicest dress outfit that she’s brought with her, and while it isn’t the cute outfit from the other night, the fluffy skirt and soft blouse are still a delight to see on her. A ribbon ties the blouse shut at the collar, and he fixes it sometimes for her throughout the evening.

Odessa is lovely at night, filled with people walking the streets, far from their cares and worries. Magic keeps the roads lit, rather than torches, and the light of it reflects off the water of the canal that stretches through the middle of the city. In the late spring, the grass is bright green, the trees in full bloom, and a sweet smell, from some restaurant no doubt, fills the air.

“Where are we going?” Tatiana asks. “What’s so important that you had to leave your meetings?”

“You are,” Zeke replies. Her arms are wrapped around one of his own, and he pats her hands with his opposite. “We’ve barely had any time to see the sights, my dear.”

She frowns. “That sounds like something you’d hate.”

“Leisure isn’t my strong suit,” he admits, “but spending time with you is. Unless, you want me to go back and be gone for another three hours, then we can-”

Tatiana squeezes him tighter and hurries down the cobblestone road with him. “Nope. Come on!”

“I can hardly wait.”

They find a restaurant near the canal, and they’re seated near the water. The surface glitters with the lights on the street, reflecting the stars in the sky, and Zeke notices that the moon is full. Tatiana is delighted when he points it out to her, clasping her hands together and smiling brightly, leaning over the table to teasingly say, “Oh, how romantic! It’s meant to be.”

He smiles and indulges himself with playing with a lock of her hair, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the strands. “You are beautiful tonight.”

“Aw, not really. All these fancy city girls are way more fashionable and cuter than me.”

It’s true that the Odessian women are fashionable, caught up with the latest trends and in the current know-how, but regardless, Zeke frowns.

“No,” he insists. “More fashionable, maybe. Cuter? Never, not in a million years.”

“You’re a flirt tonight.” Her reply is cool and flirty in-and-of-itself, but her cheeks are flushed pink. “I don’t dislike it.”

The dinner they eat is good; he’s unfamiliar with the dishes, and lets Tatiana order for them both. They’re very Rigelian, she assures him, not something that you would easily find anywhere. It makes him feel better about being confused by the names and spellings and odd flavor combinations. The dishes brought out consist of dumplings filled with potato and beef, roast duck covered in mushroom sauce, and something else that’s too sweet for Zeke to stomach, so he doesn’t bother remembering it.

“Different from your cooking,” he tells her through the meal.

“Different-good, or different-bad?”

“Just different,” he says.

Tatiana smiles and looks back out to the canal. Somewhere in the distance, there’s a violin playing, accompanied by a few other instruments. “Nice night. The air feels good. But I miss home.”

“We’ll be home soon,” Zeke assures. A waiter passes by, and he orders a bottle of champagne quickly.

“I miss the sea,” she tells him. “It’s weird, waking up and not being able to smell it. This water here is so quiet.”

“Pretty, but lifeless,” he agrees. He gives her a glance, observing her profile while she watches a boat glide over the canal. “What else do you miss?”

“My garden,” she replies immediately. “August said he would care for my crocuses, but I’m worried. And I miss the kids, even though not having them pulling at me constantly is nice.”

“Hmm. I most certainly don’t miss dealing with Jerome every day,” Zeke mumbles, and Tatiana laughs.

“Oh, gods, we gotta go back and deal with that mess of a man, don’t we?”

A sudden bout of stress hits Zeke, and he’s glad when the champagne and two glasses are brought to the table. “I hope nothing bad has happened while I’ve been gone. What if it’s all gone to absolute hell?”

Tatiana gives him an amused look, and watches as he pulls the cork out of the bottle and pours the alcohol. “We survived pretty well before you came along, you know.”

“I know, I know, but still.” The drink is chilled, and it fizzes as he finishes pouring. He sets the half-empty bottle aside, hands one glass to her, and keeps the other to himself. “I didn’t mean to sound patronizing. I apologize.”

“We’re all glad to have you protecting us,” she hastily assures. “It’s been safer than it has in years! There’s really no other threats, except Jerome and Nuibaba. No more bandits running rampant, or anything like that.”

He takes a long drink of the alcohol, a little disappointed that it’s not so strong as a whiskey would be. Still, he knows Tatiana isn’t fond of heavy alcohol, and she seems to enjoy the subtle and sweet taste. “Yes, you simply have to deal with a crazy witch and a corrupt officer. Very safe.”

“We can survive,” Tatiana says, and she looks almost like a dream, staring out to the starlit water, a champagne glass pressed to her painted lips, her seafoam hair slightly rustled by the delicate wind. “Maybe not all of us do, but we can try.”

Zeke reaches out suddenly, not even thinking about it, and he has to lean a little across the short table to cup her face. Her expression is surprised when he suddenly touches her, and a little hesitant as he fixes her under a steady gaze.

“I’ll protect you,” he tells her. “I swear it on my life. I exist entirely for the sake of your safety.”

Her bright eyes search his face for a long moment, and he cannot read the expression in them. There is something a little distant, a little hazy, but with a blink, she’s back with him. She brushes the tips of her fingers over the hand on her face, and she’s so tantalizingly soft. “My, my. You make me blush, darling. I’m not worth such pretty words.”

“You lie.”

“You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m never kind enough.”

Zeke sweeps his hand away from her face, tracing down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her arm. He pulls her hand to him, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, and then against the back of it. Her flesh is soft and warm, a stark contrast to the rough and hard skin on his hands. Her hand is much smaller than his on top of that, and he finds himself turning it over, tracing the lines of her palm. He finds some marks there, little white scars that he knows come from practicing magic.

When he looks up across the table at her, she’s fixed him with such an expression that makes his stomach turn and flutter. Her pink lips are so slightly parted, her sweet eyes a little lidded, and a faint flush dusted on her cheeks.

If he didn’t know any better, Zeke might say that the expression was a little lustful.

“You’re an angel,” she breathes. “I love you.”

His heart skips a beat, and he unconsciously squeezes her hand tightly as he swallows.

He loves her.

He loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and she cannot know it enough.

She winces suddenly, then puts on a pained smile. “My love, you’re squeezing my hand really tight.”

He blinks and releases it immediately, guilt pouring into him as she gives it a slight shake, a short chorus of little “ow ow ow”s leaving her.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

Tatiana laughs. “You are so sweet! Don’t apologize.” She regards her hand, turning it over to give her palm an examination of her own. Her fingers clutch at her wrist and press at the little scars, and she smiles. “I miss home, but I like being alone, with you. It’s so nice.”

Tatiana is heavensent, and Ezekiel cannot breathe.

He swallows and grabs his champagne glass, struggling to not drain the light alcohol in one throw. His stomach is flopping around, burning with a sudden desire, twisting with actual physical pain at how heavenly she is, and he pours himself another cold glass in hopes that it will help ease him.

“Y-you know, I’ve had a question for a little while now,” he says suddenly.

Tatiana looks up from her palm, the seemingly-lustful expression gone, and he’s glad for it. “Yes, honey?”

“I, ah, noticed over the past weeks that you don’t speak like you’re from the country.” His hand is shaking a little, and he fights to not crush the delicate stem of the champagne glass in his grip. “The way you speak, and the way someone like August speaks, they’re different. Why?”

A very forced topic, and she knows it, but she smiles anyway and answers him. “Part of that might be the education that comes with being a member of the clergy, but maybe another part of it is…?” She hums and puts a hand to her cheek. “I lived in a city, before I came to the church?”

Zeke’s heart rate slows, just a little bit, and he regards her. “You-?”

“Ah, maybe we should get leaving.” She switches the topic so quickly that he wonders if she’s deliberately done it, or if it’s just her scatterbrain. “Look, I think another couple is trying to get a table.”

She’s right, and he stands. His legs feel a little weak, but he straightens his waistcoat and takes a deep breath, tells himself that he’s fine, that his head isn’t spinning, and that he can walk.

He pays for the meal, offers Tatiana an arm, and they walk back out onto the streets. They’re a little emptier now, with people retiring to their lodgings, and he feels content and at peace. The sound of the music is still somewhere in the distance, fading from hearing as they walk towards the inn. Tatiana grasps his arm tighter, resting her head against him, and he guides her along the cobblestone path.

Tatiana says nothing more about her city life, and Zeke doesn’t press her about it.

Odessa is almost completely quiet when they get back to the inn, and he holds open the doors for her. She’s been quiet the entire walk back, but her quiet is now less peaceful, and a little more anxious. Her lips are turned down in a worried frown as they get to the room, though Zeke knows nothing should be wrong. He lets her enter the room first, shutting the door behind them, and she’s doing that nervous thing she does, where she wrings her hands and stares at the ground.

“Do you need anything?” Zeke asks her, and Tatiana gives him a look over her shoulder. She shakes her head, and he frowns. “Are you certain?”

“I’m fine,” she assures. Her hands are clasped politely in front of her now, instead of fidgeting.

“You were fine a moment ago, right before we got back,” Zeke hesitantly tells her. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” she says, but he sees her tighten her hands together more. “I just- Just-”

He steps a little closer, his eyes roving her body for anything wrong. “What? Are you ill? Hurt?”

“No,” she protests, and she steps back as he steps forward. “I just, um, had some expectations for this evening.”

Zeke lifts a brow. “Like what, my dear?”

Tatiana lowers her gaze to the ground. “I thought, you know, that we might sleep together.”

“Is that all? Of course we will.”

“No, no.” Tatiana shakes her head. Her face is red, and she looks away. “You keep misunderstanding. I’ve been dropping hints all month, but- but I don’t mean ‘sleep’ as in literally sleeping.”

Zeke’s body is heating up again, and his stomach proceeds to jerk around, as though it had never calmed. His nerves get going, and he feels a little lightheaded as he grabs onto her implication. “Oh, I- I see.”

She glances to the corner of the room. “I’m sorry. I don't mean to be needy or selfish. I just was assuming that, well-” She gives him a look, then, that's unintentionally coy. “The desire might be mutual.”

His gaze flickers over her. “I wouldn't say that that is a wrong statement.”

Tatiana doesn't move as he takes a step forward. She rubs her arm sheepishly, and still looks guilty when he comes to stand in front of her. She looks up at him through her thick lashes, her soft pink lips set in a pout, and leans into his touch as he brushes his fingers over her cheek.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I wasn't aware you wanted this kind of attention,” he admits. “I was under the illusion that you were shy about it.”

Her face flushes as he rests a thumb on her plump lips, pushing at the softness before swiping his finger over. The way they move under his touch is entrancing, and he can't help but start wondering what those lips would feel like dragging down his chest, or pulling at the skin of his neck.

“You don't have to if you don't want,” she says quietly.

Zeke frowns. He presses a hand on her hip, tilts his head, and pulls her face towards him. Their lips come together softly, melding nicely, and Tatiana reaches out her hands uncertainly, clearly wondering where she should rest them. They eventually settle on his arms, and she tilts her head to the side, moving her lips slowly against his.

A soft sound escapes her as his hand moves to the small of her back, pushes her flush against him, and it nearly snaps his control then and there. He sighs in response, pressing his lips firmer on hers, and pushes her against him even closer when her tongue brushes against his. Her body is hot, scalding hot it seems, and he feels his own temperature start to rise higher as she sinks her fingers into his hair.

With a slight gasp, they both pull back, and Zeke lets go of her. Nervously, she lowers her hands from him and holds them to herself, once more appearing small and hesitant.

“Tell me,” he says breathlessly. “Did that seem to you like I ‘don't want to?’”

Tatiana smiles briefly. “I suppose not.” She pulls a strand of hair through her fingers and looks at the ground. “I… don't know what to do.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Mmm. Nor do I.” He sighs, watches her fidget, and then looks towards the bed. He takes her hand and pulls her towards it. “Let’s have a seat and set down some guidelines.”

Her face is red, buried in her free hand, but she nods and lets him lead her.

He settles her down and takes a seat next to her, once more taking a deep breath. He reaches out and sweeps a strand of hair out of her face. “Are you certain you'd like to do this?”

“Yes,” Tatiana says. Her hand comes up to pull at the ribbon tying the collar of her blouse together, and it unfurls with a soft sound. She puts her hands back in her lap, wrapping the fabric around them in an anxious action.

Zeke crosses his arms. “Very well. But, it will likely be uncomfortable. But it shouldn't hurt. If it does hurt, I want you to tell me right away, Tatiana.”

“A-alright.”

“Alright. So, if you ever want to stop, or if something I’m doing doesn't feel good, tell me so. And I’ll do the same with you.”

“Okay.”

He puts his hands on her cheeks, pulling her to him. His forehead rests against hers. “I must apologize again for being oblivious before. I didn’t mean to frustrate you.”

She glances away, a nervous smile on her lips. “The other night, when I wore that outfit; you really couldn’t tell that I was trying to get your attention?”

“I assumed I was simply letting my thoughts wander inappropriately.” He pulls her face a little closer and gives her a slight kiss. “You can tell me when you're ready to start.”

Tatiana rests her hands on his chest, then slides them up to rest on his shoulders. “Is now okay?”

He lifts her in response, holding her carefully while he readjusts them on the bed. The mattress is soft, and he struggles to not sink into it as he lays Tatiana against the pillows.

Her lips are warm and soft as he pushes his to hers again. A tilt of her head, a hand buried in her hair, helps him move deeper. One of Zeke's hands sinks into the mattress next to her for balance, even though he wants it to be running over her legs. Her hands reach up, cupping his face, and her lips part for him.

His breath comes heavier as she lets her tongue race over his bottom lip, and his hand shakes as he lowers it from her hair to settle on the collar of her shirt. She makes a breathy sound between kisses as he brushes his fingers near her cleavage, threading her fingers through his hair and gripping tightly as he continues.

Zeke pulls his lips away from her. “Are you-?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, and a slight push is all it takes to get his lips back on hers.

The bed shifts under them as he moves forward, and Tatiana leans back, dragging him down with her. She moves her legs, setting them on either side of him, and gasps when he plants his hands on her thighs and squeezes. Kneeling between her legs has given him some better balance, and he kisses her harder, dragging her lower lip between his teeth.

She pants, almost gasping for air when Zeke pulls back, and it’s with no small amount of embarrassment that he finds himself in the same condition. Taking a break for air is well and good and all, but not having the heat of her lips against him feels like death, and he immediately moves back in. She moans as he nips at her lips, gripping his hair so tightly that it almost hurts, but he’s far too deep in pleasure and excitement to focus on something as trivial as some pain.

A while passes, filled with hot and heavy kisses, and then Zeke dips his head down to her neck. He drags her closer to him, almost settling her against his lap, and takes a slight amount of skin between his teeth. She shudders when he marks her, but makes no complaint, and he presses more rough, open-mouthed kisses all over her neck while she drags her hands up and over his back. The touch, even through his clothing, feels as though she has burned him, and he gasps against her flesh.

“It’s hot,” Tatiana mutters, and then makes a sweet sound as he kisses right below her jawline.

“It is,” he agrees almost absently.

“Do you want to take this off?” she asks quietly, and she almost shyly pulls at the sleeve of Zeke's shirt. “I’ll take mine off, too.”

Ever the gentleman, he helps her out of hers first, and he tries to stop his fingers from shaking as he undoes the buttons of the blouse. Her face is burning red, her eyes shut tight, and her hands merely rest over his as he undoes one, and another, and then another. A deep breath leaves her as he gets to the last few, and he stops.

“Is something the matter?”

Tatiana’s hand moves from him to rest on her shoulder, where her blouse has slipped down to reveal her bare skin. Her scar glares up at him, almost gleaming menacingly in the candlelight.

“Did I touch it wrong?” he asks nervously. “Does it hurt?”

She shakes her head. “I just know that it looks unappealing, so to speak. If you wanted, we could leave my shirt on. Then you don’t have to see it.”

Zeke is quiet for a moment, regarding the mark with a twisting feeling in his gut—he can’t imagine how much fear she felt as a child, for her mother to assault her in such a way. He narrows his eyes at it, then pulls his hands off of her shirt, sitting up on his knees to start working at taking off his. His cravat comes off first, then he shrugs off his waistcoat, and his fingers feel much steadier with undoing the buttons on his shirt than they did with removing hers. Tatiana watches quietly, almost meekly, and then looks away with a blush as soon as his skin starts to show.

“You can look at me,” he says when he's about halfway done, and she slowly looks back to him, her cheeks pink. “I’m not shy in front of you.”

A slight smile pulls at her lips, but she doesn’t say anything while he finishes undoing the buttons. He shrugs it off, pulling his arms through the sleeves, and tosses it to the side without shame. She blushes deeper as he kneels over her, once more looking away, and he smiles at her embarrassment.

“Didn’t you have to see my with no clothes on while you healed me?” he teases.

“That’s a very, very different situation,” she whispers, and then she looks back up at him. “Very different.”

He sets the topic aside and rests a hand on his chest. “I have a lot of scars.”

He watches her eyes flicker over his bare chest, his abdomen, his arms, and she turns her head, nervously nodding against the bed.

“Do you not wish to see them?” he asks.

Tatiana shuts her eyes. “Those mean that you’re brave. You got those scars fighting. Mine is just… something purposeless. And ugly. And-” Her eyes shut for a moment, then open slowly. “I’ve got more of them than I want.”

He cannot see any others, and wonders if they're under the rest of their clothes. “‘Purposeless?’ I’d beg to differ.”

“Mm?”

“I often see you as an angel,” Zeke admits, tracing the curve of her face. “A heavenly being who saved me while I was at my lowest.”

Tatiana’s face turns scarlet in the matter of a second. “A-angel? I’m not- I can't- You shouldn't-!”

He ignores her stuttering, cute as it is, and leans over her. He takes one of her hands in his own and sets it on his opposite palm, where his burn marks are the worst. “If my scars are to make you believe that I am brave, then yours are to make me remember that you are a human. Not an untouchable, divine being with no flaws.”

A deep breath leaves her, and she brushes her fingers over the burn on his palm. When he shuts his eyes to soak in her touch, he remembers the red hot metal being pulled from the coals, and his heart jumps into his throat before he shakes the memory away.

“If you're fine seeing it,” she murmurs, and he moves back as she sits up. Tatiana finishes the last few buttons, slips the blouse off, and anxiously twists it in her hands before throwing it. Her brassiere still remains, and slowly, carefully, she reaches behind her back and unclips it. The scrap of cloth joins the others on the floor, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“There,” she says quietly, and she slumps back down on the bed. Her hair streams around her like water, and she takes a deep inhale and shuts her eyes. “It's almost kinda cold now.”

She appears so radiant that Zeke has a hard time figuring out where he should touch Tatiana. A hand hovers uselessly above her, and he finds himself actually frightened to put his rough, ruined hands on her soft skin.

He takes a deep breath. “I fear I may have told you a lie.”

She blinks up at him, squeezing herself and frowning. “You don’t want to, do you? That’s okay.”

“Oh, gods, that’s not it, my dear.” He laces his fingers through his bangs and takes in the sight of her, shirtless, lying on the bed and waiting. Her body is soft and gentle, all sweet curves and delicate lines. He wants to drag his hands down her abdomen, over her ample chest squished under her arms, the soft flesh on her belly. He finally lowers his hand to just barely brush her skin.

“I said before that you were not a divine being,” Zeke mutters, “but I lied. I fear you may actually be a goddess, descended to bless me.”

He settles his hands firmer on her before she can respond, and drags them up towards her breasts. His whole body is shaking now, and he sighs as he leans over her. The flesh of her chest is soft, and after a few light touches to the exposed areas, Tatiana lowers her arms and reveals herself in full. As he traces upwards with his fingertips, he runs into a patch of rougher skin right below her breast, and narrows his eyes at the thin, clean scar he finds. There is another one at her side, wider and messier, and he touches that as well.

Zeke turns his gaze to her face, his mouth open in the start of a question, but she is refusing to look at him.

He shuts his mouth and decides to not ask her now.

Tatiana feels hot, much hotter than she thought she could ever could be. She didn’t expect pleasure to feel like this, not at all, and feels as though she is drowning in heat. Zeke’s hands brush over her, over her curves, her stomach, her legs, and she swallows as he presses his lips against her throat.

She’s spent an entire month trying to encourage this, and now that it’s happening, she hasn’t a clue of what to do. She holds to his shoulders, bending her head and kissing at his flesh, but that feels like it’s not enough. It feels like she’s letting him do all the work, and while he doesn’t necessarily seem displeased about that, she feels guilty.

He nips her shoulder, leaving a mark, and she jumps.

Zeke's body freezes under her hands immediately. “Did that hurt?”

“It was unexpected,” Tatiana replies quietly. “I liked it, though.”

The room is dark, all the candles snuffed out, the curtains drawn, and she cannot tell where he’s going to be until he is there. His lips go from her chest, up to her throat, then up even further to engulf her own. His hands are on her thighs one second, and the next, sliding up her legs and pulling at the waist of her skirt.

It’s dark. It’s hot. His weight atop her is comforting and arousing, his hands soothing even though they make her feel like she is on fire.

His hands brush over her wrists, holding onto them.

And for a moment, Tatiana panics.

Her chest lunges, and she struggles to breathe. The feeling of someone else’s hands on her wrists overwhelms her, someone digging their knee into her gut, and her heart is hammering in her chest. She can almost hear the voice in her ear, of someone telling her to be silent, and Tatiana nearly chokes.

For a moment, she wants to beg him to stop.

She feels like she’s drowning.

She can’t speak.

Zeke pulls his lips off her jaw then, and his hands leave her wrists. They roam down further, brushing over her stomach, and he stops at her skirt. His golden hair is soft, and feathers lightly against her skin as he pushes his face to the crook of her neck. Tatiana’s hands shake as she lifts them, wrapping him in a hug, and he pauses. She’s certain he can feel how pathetic and desperate the action is, and embarrassment nearly dwarves her panic and pleasure for a moment.

“What’s wrong, sweet?” His voice is low and sweet in the dark, and she shakes her head. “Do you not want me to take this off?”

His hands pull experimentally at the hem of her skirt, and the panic lunges into her for another moment. “Stop,” is still on her tongue, but she’s choking, struggling to get any air into her lungs, and she still feels those hands on her wrists.

And then, he presses the lightest, softest kiss into the crook of her neck, gives the slightest, most relaxed sigh.

Tatiana doesn’t feel the hands on her wrists anymore.

“Take it off,” she tells him, and she tilts his head up with a push of her hand. Their lips meet, and he consumes her.

Sunlight coming through the window is what wakes Zeke up, and he blinks against it. The sun suggests that it's close to noon, and he panics before remembering that he has no obligations today. He slumps against the pillows and sighs, strangely relaxed, and is grateful to Berkut for granting him leave.

The bed shifts suddenly, softly, and he looks over to Tatiana, still fast asleep against him. Her head is resting against his arm, and her hair is soft against his bare skin. She appears fast asleep, a hand spread on his chest, as though she’s trying to keep him there.

Zeke rolls over to face her, and she twitches as he moves his arm. Her eyes drift open slowly, staring at nothing while she blinks away sleep, and then she looks up to his face. Her hand moves up from his bare chest to settle against his cheek, and she moves slightly closer.

“Good morning,” she says softly. Her face is a little flushed, and she doesn’t meet his eyes exactly.

He moves in to kiss her forehead, and she smiles. “Good morning.”

“Do you have anything to do today?” Tatiana asks. Her hand is hot against his skin, a pleasant feeling in contrast to the slightly chill air.

Zeke shakes his head, taking her hand from his face and pressing a kiss against the inside of her palm. “Nothing.”

“Oh.” She moves, sitting up, and the way she winces as she shifts her legs doesn’t escape his notice. Perhaps he should have been more gentle with her.

“Are you in pain?” he asks with concern, looking up to study her face for any other signs of discomfort. “I didn't mean to cause you any.”

“No pain. It’s just sore between my legs,” she admits sheepishly. The blankets shift as she moves her limbs around experimentally. “But I’m fine.”

He reaches down and rubs her thigh. She flinches, but eases into the touch. “I’m sorry. I’ll endeavor to be more careful the next time.”

Tatiana blinks. “The next time?”

“The next time,” he says again. “Do you want a next time?”

She blushes, pressing a hand to her cheek. “That sounds nice.”

He leans back up, a hint of a smile on his face. “Then I’ll try to not be so oblivious anymore.”

Tatiana smiles and wraps her arms around her knees. “I never thought you a dense man before all this.”

“I was trying to be polite,” Zeke protests, and she laughs at him.

“Don’t be so stuffy with me all the time,” she says, and her grin turns teasing as she pokes him in the shoulder. “I like it when you’re all romantic and carefree like you were last night. So mushy.”

His neck heats up and he turns away from her pokes and teases. “I wasn’t so soft.”

She doesn’t leave him alone, flopping over him no matter how he turns. “I wonder, how many times did you tell me you loved me last night? I lost count after ten.”

Tatiana teases him relentlessly, occasionally pushing her lips against his cheek before launching back into another light-hearted taunt. He lets her have her fun for a moment, then twists, wraps an arm around her waist, and pushes her back down against the mattress along with him.

“No more teasing me on my day off,” he mutters. “And besides, what’s so embarrassing about telling my lover that I love her?"

A long, long silence passes, and Zeke wonders if he has said something wrong.

“Lover?” Tatiana’s voice is barely more than a squeak.

He buries his head into the crook of her neck. Her scent, a little musty from the sweat of last night, is still warm and refreshing. “That is how, by definition, we should be classified now. Do you not agree?”

“You don’t think that word is embarrassing?” she mumbles, and then she throws her hands over her face. “I think it is.”

Zeke props himself up on an arm. “How so?”

“It just sounds like something out of a racy novel.” Her voice is muffled by her hands. “It means so many things.”

He kisses her fingers. “What would you prefer it to mean?”

Her fingers slide apart to reveal an eye, when he pulls back. “Maybe it just means that, you know, you're the person I love most.”

His heart melts.

Zeke flops down on her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she laughs as he kisses her neck.

“You're adorable,” he tells her, kissing again.

“I am not,” she protests, but the sound she makes next is incredibly cute, and he has to personally disagree. “What does the word mean to you, Zeke?”

Her hands curl around his shoulders, and he grips her waist more tightly as he kisses her on her bare collarbone. “Let’s see. To me, I suppose I’d want the definition to imply that you're my one-and-only family.”

Tatiana is quiet. The air around her sombers, and she moves her hands so that her arms are slung over him. “Are you sure?”

“About you being my only family?” he asks.

She nods against him. “What if, I mean, your real family-”

“You are my real family,” he insists. “My past is the past. I want you, in the here and now. Alright?”

More silence, and then she squeezes Zeke again before gently pushing up against him. He props himself up once more and enjoys the color of Tatiana’s eyes as she traces her fingertips over his jaw. The look on her face is best described as worried.

She’s worried that he’ll remember another family one day, and that he’ll leave.

“Okay.” Tatiana pushes a smile onto her face, the worry gone. Her hand flattens against his cheek, and he leans into the warmth of her touch. “I’m your family from now on, for as long as you want.”

Zeke thinks he will want Tatiana to be his family forever, no matter what.

Rinea holds Tatiana tightly on their last day together, and she doesn’t seem to want to let go. Her face is buried in Tatiana’s neck, her nails dug into her shoulders, but she doesn’t say anything.

Tatiana gives her a few quick pats on the back. “I had fun with you. I’m glad I got to keep you company.”

Rinea pulls back, a shimmer of tears in her eyes, but she blinks them back quickly. “I also enjoyed my time. I thought I would have such a terrible trip while Lord Berkut was in his meetings, so I must thank you.”

Tatiana wishes she could say something now, like, “Come visit!” or “Don’t be a stranger,” but Lady Rinea shouldn’t be mucking around in some random village. Although, Tatiana thinks it would be nice, if she were able to show her the sea at some point.

Rinea fumbles around her pockets for a moment, and then pulls out a small parcel and holds it out to Tatiana. “I want you to write me, alright?”

“Write you?” Tatiana takes the parcel, and feels individual papers shifting around inside. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve become much too used to your company,” she replies. “I’ll be sad if we can’t at least write to one another. Please, promise you’ll come with General Ezekiel whenever he has to come to these stuffy meetings, alright? And I’ll come with Lord Berkut, and then we can have tea together again.”

“That sounds nice.” Tatiana slips the parcel into her coat pocket, and once more embraces Rinea. She smooths her light blue hair under her hand, and feels a pang of sadness that she will be off once more, into the belly of the Rigelian court, with hardly anyone to defend her.

But, then again, Rinea seems plenty strong enough to defend herself.

“One more thing,” Rinea says as she pulls back. There’s a stack of chests and boxes behind her, ready to be packed into a cart, but she takes a simple white chest and hands it carefully to Tatiana. “This is that tea set that you told me you liked, and some of my rose tea as well. I want you to have it.”

Tatiana recoils from the chest. “Oh, I can’t possibly have that. I don’t have anything to give you in return!”

The lady steps forward, urging it into Tatiana’s arms. “You’ve given me your company and kindness, for which I am more than grateful. I can always have another set made, and buy more tea, so you don’t have to worry.”

Tatiana takes the chest with great caution, holding it as though it might shatter under her touch. Immediately, she starts thinking of where she can put it that’s safe, where no one will knock it over or do it harm. It will undoubtedly be the nicest thing she owns, and it’s from Rinea, no less.

“I’ll take good care of it,” she assures.

A voice calls Rinea’s name, and a servant is waving her over to a carriage. She shoots an exasperated look over her shoulder, then sighs, bends down to pick up a traveling bag, and gives Tatiana one more wave, along with another implore to write to her as soon as possible.

The chest feels heavy as Tatiana carries it to the cart, where Zeke is waiting patiently, and he regards it curiously.

“A gift?” he asks.

“Yes. It’s a tea set.”

“I see.” He takes her bag for her, so that she can keep hold of the chest the way home. “I’m glad to see you’ve made a friend. Is Lady Rinea nice?”

“Very.” Tatiana shoots him a mischievous glance as he finishes securing everything in the cart. “I saw Lord Berkut hovering near you once or twice. Is he nice?”

“He’s bizarre as all hell,” Zeke says immediately, without an ounce of hesitation, and Tatiana laughs.

Tatiana doesn’t know exactly how she wound up in Odessa, but she’s glad that she did.

Chapter Text

It’s only after they return from Odessa that Zeke and Tatiana realize that the church is not quite as private as it seemed before. It now feels, in fact, that there’s no privacy there at all, especially not when they want it most.

It drives Zeke up a wall.

Going to Tatiana’s room at the night is no longer seen as something innocent by the clergy, but something they all snicker at behind hands. And, well, they’re right, it’s not entirely innocent anymore, but it still embarrasses him. The one time Tatiana had tried to come to his room, she’d been apparently barraged with such teasing and suggestive comments that she’d been near flustered tears by the time she’d come through the door, thirty minutes later than planned.

Even within their rooms, they suddenly realize that there’s a distinct lack of privacy. Tatiana has never had to hide anything from her fellow clergy before, and they’ve always come and gone as they’ve pleased. Whether they need a book, an extra bottle of ink, some medicine, Tatiana has always welcomed them into her quarters, no knock required. It’s a nice gesture, a sweet thing for her to do, but it’s a real pain when they’re together and a cleric walks right through the door, takes a look at them getting cozy, sighs, and leaves.

It’s terrible, being fixed under knowing glances and looks at breakfast the next day, to watch Tatiana get elbowed and grinned at by her peers, and to see her become so red and flustered. Or, rather, it’s not really terrible to see her get so flustered, because Zeke thinks it’s honestly really cute when she stutters and stumbles over her words the way she does, but that’s beside the point.

They think it’s the worst when Father Alexi opens the door, sees them kissing, and then retreats with a delighted laugh, but it gets worse.

It gets so much worse.

Zeke is rather certain that he’s locked the door that night, and Tatiana has made sure everyone has everything they need from her room before coming to bed, and things are going well. They’re going fine. In fact, as he slips her sweater off and starts undoing the buttons of her shirt, Zeke would say that things are going really well.

Tatiana sits in his lap, her hands on his shoulders, while he undresses her. Her lips are pressed against his jaw, and the feeling of her breath near his ear, and more importantly her sounds, are enough to make him go mad. He deftly undoes the buttons—he feels like he’s gotten quite good at it in the past month—and presses a kiss against her collarbones as he slips the blouse over her shoulders, down her arms, and tosses it away from the bed.

He moves his lips lower, to the swell of her breasts, and she squeaks and jumps when he nips at her there. He smiles against her when she attempts to scold him, saying, “That’s really embarrassing, you know.”

Zeke pulls his affections back towards her neck, muttering, “Would you rather I do it here, where everyone could see?”

Tatiana mumbles a slight protest, and then coaxes his head back with a gentle touch. She leans down to kiss him, the touch of her lips light and teasing, and Zeke wraps his arms around her waist and allows her to do as she pleases. One hand continues to stroke his hair, while another slips down, undoing a few buttons so she can slide her fingers under his shirt. The pads of her fingers are delicate, and the featherlight touch across his chest drives him insane, as it is likely meant to.

She slides a single finger teasingly over his skin, and he pulls their lips apart to mutter, “No teasing me now, darling,” because he’s so close to losing himself. He squeezes her tighter to him, gasping, when she flattens her palm against him and drags it down slowly, slowly, over his abs.

“You look so cute when you’re being teased,” she tells him with a fond kiss on the tip of his nose. “I can’t help myself.”

“Vixen,” he accuses, and he lifts his hands up to fumble with the clasp of her brassiere. “If I can ever get this damned thing off, I’ll show you how to really be a tease.”

Tatiana laughs and races her hands through his hair, grabbing his head and tilting it toward her for a kiss. “You’re so cute.”

He has the undergarment unclasped, and is about to slide the straps down her arms when things take a severe turn for the worse.

Zeke realizes he has in fact not locked the door, because it opens, and a dull, familiar voice says, “Tatiana, you’ve got- Oh my gods.”

Zeke doesn’t want to turn his head to see the invader of his privacy, but he does, and honestly, he’s never seen August look so expressive in the time he’s known him. His face is dark with a blush, his eyes wide, and his teeth clenched in a very shocked expression.

“Oh boy,” August says, and Zeke sighs and rests his head against Tatiana’s chest. She stiffens underneath him, her shoulders tense.

“Get out!” she yells after a tense, shocked-filled moment. “For the Father’s sake, August, why are you just sitting there?”

“Uhhhhh.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Zeke mutters into her, and he presses his face into her chest more in an attempt to block out the horror of the situation. “He’s going to die.”

“Get out!” Tatiana repeats, and finally, based on the scrambling sound, August has found his senses. There is also the sound of something being thrown, an “Oh, geez!” and then the door immediately slams shut.

Tatiana is breathing heavily, her chest heaving under him, and Zeke doesn’t move.

“I thought you locked the door,” she accuses.

He doesn’t lift his head from her chest. “I, apparently, did not.”

“You- you-! You can go back to your own room for the night, you lousy man!”

He gets shoved into the hallway, his shirt half-off, his head hung in shame, and the door slams behind him violently. A couple of priests are passing by, and an uncomfortable silence passes between them and Zeke as they regard him with great, great pity.

August is unfortunately there for breakfast the next day, and he sits across the table, glaring at them for the whole meal. Other people seem to take the hint and finish their food fast, or else take it elsewhere, and eventually, it’s just he and Tatiana and Zeke.

Tatiana still hasn’t said a word to him all morning, and Zeke blames August. He wonders if he should have brought his saber with him to the kitchen table.

“I was trying to pick up that money you owe me,” August says pointedly to Tatiana.

Her head is leaning against one of her hands, hiding her face from view, and she digs the other into the pocket of her skirt. Out comes a small money pouch, and she throws it across the table. He catches it deftly before it smacks him in the face, opens it up, counts his money, and then pockets it.

“I will kill you,” Zeke says.

“Why didn’t you lock the goddamn door?” August says in response.

“Why didn’t you knock?” he accuses.

“Why has my life come to this?” Tatiana mutters.

“Y’all are acting like I wanted to see you going at it,” August snaps, and he crosses his arms. “I had to wash my eyes out for ten minutes when I got home.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor makes Zeke wince, and Tatiana stands, throwing her hands against the table, her expression angry and embarrassed.

“We weren’t ‘going at it!’” she yells, and Zeke pulls at the sleeve of her cardigan as a couple of clerics pass by, giggling behind their hands. She sits back down heavily, but her hands are still balled into fists that she keeps against the table.

“You had your shirt off,” August says. “I didn’t want to see that.”

“You’re going to die,” Zeke tells him. “Sleep with an eye open.”

“Please kill me,” he invites. “I hate my life now.”

Tatiana buries her face in her hands and cries, “Both of you are terrible, terrible men!”

After another week of tiptoeing around each other, Zeke finally confronts August in his home. The bottom floor functions as a shop, so it is a public place and it’s not quite as dramatic as breaking and entering, and also Zeke needs to pick up some flour, but that’s all beside the point.

August is polishing an old, worn teacup at the counter when Zeke comes in, and he gives him a long look. His gaze visibly goes down to his waist, and he sighs when he sees no sword hanging from his belt.

“Damn. Thought you were really gonna put me outta my misery.” He stands from his stool and places the teacup with a matching set behind him. “Or, maybe you’re gonna strangle me with your bare hands?”

“I am not going to kill you,” Zeke mutters. “Although I’ve not been invited back to Tatiana’s room since your little intrusion, so I am still tempted.”

August glowers at him, but doesn’t say anything else. He turns back to the shelves and starts mindlessly fixing the items on it, clearly looking for an excuse to not look at Zeke.

“I need a favor,” Zeke starts hesitantly. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“I’m all ears, so long as this is business,” he replies.

“I’ll pay you for your trouble,” he assures. “If you can help, I’ll be very thankful, and I’ll put this little… mishap behind us.”

The merchant crosses his arms and sits back on his stool. “Alright. What do you need?”

Zeke approaches the counter, feeling a little more at ease now that he knows that August isn’t hostile nor guarded anymore. “The church is a very nice place to live, and I’ve been glad to call it home for these past months. However, now that Tatiana and I are regularly intimate with one another, the privacy of it is lacking.”

August fiddles with a feather quill on his desk. “Oh, wow, I sure can’t imagine that.”

Zeke brushes aside the blatant sarcasm to continue on. “Do you know if there are any vacant residences in the village?”

August narrows his eyes and leans back, crossing his legs. “You wanna buy a house?”

He purses his lips, then asks, “Is that so shocking?”

“Well, not really, I guess. You’ve probably got the money for it after all, seeing as how bein’ a knight pays real well.”

“I haven’t really spent much of my earnings on anything, so I have a fairly large sum saved,” Zeke says. “But I don’t need somewhere large. Small is just fine. I just want a nice place for Tatiana to go home to.”

A deep exhale leaves August, and he scratches at the back of his neck as he leans forward against the counter. “Vacancies are kinda hard to come by in smaller villages like these, but we got some. I’ll take a look around and find one that suits you, alright?”

“Will you really?” asks Zeke. “Please, I would be very grateful. I would go searching on my own, but I’m busy as of late. More importantly, word would get around if I was the one doing such a thing, and-”

“And you want to surprise Tatiana, right?”

Zeke frowns. “Do you think she would be fine with this? I know that the church has been her home since she was a child. Perhaps this is a mistake—she might not want to leave.”

August scoffs. “Ain’t like you’re taking her out of the village. If it was that, then she’d probably have an issue. But you’re just findin’ somewhere small around here, right? It’s fine, I’d guess.”

A weight feels like it’s been lifted off of Zeke’s shoulders. “My thanks. Do you need anything of me at the moment?”

The stool scrapes against the floor as August stands. “Nah. But, you know, if you wanted to start buying stuff like furniture and the like, you can keep it in the backrooms here. My mother and aunt won’t mind, and it won’t get bothered.”

“What do you think I would need?” Zeke pauses, an uncomfortable feeling growing in him. “I don’t think I know what should go in a home. I- I can’t remember if-”

If I had a home.

A silence passes, where Zeke can’t bring himself to look back at August, and then the merchant picks up his quill and rummages some paper out of a drawer. He starts writing a careful list, sometimes looking around the shop before going back to his task. A moment goes by, and then he shoves the list out at Zeke.

“There’s a list of some stuff you could probably use. Your basic necessities: Kitchenware, bed frame, table, that stuff.” He holds it out a little more insistently, and Zeke takes it almost cautiously. “You don’t worry about it, General. Tatiana can probably find some things once the surprise is over with. For now, what’s on that list should be fine. I’ll also rustle up some folks to help move stuff in, and-”

“Thank you,” Zeke says suddenly.

August gives him his usual, unreadable expression, but what might be a smile almost crosses his face. “This is for Tatiana, you hear?”

Zeke replies with the faintest smile of his own. “That it is.”

When August dreams, he is standing in a sun-dappled forest, and there is a girl in front of him. The dream is more a memory than a figment of his imagination, and he can hear the chirping of the birds, the babbling of a brook, the wind rustling through the trees. It’s warm, the late summer, and the trees are just starting to turn a little as autumn approaches.

He remembers this all so clearly.

The image of the girl is vivid—her short hair is a deep violet, and her sharp eyes the color of the sun. The wind rushes past her, ruffling a leather jacket. She forgoes a pretty dress and elegant ribbons, those that many girls in the village prefer, and instead wears trousers and a tunic. Even though it is but a dream, he can see her hand clench tightly on the hunting bow in her grip. She fiddles with it, appearing nervous, and runs her fingers over the smooth wood of the weapon before speaking.

“I wanna talk honesty for a moment,” she says to him.

August has been through this conversation what feels like hundreds of times. He takes a deep sigh, tilting his head back. When the breeze blows over him, it’s almost like he can still feel the warmth that he felt that day.

“What is it?” he replies, but he knows what it is she wants to talk about. He follows the script of the conversation, because even if he says something else (“We miss you,” for example), she carries on as though he has said nothing different from what he should have said.

“If something ever happens to me,” the dream girl says, “you either gotta take care of her yourself, or make sure she finds someone who does.”

August gives her a long, long look, and shuts his eyes. The dream ends, as it always does, the moment he agrees to her terms.

When he wakes up, his head hurts, and he feels a little bit numb. He goes into his kitchen and he has a glass of whiskey before going back to sleep.

Tatiana comes into the shop the next day, humming a tune while she swings her shopping basket around, and August gives her a long glare. She smiles and waves, as she always does, and he gives a weak wave back.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

He grimaces. “Nothin’.”

Her smile immediately turns to an annoyed frown, and she stalks up to the counter with her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t sound like a ‘nothing is wrong’ tone of voice to me.”

“Hm.” He regards her for another moment. “Whatcha need?”

“Just some fabric,” she says. “I’m making a tablecloth! The one in the kitchen is so old and dingy, I wanted to make a new one.”

“Fabric, fabric.” August gets up from his stool, leaves the counter, and rummages around a bin near a nearby wall with Tatiana. “What kind?”

“Just brown linen, or something like that. I’ll embroider it to give it a pop of color.”

They rummage for another few minutes, until they find a bolt of cloth, the right type and color, and Tatiana takes it with delight.

“This should do it.” She follows him back to the counter and rummages her coin purse out of her pocket while August tallies the cost. “It’s going to be so cute.”

“Sure.”

The clinking of coins hitting each other stops, and August looks up from his seat. She’s looking down at him with that damned expression, with the big gray eyes and the pouting pink lips, the one that has always gotten everyone to fall in love with her for at least five minutes.

“There’s something wrong,” she says.

He looks down to the paper on his counter, scratches something onto it, and holds out his hand. The coins press into his palm gently, and he pockets the money without even checking the amount. “There anything you need from the market?”

He doesn’t look at her, but he can imagine her lips pressing in her signature concerned way. “W-well, an embroidery frame, I suppose. Mine is falling apart after all this time of using it.”

He doesn’t have anything else to write on the paper, but he still doesn’t look up from it. “I’ll buy you the best one I can find, free of charge.”

“I don’t understand your obsession with caring for me,” Tatiana admits, as she does always. “Focus on yourself. And let me pay for the things you bring me.”

August has not focused on himself in 12 years, not since a sobbing, skinny little girl was thrown out into the snow in front of him, left to freeze at the doors of the church. He has not focused on himself since then, and he has no plans to focus on himself any time soon.

He made a promise to care for her.

“You’re back late!”

Tatiana doesn’t like scolding. She doesn’t like raising her voice, or frowning, or wagging her finger at anyone, but sometimes she has to. Normally she has to scold the village children when they pester the goats and horses, or when they try and snag a sweet treat from the counter while she’s baking. She doesn’t normally have to scold her lover, who walks through the door looking exhausted, but it’s nearly midnight, and she’s mad.

Zeke sighs, his shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what time it is?” Tatiana snaps. “You can’t give me some excuse about work. Today was your day off, mister!”

“I know.”

“You said you’d be back here at nine o’clock sharp, and now it’s past midnight. You’ve given me such a fright. I nearly sent August out to look for you, but couldn’t find him, blast the man.”

Zeke’s eyes are sunken and tired, and he only steps forward, loosely wrapping an arm over her back to push her against him. Tatiana can feel the rumble in his chest as he lets out a content sigh, and while she doesn’t make any move to step away, she still frowns.

“You can’t hug me and make it better,” she mumbles, a finger tapping against his coat. “I was worried. I’m mad.”

“Yes, of course you are, my love.” He drapes his arms over her shoulders and tilts her head up to give her forehead a kiss. “I am very sorry. I had important things to attend to.”

“What’s so important that it keeps you out for three whole extra hours?” she exclaims. She tries to keep the angry look on her face, but it’s hard when he kisses her on the very tip of her nose and ruffles her hair under a hand. He’s affectionate and cute when he’s sleepy, and she can’t stay mad at him in the moment.

“Nothing much. I had important things to shop for.”

Tatiana examines him, then the space around him, but finds no signs of shopping. “Well, where are they?”

Zeke frowns. “Mmm, somewhere.”

“Somewhere, you say?”

“They are somewhere.” He moves her along through the hallways of the church, guiding her back towards the living quarters. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

“I just told you I was mad, didn’t I?”

“Are you that mad? Really? Fine then, I’ll sleep on my own.”

She stubbornly holds her ground for an hour, pleased with her willpower, and then winds up slinking to his room in the end anyway.

He’s so cute when he’s sleepy.

“I found a place,” August tells Zeke, a week after he has made the request. “There are less vacancies than I thought, so this is really the only viable option.”

Zeke finishes taking Ephraim’s saddle off and is quiet. August is tending to his own horse, and if anyone were to look over, they’d see nothing suspicious about the situation. They’ve managed to keep the housing plans under wraps, even though Tatiana has poked and pressed the both of them (“Why are you two gone all the time? Why do you look so tired? What do you mean your legs are sore? Have you been lifting stuff?”). Only a little while longer, hopefully, and Zeke won’t have to keep a secret from her anymore.

It’s sunset, about dinnertime, and barely anyone is out and about. August has selected a good moment for the two of them to go together, and after ensuring that Ephraim is fed and taken care of, leaves the pasture with him.

“What’s your opinion of the place?” he asks August.

August hums. “Nice. Small. Kinda towards the outskirts of the village, near the seashore. Not expensive.”

Expensive or not, between all the furniture purchases he’s made in the past week, and the actual buying of the house, Zeke is pretty sure that his funds, lofty as they are, are going to be run a little bit dry.

The topic of furniture comes up, and August ticks the things off on his fingers as he lists them. “So, let’s see. You’ve got a kitchen table, some chairs, couch, bed frame, some other stuff, all hanging out in my backrooms. If you close on this place tonight, we could probably start moving you in tomorrow. I’ll take Tatiana out to the market with me so that it can be a surprise.”

They’re getting close enough to the beach that Zeke can hear the lap of the waves. He shoots a glance over to August. “Your dedication to Tatiana never ceases to astound me. You are certain you have no designs on her?”

“Not a one,” August mumbles. They walk past a final cropping of houses, and August points beyond them, at a lone structure a slight ways away. “Used to be a fishery, and that’s why it’s a smidge bit further from the rest of the houses. Older folks tell me it was converted into a house some thirty years ago.”

Zeke regards it as they draw a little closer. It’s a nice little cottage, made up of sturdy brick, though it’s overgrown with some moss and weeds. The wooden framing on the windows looks nice, a bit of a cute touch. There’s a wide patch of pasture at its side and behind, and Zeke thinks that Ephraim could probably graze there during the day.

Overall, it’s nothing extraordinary. It’s a simple little place.

He likes it.

Zeke crosses his arms as he sizes it up, and inclines his head towards August as he asks, “Why isn’t anyone living in here?”

August narrows his eyes. “Well, that’s ‘cause the last folks who lived here suddenly died in the middle of the night. The next people who moved in died exactly a year later, and it’s said that their spirits haunt the place.”

The only sound that passes is the waves on the shore, and without turning his head towards him, Zeke gives August a long, long, long look.

The merchant then cracks a grin and smacks Zeke on the shoulder. “No, no, sorry, I was messin’ with you. Really, it’s only been vacant a couple years. Last folks who lived here moved to the capital for work. No one else moved in just ‘cause it gets a little chilly in the winter, since it’s so close to the water.”

Zeke squeezes the bridge of his nose. “You’re terrible, do you know that?”

“I’ve been told such on occasion.” The grin is gone from his face in a blink, and he makes for the door.

The inside is as unextraordinary as the outside. It’s hardwood floors, and plain walls. A small dining area, but with a rather large kitchen, is directly across from a living room. There’s a large fireplace on the wall, and save for some dents in the flooring, Zeke cannot find any immediately visible flaws.

Further back in the house is a washroom, a couple of closets, and a couple of bedrooms. Directly outside the window of one of the bedrooms is a splendid view of the waves crashing down on the shore, and Zeke thinks it would make a good room for the two of them.

The house is small, simple, and everything that he needs. Nothing more, nothing less, just the way he likes it.

“Thoughts?” August prompts after they poke around for a while longer, checking for glaring flaws.

“It’s nice,” Zeke replies. He runs a hand over the kitchen counter. “Simple. I like it. How do you think it will do?”

“It’s a place to sleep,” August says. “Sturdy build. Plenty of space for two people. You have any more than a couple’a kids, though, you may need to find somewhere a little bigger.”

The back of his neck gets hot. “Well, we’re not planning on children. Not right now, at least.”

August gives him a mischievous grin. “Really? Sure seems like you were givin’ it your best, based on what I saw a couple of weeks ago.”

“You know, perhaps that closet in the far back would be a good place to store my weapons. My many, many sharp weapons. Very good at making people bleed.”

“Yeesh, General, take it easy!”

“Where are we going?” Tatiana asks August.

He doesn't turn to look at her, and his horse keeps trotting on. They're a ways away from the village by now, on the path towards the closest market, and she doesn't know why. He'd come and gotten her bright and early, practically pulling her from her bed, and now she's half-asleep against him.

“We’re just off to the market.”

“Why do I have to come with?” she mutters. “I wanna go back to sleep.”

“You can sleep against me. Market’s still an hour ride, so you can get some shuteye.”

“Hmmmm. I still don’t get why I have to come with.”

“I like your company?”

Tatiana squeezes his shoulder and glares at him. “You say that like a question.”

August laughs nervously, and the fact that he is laughing at all tells Tatiana that something is definitely up. He’s hiding something, no doubt, and whatever it is, she decides that she will not have any of it.

“What’re you up to, you snake?” she asks.

“Not a thing.”

Tatiana frowns. “Are you going to embarrass me somehow? Or do something weird? Why am I going to the market with you?”

August scoffs then. “When’ve I ever done anything wrong to or embarrassed you in your life?”

“You bought me a sex book completely unironically.”

“And damn if it wasn't beneficial, right? I buy you the book, a month later you're bangin’ the general, and- Ow, owowowowow! Stop pullin’ my hair like that, you little wench, I’ll throw you right off this horse!”

Zeke hates getting teased. He really, really hates it, and he hates that he has to put up with it while people help him move things into the house. The teasing is made up of little comments, no short amount of jabs about “romantic and sexual relations” from the clergy who are there to help, and he eventually tunes it all out and turns it into white noise.

But he hates it, still.

“Tatiana’s got no idea?” a priest asks. He’s helping with some drapes on a window, and looks impressed when he looks over at Zeke. “You really managed to keep her from catching on for two weeks? She watches you like a hawk.”

“She was starting to get suspicious,” Zeke admits. “I came home very late from the market the other night, and thought she was going to have my head.” He pauses fixing some drawers on a wardrobe and frowns. “August is trying to keep her busy today.”

The priest makes an amused sound, almost like a scoff, and goes back to the drapes.

August is definitely keeping something from her, and Tatiana knows that, because she’s not as stupid as everyone seems to think she is. She knows that August’s trips to the market are usually very methodical: He talks to the vendors he knows first, sees what’s around, and then he haggles for the best deal. He sets up his own wares at a stall he shares with another small-time merchant, sells for another few hours, and then goes around to buy again when the day is nearly done with.

What he is doing now, however, is an obvious distraction tactic, and Tatiana knows that. He’s got her hand tight in his, pulling her all around the town, and pointing at every little thing. He hasn’t brought any of his goods with him, nor is he walking around the market with a scowl on his face, pushing for lower and lower prices.

“What's going on?” she demands multiple times over four hours. Her arms are weighed down with some purchases, little things like cutlery and plates that he’d insisted on her buying. “Why am I here with you, and why are you making me buy things like forks?”

“Everyone needs a good fork,” he mumbles under his breath. He’s rummaging in his satchel for his own money while he eyes a book collection.

“I can’t disagree with that, but still. I know you’re trying to distract me, but from what?”

“I ain’t trying to distract you.”

“You can’t lie to me, mister.”

August gives her a doubtful look, then keeps rummaging. “After I buy this collection, we’ll throw it on the cart, then grab some ingredients for a nice dinner, and-”

Tatiana has already turned on her heel, making her way to a group of merchants, all packed up and ready to go. “You can keep shopping. I’m sure one of these nice girls over here will be heading back towards the way of the village, and I’ll catch a ride with them.”

He drops his satchel, letting it hang limp on his shoulder, and rushes through the bustling crowd after her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can stay right here until we leave together.”

“If this wasn’t a distraction, you wouldn’t be so intent on keeping me.”

He scowls. “Don’t be so difficult. I take you out for a nice day on the town, and this is the thanks I get? Geez, when we were kids, you’d always beg me to take you out.”

“That was when I was a kid, and I didn’t have things to do,” she chides, and she ticks things off her fingers as she lists her responsibilities: “I have to clean the chapel, replace the oil at the altar, do maintenance on the stained glass windows, attend a meeting, watch the kids, feed the goa-”

August waves his hands. “Okay, okay, I get it, but you don’t have to worry about that stuff today. I’m sure other people have conveniently and suddenly taken over it for you with no prompting at all.”

Tatiana groans and makes for the merchant group again. “I can’t stay. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, wait!” He grabs her elbow frantically. “Pomegranates!”

She freezes in her steps, definitely intrigued. “Hm?”

There’s already regret on his face as he tells her, “If you stay with me for another two hours, we’ll go home, and I’ll buy you a big basket of pomegranates, no matter how expensive. My treat.”

Interesting.

Tatiana stays for another two hours, buys ingredients for a nice dinner at his encouragement, and leaves with a basketful of ripe, juicy pomegranates, a smile on her face, and August lamenting his empty wallet.

It serves him right, trying to trick her.

The moment they get back to the village, August has taken his scarf off his head and wrapped it around her eyes, and that’s when Tatiana knows that something is really, really, really up. She holds her basket of pomegranates tightly and frowns, asking “Why do I have to be blindfolded?”

August is leading her by the hand, and she knows that they’ve walked far past the church at this point. “Life is more exciting with blindfolds on, don’t you think?”

“I’m suspicious.”

“Hm. Don’t trip over that rock.”

Stumbling through the dark isn’t so nerve wracking; not when someone trustworthy is holding her hand, that is. She lets him lead her through the village, and she doesn’t say anything more to him. She merely listens to the sounds of her surroundings, and perks up when she hears the sound of the waves.

“Are we going to the beach for something?”

They take a turn, suddenly, and he replies, “No. But here, I’ll take this off for you now.”

She waits patiently while he steps behind her and unties the scarf from around her eyes, tapping her feet against the grass. He takes his time, carefully undoing the knot, and before he lets it slip away from her face, makes a sound as though he is about to ask something. Tatiana waits for him to continue, but he seems to have shut his mouth, because he doesn’t say anything.

When the blindfold falls away, they’re standing in front of a house, made of brick like all the others in the village, and she is confused.

“Why are we here?” she asks. “Are you going to take me inside and axe murder me?”

“After spending all my money on those stupid pomegranates, I’m half-tempted,” he mumbles, but he takes her to the door. “But no.”

When he opens the door, he gestures inside, and Tatiana steps in with no small amount of caution. It’s a cozy inside, lightly and plainly furnished, and otherwise unextraordinary, save for the fact that Ezekiel is standing there. He looks exhausted and bedraggled, his eyes nervously flicking from her to August.

“You’re here,” he says simply.

Her heart is hammering, just a little. “What’s going on?”

August pushes her in a little further with a gentle nudge, then shuts the door behind them. Tatiana looks over at him, searching for a little bit of reassurance in his familiar face, but he’s put himself against a wall, crossed his arms, and looked away.

Zeke clears his throat. “I, um. I bought this house.”

Her heart stops for a good three seconds, and then starts up again. She merely stares at him and tries to not drop her basket of fruit all over the place.

Zeke nervously rubs the back of his neck. “I thought- Perhaps I was being presumptuous, but, well, I just thought maybe-” He buries his face into his hands, muttering something, and then starts over. “I thought maybe a space for just the two of us was in order, given the status of our relationship.

Tatiana doesn’t say anything, but her eyes feel hot and her throat feels tight. She clears it, lightly pressing her fingertips to the hollow of her throat, and then gives the home another glance.

The home.

This is their home.

She swallows thickly. “Oh- oh my.”

Zeke doesn’t meet her eye. “I was gone so much because I was trying to buy furniture and the like. I wanted it to look halfway decent before I presented it to you.”

Tatiana still doesn’t know what to say, and she hears herself say, “Oh.”

Yeah, real smart, Tatiana, she chides herself. You sound real grateful.

But, she doesn’t know what to say, because the house is lacking in decoration, lacks a good, domestic, homey feeling, but it’s still her home. She doesn’t care that the walls are plain brick, that the floors don’t have any rugs yet, and that some areas still need a few touchups. She doesn’t care that it will undoubtedly get a little cold in the winter. Tatiana cares that it is hers. Tatiana cares that someone loves her enough to do something like this for her, when she has done nothing to earn it.

“Oh,” she says again, and she blinks. “I just- Oh.”

“That doesn’t sound unhappy,” he says, a little hint of teasing in his voice. “But truly, do you mind? I know the church has been your home since you were a girl, but I-”

“Did you think I would hate it?” she asks in disbelief. The pressure on her eyes overflows, she sniffs, and runs the edge of her sleeve over her eyes. “I can’t find the words for how much I adore it. I’m- I’m speechless, that’s it. Sorry.”

A weight seems to fly off his shoulders. “Gods, you like it. Thank goodness.”

She sniffs again, getting her tears under control. “Did everyone help you today? Is this why August dragged me to the market, so I could be surprised?”

She has almost forgotten that August is behind her, until she hears, “I bought you some damn pomegranates, I don't ever wanna hear you say I ‘dragged you there’ again. You got plenty out of that little trip.”

“August found the home.” Zeke gestures over towards him. “We should be very grateful.”

Tatiana looks over her shoulder at him, and finds him scowling and crossing his arms in a huff. His cheeks are dark with a blush, however, and he doesn't look back at either of them.

“Don't go acting like I did somethin’ special,” he grumbles. “I just did what any good friend would, y’hear?”

“You have gone above and beyond,” Tatiana assures softly. “So, this is why I was buying forks, because I was going to need them.”

He shrugs, adjusts the scarf on his head, and doesn't reply. There's the smallest curve to his lips, however, that tells Tatiana that he's a bit amused.

“I guess this is also why we bought all those good ingredients. How about I start on dinner?” Tatiana sets the basket of fruits on the table. “August, will you be staying?”

He shrugs. “I don't wanna impose.”

“No imposing,” she assures. “Besides, Zeke is useless in the kitchen. It’d be nice to have competent help.”

Zeke appears bewildered and indignant when she looks to him, and he gestures around. “I just bought and furnished an entire home for you, and that's how you convey your gratitude?”

“Make no mistake,” Tatiana says. “Now that it's just the two of us, your glaring incompetence in the domestic arts is going to be especially noticeable. No more pawning off laundry duty to anyone in the church, you hear?”

He frowns and glances away. “I didn't- I don't- How do you know about that?”

“I see everything,” she assures, and laughs at his blushing face. “No need to worry, though. I’ll take care of you, whenever you need.”

He closes the space between them, tilting her chin up. “And what do you ask in turn?”

Tatiana stands on her tiptoes and smiles. “A kiss, maybe, every now and then.”

“I think we can manage a little more than ‘every now and then.’”

He leans down, just a little bit, and she can feel his breath on her face, when August suddenly interrupts. His voice is blatantly disgusted as he says, “Really? Like, I’m still right here, starting on dinner, and y’all are just- I mean, really?”

There are still things in Tatiana’s old room to be picked up and moved into the house, small things, and she heads over to the church after dinner to grab some of them while Zeke bathes. She follows August out of the home, rushing a little to catch up with him, a pomegranate in her hand as an offering.

It’s dark outside now, crickets chirping around them, and he gives her a long look as she calls out his name. “What?”

Tatiana holds out the fruit. “A pomegranate for your troubles?”

He eyes the fruit, sighs, and takes it from her. “Thank you.”

She smiles and walks alongside him as they go through the village. “You didn’t have to help Zeke like that, you know.”

He rolls the fruit around in his hands. “Mmm.”

“It must’ve been inconvenient for you.”

“It was.”

“You take really good care of me.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know I complain about it being smothering sometimes, but thank you.”

She watches his thumb as it plays with the crown of the pomegranate. “It’s just what I’ve always done. Since the day you wound up here, you were hurt, and I took care of you. Old habits die hard, kiddo.”

“If you say so.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Tatiana takes in the peace of the night. It’s calm, quiet, and she feels like she doesn’t have a care in the entire world. She has a home, and her heart flutters to just think of it.

“Hey, listen.”

“What is it?”

They stop in front of August’s home, and he fixes her under his gaze, the look intense and burning. “Do you feel okay being with him?”

Tatiana frowns. “How do you mean?”

“You just always said, when we were kids, that you didn’t think you’d ever fall in love.” August nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “And, what’s more, I wanna make sure you feel okay with him. ‘Cause I made a promise to make sure you were taken care of.”

Tatiana opens her mouth, intending to ask, “Who would you promise such a thing to?,” and then shuts it.

She knows who, and it makes her chest ache.

“I love him,” she assures, and it makes her heart soar to say it. “I love him very much, and I’ve never felt happier. We take good care of each other, so I’m fine.”

August regards the fruit in his hand, deliberately not looking at her. “Right. Okay. I’ll be headed in for the night, then, unless you need somethin’ else.”

“I’m just going to grab some things from my room at the church that I need. Small things, you know?”

They part with a good night, and Tatiana makes her way over to the church. When she goes in, it’s quiet, but the few people still lingering about chatter with her excitedly for a few minutes about how delighted they are for her. She gets a little misty-eyed for a moment, thinking about how she won’t be able to just walk out of her room, as she has done for twelve years, and see everyone, but blinks the tears away. There is more reason to be happy than sad.

Her old room is indeed empty, most of her things of value moved out, and it feels odd. Tatiana has not had such an empty room since she was a child, when she was first given the space and had nothing to place in it. It feels bigger when it’s empty, perhaps even a little ominous, and she takes a deep breath and enters. The door gently shuts behind her, and the sound of it is hollow.

There are little things left, like books and clothes, little trinkets and the like. Her tea set from Rinea is untouched atop a shelf, and she carefully puts all the pieces together and sets them aside to pack later. She has books and writing utensils that she groups together, clothing still hanging in her wardrobe, but it’s all mostly been taken over to the house.

Yet, there is one thing that Tatiana is certain still remains in the room, and she approaches it almost solemnly. She sets a book in her hands to the side, moves towards the bed, and crouches down. She doesn’t have to reach that far underneath to grab what is under there, and pulls it out easily. It’s a large box, longer than it is wide. It’s covered in a thin layer of dust that shows that, while it isn’t used frequently, it isn’t neglected.

The room is dark and quiet as Tatiana opens it. The click of the clasp being undone echoes through the air for a second, and the hinges don’t make a sound as she swings the box open.

She pulls out a hunting bow, polished to perfection, made of beautiful dark wood. The string is a little loose, and she frowns as she tugs at it, wondering if she should tighten it or not. It’s a matter for another time, however, so she ignores it, merely holding the long weapon in her hands.

Though Tatiana regards it fondly, running her fingers over the smooth surface, she turns her lips down in a frown. When her throat starts to close up, she takes a deep inhale, puts the bow gently back in the box, and lets out the breath.

Her heart starts beating uncomfortably in her chest as she remembers somebody screaming her name.

Chapter Text

Water is dumped over the little girl’s head, flowing around her, sticking her hair to her skinny body, and she coughs and scrubs at her eyes. The sound of a bucket being placed on the tile echoes in the washroom, and then, there are hands on her. They are firm, but not unkind, and they push her a little further into the bath and scrub at her skin.

The boy is not harsh by any means, but the girl is still scared, and she is crying. She has not stopped crying since she was brought in from the snow, and her eyes are sore.

“She’s still freezing, Sister Liliya,” a boy’s voice says to a pretty woman, who is bustling about the room with all manner of salves and oils, and then he speaks to the girl. “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“Keep scrubbing, August. The bath will warm her. Oh, poor little thing!” The pretty woman kneels next to the tub, patting the little girl’s damp hair comfortingly while she sobs, and then gently pulls her arm out of the water. The child flinches away, but doesn’t rip her arm out of the woman’s grasp. The boy squeezes her shoulders reassuringly.

“I’m sorry,” the girl cries.

The pretty woman looks concerned, her painted red lips turned down in a frown. “Nothing to be sorry for! Now, let me see that arm. I’m just gonna put a little bit of this ointment on it, and you’ll feel better.”

The pretty woman has a sweet voice, beautiful, messy red hair, and kind blue eyes. The girl wants to trust her, and lets her take her arm in her hand. The boy’s hands are in the girl’s hair now, scrubbing soap into it and sifting through the tangles.

The woman’s fingers are long and gentle while she rubs a waxy ointment onto a scrape on her arm, but her eyes are on her shoulder, pursed in displeasure. “Where is that horrible scar from?”

The little girl cries harder, and the woman and the boy are at a loss as to what to do.

A soft whack on the back of Tatiana’s head wakes her up. She squeaks, clutching at the offended area while she whirls around in her seat. August is standing behind her, an annoyed quirk to his lips. He shakes his hand through the air, as though the slight slap has hurt it.

“You fall asleep readin’?” he asks.

“Did I-?” It takes a moment to put the world back in order after her jarring wake up call, but she is most certainly in the church’s library, with a children’s book in her lap, and she rubs at her eye. “Yeah.”

“Kids told me you just started nodding off during storytime. They were sure havin’ a giggle about it when they came and got me.” August places his hands on his hips and leans into her, his teeth bared in an annoyed scoff. “Sister Liliya never dozed off while reading.”

Tatiana pouts while she leans away. “Well, so-rry . I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, so I’ve been falling asleep at the worst times.” She sighs and puts her cheek in a hand. “I fell asleep in the bath yesterday evening, and Zeke had such a fit when he woke me up. ‘You could drown!’ he kept yelling.”

“Well, he ain’t wrong. Knowin’ you, drowning in the bathtub is a plausible way for you to go.”

She stands from her seat, the book in her grip, and sets it on a pile on the table. There are numerous other storybooks there, some worn, some new, and Tatiana regards them fondly.

“You know, the first time we met, and you threw me in the bath, I thought you were trying to drown me.” Tatiana laughs and rubs at her eye, pulling the last remnants of her nap away. “Remember how hard I started crying?”

“Every thing we did, you thought we were tryin’ to kill you, and you’d sob your goddamn eyes out. Sister Liliya and Father Alexi kept saying that they’d never seen such a skittish kid before.” He frowns. “You thinkin’ about old times?”

She picks up a colorful fairy tale and flips through it idly, giving herself an excuse to not meet his eye. “A little. I always think about old times, you know.”

He gives her a long look, but doesn’t say anything more.

“This is your room,” the pretty woman tells her, and all Tatiana can do is stare. She doesn’t know what else to do, really.

The room is not as big as her old one, and it is empty and dark. There is nothing of value inside; not so much as a single book. Tatiana is fine with that, though, because the bed looks comfortable, and there’s a window that overlooks the street, so it’s fine.

“It’s a little empty,” the cleric says, and she doesn’t let go of Tatiana’s hand as they walk into the room. “We don’t have any other children here, so we’re not well-equipped to decorate a room for one.”

“That’s okay,” she says in a small voice.

The cleric gives her an odd look, and Tatiana doesn’t know what the expression on her face is called. “Are you doing okay? It’s been a couple of days.”

Tatiana shrugs.

The cleric purses her lips. “I heard those mean boys and girls saying awful things to you, and-”

“They said my parents weren’t coming back.”

Tatiana doesn’t feel anything when she says that. Not yet. It hasn’t sunk in. She wonders what she will feel, when it actually seems real.

The pretty woman fixes her clear blue eyes on Tatiana. “Are you bothered, little one? Are you… sad?”

Tatiana stares at the empty room, and doesn’t know anything.

“Auntie?”

Tatiana looks up from the sink, pausing her scrubbing of a bowl, and regards the child at the church kitchen’s table. Zeke is sitting there, too, poring over reports and letters, a furrow in his brow as he tries to get through the task. Up until this moment, the child has remained quiet and polite, aware that he is working, but now she looks at Tatiana with a bit of a confused look.

“What is it?” She goes back to washing the dishes, but keeps her gaze on the child to let her know that she is still listening.

“Can I ask a question?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The girl seems a little tentative at first, and then, bluntly, asks, “Where’s your family?”

The soapy bowl nearly slips out of her fingers and crashes back into the sink, but she keeps her grip on it. Her heartbeat is hammering in her ears, a little surge of panic rises up in her, but she beats it down and gives the girl a smile. Zeke has also looked up from his work, and though he’s trying to pretend he’s still looking at the papers, she knows he’s more focused on the conversation.

“They’re gone,” she simply says. “Why do you ask?”

“My big brother told me that you didn’t have one.” The girl rests a round cheek in her hand and taps a finger on her glass. “I think that’s mean of him to say. Isn’t everyone your family?”

“I think what he was meaning to say was that I don’t have any blood family.” Tatiana rests the bowl on the counter and moves onto the next dish.

“Where’d they go?”

Zeke is giving her a glance out of the corner of his eye, and Tatiana feels exceedingly nervous.

“Well,” she starts, carefully choosing her words. “They didn’t love me, so they left me here when I was a little younger than you.”

The child looks uncomfortable, and Tatiana is immediately flooded with guilt.

“But that’s okay!” she hastily reassures. “Because now, I have better family, who love me. Like you.”

With a smile, the girl looks at Zeke. “Like the general, too?”

Zeke smiles back at the child, lowering his paper a little, and a little bit of Tatiana’s panic washes away.

“Just like him,” she says, and she goes back to her chore.

As they leave the church later, Zeke grabs her hand as they walk home, and the air about him is solemn. “Tatiana.”

She knows what he is going to want to talk about, but she plays dumb and gives him a smile. “Yes?”

“I would like to know more about your family.” He speaks carefully, and she can tell each word is being picked with caution.

“That’s not important,” Tatiana replies, and he is silent, but takes her hand and gives it a kiss while they walk.

In a nightmare, Tatiana is screaming, and nobody cares.

There are hands on her, hands that are cruel and hard, and they jerk her around, drag her about, and beat her wherever they can reach. The man they belong to is not so strong, but his rage and temper give him strength, and in the dream, she is no more than six. Each smack against her cheek feels like fire, every kick to her stomach is nothing but pure agony, and her tiny body cannot bear the abuse.

When she opens up her mouth to sob, a large hand clamps over her mouth, grips at her cheeks, and shakes her until she is shocked into silence.

“Shut up!” he hisses. “Just shut up!”

When she tries to protest, wailing that it hurts, he shakes her violently once more, clenches a hand over her wrist, and starts dragging her towards the stairs. A rush of panic floods Tatiana, even though it is a dream, and she digs her heels into the floor, begging and crying.

“No!” she screams. “Let go, let go! Stop it!”

She beats her small fists against his arm, desperately claws at the hand clamped around her, sobs, but nothing happens. The man doesn’t let go. No one comes to her aid. All Tatiana can do is hope that the pain goes by fast, and that it is the last abuse she will suffer for the night.

She shuts up, just as he has asked, as he shoves her down the stairway.

“Tatiana! Tatiana!”

Tatiana is shaken awake frantically, and she wakes up with a heaving gasp. Zeke is leaning over her, her hands tight around her wrists, and he has her pinned to the bed. His dark eyes are almost wild with concern and panic, and gives a gasp himself when she makes solid eye contact with him. She takes a deep swallow of air and blinks some tears from her eyes.

Zeke doesn’t let go of her wrists, but his grip loosens. “You were having an awful nightmare. Thrashing and crying terribly. You were going to hurt yourself.”

Tatiana is still struggling to calm her beating heart, but it races even faster and the blood is rushing to her ears when she realizes that she cannot. She cannot even speak, with her throat closed up as it is, and only gasps for air again.

He lets go of her wrists and cups her face. “What’s the matter? Can you breathe?”

There’s a sob in her throat that she chokes back, and she shakes her head against the pillows. Tears slip out of her eyes, and she is disgusted with herself.

“Are you scared?” Zeke asks. He pulls her up towards him a little, and bends down to push kisses against her eyelids. “It’s okay now. There's no need to be frightened. It was only a nightmare.”

It’s not okay. It’s not okay. It’s not okay. It will never be okay, because it was not only a nightmare. It doesn’t matter how many kisses he gives her, how reassuringly he strokes her hair, because Tatiana cannot breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

Zeke frowns down at her. “I’ve never seen you like this. How awful.”

What she hears then is “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re awful.”

Tatiana chokes on a breath and struggles to breathe again, and she knows that it’s irrational, that he didn’t mean it that way, she knows she’s being unreasonable. She knows that. And yet, suddenly, she can only think of how she must seem so vile to him like this, how ridiculous and awful this side of her is. She can only imagine how disgusted he is with her, when she is not smiling and flitting about like she hasn’t a care.

Deep down, she knows that’s irrational. She knows it’s unfair of her to think.

But what if he doesn’t like her anymore?

He moves away from her as she sits up. “What’s wrong?”

Tatiana swallows. “I need to leave.

He presses his lips together. “It’s nearly four in the morning. Where do you need to go to?”

“Out.” It’s the only thing she says, because it is the place she needs to go. “I just need to leave.” She shakes, and her eyes fill with tears.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it from his eyes, and moves like he is going to get out of bed. “Let me put my boots on. We can-”

“Don’t follow me,” she mutters, and then, stronger, she repeats it.

Zeke looks taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

She throws her legs over the side of the bed, slides her shoes on, and stands. “I’m going to go be alone.”

“But-” He seems baffled, stumbling over himself for something to say. “It’s dark outside. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Tatiana doesn’t care, and she leaves, even though he calls after her.

Tatiana has finished praying at the altar when August confronts her in the hallways of the church. He’s got his hands on his hips, like he’s scolding one of the kids, his brow furrowed, and his lips quirked down in a confused grimace. Tatiana wriggles under his glare and looks at the ground.

“What’s the big deal?” he asks.

Tatiana knows what the big deal is, but plays dumb. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He taps his foot on the ground impatiently. “General tells me that you ran off a couple days ago, and haven’t come home since.”

If Ezekiel didn’t hate her before, after that little fit, he must hate her now. She sighs, leans against a wall, and slides down it. She rests on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest, and bends her head to rest atop them.

“You made him feel bad.” August’s voice is gentle, yet firm, and she truly feels like a berated child. “He’s scared to come talk to you, so he keeps comin’ around the shop, begging me to come and say somethin’.”

“You’ve said something, haven’t you?” Tatiana mumbles.

“I gotta talk some sense into you,” he chides. “He said you had a nightmare, and then you started actin’ weird and stormed off.”

Tatiana doesn’t talk, and keeps her head on her knees. Her arms are limp at her sides, but she lifts them a little to fiddle with the folds of her skirt, pooled on the floor.

“What’d you see?” His voice is a little softer now, and he sits down next to her. “What happened?”

She wants to talk, get it out, and so she swallows and says, “I’ve never told him about my parents.”

When she looks up, August is taking a deep inhale of breath and staring at the ground. “Ah.”

“I know keeping the secret isn’t healthy,” she mumbles around her dry mouth. “It’s got the potential to ruin my relationship long term, if I keep letting it go on like this.”

A pair of clerics come down the hallway, give them confused glances, and step over August’s legs. They glance back as they walk away, but sense the air around them and leave in a hurry.

“Remember, you told me a few weeks ago, that I always said I was never gonna fall in love?”

He drops his head in acknowledgment. “Sure. And you were stubborn about it as a kid, too. Was so sure you were right.”

Tatiana’s voice comes out more bitter than she intends when she says, “This is why I didn’t want to. I don’t want to lay it all bare.”

“Why do you keep it secret?” he presses. “None of it is your fault. Why not just tell him?”

She bites her lip. “I don’t want him to see that ugly, unsightly side of me. I just want him to see the nice girl he fell in love with. Not some bedraggled mess who whimpers through the night when she gets a little scared at bad dreams.”

“Watch your mouth,” August warns. “No shame in gettin’ scared. Especially not when it’s about what you’ve been through. And how could you possibly think that the general would dump you over a little emotional baggage?”

Tatiana snorts. “A little?”

“A lot,” he corrects. “For the gods’ sakes, Ezekiel doesn’t remember who he is or where he came from. Frankly, behind that composed exterior, he’s a right mess, ain’t he?"

Tatiana thinks about how terrified he is when he wakes up; how he claws at nothing, begging for mercy from someone he can’t remember, and she doesn’t reply.

“If anyone is gonna be able to relate to you, isn’t it him?”

She wrings her hands together and stares at her knees.

“Besides, it isn’t unsightly to have bad emotions, Tatiana. You’re the one always telling that to other people when they come in for confessions, right?” August frowns at her. “Why can’t you take your own wisdom to heart for once in your life?”

She manages a wobbling smile. “I don’t know why I can’t. It’s easier to say than do, I guess.”

A quiet moment passes between them, and August reminds her, gently, “Nothing bad that has ever happened to you was your fault.”

The pretty woman’s name is Liliya, but it takes Tatiana a while to remember it, for no reason in particular. Perhaps it’s just that she’s too rattled to hold onto any information. She can hardly remember where she is, sometimes. It all feels like she’s walking around in a daze, and whether it is a good or bad one, she cannot decide.

Liliya is excitedly showing Tatiana something while they kneel close together: A newly sewn pillowcase in her hand, and she’s got the needle pressed up to the fabric, showing Tatiana a new stitch step-by-step, and with the utmost patience and delight. It had only taken a few days for Liliya to find that Tatiana already knew the basics of sewing, and had proudly self-proclaimed herself as her new teacher, to take her to more advanced techniques, or something. Tatiana can’t remember exactly.

“This is a slip stitch,” the cleric is saying. “You use it on pillowcases and stuff like that, so it can-”

Liliya stops, and Tatiana looks up at her from the sewing project. Her lovely red lips are turned down in a perplexed expression, and her eyebrows are all scrunched up. She looks like a princess from a fairy tale, Tatiana thinks, with her messy red hair and bright blue eyes, her beauty creating an air of refinement about her. Her lovely voice helps make her seem more ethereal as well, and Tatiana is sad that she has stopped talking.

“Do you already know this stitch?” Liliya asks.

Tatiana shakes her head. “No.”

“You just don’t look interested.” Liliya pauses. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Then, why do you look so far away, child?”

Tatiana stares down at her lap, then up at the sister. “I was wondering something.”

“And?”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Tatiana waits for an answer, and when she doesn’t get it, tries to elaborate. “I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

Liliya appears taken aback, even a touch offended, and puts her sewing down to rest her fists on her hips. “Well, I never!”

Tatiana flinches at the rise in her voice, and the sister winces right back and immediately lowers it.

“I’ll tell you something important now, Tatiana,” she says. “Kindness doesn’t need an explanation beyond itself. Do you know what that means?”

She wracks her brain, can’t think of a good, smart answer, and shakes her head.

“It means that you don’t ‘earn’ kindness.” Liliya pats her shoulder and pulls her in a little closer. It’s a bit of a maternal gesture, the way she lets Tatiana rest her head on her shoulder. “It’s just something that you can get. It’s important to give kindness, so you can receive it in turn. When people like you are hurt and in trouble, we care for them, in hopes that we can do some good.”

Kindness does not need an explanation beyond itself.

The notion warms Tatiana’s heart.

Trudging back home after a couple of days is awkward, and Tatiana doesn’t know what to expect from Zeke. She runs through a few scenarios in her mind as a way to calm herself down, but they only get her more worked up, and she’s almost in a panic by the time she gets the front door open.

It’s late, very late, but she finds Zeke sitting at the kitchen table. His fingers are laced together, pressed against his lips while he stares at nothing. He looks troubled, like he is in the deepest thought, and jumps when she shuts the door behind her. She stands at the doorway awkwardly, refusing to look at him.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands in a hurry, and Tatiana shuts her eyes, her shoulders tense, while she waits. She waits for something, like rough hands on her shoulders that will shake her around, a raised voice, a violent slap on her head, anything.

Instead, she gets arms wrapped around her. Gentle, loving arms, squeezing her tightly, and Zeke pulls her against him fiercely with them. One of his hands sinks into her hair, pressing her face into his shoulder, and he rests his cheek on the top of her head. He’s warm and kind, and Tatiana can feel her heart beating out of her chest.

How could she ever believe, for even a panicked, anxiety-ridden second, that sweet Ezekiel would lay a hand on her?

“I was worried,” he mutters into her hair. “I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

Tatiana tries to slow her beating heart. “No. I just wasn’t thinking straight. I was being ridiculous.”

His fingers lightly rub against her scalp in a soothing motion. “You weren’t. Something obviously had you shaken. Forgive me if I said something, but I just had never seen you in such a panic. It shocked me. I must have reacted wrongly.”

Tatiana takes a deep breath and puts her arms around him. “Believe me, none of it was your fault. I’m sorry for letting you beat yourself up for a couple of days about it. I didn’t mean to.”

The tension seems to leave his body all at once, and he gives an audible sigh of relief. Neither of them say anything for another minute, and Tatiana grips him as she tries to build up her courage.

He won’t leave, she tells herself. He will not leave you for being human .

“You said you wanted to know more about my family, a little while ago,” she mumbles against him.

Zeke rubs her back. “Am I wrong to assume that they’re what you were so frenzied over?”

“Am I so obvious?”

“You are to me, my sweet.”

She squeezes him tighter. “I’ll tell you.”

“You should not, not if it makes you like this.”

“I should,” she insists, and she tilts her head back to look at him. “Because I like to think that, if you had any secrets or anything like this, you would tell me.” He hesitates in replying, and she frowns. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, I think.”

“Then I’ll tell you. I’ll just get it out, and we can be done with it, okay?” She pauses for a moment, fiddling with the front of his shirt. “I want to go lie down. Can we?”

“You don’t need to ask me.”

“Sorry.”

Zeke takes her to the bedroom after another short while of holding her, clinging to her like she might turn and walk out the door again. He waits patiently while she changes into her night clothes, braids her hair, and paces the room for a few minutes. He knows, she knows that he knows, that she’s trying to work up her bravery. He is so patient, and gods know that all Tatiana needs is precious patience.

She sits next to him on the bed suddenly, so quickly that he nearly jumps. She leans towards him, and he leans in a little towards her.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

“Do you want me to know?” is how he replies.

“You should. And I want you to. Because I love you, I shouldn’t have big secrets.” Her hands are in her lap, and she clenches the fabric of her gown in her fingers. “I told you, while we were in Odessa, that I used to live in a city.”

“Yes.”

Tatiana can see the city streets in her mind when she thinks of it: Beautiful brick buildings, cobblestone streets, and hundreds of people milling about. A lively place, a place she loved watching from through her bedroom window. Even if the noises had scared her, she had liked it.

“I was born to a family of a little status,” she admits slowly, and his eyebrows rise. “Not much, but for people without a drop of noble blood, we did well. My father was a successful merchant in the region, and had a lot of connections with nobles. He made lots of money off of them, so we all had nice things. A big house. It was a life of comfort, but not excess.”

It sounds nice, she knows, and on the surface, it was. She had pretty clothes, books, a large bedroom with tall windows. A soft bed to sleep on, and any other materialistic thing that a child could possibly want.

“I would get whatever I wanted. My father would give me anything, so long as I was quiet. So long as I didn’t misbehave. All I had to do was not make a sound, and comfort and luxury was mine. My mother was the same; all she had to do was play the role of a perfect, doting, obedient housewife, and my father would give her anything her heart desired, and more.

“Everyone loved my father. He brought so much business to the area. They thought he was perfect, like he was an angel descended to bless them. He was so well-respected in the town where we lived. He would talk to people in this gentle, persuasive voice, and he had these really soft-looking eyes that people would automatically trust.”

Tatiana stops talking for a moment to take a deep breath. She exhales slowly, the burning image of her gentle-looking father in her mind, and she nearly vomits. Zeke waits patiently for her to start again, and he is so quiet that Tatiana cannot tell what it is that he’s thinking.

“I remember, our maid was absolutely head over heels for my father, always raving about what an excellent man he was. She’d kiss the ground he walked on, I swear it.” A smile comes to her lips, a little one, when she thinks about how the nice lady swooned and sighed like a schoolgirl. Then the smile falters, a little, as she continues. “But, she didn’t know… She didn’t know anything about how my father was in private.

“When the doors shut and the people left, my father may as well have been a demon.”

Zeke leans in then, a hand reaching out for her, and then he puts it on his lap. Tatiana takes it, however, squeezing it, as she fights the memories of punishing hands and biting words. Zeke radiates strength, and it’s what she needs now.

“What did he do to you?” he asks in a low voice.

Tatiana shuts her eyes and gestures to various places on her body, where nights of running his hands over her have revealed to him raised skin and faded marks. He knows what is there, and he frowns as she runs her hands along her side.

“He’d push me into things. This one here is from being thrown into the edge of a cabinet. Over here, he slammed my head against a mirror, and it broke a little and cut me.”

Her lover appears ill suddenly, and tightens his grip on her trembling hand. “What in the world provoked him in such ways?”

“I existed,” Tatiana says, and that’s all there is to say. “I was a good child. I was quiet, and only spoke when spoken to. I wore pretty clothes and smiled so he could show me off when business partners came over. I didn’t ever ask for anything. I never did anything to provoke such a despicable reaction from him. He hurt me just because I existed where he could see me.”

Her voice tightens up as she continues. “And I was a really clumsy kid. He pushed me down the stairs once and broke my arm, but no one questioned it. I was so stupid that people believed that I’d just tripped and hurt myself. Whatever bruises and bumps I got, I could be blamed easily.”

When Tatiana regards Zeke, she can see a fire in his eyes, and he asks with a harsh tone, “What of your mother?”

The scar on Tatiana’s shoulder burns as though it is new, and she says with no slight amount of bitterness, “She knew. I remember, she tried to protect me only once, and it got her such a thrashing that she never tried again. But besides this scar, she never harmed me. She was just… quiet. Flitting around the house like some sort of ghost. Looking back on it, I pity her.”

Zeke doesn’t say anything. He looks down at their intertwined hands and swallows.

“My father wasn’t an alcoholic, or anything like that,” Tatiana explains. “He just was cruel. He was a narcissist, plain and simple, who thought me and my mother were objects. And as such, he was allowed to treat us however he wanted.”

There is one more detail, one more thing about her childhood that she feels she should say, and it burns in her heart. She watches Zeke as he quietly brushes her hair behind her shoulder, and wonders if it is something she should burden him with. She wonders if she can even bring herself to say it, when she has told so few. Every single time she even comes close to broaching the subject, she feels disgusting hands on her wrists, and ends up bent over a basin for hours while she heaves.

“I tried running away, once,” she starts quietly. “I was about seven. The door was unlocked. I didn’t take anything with me. I just ran, and I didn’t care where I wound up. I didn’t care if I starved, or got eaten by wolves. I just went.” Tatiana frowns. “A seven-year-old, with no sense of self-preservation. I’m mortified thinking back on it now. A child that old deserves to want to live.”

Zeke looks to the ground and mumbles an agreement.

“I didn’t get far,” she continues. “Nearly got out of the city, and thought I was free, since it was the dead of night. And then, a very nice man who did business with my father picked me up and took me back home. I remember, I was kicking and screaming, and begging him to not take me back. I can’t comprehend why that wasn’t alarming to him. He was so kind, but he just didn’t see anything unusual about the situation.”

“Children don’t get taken seriously,” Zeke mutters. “I feel we should listen to them far more than we do.”

“We should,” she agrees quietly. “There’d be less hurt children in this world.”

Zeke squeezes her hand. “He took you back. And then…?”

“My father acted so concerned, took me into his arms, and thanked the man profusely. Acted like the picture-perfect father who was so scared about his little angel running off on her own. My mother came to check on me, I remember, but didn’t do anything when my father gave me the beating of my life. I couldn’t stand the next day because it hurt so bad.”

And then, Tatiana wants to keep talking, but she starts to shake when she has been so strong throughout the whole story. She hates herself for it, hates the way her eyes fill with tears and her limbs tremble, and tries to toughen up. She tries to keep her back straight and meet his eye, but instead she just hunches over uselessly, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, and allows him to rub her soothingly and whisper kind, gentle apologies to her.

“He started coming into my room the next night,” she sobs.

Zeke is quiet, so quiet while he realizes the full implication of what she’s saying, and Tatiana’s weeping is the only thing to be heard.

“Oh, gods,” he whispers.

“He would tell me to be quiet,” she spits. “It hurt so bad when he touched me, and I didn’t understand it.”

She remembers those hands on her wrists while she kicked and screamed, the awful beating she would get if she didn’t sit quiet, and cries harder.

“You’re okay now,” Zeke whispers to her. He leans over her while she is hunched and kisses her head, but she can feel him shaking. She thinks it first to be from shock, but when she takes a glance up, she finds a fire in his eyes that she has only ever seen months ago, when he saved her from the bandits.

He is furious.

“I told my mother.” Tatiana is choking on her words, and doesn’t know if she’s even comprehensible. “It was the one time I ever went to talk to her, and all she said to me was to never talk about it again. And a month after that, they put me into a wagon, rode us all the way out here, and threw me out.”

“I’m sorry. I’m-”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Tears are squeezing from her eyes even as she clenches them shut and shakes her head. “I don’t think I did anything wrong. I was good. I was so quiet. I didn’t do anything.”

“I know.”

His voice is soft and sweet, and she cries harder, hunching over until her forehead nearly touches her knees. “I didn’t want you to know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know what a wretch I really am. All these years later, and I’m still crying.”

Zeke’s arm slips over her quickly, and he leans down and pulls her close to him. “Hush, sweetness. There is no shame in tears, and you know it.”

Tatiana cannot stop the tears from overflowing, and is glad he thinks that. She doesn’t see herself stopping any time soon, after all.

“You are safe now,” he says quietly. “No one will ever touch you again. I promise.”

She sniffles and nods a little.

“I love you very much, Tatiana,” he tells her. “And you did not do anything wrong, I swear it.”

Tatiana thinks about the hunting bow under the bed, right beneath them, and begs to differ.

The little girl in front of Tatiana is about her age, and has dark violet hair and gold eyes. She clings to the hand of a large bear-of-a-man, but leans forward to inspect Tatiana with the greatest interest.

“You’re so quiet,” the girl says, and Tatiana shies away, wishing that Liliya or the nice boy—August?—were with her.

Tatiana doesn’t reply, which only makes the girl smile and say, “You should say something when people talk to you. That’s polite.”

The man holding her hand gives her a gentle jerk and a stern look. “Maria! How rude. Be sweet to our new friend.”

“I’m not being mean,” the girl shoots back, but looks guilty and looks back to Tatiana. “Sorry.”

Tatiana has been putting up with taunts and teases for days now, jabs about her family not wanting her, taunts about being unloved, and is pent up. She balls her fists up at her side and says, as loudly as she dares, “Make fun of me! Fine!”

The girl looks taken aback. “Huh?”

“I don’t care,” Tatiana mutters, and she tosses her head. “You can make fun of me, I don’t care!” Her eyes are flooding with tears, and her nose is starting to run, as she continues. “I don’t have a family, and I don’t have a home, and I- I-”

A hand envelopes her own, and Tatiana doesn’t flinch or pull away. She only sniffles and looks to the girl with the sunshine eyes, who is squeezing their hands together in a firm embrace. When she smiles, Tatiana feels fine, for the first time in a long, long while.

“It’s okay,” the girl says. “You can be my family now, and this’ll be your home. It’s really nice here. I’ll take you to the beach, and we can pick up seashells. Have you ever been to the beach?”

Tatiana shakes her head and scuffs at the ground with her feet.

“You don’t have to worry. And, you know, you can also come watch me shoot my bow!” The girl leans in, her eyes sparkling. “I’m really good at it. I can hit the target every time, right, Uncle?”

“You do have a talent,” the big man says fondly.

“Just stick with me,” the girl says to Tatiana. “Everything is fine now, promise.”

For the first time in her life, with the girl holding her hand, Tatiana believes that it just might be.

Chapter Text

ONE YEAR LATER

SUMMER OF YEAR 401, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

"Ezekiel!" Tatiana scoops up his coat from the couch, frantically looking back towards the kitchen as the sausage on the stove pops and hisses. She makes a silent prayer that it won't overcook. "Ezekiel, you have to leave for work!"

She hears his heavy footsteps in the back of the house as he paces, grabbing clothes and undoubtedly stopping in front of the mirror to check his hair. "I know, I know! A moment, my sweetheart. I need to find my-"

Tatiana gives up and throws his coat back down on the couch, rushing back to the kitchen to hastily take the frying pan away from the cooking flame. She sighs, pleasantly surprised that the meat is perfectly charred, nice and golden-brown, and sets the pan down away from heat. "Your riding boots are here in the living room, honey."

Zeke comes out of the back, looking a bit sheepish. His eyes quickly land on his boots, settled near his chair by the fire, and he mumbles and grumbles a little as he goes to retrieve them. "Gods above, I know I put them in the wardrobe last night. What is it about men and not being able to keep track of their shoes, Tatiana?"

She smiles and shrugs her shoulders as she opens the cupboards, pulling a bundle of flatbread and pieces of produce from the shelves to prepare. A wicker lunchbox sits on the counter, and she sets the bread inside, followed by vegetables as she slices them into pieces. "As a man, aren't you more equipped to tell me the answer to that?"

He's sitting in his chair, lacing up his boots and once more muttering, "I know I put them in the wardrobe. I know I did."

Tatiana hums, observes the boxed meal—bread, tomatoes, cheese, a few other little things—and then carefully slides the cooked sausage in as the centerpiece. Satisfied with her work, she hums and puts the lid on the box, opens a drawer, grabs a kerchief, and ties it around for carrying convenience. "There. Perfect picture of domesticity, don't you think?"

"You made me lunch again?" Zeke asks, a worried scrunch to his brow as he comes over. "Now, you know you don't have to do that for me."

"I like doing it," she assures. "I'm not sure if it's better than what you get at the base, but I think homecooked meals have a certain bit of charm."

"That they do." He goes back to the living room and sweeps his coat from the couch, right where she dropped it. He sticks his arms through, straightens the edges, and starts to tie the clasps and do the buttons. "I'm sorry I can't sit and stay for breakfast, but I did sleep in. Jerome will have my hide if I'm late again this month."

"We probably shouldn't have stayed up so late," Tatiana muses, scooping up the spare vegetables pieces from the cutting board. She opens the window above the sink, whistles slightly, and Ephraim appears a moment later to snuffle the scraps out of her palm.

"You spoil him," Zeke scolds. "He's going to get fat!"

"Will not," Tatiana argues. "Now, come on, time for you to get going. I have to go to the church as soon as possible, too. There's that cold going around, and all those poor kids who need looking at."

Zeke grabs his cape from the hanger by the door, throws it over his shoulders, and does the clasp there. "Very well. I won't keep you any longer with my babbling."

He opens the door, letting in the early morning summer air, and steps outside. Tatiana claps her hands free of little food scraps, rubs her hands in her apron, and grabs the boxed lunch. She follows him out of the house, hovering a bit on the porch, and then holds out the meal with a smile when he steps close. Ephraim moves closer as well, snuffling towards the meal curiously, then neighs indignantly when Zeke pushes his nose away from his food.

"Get to work safe," she tells him as he takes the lunch by the kerchief. She gets up on her toes and smooths out one of the tassles on his coat, making sure he looks picture-perfect. "There we go. Lovely."

Zeke smiles, cups her cheek as she places a hand on the nape of his neck, and leans down to give her a quick little kiss. The one kiss turns to two as neither of them find themselves satisfied, and he rests his forehead against her briefly when they're done.

"I love you," he says. "I'll be home as soon as I can tonight. Good luck at work."

"I love you as well," Tatiana replies, a flutter in her stomach as she says it. Over a year of courting, a year of living together, and she still feels light as a feather when she tells him that. "Don't let Jerome bully you, okay? He's just a rotten jerk."

His hand moves to cup her neck, and he tilts her head towards him to give her a quick kiss on the top of her head. "A 'jerk' indeed, but he is my superior officer. It's not like I can just ignore what he says, my sweet."

"Hmmm." She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, touching the thick, fluffy gold mane, and enjoys his lips against her skin. "I love you."

She feels his lips quirk up in a smile against her. She's said it once already, they both know that, but instead of pointing it out, he replies with yet another, "I love you too, Tanechka. I'll see you tonight."

He holds her close a second longer, rubs her head, and then leaves with Ephraim, galloping his way out of the village. Tatiana waves until he's out of sight, a dazed and dreamy sigh on her lips as she watches him disappear.

Overall, she thinks living together has been an extremely good decision.

Zeke doesn’t really particularly enjoy formal parties. They’re stuffy, there’s too much to be careful about, and there’s also too many people getting drunk. The most annoying thing is the fact that he always receives a lot of attention, because who would not want to see Emperor Rudolf’s new favorite general? Who does not want to ogle a stranger who washed up on a beach somewhere south and rose to military prominence in a mere two months?

It embarrasses him to admit such, but women cling to him in particular, and he’s not stupid or ignorant as to why that is. They always look so disappointed when he brushes them off, tells them he has a very nice girl waiting back at home for him, and barely escapes every encounter.

It’s why he decides to ask Tatiana to come to the next ball with him when he gets the "invite" (command) at work.

“You have to go?” she asks. She stops stirring what’s on the stove and cleans her hands against her apron. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like them. At least it’s at a nearby estate, and not all the way in the capital.”

Zeke sighs and sets the invitation back down on the table, burying his head in a hand. “The travel doesn’t bother me. I just detest them greatly. There’s no point to them. And people gather in crowds to gawk at me until the night is over.”

Tatiana crosses the room and steps behind him, leaning forward and wrapping him up in her arms. She presses a kiss against his cheek and snuggles her face into the crook of his neck. “Well, there’s probably good food, right?”

“I’d rather eat your cooking,” he admits.

Her laugh is muffled against him. “Don’t be a tease with me.”

He raises a hand and ruffles her hair. It’s soft beneath his fingers, and he enjoys the way it feels. “How about you come with me?”

Her face lifts out of his neck, and she looks at him, shocked. “Me?”

“Who else?”

Her expression shifts to one of discomfort. “Me, in a fancy dress, at a fancy party? I’d just embarrass you, you know that.”

“Darling, whatever you have on the stove is boiling over.”

She squeaks and rushes back over, frantically turning the heat down. “See, you don’t want a disaster like me there.”

“You’d be fine,” he assures her. “Nobody would be paying any attention to you.”

Anxiety still rolls off of her in waves. “Are you sure it’s okay to bring me?”

“Military officers bring their wives and lovers all the time,” he says. “In fact, people are often confused when I don’t bring mine. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t have anything I could possibly wear,” she mutters. “None of my clothes really are meant for formalities.”

“I’ll buy you something nice,” he says. “Something that won’t make you too uncomfortable.”

“What if someone tries to talk to me?” she asks. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Just stay next to me. I can do all of the talking.”

He finally does manage to convince Tatiana to attend the party with him after a day of coaxing and reassurances. He thinks that mentioning the women that always flock to him helps her decide, and he finds it a little bit amusing that she might think any other person could sway his heart away from her.

Tatiana feels out of place amidst all the pomp and circumstance, and wonders how she, a stupid little cleric from a beachside village, wound up at a ball. How in the world did she go from feeding goats to wearing a beautiful dress? How in the world did she go from scrubbing floors and polishing altars to trying to navigate through a crowd of beautiful women?

Tatiana clings to Zeke’s arm, and he looks down at her, amused.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

“What do you think?” she mumbles.

The upside to this event is that Zeke looks impeccably handsome in his formal wear, especially because he appears confident in it. He shows no sign of being uncomfortable, even though it’s getting hotter, and he’s dressed in a good three layers, surrounded by a swarm of people, and has her clinging to him very closely. He looks astoundingly beautiful in the well-tailored black tailcoat, and the dark waistcoat beneath makes his hair look even more gold. She’s nervously adjusted the red horse-collared cravat around his neck for most of the way to the party, even though it hasn’t needed any attention, because he always ties his neckwear perfectly and needs no help from her.

Tatiana feels put to shame by his beauty and composure while she nervously fidgets and pulls at her simple white dress. It’s nice, for sure, embellished with gold detailing and tied at the waist with a black ribbon, but it’s still stifling and fancy, people are looking down their noses at her, and she kinda just wants to go home. She sighs, rubbing at the back of her bare neck—wearing her hair up in a bun is an unusual style—and stares at the ground.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers to her. “They can smell fear.”

Tatiana laughs behind a gloved hand, and Zeke appears proud of his successful jab. It’s cute when he gets like that, so proud over simple little things that he does right.

“They have a room prepared for us at the end of the night,” he says as he guides her through the ballroom. “We’ll return home tomorrow.”

“Is that okay?” she mutters.

He catches what she really wants to say, which is Is it okay that I’m here? and pats her hand. “So long as you are with me, you’re welcome anywhere. Just don’t leave my side.” He eyes the room full of people with tired eyes and mumbles, “They love fresh meat.”

Tatiana swallows as a tall, beautiful woman in military wear looks down at Tatiana with a cold grimace, and grips Zeke tighter than ever. “How long do we have to stay?”

“For appearances’ sake, at least a few hours. But I’m sure as people start getting drunker as the night goes on, nobody will notice if we retire a little early.” Zeke gives her a glance out of the corner of his eye, soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable. I just don’t like being here on my own.”

Tatiana notices a few people eyeing Zeke, some with disdain, some with a very particular sort of interest, and pouts. “You aren’t kissing prettier girls when I’m not looking, right?”

It’s a tease, but he still appears mortified. “Never! There are no prettier girls to kiss.”

Damn him for turning a joke into a silver-tongued compliment. He’s good.

People come by and talk to Zeke, and while she can tell that some of them are genuine and kind, some of them speak to him with words that are sharp and suspicious, hidden beneath layers of sugary tones and too-wide grins. They ask invasive questions, little tricks that are intended to get him to let his tongue slip and admit to something that isn’t true. But he knows that they are trying to play him like a harp, and she can tell because of the way he tenses up when they approach him. He speaks calmly and evenly, sometimes even smiles in a charming manner, and everything he says is perfect and composed.

“They still think I’m a spy,” he explains. “I fear I’ll never have their trust.”

“It’s their loss,” Tatiana replies, and it gets a sweet smile out of him.

He glances over her head suddenly, sets a hand on her shoulder, and turns her around. “Ah. A friend.”

There is indeed a friend moving towards Tatiana, and it is Lady Rinea, bright-eyed and lovely in a deep blue dress, trimmed with white lace and flowing about her. Lord Berkut is behind her, following at a much slower pace, and looking around as though he does not want to be there.

“Tatiana!” Rinea’s smile is sparkling when she takes her hands into her own. “I didn’t imagine I’d see you here.”

She blushes and shrugs a little. “I know. I’m not really fancy ball material, am I?”

“You are the loveliest girl in the room,” Zeke assures her, and gives Rinea a glance. “I mean no offense to you, my lady.”

“None taken, because I could not agree with you more.” Her fingers are gentle as she pushes stray waves of hair behind Tatiana’s ears. “I find you much lovelier than the other girls here.”

The statement doesn’t help Tatiana’s problem, and she blushes deeper. “Oh.”

Berkut calls Rinea’s name, makes a gesture towards a rather uppity-looking couple who give his fianceé rather scornful looks, and she sighs. She gives Tatiana’s hands one more squeeze, says, “You must save me a dance, very well? I’ll lead,” and then heads off to try and please someone who will never like her.

“That must be a hard job,” Tatiana muses.

Zeke takes her arm, throwing a pitying glance towards Rinea as well. “As a future empress, this is the price she pays, and the job she must have. I find her a sweet young lady, however, and can’t fathom why she receives such scorn.”

“Just because someone isn’t as highborn as you doesn’t mean that you should hate them.” She frowns, clenches her skirt in a hand, and ducks her head. If any person in this room knew that she, a village girl, was clinging to the arm of a general, what would they think? What would they say to him?

Tatiana wonders, sometimes, if he would be better off without her.

A sharp pain bites into her side. Tatiana jumps at the pinch, a little squeak escaping her, and hears Zeke whisper under his breath, “When you look this way, don’t panic.”

Panic? Tatiana is perfectly calm all the time, what in the world would make her pan-!

“Ezekiel!”

She already kinda has an idea of why Zeke is asking her to not panic, especially when she hears that deep, powerful voice. There are few people she imagines could be in possession of it, and slowly, slowly, she straightens her back and turns her head.

Zeke is all cool smiles and slick charm as he holds out his free hand to their visitor. “Emperor Rudolf, well met.”

“It’s been a few months, son.” Emperor Rudolf clasps Zeke’s hand in his own and actually smiles, and Tatiana is a little frightened at his massive stature. He towers a good head above Zeke, whose height is already impressive, and is as burly as a grizzly bear. He looks as though he could pick up Tatiana and snap her like a twig with just a flick of his wrist, and she is frightened.

And then, he looks at her—the emperor looks at her!—and she wraps her arm tighter around Zeke’s and digs her fingers into his coat.

He smiles, and it isn’t forced or patronizing, but a nice, calm smile, then turns back to Zeke. “Is this the girl you’re always going on about?”

“Yes, sir. This is Tatiana.”

Tatiana wants to blurt out something like “You talk about me to the emperor?,” but cannot seem to find her wits. She snaps her gaze down to the floor when Rudolf regards her again, and wishes she was back home.

“What a pretty girl, if you don’t mind my saying. And she seems to have you in quite the death grip, I see.”

“Yes. I love her. I cannot feel my arm anymore.”

Tatiana hears him, but she sinks her nails into him deeper, and he laughs uncomfortably. Putting her right in front of the emperor, it serves him right!

Rudolf laughs, a bellowing sound, and gives Zeke a firm enough pat that it sets his balance off. He then looks at Tatiana, says, “Well, it was nice to finally meet you, Sister. Thank you for keeping this lad out of trouble.”

She squeaks something out, which she has intended to be a “No problem!,” but it comes out as something unintelligible. Rudolf seems to pay no mind to her starstruck state and instead puts a hand on Zeke’s shoulder.

“I need you to come this way, son. I’ve got a few people who need some assurance on those new funds they’ll be putting into the military, and I was hoping you could explain it in better detail.”

“Oh, well.” Zeke gives Tatiana a nervous glance as he is pulled away from her, and though her heart lunges into her chest, she lets go.

“I’ll just wait here,” she says quietly. “If they try to talk to me, they’ll know I’m a nobody in a heartbeat. Better to go alone, right?”

He purses his lips and looks very displeased with her response. You are not a nobody, she knows he wants to say, and it’s a sweet sentiment, but Tatiana really is. She’s not a noblewoman or a princess or anyone important, so she waves while the emperor leads him away, sighs, and tries to not let the crowd immediately swallow her.

She can already feel a few pairs of eyes on her, curious now that her escort is gone. Just before she makes for the corner, there’s a hand on her elbow, and Rinea is with her again.

“Is the general gone?” she asks.

Relief washes over her. “Yes. The emperor took him somewhere for something or other.”

“I see.” Rinea gives a rare shrug, lifting her hands to gesture about the room. “That’s really all these balls are for. Military people lurking around, trying to get plans and projects funded. Maybe get a person to owe them a favor or two. Nobody’s really here for the company or champagne.”

It’s a battlefield, Rinea means to say, and Tatiana looks around warily. There’s a glint in some people’s eyes, something unfriendly and cold, and she shies away from it.

“I’ve been coming to these ever since I was a child,” Rinea says. “You get used to it. Don’t worry.”

When Zeke finishes a tedious conversation with a group of rather stuffy noblemen, he goes back right where Tatiana said she would be waiting. She’s not there, and he’s not worried for a while. She is probably off getting a drink or something to eat, so he waits with his hands behind his back, politely declining every nice girl who asks him for a dance. He waits. Waits. Waits.

When she doesn’t come back after five minutes, he goes to look for her. He checks all the corners and crooks of the ballroom first, knowing that she’d go somewhere where she could hide, but he doesn’t find her there. He doesn’t find her at any of the tables, either.

Zeke finds Lady Rinea walking around with Lord Berkut a short while later, and when he does not see Tatiana with her either, his stomach sinks.

“Have you seen her?” he asks.

Rinea frowns. “We were having a dance and chatting until a short while ago, but she said she was feeling dizzy, and went out to get some air. I imagine she isn’t used to such crowded places.”

The intense pressure in the room weighs on Zeke’s shoulders, and suddenly, everyone seems like a foe. Predators, with their teeth bared in hungry grins, ready to scoop up anything of potential use.

They love fresh meat, he had told Tatiana not even an hour ago, and the statement feels more like reality than ever.

The ballroom had become overwhelming without Zeke, even with Rinea by her side, and so Tatiana had left. A nice server had politely pointed the way out, given her quick instructions on the way the rooms were laid out, but she had not caught much of it. She merely figured that she would walk around the floor, and then just go back to the ballroom, because how complicated could one floor be?

The answer is very complicated, because Tatiana can now not make head nor tails about where she is. Everything seems unfamiliar, and she has no recollection of going past anything that she sees. There is virtually no one in the hallways, and it’s all dark and musty, and she just wishes that she was home. Big, fancy places aren’t really for her, especially not when they are filled with people who are ready to tear into her lover without a moment’s hesitation.

Speaking of Zeke, she hopes that he isn’t getting too worried, because she’s been gone for much longer than she intended, and she imagines that he’s done with his conversation by now. Knowing him, he’ll be storming the place, looking through every room for her. It’s cute, to be honest, the way he worries a little too much over every small thing.

Nothing becomes familiar, no matter how much she wanders, and she finds herself backtracking a lot. She starts to recognize vases and carpets, and wonders if she’s getting closer. When she gets to a little area with a staircase and the smallest balcony overlooking the gardens, it is with relief that Tatiana realizes that she is getting closer to the ballroom. She can hear the music when she strains to hear.

And then, a feeling that is much too familiar washes over her. It’s a feeling like the clouds have suddenly blocked the sun. The air temperature goes down a couple of degrees, and Tatiana knows why. It would be worse to keep walking and pretend that she doesn’t know the person who approaches her, so she stops in her tracks, balls up her fists, and turns around.

“Tatiana, fancy meeting you here.”

Nuibaba eyes Tatiana like she is a particularly delicious cake.

Tatiana steps back, walking warily, and shakes her head slowly as Nuibaba steps forward. The witch wears a smile, along with a beautiful black dress. As usual, she stands tall and intimidating, her lips painted a perfect red and pulled into a coy smile. Tatiana backs into a wall, immediately throwing her hand against the surface, as though she can get it to open up and swallow her. She desperately wants it to, and tears fill her eyes as the witch gets closer.

Nuibaba slams a hand against the wall next to her head, and Tatiana squeaks as she leans down towards her. She twists her head to the side, her lip quivering, and tries her very best to not look at her directly. Nuibaba’s clawlike fingers grab Tatiana’s chin, however, and yank her face towards her.

“Sweet Tatiana,” she croons, and she smiles, baring her perfectly white teeth. “My, seeing you here, what a surprise! Now, why aren’t you looking at me? We haven’t seen each other in months, you know. I missed you, old friend.”

“Nuibaba,” Tatiana whispers in a shaking voice. Her nails are unusually cold, and the pointed tips bite into the flesh of her jaw. “H-hello.”

The witch lets her chin go and steps back, smiling, undoubtedly enjoying herself while Tatiana shakes under her stare. “You look lovely in that dress. Did General Ezekiel buy it for you?”

“No,” she says automatically, attempting to leave Zeke out of the conversation in any way she can. Despite this, Nuibaba lifts a brow, purses her lips, and Tatiana mutters, “H-how did you-?”

“Know that you two were lovers?” She laughs and waves a hand. “Oh, please, sweet; I can smell him on you.”

Tatiana shudders and leans against the wall. “Don’t you hurt him. D-don’t you dare.”

“Pah! What need have I for men?” she asks. “So long as that idiot doesn’t get in my way, he’ll get to keep all his limbs intact. I’d never do anything to make you sad, Tanechka.”

She bites her tongue and does her best to not react to her diminutive—Zeke’s special name for her—on Nuibaba’s foul tongue.

“But you know, that man?” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, folding her arms underneath her ample chest. “You can’t trust him! He’s an amnesiac. A foreigner. He’s just using you to survive. Latching onto you like a parasite.”

Tatiana’s hands shake. “No.”

“You think you know better?” Nuibaba asks. “I’ve lived more than five times longer than you, little one. I know traitorous men when I see them.”

She wraps her arms around herself, staring down at the ground. “You know nothing of love, witch.”

Nuibaba frowns and rests her cheek on a fist. “You’re worried. I can tell. Poor Tatiana.”

She swallows. “W-worried? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“His memories are coming back, aren’t they?”

The entire world seems to stop, and Tatiana feels breathless. The music from the party fades far into the distance, and the walls of the castle dip from vibrant colors into duller tones. Nuibaba suddenly looks more sinister, looming over her, illuminated eerily by the moonlight streaming in through the balcony behind them.

“Poor thing,” Nuibaba croons, stroking the back of her finger against Tatiana’s cheek. “He’ll remember everything about who he was, and then he’ll leave you all alone.”

A sudden fire lights in Tatiana, and she shoves the witch away, crossing the hall towards the stairs and balcony. “No!”

“Saying ‘no’ like a petulant child doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” the witch warns. She circles Tatiana, like a vulture observing a rotting corpse from above. “Face it: His memory is coming back, slow and steady, and you’ll be left right here, on the seashore, with no one to hold you.”

Tatiana throws her hands over her ears, shaking her head. “No, no, no! Just leave me alone, please!”

“But, Tatiana!” Nuibaba holds open her arms, walking towards her. “I want to help! Oh, I’ve watched you suffer so much over all these years, so all I want is for you to be happy.”

“You made me suffer!” she shrieks. “I hate you!”

“But I love you,” Nuibaba says. “I love your soft hair, your big eyes, your pink lips, everything about you. It’s a shame to see a beautiful, delicious girl so dismayed.”

Tatiana steps back, moving onto the small balcony. She sets her hands back, against the railing, and clenches her teeth as Nuibaba leans over her. When she shuts her eyes, she hears someone screaming in a distant memory, and feels tears starting. “I hate you. You took my happiness.”

“Are you still on about that?” The witch sighs and folds her arms. “You should be grateful for that time. Your life was spared.”

Her eyes sting fiercer, and she shakes her head. A gust whisks past them, pulling Tatiana’s hair along, and she blinks, looking up into Nuibaba’s face. Her visible eye glints at the eye contact, and she reaches out, smoothing a windblown strand of hair out of Tatiana’s face.

“Now, here’s how I can help. I can make a potion for you.”

She swallows, but doesn’t interrupt.

“It’s a trifle, really, very simple to make. All it will do is block his memory from coming back. Like putting a dam in the midst of a river, one that will never break. And then, you can live so happily with him, as he is now, and not ever as he was.” Nuibaba pets her cheek, her golden mask glinting in the moonlight. “Doesn’t that sound nice? Forever, with your sweetest love, nothing from his past ever able to break your bond.”

Tatiana looks down, staring at the gardens below them.

“In fact, I have a bottle of the potion here, if you want to make the trade now.” Out of thin air comes the bottle, short and orbular. It is filled with a liquid that is thick and clear, filled with flecks that sparkle in the starlight they catch. It looks harmless, not like the thick, icky, fluorescent gunk Tatiana had been thinking it would be.

She eyes it as Nuibaba swirls it around.

“Now, as for payment, my demands aren’t high.” The witch rolls her hand, and the bottle disappears into thin air. She reaches out, snatching Tatiana’s arm, and holds her with surprising strength even as she jerks away from her. Her finger taps against the inside of her wrist, her claws tracing the veins. “I just need a little bit of blood for an experiment I’m doing.”

The color drains from Tatiana’s face. “Blood? My… blood?”

“Just a smidge. Maybe a teacup’s worth. Not much, really, you see.” Nuibaba’s tongue pokes out of her mouth, and she continues tapping Tatiana’s wrist. “Do you want to make a deal now?”

Tatiana’s breath rattles in her chest, and she thinks about it.

She hates herself for thinking about it.

A peaceful life, where she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke remembering who he was, abandoning her, leaving her without a second thought.

Tatiana knows the answer.

“No,” she mutters, and then, louder. “No!”

Nuibaba narrows her eyes and lets go of her wrist. “No?”

“Zeke… Zeke wants to remember who he was. Because he hates not knowing anything about himself. And no matter how much it hurts me to think about what might happen when he remembers, I love him far too much to prevent his happiness.” Tatiana shuts her eyes, then glares at Nuibaba. “I’m not a selfish witch like you.”

A hiss leaves Nuibaba, and she shoves her, slamming her painfully into the balcony railing. “You’re a fool. You know that when he remembers, he’ll abandon you!”

She wants to disagree with her, but her anxiety rears its head, telling her that the witch is right.

“You’re a fool, but not stupid,” Nuibaba mutters, and she turns on her heel, walking about the manor’s room in an agitated circle. Tatiana nervously steps off the balcony, pressing herself against a wall as she looks for a way back into the hallway. “You’re a fool, but you know that there was another woman!”

Tatiana nervously glances at the ground, her heart twisting, but she doesn’t deny what Nuibaba says. Zeke is perfect, so handsome and gentle and kind, and of course she knows there was someone else. How could there not be?

Nuibaba scowls, nipping at her nails in agitation. “You’re just a filler, a stopper in his heart until he remembers his old lover and goes running back to her!”

Nuibaba is waving her hands about, and a malicious energy pours off her in waves. She turns so suddenly on her heel and looms over Tatiana in an instant, her eye wide and glinting. Her touch is no longer gentle, and she snatches at her throat, holding her close until their noses brush. She seems to relish the way that Tatiana chokes.

“You are nothing to him, not when he has his memory! Do you hear me? Nothing!”

Tatiana shuts her eyes, ill at the scent of Nuibaba’s sickeningly sweet breath.

The witch’s voice turns delighted, and she exhales heavily. “I could eat you now, just to save you the pain of a future heartbreak. Yes, yes, I’m so merciful. That would be so kind of me, wouldn’t it?” Tatiana’s eyes fly open, and she squeaks with what little breath as Nuibaba licks her lips. “A tasty morsel… A little after-dinner snack. And no one will hear you scream, you little-!”

“Nuibaba!”

Tatiana snaps her head towards the entrance to the room, and so does Nuibaba. As soon as their eyes land on Lord Berkut, standing intimidatingly in the doorway, her grip slackens. Tatiana wheezes as her throat is finally let free, rubbing at her wounded flesh.

The prince’s eyes snap down to Tatiana, and then to Nuibaba. He crosses his arms behind his back and puffs out his chest. He moves, as though to conceal something behind him. There’s a flutter of blue cloth behind him, a peek of bright eyes, and she realizes that Rinea is clinging to him from behind, and that he’s probably trying to protect his betrothed from Nuibaba’s hungry gaze.

“You’ll not bother my guests. Don’t eat them,” he says pointedly, and he looks to Tatiana. “Especially not one as important as this one.”

The witch’s face is angry as all hell for a moment, and then twists into a sweet, sugary smile. “My dear lord, I was just having a friendly chat with her. You know, all the folks in the ballroom are ignoring me, and I was feeling so terribly lonely. And, you see-”

Her eyes land on Tatiana, and she bares her teeth in a grin once more, in a smile that reminds Tatiana of a cold, winter day, of someone screaming her name, and of snow biting into her skin.

“Sister Tatiana and I go back some time, don’t we?”

Berkut steps aside, and the way he slowly eases Rinea behind him further as Nuibaba passes is obvious. When the witch’s steps fade down the hallway, Rinea leaves his side, rushing over to Tatiana.

“Tatiana, are you safe? She looked as though she was going to swallow you whole!”

She takes the hand that the young woman offers her, trying to hold back her panicked tears as Rinea guides her towards the door. “I’m fine. I just- I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m fortunate you came along.”

Berkut walks in front of the two women, and he occasionally throws a glance back towards them. He takes his job as an escort very seriously, and in a matter of minutes, he has Tatiana safe, back in the ballroom. Rinea leaves, off towards a table waiting with refreshments, and the prince stands tall next to Tatiana

“Where is your escort?” he asks her firmly. “I need to take you back to him.”

People bustle about them, and the vibrant gold light of the room is surreal to Tatiana, after Nuibaba’s cold gaze consumed her for so long. She shakes her head, partially to deny him, partially to dispel the way the room spins around her.

“I can find Zeke on my own,” she mumbles, and she wraps her arms around herself.

“You look like a mess,” he scolds her, and Rinea comes back with a glass of cold sparkling juice in her hand.

Tatiana takes the drink, throwing it back like a shot, and instantly feels a little better. Rinea smiles as she takes the glass back, then gives Tatiana’s shoulder a pat and a rub.

“Are you sure you are well?” she asks again. “Do you want more to drink?”

“No, but thanks.” Tatiana sighs and stares at the ground. “She’s just such a frightening sight. I’ve been scared of her for years.”

Rinea hums. “Yes, I’d agree. Her, Father Jedah, all of the radical Duma Faithful I’ve met, they’ve all been terrifying.” She jumps a little and throws out her hands. “Oh, but you’re an absolute angel, Tatiana! I was starting to think I’d never meet a member of the clergy who was, well, normal ever again, until I met you. It’s so good to know that there’s still Halcyonists spread throughout Rigel.”

Tatiana’s head is pounding, but she manages a smile as she rubs at the bridge of her nose. “Yes. Since Father Halcyon was forced from his position, the old form of worship has become harder to come by. I’m glad that-”

Berkut moves suddenly, unfolding his arms from behind him and glancing over Tatiana’s head. “Here he is. Rinea, say your goodbyes for the evening.”

Rinea barely works out, “I’ll write you soon!” before Berkut grabs Tatiana’s wrist, pulling her through the crowd of people. They part for the prince, as though he’s got some sort of contagious virus, and it makes it very easy to get from place to place. She feels weak, and lets herself be dragged along, even though being tugged around by the crown prince gives a lot of people cause to stare at her very closely.

“General Ezekiel.” Just hearing his name come from Berkut’s mouth fills Tatiana with a sense of relief. He pulls her forward, shoving her to the front. “I found this. It belongs to you, correct?”

Nervously, Tatiana looks up, and she nearly starts to cry when Zeke rests his hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm, and gives her a look of such intense worry. He immediately pulls her close to him, folding her against his chest, and gives her a kiss on the top of her head. He strokes her hair, his hand soft and gentle.

“Tanechka, you worried me!”

Zeke’s heartbeat is strong and sure, and Tatiana immediately feels exhausted as she slumps against him. The music around them fades, much like it did during her encounter with Nuibaba, but it’s pleasant this time, not frightening. She shuts her eyes, hums, and spreads her hands out against his chest as he holds her.

“Did you get lost? I was half-convinced you’d been carried off. I nearly had a heart attack!” Zeke squeezes her, then says, “My lord, you have my thanks for seeing her back. She’s, ah, bad with directions. Probably would have been wandering around for longer if you hadn’t stumbled across her.”

She hears Berkut shift closer and listens as he whispers, “Nuibaba was eyeing her like she was a particularly fine cut of meat. Keep your lover close, Ezekiel, or the witch will snatch her while you aren’t looking.”

Zeke’s grip on Tatiana tightens immediately, to the point where she cannot breath, and she can feel it, hear it, when his heartbeat picks up suddenly. “I will. I assure you again, you have my most genuine of thanks.”

Berkut walks off, the crowd of people closing in as he walks through. Zeke immediately lets go of her and lowers himself closer to her height, trying to meet her eyes, but Tatiana can barely bring herself to look at him.

“Are you harmed, my love?” he asks quietly. He rests a hand on her cheek and gently eases her face towards him. “Tanechka, did she hurt you?”

Tatiana nods slowly at first, then immediately shifts into shaking her head vigorously. “No, I’m fine. She just… startled me.”

Zeke peers down at her with great worry, then sighs. He places his hands at her neck, leaning down to give her a kiss. “Why don’t we leave? Let’s get you some sleep, very well?” He has to pat her back to get her to move, quietly whispering, “Come along, come along.”

A maid brings a tray of tea, and Tatiana hears Zeke thank her profusely. He comes back into the bedroom, giving her a concerned glance, and then sets the tray on the tabletop. The freshly-brewed drink is still piping, and she watches the steam rise up as he pours it into the cups. The bed she sits on is comfortable, but she still doesn’t think she’ll be able to get much sleep tonight.

“What do you want in it?” he asks. “Any milk?”

She shakes her head and holds out her hands. He gives her a look, more worried than ever, because Tatiana always asks him to put milk in her tea, but passes it to her silently. Zeke sits on the edge of the bed, giving her a good amount of space to curl her knees up to her chest while she sips at the drink.

“Are you ill?” he asks after a moment. He stands without waiting for an answer, setting his cup to the side and reaching for her. “I’ll take you to the infirmary right now.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, and his hands draw away from her. He looks a little wounded, so she makes sure to say, “But thank you.”

Zeke sits back down. “You look so pale. And tired. What did Nuibaba do to you? How can I make it better?”

The tea is cool enough for her to drink instead of sip, and she nearly drains it. Her eyes flicker up to find him leaning towards her, eyes anxious and his hands ready to hold her at any sign of distress, and she looks back down into her cup.

Tatiana knows there was someone else. And that’s not a bad thing. Her concern is that he left a lover, a spouse, someone that he was currently in a relationship with when he was wounded. Her concern is that that person is suffering. Her concern is that he’ll remember them and realize that he never actually loved her.

She’s scared stiff of being alone again. Of waking up from night terrors and bad memories, alone and scared, without anyone to protect her.

A soft clink echoes through the quiet room as she sets her cup on the nightstand. She pulls her knees up closer to her, resting her hands on top of them, and can’t get the feeling of Nuibaba’s fingers on her skin, her breath stirring her hair, and most importantly, her taunts, out of her mind.

“You are nothing to him, not when he has his memory! Nothing!”

Tatiana can’t help herself; she sniffles and buries her face into her knees. His reaction is instant.

“Don’t cry! Why are you crying? Tanechka, what happened?”

The bed shifts as he moves to kneel on it; he pulls her into his arms. Tatiana doesn’t want to cry, but he squeezes her so tightly, and his voice is so sweet and gentle, that she can’t help herself. She sobs, shaking against him, and is unable to form any coherent response, no matter how many times he begs her to tell him what ails her.

He rubs her back soothingly, a quiet “shhh” coming out of him every so often, and he stops asking what the matter is. She’s grateful for that, because she can’t bring herself to say that she’d die without him, that Nuibaba offered her the ability to stop his recollections and she’d actually thought about it, or that she lives in constant fear that she’ll one day be alone again.

She pulls her face out of Zeke’s chest, sniffling and looking up into his eyes, and he looks nearly as heartbroken as she feels. She shuts an eye as he rests a hand on her cheek, petting her hair away from her tear-stained face, and can’t bring herself to smile as he kisses her on the tip of her nose.

“Zeke?” Her voice shakes as she says his name, the act of speaking alone threatening to throw her back into hysterics.

“What is it?” he responds. He pulls more hair out of her face, his eyes nervously flickering over her body. He’s looking for a wound, or some sign of a spell, Tatiana thinks.

“You love me, right?” Tatiana takes in a shuddering breath, and hates herself for sounding like a spoiled child when she asks. She feels desperate, needy, vile, and her body is hot with a sort of anger.

His eyes widen, and he stops roving his hand over her face. She doesn’t find an expression she can read on his face, and her heart stops beating when he doesn’t reply for a long while.

“Oh, how could you even ask me that with such a sad face?” Zeke sighs and shuts his eyes, leaning into her. His arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her close so she can rest her head on his shoulder. “I only ever want you to ask me that with a smile.”

She can’t oblige. Her eyes are filling up with tears, and she clenches her fists into his shirt.

“I love you more than anything else,” he assures, lowering his voice and whispering in her ear, as though there’s someone around whom he doesn’t want to hear. “I’ll tell you all night, how much I love you. My angel, my savior. You are the last light in my life. I love you desperately, Tatiana. I could not survive without you.”

She sobs, burying her face into his neck. Zeke wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

“I need you, my friend. I exist solely for you. You are my shining sun; do you understand?” His voice is low and sweet, a tone that he uses only ever for her—or, perhaps, for whomever it was that he left behind as well. “I love you. How many times do you want me to say it? I’ll say it that many times, and then some, until you truly know.”

Tatiana shakes her head against him. “I’m sorry.”

Zeke hums and lifts one of her arms. She feels his breath against her fingers, and he kisses each one, murmuring, “I love you” after every kiss.

“That witch won’t hurt you as long as I’m here.” He cups her face when he’s done with his sweet nothings on her fingers. His lips push against her cheek, and he speaks against her skin. “Whatever she did to you in the past, I won’t let it happen again. I’ll gut her if she so much as looks at you wrong.”

She sniffs, a few more stray tears falling from her eyes as he pulls back. He swipes beneath her eyes, taking away the dampness. “Are you done crying? Do you want to go to sleep? Do you want anything else to drink?”

Stiffly, Tatiana shakes her head, and she cups his head in her hands. Zeke lets out a content hum as she scratches and pets at his scalp, and then tilts his head up when her fingers wind into the fine hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes drift shut, and he leans forward, sighing as she puts her lips on his.

She spreads her legs, sitting on his thighs, and he hums into her mouth as her hands slide down to his shoulders. She digs her nails into his shirt, tilting her head and parting her lips, and he eagerly takes her invite to kiss her more deeply. His tongue smooths against her bottom lip, eases into her mouth, and Tatiana’s breath catches.

“I love you,” he whispers whenever he pulls back. “I love you, my friend.”

She puts her hands on his shoulder blades and shakes as he dips his head to her breasts. He nips at the swell of flesh, kisses softly, and pulls his lips off of her with an intoxicating sound. He roves up to her neck, sucking at her skin.

“I love you,” he repeats. “Do you believe me?”

It's hard to come up with a sentence as his hands drag her nightgown up her thighs, so she simply nods. Zeke sighs with apparent relief and leans on her until she falls down against the bed, dwarfed under his massive size. His body is hot and nearly throbbing as she opens his shirt and spreads her hands on him, and she's sure she feels no different to him.

“I love you, too,” she whispers to him later, as he leans into her and rests his head on her shoulder, and he only sighs in response.

Tatiana holds him, and she has almost never been more afraid in her life.

Chapter Text

When Tatiana is almost 17, a group of bandits set up camp in a forest a little ways from the village. The request for military aide falls upon deaf ears, because there is currently no one in command. The previous general has passed away in an accident, and while a new one is being searched for, and there is no organization. No one to deploy soldiers, and no one to protect the people.

The bandits pillage as they please, taking a good portion of the harvest, much of their fish, and they even raid the church’s medicine supply. No one is hurt, because they cooperate and are polite, and no one is carried off, so they are fortunate. However, the harvest season is coming to a close, and they need the food that is being taken for their winter reserves.

A group of foolhardy boys about Tatiana’s age think themselves competent enough to borrow some weapons from Maksim the blacksmith and bring the bandits down on their own. They go in the night, and she watches them from the window of her room, her stomach turning as she realizes what it is that they are going to do. She paces her room for a long time, wondering if she should go to Father Alexi and tell him about it, and then decides that she is no snitch.

Tatiana takes her staff, doesn’t bother changing out of her nightgown, and flees the church to rush after them.

She catches up to them not as soon as she would like, because she’s slow, and she has to stop for breaks pretty often. They leave obvious tracks, however, and it’s not too hard to follow them into the forest and find them all poking about for the bandits, as stealthy as a whole herd of grizzly bears. Tatiana wonders how she grew up with such complete idiots, and hopes they aren’t stupid enough to accidentally skewer her on sight.

“What are you doing?” she hisses as she approaches them.

They all jump, fumbling with the awkward weapons they wield, but recognize her in a heartbeat. They aren’t quiet at all, and Tatiana looks about worriedly as they come to her. “Tatiana, you came to back us up!”

They’re foolish boys, the lot of them, and she frowns. Her grip on her staff tightens, and she holds it close to her chest as she listens for any sign of the bandits. “What in the world would make you boys think I’m here to ‘back you up?’”

“You brought your staff,” a boy a couple years older says simply. “You’re gonna heal us while we fight, right?”

“I’m going to-?” Tatiana blinks, incredulous, and then frowns. “I’m not! I’m here to bring you back home, and I brought my staff in case there were Terrors. Now, come on. You’re a bunch of boys, and there’s no way you’re all gonna be able to fight. We just gotta wait it out until they move onto the next place, or the military finally sends someone to help.”

The boy changes his tune pretty quick, narrowing his eyes and jabbing a finger into her chest. “Oh, you think you’re all responsible and cool, now that you’re a member of the clergy. Well, you can’t tell me what to do, hot stuff. I’ve had it with these fools taking from us, and I’m fixin’ to-”

“We have to go,” Tatiana interrupts, and she gives him big, pleading eyes. “This is ridiculous. I promise, if you go back now, I won’t tell Father Alexi, and he won’t tell any of your parents.”

“Don’t be a snitch,” another boy accuses, and puts his hands on his hips. “You little-!”

An arrow whizzes past him as he speaks, thunking into the ground right by his feet, and the entire group goes quiet.

“Fools,” Tatiana mumbles.

She’s grateful when the older boy grabs her and pushes her behind him as the group huddles up in the midst of the clearing. Being protected is embarrassing, but she’s grateful, especially as shadowy figures lurk out of the trees. Some have axes hanging at their waists, others are swinging sheathed swords around, and they all have grins like starved wolves. Tatiana swallows as they press in on them, and thinks that this really isn’t how she wanted to die.

“You’re fool boys,” one bandit says. His voice is surprisingly smooth, nothing like the rough and gravelly snarl she had been expecting. “Lumbering around here like bears, thinking you could get the drop on us. You haven’t a lick’a sense, do you?”

The boys say nothing, and in the midst of their huddle, Tatiana can feel the despair washing off of them. Most of them have dropped their weapons, and she can see them tremor. She’s no better, shaking and holding back tears as she clutches her staff. She doesn’t want to cry, though. She’d rather die with her dignity intact than weep in the face of these unwashed ruffians.

“Pay for your stupidity with your blood.”

A boy right behind Tatiana yelps, and suddenly, he is not behind her anymore. She chokes back a cry as she and the rest of the boys whirl around, and they find him being held by a massive man, a blade pressed to his throat. Tatiana thinks of the blood, all that precious blood, that could come spilling out any second, and she acts without thinking.

“Stop!” Tatiana rushes away from the group, an arm outstretched to her friend, and both the boys and the bandits go silent. Her friend gives her a terrified look, jerking his arm in a way that says Go back, go back!, but she does not listen. She stands there instead, between the boys trying to pull her back and the bandits.

“A young lady?” The man with the smooth voice steps forward, and Tatiana swallows. He’s tall and kinda skinny, but with sharp eyes that speak of great intelligence. He regards her, looking her up and down, and then smiles. “What’s your name?”

This is not the time to stutter, and she prays to the Father for strength and bravery. She straightens her back, her staff still clutched in her hands, and looks the bandit right in the eye as she says, “My name is Tatiana. I’m a cleric in service of Father Duma, and a sister from the village that you have been harassing.”

She sounds much braver than she feels, and the man seems impressed by her guts. He raises a brow and rubs his jaw, glancing up and down at her again, and she squirms as his eyes linger on her chest. Changing out of her paper-thin nightgown might have been a good idea, but she’d had no time.

“Tatiana is a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty lass.” He bows, and it is a mocking action.

Tatiana frowns. “Can I make a deal with you?”

There is shock flooding in from all sides of her, and then raucous howls of laughter from the bandits. The leader looks amused as well, but lifts a hand, and the laughter dies down fairly quickly. He commands them easily, smoothly. She feels beyond intimidated.

“Well, Miss Tatiana, I’m not an unreasonable man, and I like your moxie. What demands do you have?”

Honestly, Tatiana didn’t think she’d get this far; she thought she would have lost her head long before she got here. A little of her confidence dies down as she says, “Well, we’re very sorry to have intruded. Would you please let us go?”

More instantaneous laughter, grating on her ears, and Tatiana flinches.

When the man is done laughing, he wipes a tear from his eye and smiles at her. The way his gaze lingers on her breasts is no secret, and she knows already what it is that he wants in return.

“How old are you, Miss Tatiana?”

“I- I’m sixteen.”

“Sixteen. Marriageable age, especially out here in the sticks,” he muses. “You got a sweetheart?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, wouldn’t quite matter if you did.” He taps his chin, as though deep in thought. “Here's a counteroffer: Spend this evening and some more after with me and my crew, and we’ll let your stupid boys go.”

No, Tatiana had expected no more from a burly, filthy group of men, but she still winces.

“Me?” she mumbles.

“You’re a ravishing sight,” the man explains. He steps forward, looming over her, and his finger hooks into the collar of her nightgown. He pulls, glancing down her shirt, and she fights the urge to throw up on his stupid boots. “I can show you a good time.”

“Tatiana, don’t you dare!” a boy behind her exclaims. “I’d rather they gut me than let them put a hand on you!”

“We can arrange that,” the man says, and with a wave of his hand, dozens of swords and axes are trained on them. His eyes slowly rove down to Tatiana, while his hand wanders over her breasts, up her collarbones, and tilts her chin up. “Or, you could save them all, for a small price. If you’re as good as you look, I’ll even consider keeping you alive. How’s that sound?”

It’s a simple answer, really, and Tatiana only takes a moment to look at the ground. “You promise to let them go?”

His hands leave her body, and he lifts one in a gesture that looks like an oath. “On my honor.”

She drops a hand from her staff and holds it out to him, steeling her heart and fighting back tears. “Deal.”

And as soon as she takes his hand, another arrow buries itself straight into his chest.

Tatiana is up and going early, because there is a wedding, and when there is a wedding, there is a ceaseless amount of work to be done. Rigelian weddings are big affairs, with lots of food, lots of music, and lots of drinking. They require a good deal of preparation.

Because of that, Tatiana is up before the sun is. Even Zeke, who is normally up at the crack of dawn, is still sleeping, though he mumbles a tired complaint when she slips away from his embrace. She’s groggy, so she splashes water on her face, stretches, and brews a cup of coffee for herself. The birds outside are just starting to sing, and she hears the waves crashing down on the beach in the distance.

She writes a list of things she needs to do: Bake five loaves of bread, fillet and season the fish, make some desserts, and, perhaps most importantly, put finishing touches on the wedding dress. There’s more than all that to do, of course, but those are her most important tasks.

The bride is a childhood friend of Tatiana’s, the last in their age group besides herself to not be married, and the event is special. She wants everything to be perfect, or at least as perfect as it can be. She’s been seeing the bride and groom’s relationship through since day one, and she’s probably more invested in it than she should be.

Three hours pass, and she’s got the bread proofing and the fish filleted when Zeke finally comes out of the bedroom, scraping his fingers through his hair to work out the tangles while he blearily enters the kitchen area. Tatiana watches, a little amused, while he stares at the mess in the kitchen, and then at the wedding dress in the living room.

“Did I propose and forget?” he asks.

She laughs. “No, but there is a wedding today. I told you about it a couple weeks ago, but you seem to have forgotten.”

“A wedding. How nice.” He comes and hovers behind her while she keeps working, and asks, “Can I do anything to help?”

“No, that’s okay. I’m pretty good at this stuff, so I don’t need help.” The bread is nearly ready to go into the oven, but not quite yet. It’s still too early to start on the desserts, so she just leans against the counter. “I’ve done a lot of weddings in my time.”

“All your friends are married, aren’t they?”

“Yup. Marriageable age out here is 16, but most people don’t get married that early. But yeah, basically all my friends were getting hitched as soon as they could.”

Zeke takes a pear from the bowl on the table. “Why so early?”

Tatiana turns back and busies herself with cleaning up the counter. “Marriage is very important in Rigel. Something like that ‘two are stronger than one’ philosophy, you know? So people get married as soon as they can.” She keeps quiet for a moment, sweeping flour from the counter into her hand, and fights a smile. “You know, cohabitation is considered bad in the city.”

He stops eating the fruit. “O-oh?”

“Oh, yes. Living together but not marrying is scandalous, you know.” She dumps the flour in the sink and claps her hands together, then whirls around with her hands on her hips. “If you were to ask anyone next time you go to court, they’d say you’ve defiled and ruined me.”

He chokes on the pear, coughing while she bursts into peals of laughter. The door opens then, just as he is catching his breath, and August and a girl walk in. Tatiana wipes the tears from her eyes, still giggling.

“Oh, here already?” she asks.

“Brought her over, as requested,” August mumbles. He takes a seat on the arm of a nearby sofa. “It’s too early to be awake.”

“It's not too early,” Tatiana chides.

“August doesn’t knock,” the girl says suddenly. She’s tall and cute, with a round face and long brown hair, and a peeved expression that looks a little out of place on her sweet face. “He didn’t even come to my door! Just came throwin’ my window open, shouting at me to get up.”

August shrugs, even when Tatiana gives him a dirty look. “What, c’mon, we’ve known each other way too long to bother with doors. Lighten up.”

“You gave me a heart attack,” the girl accuses, and then her voice is all light and sugary when she speaks to Tatiana. “Thanks so much again for letting me come over until the ceremonies start. I really appreciate it.”

“Ah, you’re the bride?” Zeke looks composed and calm again, not like he was choking on fruit a mere minute ago, and comes over to hold a hand over to the girl. “Congratulations.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry to intrude so early.” She gives his hand a firm shake, though Tatiana can see the anxiety on her face that almost everyone gets when Zeke acknowledges them.

“No intrusion. Glad to be of help.” He hovers a little awkwardly, unsure of what to do. “Well, I’ll just- Uhh.”

“Why not go and relax?” Tatiana suggests. “You haven’t had a day off in a while.”

“Yes, relax. I will go do that. Make yourselves at home.”

He disappears into the back of the house again, and the bride gives an exhausted sigh suddenly. “Oh, gods, he gives me a heart attack!”

“My Zeke?” Tatiana goes back to the kitchen, determines that the bread is ready to be baked, and slips the loaves into the oven. “Why?”

“He’s so big, and always so calm and composed.” She shakes her head. “I never know what to say!”

“Calm?” August snickers behind her. “Oh, yeah, sure. Calm. That’s exactly how I’d describe the general.”

Tatiana gives him another dirty look, and he shuts up, but still looks giddy with amusement.

Tatiana’s favorite part of Rigelian weddings is the reception, which comes only after a full day of ceremonies. There is first a legal ceremony, where certificates are signed with a witness for the bride and groom, and after that comes a long, long procession in the church. It is attended only by family members and close friends, and usually a few clergy members as witnesses, but Tatiana has only been to a few of those.

The reception is exciting, however, and everyone is welcome. Tatiana still remembers her first wedding reception, only months after she was left in the village, and how it had enthralled her at that time. Colorful decorations, fun music, delicious food and drink, and lots of happy people. It remains her favorite part of the wedding to this day, and she considers herself pretty good at putting them together, when asked to help.

“So, the reception is the only part open to the public?” Zeke asks.

Tatiana fluffs a bouquet of flowers, a pretty centerpiece at the bride and groom’s table. “Yup. Weddings are big events, but the ceremonies themselves are sacred, and traditionally closed to all but family and close friends.”

“And at the reception-?” He hands her a spool of ribbon, which she ties around the vase.

“Everyone is invited. There’s food, dancing, lots of toasts and drinking, you know.”

The reception takes place in the middle of the village, where at least a dozen well-decorated tables are set up. There’s ample space for dancing and mingling, and a section where the band can set up their instruments. They’re fortunate that it’s now autumn, because the night will be just the right temperature. Not too hot, not too cold.

August comes over from helping with a table, and there is a bottle in his hand that Tatiana glowers at. “Alright, tables are all set up. How’s things over here?”

“Just getting a little lesson in the customs,” Zeke replies. “I can’t remember what weddings are like where I’m from.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that Rigelian weddings are too different from a lot of others,” Tatiana says. “Who knows, maybe they’re really similar to the ones from your homeland.”

Whenever she speaks of his homeland, Zeke gets this look in his eye. It’s a look that she cannot read, and it makes her nervous, and she always instantly regrets bringing up the fact that he is an obvious foreigner. She swallows and goes back to mindlessly fixing invisible flaws in the flowers.

“There’s a lot of drinking. Everyone gets hammered,” August tells Zeke, and he lifts the bottle, tugging at the cork. “Look, I’m already getting started.”

Tatiana scowls and snatches the bottle away.

The reception starts when it gets dark, but Tatiana is running late. She could’ve probably gone home earlier to get ready, but there had been fuss over the way the food was arranged on the table, and how the arrangements looked, and honestly, she’s kind of glad that she won’t have a hovering mother at her wedding to panic over something as trivial as flowers.

Assuming she gets married ever, that is.

Zeke is waiting for her by the door, dressed as impeccably as usual. Even in her nicest dress, the embroidered gray one from the festival in the spring, she feels put to shame. She’s spent a lot of time on her makeup, though, and taken the time to put her hair up into an elegant, braided style, and she likes to think that she doesn’t look half bad. She stumbles, just a little, in her short heels as she rushes out of the bedroom in a hurry.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “And are you sure you want to go? You don’t know the bride or the groom.”

He only fixes the cuff of his coat and doesn’t look at her. “I’m interested to see what it’s like. I hope nobody minds. Besides, it’s proper for you to have an escort, isn’t it?”

Tatiana reaches up to fix the ribbon braided in her hair, a little pout on her face, and stands next to him at the door. “I’m not a little girl. I can go places by myself.”

“Yes, well-” He looks down at her then, and stops talking.

Tatiana shifts underneath his intense gaze, nervously pushing her hair behind her ears, and then looks up at him. “Do I have mascara under my eyes? Is my lipstick smearing? What’s wrong?”

Zeke glances away. “Sweetheart, you aren't supposed to be more beautiful than the bride.”

Tatiana turns completely red and hates him for saying something like that so easily.

Zeke gets the story from Tatiana on the way over to the reception, and she admits it with no small amount of embarrassment: It had been her mindless meddling that had actually gotten the bride and groom together. A little comment here, a suggestion there, and she had made it happen, almost without realizing it. She defends herself when he laughs, saying that she is normally not so nosy and pushy, and it had happened almost by accident.

The bride and groom look very happy at the reception, though, and Zeke thinks that even if she had caused it by accident, it all worked out for the best.

The bride comes over and pulls Tatiana away shortly after the reception starts. Zeke hovers by closely, near a table stacked with food and drink, where he watches August take three glasses of alcohol to a table, where he is sitting by himself. He watches, wondering if the merchant is waiting for friends, and then sighs as he downs one, and then another, and then the last right after that. He drinks them as though they are shots, and Zeke is actually a little disgusted at how much alcohol he seems able to consume. His poor liver is going to give out one day.

“Tatiana, you know I’m real grateful, but pay more attention to yourself.”

Zeke stares into his glass, swirling the drink around, as he listens to the conversation.

Tatiana takes the bride’s hands into her own, that simple, cheery smile on her face. “I’m fine. I’m just happy I was able to do something right for you two, even if it was kinda an accident.”

The bride looks exasperated. “Yes, but still. You worry too much over other’s problems, and that’s not always healthy. You work too hard.”

And there is a sentiment that Zeke shares.

“It’s fine. It’s just another kindness to repay. It’s no big deal for me to do things like this, really.”

The bride purses her lips, hangs her head with a sigh, and offers Tatiana a kiss on the cheek before she goes back to her other guests. Tatiana comes back to Zeke after waving goodbye, and is unusually quiet as she stands next to him. When he offers her a drink, she politely declines, and he narrows his eyes.

“So sullen all of a sudden, Tanechka.” He finishes what is in his glass and sets it down. “What she said was right, you know.”

“You were listening?”

“Was the conversation intended to be very private?”

“No. Not really.”

Zeke offers her a hand, and she looks at it, a little uncomprehending. When he gives a slight nod towards the area where other people are dancing, she smiles, gives him her hand, and allows him to guide her to the music.

Tatiana is still a little bit of a clumsy dancer, no better than when they first danced at the festival, and she steps on his toes a little. She’s so light, however, that he barely notices, and he doesn’t mind much anyway. It’s nice, being able to hold her close, and she looks divine besides.

“What is it with you and repaying kindnesses, anyway?” he asks suddenly.

She gives him a look. “Did you ask me to dance just to trap me in this conversation?”

He smiles all innocently, and she huffs.

“It’s just polite to take care of people when they take care of you,” she says. “After what my father put me through, I take kindness very seriously.”

“That’s well and good,” he tells her, that awful feeling in his gut that he gets whenever he remembers her father. “But don’t run yourself into the ground and always go out of your way for the simplest of things. That’s not healthy, and I won’t stand for it.”

Tatiana’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and she doesn’t say anything else. Her silence effectively shuts the conversation down, and Zeke instantly feels a little guilty for scolding her. He leans down and kisses her forehead quickly by way of apology, spins her a little, and her smile shows up again.

When Tatiana smiles, all is right with the world.

They leave the reception early, after a couple of hours have passed and the celebration has basically devolved into a series of drinking competitions. Last Zeke checked, August was in the lead by a good deal, after drinking Maksim under a table. After that, Zeke had taken Tatiana by the arm and quietly led her away, for fear of being tracked down and challenged himself. Not that he couldn’t win, because obviously he could, but he just doesn’t much care to wake up completely hungover.

“Did you find the party fun?” Tatiana asks on their walk home. “Rigelian weddings can get a little rowdy, as you saw.”

“Well, there was plenty of drinking.” Zeke scratches the back of his neck. “I can't recall other types of weddings, but I think I like Rigelian traditions very much.”

“Zofian weddings are a little quieter,” she says. Her arms wrap tighter around his, and she rests her head against his bicep. “But I think all weddings are nice. Not one is better than another.”

He opens his mouth to say something, and freezes at the sound of a voice saying, “What a darling little sentiment!”

Tatiana releases him immediately, whirling around, and Zeke does the same. Nuibaba, dressed as though she's ready for a party, is standing behind them. The wind rustles around them, and the witch smiles peacefully, thin-lipped and with closed eyes, as though she is greeting friends. Tatiana makes a strangled sound, and he reaches for her immediately, grabbing her wrist and yanking her towards him.

“Such dramatic reactions,” the witch says. “I’m just here for some fun.”

Tatiana shakes a little as he pulls her closer. His eyes wander around the clearing for something he could use as a weapon in a tight situation, but he can't see anything that could do in Nuibaba. Not so much as a shovel.

“What do you want?” Tatiana asks. “If this is about that offer you made me, I said no!”

Offer?

Nuibaba rolls her eye and waves a hand. “Please, I can clearly see that you're a hopeless case. I'm not after anything of yours, don't you worry.”

Zeke squeezes Tatiana tighter. “I must ask you to leave. We’re having a celebration tonight, and we don't like uninvited guests.”

“Oh, I’ll leave,” Nuibaba assures. She makes a step towards the wedding reception. “I just wanted to go say hello and congratulate the bride and groom.”

Tatiana pushes away from Zeke suddenly, bursting out of his grip, and he moves to grab her again as she steps into Nuibaba’s path.

“Tatiana!” he hisses.

The witch looks down at her, a smile twitching on her lips. “What's the matter?”

Tatiana is visibly terrified, shaking as she holds out her arms, but she looks the witch in the eye as she says, “You aren't invited.”

“Receptions are public in our culture. Besides, I’m invited to everything.”

Tatiana winces, then shakily proposes, “If you want company, then come to my home.”

Zeke steps forward, harshly grabbing her wrist, and she still pays him no mind.

Nuibaba appears intrigued. “Will there be something to drink? I’m parched, you see.”

“Of course,” Tatiana says. “Just leave the wedding alone.”

Nuibaba’s smile twists upwards, into something more sinister, more vile and inhuman, and she says with the greatest delight, “If you insist.”

Nuibaba makes herself right at home immediately. She takes her cloak off, drapes it over a couch, and then takes a seat at the kitchen table. Her hands are folded primly in front of her, as though she is a well-behaved guest, but Zeke knows that she is anything but. Her eyes move around the house, searching for something, anything, just waiting to strike.

Tatiana has not spoken the entire way home, and when they enter the house, she quietly moves to the kitchen to put some water on to boil. He does not like the way that Nuibaba looks at her, and doesn’t know if it’s okay for him to take his eyes off of them for even a second. He stands, hovering near the hallway, wondering if he can leave for just a moment to grab his sword from the closet nearby.

“Make yourself at home, General,” Nuibaba says suddenly. She tilts her head towards him. “It is yours, after all. You’re stiff as a board over there.”

Zeke looks over to Tatiana, and when she feels his eyes on her, she looks back. Even from the distance between them, he sees her hands shaking.

It solidifies his decision, and he steps into the hallway. Off comes his coat, the waistcoat underneath, and he listens for any sound of a disturbance back in the living area. He opens the door to the closet and regards the few weapons inside while he loosens and unravels the cravat around his neck. He comes back out with the clothes piled in his arm, a saber in his other hand.

Nuibaba nods as he throws the formal clothes on a chair, as though the sword does not bother her at all. “There, that is more like it.”

Zeke sits at the table, right across from the witch, and makes sure that he can draw the sword at a moment’s notice. She laces her hands together and smiles at him in a very sugary-sweet way, but he is not scared of her. He cannot be scared of her. He has Tatiana right behind him, and she needs him to be strong to give her her own courage. He cannot allow himself to be cowed by this beast, not in his own home.

Nuibaba continues looking around for a while, and her sugary smile turns to an amused sneer. “This is so cute.”

Zeke scowls, and Tatiana comes over with a tray of tea, also looking very displeased. She sets it in front of Nuibaba, and he is impressed with the long, spiteful glare that she is brave enough to send the witch’s way.

Nuibaba eyes the tray, then gestures at it while she looks at Tatiana. “What a poor hostess. You won’t even pour it for me?”

There is an icy cold fire in Tatiana’s eyes while she silently stares down the witch, and Nuibaba gives a shrug after a moment. She pours the tea herself, mixing in a surprising amount of milk and sugar. She stirs it slowly, and the house is so silent they can all hear the tap of the spoon against the cup. It echoes, quietly.

“You won’t have any?” she asks them.

Tatiana speaks before Zeke does, snapping, “I make it a habit to not break bread with beasts.”

His heart almost flutters.

Nuibaba shrieks with laughter. “So snippy tonight. You were the one who invited me here.”

“You will have your drink, and then you will leave.” Tatiana turns and heads back to the counter to clean up. “You’re not welcome in my home.”

“You detest me so much, yet you’d go out of your way to make sure I didn’t ruin someone else’s evening.” Her smile disappears, turning down into a spiteful sneer. “You’re so fake. Just always making certain that everyone knows what a ‘good person’ you are. But we both know that isn’t the truth.”

“Be silent,” Zeke warns.

Nuibaba ignores him. “We both know that you’re just a little wretch.”

He sees Tatiana flinch out of the corner of his eye. He grabs his sword, but does not draw it. “You will not speak to her that way in her home, witch.”

Once more, she laughs, then waves a hand dismissively and quietly sips at her tea. Zeke wants to turn and ask Tatiana if she is alright, but he figures that all she wants now is silence, and for Nuibaba to leave as soon as she will. It is what he wants as well, so he waits, the sword at his side, with his stomach turning.

Nuibaba is going slow, and even pours herself another cup when she is done with the first. She’s quiet and polite, and if it weren’t for the discolored skin and horns, one might guess that she was a perfectly normal houseguest.

Her eyes drift around the house, and she smiles charmingly after taking a drink. “This is all so charmingly domestic. Did you do the decorating in here, Tatiana?”

Tatiana doesn’t say anything.

“This is just too sweet,” she continues. “A nice little home, a warm hearth to sit by.” Her eyes snap over to Zeke so quickly that he nearly jumps. “Must be nice, right? You, some amnesiac nobody, being able to come back to a homecooked meal every night? A nice girl to warm your bed? What a dream.”

He shuts his eyes and tries to not listen. If this were any decent human speaking, it would be a compliment to the life he has managed to build with Tatiana’s help. But what is speaking is a thing, a husk of a human, and she is mocking them.

“I’m sure your happiness will come crashing down before long.”

His eyes fly open, and behind him, he hears Tatiana drop something. Nuibaba is stirring her tea again, looking quite like a delighted cat playing with a mouse as she regards them. Or, rather, it is not necessarily Zeke she’s looking at, but Tatiana, just past his shoulder.

“How dare you come into my house,” he starts, standing with the sword clenched in his hand, “and mock us in this way.”

“Ezekiel, sit,” Tatiana hisses to him, but he doesn’t pay her mind. He has not felt this anger in a long, long time.

“That’s right, Tatiana, keep him under control. You don’t want him lashing out and getting hurt, now do you?”

He’s angry. He’s so angry.

Nuibaba sips at her tea and wipes the corner of her mouth with a clawed finger when she finishes. Her gaze is still fixed on Tatiana, and she bares her teeth like a beast as she says:

“You’re already living a life bought on blood. You want another loved one to die for you?”

Zeke hears Tatiana make a strangled sound that he can’t really describe, filled with pain, and he snaps.

Zeke draws the saber out of its sheath, and the sharp sound fills the room. Things happen so fast: He’s rushing to figure out precisely where he should jam the blade into, Tatiana is calling his name, and yet, despite the brief rush of chaos, Nuibaba doesn’t flinch. She stares straight at him with an expressionless look, and he realizes that this is a mistake. She could melt his insides with a blink, or even do something unspeakable to Tatiana, but it’s too late, and he is moving too fast to stop.

His arm is smashed against the table in a second, just as the sword is a mere inch from Nuibaba’s exposed eye, but it is not by any magic. Tatiana, in a surprising burst of speed and strength, has stopped him. Both her hands are squeezing his forearm, pressing it painfully against the table, and the sword clatters out of his hand to the floor. Her shoulders are hunched, she’s gasping for breath, and the look in her eyes tells Zeke that she is a million miles away.

“Tanechka-”

She swallows, and suddenly she is there with them again. Tears fill her eyes, pouring out of her, and she squeezes them shut and shrieks, “Don’t you dare fight her, Ezekiel! Never again! Not in this house, not anywhere, do you understand!?”

Zeke has never, ever heard Tatiana raise her voice, and is stupefied. She’s in the throes of a visible panic attack, gasping and holding back tears, and her fingers are digging painfully into his arm. The sword lays on the ground, between her and Nuibaba. He should pick it up, but he can’t move. He cannot move at all, cannot pull her into his arms, cannot tell Nuibaba to get out.

“Oh my.” The witch leans back in her chair, her fingers laced together. “So you do remember what happened. Don’t want any repeats of it, do we, Tanechka?”

Tatiana’s diminutive on her foul tongue snaps him out of it, and he glares at her. “Do not speak!”

“I’m sorry,” Tatiana mumbles, but she is apologizing to Nuibaba, not to him. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Don’t hurt him.”

Nuibaba stands, and Tatiana removes her hands from Zeke to hold them close to herself. The witch kicks the blade on the floor aside and looms over Tatiana, a cruel smile on her face as she grips her chin in a hand and tilts it up.

“You hussy,” she breathes. “Selfish little thing, to this day. You make even me sick.”

Tatiana swallows, grits her teeth, slaps Nuibaba's hand away, and rushes off. She disappears into the back of the house, and Zeke hears the door to their room shut.

There is silence, but it isn’t long, because Nuibaba tells him, “You don’t have her complete trust.”

Zeke turns his gaze to the ground.

“There are things she won’t tell you.” Nuibaba makes her way to the door, grabbing her cloak off the couch on the way. She opens the door up and leaves with a final, “She won’t tell you, because then you’ll realize what a wretch she really is, and then you’ll try to remember who you are and go running back to whatever woman you left behind in your homeland.”

Zeke winces, and she is visibly pleased at her successful jab.

Nuibaba leaves, and Zeke is left with an empty tray of tea and a sword on the ground, and nothing else. He is still shocked to his core by Tatiana’s outburst, and after tonight, he knows:

Nuibaba did something to Tatiana. Took someone she loved, right from under her nose, and she will not open up to him about it. He cannot fathom why.

When he’s cleared the table and put the sword away, it is still painfully quiet. He collects his discarded coat and other clothing off the chair, and makes his way back to the bedroom. When he opens the door, he finds Tatiana curled up on the bed, next to the window, and she doesn’t react to his entrance.

She’s quiet, and the room is dark. She hasn’t lit so much as a single candle, and he has to fumble around before he finds the wardrobe. Everything is still as he hangs up his coat and puts the other clothes away, and Tatiana has not moved so much as a centimeter when he turns and walks to the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She buries her face against her knees and shakes her head.

Zeke reaches out and strokes her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Again, she shakes her head.

Tatiana doesn’t sleep that night, even though she lies down next to him and clings to him. When she speaks, after a couple of hours, it is only to choke out, “I’m sorry,” and then she is quiet until the morning, where she acts as though nothing has happened.

A week later, he’s hurrying to leave for the base, after a messenger came to tell Zeke that Jerome would like him there early. He’s going to get chewed out worse the longer it takes him, and he would be gone already, except he cannot find one of his damned boots. He normally doesn’t misplace them, and it just had to be this morning of all mornings.

He can hear Tatiana in the kitchen, and despite the fact that it’s a little embarrassing to fit the “man can’t find anything without his partner” stereotype, he calls for her. “Tanechka? Have you seen my other boot?”

There’s the sound of a pot being moved, then she calls back, “Did you check under any of the furniture, darling?”

A deep sigh. “No.”

He checks underneath the vanity, and then the wardrobe, and it’s after an embarrassingly long time of overall searching that he sees the shine of metal underneath the bed. When he crouches down, he’s relieved to see that it is, in fact, his boot. He reaches and grabs it, and is surprised when his fingers bump against something else. Hard, probably wood, and sizable. Figuring it is another misplaced object, he pulls it out.

It’s a bow case.

Not military, he immediately deduces. There’s no fancy embellishments or any army insignia. It’s plain, dark wood, a little dusty, but with clear fingerprints near the clasp. Zeke frowns, lets his curiosity get the better of him, and opens it up.

On the inside is a bow, as he had expected. It’s well-polished, despite the condition of its case, but the string is a little loose, he notices. It’s of a fine build, even if it isn’t military grade. He can tell that it has been used plenty, but well-cared for. It sits atop fine red fabric, much finer than any material he has ever seen Tatiana use, and he is confused.

The bow doesn’t belong to him, so it must belong to her. The only issue is that Tatiana doesn’t like handling weapons, and doesn’t even know how to, as far as he knows.

“Sweetheart, did you find it?”

He hears her coming down the hallway and quickly shuts the lid, locks the clasp, and slides it back where he found it. He’s just sat on the bed and started pulling on the boot when she appears in the doorway, looking pleased.

“There! I knew it would be under the furniture. You never look there.”

He never looks under the furniture. Is that why she would hide something there? Or is it hidden there out of habit, not out of any necessarily malicious desire to keep a secret from her lover?

“Y-yes, it was underneath the wardrobe,” he lies. He finishes fastening the clasps and laces and stands, moving next to her.

Tatiana looks up at him, and by the furrow in her brow, he knows that she knows something is up. She doesn’t say anything, however, because she’s been tiptoeing around any sort of serious conversation since Nuibaba’s little visit. She’s been all sunshine and rainbows, even though he knows something is weighing more heavily on her than ever. She isn’t sleeping well, and scarcely eating.

She reaches up and adjusts the collar of his shirt, and he bends a little to accommodate her. “I have breakfast ready on the table, honey. You need to eat fast and go, or else Jerome is going to never let you hear the end of it.”

Zeke almost asks her right then, as she walks away, about the bow, but decides it’s not the right time. It doesn’t feel like the right time, and deep down, he hopes that she would confide in him or her own free will. But it has always been him who has had to tug a secret out of her. Even when she spoke of her childhood, while she had eventually insisted on telling him, he had been the catalyst.

Zeke recalls Nuibaba saying that Tatiana does not trust him, but he still does not want to believe her.

Three of the bandits are dead, including the leader, and the rest have been scared off.

Tatiana imagines that they wouldn’t have been half so scared if the archer hadn’t been so well-concealed within the trees, but the fear of being sniped, without any clue or warning, had apparently been terrifying. The very second the third man had fallen, the rest had taken for the hills, and she imagines they won’t be seeing them again.

They’re gone, and she’s shaking while August rubs her shoulder, while she realizes just how close she had gotten to being an expendable plaything. Her fingers are white from how hard she holds her staff, and she is struggling not to cry, because she doesn’t want to make the boys, who are getting the scolding of their lives from a girl, feel bad. They seem to feel bad enough for putting themselves and Tatiana in danger already, and also from the girl’s wagging finger and biting words.

“Y’all are a bunch of boneheads!” she’s shouting. “What, you think you can sneak into my uncle’s shop, grab some weapons that aren’t even done, and fight off some men twice your size? I’m ashamed that we breathe the same air.”

The girl is tall and beautiful, lithe, with violet hair deeper than a summer’s midnight. Her yellow eyes flash when she gets particularly harsh, and the boys shrink underneath every reprimand she throws at them. There is a bow in her hand, and she occasionally waves it at them for emphasis.

“We said we were sorry,” a boy mumbles. “Give us a break, Maria.”

“A break?” Maria echoes. “You want a break? Then don’t go puttin’ Tatiana in danger again! Should’ve filled some of you with arrows for dragging her into this, while I was at it.”

“We’re sorry,” a few mumble in unison.

Maria’s nostrils flare, she suddenly shoots Tatiana a look, as if to ask, “What do you want done with them?”

August is still rubbing her back and her shoulders, and Tatiana feels a little bit calmer. She is safe now. Friends have come to her aid. The feeling starts to come back into her fingers as she loosens her grip on her staff.

“They had good intentions,” Tatiana says. “Maybe cut them some slack?”

Maria chews on the inside of her cheek, one of her habits, and then tosses her head. “Y’all boys get back to the village, and we won’t say anything. But you’re gonna have to apologize to my uncle when you give those weapons back, and better come up with a damn good excuse as to why you took them.”

The boys scamper off with their tails between their legs, back towards the village, and it’s only Maria, August, and Tatiana left. Tatiana lets out a deep breath, and feels the tears coming back now that the boys are gone. A little alarmed, August squeezes her shoulder, and Maria slings her bow over her shoulder and hurries over.

“You shouldn’t have negotiated with those lowlifes.” Maria’s voice is considerably gentler when she speaks to Tatiana, and she puts a hand on her shoulder. “I was so worried. You were supposed to come over to my place tonight. When you didn’t, I knew somethin’ was wrong.”

“I thought I could convince them to turn away before there was trouble and be back soon.” Tatiana swallows back a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologize to me, too,” August snaps suddenly. “Maria came barging into my house, shaking me awake, screamin’ about how you’d been kidnapped or something like that.”

“I wasn’t screamin’!” Maria snaps. “And you’re just awful, because you tried to go right back to sleep.”

“Stop fighting,” Tatiana interjects weakly. “We should get back before anyone notices that we’re gone. I’ll be in big trouble with Father Alexi if I’m not at your house in the morning. I don’t fancy having to polish the altar for a week straight.”

Maria and August both huff and toss their heads, but they follow the path the boys have left back to the village.

“Next time you wanna go out and be brave like this, that’s all fine with me, but come for some backup,” Maria scolds as they walk. She slings her bow off her shoulder in display. “I mean, did you see me? I took out three of those dastards in a minute! Worm’s food, all of ‘em! I’m gonna ace my military exams for sure.”

“Don’t get full of yourself,” August mumbles. “They were sitting ducks.”

“Excuse me? Do you have eyes? Did you see the shot I had to make so I didn’t hit Tatiana?”

Tatiana takes a deep sigh as the village comes back into sight, and is simply glad that the hell night is over. “Thanks for getting me out of another tight situation.”

Maria stops arguing with August, and her smile is wolfish and bright. “I’ll get you outta however many tight situations you need. You can rely on me, 'til the day I die.”

Chapter Text

The snow is heavy while August trudges through it. He’s freezing cold, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t have time to care, not while he’s desperately searching through the darkness for the figures of two girls who should have been home hours ago. He’s got a lamp in his hand, and so do the other people who are out looking. The light it emanates barely pierces the snowfall surrounding them.

“My Maria wouldn’t ever be so careless as to stay out in a snowstorm,” Maksim keeps muttering. “Something has happened.”

August could not agree more. Maria would never, ever let herself stay out past sunset on the moors, not when it is cold and snowy, and especially not while she has Tatiana with her.

Alarm had settled upon August right when the sun was finishing its rounds for the day. When he went to Maksim's smithy and home, he found no Maria, and when he went to the church, no Tatiana. When they’d said goodbye on their way out earlier that day, they had promised to be back before sunset. He’d nearly charged out on his own, but a proper search party had been put together when the blacksmith had also voiced concern over his niece.

“What if they were eaten?” he hears someone whisper in horror. “A bear, or a wolf!”

“Shut up!” he snaps, and they immediately stop blabbering.

Eaten by a bear or a wolf his ass. Those girls are smart, and they know to not go poking their noses where danger lurks. Whatever has happened to them is likely no fault of theirs, he knows that.

August knows that. He knows that. He knows that they are alive, because they have to be, because what would he do without them?

Another thirty minutes of searching through the snow, and August can barely feel his legs. Some have already gone back to the village to see if they’ve shown up there during the search, but he keeps trudging forward. He’ll find them, and then they’ll go back to the village, where they’ll take warm baths. Tatiana will probably cook something hot by way of apologizing for the trouble she has caused, and Maria will kick her feet up and watch her work fondly.

It has to be like that.

When August finds Tatiana, he almost doesn’t see her. He gets close, and his lantern’s light barely flickers over her, but she doesn’t move. He snaps it back towards her, his heart leaping right up into his throat, and yes, that is indeed her. That’s the color of her hair caught in his light, and he shouts, “I’ve found Tatiana!” before running over to her.

She is so still, so quiet, with her legs pulled up to her chest. For a heart-stopping moment, August wonders if she has frozen to death. There’s snow dusting her, which tells him that she has been there, in that exact position, for a very, very long time.

The rest of the search party is running over, and August gives Tatiana a gentle shake. He gasps with relief when she flinches and lets her eyes roam over to him, even if she looks distant. He can ask what is bothering her later; for now, he beats the snow off her head and shoulders.

“Tatiana, thank the Father,” he exclaims. “Where’s Maria?”

She swallows, and it’s only then that the light of his lantern shines on the bow clenched in her frozen fingers, and that he realizes that she's wearing Maria's coat.

“Where is she?” August repeats, but he knows something has happened. There is a hollow look in Tatiana’s eyes. “Please, where is she?”

Tatiana only chokes on her sudden tears, then starts wailing in absolute anguish. August did not know that a person could make those sorts of sounds, and they shake him to his very core.

Tatiana holds her hand out, reaching beyond the door, and the rain drums against her palm. It hasn't let up in three days, and it’s very unusual for the autumn weather. Normally their autumns aren’t dry, per se, but they’re not so muggy and wet. There’s a first time for everything though, Tatiana supposes.

“It just won't let up,” she marvels. “Are you really going to go ride in this, darling?”

Zeke is working at the table, and looks up from his book and frowns. “Perhaps not. It's muddy on the moor, and I wouldn't be able to ride safely. I don't want Ephraim to twist an ankle or slip.”

“I don't think I’ve seen it rain so hard for so long in a while.” She pulls her hand back and shuts the door, pulling her shawl tight. “Do you want something to drink?”

He scrawls something on the parchment next to him, then says, “Yes, I’d appreciate it.”

She sets a kettle on the stove to heat some water, then stares out the kitchen window at the nonstop downpour. “I still have to go to the church in a little while. It's a short walk, but I’m still not looking forward to mucking around in the mud.”

“Take an umbrella, sweetheart,” he says absently. “Wear a coat.”

“Oh, now don't patronize me,” she shoots back, and he looks up from his work with a smile. “What do you have there?”

“Just a report,” Zeke replies. “Finances, arrests, supply counts. Emperor Rudolf likes receiving them at least once a month. There are a good many other things I’d care to report upon, such as Jerome’s terrible behavior, but-”

“Too dangerous,” Tatiana finishes. The kettle whistles and she pulls it off the heat, then reaches into a cabinet for tea. “I don't like speaking poorly of others, but Jerome is such a lout. I can't believe you have to take orders from him! It should be the other way around.”

Zeke gives a light laugh and rubs at his forehead while studying his paper. “Well, no one wants to take orders from an amnesiac immigrant, my sweet.”

“There's no problem with it if that amnesiac immigrant is both breathtakingly handsome and amazingly competent, if you ask me,” she shoots back. She pours the scalding water into mugs, lets the leaves steep until a nice fragrance drifts up, and takes a cup to him. “Honestly, you're better than any other general in the army.”

“You’re biased, but kind,” he says as he takes the drink. He kisses her cheek as she leans down. “Thank you, love.”

Tatiana hums, looks down at the papers and the books, and takes a seat in his lap. She throws an arm over his neck to steady herself, then flips through the pages on the table. It looks like a whole lot of nothing to her, but she determines that she'd like to know what it means.

“We own chairs, Tatiana,” Zeke tells her, but the way that he slides a hand along her thigh tells her that he doesn't truly mind. “Nice ones. I paid a rather steep price for them.”

“The chairs are not warm and handsome,” she protests. She takes a paper into her hand and studies the contents, snuggling against his chest. “This makes my head hurt. How do you stare at these?”

“I don't like it. It gives me a headache of my own.” He takes a long drink of the tea, then stares into the mug. “New blend?”

“August made it. He's thinking about selling it. Is it good?”

“Rather so. I’ll have to compliment him when I see him next.” Zeke sighs and rubs her leg again, sitting up a little and urging her off. “Up you go. I still have reports and you have to go to the church.”

“Fine, fine.” She stands and brushes her skirt down, but takes his head in her hands and kisses the top of it. “Don't work too hard, dear. What do you want for dinner tonight?”

Zeke hums. “That venison and yam stew, maybe? Seems like good weather for it.”

“I’ll see what I can get at the market,” she says. She picks her boots near the door and starts lacing them up.

“Oh, Tatiana?” Zeke calls to her. “Before I forget, I had a question.”

She doesn't look over and slides into her coat. “Yes?”

“I found a bow.”

Tatiana freezes, her hands clenched into the front of her coat. Her heart has stopped. Her mouth is dry. She fumbles to say, “A bow?”

“Underneath our bed.” His voice sounds a little nervous at her reaction. “I didn't touch it, since I figured it was probably important, but I was curious. It's yours, right?”

Her heart beats a little faster, and she swallows. She grabs an umbrella from the basket by the door and hums.

Tatiana doesn’t want to be in this conversation. She doesn’t want to go digging up anything else that should be in the past. Zeke already knows about her father, and she doesn’t want him to know anything else awful and unsightly about her. She doesn't want him to know about that or her.

Perhaps that is an unsightly notion in and of itself, but Tatiana resigned herself to being an unsightly person a long time ago.

“It isn’t really mine,” she says slowly. “Thank you for not touching it.”

He appears confused, staring at her over the rim of his mug. “Sweetheart?”

“I don’t use it,” she says. A great deal of memories press at her mind: Times spent in a sun-dappled forest, warm bark behind her back, the sight of a strong arm pulling back a bowstring, and the flap of wings as birds are startled. “I don’t use it. Please, leave it be, Zeke. It's only a bow. It- it doesn't have any significant meaning.”

“It's of exceptionally fine make. It isn’t some random hunting bow,” he says. “Tatiana, there’s something you are not telling me, and-”

“Leave it be, Ezekiel,” she says a little sharply, and he visibly winces at her usage of his full name in a less than romantic manner.

“Of course,” he says tightly, then picks up his quill and scrawls something on his papers. She opens the door, letting the loud sound of pouring rain enter the house, and leaves with her heart hammering in her ears.

She does not want him to know. He shouldn’t have to know.

They tiptoe around each other for the next while days, and Zeke regrets bringing up the topic of the bow. He should have just let it be. He should have just kept his mouth shut and waited for her to open up to him, whether that was soon, or later, or perhaps even never.

But Zeke can’t help it. He knows nothing of his past or who he is, and he practically craves for every detail about Tatiana’s life. Having a past, a whole existence, is fascinating to him. More importantly, he just wants to know her. He wants to know that she trusts him, and that Nuibaba is wrong about everything.

The rain still hasn’t stopped. It pauses for a few hours at a time, and then it starts again. It turns from a relentless pouring into something lighter, but rain is still rain. People are getting sick in the village, and Tatiana uses it as an excuse to stay at the church until the earliest hours of the morning. She comes home while he pretends to be asleep, and gets in bed with him, but doesn’t snuggle up like she normally does. She isolates herself on the edge of her side of the bed.

Zeke doesn’t think that she is mad, necessarily, it’s more that she is wary. She thinks that if he knew the story behind the bow and her relationship with Nuibaba, he would not love her anymore. That’s absolute nonsense for certain, because there is nothing in the world that could shake his adoration for Tatiana, but there’s little he can do to relieve her of such a deep-seated anxiety.

Someone is gone, he knows that for sure. Someone close to her is dead, and it is Nuibaba’s fault. That’s not surprising, because with that beast roaming the Plains, there is scarcely a person who hasn’t known loss. Tatiana even admitted to him, months ago, that a cleric who raised her was snatched up, and other people she knew in passing.

Those aren’t secrets, however, so why is this?

When he asks August—who is always her secret keeper—about it, while they’re helping some fishermen bring their haul off the boats, he frowns.

“A bow, you say?” August sets down a basket of fish and claps his hands together. “And she won’t say anything? That sounds about right.”

“So it’s something you know about?” Zeke presses. The of rain is pouring down on them, but he doesn’t pay it much mind.

“Everyone does,” he replies.

“So it shouldn’t be a secret from me.”

“If it were me, I’d tell you. However, I’m not Tatiana, and I don’t have her rather deep-seated issues.” August sets his hands on his hips and looks up, squinting against the drizzle. “What happened was bad, and it’s still a fresh wound. She’s never really gotten over it.”

“I don’t suppose you would tell me?” Zeke asks.

August frowns. “Hm. I think it’s just something you should leave alone.”

Zeke doesn’t know how he is supposed to leave it alone when it is causing her pain, and when Nuibaba is coming around frequently, seemingly just to bait her. First the party, and then the visit to their home?

He wants to skewer that witch on the end of his lance and be done with her, but Tatiana’s terrified, angry demand for him to not attack Nuibaba rings in his mind.

What has the witch done to her?

Tatiana feels faint lately, and she wonders if she is catching the fever that is going around. It could be that, or it could be the anxiety that just won’t leave her. It could be both. It could be anything, because Tatiana is certain of nothing right now.

She doesn’t know why all of this is coming back to haunt her, when she is happier than she has ever been. She doesn’t know why Nuibaba, who has left her be for nearly four years, is suddenly so interested in her again. She doesn’t know why this has to happen when she’s found a nice man, settled into a peaceful domesticity with him, and is happy.

She feels fainter and fainter, as she goes from patient to patient in the church’s infirmary, and cannot stop thinking about blood, and somebody screaming, and her head starts to pound. She feels wobbly and hot all of a sudden, and she stumbles. Somebody calls for her in alarm.

Perhaps, Tatiana thinks, she is simply not made for long-lasting happiness.

Zeke is working at his desk, and he has been at the base for almost a three days. He doesn’t have any urge to be at home, if it makes Tatiana more anxious. He figures that if she is going to be wary around him, he simply won’t be around her. Perhaps a cool-off period is all she needs, and if she is alone with her thoughts for a while, she’ll go back to normal, or better yet, decide to tell him what the mystery of her relationship with Nuibaba is.

He’s certain he’s been visibly sullen and irate, because people avoid him. Even Jerome, who normally has no qualms with strolling into his office and needlessly bossing him around, is staying out of his way. Not a single soldier comes to his door, and he is allowed to work in peace.

Because of the relative solitude, it’s alarming to Zeke when there is a knock on his door, and he’s impressed with whomever it is that has the guts to approach him. He straightens up, sets his quill in the inkwell, and gives them permission to come in.

It’s one of his mages, and she looks about nervously with a paper held carefully in her hands. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Is that a report for me?” he asks.

She looks down at the paper, then shakes her head. “No, it’s a message from your village. Th-there’s a problem.”

Zeke stands immediately, and she flinches at the intensity with which he moves towards her. Almost speechless, she holds out the message, and he all but snatches it out of her hands and begins to read.

Come home soon-

“I-it seems that your lover-”

She’s come down with a bad fever-

“They seem to think it isn’t life-threatening, but-”

She keeps asking for you when she’s lucid-

Zeke crumples the paper and makes for the door. “I’m leaving immediately.”

The mage jumps as he walks past her. “Sir, your report! They wrote that she wasn’t in life-threatening danger, so perhaps you should finish. General Jerome will be awful mad if he has to-”

He grabs his coat off a hanger near the door and snaps, “I do not care if that pig is made to do his damned job for the day. I am leaving this instant, do you understand?”

She swallows and nods. “Sir! Yes, I’ll, um, have someone ready your horse for you.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

It’s raining again, even though there had been a lull in the foul weather the entire morning. Ephraim doesn’t seem all too pleased when Zeke gets him ready to ride in a hurry, and he shakes his mane and stomps his feet irately when he’s pulled out into the rain and mud.

“Damn horse,” Zeke mutters. “You’ve seen worse! This is not the time to be picky.”

He finally gets Ephraim to accept the fact that he must run in the rain, and the water stings his skin at the speed he goes at. He’s fortunate that the hail from the first few days of the rain isn’t still going on, but the droplets still beat on him like arrowheads, and are frighteningly cold.

Tatiana coming down with a fever isn’t surprising to him, given the wet and frigid weather. On top of that, she hasn’t been sleeping well, and no matter what food he’s brought home for her, she hasn’t touched it. All of that, on top of tending to sick, feverish patients at the church, it’s no wonder that she’s collapsed. He curses himself, as he rides into the village, for not noticing how pale she’d been, or that her sullen nature wasn’t just from her secret, but from poor health.

He’s pathetic, loathsomely pathetic.

Zeke doesn’t bother settling Ephraim into the stables himself, like he normally does, and instead hands him over to a stablehand with a brusque apology.

“They moved her to your house,” the young man says, because obviously everyone knows everything about Tatiana. “They didn’t want her around the other patients.”

The door is unlocked when he gets to the house, and he comes barging in. He’s soaked to the bone, panting a little, and slams the door shut behind him. August, unsurprisingly, is standing in the kitchen. He doesn’t flinch when he sees Zeke, and instead gestures down the hallway.

“We brought her back here. She just fell over early this morning, and she’s been asking for you, when she’s at least a little lucid.”

“How is she?” he demands.

August wipes his hands on a cloth and escorts him to the bedroom. “Bad, but she’s not in any danger. She’s out of it, though. We almost didn’t send for you, since we knew you were busy, but the fact that she wants you is the only sense we’ve gotten out of her. That, and-”

August hesitates, then shakes his head and opens the bedroom door for Zeke. Inside there is a cleric, bent over Tatiana. His heart stops in his chest as he sees how flushed and sweaty she is, and how still. The cleric is dabbing at her forehead with a cloth, her lips pressed in a frown, and looks up when Zeke comes and crouches by the bed.

“She’ll be alright,” she assures. “She just wasn’t in any condition to be taking care of contagious patients. We never would have let her near them if we’d known how sleep-deprived she was. That's just a recipe for disaster."

He’s shaking, more than he’d like to admit, as he rests a hand on Tatiana’s forehead. She is boiling hot, like she’s been bathing in the sun for hours. His touch gets her moving, and her eyelids flutter.

“I’m right here,” he assures quietly. “Everything will be okay now, my sweet.”

Tatiana swallows, and her eyes slowly open. There’s a cloudy haze in them, and she’s clearly more unconscious than conscious. Despite that, she lifts her hand and rests it atop his, and she fixes him under a heavy, almost sorrowful look.

“Don’t go,” she mumbles.

“I’m not,” he says.

Another swallow, and she continues, “I don’t want more people to go. Stay with me.”

Zeke frowns and strokes her feverish skin with his thumb. “Of course. Go back to sleep now, and I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Almost meekly, she nods, and her eyes fall shut again. He carefully lifts her hand and sets it back at her side, and gets to his feet. August and the cleric are hovering nearby, and he turns to them.

“I’ve never cared for someone with a fever before,” he admits. “What do I do? Is there medicine? How many blankets does she need? When-?”

“There’s medicine in the kitchen,” the cleric assures. “And someone will be back in the morning to check on her and use a staff, if needed.”

“And I’ll stay here, if you want,” August offers. “No sense in you wallowing in panic. I can show you how to take care of a fever. Learning experience, right?”

“Yes.” Zeke looks back behind him to Tatiana, who is so deathly pale that he feels genuine fear. “A learning experience.”

The room is dark, quiet, and the rain pouring outside has finally stopped. Zeke can hear the crickets chirping. The sound keeps him company while he sits next to the bed, brushing sweat-matted hair away from Tatiana’s flushed face. Her breathing is normal, he finds with relief, but the tightness in her face suggests that she is still incredibly uncomfortable.

“Are you too hot?” he asks quietly, but she doesn’t respond to him. He stands and pulls back the first quilt on the bed regardless, figuring he’ll see how she responds.

There’s a sudden noise from the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and glasses being removed, and then footsteps coming down the hallway. Zeke had nearly forgotten there was anyone in the house besides he and Tatiana, but the sight of August standing in the bedroom doorway isn’t unwelcome.

Zeke is useless, after all.

He can’t even properly care for his lover.

There’s a bottle of whiskey in one of August’s hands, and he holds two glasses in the other. Zeke gives him a glance, then turns back to Tatiana.

“You’re hoverin’, General.”

“I am not.”

“It isn’t gonna do anything.” August holds up the bottle of alcohol. “Come on, have a seat with me. I’ve decided that if you get me drunk enough, I’ll tell you what the deal is with that damned bow.”

August pours the two glasses of alcohol, and while both of them hold the glasses, neither of them drink. There’s just quiet, a lot of quiet, as though the two are simply straining to hear any slight noise from the bedroom.

“You know about Tatiana’s unique situation, yeah? ‘bout her family, before she was dumped here. What her father did to her?”

It turns Zeke’s stomach. He lifts the whiskey to his lips, hoping the alcohol will settle his nerves, and mumbles, “Yes,” against the glass rim.

August takes a deep sigh and leans back in the chair, one arm tossed over the back of it. He looks up at the ceiling and swirls his drink around. “As you can imagine, Tatiana was scared stiff of men. Any man, no matter what. They’d take a step towards her and she’d just burst into tears.”

The alcohol burns when it goes down, more unpleasant than normal, and Zeke sets the glass aside. He doesn’t have the taste for it, not now. “Understandable. The only man she’d ever known beat her daily and molested her.”

“That obviously wasn’t common knowledge, though. So, these guys would get awful offended when she’d flinch away from ‘em, ‘cause they were just tryin’ to be nice. You’d never know it now, but people didn’t like her. Thought she was a standoffish little brat.” August lifts his glass and takes a sip of it, then leans back again. “Wasn’t no one scarier to her than Maksim.”

“Maksim? Tatiana and he are close, though, correct?”

“Yeah. Looking back on it, he was probably the first one to suspect what Tatiana’s father put her through. It only took one time of her flinchin’ away for him to take good mind of her boundaries. He never tried to get close to her again. He’d always talk to her from a distance, in this nice, sweet voice that seemed to calm her down.”

“What’s this have to do with the bow?” Zeke presses. “I- I don’t like discussing Tatiana and her father, so if we-”

“Maksim had a niece. About my age. Couple years older than Tatiana. Her parents had passed, so he was the one who took care of her.” August takes another drink, this time throwing back the whiskey. When done, he sets the glass on the table and pours himself another. “Maria was her name. Snotty little kid. Nice, but with a big ego, and an inflated sense of self-importance.”

Zeke tries the alcohol again, finds it is still unpleasant to him, and sets it aside.

“Have you never seen the sea before?” Maria asks.

Tatiana looks out at the water, a never-ending sheet of green glass. There is the occasional slight wave that licks the shore, but mostly, it is still. It’s also freezing cold to so much as be near it, because it’s the middle of the winter. Snow cakes the ground, and she can’t see the sand beneath it. It looks like a painting that would have hung in that man's study, or perhaps her mother's dressing room.

“No,” she replies. “I’ve read about them. But I lived in a city. We didn’t have anything like this.”

The other girl takes her hand suddenly and guides her down to the water. Their boots crunch through the snow-covered sand, and Tatiana shivers as they get closer. There’s is a salty smell in the air, the breeze cold on her face, but she doesn’t dislike it.

“When it gets warm, you can go in the water,” Maria says. “But always make sure there’s someone with you, because the sea is dangerous when you’re by yourself. My uncle always takes me, and he said you can come with us.”

Tatiana thinks of that big, scary man, and swallows. His voice had been softer than she’d thought, and his expression gentle, but…

“Is he going to touch me?” she mumbles.

Maria gives her an odd look. “No! My uncle is nice, and he even said the other day that it was ‘important to respect Tatiana’s personal bubble.’” She looks down at their clasped hands, and then nervously looks back at Tatiana. “I can let go, if you want.”

The hand in hers is warm, like a comforting fire during a snowstorm, and Tatiana doesn’t mind it.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to let go of me.”

August drinks his second glass of whiskey much faster than his first. There’s a little bit of a flush on his face, but he shows no other signs of inebriation. Zeke has barely touched his own, instead opting to keep listening to the story.

“They hit it off real fast. Tatiana had probably never had a friend before, and she ate up whatever affection Maria would give her. It didn’t take long before they were practically inseparable. Where one went, the other followed.”

“The bow belonged to this girl?” Zeke asks.

“Yeah.” August takes a long sniff and stares into his glass, suddenly seems to find it unappealing, and sets it down. “A dead shot with a bow, since the time she was a kid. She was athletic, tall, strong. The opposite of Tatiana. People always called Maria a child prodigy, and it wasn’t an exaggeration.”

“You’re going to join the army?” Tatiana asks.

They’re standing in the forest, and she watches as Maria pulls back the string of her bow. Her posture is perfect, the arrow knocked back perfectly on the string, and she is eyeing a tree, painted with a target, in the distance. She doesn’t respond to Tatiana, not yet, simply waiting for a breeze to pass them by.

The second the wind stops, she lets go of the string, and the arrows flies across the clearing to snap into the tree trunk. The arrow lands almost dead-center, and while it is impressive to Tatiana—despite all the years of seeing it done—Maria doesn’t appear pleased.

Maria turns to Tatiana as she reaches for another arrow. “Yeah. I’m going to take my military exams in a couple of years.”

Tatiana frowns. “Why not take them sooner? You’re of age right now.”

“There’s never been a woman archer in the Rigelian army before,” she explains, and she doesn’t look very happy with the fact, based on the curl of her lip. “It’s gonna take a long time for them to let me take the proper tests. But I’m gonna get in, and I’m gonna be the best bow knight Emperor Rudolf has ever seen. And then, they’ll have to open up the position to all women.”

It’s a lofty dream, and Tatiana sighs and leans back against a tree. “Do you think you can?”

Maria looks at her from the corner of her eye while she pulls her bowstring back. “Do you not believe in me?”

Defiance bubbles up in Tatiana. “Of course I do! You’re really strong, so you can do anything you set your mind to.”

The arrow flies again, settling into the tree right next to the other.

“Good. Because I need you to believe in me,” Maria says. “It doesn’t matter if everyone else does. If you don’t, I can’t do anything.”

“You’re overestimating my importance,” Tatiana chides. “You don’t need me. I’m the one that needs you.”

“Can’t we just settle on we need each other?” she replies. “Besides, I could never emphasize your importance enough. I’m gonna get that fancy military job, and I’m gonna use it to provide for you.”

Tatiana flushes and looks at the ground. “I don’t need that. I’m fine at the church. I don’t need nice things, so you don’t have to do that.”

Maria only hums and fires another arrow. It hits the target dead-center.

“Attempting to be the first female archer in the army?” Zeke sinks a hand into his hair. “That’s a big goal.”

“Maria could’ve done it,” August says defensively. “Someone has to, eventually. It could have been her.”

There is still no sound from the bedroom, and Zeke turns the glass of whiskey about the table.

“It should have been her,” August whispers. “A lot of people become soldiers just for the pay. They don't take it seriously. They abuse their positions. Take a damn hard look at Jerome.”

“Believe me, I have,” Zeke mumbles.

“But Maria wanted that job for good reasons. Open up more positions to women. Fix corruption on the lower rungs of the ladder and clean up as she climbed. Most importantly, she wanted to bring all that money home for people like her uncle, and Tatiana.”

“What're you always starin’ out at the ocean for?” Maria has a hand on her hip, and she stares down at Tatiana. “You come down here nearly every damn day.”

Tatiana looks up at her, smiling brightly from her seat on the sand. “This was one of the first places you ever took me, so I hold it dear.”

Maria blushes and turns her gaze away. “Hmm.”

“Besides, I like the seashore. There's pretty shells, and I like the breeze. It's soothing.” Tatiana picks up a stray, bedraggled piece of driftwood and starts drawing lines in the sand.

“Can I sit?”

“You have to ask?”

Maria takes a seat, splaying her long legs out and leaning back on her hands. Quiet passes between them for a long time, and then she says, “Heard you got asked out again.”

Her heart twists, a smolder of anxiety starts in her stomach, and she sighs. “Yeah.”

“What’d you do?”

“I told her I wasn't interested. But it made me feel bad.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re not interested, you’re not interested.”

They stare out at the water for a while.

“I don’t think I’ll ever settle down,” Tatiana admits quietly. “Or fall in love.”

Maria tilts her head and gives her a blank look.

“I don’t think I’m right for that. Like, I don’t think I’d be good at it. I still get nightmares and stuff.” Tatiana takes a heaving sigh and dips her gaze down. “I don’t wanna drag some poor person into my problems.”

“If someone loves you, they shouldn’t be getting ‘dragged’ into your problems. They’re something they should willingly help with, y’know?”

Tatiana smiles, glad for the reassurance, but a little doubtful of it.

Maria scratches at the sand for a moment, comes up with a broken seashell, and throws it as hard as she can. It flies a considerable distance, plopping straight into the water. “What’s the other reason you keep coming by the beach every day?”

“Hmm?”

“I know there’s another.”

Tatiana looks out at the ocean, and there is a pulling in her stomach, a little flutter in her heart, neither feeling of which she can describe. She frowns and scrunches her nose up, then replies, “Feels like I’m waiting for something.”

Tatiana almost says “someone,” but that doesn’t make any sense.

They’ve put the bottle of whiskey away, and August hasn’t spoken for at least ten minutes. Instead, he’s been pacing the house, wringing his hands together, and occasionally stepping into the back to check on Tatiana. His avoidance of the topic is making Zeke nervous, and he sits at the table quietly. His stomach is twisting, and he’s got a good idea of where the story is going.

In the winter, the military writes to Maria and, after years of attempts, tells her they will let her take the archer enlistment exams. There’s only a moment of whooping with excitement, and then she’s got her bow and a quiver, trudging out into the snow to go practice her shooting. There’s two weeks until the exam, and Maria says she’ll be spending every waking moment possible practicing.

“Don’t practice too hard,” Tatiana warns. “You’ll get all burned out and fail! And they’re just waiting for you to fail, you know that.”

“I’m not gonna fail,” Maria mumbles. She draws back an arrow, angles it a little oddly against the wind, and lets it fly. The winter wind picks it up and carries it away from the projected target, and it slams into a different area entirely. “Gods damn it.”

“They won’t let you take the exams again,” Tatiana reminds. “This is already an anomaly. You’ve only got one shot. Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you nervous?”

“Stop worrying.” Maria lowers her bow and gives her a fond look. “I’ve been preparing for this most my life. And you still believe in me, right?”

Tatiana fiddles with a strand of her hair. “What?”

“When I told you I was gonna take the exams a couple years ago, I asked you to believe in me. Said it was all I needed.” Maria cocks her head and smiles cheekily. “You’re not losin’  heart, are you?”

Tatiana pouts a little. “Of course I still believe in you. Isn’t it natural to still be worried, though? This is your dream, after all. I don’t want you to lose it.”

Maria kicks at a pile of snow on the ground. “I’m not gonna lose it.”

“I don’t have any dreams,” Tatiana mumbles under her breath. “So you better not lose yours.”

“You’ve got dreams, Tatiana,” Maria assures. “You just haven’t found ‘em yet. Sometimes it just takes a while. But you’ll find ‘em, I’m sure of it.”

“About four years ago, come this winter, that was when the exams were supposed to happen,” August finally mumbles. “Tatiana was seventeen? Yeah, seventeen. You know what that age means?”

Zeke digs his fingers against the wood of the table and shakes his head.

August sits down heavily in the chair again, and the look in his eyes is like a blazing fire.

“That’s Nuibaba’s favorite age for her snacks.”

Tatiana sits against a tree, atop a blanket to protect her from the snow, and watches as Maria pulls the bowstring back. Her form is impeccable, straight and strong, and she’s steady despite the blowing wind. She’s got her bow knocked at an odd angle, not pointed straight at the target, but instead pointed a little ways ahead of it.

They’ve been out in the forest for probably six hours, and Tatiana has finished the book she brought, finished some knitting, and polished off the lunch she packed. The past hour has simply been watching Maria try to make this one shot, and she hopes she makes it this time, so they can go back to the village and sit by a fire. The exams are in three days, and Maria needs all the rest and relaxation she can get before them.

Tatiana almost misses the shot when its made, distracted by a rabbit moving next to her, but snaps her head up as soon as she hears the bowstring release. The arrow drifts in the wind, and loses some momentum, but it hits the target almost right in the center. Maria whoops, and Tatiana claps.

“Can we go home now?” she immediately asks.

Maria slings her bow over a shoulder while she looks at the sky. She blinks against the flurry of snowflakes. “Fine, fine. It’s gonna get dark in a couple hours anyway. We shouldn’t get caught outside.”

The wind is picking up, and the snow beats on them as they pack up the quilt and put it in the empty picnic basket. She’s got a long scarf on to fight the chill, but Tatiana still shivers and rubs her arms.

“Looks like a storm’s coming, too,” Maria grumbles. She sets her bow and quiver down, shrugs out of her heavy coat, and puts it over Tatiana. “You hold onto that for me.”

“You’re going to catch a chill,” Tatiana protests.

“I’m still wearing an undershirt and a sweater,” she replies. “You can repay me by carrying the basket, alright?”

Tatiana huffs, slips her arms through the coat, picks up the basket, and follows Maria down the path. Their tracks from their arrival are barely visible, but they know the way home like the back of their hands.

“I’m starting to feel nervous,” Maria admits while they walk. “I really wanna get this job, but I know the odds are against me, ‘cause I’m a girl.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Tatiana assures. The snow is picking up, and she raises a hand to shield her eyes.

“You were bitin’ your nails two weeks ago!” Maria teases, and then lifts up her voice an octave to mock her. “‘Oh, Maria, what if you lose your dream! I couldn’t bear it!’”

“I’m genuinely concerned,” Tatiana snaps. “Seeing you succeed is my dream, I’ve decided that.”

Maria laughs, but it almost sounds more like a flustered giggle. “R-really? When’d you decide that?”

“Yesterday,” Tatiana replies. “There’s no greater satisfaction for me than seeing the person I love get what she wants.”

The air coming off of Maria is almost a little shy, and Tatiana wonders if maybe, perhaps just maybe, she was a little too forward. Maria’s never been shy with terms like “love” before, however, but wonders if maybe the way she said it was a little too much. Maybe she should have said “a person,” instead of “the person,” or something along those lines.

They walk for a little while longer, just getting to the slope that signifies the halfway point when, without any warning, Tatiana’s gut lurches. She swallows, figures it is just a little bit of butterflies in her stomach, and decides to ignore it. However, when she puts her foot down into the snow next, there’s a sharp pain in her entire body, and she freezes.

She literally freezes.

Maria is walking ahead, and starting to say, “You know, Tatiana, I’m-” and then stops when she realizes she is not with her.

Panic is welling up in Tatiana as Maria looks back at her.

“What’s the matter? Come on, we gotta get home.” Maria keeps looking at her, then climbs up the slight incline of the slope towards her. “Tatiana?”

“I can’t move,” Tatiana whispers. She shifts, but her legs are frozen. The rest of her body is perfectly fine, but from her hips down, nothing will react to what she tells it. She drops the basket and starts to claw at her leg, but she can’t even feel that.

“What do you mean?” Maria’s voice is also rising in a panic, and she comes over even faster. She adjusts her bow on her shoulder, and then pulls Tatiana. “Come on, budge!”

But she will not.

It’s magic, that much is obvious. It’s like she’s literally frozen to the ground, and no amount of pushing nor pulling will move her. Tatiana feels herself moving towards a panic attack, but tries to swallow the anxiety and desperation down.

And then, Tatiana feels eyes on her. A cold gaze, and a feeling of malice.

When she looks up, slowly, shakily, there is a figure standing a little ways away from them, hidden by the haze of the snowstorm. Clearly a woman, clothed in black, and as she starts to move towards them, Tatiana can make out the shape of horns on the top of her head.

Her heart falls, and she starts pushing at Maria.

“What’s the matter, what-?” Her head snaps over towards Nuibaba as well, and Tatiana sees any sort of hope leave Maria. “Oh Father.”

Tatiana finds her words and gasps, “Go,” as she pushes Maria away. “Go.”

Maria doesn’t let go of her arm. “No.”

“She’s here for me!” Tatiana snaps, and then her voice starts shaking, damn it all, when she says, “Please, leave. She’s here for me.”

Zeke’s heart has stopped in his chest, and the little alcohol he has consumed is threatening to come back up.

“That’s what all this is about,” he mumbles. “Tatiana was supposed to die.”

August is standing at the kitchen’s counter, his hands clenched around the edge, and his voice as he continues the story is tight.

Nuibaba taps the tip of Tatiana’s nose in a very fond fashion, her gaze warm as she looks down at her. “I’ve had my eye on you for a very long time, you know.”

Tatiana is shaking, and can’t tear her eyes away from the witch looming over her, despite the fact that Maria is on the ground and struggling to get to her feet. There’s a splash of blood running down her face, Tatiana sees, most likely from Nuibaba backhanding her when she’d tried to step between her and Tatiana. Her bow is limp in the snow, her arrows scattered, and she’s clearly dizzy.

“Since you were little and I first saw you, I knew you were going to grow up to be a very beautiful girl.” Nuibaba cups her chin in a hand and draws her thumb over her lips. “It took a lot of self-control to not just snatch you up as soon as you were maybe thirteen. But, I like letting my snacks age a little, you know. Like a good wine.”

Tatiana feels faint.

“And now, look at you! The very picture of loveliness. Big eyes, soft skin, plump lips, and all this beautiful hair! My goodness, you must take very good care of it.” Nuibaba’s fingernails scratch at Tatiana’s scalp as she drags a hand through the locks. “You’re going to add years back onto my life. I’ll look like I’m twenty again when I’m done with you!”

Tatiana swallows and tries to speak, but she can’t. She doesn’t know if its magic, or simply her cowardice, but she just can’t talk.

“The last woman who made me feel that good was that nice sister I picked up a few years ago. She was wandering the forest on her way home from the market, so I… invited her home with me. What was her name? The lovely one, with the red hair and the blue eyes? Liliya, was that it?”

Tatiana makes a feeble sound, and hears Maria spit, “You bitch!”

Nuibaba’s delighted look falls, and she turns back to Maria, who is just getting to her feet. “You can run along now. I’m not here for you. Not now.”

“You can’t have her.” Maria fumbles for her bow, but Nuibaba only looks amused. “You can’t have her!”

Tatiana’s heart hammers in her chest, and she’s certain it’s going to pound right out of her ribcage. She’s faint, dizzy, and so close to tears, because she didn’t plan on dying today. She didn’t plan on that. She didn’t plan on getting caught in a snowstorm, with a witch’s hand lowering to squeeze her neck painfully tight.

Nuibaba waves a hand just as Maria gets a hold of an arrow. Maria stumbles, as if someone has punched her in the chest, and falls back on the ground with a startled yell. Tatiana tries to shriek her name, but struggles to form words around the witch’s hand on her windpipe.

“I don’t like mindless bloodshed,” Nuibaba chides. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be taking Tatiana with me now. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, and-”

Maria gets up faster than before, snatching up her bow and a couple of arrows, and gets to a knee. She has the weapon drawn, the arrow aimed exactly at Nuibaba’s exposed eye, and the witch looks furious to be threatened. Her lips are stretched tight, her jaw clenched, and she squeezes Tatiana tighter in an unconscious motion.

“I said you can’t have her,” Maria hisses. “Not on my watch.”

She doesn’t want Maria involved. She wants this to happen as peacefully as possible. She coughs, struggles to pull air into her lungs, and wheezes out, “Go.”

Maria doesn’t pay her mind.

Nuibaba scowls and drops her hand from Tatiana, and suddenly, there is feeling in her legs again. She stumbles back, collapsing into the snow, and gasps at the cold. She starts coughing and wheezing, her lungs desperate to get ahold of some oxygen, and her vision is blurring.

“Impertinent girl!”

There’s a cry that stops Tatiana’s heart, and she looks up. There’s a couple of gashes on Maria’s cheeks, and Nuibaba has her clawed hands inches away, pulled back for another blow. Maria drops the arrow from her bow, yells, and swings it out. A hard sound fills the air as it strikes Nuibaba right in the side, and the witch hisses as she stumbles back.

“You raise a hand against me? Me?”

Maria’s bow is thrown over her shoulder like an axe, and she shouts again, “You can’t have her!”

And then, she shouts something else that makes Tatiana numb.

“Take me, you stupid witch, take me!”

“No!” she shrieks, and tries to stand.

Nuibaba holds a hand out to Tatiana, and it then feels like someone is sitting on her. She can only squirm in the snow, unable to get up. She doesn’t do it consciously, but she hears herself screaming “No!” over and over again.

“Interesting offer,” Nuibaba muses. “You aren’t half-bad looking yourself.”

Maria’s bow is still thrown over her shoulder, and her face is pale. “And I’m stronger than her. That’s gotta count for something, right? Right? You like strong girls, too? I fit the bill, promise.”

“Hm.” Nuibaba eyes Maria up and down, twisting her lips. “You aren’t as good of a bite as your girlfriend here, but I’m not an unreasonable woman. I never turn down willing volunteers.”

Tatiana is sobbing now, clawing at the ground and trying to move towards them. “No, please, I’ll go! I’ll go, I promise I will!”

“Shut up!” Maria snaps at her, and the shock of being spoken to so harshly nearly stops Tatiana in her tracks.

She places a hand to Maria’s cheek, swipes it over, and the blood is gone. Tatiana swallows as Nuibaba says, “I like my sacrifices clean. Forgive me for being so harsh before.”

The pressure on Tatiana is suddenly gone when Nuibaba takes Maria’s hand, and she’s all tangled up in her skirt and her scarf, still seeing double, but she tries to get up. “No, stop!”

Maria’s stride is stiff as she and the witch walk past, her face pale, and she looks down in horror when Tatiana grasps at her ankles. “Tatiana!”

“Let her take me,” Tatiana pleads. She’s scared stupid at the thought of having her soul sucked out, but more so at the thought of being left alone. “Please, Maria, she came here for me.”

Nuibaba scowls down at Tatiana and kicks out. Her heeled boot strikes Tatiana directly in the jaw, and she yelps in pain, but doesn’t release Maria. “Dumb girl! Let go.”

Maria crouches on the ground, holding a hand to the wound. “Tatiana! Let me see that.”

Her gentle hand just barely strokes the bruising area, and then she shrieks as Nuibaba leans down and grabs her beneath the arms. Tatiana grabs at her again, holding out to drag her fingers across her forearms, her wrists, the tips of Maria’s fingers, as the witch pulls her away.

“Tatiana!” Maria is shrieking. “Tatiana!”

Tatiana is sobbing. She doesn’t know if Maria is screaming her name in fear, in anger, or with what other emotion. Her head is spinning, and she cannot believe that this is real. She keeps grabbing for her, pulling at the leg of her trousers, the sleeve of her shirt, trying to grip her hands and hold her ankles, but Nuibaba is surprisingly strong as she drags Maria away.

Let this be a nightmare, let this be nothing more than a nightmare.

“Don’t leave,” she begs. “Let her take me!”

Nuibaba kicks her hand away when it becomes inconvenient. “Insufferable little girls. Just be good!”

“Go home!” Maria screams. “Go home, Tatiana, stop!”

Her chest feels tight, like someone is sitting on her again, and she’s wheezing as she weeps and begs. “No, no, no!”

Nuibaba sweeps a hand through the wind, her black dress billowing, and the scenery splits in half. The wavering image of a grand room sits in the air, and Tatiana hears screams that chill her blood coming from the other side. Haltingly, the witch drags Maria towards it. It isn’t easy, not while she kicks and screams, and Nuibaba looks more inhuman than ever when she scowls so viciously.

“Don’t you dare come an inch closer,” Maria warns. “Don’t follow me, Tatiana, I’ll never forgive you! I’ll never forgive you if you throw your life away, Tatiana!”

Tatiana reaches out once more, just one more time, and the tips of her fingers barely touch Maria’s outstretched hand before the they walk through the portal, and the image pops out of sight.

The slope is painfully quiet now, as though nothing ever happened. The only sound is the snowstorm whipping through the air and Tatiana’s scarf and Maria’s coat flapping in the wind.

Tatiana cannot scream, and it is quiet.

Tatiana wakes up gasping, drenched in sweat, and with a dull throbbing in her aching body. She’s burning hot, covered in a couple of quilts, and she shoves them off before she’s even really fully awake. She doesn’t know where she is, or what’s happening, and practically almost falls out of the bed before a hand is rested on her.

“Easy there. Breathe a little. It’s just me.”

The hand is comforting and familiar, and Tatiana blinks, squints, and looks up as she’s eased back down on the bed. August pulls the thinnest quilt back over her and pats her soothingly, as though he’s tucking in a child who has had a bad dream.

Tatiana is in her house, in her bed, and not sobbing in the snow. She swallows, and her throat is dry. She turns her head to August, who settles down on a stool, and chokes out, “What happened?”

He reaches over to a basin, pulls a cloth out, and squeezes water from it. He shows it to her, and when she nods, puts it to her brow and starts wiping away the sweat. “You fell over a couple days ago with that fever that’s goin’ around. You’re a lot better now, though.”

“A fever,” she breathes. “I see. I was caring for the patients, and I got really tired. I guess I just couldn’t handle it.”

“General Ezekiel says you weren’t eating or sleeping that well. You should’ve known better than to care for contagious patients in that condition,” he tells her, but his voice is not scolding; it only carries pure worry.

“Zeke,” she mumbles, and she wakes up fully. She sits up in the bed and August pulls away from her. “I didn’t bother him, did I? D-did he even come home? Is he-?”

In reply, August leans back on the stool, calling out, “She’s up, sir,” before leaning back to her. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she murmurs as she lets her eyes drift shut. “Hot. I had a bad dream, and it made me all sweaty.”

“Hm.” August sets the cloth back into the basin, and she hears footsteps rushing down the hall before he says, “I told him about Maria.”

Tatiana’s eyes fly open. “What?!”

“Don’t blame me. I got drunk.” He says that, but she can tell that he hadn’t, and it’s a lame excuse.

“That’s not your place,” she snaps, but some part of her is a little grateful.

Most of her is scared.

Zeke comes to the doorway, appearing bedraggled and frantic. Tatiana sits up in the bed and tries to smile, but it feels fake and heavy on her lips. “I’m sorry,” is all she gets out before he just about tackles her, burying his face into her shoulder.

“Don’t scare me like that again, I beg of you!” He buries a hand in her hair and pulls her tighter.

“Okay, time to go.” August stands from the stool and makes for the door. “I’ll let myself out.”

Zeke pulls away from her. “Thank you, August. I’ll make this up to you.”

“No need.”

Tatiana stares after him while he leaves, and almost flinches under the heavy gaze that he offers before he departs.

Zeke fiddles with a strand of her hair, and she can definitely feel an anxious air about him. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Are you still hot?” he asks. “Do you want to bathe? I’ve already drawn some water.”

She can’t say no if he’s already gone to the trouble of drawing the bath, so she lets him move her off the bed and help her to the washroom. Tatiana is nervous, because he clearly knows now, every little awful thing about her, and wonders if she even wants to be near him now. Regardless, she’s thankful for the way he allows her to lean on him down the hallway. He even helps her get undressed when her limbs feel too weak, and he sits on a nearby stool as she sinks into the water.

“It feels nice,” she says quietly, and she pulls a handful of water up over her shoulder. The bath is warm, just enough to help her sweat out the fever, and Tatiana has no doubt that it was August who directed him to heat the water in such a way. Her love is amazing at plenty of things, but in-depth caretaking, for himself or anyone else, is not really one of them.

“Good,” is all he says, and Tatiana can’t bring herself to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and she ducks her lower face into the water as she looks at the opposite wall. “For snapping at you the other day. And keeping a secret.”

“I apologize for pressing the way I did,” he says in turn.

She lifts her face out of the bath. “No, no, you weren’t even being that nosy, and I just got so irritated. That bow-” Tatiana swallows. “I guess you know now.”

“It belonged to Maria.”

Her eyes burn as she leans against the back of the tub, holding her arms over her chest for modesty’s sake. “So he did tell you.”

Zeke hesitates, then admits, “Yes.”

Tatiana blinks, listens to the soft plip of water falling from the edge of the tub onto the tile, and then sighs. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Zeke stays quiet, and she can tell he’s fumbling with what he should say. When he finally talks, he only asks, “Whyever not?”

Her stomach turns and she swallows, staring at her distorted reflection in the water. “It’s my fault that Maria is dead. I killed her. I did a truly awful thing.”

“That’s untrue,” Zeke protests.

It feels like something inside of her snaps, something that she’s kept bundled up and tied up tightly for a really, really long time, and she stands suddenly in the tub. “Nuibaba wanted me !”

He’s quiet, not a word. He only stares at her, a little surprised. Her hair sticks to her body, clinging and tangling around her arms, and Tatiana grits her teeth and clenches her hands. “Maria was always protecting me, because I was so useless. So, when we were out together, and Nuibaba came for me… She offered herself instead.”

“Sit back down,” he coaxes her. “You’ll slip.”

Tatiana sniffles and eases back into the water, holding her legs to her chest and folding her arms over her them. She watches the water tumble over the tops of her knees and squeezes her legs. “Nuibaba came after me in particular, but she left with Maria. I don’t know if she was fed to a monster, or if she was witched, but she’s dead. And it should have been me.”

Zeke’s tone is warning and tight as he says, “Tatiana!”

“It should have been me.” She lets go of her legs and snaps her head over to him. “She had lots of desires, and the one I had died with her! She would’ve joined the army and opened up so many positions for women, and all I’ve ever done is hole myself up in this village and been a bother to everybody. I can’t even do my job right! I’m supposed to support everyone, but everyone supports me instead. Even when I came back without Maria, no one got angry. No one-”

“I’ve heard enough!” Zeke snaps, and Tatiana flinches back. His eyes immediately soften at her reaction, but he continues with the same angered tone. “What would have ever happened to me if you were dead?”

She swallows. “I-”

“Only you took the time to piece me back together. You healed my body and soul, Tatiana. Even if someone else had pulled me from the sea, who else would have come all the way to Rigel’s imperial castle to vouch for my innocence? Who, Tatiana?” There’s a sheen of tears in his eyes, and he looks away from her. “I’m so happy you lived. Even if it causes you pain, I’m so happy.”

“Oh, my love-”

“What a soulless witch does isn’t your fault,” he insists. “For the gods’ sakes, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t have taken you, and then just come back for Maria at another time.”

Another silence passes. Tatiana swallows back some tears and stares into the water again, absently watching her hair float along the surface.

“Maria… Would never let me out of her sight,” she whispers. “She would always take me out onto the moor, or into the forest, and I would watch her practice her archery. She’d go on about all of her dreams. Don’t you think it’s terrible that a person with such excellent desires died for someone without them?" She takes a deep sigh and bends her head onto her knees. “I repaid a decade of kindness with a horrible death. No matter what anyone says, I can’t forgive myself. When Nuibaba took her away, all I could do was cry.”

“You were young,” he defends.

“Not so young. It was only three years ago.” She collects her hair and pulls it over her shoulder, wringing some of the water out of her waves. The bath is starting to cool, and her feverish body feels good. “It wasn’t that long ago. I was old enough that I should have been able to protect myself. I shouldn’t have been so helpless.”

“Tatiana,” he says softly. “There’s no way you could have fought Nuibaba.”

“It’s so unfair.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she splashes water up over her face to mask them. “I don’t ever want someone to be in pain because of me again. I never, ever want anyone to die for me. I’m not worth it.”

“I love you, and I truly believe you are worth every drop of blood in my body,” Zeke says, and her face heats up. “And I’m sure that Maria felt the same. Otherwise, she would have let the witch have you, and would have been on her merry way.”

Her body burns and she ducks her head down, but urges her lover towards her with a wave of her hand. Concerned, he rises from the stool and crouches down next to the tub, and he offers no resistance as she leans out and melds her lips against his. His clothes get wet as he leans into her, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Tatiana pulls back, her face flushed from embarrassment rather than the fever, and sits quietly in the water once more. “I love you as well. You have made everything little bit of pain in my life worth it.” She hesitates for a moment, then asks, “Do you truly not hate me for what I did?”

“To say that you 'did' anything is unfair. You did nothing.” He frowns and pushes damp hair out of her face. “How could I ever hate you for something that was never your fault? You were never in the wrong. She willingly chose to go and protect you, darling. You didn’t force her. You never made her be a sacrifice in your place.”

Tatiana swallows, and for the first time in a while, when Zeke pulls her to his chest, soaking wet and all, she feels a little bit innocent.

Zeke stops Jerome in the hallway a few days later. After taking a deep breath, he offers him a proposal, written carefully and clearly, and organized and created with the greatest of cares. Jerome scoffs at it, but takes it and squints at it.

“What in hell’s name is this?” he asks.

Zeke sets a hand to his chest politely. He’ll grovel for this, if he must. “A proposal I intend to take to Emperor Rudolf. I wish to have him open up the archer class to women.”

Jerome looks away from the report to Zeke, and then bursts into laughter. He hands the proposal right back to him, not bothering to flip past so much as the first page, and is still in stitches as he walks away.

“Ezekiel, you are a riot!”

Zeke glowers after him, and figures he’ll just have to take it to the emperor himself, next he is summoned. He has to do this. He has to at least try, because he owes Maria a fantastic debt that he cannot repay.

It’s getting colder, but Tatiana still wraps herself up in a warm coat—Maria’s coat, which she has kept pristine over the years—and heads up to her grave. It is not behind the church, but in the forest, and it’s just a simple little thing. Her uncle could afford nothing more than an engraved piece of sturdy gray stone, yet it stands tall, proud.

It watches over a grave that contains no body.

Tatiana gives the typical flowers in offering and tells the stone, “He doesn’t hate me. Even though I did something really awful to you, he doesn’t hate me. I’m glad.”

The stone doesn’t respond, but it’s still comforting to her.

“I never told you about him, did I? The emperor named him Ezekiel. He’s got amnesia, and we don’t know where he’s from. I pulled him out of the ocean myself, and fixed him up. And he’s a knight! He’s strong, and handsome, and he’s very kind and gentle.” Tatiana stares at the grave. “It sounds kinda like a fairy tale romance, huh? Like the ones Liliya would read to us.”

Tatiana plucks at one of the crocuses she has laid down.

“Fairy tales shouldn’t happen to people like me,” she tells the empty grave. “And I know that one day, there’s a good chance he’s going to remember, and go home to whoever it was that he loved back there. I know there’s gotta be someone, and that they deserve him more than I do.

“Even if he doesn’t hate me because of this, it doesn’t make me a good person. A person like him, who walked out of a fairy tale, shouldn’t have to stay here, not with me.” Tatiana takes a deep sigh. “But, you know, I’m more thanhappy to give him a place where he can keep warm until he needs to go home.”

The sound of heels clicking on the floors echoes through the mansion, and where the mistress walks, her servants scutter to the sides. They’re all discolored, hunched over, with empty eyes and empty hearts. They are victims to the mistress, their souls after-dinner snacks to keep her youth, and now, they are nothing.

Nuibaba pays them no heed when she walks by them, but kicks at them and scowls when they don’t drift away from her path quickly enough. When she shows them pain, violence, abuse, they don’t flinch. They feel nothing. They are cold and empty, and she would not have them any other way.

The great doors that she throws open squeak, drowning out the sound of her boots. In this room, there are more witches, sitting around and staring at nothing. Some play mindless games of chess, where neither victim really has their own color, nor a strategy, and they both limply move whatever piece they want around the board. Others lie flat on their backs, their eyes shut, because sleep is the only human tendency they have left.

One stands at the grand window, staring out it at the Plains in the distance, and Nuibaba walks to her. She’s dressed in finer clothes than some of the others, because she is a particular favorite of Nuibaba’s. She’s strong and ruthless, and when her mistress sends her to fight, she screams like she is in agony, and rips everything in her path limb from limb. Her dark purple hair is almost the same color as the sky outside, and her eyes, once a brilliant yellow, are now black.

“Having a nice stargazing session?” Nuibaba asks, and the witch doesn’t respond. “It’s rude to not acknowledge your lady.”

No response, still. If the witch was still at all human, Nuibaba would say the look in her eyes was almost wistful.

“I’m making the decision to ally myself with that fool Jedah and his Faithful,” Nuibaba says. “And as a token of my ‘gratitude’ for him accepting me, he’s asked for my best witches for his forces. Something is brewing, apparently, and, you see, my hands are simply tied in this matter.”

The witch looks at her now, expressionless, lifeless.

“I’ll be sending you and some of your sisters north for an undetermined amount of time. You may not even come back at all, but not like it matters. I’ve got more of you than I know what to do with.” Nuibaba pats the young woman on the cheek, tracing her nails over the faint scars there from where she was gouged by her claws, years ago.

“A shame. I wanted to keep you here, so you could see Tatiana when she comes to eventually be with me.”

If Nuibaba didn’t know better, she would say that Maria’s eyes lit up at that name.

Chapter Text

FALL OF YEAR 401, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

“No more secrets.”

That is what Tatiana tells him.

“There’s nothing more you’re hiding from me?” Zeke presses. “I won’t hate you for anything, I swear it. Especially not over these things that were never your fault.”

Tatiana hums and props herself up next to him on the bed. “That’s all my dirty laundry. My parents, Maria. I mean, sure, I’ve got little secrets, like how I ate all those snacks you brought home for yourself, but those are basically my big things.”

“I see.” He pets her hair, stroking some messy parts of it flat. “I don’t hate you.”

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She hesitates at that, but Zeke doesn’t repeat himself and force her to say “okay.” It’s a step at a time, he figures, the path to healing and self-forgiveness, and it’s a path that Tatiana will probably have a hard time upon. All he can do is be there to remind her that she has not brought anyone’s ill-feelings upon herself, that he doesn’t think she’s useless and sinful, and that he loves her. That is all he can do. He cannot push her, cannot force her, cannot make her forgive herself in the matter of a night with a few kisses and affection.

He blinks as her words settle upon him, then frowns. “You were the one who ate all my snacks? You told me August did that when he came for a visit.”

She smiles coyly. “It’s easy to blame things on him, isn’t it?”

“Buy me more. And apologize to him.”

“Hey, you’re the breadwinner in this family. I’m flat broke, honey.”

“You’re terrible. Don’t eat things you can’t replace.”

She flops down on his chest with a laugh. Her fingers spread out over his bare skin, gentle, and he’s about to open his mouth and snap at her that she can’t get his forgiveness with some sweet touches when she says, “You don’t keep secrets from me, right?”

Zeke closes his mouth.

“I mean, if you did before, that would’ve been fine. Because I kept some pretty big things about myself from you.” She buries her face into his chest, and he can only see the mass of her soft hair. “But now I’ve been honest. So you have to be honest, too. That’s how it works, right?”

He could tell her now about the few things he remembers of his past, most importantly of the ex-lover he left behind, but Tatiana looks content now, and she is still recovering from her fever. She’s only just started to sleep again, and eat properly, and get her strength back. He worries over what telling her something like that could do to her emotional state, and so he holds the secret tightly to his chest.

What Tatiana doesn’t know won’t hurt her, at least not for now. He’ll work up the courage one day, he swears it. But, it won’t be now.

The Rigelian Plains are beautiful, in that moment of time after it has turned all the colors of the autumn, and before it has withered away. This is around the time that Tatiana pulled Zeke from the waves two years ago, and by the point he was able to get out of the infirmary, most of the foliage had been gone. All he had seen of Rigel at that time were dead trees and brittle grass, and he hadn’t been much impressed with it.

And then, the spring had come floating in, touching the earth and making it alive again. Rigel in the spring is lovely, all lush and green, and the Plains are filled with wildflowers and content animals. That had been the moment, Zeke believes, that he truly fell in love with Rigel, and had felt proud to be one of its protectors. The fact that Tatiana so adores her homeland is a factor in his adoration as well.

Zeke takes his soldiers out on patrol one morning, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t to get away from Jerome for a few hours. He’d been on a rant that morning, shouting in Zeke’s face about how it was wrong that some upstart like him had all the emperor’s favor, and honestly, he doesn’t know what brought it on. Jerome's breath had been sour, so he might have been drunk. That wouldn’t have surprised Zeke.

In any case, he’d saddled up Ephraim under the pretenses of going out on patrol, and somehow, a few of his own men had decided to follow. They’ve been riding through the Plains for a few hours now, riding around to a couple of villages and seeing if they can be of use, surveying the moors for unusual activity, the like. It’s a hell of a lot better than getting screamed at by a man he could crush under his boot in a minute.

They come to a hilltop while walking around, letting the horses rest for a few minutes, and Zeke stands and surveys the area below. Initially, it’s to check for any sign of mishaps or trouble, but when he sees none, he turns to gazing at the scenery in an almost relaxed way. It’s beautiful at the hilltop, and everything is all red and gold. The long grass that waves in the breeze is a little brittle, but a pretty orange color. The sky is a lovely shade of blue, decorated with a few puffy white clouds.

It’s a startlingly beautiful place.

“You’ve been standing there for a minute, sir,” one of his cavaliers says. “Is everything alright? Do you see any trouble?”

Zeke adjusts his riding gloves and keeps staring out. There is even a pond in the distance, and the whole scene looks like it’s been painted by a master. “Not a problem. Simply admiring.”

His men are quiet, and he gives them a long look over his shoulder. “Do you not think it’s important to appreciate the beauty of your motherland?”

They’re silent again, and someone hesitantly says, “Sir, this isn’t your motherland. No offense you you, of course, but-”

“This place is all I know.” Zeke settles his hands behind his back, and a breeze whisks his hair into his face. “I protect the people here. I’ve made a home here. As far as I am concerned, this is my motherland.”

“Well said as always, sir,” someone says. “And, while we’d like to stay and watch the scenery as well, we might want to get going. General Jerome’s probably done with his fit, and he’ll be poised for another if we’re not back.”

The peace is broken, the mood swept away, and Zeke sighs and hangs his head. He glances back up and gazes at the field below, then turns and makes for Ephraim. An idea strikes him as he mounts his horse, and he asks one of his soldiers, “How do you think this place would be for a picnic?”

She gives him a glance. “Sir?”

“Before winter settles in, I thought doing something like that with Tatiana might be nice.” He kicks Ephraim into a trot, and she follows closely. “I’ll have to beg Jerome for a day of leave, but do you think that would be nice?”

“Sir, I think your girl would be over the moon even if you took her to a graveyard.”

A day later, in the morning, Zeke packs a basket with some bread, cheese, and fruit, and also stops by August’s shop to pick up a bottle of wine. It’s expensive, and he accuses August of trying to bleed him dry before he relents and decides to pay the proper amount for it. He tries the “it’s-for-Tatiana” excuse one last time, gets only a raised eyebrow, and mumbles and grumbles as he goes through his money.

Tatiana is still asleep by the time he gets home, and he cannot blame her. There had apparently been a very sick child in the church last night, and she had spent all her time on him, up until the earliest hours of the morning. She’d come back home without a bit of spring in her step, slipped into bed, and been out like a light. Even when he’d gotten out of bed in the morning, she hadn’t reacted at all, except to grumble when he’d tried to kiss her forehead.

Zeke crouches down next to the bed and pokes at her nose. “Tanechka.”

Tatiana mumbles and turns away from him. “I’m dead. Go away. Come back tomorrow.”

He smiles and rubs her arm. “Sleep for a while longer, then get up. I don’t work today. I planned something nice.”

That seems to rouse her, and she looks over her shoulder at him. “Something nice?”

“Something nice,” he repeats.

Tatiana blinks, obviously still sleepy, then holds out her arms to him. “Lie down with me. I’m tired.”

Zeke figures that he’s already got the picnic spot picked out, the food all packed, so he takes off his coat and boots and climbs back into the bed with her. She doesn’t insist that he rest his head, so he spends the time that she sleeps tracing his fingers over the bare skin that she exposes. It’s a peaceful morning, the sky outside is bright, and he’s sure that nothing could ruin a day that starts as lovely as this one.

She rouses again an hour later, looking a little more well-rested. Zeke leans down and gives her a peck on the cheek, and pulls her out of the bed when she once more lifts her arms up to him. She’s limp in his grip, like a hapless kitten, and he quirks his head at her.

“You can get out of bed on your own.”

“I’m still dead,” she mumbles. “Up all night with a child, wailing in pain. I didn’t like it.”

“That sounds bad,” he agrees. “Get something comfortable on. We’re going to be going out to the moors.”

Tatiana mumbles something while pulling a simple dress out of the wardrobe, and he turns politely while she slips into it. She slides on a pair of boots when he tells her they’ll be riding on Ephraim for an hour or so, and gives him a glare while they leave the bedroom.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“I was gonna sleep all morning,” she mumbles. “You’re interrupting my incredibly productive plans.”

Zeke picks the basket and a quilt up off the counter and holds the door open for her. “Well, I do think you’ll enjoy what I have planned. And tonight, we’ll go home, and you can have a nice, long sleep.”

“You’re not gonna keep me up?” she mutters.

“What a thing to say, darling.”

He helps her up onto Ephraim’s back before pulling a strip of cloth out of his pocket and holding it up to her. “Wear this.”

Tatiana frowns and takes it. “Come again?”

Zeke puts his foot in the stirrup and mounts the horse behind her. “Blindfold yourself. I want you to be surprised when we get there.”

“Is that really necessary?”

He nudges Ephraim into a walk. “I could always just go to work today. Who knows when my next day will be off?”

She sighs and secures the cloth around her eyes, tugs at it to show him that it’s tight and she can’t see a thing, and they leave the village.

It’s a surprisingly warm day for the time of year, and Zeke is glad. The sky is a little cloudy, the wind a bit blustery once they get out to the moors, but nothing terribly inconvenient. And if it gets too windy, it’s not like they have to stay out forever. Even an hour up there would be fine, just a little peace and quiet is all he wants. He feels like things have been hectic lately, without a moment’s rest, and a picnic on a hilltop is exactly what they need.

After a while of riding, when they are almost to the hilltop, Tatiana finally asks, “Where are we going?”

He holds the reins tighter and gives her a quick peck on the top of her head. “Somewhere I hope you’ll like.”

“You aren’t, like, blindfolding me and taking me somewhere to execute me because I burned dinner the other night?”

He laughs. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm. Suspicious.”

“We’re nearly there,” he assures. “It’s in sight now.”

The scenery is as lovely as it was yesterday. Red, gold, yellow, it’s all perfect and picturesque, and he hopes Tatiana likes it well enough that it makes up for getting her out of bed.

Tatiana asks, as soon as Ephraim stops at the top of the hill, “Are we here?”

Zeke dismounts, takes the basket and quilt from Tatiana, and lifts his arms up to her when he’s set them down. Carefully, she slides off the horse and into his grip, and he gently puts her on her feet. The knot of the blindfold is surprisingly tight, so he struggles with it for a moment before slipping it off of her.

She blinks against the sunlight for a moment, rubbing at an eye, then whispers, “Oh,” as she takes in the scenery. She stands still as he walks around to get a better view of her face, and he’s satisfied with the way her eyes sparkle.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” He grabs Ephraim’s reins and pulls him over to one of the trees.

“Very,” she agrees. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”

“This is rather far away from the village,” he reminds.

“I used to go out with Maria,” Tatiana explains. “A lot. But I’ve stayed in the village for the most part since then.”

Zeke spreads out the blanket underneath a tree. “Well, winter is coming soon. This will probably be the last time we can comfortably have an outing outside. Come the spring, however, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

Tatiana smiles. She bends over and combs her fingers through his hair while he’s crouched on the ground, smoothing down the quilt. “I’m fine at home.”

“Whenever you change your mind,” is all he says. “You can have a seat now. I didn’t pack much food, but it should be enough for a snack.”

She takes one more look at the view from the very edge of the hilltop, and then takes a seat. When Zeke sits down behind her, she flops right back against him with a content hum.

“Are you just going to nap up here?” he asks.

“It’s an ideal place for a nap,” she replies. “Did you bring me up here with the intention to do anything else?”

Zeke settles a hand on her thigh and rubs it. He tilts his head back and stares at the sky through the trees. “No. Rest as you will.”

She shuts her eyes, but does take interest when he starts pulling food out of the basket. He cuts the fruits with a knife, and she quietly eats every slice he hands her while looking out at the plains. He pulls the wine out after a while, once the fruit is gone and they only have the bread and cheese left, and pours a couple of glasses for them.

“Fancy,” she comments.

“August is trying to bleed me dry,” he says back. “Cursed man.”

Tatiana laughs, a lovely sound, and takes a drink. “By the way, how did you get today off?”

“All but begged,” he mumbles. “Jerome’s had a tighter grip on me than normal. He doesn’t seem to want me to have a moment of rest.”

Her happy expression falters. “Is it because of how you left really suddenly when I caught that fever?

In truth, that is probably exactly it. When Zeke had returned days later, once Tatiana’s fever was low enough for her to care for herself, Jerome had nearly been beside himself with rage. How dreadful for him, having to do his job without a subordinate to pass it off onto! He must have asked Zeke at least five times, “Do you know how badly you inconvenienced me? I had to do desk work, while you got to stay at home with that woman!”

It’d taken all the self-control in Zeke’s being to not punch him in the mouth.

“It’s not your fault,” he assures as he pulls a lock of hair over her shoulder.

They spend a while up there, finishing off what is in the basket, and tasting the wine on each other’s lips. Tatiana tastes sweet from the fruit, and her hair under his touch is delightfully soft. She gets him on his back and lies atop him, her hands cupping his face, and Zeke can’t imagine any better use of his time than this. Even if Jerome wants to have him work twice as hard tomorrow to make up for today, that’s fine.

Another few minutes pass, where they are practically melded together, and then Tatiana pulls away. Her lips are red and swollen, and her hair is disheveled and in her face. A little numb, he reaches for her, tries to pull her back into another kiss, but she leans back.

“You can wait until tonight,” she scolds.

Zeke takes a sigh and wraps his arms around her when she lies down next to him. “Very well.”

The basket is empty, the rest of the wine is being saved for a later occasion, and there is not much left to do. They’ve probably been up there for an hour or so, but he doesn’t want to go yet. He pushes Tatiana’s hair out of her face, brushes his fingers against her skin, and decides to ask her a question that has been pushing at his mind lately:

“How did you find me?”

She shifts against his chest, then looks up at him. “You mean all that time ago? You're asking now?”

“Yes. I realized that you’ve never told the story in full. If you don’t mind, I thought hearing it might be a good way to pass the time.”

Tatiana shuts her eyes again and snuggles against him. Her fingers lazily trace over his chest, occasionally brushing beneath the loose fabric of his shirt. “It’s not a very long or very exciting story. I just went out for a walk. I literally just… found you.”

He’s quiet while he waits for her to go on.

She sighs. “It was early in the morning, and the weather was nice, so I decided to go out before I had to start my chores. And I always go down to the beach, when it’s not too cold. And you were just… there. It was like someone had just put you there for me to find.”

Tatiana presses herself tighter against him, lowering her gaze to her fingers on his chest. Her next words are quiet, solemn, like she doesn’t want to say them:

“And you were dying.”

“Yes,” he whispers. “And you saved me.”

“I was so scared, at first. I didn’t know if it was some sort of trap, and if I went over to you, some pirate was going to jump out and grab me or something! But, you just looked so helpless there that I didn’t care if you were bait. And I thought you were dead until you started groaning.” She scratches her nails along his chest in a light massage. “You know, I carried you on my back.”

He snaps his gaze from the sky down to her. “You what?”

A laugh leaves her. “You know, it’s like how when people get a lot of adrenaline, they get a lot of strength. All I managed to do was get you off the beach, though. But after that, August came and helped, and then a lot more people did. You nearly crushed me, and I was soaked in blood by the time it was done.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Zeke tells her.

“I know, but I did. I was so panicked, I wasn’t thinking straight at all. I had to get you off the sand, so it didn’t get in your wounds. And it was so early in the morning that it wasn’t like I could call for help, exactly. There weren’t a lot of people in the streets.

“When we got you back to the church, you were just bleeding everywhere.” She taps a gaping scar near his chest. “You’d been gouged terribly right here. A lesser man would’ve died long before. By all accounts of logic, you should’ve been dead by the time I found you. Everyone else thought so, too. They said you were going to die within minutes, and no one wanted to spend any time or energy on even trying.

“I didn’t want to listen to that. I kicked everyone out of the infirmary, and stitched you up myself. I’d never tended to someone so grotesquely wounded before, though, and it wasn’t easy. There were times when I thought I’d lost you, before you’d start breathing again.”

“A wound that terrible,” Zeke says. “How on earth did you get it to close up?”

“After barely stitching the wound together, I had to use a Restore spell on you constantly. It took me hours. I’d never been so exhausted in my life,” she exclaims. “But, eventually, the bleeding stopped. I bandaged you up, grabbed a stool, and just waited. The rest is history.”

Zeke lifts a hand and rests it on her head. The wind has mussed her hair, and he combs his fingers through to pull out the tangles. “And that was it?”

“Simple as that,” she murmurs. “You were out cold for a week. I spent all my time taking care of you. I probably could’ve afforded to take care of myself more, but I was so worried you were going to suddenly decline again. I also sent people every single day to other villages or towns to see if anyone was missing a family member. But, nothing. You were a complete stranger.”

“I see.” He strokes her head, takes a deep sigh, and prepares to try and drift off to sleep.

“You said a name when you were lying there, on the beach,” Tatiana then says softly. “I mean, I think it was a name. And the way you said it… Whoever they were, they must’ve been important to you.”

His eyes fly open, and he stares at her. “A name?”

“Yeah, but, I- I don’t think I remember it well,” she tells him.

“Can you try?” he implores. “Please, anything, my sweet.”

Tatiana frowns and shuts her eyes, and it takes a good few minutes before she says, “I’m sorry. I really can’t remember. I-I was so panicked at the time, all I remember was you.”

A little flare of disappointment builds in him, and he sighs.

Tatiana strokes his head and presses a kiss to his bangs, and he pushes it out of his mind. It didn’t matter before, it doesn’t matter now. He’s happy like this, even without knowing whose name it was that he whispered. He knows that here, he is happy and content. Here, there is nothing to harm him. There is only happiness, and love, and safety in the arms of Tatiana.

The breeze around them is comforting and cool, and they both fall asleep.

There is absolutely nothing that can ruin this peace.

When Zeke wakes up, he assumes it’s probably been a few hours, because the sky is a little more dim. The growing clouds on the horizon could have something to do with that, as well. Behind them, Ephraim has knelt down on the grass, and is seemingly also having a good, long sleep himself. On Zeke’s chest, Tatiana is still asleep, her body rising and falling softly as she breathes.

They could stay like this for a while longer, soaking up the peaceful afternoon, but the air is starting to turn a little chill. Zeke gently takes Tatiana’s shoulder and shakes it. She curls up against him more in response, shaking her head against his chest.

“It’s time to go, Tanechka,” he says. “It’s going to get cold soon.”

After a long silence, she gives a heaving sigh and pulls herself up and off of him. Her bangs are mussed and flattened, and Zeke reaches out to fix them before affectionately stroking her cheek. She smiles and scrunches her nose as he moves to kiss her on the tip of it, and leans in to wrap her arms around him. A content hum leaves her, and he relents to pet her hair for a moment longer.

A cold air rustles past, and Tatiana shivers against him. “Cold,” she mumbles.

“Didn’t I say?”

“Mmmm.” She takes a deep breath, then pulls back and stands, taking the basket up with her. “Okay, okay, let’s go.”

Another rush old cold wind blows by them, yanking her hair into her face, and Zeke brushes the strands away. He picks up the blanket and slings it over his arm, and when he whistles, Ephraim stirs in his spot. Another whistle, a call of his name, and the horse is on his feet and making his way over. It’s a little annoying that he goes to Tatiana instead of Zeke, but there’s really nothing to be done about it. The damn horse has always preferred her.

He lifts Tatiana by the waist and helps her onto Ephraim’s back. “Are you alright up there?”

“Just fine.”

He places his own feet in the stirrups and throws his leg over his mount, settling just behind Tatiana. He takes the blanket and throws it over her, hugging her from behind to wrap it around, and she leans back against him. She hums, a slightly sleepy sound, and settles her hands atop his as he places them on the reins. Zeke leans down and presses his lips against her forehead.

“Thank you,” he says.

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at him through her thick lashes. “Whatever for? I didn’t do anything today.”

“You’ve saved me. I live because of you. I live for you.” Her head tilts back slightly, and he gently kisses her eyelids. “I love you very much, Tatiana. I hope you understand that.”

She smiles and rests her head against his chest. A soft, “I love you as well,” leaves her, and it feels as though someone has put an immense deal of pressure on his heart. The wind is starting to push harder, turning colder, and Zeke urges Ephraim forward, back towards the village. She is quiet for most of the ride back home, and he only knows she is awake because she laughs with delight whenever he leans down to press a kiss against her shoulder.

The silence is pleasant and comforting at first, but it soon starts to fill Zeke with unease. The wind has turned extremely cold, and a dark storm cloud has started to roll across the sky, shrouding the moor in darkness. It’s a particularly heavy cloud, thick with rain, and maybe even some thunder and lightning. Zeke tightens his grip on his reins and leans into Tatiana, resting against her and breathing in the scent of her hair for some reassurance.

The cloud feels as though it’s carrying a bad omen.

Tatiana shifts suddenly as they get to the stone path leading into the village, and she sits stiff against him. The wind has started to fade, now that they’re covered by the stone walls and the trees, and he wonders if she’s still cold.

“Tanechka?” he asks.

Her hand comes over her shoulder to grip the blanket, and she stares ahead intently. “Something is wrong.”

His heart lunges and he urges Ephriam a little faster. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Ill?”

“I’m fine,” she assures. Her voice is solemn, and when she peers over her shoulder at him, she appears a little pale. “But something is wrong.”

Her words are cryptid, but he doesn’t ask any further. He doesn’t think she quite understands it herself, based on her troubled expression, the sudden tightness in her shoulders. He keeps his guard up, glancing left, right, behind, and wishing he had his lance or sword with him. If there’s danger out there, he’s not quite concerned for himself, but more for Tatiana.

They reach the village, the church coming into sight, but nothing seems overly amiss. Most people are in their homes, undoubtedly to avoid the storm rolling in, and Zeke’s shoulders relax, just a little. Ephraim doesn’t seem overly agitated either, though he shakes his mane a little and huffs as he plods through the street.

Tatiana still doesn’t say anything, and he watches her with concern.

“Sweetness, are you-?” He looks up from the back of her head as they approach the house, and he narrows his eyes at the sight there.

August is standing by the door, chatting with with one of Zeke’s soldiers, of all people. The waves in the background are agitated, crashing against the shore aggressively, and the way that the soldier and August look at them as they approach doesn’t fill Zeke with an impressively good feeling.

“Zeke?” Tatiana looks down at him, concerned, as he dismounts suddenly. “Why is one of your soldiers here? And August?”

He shakes his head and holds his arms up to her, gripping her tight as she gets off Ephraim. “Here we go, love. Easy on your feet.”

August approaches, walking straight past Zeke, and grabs Tatiana’s hand. Thunder rolls in the distance. “Tatiana, let’s go inside.”

Tatiana doesn’t fight as August takes her hand, but looks between Zeke and the soldier with confusion. “What’s wrong? Is Zeke in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” the man says. His grip on his lance tightens, and he takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry if it seemed that way. The general is in no trouble.”

“Why have you come to my home?” He settles his hands behind his back and throws back his shoulders. No more relaxation; it’s time to be poised and commanding once more. “I recall asking to be left alone today, to spend time with my lover.”

“My apologies, General Ezekiel.” The soldier glances over his shoulder, as though afraid.

August pulls on Tatiana a little harder. “Tatiana, come on, let’s go. I’ll make something hot to drink.”

She swipes her hand out of his. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

He ruffles his hair. “I’m sorry. I just- I just didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” Zeke presses. He glances from the soldier to August. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I heard the news when I was at the market in the town over today,” August mumbles. “Met this fellow on my way over to talk to you.”

“I have a message,” the soldier says, and he clears his throat:

“Chancellor Desaix of Zofia has committed regicide and murdered King Lima IV. He’s taken his country into his own hands.”

Lightning cracks above them.

Zeke’s blood chills. “King Lima is dead?”

The soldier shuts his eyes. “Yes. Many of the Knights of Zofia have formed a resistance and are attempting to overthrow Chancellor Desaix now. Desaix has allied himself with Emperor Rudolf, and His Excellency has declared war on the so-called Deliverance.”

Silence sweeps over them. The roll of thunder in the sky and crash of waves on the beach are overwhelming, and Zeke doesn’t know what to do, what to say. All he can think to do is look over at Tatiana, who is paler than before and holding a hand to her mouth.

“War?” The word is thick in his mouth, unpleasant. “Against the Zofian knights?”

“Yes. Emperor Rudolf is riding to our base tomorrow morning. General Jerome requests that you be there alongside him to receive the emperor’s orders, sir.” The soldier looks up to the sky, then sighs. “You’d best just come back with me. Despite the weather, I’ve no doubt His Excellency will be with us at the crack of dawn.”

He feels a little numb. He grips Ephraim’s reins, hard, and attempts to compose his mind. “Yes, very well. Give me a moment to prepare, and we’ll set out.”

“Sir.” The soldier walks off in the direction of the stables.

August rests a hand on Tatiana’s shoulder, but she doesn’t react. “You let me know if you need somethin’, alright?”

He also leaves, the drying grass crunching under his boots, and Zeke is startled as a sudden sob comes from Tatiana. He whirls around, his heart pounding in his ears, and is mortified at the sight of her burying her face in her hands, scrubbing at her eyes.

“Oh, sweet, no tears. Please, do not cry.” Zeke hurriedly ties Ephraim’s reins around a post, then rushes to collect Tatiana into his arms. Thunder booms again, drops of rain start to pour from the sky, and he pulls her towards the house. “No crying, my sweet.”

The door shuts behind them, and yet, she still refuses to pull her face from her hands. Putting on his uniform and grabbing his saber is important right now, but he can’t leave her in tears. He folds her against his chest and rubs her back, shushing her as the rain outside starts to pour.

“Why the tears?” he asks quietly. He strokes her hair, smoothing it against her head. “Are you afraid?”

She shakes her head against him. “Th-they’re going to send you to the frontlines. Please, don’t go!”

“Oh, darling, no. Tatiana.” He tries shushing her again, but she still cries. Her shoulders jump and shake under his arms, and he sighs. “They will not send someone like me out there. I'm certain that they will send a much more experienced, distinguished general to aid the Zofian chancellor. Someone- someone like Lord Berkut, I think.”

Tatiana wraps her arms around him, squeezing him with all her strength, as though she can keep him there with just an embrace alone. “Please, please, please.”

It doesn’t seem that she’s speaking to him anymore–perhaps she is praying. Her voice is certainly soft enough to be a prayer, and she doesn’t stop whispering under her breath:

“Please.”

“Tatiana, I am not going anywhere,” he says a little more firmly. “I have to go get dressed and go. Alright? I'm sorry to ask , but can you help me collect my things?”

Tatiana slides her arms from around him to rest her hands on his chest. She doesn’t meet his eyes, but nods and heads towards the kitchen without another sound. The rain is pouring outside, and Zeke sighs, moving to the bedroom to find his clothes.

He comes back out a moment later, finishing tying his cravat and adjusting his collar, and Tatiana is waiting by the door with a traveling bag and his greatcoat. She fidgets, shifting her feet around, and stares at the floor with anxiety pouring off of her in waves.

He takes the coat from her with a hushed thanks, slipping it on. It feels heavier against his shoulders than usual, and he gives another deep sigh as he buttons it up and ties the clasps. Tatiana reaches up hesitantly, smoothing out the creases in the fabric that she finds, but she still doesn’t look up at him. The red of her cheeks and sparkling in her eyes tells him that she had not really stopped crying.

“They are not sending me to the frontlines.” Zeke pushes his fingers against her chin, tilting her head up towards him with great care. “Alright?”

She nods, and then offers him the traveling pack a little nervously. She hides behind it, almost like it’s a shield, and then wrings her hands together when he takes it. “It’ll probably take a little longer to get there, because of the rain. I put some food and water inside for you.”

“Thank you, my sweet.”

“Dry your coat off as soon as you get to the base. Don’t keep wearing it; you'll only catch a cold.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And eat well. I would've packed you a proper a meal, but there wasn’t any time, and I-”

Zeke tilts her chin up once more and leans in to press a kiss against her lips. It has the intended effect of quieting her ramble, but she digs her fingers into his shoulder in a deathgrip, desperately keeping the kiss intact for a little longer. He doesn’t want to pull away, but his soldier is outside waiting for him in the cold. He sighs into her mouth, gently brushes his fingers over her cheek, and then pulls back. He can’t bear to look at her teary face as he shoulders the pack and opens the door. The rain starts blowing in, and he shuts it slightly as he turns to her again.

“I’ll be back,” he assures. “If not tomorrow night, I’ll send a messenger to say when. Very well?”

Tatiana’s nod is slight.

“Very well?” he asks again, firmer.

She nods vigorously this time, clenching her skirts in her hands. “Okay. You’re going to come back.”

“Just so. I just have to go receive the emperor’s orders, and then I will be back. There is no need to fear now, treasure.”

“Okay.” Tatiana smooths her hair behind her ears and then messes with the hem of her shirt. “Okay.”

He frowns, because he honestly doesn’t really know if it is going to be okay, and leaves.

Chapter Text

When Zeke gets to the base, he’s soaked to the bone and bedraggled, and he feels bad about it. A sullen, messy general is not what his soldiers should have to see, but it it what they must receive. He should be a beacon of hope and dignity, and instead he’s rather certain that his bedraggled, drowned appearance reflects how everyone feels: Awful.

The men are quiet when he comes in from the stables, all standing about aimlessly, and Zeke cannot find it within himself to berate them. He doesn’t feel any better, not when he thinks about the pain, the suffering, the death that will inevitably come to hurt them all. It doesn’t matter if they can squash the Zofian rebellion quickly; war is war, and war takes relentlessly.

Zeke’s escort gestures down the hall. “Sir, why not go bathe and dry off? You can head to your quarters then. We’ll wake you when the Emperor arrives, very well?”

He runs a hand through his sopping hair and regards the soldiers. “Do you not think I should speak to them?”

As he lowers his arm, his escort frowns. “Permit me to be honest, General Ezekiel?”

“Permission granted.”

“No one has it in them for a rousing speech. I don’t believe you do, either. I saw your lover start crying. It- Well, I know you love her very much. We all know that. It must have been hard for you.” He puts his arms behind his back and looks to the ground politely. “Go rest. I’ll wake you later.”

Zeke takes a few steps to the hallway, uselessly trying to mop up the water dripping from his face with an equally-soaked handkerchief, and looks back. “A question.”

“Sir.”

“Do you believe-” He swallows and looks away. “The chances of my being sent to the frontlines. Where do you believe they rest?”

The man is quiet, then says, “If it were me, General, well… You fight like a beast. I’ve never seen anything like it. And so, if it were me making the call, I would send you to put an end to the Zofian knights as quickly as possible.”

Zeke pockets the sopping handkerchief, sets his jaw, and excuses himself.

August comes back to the house not even an hour after Zeke leaves. Tatiana imagines he’s probably exasperated by the sight of her, because she’s certainly disgusted with her current situation: Sobbing her eyes out into her hands while she’s curled up on the couch. The house is freezing because of the storm, and she even doesn’t have a fire lit. She had just- just stumbled, so uselessly, to the couch, collapsed upon it, and burst into tears she hasn't been able to stop.

August takes a deep sigh and shuts the door behind him. He leaves his umbrella by the entrance and goes over to the fireplace to start it; the sound of his boots clicking on her floor echoes over the rolling thunder outside. A few logs, some kindling, and the snap of a match over the hearth’s surface is all it takes to get a flame roaring. It lights up the room, blazing strong and warm, and Tatiana pulls her face out of her hands to sniffle.

“What’re you cryin’ for?” August asks. “You ain’t doin’ any good like this.”

The question is ridiculous, and Tatiana turns ferocious in a second. “What else am I supposed to do? There’s a damn war! We’re on the border, right outside the sluice gate!”

August flinches, and she notes that he looks a little pale, but she doesn’t stop.

“A war, August, and what do they do in war?” She’s shaking, infuriated beyond belief, and slowly moves off the couch. “They send soldiers—generals—to die and to rot on battlefields, and then they bring their wives and lovers some scrappy memento, like that makes up for it. They're- They're just going to bring me back his pocket watch, you know, like that's all I'll need to feel better!”

There’s a long, long silence when Tatiana is done shouting, and then she bursts into tears right again. She despises herself for it.

“Don’t cry,” August pleads. He sits down on the couch, and she flops back down next to him. He strokes her hair softly when she puts her head in his lap. “It’ll be fine. Rumor has it that the resistance force in Zofia’s not big. It’ll be over with fast, and the general will be just fine.”

“It might not be big, but you know that the Knights of Zofia are strong! They aren’t an order to be messed around with.”

August frowns. “You’re actin’ like they’ll be sending Ezekiel out there to fight them all by himself!”

“I’m scared,” Tatiana protests. “I- I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know! Even if they don’t send him to Zofia, what if the Zofians invade? What happens to him then?”

August is quiet while he strokes her hair, and then he replies, “I’d be more worried about what happens to us in that case.”

Zeke is surprised at his ability to fall immediately asleep. He had expected to lie awake in bed for hours until someone came and got him. He had expected to lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering with a sinking feeling in his gut about what he will do if Rudolf decides to send him out to the frontlines. He’s not worried for himself, of course, because he’s confident in his abilities.

He’s worried about Tatiana. Gentle, sweet Tatiana, who relies on him to care for her now. Soft, kind Tatiana, who had broken down in tears at the just the mere thought of him being sent to war.

But instead of staying awake and worrying, he takes a bath, dries off, puts on trousers and a shirt, and collapses against the bed. He falls asleep instantly, and the sleep is long and without interruption. It’s peaceful, almost, if only because the base is painfully quiet.

So, Zeke sleeps and wakes up at dawn to the sound of birds chirping and someone knocking on his door. He sits up, wincing at the sunlight, and mumbles, “Yes?” as he races a hand through his hair.

He forgets, in this early morning haze, that there is a war until someone says, “Sir, the emperor is here to give his orders. He would have an audience with you in ten minutes.”

It sinks in. He remembers Tatiana sobbing. Zeke groans and flops back down on the bed, rubbing his face, and calls back, “Thank you. Dismissed.”

He gets up, stretches, and takes his clothing off. The room is chilly without a fire lit, but Zeke ignores it well enough and goes to see if his greatcoat has dried in the night. He’s disappointed to find it still a little damp, and decides that rather than possibly catching a chill in still-wet clothing, he’ll just wear something nice. Some trousers and a waistcoat should do the trick. Rudolf has never been picky about formalities.

He walks over to and looks out the window of his quarters as he ties his cravat. The world outside is damp, dripping with leftover rain, but the sun is out and shining bright. Birds are flitting about, pecking at the ground to pull displaced worms from the mud. The grass is glistening with dew. It looks peaceful out there, but it really isn’t. It’s only a facade.

Zeke takes a heaving sigh, adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, and makes his way into the hallway. People there are as glum as they were yesterday, their eyes fixed on the ground while they shamble about. They straighten up and bow to him when he walks past, but soon go back to their sulking and sorrow. He can't blame them.

“The emperor is waiting for you in the sitting room,” someone says when he passes. “He’s already spoken with General Jerome and a couple others. You will be attending a private audience.”

Zeke frowns. “I see. Thank you.”

He can’t imagine the reason as to why he and Jerome would not be briefed together, but he’s not complaining. Any time he gets to skip out on that pig’s company is more than welcome.

He opens the door to the sitting room after knocking and receiving permission, and it is empty, save for Rudolf. He is sitting in one of the plush chairs by the fire, and the table next to him is filled with all manner of delectable-looking foods. Zeke knows for a fact that none of the cooks in the base can make things that smell that good, and figures that the emperor has brought a private chef with him. The food makes him remember that Tatiana had packed some for him, and that he had forgotten about it.

He doesn’t have time to think about the guilt, because Rudolf says, “Ah, Ezekiel. Come here, friend. Take a seat, help yourself to some breakfast.”

He puts a hand to his chest and bows, offers a brief, “My emperor,” and then crosses the room to the fireplace. He struggles to not sink impolitely into the cushions of the chair adjacent of Rudolf, and eyes the food with growing interest: Sausage, scones and clotted cream, seasoned eggs and fried ham on flatbread, and much more. It’s a small feast, and Zeke recalls that he has not eaten since the light meal at his outing yesterday.

“I said help yourself,” Rudolf gently reminds. “It’s still hot. Have what you please, son. I don’t mind.”

Zeke takes a plate and tries to not look greedy as he piles food on. He normally would not take so much from the emperor’s table, for fear of seeming impertinent or gluttonous, but he can’t help it; he has a voracious appetite, a fast metabolism, and hasn’t had a real meal in a day. If the food is for the taking, he’ll have it.

He spreads cream on a scone, bowing his head politely as he asks, “May I ask why this audience is private, my emperor?”

Rudolf leans back in his chair, resting his interlocked hands on his stomach. “Mmm. I like alone time with you. You remind me of the son I never had.”

Zeke pauses as he is about to take a bite, and lowers his head once more. “An honor, sire.”

Rudolf shuts his eyes while Zeke starts eating. “Well, I suppose I did actually did have a son, once.”

“Sire? You ‘did’ have a son?”

“Yes. ‘Did.’ Past tense.” His eyes open, and he stares into the fire with a sullen, brooding expression. “And I was married once, for a brief time. I was elated when told I was to be a father, but alas. My wife died during childbirth, and the boy was born dead. It was a day of great sorrow.”

The story tugs on Zeke’s heartstrings, when he thinks of what would happen if he were in the same situation. “Emperor Rudolf, I’m so-”

“It was seventeen years ago, no need for apologies. I’ve made my peace.” Rudolf takes a deep sigh and glances over at Zeke with amusement. “Perhaps that’s why I like seeing you and that nice girl. The way you interact reminds me that love is still very much alive. Tell me, are you two planning on children any time soon?”

Zeke nearly chokes on his coffee, struggles to get his breath back, and lowers the mug back to the saucer. He pulls a napkin from the table and presses his mouth to it, trying to hide his burning face, and shakes his head. “Not in the foreseeable future, sire. But, perhaps at some point… I most certainly don’t mind if Tatiana is open to the idea.”

Rudolf laughs. “You fluster so easily on the topic, Ezekiel. I was only curious. I would have loved to meet your little ones.”

Zeke lowers the saucer and mug to the table, furrowing his brow. “Sire, you aren’t that old. I am certain that you will be alive to meet them, should you wish.”

“Hm?” Rudolf narrows his eyes at him, and then laughs once more, perhaps forcedly this time. “Oh, oh yes, that’s right. Yes, I should be alive for a good while yet. I’d also like to meet Berkut’s as well, I suppose. It’s always a pleasure seeing strong, healthy children.”

There is something suspicious in the way Rudolf speaks, and for a brief moment, as he stares at the emperor, Zeke wonders if he plans on dying soon.

No, he thinks. That’s ridiculous.

“So what is the meaning of this war?” Zeke sets a hand politely to his chest as he speaks. “Forgive me for being forward, but what stakes do we have in it? So the Zofian chancellor slays the Zofian king; what’s that got to do with Rigel?”

Rudolf’s content air vanishes suddenly, and he turns to look at Zeke. “Lima was a grand fool and a disgusting man. As a foreigner, I’m sure you’re unaware of all of his atrocities. He was a serial rapist who plucked up whatever young lady caught his fancy—his last concubine was an abducted cleric from the Temple of Mila, whom he stole in the night.”

Zeke grimaces. “Good gods.”

“He drowned himself in wine and pleasure, and cared little for politics. He had no love for Zofia nor Rigel alike. Now, I have always tried to extend courtesy to our sister nation, but Lima? Lima was a rat who would not lift a finger if we did not get on our knees and lick his boots.” Rudolf curls a lip in disgust. “About twenty-two years ago, Rigel suffered a famine of historical proportion. We pleaded with Lima for his country’s excess crops, because the Zofians always have more than needed. If we offered something in turn, why would he refuse?”

“Reasonable,” Zeke says when Rudolf pauses. He finishes the last sausage on his plate, and helps himself to another scone.

“Lima said he would be glad to help, simply delighted, and, as expected, asked for something. Well, I said, ‘What is it you wish for?,’ and do you know what that bastard told me?”

Zeke waits, certain that he isn’t going to like the answer.

Rudolf folds his hands together and leans back in his chair, glaring into the fire with a grimace. “Lima wanted a young maiden he had met on a diplomatic trip at the border. A girl from one of Rigel’s most prestigious houses. A beauty she was, and so sweet. I refused at first, hoping that Lima would ask for something else—something that wasn't a person—but he refused to budge. And as the famine dragged on, the girl agreed to go to Zofia.”

Zeke takes another drink of his coffee and, really, he doesn’t know what to say.

“The king was twenty-seven at the time. And her? She was sixteen, Ezekiel. Sixteen. Marriageable age in our country, but let us be honest, son... She was still a girl.”

He loses his appetite in the matter of a second and, slowly, puts his plate down. Rudolf does not look like he blames him.

“The girl… Her name was Rosa, if I remember right. Brave lass. She packed her things, squared her shoulders, and went straight down to Zofia, all for the promise of food to keep her countrymen from starving.

“And we waited, Ezekiel. But no food arrived. Eleven months after she arrived in Lima’s castle, we received word that she had bore the dog a son. And yet, no food. Our people were starving, crying out for the help that Lima had promised, and he did naught but rape an innocent Rigelian girl and force her to give him an heir!” Rudolf slams a fist on the table, sending the plates of food and silverware clattering about, and Zeke flinches.

Zeke suddenly feels a burning hatred for Lima as well.

“I’d go spit on that mutt’s grave if given the chance,” Rudolf growls. “Rosa perished from some ‘illness,’ Lima said, about nine years after she was given away. And yet, when we got her corpse, our clerics found traces of poison in her. There’s nothing known for certain, but I’m willing to bet that the lass got too mouthy after all the years of abuse, and Lima grew tired of her.

“And that is why, Ezekiel, I am aiding the Zofian chancellor. Desaix is a dog himself, but he is not Lima. And besides that.” Rudolf leans back in the chair again, quietly, though the air about him is still agitated and quietly enraged. “I have other reasons that I’m not privy to disclose to even you, son.”

“He was such an awful man?” Zeke asks slowly. “Really?”

“I speak no lies on this matter, Ezekiel. I have despised Lima from the day I met him. You can go home and ask anyone in your village, ask your girl about him. Not even someone as sweet as her will have compassion for the Zofian king. Not an ounce.”

Zeke leans back in the chair and presses his hands together. “Despite that, I’d beg you to reconsider, Emperor Rudolf.”

Rudolf lifts a thick brow and looks at him. “Why is that?”

“The Zofian chancellor needs no help of ours in quashing this rebellion. The Knights of Zofia are strong, but not many. I’m sure some of them will be kissing his boots besides, dwindling their numbers further.” Zeke leans over the arm of the chair, fixing Rudolf with a firm look. “So why us? Why put your soldiers and people through this pointless conflict? People will die, and their families will resent you, and they will resent the military. So why?”

Rudolf picks up a cup of water off the table and takes a sip. “I see what this is.”

“Sire?”

“You’re afraid, Ezekiel.”

Zeke freezes. He swallows and moves back, cautiously settling against the chair again. He says nothing, nothing that will give him away, and waits for Rudolf to speak again.

The emperor sets the glass back down and folds his hands over his stomach. “Your silence says it all. Why are you afraid, son? Let an old man ease your mind.”

Zeke opens his mouth once or twice, trying to come up with an answer, and finally says, “I am frightened. I- I have things to worry about.” He tightens his grip on the arm of his chair. “I’ve never felt like this before, not even in my past life. I know it. I’ve never had this much riding on my existence.”

“I see. You’re worried about your sweetheart.”

Zeke snaps his head over and exclaims, “Of course I am! Tatiana relies on me. I care for her. I’m fortunate enough to put bread on her table, keep her warm at night, and ease her pains. She’s my entire world, sir.” His chest is closing up, and he fights the panic rising in him. “I can’t leave her. We’re a family. We’re going to start a family one day. Call it cowardice, sire, call me a craven, but I don’t want to die!”

Rudolf is quiet in the face of his outburst, merely staring into the fire peacefully. Zeke is panting, struggling to breathe, and he hangs his head into his hands. The fire crackles amiably, snapping embers into the air, and he is ashamed. He is a knight. He exists to die for king and country. He has no right to fight back against orders.

But he is also someone’s lover.

Rudolf speaks finally, after a good five minutes have passed. “Ezekiel, raise your head. I don’t know how things are where you came from, to have instilled such values in you, but here, we do not call people craven for not wanting to die. We do not call hesitance to leave a lover behind cowardice. We call that human nature.”

Zeke pulls his face from his hands, his bangs hanging in his face, and stares at the king with a dull expression. “Forgive my outburst, sire. Tatiana’s reaction to this situation has put me on edge, to say the least.”

Rudolf reaches over and pats his shoulder; a firm, fatherly action. “Consider it forgiven, boy. You are right. She relies on you, doesn’t she? And you rely on her in equal amounts, as all partners should.”

He gives a heaving sigh, dragging his hands down his face before cupping his nose in his hands. He glares into the fire, unwilling to say anything else.

“So, if I were to send you to the frontlines, you would dislike it?”

Zeke shuts his eyes. “The warrior in me excites at the chance to challenge the Zofian knights. I've heard the stories about them. Yet, the part of me that is a simple man? It terrifies me. But, I will do as ordered. Should you ask me to lead a platoon into Zofia come the morning, I would readily go. Should you ask me to slaughter the Knights of Zofia on my own, even if it meant my death, I- I would do so.”

“Such loyalty,” Rudolf muses. “But relax, Ezekiel, you will not be heading to the frontlines. I’ve no intention to involve you in this war, for now.”

Hope springs in his chest, and he looks at Rudolf. “Sire?”

“I see no way this happens, but if Zofia decides to invade Rigel, you are the first line of defense. The Plains here are right on the border.” Rudolf leans over, waving a finger to emphasize his point. “If those Zofians take a step onto our soil, you squash them beneath your boot, Ezekiel.”

His heart is pounding, and he lowers his head in a nod. “S-sire. Yes, Emperor Rudolf!”

“Those are your and your men’s orders, and those that I gave to Jerome. There will be an increase in crime here on the Plains, simply due to the fact that it will be hard to get resources. Many of what people produce will have to go to the frontlines. People will turn to pillaging and raiding. All I want from you, son, is to keep this place from going to hell. Protect the people.”

“I understand,” Zeke says. “I promise, sir, I will protect our people.”

“You keep an eye on that nice girl of yours too as well, alright? Keep her close. As things get harder, I’m sure you'll come to rely on one another even more heavily.”

“Yes, of course I’ll keep her close. I always do. It is always my pleasure.”

Rudolf stands from his chair, grunting as his joints creak, and folds his arms behind his back. “You are dismissed. Get things in order around here. You’ll want to plan regular patrols, check your inventory, the like. Then, go home.”

Zeke gets up from his seat, bows, and is almost to the door when Rudolf says, “Wait. I have one more thing to tell you.”

Zeke stands at attention, and Rudolf makes his way over. “Sir?”

“I have an important order,” Rudolf says, and rubs his left hand. “I promise you I am not mad when I say this, and I- I cannot offer you any context. But, if you should ever meet a man with a mark on his left hand in the course of this war, your orders are to follow him.”

He is taken aback, and stares at the emperor in confusion. “Emperor Rudolf? That is- that is very odd advice, my lord.”

“I know that is odd of me to say,” Rudolf says almost desperately. “But I implore, should you come across him, abandon your position and follow him. I promise you, that man is chosen. He shall save all of Rigel.

“And with it, all of Valentia.”

The church is in chaos, and Tatiana doesn’t have a moment to breathe. From the second she stepped through the door that morning, her peers have been shoving boxes in her arms, moving about, and desperately taking inventory. They count staves, vulneraries, medicinal ingredients, food, coats—every object imaginable.

“We have to be ready to send help to the soldiers,” Father Alexi tells Tatiana. He rests a withered hand on her cheek. “You poor little thing. Children like you shouldn’t have to deal with war.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Tatiana protests. “And I- I can deal with this. I can do it!”

He takes a deep sigh and shakes his head. “It does not mean you should. Now, help me organize this closet, will you? I think we have some spare medicine inside.”

The organizing and frantic preparations go all day. Tatiana’s not even sure what’s going on outside the church. She wonders if Maksim is taking inventory of his ore, and if he’s already receiving commissions for weapons. She wonders if the fisherman are preparing to send their hauls to the military. She wonders if her neighbors are gathering coats, boots, whatever they have, and if they are desperately trying to preserve their food for the long, hard winter that is to come.

One of her sisters comes by while she is cleaning out the kitchen, and she quietly says, “A soldier came and got Ezekiel yesterday. How exciting! What’s gonna happen to him?”

Tatiana purses her lips and shrugs, trying for nonchalance, because she’s had enough of her own tears. “Oh, I don’t know. Apparently the emperor came by today to give orders. Zeke said he would be home tonight.”

The other cleric gives her a long look, then mutters, “Aren’t you scared?”

Tatiana’s lips quiver, damn her, but she shakes her head. “No. Everything will be fine. Now, come on, help me get all this flour together. Father Alexi wants us to start making hardtack, in case things get rough.”

“Ugh, I hate hardtack.”

“It’s good if you soak it in coffee or borscht,” Tatiana says. “And when it’s all you have, it’s better than nothing, right?”

She and the sister spend the rest of the day in the kitchen while everyone else starts organizing medicine and ingredients. They mix the flour and salt and water, mashing it into a sticky paste, and spread it out. The constant, repeated process makes Tatiana feel better, helps her to zone out and not focus on her personal problems. She tries to not think about what Zeke is doing right now, whether or not he's ordering his men around, making battle plans, sharpening his sword. It makes her feel sick if she thinks about it for long, and it slows down her work, too.

"You must be awful worried," the sister mumbles. "Well, I- You're right, everything will be fine. Come on, pick up your head, Tatiana."

Tatiana just swallows, puts her head down, and works harder.

It’s past midnight when the chaos at the church is finally settled. It is cleaner than it has been in years, organized to utter perfection in case of emergency. Tatiana is certain that instead of cleaning the altar and maintaining the chapel, her daily schedule is just going to consist of making vulneraries and elixirs and mixing medicines. That’s a church’s job in wartime, to be a form of support, no matter how hard it gets.

She trudges through the empty streets, her shawl pulled tight around her against the cold while she walks home. She wonders if Zeke will be home, because no message had come for her to say he wouldn’t. If he is home, she’s dreading the news. She's so anxious about whether or not he’ll be on the frontlines, or if he’ll be safe at home with her.

Tatiana cups her hands in front of her mouth and puffs, trying to get some warmth back into them. The storm yesterday seemed to have been the harbinger for freezing weather, because now the leaves have fallen rapidly in the course of a single day, and it hasn’t been warm for even a second. The crops are going to start failing soon, fishing will get harder, and traveling to the market will get increasingly difficult. She wonders how many will perish in the harsh season, and takes a moment to stop in her tracks and pray for the especially vulnerable children.

The sound of the sea invades her mind, distracting her from her prayer. Sighing, she enters the house when she reaches it, and it is dead silent. She shuts the door slowly, and leans back against the wood as she kicks her shoes off. Exhaustion, emotional and physical, weighs her down like a stone slung around her neck, and she can already feel herself nodding off.

Tatiana glances up, and her heart skips a beat when she sees Zeke sitting at the kitchen table. His loose blouse and simple trousers tell her that he’s been home for a while now. His lips are pressed to his interlocked hands, his gaze fixed on the table, and his brow is furrowed. He looks pensive, bothered almost, and looks up sharply after a moment.

Zeke drops his hands and stands from the table immediately, and Tatiana nearly chokes on her relief at the sight of him. He breathes her name and moves for her, and nervously, haltingly, she holds out her arms. She feels like a shaking mess, tears pressing at her eyes, and he must be so tired, but she doesn’t care. It’s selfish and spoiled of her, but she just wants some affection, a little assurance that something in the world is still right, that she still has a constant.

Tatiana doesn’t expect him to practically run to her, and she really doesn’t expect him to scoop her up the way he does. Zeke throws himself into her outstretched arms, wrapping his own tightly around her, and lifts her up. He’s warm and rough as he usually is, and the feeling of his face in her neck is like home. She makes a soft sound, disgusted with herself that it is almost like a whimper, and he squeezes her tighter. His hands run along her body, supporting her weight as he carries her, and she throws her arms around his neck and locks her legs around his waist.

“You’re home,” she gasps. “Zeke, you’re-”

Zeke presses a kiss into her neck and pulls his face from it. His own eyes look a little heavy, but he offers her a kiss to her cheek, then one to her eyelids. “I’m home.”

“Your orders,” she pleads. “What did-? I'm- I'm worried, so please-”

He captures her lips with his, unexpectedly, but the action is not unwelcome. Tatiana just doesn’t know if the kiss is good, or if it’s bad. Is it a kiss of relief? Is it a kiss that says “I’m leaving in the morning?” What is it?

Tatiana doesn’t know for sure, but she buries her hands in his hair and kisses him back. The kiss is hot, open-mouthed, and they gasp against one another as it drags on. She doesn’t get why, instead of having a serious conversation about his orders, they are desperately devouring each other, but she figures this is okay for a moment. It feels comforting and delightfully normal in the face of a hard-pressed day.

They move to the couch, falling back against it. Zeke’s hands rush over her body, untucking her blouse from her skirt, and he runs his hands beneath to touch her bare skin. She shudders under the feeling of his rough, scarred hands, his tongue sliding between her lips. Tatiana squirms and gasps when he nips at her, and after letting them both indulge in each other for another moment longer, has had enough of his silence and pushes him away.

“I don’t know if this is good or bad,” she says breathlessly. "Please just tell me how worried I have to be, or I'm gonna die."

Zeke cups her face in his hands and leans back in, giving her an infinitely softer kiss. “I’m staying,” he mumbles against her lips. “They don’t want me on the frontlines. I told you so. I told you it would be fine.”

Tears fill Tatiana’s eyes, and she pulls him back down to her in a feverish desperation as he goes in for another sweet, soft kiss. She pants and gasps against him, and she should probably sleep now that her mind is settled instead of sweeping open his blouse and pulling it over his head, running her fingers over his skin, but she isn’t. She’s relieved, so absolutely, completely relieved she could weep, but cannot find any words to express the utter joy inside of her.

Moonlight comes in through the window of their bedroom, illuminating the dark. It falls perfectly on Zeke, shining on his golden hair just so, and makes his panting, exhausted profile all the more handsome while she observes it.

“I didn’t expect that.” He swallows, still trying to catch his breath. “Normally you aren’t so forward. What was that for?”

Tatiana shifts, cupping his face in her hands and pushing their lips together. It’s gentle and soft, in contrast to the hot, desperate kisses she dragged down his chest barely ten minutes ago, and he seems to appreciate the tenderness. He lifts his hands, threading them into her hair, and kisses her back with equal kindness and care.

“Adrenaline, maybe. I'm so relieved you’re not going to leave,” she whispers when they pull apart. She brushes his sweaty bangs out of his face.

“And bedding me somehow cemented that into reality for you?” He takes his own turn brushing her damp hair over her shoulder.

“Did you not like it, sweetie?” she whispers, concerned.

“No, no, it was nice. I think I needed to get some energy out before sleeping.” Zeke sighs, his breath finally returning to him, and drops his head against the pillow. “I appreciate the normalcy. It was such a long day, darling.”

The heat from their intercourse is starting to leave her, and she notices just how cold the room is. She settles down next to him, grabs the quilt, and pulls it up and over his chest. He takes her hand as it comes close, lifting it to his lips for a kiss, and lets his eyes drift shut.

“No frontlines,” he mumbles. “The emperor wants me right here, for the time being at least. He worries crime will rise and asked me to keep things together.”

Tatiana pushes her lips against his jawline, tasting a lingering hint of sweat. “He trusts you. And he cares about you. That’s why he didn’t send you.”

He loops an arm around her waist and opens his eyes. The moonlight continues to pour over him as he turns his head to look at her, and he gives her a kiss on her forehead. “He told me about the Zofian king. I suppose you weren’t born at the time, but there was a famine about twenty-two years ago. King Lima offered food in exchange for a girl, and-”

Tatiana’s romantic mood is suddenly gone, replaced with a thick feeling of disgust, and she buries her face in his shoulder. “He was an awful man. I grew up hearing that story, in the aftermath of the famine. So many people died, and all he did was take from us. I don’t understand why that means we have to be involved in Zofian politics, but certainly, no Rigelian had any love for King Lima.”

Zeke hums, and she feels the low rumble in his chest. “I see. Well, even though I’m not going to Zofia, I’ll be busy. I can already tell you I won’t be home as much.”

Tatiana drags her hand over the quilt, until she reaches his bare chest. She runs her fingers against him in a light massage, and is content with the way he sighs in relaxation. She figures that, along with her efforts at the church, keeping him content and safe in their home is the very best she can do for him.

It takes only three weeks for things to start to go downhill, and it’s not the fault of brigands, or bandits, or anything like that. Those certainly have been a problem, but they aren’t cause to really bother Zeke. They aren’t what gets his blood boiling to the point where not even Tatiana can calm him down when he gets home.

It’s Jerome.

It’s Jerome, that wretch, not doing his job. It’s him, dumping every scrap of work onto Zeke’s plate. It’s him, taking his squad of kiss-ups and roaming around the Plains on the pretense of patrols. It’s him, coming back to the base with bagfuls of luxuries that he doesn’t even try to hide.

When Zeke goes out on patrol, he goes to every village and town on the previous day’s schedule along with the ones on the current. People look at them warily as they ride in, but as soon as they recognize him, they let their guards down. They come to him, anxiously twisting their hands and looking over their shoulders, as though they will be struck down in an instant if they confess Jerome’s sins.

A baker lets him into her shop on this particular day, and Zeke pulls his hood back and takes off his gloves as he comes in. The shelves behind the counter are scant, containing barely any flour or sugar. Worse is the glass display case, which is almost completely empty. He knows from coming into this shop before that it’s normally filled with carefully decorated pastries and sweets to catch a customer’s eye, but now, it just looks desolate.

“I’d offer you something, General, but I’m afraid your colleague already cleaned me out,” the baker spits. “You weren’t in on this, were you? You’re a good man, right?”

Zeke frowns and surveys the empty bakery, then looks down at the woman. “I had not a clue. He truly just came in and took what he wanted?”

She shrugs, digs into her pocket, and opens her palm to reveal several silver marks. “Put this on the counter and did as he pleased. He took more than twenty times this amount. Trust me, I counted.”

His hand instantly dips into the pocket of his greatcoat, and he pulls out a coin pouch. “I’m sorry, I’ll pay. I- I’m so sorry.”

The baker looks at him with blatant pity and shakes her head. “Put it away, sir. Bein’ a general and all, you must be a fairly rich man, but even you couldn’t pay for everything he’s stolen. Besides here, he went to the winery, the butcher shop, practically raided the entire market.”

Zeke purses his lips, shoves his coin purse back into his pocket, and puts his hands on his hips. “I despise that wretch.”

A harsh burst of laughter leaves the woman. “Join the club, sir! There’s always room for one more.”

Zeke shakes his head, takes a glance out the window at the fresh snow, and wonders how these people will survive these constant raids. He can try and take what he can back to every village and town, but returning what Jerome has pillaged would take him hours upon hours, days upon days. He wonders how someone has such a blatant lack of consideration for others, and he knows the answer:

Jerome is simply an overgrown child.

Zeke returns home that evening to a scant meal of black bread and dried fish, but Tatiana looks so apologetic for the lack of food that he wouldn't complain even if he wanted to. He has a box of prettily-decorated tarts and cakes for her, the last of the baker’s stock that he’d bought out of pity, and they sit by the fire, a quilt over their shoulders, while she eats them.

Seeing her look so excited over something so simple makes him feel a little better, but when she looks up and asks him “What’s wrong?” with those doe eyes of hers, reality comes crashing down on Zeke’s shoulders once again.

Zeke corners Jerome after a patrol soon after, following him in through the snow. The moment that they are inside, the rest of the soldiers gone off to clean up and put their weapons away, he rushes in front of Jerome, almost stumbling over the uneven stone floor in his haste, and blocks the hallway. His superior looks at him with disdain, as he always does, and pulls his lip back in a sneer of disgust.

“Move aside, Ezekiel. You’re so preposterously large that I cannot get past.”

“And you will not get past, not until we’ve had a conversation.” Zeke narrows his eyes and meets Jerome’s cold gaze with one of his own. “I’m aware of your activities within the villages and towns.”

Jerome frowns and studies his nails. “And?”

“And they are illegal and immoral,” he snaps. “You pillage, no better than a common scoundrel!

“They owe me what they have,” Jerome drawls. “I am master over these Plains. I take my tribute, as I should.”

“‘Tribute?’ You are no god to these people!” Zeke shouts, and a few people lean out of rooms to observe them carefully. “Noble born or not, you may not frolic about as you please.”

“Mind yourself, Ezekiel.” Jerome steps forward, sweeping an arm open in an attempt to push Zeke away. “Now, move aside.”

Zeke moves and blocks him once again, undeterred. “You must stop terrorizing the people like this. They are good people, innocent, and do not deserve your torment!”

“They are alive because of me,” Jerome hisses. “It’s only through my protection that they survive. They owe everything to me!”

Zeke takes a sharp inhale, struggles to control himself. “You have never once protected the people of these Plains out of selflessness—you act out of self-interest and greed, you low-life barbarian!”

Jerome lashes out suddenly, grabbing Zeke’s coat in a fist, and drags him closer down to his height. His breath, as it wafts over Zeke's face, is stale and unpleasantly sweet. “You mind your tongue with me, Ezekiel! You are nothing, nothing, without this position! A foreign stranger without a real name, alive only by the desire of some pathetic, mewling woman!”

Something in Zeke snaps at the mere mention of Tatiana coming from his foul mouth, and he shoves Jerome away from him. “You will mind your tongue when speaking of Tatiana!”

“Oh? And what, Ezekiel, will you do if I continue to speak of your darling widdle angel in such a way?” Jerome’s scowl twists up into a smirk. “I’ll have you thrown in a cell to rot if you so much as lay a hand on me ever again, do you understand?”

Zeke clenches his jaw. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a knight.”

“Never speak to me with such disrespect again, either,” he snaps. “I am your superior officer. How dare you talk down to me!”

“Stop raiding the villages in this manner,” Zeke warns again. “The common people have enough to worry about with this war going on. They never know if something will happen to them. We have to focus on keeping them safe, not on making them starve and suffer, you great fool.”

“I will do as I please,” Jerome spits through gritted teeth. “I will not be cowed by the likes of you, Ezekiel.”

“I will stand opposed to you,” he shoots back. “I will protect these people at every turn, no matter what.”

Jerome sneers and shoulders Zeke aside, strolling down the hall. “Play their savior as you wish, since you seem so certain that they need it. So long as you don’t get directly in my way, I can let it slide. It’s a cute sentiment.”

“Of course I’ll stand directly in your way,” Zeke snaps. “The emperor entrusted these people to me!”

“You won’t,” Jerome says firmly. He looks over his shoulder. “If you do, I may just have a talk with Lord Berkut about sending you to the frontlines of this scuffle. And, you know, the Knights of Zofia are most certainly not foes to be trifled with.”

Zeke’s blood freezes, and his stomach drops.

Jerome examines his nails, appearing delighted with himself. “I wonder, Ezekiel, how will you protect your sweet, sweet Tatiana if your corpse is rotting on a battleground in Zofia?”

He doesn’t realize he’s taken a step back until Jerome’s smirk widens.

“Struck a nerve, have I? You’ve always been on your knees when it comes to that little girl. She desperately needs you, and you know it. Will you really risk leaving her all by herself, Ezekiel? Just so you can feel holier-than-thou?”

Zeke swallows, stares down at his boots for a long moment, and then looks back up at Jerome. It makes him sick to do so, but he presses a hand to his chest and bows. “I apologize. You will forgive my terrible behavior, won’t you, sir?”

His sneer grows. “Well, I’m a good man, so I suppose I can let it slide this once. Just don’t get in my way, and I’ll let you stay safe and sound with your stupid woman, alright?”

Jerome seems to think that it’s Tatiana who leans so heavily on Zeke, but Zeke knows the truth:

He is he one who desperately needs Tatiana.

They have a full dinner for the first time in a month, a gift from some grateful butcher whom Zeke had returned stolen merchandise to. He comes home, exhausted and worn, but presents Tatiana with the fine cuts of venison with something akin to triumph.

“A little good deed provided some good in turn, my darling,” Zeke says with relief. “When was the last time we had meat besides fish for dinner?”

Tatiana rests the slabs of meat on the counter, pokes at them with her knife, and determines that they can probably get three small meals out of them. She cuts the meat carefully into portions and then rests the strips that they won’t be eating tonight aside so they can be smoked for later, or put into the icebox.

“Only two weeks, actually,” Tatiana reminds. “Remember, August shot down that goose and gave us half.”

Zeke grimaces as he removes his greatcoat. “Blugh. It’s so gamey. I’ll eat it, but not happily.”

Tatiana gives him a teasing frown. “Don’t you get picky now, mister. Would you rather eat all that hardtack I made last month? You know, like the piece you jokingly slammed into the church wall, where it then made a bonafide dent?”

He shudders and flops back against the couch, loosening his cravat. “I’ll take the goose, thank you.”

It’s a full dinner, with seared and carefully seasoned slices of the lean venison, black bread smeared with butter, and root vegetables pan-fried in the venison’s residual grease and oil. For dessert, all they have are hot glasses of kompot, but the sweetness is refreshing and welcome anyway. Tatiana hasn’t had an actual sweet since the box of pastries a few weeks ago, but she shouldn’t complain. She won’t complain.

They climb into a hot bath later, and the heat of the water is just what Tatiana’s sore muscles need in this late autumn weather. It’s so snowy already, and August was right about the house—it has gotten much chillier than normal, being so close to the sea. They have to constantly keep a fire going when they are home, or else stay wrapped in blankets and pressed together to share body heat.

Tatiana stretches, leaning back against Zeke’s chest while he dumps water over her head. She squeaks and rubs at her eyes, and protests as he dumps another handful of water on her.

“Stop!” she complains. “Zeeeeeke!”

He laughs and starts pulling his fingers through her hair. “Just trying to get you clean, sweetness.”

“Do I smell that bad?”

The lumpy bar of soap on her back gives her an answer, and she’s quiet while he scrubs at her.

“Arm,” he instructs, and she lifts one out of the water for him to clean. “You smell foul, darling.”

“I’ve been mixing medicine all day."

“That explains why you smell so bitter."

“Well, you smell sweaty,” she shoots back, and she snatches the bar of soap out of his hands. “Give me that, you cute jerk.”

He smiles and lets her scrub the soap across his chest and over his abs, cleaning out the hair, and hums with contentment as she inches closer to get under his arms. “You take such good care of me, my sweet."

“I don’t wanna have sex with a man who smells like a horse,” she mumbles, and he laughs before giving her a kiss on the top of her head.

“You better get very clean,” he tells her while he takes the bar of soap back. “A friend is coming to see you.”

“A friend?” she asks, and relaxes as he scrubs the soap into her hair and massages her scalp.

“Lord Berkut is marching to Zofia right now. He’ll be passing by the Plains in three days, and I’ve been informed Lady Rinea is with him. I’m almost certain she’ll be stopping by while Lord Berkut checks in at the base.”

“Rinea’s going to come?” she repeats. “That’s great! I’ll clean the house, and, well. Hm.”

“‘Hm?’ Why the ‘hm,’ Tanechka?”

“I don’t really have any food to offer,” she admits sheepishly. “What a shame! Rinea threw such nice tea parties for me while we were in Odessa. I was hoping that if she ever came to visit, I’d be able to whip up something, but looks like that’s a no.”

Zeke frowns and pulls her against his chest. “Hmmm… I’ll stop by the market and pick up some things. At this time of year, there’s not a lot, but I’m sure I can get my hands on some sugar or honey to make a cake with.”

“Oh, my love, don’t spend your money on something so frivolous.”

He kisses her again and sinks further into the water, his hands rubbing her hip. “Spending money on a little bit of luxury is, very fortunately, not such a big deal for us right now. Besides, I do prefer how you smell when you’ve been baking.”

He wraps her up in his arms suddenly, brushing his fingers over her most sensitive spots. Tatiana squeals and laughs as he hunches over her to press an endless torrent of kisses against the back of her neck, and they both forget their worries for a little while.

Tatiana puts on one of her best casual dresses and waits at the stone wall leading into the village, three days later. She sits atop the wall, humming and swinging her legs while she knits, and waits for the sound of horses. The snow has melted a little bit in the past few days, and Tatiana is glad, because a walk on the beach will be chilly like this, but not overtly unpleasant.

She sits there for an hour, wonders if she should wait at home, and then hears the sound of hooves clopping against the path. Excited, Tatiana packs her yarn and needles into her bag, slips off the wall, beats her skirts, and waits patiently for whomever it is to come around the bend.

A small white horse emerges, and astride it is a girl dressed in dark blue. It is obviously Rinea, and when she pulls back her fur-lined hood, she sees Tatiana and smiles. She dismounts from her horse, her skirts and cloak billowing around her, and runs to greet her.

“Tatiana!” Rinea wraps her arms around her, and she’s frigid from riding in the cold. Fondly, she brushes Tatiana’s bangs from her face when they pull back. “It’s been too long, don’t you think?”

“I don't think it's been that long. Maybe a few months,” Tatiana guesses. “And we write to each other all the time.”

“Were it possible, I’d see you every day,” Rinea claims, and she takes Tatiana’s hand in the one not holding the reins of the horse. “Now, come on, I want to see your home.”

“Well, it’s- it’s not much right now,” Tatiana mutters.

Rinea frowns. “Because of the war. I understand that. Everywhere is going through hard times, and the real fight hasn’t even started yet. But that’s all right, you don’t worry about anything. One day, I’ll come back when everything is as it should be, and then I’m sure I’ll be really blown away!”

Rinea’s kindness is seemingly infinite, and it makes Tatiana feel better about taking her through the village. She shows her the church where she was raised, where her peers seem to be stupefied to be in the future empress’ presence, and then takes her to the infirmary where she revived Zeke. She shows her her wilting garden and the small courtyard where she first danced with Zeke, and then takes her further into the village. Rinea seems particularly enthralled with the goats and sheep in particular, and Tatiana has to warn her away from them.

“The sheep are mean,” she tells her. “The goats are like over-excited puppies, but don’t touch those sheep. They’re naughty.”

The sheep bleat at them, and Rinea laughs.

Rinea might not stand out so much, if she wasn’t dressed like a princess, or if she wasn’t so stunningly beautiful. However, walking through the rather glum village dressed in her elegant blues and grays, and with the beautifully embroidered fur-lined cloak, she draws all the attention in the world. People give her bows and shift about nervously when Rinea says “Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” but seem delighted by her manners and behavior.

Even August seems to be at a slight loss for words when he walks by Rinea and Tatiana. He nervously adjusts his headband, fixes the hem of his shirt, and bows with a mumbled, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“You can ignore him,” Tatiana says snidely, making a face at August. “He’s a jerk.”

August seems too starstruck by Rinea to snap back anything like, “Where’re your goddamn manners?” or “Watch that saucy mouth of yours, young lady.” Instead, he only frowns, shakes his head at her, and continues on his way.

“Is that your friend? The one who bought you that book?”

“Oh, yes, that’s the one.”

Rinea smiles as they walk towards the house. “Whatever happened to that book, now that you live with General Ezekiel?”

Tatiana flushes, and mumbles, “It’s underneath my bed, for, er, future references. Zeke never looks under the furniture, so it’s okay. I mean, normally he doesn’t. I hope he doesn’t.”

Rinea laughs, a sound that’s clean and clear like a wind chime.

At last, they get to the house near the shore. Tatiana has spent days making sure the living space is clean, free of flaw, and takes Rinea’s cloak for her as they step inside and close the door behind them. “Well, make yourself at home! It’s not too big, but it fits Zeke and I comfortably.”

Rinea pulls her gloves off of her hands and sets them on an end table, taking in the living room and kitchen area with delight. “It’s so cute! So tastefully decorated too; was that yours or Ezekiel’s doing?”

Tatiana giggles as she hangs the cloak and her own coat. “Oh, please, if I let Zeke decorate on his own, everything would be varying shades of black. Perfect for a funeral home, but a house? Not so much.”

Rinea spends a little time walking around, taking glances at the furniture, the hearth, the homemade quilts and pillows adorning the living space. Tatiana busies herself in the kitchen, humming as she starts heating the milk and slicing into the cake she has prepared. It’s a modest treat, just a pound cake with the barest hint of a glaze, but good, if Tatiana is allowed to compliment herself.

“You can come help yourself,” she offers a few minutes later. “Take a seat anywhere. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” Rinea comes over and watches as she starts brewing the drinks. “What is that?”

“Oh, just drinking chocolate. I thought we could have something a little different from our usual tea.” Tatiana rubs the back of her neck and sighs, tilting her head back to the ceiling. “Oh, you don’t even know how stressed I’ve been, Rinea. It’s constant work at the church, and Zeke gets home later and later every single day. Not to mention food is starting to run low.”

Her guest watches as Tatiana tops the mugs of chocolate with a dollop of cream, and smiles politely as she takes one. “You must be very grateful that he wasn’t sent to Zofia.”

“I could barely contain my excitement,” Tatiana replies. “I had such an absolute fit when I thought of him going out to fight, it was so embarrassing. I feel like such a child, looking back on it.”

“Being worried over your partner isn’t childish,” she chides softly.

Tatiana rolls her eyes and waves a hand. “Yeah, but, ugh. This was crying and sniveling and absolutely begging him to not go, like he had a choice. It wasn’t really one of my shining moments. I’ve been trying my best to make up for it, though. I must’ve really annoyed him, don’t you think?”

Rinea is suddenly quiet, staring into her mug of chocolate with an odd little expression on her face.

Tatiana frowns. “Oh, geez, did I say something wrong? I mean, both you and Lord Berkut are headed to the frontlines right now. I’m so sorry for being inconsiderate.”

Rinea seems snapped out of her thoughts, and waves a hand. “Oh, gracious, no! I wasn’t thinking that at all. Berkut and I will be quite safe.” She holds out a hand as Tatiana gives the slice of cake to her. “I’m just- Well, can I confide in you?”

“Yes, of course! Do you want to sit?”

She shakes her head. “Standing is fine, thank you.”

They’re quiet for a moment while Rinea builds her courage, and Tatiana sips at the warm drink. It’s rich and filling, and she doesn’t want to even consider how much Zeke spent on just the tiny amount he’d been able to buy for her. He’d told her not to worry besides, and would likely be upset if he knew she was doing just the opposite.

Rinea at last speaks up, whispering, “It’s about Berkut." She averts her eyes away, down to the corner of the room. "I’m worried.”

Tatiana knows the feeling, being worried about your lover. She lifts the mug to her lips and looks to the ground. “Whatever about?”

“He’s been odd, as of late. Becoming emperor has always been his goal, but now it seems to be his obsession. He was so... delighted about invading Zofia. It’s like he feels that he must prove himself in this way, and he’s throwing himself into it completely.” Rinea frowns. “I blame the emperor, damn him.”

“Rinea!”

“Forgive me for speaking badly of him, but it’s true! If Emperor Rudolf showed Berkut half the affection he showed your Ezekiel, then-!” She bites her tongue and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to imply that I have any bad feelings towards the general. I’m just so confused as to why some stranger gets more affection than Rudolf’s only nephew.”

“It’s alright. You don’t sound like that.” Tatiana takes a bite of the cake and chews on the fork a little. “I don’t really get it either, and I guess I agree. Maybe if Berkut received more attention, then he wouldn’t be so, well. Like that.”

“Berkut is kind,” Rinea protests. “He’s just so rough around the edges because he’s always striving to prove himself. All people have ever wanted him to be was strong. No one ever asked for kindness, or love, or compassion. No one ever showed it to him. Not even his mother. He’s been getting better since we met, but he just doesn’t believe in himself enough.”

“He seems to believe in himself plenty, Rinea. He’s very self-assured.”

“If he believed in himself, he would know he doesn’t have to win over his uncle at every single turn,” she shoots back. “Tatiana, I fear this will drive him mad. If we don’t win this war, and if things go wrong, I don’t know what will happen.

“I fear my lord will break entirely.”

Chapter Text

MIDWINTER OF YEAR 401, VALENTIAN CALENDAR

Wartime starts to take an even heavier toll on everyone, almost instantly. Food reserves start going towards the army, more and more every day. Maksim the blacksmith spends hours upon hours cooped up in his workshop, refining metals for swords and arrowheads. People collect spare things like coats and shoes and the like, and even though everyone is working together like normal, there’s a somber feeling in the air of the village.

Nobody wanted this.

Tatiana is grateful that they haven’t changed their minds about sending Zeke out to the frontlines, and he assures her frequently that they have no intentions to. He spends much more of his time at the military base, however; whole days and nights where she does not see him. It’s because there are more reports now, more things that have to be counted and filed, more soldiers to be trained, and a lot more of the crime that comes with the wartime panic. Frequently, Tatiana finds herself sitting on the porch, sewing or doing something, just waiting to see if he’ll come home. Most nights, he doesn’t.

But when he does, his shoulders are slumped, there’s a wobble in his step, and heavy bags hang under his eyes. He drags his feet, which Tatiana has never seen prior to the start of the war, and is so tired that he can barely keep his focus. Despite that, when he comes to the porch where she sits, he holds out his arms to her, squeezes her with all the strength he can pull from his tired muscles, kisses her neck, and nearly falls asleep right then and there.

Tatiana does what she can to make things easier for Zeke. She keeps the house perfectly clean, all the things in exact order. She chops the firewood herself and keeps it nice and dry near the hearth, so he doesn’t have to use any unnecessary strength. She spends a little more money than normal to ensure what good foods that are available are in the house, and she takes cooking meals very seriously.

She takes him to bed whenever he comes home, brushes his hair for him, and makes sure he is comfortable. It’s all she can do. There are some nights where he is so exhausted and worn that he can do nothing but sleep, lie down with his head in her lap, and try to let all his worries go, if for just for a few hours.

Most nights, though, Zeke holds Tatiana like he will never see her again. Most nights he will hold her quietly, desperately, even if he needs the sleep. She can’t claim to understand his reasoning, why he uses so much energy when he needs what little he has, but she doesn’t complain. She holds him quietly, kisses him almost reverently while he clings to her, and listens to his tired gasps and pants with what she can best describe as pity.

Tatiana knows that Jerome does little to nothing, and that Zeke is doing all the work for the both of them. That is why her lover is so tired, so worn and sleepy, and it drives her mad.

He comes home after six days away, and Tatiana stands from the porch steps. Every step he takes towards her is slow and exhausted, and he cannot even manage to hold out his arms like he normally does. Tatiana goes to him instead, reaching to embrace him, and he almost completely collapses against her the moment that she has him in her arms. She wobbles a little, but stands her ground regardless, and pets his hair lovingly.

“Hello,” she says softly. “I missed you.”

Zeke mumbles and straightens up. He has to blink a couple of times before he focuses on her, and he manages a very tired smile. “Hello, sunshine. I missed you as well.”

“Are you tired?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

“Never more so,” he admits, and lets her take him by the hand into the house. “A group of bandits had set up a camp near the Black Forest. They were harassing the locals, and Jerome didn’t think to tell me about it until now. I had to ride out immediately to remedy the situation, with only a squad of five others.”

“Sit down, dearest.” She guides him to the kitchen table and helps him settle, and he immediately buries his face in his hands. Nervous, she squeezes her hands together in front of her stomach and leans a little over him. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? What do you need?”

“Something hot,” he mutters. “Tea. Coffee. No food. I was ill on the way home.”

“You’re sick because you’re tired,” she chides. “I’ll scrounge up something light. Promise me you’ll eat it.”

Zeke sighs and shakes his head, but tells her, “Yes, yes. Very well.”

She puts water on to boil, and wonders what she can serve him. He’s practically falling asleep at the table, and she watches with worry while she rummages around for something easy to eat. She comes up with a loaf of flatbread, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, and while she’d like to offer some protein as well, their cupboards, like everyone else’s, are bare. Right now, they don’t have so much as a scrap of dried meat.

“Eat this,” she insists as she sets it in front of him. “It shouldn’t be too hard on your stomach, okay?”

Zeke opens his eyes, blearily regarding the scant meal, and watches her closely as she prepares the herbal tea. He mumbles thanks when she sets the mug down in front of him, and goes to it before he takes a bite of any of the food.

“I have to go to the market with August sometime,” she mutters, half to herself, while she scans the kitchen. “There’s hardly anything to eat in the village right now but fish and black bread. You need more than that.”

“Don’t worry about me so,” he says. “I can eat at the base. Don’t forget, rations around here are thin because they’re coming to us.”

“I’ll be damned if you can’t come back here and have a home-cooked meal,” Tatiana scolds. “Now, come on, eat your bread.”

“You aren’t my mother,” he mumbles, but it’s with a good-natured tone. He leans into her when she stands close and wraps her arms around him, resting his head on her chest. “How have things around here been?”

“A little tiring,” Tatiana whispers, and she kisses the top of his head. “We’re almost constantly busy at the church, what with making elixirs and vulneraries. Everyone’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off, just trying to help how they can.”

Zeke finishes the mug of tea, sets it to the side, and starts on the flatbread. His hands are almost shaking from hunger while he eats, and she brushes his hair with her fingers.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” she asks. “Do you need me to heal you?”

He shakes his head. “No. We ambushed them in the middle of the night yesterday. It was a completely one-sided battle. Not a scratch on me.”

“Good.” She pecks his cheek and leaves the kitchen. “I’ll go heat up a bath.”

“Would you join me?” he asks. “I’d like company.”

“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly. “You could just bathe and then go to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he replies, and he goes back to his meal. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Tatiana knows that he is tired, so, so tired, but indulges him regardless. She gets into the hot bath with him and washes his hair, massaging his scalp gently to the point where he nearly falls asleep in the water. He sits quietly while she dries the both of them off, and it just breaks her heart to see him so close to despondence, so exhausted and hollow to the point where he can scarcely move.

He doesn’t seem so despondent when they get to the bedroom, however, and his lips are on her almost immediately. His movements are a little slow, his exhaustion evident, but she exercises patience with him. He sits on the edge of the bed, pressing kisses on her bare skin when she sits on his lap, and his fingers trace lovingly over her thighs. Tatiana pushes his bangs back and kisses his forehead, and he sighs, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pulls her closer to him as he leans back.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, sweet,” Zeke tells her.

Tatiana swallows and nods as he rests a hand atop her head. “That’s okay. Just stay safe.”

He closes his eyes and leans in, kissing her forehead, and then pulls back. He waves as he makes for the stables, and Tatiana forces a smile on her face as she waves right back. He should get to leave with that image of her, happy and smiling, instead of one that shows how she really feels:

Panicked and desperate.

She rushes back into the house the second she cannot see him anymore and makes a beeline for the bedroom. Out of her bedside table comes a small calendar, filled with a schedule of events and tasks she needs to complete, and she scans it almost so frantically that she can’t even process it.

Three days ago, she had woken up with an awful, awful stomachache, and had been bent over a basin for two hours.

She checks a few months before, carefully studying the schedule, and the patterns of the dates she has marked.

“No, no, no,” she mumbles. Her finger races along the second week of the month.

She has been tired and lethargic, without an appetite, and her body unusually sore.

Tatiana desperately stares at the calendar, the tip of her finger resting right above the previous week’s dates, the dates when she should have bled.

“Oh, no,” she mutters, and she slips the calendar back into her nightstand, gets to her feet, and begins pacing a hole in her floor. “Oh. No.”

This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

Wartime is taking its toll on everyone, and she doesn’t need an unplanned pregnancy atop of it.

Tatiana goes to the only person she can trust to not gossip. She marches herself right over to August’s, shivering in the light snowfall, and bursts into his shop. There are a few people there that give Tatiana alarmed looks when she rushes to the counter where he sits, perplexed, with a plate of food in front of him.

“Mornin’,” he says, and he holds out a piroshki. “Want one? Don’t know when I’ll get to make them again.”

Tatiana shakes her head, nervously looks at his customers, and leans in. “I need a talking-to.”

He raises an eyebrow and puts the food down. “A private one?”

She nods furiously, hoping that her panic isn't evident. He gives a heaving sigh and stands, gesturing to the stairs that lead up to his home, and follows close behind Tatiana.

His mother is sitting in a chair with a book, and she looks up with a big smile. “Tatiana, lovely to see you!”

“H-hello.”

“Hey, mind watching the shop for a while?” August asks her. “Tatiana wants a private talk.”

After a few more minutes, when they are certain that both his mother and aunt are downstairs and managing the store, he turns to her. “I’ll get a snack. You can go over there and sit, if you wa-”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, and his eyes fly wide open.

“Oh my gods.”

“Okay, well, here’s the thing.” Tatiana sits heavily on one of the couches, her face buried in a hand. “Maybe? My cycle is a couple weeks late, and that's a pretty strong sign, but not a for sure one.”

He is still staring at her, and after a moment, drags his hand up and over his face and threads his fingers into his bangs. “I need a drink.”

“It's only ten in the morning!”

“This is what you make me do,” he accuses, but when he does get a drink, he goes for the water jugs.

“Having a really late cycle is uncommon, but not impossible.” Tatiana chews on a nail. “I've seen it before in patients. It's normal. But if I don't bleed before my next cycle is supposed to happen, then-”

“Okay, okay, okay, slow down.” August hands her a glass of water and stands in front of her. “Just think: When was the last time you had sex with the general? He’s busy, so maybe it was a while ago, and you’re just imagin-”

Tatiana stares into the glass of water, her face ablaze. “Last night.”

August is silent.

“And the last night he was home before that.”

He purses his lips.

“And a lot of other times.”

August crosses his arms. “So you’re tellin’ me that you two have no self-control?”

Tatiana slams the glass down on the table. “Hey!”

“But am I wrong?” he demands.

She doesn’t justify it with a response. “We’re always careful. W-we- I mean- Like, when we- I-”

“Even if you’re careful, sex is sex, and it’s got one very specific purpose.” August shrugs. “Besides, you're almost 21. You’re in peak form for reproduction.”

“I will smash this chair over your head, I swear to the Father, August.”

“I ain’t wrong.”

Tatiana squeezes the glass in her hand. “Oh, this is all that man’s fault! No self-control, not a lick! The second he comes home, he-”

“Oh, no, no, no.” August shakes his head at her. “Don’t you do that thing where it’s like ‘This is all the man’s fault, he’s insatiable, poor me!’ Yeah, don’t do that.”

“But it is,” Tatiana protests.

August puts his own water down and puts his hands on his hips. “Please, I see how you look at him, even in public. You’re goin’ around, eyein’ the general like he’s a snack.”

Her face burns more viciously than before.

“You guys were in my shop last month, and you were lookin’ at him so intensely, I thought you were gonna try and jump his bones right there! How am I supposed to be surprised that you two are knockin’ boots all night every night? This situation isn’t super shocking, you know.”

“August, please! I’m just- It sounds silly, but you know, that’s all I can really think to do for him.” There’s a lump in her throat, and she swallows.

August sighs and shakes his head. “Tatiana… Come on.”

“I just try to make him comfortable at home. He’s working so hard, and doing so much more than he needs to do. There’s no food, so I can’t cook nice meals. I don’t have money to buy fabrics to make things. I clean the house so much that I literally can’t clean anymore. I do all I can! And then, he comes home after days and days away, and there’s nothing more I can do!”

She’s panting, bordering on a panic attack, and August is regarding her with a wary look on his face. He starts a soft apology, but she goes on.

“I don’t want him to think I’m useless and leave me! I don’t want that! You don’t get it, you jerk!”

“Hey, hey, hey, Tatiana. It’s alright, just-”

Tatiana is in tears now, burying her face in her hands and scrubbing frantically at her eyes. “So I just try to give him this one thing I can when he wants it. It’s such a simple thing, and I just- I just wanted to do something. And now, look at this. It’s a disaster!”

August has her wrapped up in his arms in a heartbeat, shushing her and patting her back. “Aw, hell, Tatiana. No it isn’t.”

“August, it’s winter, and there’s a war,” she cries with a quaver in her voice. “There’s no food for proper nourishment. There’s so much to do, there’s no time to sit down and sleep. With my body type, I’ll have to be on bedrest for a while, and it’s awful! This is just awful!”

“I’ll get you food.” He grips her shoulders and squeezes her tight as she cries. “I promise. I’ll do all your work, and if Ezekiel is too busy, I’ll take care for you on bedrest. I promised Maria I was gonna take care of you, and I will. I’ll handle everything that you can’t.”

He pulls an old handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and gives it to Tatiana to wipe her eyes with. She hiccups and dabs at her tears, ashamed of herself for being such a weak, sobbing wreck, crying like it will fix all of her problems. What Maria would say if she could see her now.

“Besides, you did say it’s just maybe,” August reminds gently. “You just start takin’ good care of yourself, just in case, and we’ll see. It’s all gonna work out like it should. I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

Weakly, Tatiana nods, blows her nose, and tries to offer him his handkerchief back.

“Er, you keep that, kiddo.”

Tatiana goes back to the house, but she’s restless. She’s got the day off from chores, and even if she tries to show up at the church anyway, she’s sure Father Alexi would turn her right around and send her home. She’s been over there almost constantly lately, and he, along with everyone else, is worried. Damn them for their kind considerations, when all Tatiana really wants is mindless work to keep her distracted.

She practically paces a hole in the floor, eventually taking a deep breath and pausing. She exhales slowly, resting her hands in the air, and decides a little self talk might be good. Self talk, just like Maria always used to show her.

“You like rambling,” Maria would always tease. “Just chatter your way through it when it gets tough, even if you’re just talkin’ to yourself.”

Thinking back on it, that was kind of an insult, but Tatiana can ignore that right now.

“Okay, okay.” Tatiana gets back to pacing, glaring at the ground while she walks. “There’s no need to panic, Tatiana. You might not even be pregnant! Besides, if you are, what’s the big deal? You like kids. Zeke likes kids. There’s no problem. You’re both capable adults.”

“Now,” Maria would have said. “You think of the worst case scenario and try to cope your way through that. If you can do that, you’ll be ready for anything.”

“Worst case scenario,” Tatiana mutters, and she stares up at the ceiling.

Worst case scenario, she is pregnant, tells Zeke when she can’t keep it secret anymore, and he is enraged. He blames her, somehow. He packs his things and leaves, and she never sees him again. Nobody lasts through the winter, and everyone dies, just because it’s not really a worst case scenario unless everyone somehow dies.

Tatiana frowns, tries to think of how she would cope with being abandoned and then dying, and doesn’t really find any bright sides.

“This is my hell,” Tatiana tells the empty house. “This is my own personal hell.”

Nothing she does calms her down. No talking through it, no imagining hopeless, almost comically bad and out-of-character scenarios, no nothing. She tries distractions, like knitting with the little yarn she has left, or lifting every rug in the house and sweeping under it, or even taking Zeke’s weapons out of the hallway closet and carefully polishing them the way he showed her.

It’s hopeless. Tatiana is doomed to anxiety and agony, and she flops facedown on the couch after a few hours, resigning herself to fate.

After a few minutes, Tatiana turns over on her side, curling up and staring over at the hearth. Her heart is hammering, pounding out of her chest the way it has been since she first realized she’d passed her cycle by, and she takes a deep sigh and pokes at her stomach. She feels nothing different, and she hopes, really hopes, that this is a fluke. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be a mother, but rather that she’s a little emotionally unstable, very young, and her country is in the middle of a war. The father is an overworked general, desperately trying to keep just the two of them afloat as things get harder.

“It’s all a mess,” she whispers, and she sighs into her hands. “It’s all just a big mess.”

She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, and succeeds in sleeping for a little while. It’s a peaceful sleep, not a dream nor nightmare in sight, and Tatiana rather enjoys it. She hasn’t slept well lately, after all, not without someone to cuddle up against most nights.

She sleeps, but wakes up to the feeling of someone setting something down over her. Tatiana jolts awake with a sharp intake of breath and instantly hears a familiar, “Sorry!” Blearily, she glances over at the clock, figures she has been asleep for only an hour, and blinks up at Zeke. He has the edge of a quilt in his hands, appearing apologetic as he hovers over her.

“You were going to catch a chill,” he says sheepishly. “You didn’t even start a fire. You normally have one going by the time I get home.”

Stupidly, Tatiana stares up at him, and then jumps. “You’re home! Oh, dear, the fire! I’ll get it started right now.”

Zeke clicks his tongue at her and eases her back down against the couch, shaking his head as he puts the quilt over her. “Easy there. You just lie back and let me handle it. I picked up some firewood on my way home.”

Tatiana watches as he leaves her side, removing his coat and sliding it down his arms. He hangs it by the door and rolls up his sleeves as he starts moving around the house. Confused, she just sits there quietly, and pulls the quilt up to her chin as he crouches by the hearth.

“You only left this morning,” she says. “You haven’t left and been home in the same day in weeks. What happened?”

Zeke tosses a log into the fireplace, along with scrunched-up paper for kindling, and strikes a match against the stone. It bursts into flame, and he pushes it up against the materials while he answers her question. “It was simply the fact that Jerome had, for some reason, done all his work. I don’t know what happened, and I’m sure he’ll be back on his nonsense by the morrow, but there was little to nothing for me to do. So, I came home.”

He looks pleased with himself, his hands on his waist, and she smiles up at him. The fire starts to warm up the living room, and she shuts her eyes.

“August stopped me on my way back.”

Tatiana is pretty sure her eyes have never flown open so quickly in her entire life. “What?!”

Zeke claps the dust off his hands and tilts his head at her. “Yes. He said that you were tired lately and I should take care of you tonight.”

A relieved sigh leaves her, and she feels guilty for thinking for even a second that precious August would lay her secret bare. “Dear, you don’t have to take care of me. Let me get up. I’ll start putting together dinner.”

“Lie down,” he warns. “Just let yourself be spoiled a little tonight. I haven’t been home this early in weeks, and there’s nothing I want more than to let you rest for a few hours.”

Tatiana presses her cheek against the arm of the couch and watches Zeke with no small amount of worry. “You’re going to keep the house this evening? Really?”

He scowls at her in a teasing way. “Are you doubting my domestic prowess?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

He laughs, a clear sound that she can just imagine is rumbling warmly in his chest. “I deserve every bit of doubt. But, I promise, I’m not going to try to cook or do any laundry. Knight’s honor.”

“Praise Duma. You turned my favorite blouse violet when you last did the washing. I still don’t know how, and I don’t want to know.” Tatiana shuts her eyes. “What’s for dinner?”

“Borscht and pierogi,” he says. “Believe it or not, there was some left at that stall at the market when I passed by, and there usually never is this time of day. There’s not much, but enough for you to have a good meal.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll have a little bit, but I can cope with flatbread and dried fish for the evening, dear. I had a meal at the base, so I don’t need one now. I got dinner solely for you.”

He’s too good. He’s an angel. What, Tatiana wonders, and she then directs her question to the gods: What did she do to deserve this?

“Darling, where’s the soup pot? I’m going to heat this up for you.”

She lets her eyes drift shut and sighs. “Under the counter on the left. Right below where the knives are. Can’t miss it.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

She listens to the comforting sound of her lover moving through the kitchen, starting flames and putting pots down, and hums. For a moment, she forgets what she was so worried about.

And then, it comes flooding back. She wonders how easily she could break this peace, like a brittle piece of kindling between her fingers, if she opened her mouth now and said, “I could be expecting.” She wonders how that could ruin him, could drive him to such a degree of stress that he might shut down, and all her worries come beating down on her again like a barrage of waves.

“Zeke?” she calls out quietly.

“Tanechka?”

“Thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

She hears footsteps coming close and opens her eyes to see him standing by her. He rubs his hands on a dishtowel and gives her a mostly unreadable expression, but Tatiana thinks that he might be a little worried.

“Of course.” Zeke reaches down to brush a warm hand over her forehead. “I know you’ve been trying to keep the house in order for me, even though you’re busy at the church. I appreciate it, more than you know, and probably more than I can express. Getting some soup and dumplings from the market and letting you lie down is truly the very least I can do.”

Tatiana takes a deep breath as his fingers wander over her face, moving aside her bangs and tracing over her eyelashes. He’s gentle, warm, considerate, and she is so baffled at how a man who fights like a war god could be so tender in the right moments. She wonders how he knows exactly when she needs a soft touch and a kind word, and hopes he might wonder the same about her.

Zeke crouches down next to the couch and offers her a kiss, a chaste caress to her lips. “Tatiana. I love you.”

Her heart swells a dozen sizes, and she blinks rapidly as she feels tears start to form. Embarrassed, she pulls the quilt over her head, listening as he laughs as her.

“Oh, dearest, are you crying over that? Such a simple thing?”

She shakes her head. “No!”

She’s lying. She’s crying. No doubt.

“Come out of there, beautiful one. Let me tell you many more times how I adore you.”

“Stop that!”

“Beautiful Venus, grace me with your touch? Show me a mere hint of your beauty? Offer me, your weary soldier, a kiss?”

Tatiana blinks away her tears, sniffling as she listens to him tease her with such great affection outside the cover of the quilt. Her hands quaver as she moves them around, and they rest hesitantly in the space above her navel.

She’s worried. Unspeakably so.

He leaves the next morning, and comes back four days later. He’s been gone for longer periods of time before, but she’s never been happier to see him; the past days have been fraught with anxiety and paranoia, because she’s convinced that everyone somehow knows. She rushes him at the door with outstretched arms and a desperate need for affection. He stumbles back as she collides with his chest, sighs, and strokes her head.

“It’s late,” he whispers to her, and he’s right. It’s past midnight, and the moonlight is so strong that it illuminates the house without the help of a single candle. “Why are you not in bed?”

Tatiana ducks her head into his chest, fiddling with a tassel on his coat. “I wanted to wait for you. I thought you might come home tonight.”

“Good intuition,” he praises, and he leans down to lift her. She wraps her legs around him and throws her arms over his neck, letting him carry her to the bedroom. He’s still got his sword hanging from his waist, completely in uniform. Tatiana knows that he’s exhausted, because he normally removes all of his embellishments and weapons before anything else, but he seems to just completely forget this evening.

“You’re clingy tonight,” he comments as he sets her down on the bed.

“You’re the one who picked me up,” she shoots back.

Zeke smiles as he removes his sword from around his waist and starts undressing. Tatiana pulls her legs up onto the bed, pulling back the covers and curling up beneath them, and watches. His undressing is like clockwork, and there are few things more reliable than his nightly preparations: He undresses, goes and washes his face, and comes back to change into his nightclothes. He never varies from his routine, except for when he wants something.

He comes back from the washroom, patting at his face with a hand towel, but pays no mind to getting dressed. He moves straight for the bed, stretching his worn muscles before he slips under the covers with her. Tatiana sighs and pushes his bangs out of his face, then gives him a kiss on his cheek before he dips his face into her neck.

Zeke’s mouth is closed around her flesh, his tongue tracing over her skin, and Tatiana shudders under his attentions. This is also a routine like clockwork, and one she doesn’t mind. She normally likes when he so calmly slips into bed like this and gives her affection, but tonight, her mind is racing, and she can’t focus on pleasure.

He lets out content hums and sighs while he races his hands over her body, fingers slipping beneath her nightgown to caress her bare skin, but after a while, he stops. He pulls himself from her neck and glances up at her, concern evident on his face, and she curses herself for worrying him.

“You're quiet tonight,” he says. “I’ll leave you be.”

She tries to not flinch and reaches up. “I’m fine.”

Zeke gives her a sharp glance. “Something is on your mind.”

Her fake smile falls, and she squirms under him. He sighs, gives her neck one last kiss, and moves off of her. He settles close by, and Tatiana slings an arm over him.

“It's fine,” she assures quietly.

“It's not,” he replies. “Won't you tell me what is bothering you, my sweet?”

Tatiana hesitates, draping herself over him, and wonders if maybe she should say something. Maybe she could say something about how scared she is about the war, how her heart stops whenever she thinks of him being sent to the front lines. Maybe she could say something about how she might be pregnant. Maybe she could even say something about how terrified she is when she thinks about his memory.

Tatiana tightens her grip on her lover, gives him a kiss, and nuzzles his face. “Zeke?”

“What is it, Tanechka?”

“Are you- Are you okay? I know you’re trying to act tough, but you don’t have to at home. You can talk to me.”

It’s ironic that Tatiana asks him to tell her the truth when she hasn’t laid hers bare for him just yet.

Zeke is quiet for a long moment, and then sighs. “There's so much work to be done that I haven't a second to breathe. I’m sleep-deprived. I don't think I can bear anymore surprises besides what Jerome throws at me daily.”

She flinches, and he feels it.

He turns his head to her, frowning, more concerned than before. “Tatiana? Tatiana, if you ever have any problems, bring them to me. I can’t promise anything, but I will try to fix them, darling. It doesn’t matter how exhausted I am. That is what I am here for.”

Quietly, she nods, and then shuts her eyes and pretends to go to sleep. She can feel his eyes on her, watching her for any sign of a problem or a pain, but he finds not a one. Zeke eventually rolls over to face her, pulling her tightly against his chest, and they sleep.

Zeke leaves again early the next morning, hastily getting ready when he finds he has slept in, and gives her a hurried kiss before going. Tatiana has a gut feeling that he won’t be back for a long while this time, and wonders if the rest of the two weeks will pass before she sees him again. Either she’ll have bled and not be pregnant, or she won’t have and probably will be. If the former, she can keep quiet, relax, and he doesn’t have to know a thing. If the latter, well…

It’s getting colder, food is getting shorter, and not all the news that Rinea writes her from the frontlines is good. Tatiana hopes it isn’t the latter.

Six days go by with only a couple of rushed messages from Zeke, assuring her he is fine and simply dealing with criminals on the moors, but no other sign of him. She bites at her nails when she reads his messages, soaking up the exhaustion and frustration with which he writes, and prays that he will find relief soon. She prays that she won’t become an unnecessary burden that he desires to leave.

Tatiana’s flowers need tending to, she notices, and she has no chores at the church, so she spends some time with them. She plucks off the dead petals, pulls the weeds, adds a sprinkling of mulch. It’s a nice, sunny day out, and she hope that the sunshine will help them perk up a little. They’ve only got a little longer to thrive before the winter comes full swing, after all. They’re already looking pretty sad, and probably don’t have more than a week left in them.

She’s humming, as happy as can be with her problems temporarily out of mind, when an odd feeling strikes her. It feels like her stomach does a flip. As the pressure builds up, she briefly wonders if something is wrong with the child—assuming there is one—but quickly recognizes the feeling as anxiety. It is a sense of foreboding, like her world may come crashing down in a second.

Tatiana hears footsteps in the snow and turns her head. There is a soldier walking towards her, an older gentleman she recognizes as one of Zeke’s men. He does not look happy, and there’s an air of exhaustion around him. Her stomach drops as a several possibilities start running through her head, but they all end at one point, at one single conclusion:

Zeke is dead.

“No,” she breathes. Her legs feel weak all of a sudden, and she grips the flowerbox to try and maintain her stance. It doesn’t help, and she collapses to her knees, choking back panic.

The soldier rushes to her, alarmed, but cannot even open his mouth to speak before she starts blubbering through her tears.

“He’s dead,” she gasps, and lets go of the wood to sob into her hands. “He’s dead, he’s dead.”

“Lady Tatiana!” A warm, soothing hand is on her back, rubbing her, but she keeps gasping and sobbing and cannot control herself.

His body, is there one left? If there is a corpse, is it somehow mutilated beyond recognition? What happened? How? She’s going to be left all alone, her lover not taken by his past, but by the cruel claws of death. She’s been so worried about herself and her scare that she’s forgotten the dangers of war, and now he has been lost to them.

“He’s not dead, ma’am! Please, calm yourself.”

Tatiana stops weeping almost immediately. She lifts her face from her hands to regard the man, and is sure she looks like a sniveling, red-faced mess. “Wha-?”

“He is very hurt, however,” he continues, hesitantly. “Broken arm, multiple flesh wounds, some internal bleeding.”

That doesn’t make her feel much better. She almost breaks right back down into hysterics again. She doesn’t want to upset the man, however, and so she chokes out, “What happened?”

“Rogues attacked us, in the dead of night. Looking for supplies I imagine. No one was killed, thanks to the general, but he took the brunt of the damage, and keeps crying out for you.” The soldier helps her to stand, gently holding her arms while she stumbles up. “Come now, I’ll take you to the base. Do you need to grab anything? It’s chilly on the moors—dress warm.”

“My staff,” she mumbles.

He shakes his head. “No need. He’s already being cared for. Go get what you need and let us be off.”

Tatiana is reeling from the shock, dizzy and still sniffling, but makes her way into the house. The old knight stands at the door, carefully watching her while she grabs a coat, a change of clothes, and some food. She does not know how long she is going to be gone, and tries to prepare for at least a night.

He sets her on his horse, mounts behind her, and they are off. It’s nearly a two hour ride to the base, and she wonders what she will do for that amount of time. In her experience, Zeke’s men are kind, but not very chatty. The thought of stewing in her fears and anxieties is making her feel awful, however, and she occasionally lets a few tears slip out as they ride across the moors. The old knight is kind, however, and pats her hands whenever her quiet crying becomes audible over the sound of the horse galloping.

When they get to the base, a little faster than Tatiana had anticipated, it is in a frenzy. There is chaos everywhere, with people rushing about with supplies piled in their arms. There is blood splattered on the floors, and a few lightly injured soldiers gripping at their wounds while their peers try to patch them up. An instinct inside of her tells her to rush over and heal them, but as soon as they are off the horse, the man is directing her.

“I have to go tend to something else,” he says, and he points down a hall. “But just walk straight down there, and you’ll get to the infirmary. Ask anyone, and I’m sure they’ll be able to tell you exactly where General Ezekiel is.”

Tatiana thanks him profusely, squeezes his worn hands, and makes her way through the chaos. Despite the fact that there aren’t any dead, it is still a gruesome scene that she walks through. There are people gasping against their pain, their limbs cut open to the bone, while clerics tend to them. There are not enough beds in the infirmary, and they are tended to on the cold stone floors. Some tears start filling her eyes again, and she hopes that Zeke at least has a bed to rest on while someone puts him back together.

Eventually, she comes to an area that is bustling with military clerics. Their hands are bloody, their eyes a little wild beneath their calm and professional facades, and their staves are clenched in their hands as they bustle from room to room, patient to patient. There are some soldiers milling about as well, guards based on the way they hold their weapons, and she approaches one immediately.

She is not thinking very straight, and can only gasp out, “Where is he?” when she gets to them.

The soldier gives her a nervous glance; Tatiana can only imagine how crazed she looks. “You are-?”

The mage next to him elbows him. “This is the general’s lover.”

Understanding shines in his eyes suddenly, and he steps aside to gesture at the room behind him. “In there, my lady.”

She doesn't bother to correct him, tell him that she's just some village bumpkin without a lick of status, and rushes past.

There's a cleric tending to him when she opens the door, and she sucks in a breath at the sheer amount of blood. Her legs feel wobbly once more as she shuts the door behind her, and over and over she tells herself, while she watches him writhe in agony, Don’t faint, do not faint, Tatiana.

“Ezekiel!”

She runs in and is mortified to find him still awake, his teeth grit and sweat dripping down his face. “Why aren't you asleep? He should be asleep for this process,” she tells the cleric.

Zeke takes in a shuddering gasp, wincing and clawing at his arm while his medic sends another wave of healing magic through him, and his back arches off the bed. His body collapses, he gasps for air, and then extends a bloody hand to her. There is hardly anything but pain on his face, though his expression seems to soften when he recognizes her. “Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn't be here.”

“We had a limited supply of sleeping potion,” the cleric explains quietly. “Just a few bottles short. The general offered to go without.”

Zeke cries out as something in his arm cracks while it is rebuilt, and he desperately clutches at Tatiana. “Gods, gods, gods!”

“It's okay,” she reassures. She pushes his matted bangs out of his face and brushes the drops of sweat off his brow. “It's okay. Just hold my hand, darling.”

“Tatiana.” He calls her name like she is not there, like he wants her desperately, and she leans into him. She gets blood all over herself, seeping into the fabric of her dress, but doesn’t quite care.

“It's okay, I’ve got you.” She winces as he cries out again, and he squeezes her hand until she thinks it just may break. “It's okay, honey, just breathe. Just breathe.”

“Nearly done,” the cleric says. “This internal bleeding is just taking some special attention.”

Tatiana has scarcely seen Zeke cry, but there are definite tears of pain pricking at his eyes as he shouts in agony. There is nothing she can do, nothing at all, but wipe the sweat from his face and tell him that she is there. She can barely imagine the pain he is in without anything to dull it.

“Is there any alcohol?” she asks the cleric. “Anything?”

The woman shakes her head, and another pulse of magic leaves her staff. He cries out, and she shushes him before looking to Tatiana. “Nothing. We’re so short on supplies. We keep having to send them to the frontlines. There’s nothing, but we’re almost done.”

Zeke shouts again, clawing at Tatiana so fiercely that she’s certain she’ll bruise, and thinks that the medic can’t be done soon enough.

When night falls, Zeke still isn’t asleep, even though the healing has been done for hours. He keeps drifting in and out of consciousness, but never quite gets to slumber. He flinches, hissing in pain, as soon as he starts getting anywhere near sleep. Tatiana sits on a stool next to the bed, still dressed in bloodstained clothes, and pats his forehead with a damp cloth from a basin nearby.

He has not spoken to her in the few hours, and she imagines he’s still out of it. After all that, without being put under, she would be, too. Sometimes he looks at her, all tired and pained, but never says a thing before slipping right back to an uncomfortable, pain-riddled haze.

When it is the middle of the night, and she has just finished wiping the sweat from his brow again, Zeke blearily opens his eyes. There’s a sharpness in them, the haze from before gone. He's lucid, at least somewhat, and he mumbles her name as he reaches for her hand.

Tatiana gives it to him, wrapping her other over his shaking fingers, and whispers quietly, “I’m right here.”

“You came,” he mumbles, blinks, and takes a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, gods, that hurts.”

“You’re a fool of a man,” she snaps suddenly. “There were people with much more trivial injuries who took that medicine. You needed it much more than they did. I hate you and your big heart.”

Wearily, Zeke smiles. “I’ve a high tolerance to pain.”

Tatiana scoffs. “Sure seemed like that when you were screaming your lungs out earlier. Pain tolerance indeed.”

He frowns. “So sharp tonight, Tanechka. What-”

“I thought you were dead,” she hisses under her breath. “I saw that soldier coming to get me, and all I could think was that you were dead.”

His eyes grow heavy with anguish. “My sweet, I’m so sorry.”

Tatiana is really going now, all of her panic flooding out of her. “I was so scared. I don’t know what I would do without you. I don’t remember how I lived without you. F-first I lose Maria, and then you? It’s unbearable! And on top of all that, I’d be alone with-!”

She stops suddenly, swallowing back the remark. A sullen sniff leaves her, and she figures that now would not be a good time to tell him that she is going through a pregnancy scare. He’d probably open up his stitches in shock, and he cannot stand to lose any more blood. Tatiana can’t stand to cause him any problems.

Zeke gives her a long, long look, and then squeezes her hand. “You’ve been off every single time I’ve seen you in the past two weeks. What’s wrong? What were you going to say? Alone with what?”

Tatiana pushes his hair out of his face and kisses his nose. “It's okay, dear. Sleep.”

He shakes his head and grabs at her. “Something is wrong. I know something is wrong with you. Please, I haven't been able to sleep, I’ve been so worried.”

He needs sleep, and she has been worrying him with this secret-keeping. Her stomach sinks, and nervously, quietly, against her better judgement, she mumbles, “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Please, just say it. I’m too tired for any beating around the bush.”

Tatiana swallows and looks down at the floor, then whispers, “I may be pregnant.”

The room is quiet, and he stares at her, not quite processing it. He replies with an equally quiet, “What?”

Tatiana bites her lip. “Maybe. I- I’m waiting just a little while longer to see if I bleed. Having a cycle delayed this long is unusual, but not impossible. But, if it's not in the next week, then most likely...”

She trails off, taking a shaking breath, and rubs the cloth on his face. Her voice quivers as she says, “I’m sorry,” and she cannot stop herself from finally, finally bursting into tears.

“Tanechka,” he breathes, and he grabs her hand again and pulls her down to him. She lies on his chest, sobbing her eyes out, because the day has been too much, and she's tired, and she doesn't want there to be a stupid war, and she doesn’t want to worry about bothering this poor man.

“I’m sorry,” she cries.

“Shhh.” He pushes his lips against her head. “You must be so tired, my love. Trying to keep such a secret.”

She cries harder, and she doesn't care who out in the hallway hears her. “I’m sorry!”

A weak laugh leaves him. “You speak as though you've done this to yourself, but it takes two.” He sighs as he rubs her back. “Pregnant. Okay. Okay.”

“You're too busy for this,” she blubbers. “You don't have time! But I- I can't do it by myself. I’m scared.”

He hushes her again and keeps rubbing. “I promise, you won't be by yourself. I don't care what I have to do, but I’ll be there. Besides, you said it was just ‘maybe,’ right?”

Tatiana sniffles and sits up, swiping at her eyes while she nods. “Mmhm.”

Zeke shuts his eyes, then opens them and brushes a hand over her leg. “I’m sorry. This is probably my fault.”

“Shush.” She takes a shuddering gasp and balls her fists. “This is going to be hard. A pregnancy, in the middle of a war? In the middle of such a desolate winter? Th-there’s no food. No medicine. So much work to be done.”

Zeke listens quietly while she rants.

“My body type isn't great for it, either, and I’ll have to be on bed rest for who knows how long.” She sniffs. “I can't care for you like I want, because I’ll be useless.”

“Creating life isn't useless,” he chides. “And I don't care if you can't give me your full attention. I don't care if I have to wait on you hand and foot whenever I’m home.” He takes a deep sigh and glances away. “Gods know I’m awful at it, though. I can barely hold a kitchen knife.”

She laughs, just a little, and swipes her palm over her cheek. She picks up more tears than she would have wanted.

Zeke takes a deep sigh and shuts his eyes. He takes her hand, puts it close to his chest, and squeezes it. “If you go outside, there should be a soldier on patrol. Ask her to take you to my room, so you can sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Tatiana asks quietly. “I was going to sleep here.”

“I don't want you sleeping on some wobbly old stool,” he chides. “Go and sleep in a proper bed. You need your rest, after rushing all the way out here.”

“But I-”

“You need to take care of yourself. You never do it enough. Go have a proper rest.” His eyes open a little, and he frowns. “I can't sleep if you aren't well.”

Tatiana gives a sigh and stands up. She bends over, giving him a quick kiss on his forehead, and strokes her fingers along his jaw. He's stable, and in no danger. All she'll be doing if she stays with him is fretting uselessly and bothering him. She leaves like he asks, but he is staring at the ceiling when she goes and doesn't look like he'll be getting much sleep.

The soldier patrolling takes her to Zeke’s quarters when asked, and the room is comfortable. The bed is soft, and she nearly sinks into it when she flops down after changing out of her bloody clothes, but Tatiana doesn't get much sleep either.

Tatiana leaves the base only a day later, and when Zeke is healed, only a couple of days after that, he’s allowed back on duty. He’s anxious, though, jittery, and certainly everyone can see that. A small rumor has spread about their possible situation, and Jerome takes particular delight in mocking him about it.

“Well, you hot dog,” he drawls as he lets himself into Zeke’s office. “You got her knocked up? I didn’t know you had such an appetite!”

“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m trying to do paperwork,” he responds politely, but he’s thinking about knocking his teeth out.

Jerome continues right on. “Are you certain it’s yours? Maybe she’s gotten adventurous with another piece of man, considering how often you’ve been away from home. She needs someone to warm her bed, right?”

Zeke nearly snaps his quill between his fingers. “That’s a crude suggestion, sir, and very impolite to Tatiana. Mind yourself.”

Jerome appears to be growing steadily more delighted. “I guess-”

Zeke stands, through with being provoked, slamming his hands on his desk, and Jerome flees with a gleeful cackle. As soon is the door is shut, he sighs and sits back down, burying his face in his hands. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to focus on inventory reports, of all the woefully dull paperwork to be doing, when he’s got this load of news swirling around his head.

He might be a father soon.

Not a bad notion, certainly not. As he mentioned to the emperor a few months ago, he doesn’t mind. He likes children. He’s good with them. Thinking about interacting with them doesn’t bother him, especially not if they are his flesh and blood.

Zeke is worried about it happening now, of all the damn times. When, as Tatiana said, there’s almost no food, no medicine, and no time to breath. He wants to give her comfort. He wants to lavish her with free time to sit back in. He wants to give her healthy foods to eat. He wants her to be warm and without a care, resting peacefully without a war raging outside their door. Most importantly, he wants to be there with her.

These aren’t really his ideal conditions, stuck behind a desk and occasionally rounding up petty criminals while Jerome mocks him.

He feels bad about it, but he’s clinging to the simple “maybe” that she had offered. It feels bad, to be wishing against something like this, especially when it has a strong chance of existing already, but he wishes against it regardless. He must be truly awful, but he finds himself, a rather agnostic man, praying to the gods themselves for this to be a fluke. There’s just too much danger, too much panic and death in these times, for him to be comfortable with Tatiana giving birth.

Zeke scowls, burying his face in a hand and slamming his writing quill against the table.

Damn it, damn it, damn it all!

He spends a few more minutes wallowing in fear and imagery of the worst case scenarios. Rudolf’s situation comes to mind, of his wife bled to death and the baby born dead, and Zeke has to stand up and talk a walk around his study to calm himself down after that. He swallows, a fit of panic rising in his chest, along with bile in his throat.

There’s a gentle knock on his door, and then it swings open when he weakly replies, “Enter, please.”

It’s one of his younger mages, a new recruit with black hair and big green eyes, and she nervously regards him at his position by the window. “General? Are you alright?”

Her name, her name… Astrid, that’s her name. He buries his face in his hand, rubbing at his temples, and shakes his head as he puts his other on his hip.

“I am not, Astrid,” he replies. “But what is it you need?”

She hovers a little, swaying back and forth on her toes, and he notices then that she’s holding something behind her back. He lowers his hand, curious, and crosses the room to her.

“What do you have?” he asks. “Is that for me?”

Astrid looks down, looking a little embarrassed, and then shyly holds out the object. It’s a book, and the cover is decorated with a sketch of the human body. Quirking a brow, he takes it, flipping through it. It’s filled with plenty of diagrams, particularly of the female body, and he looks up at the girl.

“Astrid?”

“My dad’s a scholar, so he’s got all sorts of books like that,” she says quietly. She blinks up at him, then looks away again. “I heard General Jerome being rude to you about that rumor the other day, when you were discharged, and then I figured you must be nervous, because you snapped at him. You never talk back. You always say it only encourages him.”

Zeke smiles at her and shuts the book. “You listen closely to what I say.”

“Not much of what comes out of General Jerome’s mouth is worth listening to. You’re the only man with common sense around this place.” Astrid’s smile falls. “I felt bad that you were nervous. So I got this book from my dad for you to look at. It’s all about anatomy, and has some parts about what happens during pregnancy and birth. You’re a real logical guy, sir, so I thought knowing the logistics might make you feel better.”

Zeke glances back down at the book and turns it over in his hand to look at the back. “How considerate. How old are you, Astrid?”

“Almost fifteen.”

He takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. Another of these types: A naturally talented child who enlists for a soldier’s pension, regardless of war’s dangers. It hurts. It hurts to see children fight and die, and he makes a note to keep Astrid and other young recruits on the backlines, should a fight ever break out. Jerome sure as hell won’t look out for them, so he will.

“Thank you,” he says when he collects himself. “Your father doesn’t mind that I have this?”

Astrid shakes her head. “He says he owes it to you. General Jerome came and raided our town, and you brought back a lot of the stuff he took.”

Zeke wonders if he should do something like pat her on the head, but reminds himself that he is her superior officer, and she deserves his respect, not his patronizing. He clears his throat, puts the book under his arm, and nods politely to her. “Dismissed,” he says, but he allows himself to give her a smile, and that seems to be enough for her to walk away with sparkling eyes and a skip to her step.

To be honest, Zeke’s horrified by the time he gets home, and it’s all because of the stupid book. He opened it and started reading the second he was done with paperwork, and when Jerome reluctantly dismissed him for the evening (“I’m not heartless enough to keep a pregnant woman away from her partner! But be here bright and early.”), he’d read it while riding back home.

He’s horrified. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the book and the diagrams, a sort of terrified fascination keeping him hooked. The book is informational, no doubt, but that’s what makes it awful. It’s too informational. It’s too detailed. The explanations of gestation and birth make them look like the most agonizing things in the world, and Zeke got stabbed really badly only five days ago.

He puts the book under his arm and rushes home the second Ephraim is settled into the stables, and is flipping through the pages once again by the time he comes through the door. He mindlessly shrugs out of his coat, still focused on the diagrams, and barely hears Tatiana say, “Oh, you’re back! How are your wounds? Let me get my staff and look at them.”

Oh gods, his poor Tatiana.

She has her hands on her hips when she comes to stand in front of him, clearly a little miffed at being ignored. She pointedly gives the book a look, and then asks, “What’s that? Where’d you get it?”

Zeke looks up, turning the book towards her so she can see, and says, “Women do this?”

She furrows her brow and peers at the pages. She grimaces, looks at him, and then nods.

“Oh no.” He gestures at the pages helplessly, hardly able to find words to express his horror. “Look at this! The organs get all rearranged? The fetus is really that close to your ribcage? Y-you just- Your body just does that?”

“Pretty much,” Tatiana says. “It’s just how we’re built.”

“This is nightmare fuel,” Zeke tells her, and he follows her as she walks to the kitchen. “Oh, sweet Tatiana, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”

Tatiana takes a heaving sigh as she crouches by the oven, peering in and squinting against the heat. “Don’t worry about it. I bled yesterday morning.”

Zeke freezes, halfway through flipping a page, and then shuts the book. “Come again?”

“Missing my cycle was just a fluke,” Tatiana says, and he notices that her voice is clipped and short, lacking any of the softness it normally has. “Just one big prank by the gods themselves, because I don’t worry about enough.”

Zeke crouches down next to her. “Tatiana?”

She sniffles suddenly, her eyes filling with a few tears, and presses the back of her hand against her mouth. “I was really scared. For almost a whole month, I was really scared! I was scared I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself. I was scared of giving birth during a war. I was scared you would get really mad, and you were going to pack your things and just leave, and-”

“Slow down,” he snaps, and he brushes her hair behind her ear when she stops. The poor thing is shaking, trying to stifle a sob against her hand, and he feels awful about it. “Leave you?”

“You’re so busy,” she mutters. “I thought you’d just quit and leave. We’re not even married, so you don’t have to stay.”

He presses his lips together and puts the book to the side. “Now, Tatiana, you need to understand something: That doesn’t matter to me. I love you very much. I am here, through thick and thin, and I’m not about to pack my things and leave my only family.”

Tatiana takes another long sniff, blinking back her tears, and nods.

“Thick and thin, Tatiana,” he repeats. “I’m here for it all. But, I admit to being glad that this was just a fluke; I don’t think either of us are quite ready to be parents in the middle of a war.”

“I’m glad too,” she gasps out, ducking her head against her knees. “I feel so awful saying that, but I’m so glad.”

“Don’t feel awful. It’s only natural to want to give a child their best chance at survival. And right now, many of us don’t have one. How are we supposed to offer a sure chance at life to such a fragile person when we can’t see past this winter?”

Tatiana nods against her knees, and doesn’t look up at him. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

Zeke sighs. “It was mostly my fault. I’ll exercise a little more self-restraint when it comes to, well. Things.”

A laugh escapes her, a real laugh that is as clean as a bell’s ringing, and she looks over at him. “So where’d you get that book?”

“Oh, a nice little girl at the base gave it to me. She might be a bit disappointed when I have to return it the day after she offered it.”

Tatiana looks up. “Well, maybe keep it around. If you ever get the urge to get frisky, one look at all those diagrams, I guarantee the mood will be gone.”

Zeke pushes her hair aside and smiles, but can’t find it in himself to laugh at her jape. He slips a hand over her shoulders and brings her closer, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and wonders:

What can he do for his family when things are getting worse every day?

Chapter Text

“Are things really getting that bad?” Tatiana asks him quietly as they settle down.

They’ve got a nest of blankets and pillows all built by the fireplace, a bowl of soup for dinner, and a mug of hot kompot to share between the two of them. The fire is roaring, nice and strong with the firewood and kindling Zeke brought home, and it keeps them warm against the snowstorm raging outside. He’s still freezing from riding home in the blizzard, and feels bad for Ephraim in the stables. He’d piled at least three blankets on his horse before leaving, but still.

“It’s bad,” Zeke mumbles as he sits. His hands are still frigidly cold and numb, even carrying the warm bowl and mug, and he winces and tries to move them when he sets the food down. “It’s so cold.”

Tatiana takes his hand in hers and starts rubbing it, lifting his fingers to her lips to warm them with her breath. She’s warm from being tucked away in the house all day, and her touch helps. It’s also impossibly adorable, the way she tries warming him up in the same fashion she does the children, and he falls in love with her a little more.

“Here, hold the bowl.” Tatiana picks up the soup and sets it in his numb hands. “It’s nice and hot.”

“You should eat most of this,” he reminds with worry, because when she leans in to toss a crumpled piece of paper to the flames, it strikes him how thin she is getting. “You need food.”

“I’m fine,” she says, but really, she isn’t. She’s so much thinner than a few months ago when this whole mess started. It’s normal to lose weight in the winter, when there isn’t as much food, but she’s so small.

“Eat,” he says stubbornly. “I won’t have a bite until I’ve seen you finish most of the bowl. And drink all the kompot, too. I don’t like it as much as you do, so go ahead.”

Tatiana takes a long, drawn out sigh, but picks up the spoon and starts to eat. The dinner tonight is a thick, creamy soup with chunks of lamb, courtesy of Elena the baker. Zeke has noticed that, after word got out about last month’s little pregnancy scare, the people around them have been doting on Tatiana almost viciously. It embarrasses her dreadfully (“I’m not pregnant, they don’t have to fuss!”), but Zeke could not be more grateful.

“I got word yesterday morning that the Zofians are marching on Desaix at his stronghold. I’m shocked he managed to escape from the castle when the Deliverance reclaimed it,” Zeke tells her.

An upset look takes root on her face, and she shakes her head. “It’s because he’s a filthy brute who used his men as shields. There’s no explanation besides that. Desaix’s an awful man, you know.”

Satisfied that she’s eaten a good portion of what’s in the bowl, Zeke takes the spoon from her and starts helping himself. “What makes Desaix so terrible, besides regicide and being an overall coward?”

“He murdered Lima’s children.”

Zeke nearly chokes on the soup, his stomach turning. “What?”

Tatiana settles against him, lifting the mug of kompot. “Lima, as you can imagine, had a lot of children. But, Desaix wanted the throne, so he killed all the poor things. Zofia hasn’t had an heir in ten years. I mean, there’s rumors of a princess who escaped a fire, but-”

“He burned them alive?” he exclaims.

Tatiana is quiet for a moment while she drinks, then nods.

His impression of the Zofians isn’t getting any better with each new thing he learns about their politicians. A rapist for a king, a child murderer as a chancellor. He can’t imagine what kind of people their knights are, so he asks Tatiana, “How would you describe Zofians?”

Tatiana looks up at him, confused. “What?”

“I don’t know much about Zofia, or the people,” he reminds. “If they’re similar to their king or Desaix, I don’t think I have good opinions of them.”

She hums in thought, sets the mug down when she’s had a drink, and picks up the spoon from the soup. She lifts a spoonful to him, appearing to be in deep thought while he lets her feed him.

“The Zofians… Well, I don’t think they’re all like Lima or Desaix,” she finally replies. “Oh, you’ve got a little on the corner of your mouth, honey.”

Zeke swipes it away with a mumbled thanks.

“I don’t want to say anything bad about them, because they’re just like us, but I think they’re spoiled,” she admits. “Mother Mila’s heart and intentions are in the right place, but she’s a mother who dotes too much on her children. Her Blessing makes it too easy to grow crops and raise animals. The Zofians are blessed with a lot of food, and lives of comfort and little hardship. Honestly, it’s paradise.”

“So they’re soft,” he summarizes.

“Basically. Recently though, in the past year, they’ve been having a drought. Their soil isn’t any better than ours now. It’s just normal. And they don’t know how to work normal soil. It may as well be barren to them. They’ve never struggled for anything, and now the common people are paying.” She sighs, takes the empty bowl to set aside, and rests on him. “But at heart, the Zofians aren’t bad. Their king was just an awful human, spoiled by a goddess’ favor. The chancellor, a demon who slaughtered children. And I don’t know what kind of people the Deliverance contains, but I’m sure that they just want things to be normal again.”

Tatiana is too soft for wartime. Too much sympathy for people that aren’t her own, but Zeke loves her for it. He kisses the top of her head, wraps her up in his arms, and they lie down on the nest they’ve arranged. Her expression is nervous and she won’t look at him, not even when he strokes his fingers over her face.

“Do you think they’ll try to invade Rigel?” she asks quietly.

Zeke frowns and rests his hand on her cheek. “I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.”

She leans into him, burying her face into his arm. “We’re right on the border. What would they do to us if they came over? Are we going to have to suffer for the emperor’s decisions?”

He shakes his head, gives her another kiss for reassurance, and they fall asleep.

Negotiating with Jerome is like talking to a brick wall. An exceedingly stupid brick wall. The stupidest brick wall in the entire world, even.

Zeke frowns as he heads into Jerome’s office, scrutinizing a slab of cured meat on a table. It looks mouthwateringly good, and has clearly been torn into by multiple people, but he refrains from helping himself. He doesn’t know where it came from, and based on the way the fact that it's Jerome with some on a plate at his desk, he doesn’t think it was obtained legally.

“I don’t suppose you paid for that,” Zeke says snidely, and it’s not a question.

His superior shrugs and waves a hand. “Remember what I told you, Ezekiel. Keep your nose out of my business. And don’t think I don’t know when you take things back to the villages after I’ve confiscated them. That’s awful behavior, you know.”

Zeke fights the urge to roll his eyes, gives the cured meat a longing look, but once more beats down his hunger. He stiffly pulls a report out from the folder under his arm and hands it to Jerome. “Inventory, as requested.”

“At least you’re good for something.” Jerome looks over the papers for a few minutes, then nods. “Looks to be in order. You’re dismissed for this evening. Go on, scamper home to that girl now.”

It’s tempting to just turn on his heel, ignore the stolen goods littered around the office, and leave. He could turn a blind eye and ride back home, be back on time for whatever scraps they’ll have for dinner, and rest his head in Tatiana’s lap and let her smooth away his worries and anxieties. It would be so easy to do that, but he can’t leave without saying something.

“How many times must I insist that you stop plundering the villages?”

Jerome glowers up at him. “Ezekiel, I said you were dismissed. Go. Home.”

A dam overflows. “How many people could that one slab of meat have fed? How many children? Don’t you care?”

“I care that my stomach is full,” Jerome replies calmly. “A soldier needs to be in top condition if he’s expected to fight a war.”

“A soldier needs to care for his people,” Zeke reminds. “You live in comfort in this base, but as someone who lives in a village, let me tell you: There’s hardly any food. There’s hardly anything, and you take what little we have!”

Jerome sneers. “‘We?’ You’re lumping yourself, a proud knight, in with hordes of commoners?”

“That is not the point. The point is that with all the food you’ve taken, people could have full meals. They could relax for just a few moments, knowing that there is food on their plates. How could you be so selfish as to deprive them of that?”

Jerome sighs and brushes a finger over his moustache. “I see what this is about. You’re concerned about that cleric girl. How is she doing?”

Zeke freezes, tensing up at the thought of all the weight Tatiana has lost, the exhaustion in her eyes. The last time they’d been in bed together, it had nearly sickened him to feel the bone beneath her skin, where he was once able to touch soft, healthy flesh. Tatiana is not doing well, not at all, but he doesn’t tell Jerome that. He keeps his mouth shut while Jerome helps himself to a slice of meat.

“Not well, I take it. I suppose it’s a good thing she ended up not being pregnant. You would have done a shameful job at caring for her in that condition. A terrible excuse for a father and a-”

A slamming sound fills the room as Zeke throws a hand down on the desk, glaring. It takes every ounce of his willpower to not grab Jerome by the collar of his shirt now and throw him to the ground. It takes every piece of self-control in his body to not pummel this man into a pulp like he deserves. Jerome looks calm despite this physical outburst, however, nibbling on the slice of meat on his knife.

“A newborn infant probably wouldn’t have made it through, poor thing. It's a mercy that it wasn't real. Don’t be fooled, Ezekiel; this war isn’t going to end any time soon. Even when the spring comes, there will be nothing. The people are going to continue to suffer. Your girl is going to continue to suffer, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You shut your mouth,” Zeke warns. “I’m a patient man, but I have my limits. You suggesting I'd be unable to care for my family is going far past a line.”

“I’m only stating the facts,” Jerome exclaims, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, you didn’t say anything, but I can just tell that your sweet, sweet Tatiana is having a rough time. It’s no slight to you, General Ezekiel.”

It obviously is a slight, and Zeke glares at Jerome, clenching his hand against the wood of the desk.

“We can strike up a deal if you’d like, Ezekiel,” Jerome says after a moment. “Hear me out? Partner to partner?”

Zeke struggles to not dry heave at being referred to as Jerome’s partner. Regardless, he gives a slight nod and stands up straight again.

“If you stop pestering me nonstop about my excursions, I will give you a quarter of what I bring back,” Jerome suggests, and Zeke’s heart stops. “One quarter of all the food, and you can take it home to Tatiana. Tell me, don’t you think she would appreciate more than one meal of hardtack and coffee a day? Put a little weight back on her? She is so adorable, after all, when she doesn't look like a walking corpse.”

There’s silence in the office, and Zeke hates himself, because he considers it for a moment. He considers shutting his mouth and letting Jerome do as he pleases, considers taking food home to Tatiana. He hates himself for thinking of agreeing for even a second, and takes a deep breath before shaking his head.

“Generous, but I’ll decline.”

Jerome’s smirk falls in a blink. “Oh? You’re really so cold and callous that you want your lover to starve? I’m giving you the chance to feed her, Ezekiel!”

He thinks of how disappointed Tatiana would be, not to mention how horrified, if she found out he was feeding her with stolen goods. He shakes his head again, gritting his teeth as he thinks of her thin, fragile body.

“I’m going to provide for my family on my own terms. Not through thievery.” Zeke makes for the door. “I’ll be back for the daily scolding tomorrow, sir.”

“You’re a damned fool, Ezekiel,” Jerome calls. He gets up from his chair, hands firm on his desk, and is red in the face. “A damned fool! Don’t you care about that girl at all?”

“I said I would provide for her on my own terms. Good day.”

Jerome sneers. “I was under the impression you’d do anything for her. I was wrong.”

Zeke pauses, his hand on the door, and lets slip, “Of course I would. I’d do anything for Tatiana. But it’s in her best interest to not feed her stolen food that could feed other people. Unlike you, she cares for her countrymen.”

Jerome rolls his eyes, sits back heavily in his chair, and glares at Zeke as he curls his hands together. “Would you really do anything for her?”

Something feels off about the question. There’s some intent lying beneath it, a little questionable, but before he can be wary, Zeke replies, “Of course. Absolutely anything at all. Such is the extent of love, as I’m sure you’re unaware.”

Jerome scowls at him while he leaves, and Zeke wonders if he really made the right decision.

Zeke is asleep, or at least trying to be. He’s home late, which isn’t unusual as of recent. If Tatiana thought he was gone frequently before, it’s even worse now. He gets home after days away like usual, but then gets back at preposterously late times, and then has to wake up and leave at the crack of dawn. He has bags under his eyes, an exhausted slump to his movements, and Tatiana can’t even bring herself to tease him with something like, “All this stress is going to turn your hair gray, old man!”

He comes home, has a tiny meal in silence, and then goes to sleep. He seems to appreciate it when Tatiana gives him some affection, like a scratch behind his ears or a kiss on his nose, but can’t bring himself to return any of it. The poor man can barely get undressed in his exhaustion, and Tatiana’s heart is breaking every second she has to see him like this.

He’s slumped down in the bed now, his back to her, and Tatiana knows from the way his body rises and falls that he’s not quite to sleep yet. Still, she’s quiet, desperate to not bother him, yet watches over him. She’s using the last of her yarn to knit him a scarf, and she thinks she can probably finish tonight.

Zeke takes a deep breath suddenly, and mutters, “Tatiana.”

She puts down her needles and looks over at him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

What a silly man, she thinks, and reaches out to stroke his head. “About what?”

He doesn’t turn to look at her, but still speaks. “You barely see me these days. It makes me feel bad. I imagine you must be lonely.”

She frowns, running her hands over the knitting, and tries to sound cheery. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I have lots of friends, Zeke. I mean, we’re all busy, trying to get by, but, um… I- I’m not lonely.”

“I see.” He takes a heaving sigh that she imagines rattles his bones. “So it’s just me.”

Tatiana puts her knitting to the side and leans over him, stroking her fingers over his jaw. “Darling, are you lonely? Is that what this is about?”

Zeke mumbles something and turns away from her a little more, and she smiles.

“Aww, how sweet!”

“Don’t tease me,” he says sharply, and she puts her light-hearted tone of voice away.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, and she pulls her hand away. “I didn’t mean to make light of the situation. I’m really sorry that you’re lonely.”

Another sigh shakes his body. “It’s so awful. Every time I think I can come home, something else comes up, and it’s not even Jerome pushing work on me. Things are just… getting bad, Tatiana. The war is taking a turn we didn’t expect.” Her heart thumps in her chest while he pauses. “A lot of generals who went to Zofia have died.”

“I know,” she mutters. “But, you know, they’re not you. If the Zofians come here, I have faith in you. Everyone does. I know you'd protect us.”

Zeke finally turns to look over his shoulder at her, and Tatiana’s heart aches at how sullen and exhausted he looks.

“Please go to sleep,” she begs, and she touches his face. “I can’t stand to see you so tired.”

He shakes his head and then turns, facing her fully. He takes her hand and squeezes it, shuts his eyes, and says, “Tell me about your day.”

“Ezekiel-“

“I just want a little normalcy.” He sounds close to begging, and Tatiana takes a deep sigh.

“Well, I woke up and went to the church. There actually wasn’t a lot to do today, so I managed to catch a ride with August and go to the market. But, you know, there wasn’t a lot of stuff, and I couldn’t afford anything besides.” She squeezes his hand back and strokes his hair. “And then I came home and did some chores. It was a riveting day.”

“Mmm. Seems so.”

“What did you do today?”

“Slept for a few hours, before I got woken up. Did some training with my men. Took inventory, rode out to some villages to take complaints, tried to return what items I could. I got into a shouting match with Jerome again. He keeps threatening to punish me for being so impertinent, but never does.”

“He knows that if the Zofians get here, they’ll need you. But, dear, be careful when the war ends. There’s no telling what he might do.” Tatiana moves to lie down on the bed and pulls the quilt up around them, and contemplates if she should tell him this detail. “Do you remember that night we went stargazing a couple years ago? And I told you a lot of stuff about Nuibaba and Jerome, and I showed you my scar?”

Tiredly, he nods. “I can’t forget. Not after what happened the day before.”

“I told you that Jerome had someone whipped within an inch of their life when they stood up to him, remember?”

“Of course.”

The memory churns Tatiana’s stomach. “That was August.”

His eyes open suddenly, and he searches her face. “August?”

“It was right after Maria-” Tatiana swallows, trying to calm her upset stomach. “It was right after that. Jerome was appointed the new general in charge of this region. A talented soldier from a military family in the imperial capital. We all had high hopes that he’d finally be the one to crush Nuibaba, but you can see how that turned out.”

“They’re practically best friends,” Zeke says bitterly.

“Jerome got comfortable here really fast,” Tatiana continues. “And he made it clear really quick that he had an eye for pretty women. The younger, the prettier, all the better. And I'm- I'm not trying to flatter myself, you know, but one of the first times he came around here, he took to me. I guess I was his type, somehow.”

Zeke shifts, moving to brush her hair behind her ear, and she can tell he’s getting upset, but he smiles as he asks, “Was that the time you broke his nose, honey?”

She shakes her head. “No. This was even before that. He came while I was doing chores, and he- To put it bluntly, he propositioned me. When I refused the first few times, he even offered money. I kept saying no, and he got upset. He tried to have me arrested and taken by force, and as you can imagine-”

“August didn’t stand for it?” Zeke guesses.

Tatiana can see the image in her mind, of his arms being tied to stakes with rope, his shirt being ripped off, the whip being yanked and wrapped around the soldier’s hand in preparation. She can still see it, the fear in his eyes when the whip pulled back for the first blow, and she can still hear the awful sound of his flesh being sliced open, the cry that burst out of his mouth.

She blinks back a few tears. “He called Jerome a pig and told him to stay away from me. He protected me, and they tied him up like a common criminal and had him whipped for it.”

It’s a bad memory, and Tatiana hates that she can still see it so vividly: People milling about nervously during the punishment, made to watch as example. August's mother and aunt, clinging to one another, crying out like his pain was their own. Jerome holding her, so roughly, by the arm, making her watch the whip come down again. Again. Again. Tatiana remembers the blood splattering into the soil with every crack of the whip, and the tears streaming down August's face. She can't, to this day, imagine that kind of physical agony.

“You can make this stop,” Jerome had whispered in her ear. “Come with me.”

And Tatiana had agreed. She was seventeen, recently deprived of one dear loved one, and not about to lose another. She had cried, agreed to do whatever he wanted if he would just make the pain stop, if he would just untie August and let her heal his beaten body. He had smiled and told her, “Anything for you, lovely.”

And then, that voice screaming out, “Is this all you’ve got?”

Tatiana feels like she can recall every detail of August in that moment: The twist of his tied up arms, the sweat pouring down his skin, the hot blood dripping down his back, the smile on his face as he'd taunted Jerome on with one simple phrase:

“Give me more, pig.”

She takes a sniffle and rubs under her nose. “If you ask August, he might show you the scars. They practically ripped his entire back open when he kept mocking them, but it worked. They- they left me alone. Only a couple weeks after that I broke Jerome’s nose when he tried grabbing me, and he seemed to really lose interest. He’s really had it out for this village in particular since. But not since you came around.”

Zeke takes a deep sigh and musters up the strength to lift a hand to his face. He drags it down, shaking his head, and then reaches out to coax her beneath his arm. “I hate that man.”

Tatiana thinks of the blood on her hands, ruby red and burning, while August writhed under her. He’d bitten back his tears and screams for her sake, she knows that. She’d barely been able to stitch him back together, crying all the while she did so, and she gets angrier as she thinks of it. She gets angry at her own tears. She gets angrier and more anxious as she thinks of Jerome’s scowl, the way he had pushed her away from him when he'd gotten bored of the spectacle, and how he had left August for dead.

“I hate him, too. I don’t want to think about how many other people were in August’s situation, just for telling Jerome ‘no.’ I wonder, sometimes, how many innocent people he’s killed during those tantrums.”

Zeke looks away. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I want to think it's not happened recently. That I've been able to do something around here for the better.”

They’re quiet for a long time after that, and Tatiana can’t fall asleep, not even with his arm wrapped around her, protecting her. Her stomach keeps twisting and turning while she thinks of the way August’s back looks now, shredded and filled with awful ridges and valleys from his flesh being torn apart. He comes to her sometimes, especially when it gets cold, and asks for a healing touch, some medicine, a spell, anything.

“Tatiana,” Zeke says again.

“You’re not asleep?” she asks.

Without opening his eyes, he shakes his head. “You said you couldn’t afford anything at the market.”

“Besides a little bit of food, no.”

He pulls her a little tighter. “I’ll go tomorrow and try to get you something. What do you want?”

A little taken aback, she thinks upon it. She rests her head on his arm, humming while she thinks. “Cloth for a new apron, maybe?”

He frowns and opens his eyes to glare at her. “Something you want, not need.”

She glares right back, a little pout on her lips. “We don’t have money to spoil ourselves with unnecessary things.”

“I have some extra gold,” he assures. “The emperor sent it after I was wounded last month. I’ll buy you something with it. What do you want?”

He won’t stop and get his much needed sleep unless she relents, so Tatiana sighs. “There was a pretty pink lip paint in one of the stores. Can I have that?”

“Of course.” Zeke takes the edge of the quilt and pulls it up over her shoulder. “What else?”

She laughs, almost humorlessly, at his insistence. “What else?”

“I’m spoiling you. I don’t know when I’ll get to do it next,” he explains, then repeats more stubbornly, “What else?”

Tatiana nestles closer to him, tangling their legs together and wrapping him in a hug. “Hmm… A hair ribbon. I haven’t gotten a new one in a while.”

“Okay,” he mutters, and he shuts his eyes and ducks his face into her neck. “Good night, Tanechka.”

He finally appears to be genuinely drifting to sleep at long last, and she runs the tips of her fingers over his cheek.

“Good night, sweet Ezekiel.”

Jerome doesn’t really like meeting with Nuibaba in her abode. Partners in crime they might be, but she’s unsettling, and she’s even more so when she’s on her turf. Her beauty becomes even more inhuman, and the treacherous air about her darkens even more. She becomes less frightening, he might say, and more completely and utterly terrifying.

“That dog of yours giving you trouble again?” she drawls. She roves her palm over a crystal orb, rolling it about the table like a cat with yarn. “Honestly, you’d think a man that devoted to his job would respect his superiors more.”

“He’ll refuse to fight. I know he will,” Jerome says, and he takes a long drink of the wine she’s provided. He always prefers to have alcohol in hand when he ventures up Fear Mountain, where he can hear potions bubbling in her cauldron, Terrors wailing outside, and the screams of women in her basement below. It takes the edge off.

“He’s got a strong moral code and something to protect. I dislike men like that.” Her lips turn up as she picks up her own glass. “It’s why I’m so fond of you, Jerome.”

Jerome sets his wine glass down and smiles in return. “What a compliment, my friend. And you’re right: He’s got his morals, he stands by them, but we might not beat down that Zofian rabble without his skill. He’s more capable than any soldier I’ve ever seen, as much as I hate to admit it. If the Zofians cross onto our soil, crushing them would be a cakewalk, if he’d just pick up his lance and follow my orders.”

He keeps his jealousy a secret. He keeps his distaste for Ezekiel's life to himself. It's his business, and nobody else's, that he's envious that Ezekiel has the emperor's favor, the kingdom's trust and loyalty, a chance to rise higher than Jerome. He keeps it to himself that he's jealous of Ezekiel's lover, his company beyond that of Jerome's: Servants, soldiers, and paid companions to keep him entertained through hard nights.

Jerome stares into his wine glass and grits his teeth.

“He is rather amazing,” Nuibaba concedes. “He fights like a war god. You really have to wonder who he actually is.”

They drink in silence for a while longer, the terrifying noises of her abode ringing around them. The bottle of wine eventually runs out, and when Nuibaba snaps her fingers, a woman with hair like lava and dead eyes emerges from the shadows to replace it. The sight of witches always makes Jerome uneasy, and he glances away. If he acts like they aren’t there, it’s no skin off his back.

Nuibaba refills his drink. “I think I have a solution to the problem, if you’d hear me out.”

Jerome swishes the alcohol in the glass, then glances at her. “What terrifying thing did you have in mind?”

She sets her glass down, a lipstick stain the color of the drink itself left on the rim. She rubs it away with a thumb and rests her cheek against a fist. “Even the most moral of men have a weakness. Something that makes them pliable, willing to listen to what anyone says.”

He thinks he knows where she is going. He tries to contain his giddy grin. “Do go on.”

“Ezekiel is rather fond of his Tatiana, correct?” Nuibaba says.

“He told me just the other day he’d never let anything happen to her.” Jerome scoffs. “What sentiment. He never stops rambling about the girl whenever he’s given the opportunity. You’d think that she was the greatest thing the gods ever made.”

“To him, she is. Men in love are stupid and blind to everything but their partners.” Nuibaba pours herself another glass of wine, and Jerome wonders if it’s possible for a person without a soul to ever get drunk. Four glasses now, and her gray skin is still as pale as it has always been, her composure as steady as ever.

He laces his fingers together. “I do like where you’re taking this, Nuibaba.”

Her hand rests on the orb again, and Jerome sees the faintest illusion of pale green hair and a sweet smile. Her clawed hands envelop it, and the image inside shatters. His eyes go to the witch in the corner as Nuibaba beckons her forward with a curl of her finger, and he swallows.

Nuibaba grips the witch by the hair, lolling her head about like the thing is a toy. “Tatiana’s evaded me long enough. This is an excellent excuse for me to finally indulge myself with her presence. So, don’t you worry, Jerome.

“I will fix everything for you.”

Tatiana sees Zeke off, as she does when he’s not leaving at an impossibly early hour. She walks with him to the stables, holding his hand and chattering the whole time, and he listens to whatever she has to say. She offers Ephraim sugar cubes when she thinks he isn’t looking, and helps him with the saddle and reins.

“Are you going to be home soon?” she asks. “I wonder if I could get my hands on something good for dinner.”

He leans down and kisses her lips softly. “I can’t say. It may be a few days, since we have a weapon shipment coming in. I’m going to need to supervise organization.”

Tatiana looks disappointed, but not surprised. “Well, alright. I’ll just be here. Waiting. Like always.”

He gets up onto the horse and sets a hand on the top of her head. “Darling, just the other day you told me you weren’t lonely.”

“I was lying,” she tells him. “You know that.”

Zeke smiles, leans down for a kiss, and then takes off.

He hopes to have another talk with Jerome when he gets to the base. The fool was in charge of patrols yesterday, and undoubtedly he’s probably taken an unspeakable amount of things once more. He’s aware that Jerome is getting sick of him, and that with each conversation he gets closer and closer to a prison cell, but he cannot help it. He finds his commander fairly easily, fortunately, and the second he steps into his office, things take a really confusing turn.

“I’ve been thinking, Ezekiel.” Jerome is turned in his seat away from Zeke, staring at a chalkboard filled with battle plans and formations, many of which are Zeke's own work. He's nursing a mug of coffee in his hand, lolling it around by the handle. “You’re right.”

Zeke blinks, staring stupidly at his commanding officer. He hasn't even shut the door. “I- I beg your pardon, sir?”

Jerome turns to regard Zeke and swirls his mug around, appearing bored. “Perhaps I have been stepping out of line. I’ve already had my men take back what they can to the villages. Let this be the end of our disagreement, hm?”

This doesn’t feel right, something in Zeke screams. Something about this is wrong and overly convenient. There is something suspicious about this sudden cooperation, this calm. He doesn’t say anything about it, however, and pushes his suspicious down. He thanks Jerome, bows a little awkwardly, and leaves his office in a daze. If he never has to argue about this with his commander again, then he’ll be more than happy.

It’s really bothering him, though, and Astrid tells him, “You look kinda out of it,” at lunch.

Zeke puts down his cup of coffee. “Do I?”

“Forgive me for saying so,” she says. “Did something happen?”

So he tells her about the suddenness of Jerome’s agreement to stop stealing from the towns and villages, and how smoothly the conversation had gone, especially after the shouting match they’d had just the other day. She listens quietly while she eats a piece of bread, occasionally nodding to show she is still listening. Zeke feels a little silly for unloading his suspicions on a girl Astrid’s age, but she seems mature and cool-headed.

“That is weird,” she says when he’s done. “General Jerome never agrees to do anything, unless it somehow inadvertently will make someone’s life harder. Also, he hates you.”

Zeke hangs his head. “Yes. He does. So why suddenly agree with me?”

Astrid takes her own mug of coffee, gets a spoonful of sugar, and mixes it in. “Can’t say, sir. I’m just a little girl, and a mage besides. What do I know?”

A wry smile lifts Zeke’s lips. “Is that something General Jerome said to you?”

Astrid takes a drink, puts down her mug, and mumbles, “What do you think?”

“So, perhaps you can explain to me, Astrid. Why has nobody ever taken Jerome’s awful behavior to Emperor Rudolf? Speaking as someone who knows him, I’m certain that he would not stand for this corruption.”

Astrid puts her mug down and puts her hands in her lap, like she’s about to give a formal lecture. “General Jerome comes from a really influential military family, and that’s about the sum of it. People in these parts worry that if they report him, his family could make their lives a living hell. Not to mention, the emperor can’t really risk doing anything about it right now.”

Zeke frowns and rests his head against a fist. He curls a fist on the table, then slowly taps a finger against the wood. "Influential military family. In the midst of a war, especially one that's suddenly turned out of our favor, we need all the support we can get. The emperor probably needs that support from Jerome's family. He can't risk any in-fighting right now."

Astrid nods and swirls her mug, then has another drink before saying, "Always politics, sir."

“Always politics,” Zeke repeats. “Thank you, Astrid.”

“Hey, General?”

“Yes?”

“I think you could go home tonight,” she says.

He looks at her, amused. “You think?”

“That weapon shipment was delayed, so it’s probably safe. You haven’t really been able to see Tatiana that much lately, have you?”

He sighs and puts a cheek in his hand. “Except for maybe one night a week, no.”

“Well, you should go home,” Astrid says. “How is she, anyway? After that pregnancy scare I mean.”

Zeke stirs his soup and scrunches his nose a little. “She’s fine? A little shaken still, but she’s getting back on her feet. She’s got lots of people to support her, even if I’m not there.”

“I see.” Astrid finishes her coffee and starts clearing off the table. “I guess you love her a lot, huh?”

"I do love her. Very much.” He starts clearing his place, and for some reason, feels a little unsettled.

Father Alexi is grumbling as he looks into the fireplace, and Tatiana glances over his shoulder to see what the problem is.

“Father?” she asks.

He jumps at the suddenness of her appearance. “Oh, Tatiana. How are you today, child?”

She smiles and points towards the kitchen. “I didn’t forget the bread this time, like I’ve been doing a lot lately. It came out really nice, so I guess today is going well.”

The priest shakes his head and gives her a sour, but teasing, look. “I understand why your brain has been all over the place lately, what with that scare and Ezekiel being gone, but try not to waste what little resources we have.”

She frowns and looks away, feeling much the way she did when he’d scold her as a little girl. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just fine. I’m sure it won’t happen again.” Alexi looks back to the fireplace. “I guess I have to go out and get some wood. It’s running low.”

Tatiana looks over to the stack of firewood in the corner, and the father is right. There’s only a few pieces left, along with a handful of kindling, and the fire is starting to burn a little low. She holds out her hands to him as he tries to walk past her.

“Father, sit down. You’ve been bustling all over the place today. Let me go get the wood, and you can relax for a minute.” She guides him over to a chair by the hearth, and makes sure he settles down. “Here, I’ll even go brew you some herbal tea to relax with.”

“You’re too kind to an old man, Tatiana,” he sighs. “Is this the treatment Ezekiel gets at home?”

She smiles as she leaves the room, heading to the kitchen next door. “When he’s home, I suppose.”

“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he calls apologetically. “Forgive an old priest for being inconsiderate.”

“Nothing to forgive,” she calls back. She’s already got water heating on the stove, and she pours it over the tea to steep. “Father, do you want any bread with your tea?”

“How thoughtful!”

His praises make Tatiana feel like things are still simple, and she delights in them. She hums as she slices the fresh bread, puts a little smear of butter on it, and takes it and the mug of tea to him. He’s made himself comfortable in the five minutes she’s been gone, and she sets it down on the table next to him.

“Thank you.” He picks up the mug in his weathered hands and smiles up at her, patting the hand she sets on his shoulder. “What would we do around here without you, Tatiana?”

“Oh, you’d get along just fine,” she assures. “All I do is burn bread and brew tea.”

“And mix the medicine, and clean the altar, and keep the chapel in order,” he lists off. “You do so much more work than you give yourself credit for. We’d truly be at a loss without you, my girl.”

Tatiana blushes, pleased with the compliment. “Well, guess I’ll go get that firewood now. Want me to bring in some water from the well while I’m out, Father?”

Alexi sips at the tea, sighing, and puts it down, perhaps to let it steep longer. “An excellent idea. I’ll be out to help you shortly. Just going to warm up these brittle bones of mine.”

“Take your time,” she calls as she leaves.

She puts on her coat and mittens, humming a tune as she heads to the shed where the wood is being kept dry. The supply is running low, and she sighs, her carefree mood gone, as she pulls logs off the pile. She wonders if there’s any at the market August can bring back, or if they’ll have to send someone out to brave the snow and chop down a tree.

She takes the split logs back, setting them by the entrance to bring in later, and takes the bucket for the well. The snow crunches under her boots as she walks through the village, and she smiles at everyone she passes.

“Tatiana!” Elena calls from her patio. “Myshka, how are you today?”

“Just fine,” she replies. “Get inside and keep warm, Elena! You’re getting too old to stay out in the cold.”

The baker scowls at her, waving a hand. “Pah! Young girls like you are the ones who should stay inside!”

They bid each other farewell after another moment of teasing, and she next next runs into the blacksmith.

“Chickling, out for water?” Maksim asks.

“Yes. We need some at the church, so I offered to go out.” She tilts her head at him, regarding the large woven basket on his back. “What’s in there, Uncle?”

“Arrowheads to take to be shipped to the frontlines,” he replies, and he shakes his head. “Sometimes, I’m glad Maria never got the chance to join the army. This life of war… I would not want it for her.”

Tatiana looks into the bucket, swinging it around her hands, and can’t think of what to say.

“Little one, I’m sorry you are dealing with this. General Ezekiel being gone so much must be hard.” He then smiles and pats her head, just as he did when she was a child. “Come over for kompot and bread when we both have time, hm? I’ll serve it hot with lots of cinnamon, like I did when you and Maria were girls.”

The offer is appreciated, and she tells him so before they both go on their ways. She next encounters some of the children, who hold out the storybook to her and beg her to read, and sulk away when she tells them she is too busy right now. She comes across August, who rubs her on the head affectionately for no reason at all, except that “I just felt like it. Stop lookin’ at me like that, like I just grew another head!”

It almost seems like she’s encountering every person in the village on her way to the well, but it’s not like Tatiana minds. She likes these little conversations, the normalcy that makes her feel like a child again. It reminds her that things can still be okay, even if they are hard for now. The winter this year is expected to be long, but the spring will come in a few months, and even if the war is still raging, there will be more food. There will be warmth. Things will be better.

She finally gets to the well, ties the rope to the bucket, and starts to ease it down to the water. The clearing is oddly empty, she notices, but doesn’t pay it much mind. She’s glad to find that the water below isn’t completely frozen over, and the bucket sloshes around as it collects it. She can hear the sea splashing in the distance, and sighs at the surprisingly calm day.

Yet, suddenly, there is a stir of fear inside of Tatiana, and she doesn’t know why. She ignores it, pulling the bucket back up, and figures it’s nothing. But again, the fear stirs. She lifts her head from the well, furrowing her brow, and notices that it's suddenly... quieter. The lapping of the waves at the shore doesn't seem so strong, and the sounds of the village are getting dimmer by the second. Her heart starts thumping, thumping, thumping, and her mind suddenly starts screaming at her, “Why is this clearing so empty? Why is it suddenly so quiet? Take a look around.

"You know this feeling."

Her panic starts to grow, and she carefully finishes easing up the bucket. She curses herself for it, but her hands are shaking as she sets it on the lip of the well, and slowly, she takes a breath. The feeling rises up in her stronger, painfully familiar, colder than any winter storm. Her heart drops as she slowly turns, the sound of her boots crunching the snow the only thing to be heard.

Tatiana should still be at the church by the time he gets back that evening, but she isn’t. It perplexes Zeke. He supposes she could be at home, but at this point in the afternoon, that’s a little odd for her, especially because the church seems to be busy today. They’re all mixing medicines when he comes in, doing maintenance on their staves, and organizing clothes and the like.

Tatiana should be here.

“Have you seen Tatiana?” he asks a passing cleric. “She came in today, right?”

The cleric stops and thinks on it. “Well, she was here earlier. We were cleaning the chapel together, and then… She went off somewhere, I guess.”

He wanders the church, poking around for her, and asks a few other clergy if they’ve seen her. They point him in different directions, and the trail ends when he comes across Father Alexi in the sitting room, waking up from what was probably a rather long nap.

“Dozed off,” the old man grumbles. He fixes his gaze on Zeke. “Ah, General, what brings you by?”

“I’m just looking for Tatiana,” he says. “She’s probably at home, but have you seen her?”

Alexi thinks about it while he gets up. “What time is it now? Almost six? I probably last saw her about three hours ago. She went out to get firewood and water, but-”

They both look at the pile of wood in the corner, and Zeke is a little dismayed to find that the stock of it is still running low, and the fire is smoldering out as well. It’s obvious nothing has been replaced, and he has a bad feeling in his gut.

“When you find her, let me know,” Alexi says. He’s obviously also got a bad feeling.

Zeke leaves the church out the back door, and jumps when his foot bumps into something. He looks down, and his stomach sinks as he finds a pile of firewood. It looks like it has been sitting there for a while, with the little smattering of snow atop it, and it’s just not like Tatiana to only do a task halfway. She might have set it down at the door while she went to go get water, but she wouldn’t just leave precious wood in the snow for three hours.

He takes Ephraim to the stables, glancing around for Tatiana all the while. He doesn’t see any trace of her, and the bad feeling in his stomach starts to grow. He asks Elena if she has seen her, and the baker replies that she did, a few hours ago, heading to the well. He asks Maksim passing by the same, and receives the exact same answer. He ties up Ephraim in the stables, stomach churning, and figures that she must be home. She must have gotten sick or started to feel unwell, and just gone home. That must be it.

Regardless of his assurances, he takes the spare lance he keeps in the corner of the stables home with him.

The sun is starting to make its way to sink behind the sea by the time he gets back to the house, and the wind is perfectly still. The air feels ominous for some reason, even colder than the average winter chill, and he hesitates at the entrance. The feeling is somehow familiar, but he can’t place exactly where he’s felt it before. Instead of lingering on it, he grips his lance tight and opens the door.

The inside is quiet and dark, not a single light in the place. There’s not a fire in the hearth. Not a kettle on the stove. He keeps hoping that Tatiana will come out of the living room or something, scold him for bringing a weapon home, but kiss him regardless.

But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.

He calls out her name, and there’s no reply. His footsteps echo hollowly as he walks through the house, checking every room for her, and his anxiety rises higher and higher with each place he doesn’t find her. The space is confined, but he’s confident he could still use his lance efficiently, should the need arise. He doesn’t know why he would need it, but the chilly, dark feeling hasn’t faded, and it sets him on edge.

He knows this feeling. He really does, but he’s too panicked, too anxious to put a finger on it.

After a slow, careful search, Zeke finally gets to the back of the house. The last room to check is the bedroom, and he holds onto the hope that perhaps she felt weak earlier in the day and came back home to rest. There isn’t much of an indication of anyone being home since that morning, but it’s the only hope he has left. He doesn’t know where else she could possibly be, except perhaps at the market. Then again, he had seen August walking around, and there’s really no one else who would take her in this weather.

She has to be home. Has to be.

As he steps towards the room, he sees the light of a candle creeping through the bottom of the door. All the tension, fear, anxiety in his body eases. He hears a quiet shuffling from inside, the sound of someone settling down on the bed, and he sighs as he opens the door. He had worried so ferociously for nothing, and half of him is tempted to give her a scolding.

“For the gods’ sake, Tatiana, you scared me half to dea-!”

He chokes on a strangled sound as he takes in the sight of their bedroom. It looks mostly normal for certain: Their wardrobe standing along the wall, the grandfather clock in the corner, Zeke's small desk on the other side of the room. Tatiana is there too, certainly on the bed, but unmoving and limp. A thin stream of blood crosses her face, and a darkly-clad figure is leaning on her, stroking her face with a long, claw-like nail. He brandishes his lance quickly, pointing it straight at Nuibaba.

The witch smiles at him and lifts herself up from Tatiana to sit politely, crossing her ankles and setting her folded hands in her lap. “Oh, we’ve been waiting for you, General Ezekiel! It took you long enough to come join us.”

Zeke’s heart is hammering in his chest. He hears it in his ears. Even as Nuibaba drags a hand over Tatiana’s body, like she’s stroking a kitten, she doesn’t move. Her resting face is not peaceful, but tight with worry, and he can’t take his eyes off the smears of blood and tears in her clothes. His throat feels tight, and he struggles to breathe. His lance is heavier than normal in his hands, and he tries to keep them from shaking.

“Away from her,” he warns.

Nuibaba’s response is to lean over Tatiana again and slowly drag a hand up her abdomen, over her chest, up to cup her face. “She likes it when you touch her like that, doesn’t she? Oh, you two are just the sweetest little things I’ve ever seen.”

He grits his teeth and holds his ground. “Away. You’re trespassing in my home, and I will attack you.”

She sits back up again, but doesn’t take a hand off of Tatiana. “Why, I just found the dear collecting some water and decided to help her! She looked so pale, I thought I would take her home and help her sleep. Don’t make me into the bad guy here, Ezekiel.”

So she had disappeared while doing chores for Alexi, meaning that Nuibaba has had her in her clutches for far longer than Zeke would like to dwell upon.

“She struggled a little, so I had to get a smidge harsh with her.” Her gray hand pulls at the edge of Tatiana’s hair, lifting it to reveal a wound on her temple, caked with blood. “But she’s barely any stronger than a kitten, really. It was embarrassingly easy to subdue her.”

His heart jolts up into this throat, and he takes a step forward, bringing the tip of the lance just slightly closer to Nuibaba. “Take your hands off of her and leave, or I will make you.”

“You don’t want to get blood on your nice carpet, though, do you?” Nuibaba mocks with a simpering smile. “Or on these nice quilts—didn’t Tatiana make them herself? They’re beautiful.”

“Enough talking.” He raises his voice, his panic growing by the second. “What do you want?”

“Just for your loyalty to be placed where it should,” says a new voice from behind Zeke, and he whirls around, lowering his lance in shock.

Jerome offers a malicious grin as he leans against the doorway. “We can strike up a deal if you’d like, Ezekiel.”

“Put down the lance, boy,” Nuibaba warns. Her caressing hand warps into a claw-like grip, and she holds her nails up to Tatiana’s throat. “Or else Tatiana might get a little more than a scratch on her head.”

Zeke drops his lance, letting it clatter to the floor, and watches warily as Nuibaba withdraws her hand. He raises his arms in surrender. The witch smiles fondly. He can hear Jerome behind him make some confident, arrogant sound in his throat, and he has the urge to whirl around and break his nose. However, Tatiana twitches on the bed, mumbling a little, and he remembers that everything is at stake.

“What do you want from me?” he repeats. “My ‘loyalty,’ you said?”

“You’re a bother. You’ve thrown a wrench into our habits and traditions around here.” Nuibaba pauses as a low groan comes from Tatiana, and strokes her head. “There there, precious. Your hubby is here to fix everything for you. Provided that he makes the right decisions, that is.”

“All you have to do, Ezekiel, is be a good dog.” Jerome steps into the room and takes a seat in a chair, as though he’s in some sort of important meeting. “Stop nagging over every little thing we do. Fight when we say to fight. Look away when we need you to look away.”

“It’s come to our attention that you don’t wish to fight the Zofians,” Nuibaba says. “Even if you haven’t exactly made it public, it’s obvious. That’s a problem. Good little knights like you go marching and stab who their emperor tells them to, right?”

Zeke’s stomach is twisting, and he watches as Tatiana stirs beneath Nuibaba’s hand. It seems like she wants to wake, but something is keeping her. He’s got no doubt that the witch’s hand isn’t just there for mocking, but spellcasting as well. Some sort of sleeping hex.

He tries to calm his heart and mutters, “You wish for me to fight an unjust war for you? And to let you grind these people under your heel, manipulate them as you please? You wish for me to allow you two—blatant criminals!—freedom to terrorize as you please?”

“Yes,” Jerome says simply. “It would be nice.”

“If I refuse?” he asks, even though a glance at Tatiana already gives him a hint.

“That’s fine,” Nuibaba tells him. “I mean, I have been searching for a new sacrifice as of late. I’m sure Tatiana would make a splendid witch.”

He nearly chokes trying to say, “No!”

Nuibaba gives Tatiana a patronizing pat on the head, turning her wine-red lips up into a mocking, sugary smile. “Do you how much she trusts you? You should’ve heard her cry out for you when I attacked her, as if you were going to ride to her aid.”

His heart twists, and he can’t bear thinking of Tatiana’s terror. He can’t bear thinking of how it must have been, being cornered by the stuff of her nightmares, the thing that ruined her life and took so much from her. He wishes, desperately so, that he had been there. Of all the times for him to not be… It had to be at this moment.

“All I ask for is for you to be at my beck-and-call, and we won’t hurt the girl,” Jerome tells him. The look in his eyes is that of sheer delight. “Would you really deny doing such a simple thing when the love of your life is at risk, Ezekiel?”

He wishes that Tatiana would wake up, would tell him what she would like him to do, but she’s obviously under a hex to keep her unconscious. Nuibaba’s hands are at her throat, both her and Jerome are staring at him expectantly, and Zeke’s answer is obvious:

“I’ll do as you say, sir.” His shoulders hunch and tremble, and it takes everything he has to spit out every last word. “Please, I beg of you to forgive my previous impertinence.”

Jerome’s wicked smile grows. Nuibaba stands from the bed. Zeke feels faint, and bends down to pick up his lance.

“Well, this went just as planned,” Nuibaba says. “I’ll take the girl now, Jerome.”

His heart stops and he faces Nuibaba. “‘Take?’ Tatiana is staying here, with me!”

“We never said that,” she says. “I’ll be keeping her up at Fear Mountain, just in case. Call it insurance, if you will. If you do anything that steps out of line, or disobey Jerome in any way? Well, as I said before: She would make a splendid witch.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” he protests, and struggles as Jerome grips his shoulders to hold him back. “She must stay here!”

“We never said she would,” Nuibaba repeats, and she rests the tips of her fingers against Tatiana’s forehead. “In any case, we’ll be taking our leave. Do call again if you need anymore help, Jerome.”

Zeke grits his teeth, straining forward, but Jerome holds tight. He starts fighting against him, writhing wildly under his grip, and his voice raises into a scream. "You witch! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you!”

He’s struggling frantically, his throat closed up, and Jerome is grasping at him and hissing something that he doesn’t bother listening to. He fights as Nuibaba lifts a hand and snaps, but Jerome is stronger than Zeke would like to admit, and he cannot get free.

The air around Nuibaba and Tatiana ripples like water, and when Zeke blinks, they’re gone.

Just like that, they’re gone, and Ezekiel has nothing.

Jerome releases him and Zeke slumps forward, collapsing to his knees. His lance is right by his hands, so close, and he could turn and skewer Jerome on the end of it in the blink of an eye, he knows it. He knows he could. He could kill him for playing him like a fool, acting so cooperative and agreeable hours before just to lower his guard. He could kill him, rip his innards out and make him suffer, he could do it.

But then, Tatiana would be as good as done for.

“Up then, Ezekiel,” Jerome orders. “I received word this morning that the Zofians have slaughtered Desaix at his stronghold near the border. Their next stepping stone, Tatarrah, is a weakling from the Faithful. I’ve no doubt they’ll kill him just as easily. Assuming they invade, we have to be ready for when they make their march across the Plains.”

Jerome’s words sound like they’re coming from three rooms over. Zeke feels numb and cold. The room is closing in on him, swallowing him whole. He struggles to breathe, especially as he finds a spot of blood on the floor at the edge of the bed. He wishes that this could all be just a terrible nightmare, but the blood is hot and wet when, trembling, he reaches out and dabs at it, and it isn’t anything less than the worst reality.

Jerome sighs. “I suppose I’ll let you have a while. But, I want you at the base bright and early tomorrow. There’s much to do so that I can prove myself to the emperor.”

He waits until he hears the front door shut before he lets out a gasp, like he’s just emerged from underwater, and tries to slow down his racing heart. The bright red blood on his fingertips is scalding him like a hellfire. He feels crushed under the weight of his powerlessness, his weakness, his inability to do anything for Tatiana. He feels sick, he is shaking, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Zeke recalls telling Tatiana, “I shan’t allow her to lay a hand upon you,” a promise made two years ago when things were so simple, and feels like the greatest fool in Valentia.

Chapter Text

Zeke doesn’t know what to do. He can’t breathe. He can’t think straight. He can barely stand. His heart is beating so fast that his chest hurts, and he doesn’t know what he is feeling. He just sits there, bent over on the floor, knowing that the world has crumbled around him. He doesn’t know what he’s going to tell people, but he knows who he has to start with.

Everything outside seems too normal, and Zeke feels like he is walking through a daze. There are people milling about, laughing and talking, people still working, like nothing is wrong when everything is wrong. Nothing in the world is right, and they don’t even know it. They do not know that everything is broken.

When Zeke comes to the shop, he feels numb, and he can hardly remember his walk over. The full weight of what he must do hits him—he has to tell him that she’s gone—and he carefully, nervously, opens up the door.

August sits behind the counter, scrawling something on a paper, and gives Zeke a glance before looking back down. “General, hey. What’s up?”

He’s unaware. He doesn’t know.

Zeke swallows. “I-”

He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he's barely processed anything that has happened.

August furrows his brow and sets his quill down on the counter, moving from behind to approach him. “You look awful pale, sir. Need a seat?”

Zeke doesn’t say anything.

There's a flicker of panic in August’s eyes. “Tatiana.”

His heart seizes, and he can’t get the image of her under Nuibaba’s claws out of his mind; helpless and prone and endangered. He opens his mouth to say something, but chokes on his words and stumbles back. His elbow bumps a shelf and he grabs it for balance.

“Where’s Tatiana?” August demands. “Where?”

If Zeke had kept his mouth shut, he thinks, if he had just kept his mouth shut and done what was asked if him, everything could be fine. Tatiana could be safe at home, snuggled up next to him, giving him insistent kisses and she could be safe. Hungry, cold, tired, but safe.

“Tell me!” August grips Zeke’s coat in his hands, yanking him close to him, and there’s a panic and a fire in his eyes that wakes Zeke up.

“It’s my fault.” His voice sounds empty, and like it doesn’t belong to him. “I stepped out of line, and- and-”

“And what?” August demands. He gives Zeke a shake. “And what?!”

“They took her,” he says thickly. “Jerome and Nuibaba. Nuibaba came and took her.”

The hands leave Zeke’s shirt, falling limp at August’s sides, and he looks uncomprehending for a moment. He looks confused, like Zeke has just spoken some nonsense in a foreign language. After the confusion comes a blank, expressionless look, then a fearful one, and then one that is filled to the brim with rage.

August moves so fast that Zeke barely has time to register it. His fist slams directly into his jaw, and he stumbles at the force of the swing, grunting and gripping at the offended area. He doesn’t catch a break—the fist catches him again, harder this time, and more blows come after it, more and more and more, ruthless and unrelenting.

Zeke doesn’t fight back. He can feel blood starting to pour from his nose, and he knows he’s going to bruise badly, but he doesn’t fight back.

“You said you’d protect her!”

He knows. He knows he said that.

“I trusted you. She trusted you! And you just- just-!”

The blow that comes to his stomach is a little softer than the ones to his face, but Zeke grimaces and keels over anyway, holding his gut and struggling to catch his breath. He’s starting to feel lightheaded, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the beating he’s taking, or the fact that he’s going to have to come home to an empty house, to an empty bed, to an empty life.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “I didn’t mean to-!”

“Why didn’t you just shut your goddamn mouth and do what they said?” August demands. He drags Zeke back up, and he has never seen him so expressive and wild before.

Zeke doesn’t know why. He wishes he had. He wishes he’d never said a thing to Jerome, and wishes he had just turned a blind eye to the horrors and atrocities. He wishes he’d been a good soldier, kept his mouth shut, and still had Tatiana in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say. “I’m sorry.”

August pulls back another fist, his teeth grit and his eyes wide, but seems to suddenly change his mind. He shoves Zeke away from him, sending him bumping into the shelf, and walks about the shop. He bites at his nails, pulls at his hair, takes shuddering breaths, and paces a hole into his floor.

“Nuibaba,” he mutters. “That accursed hag. I’d kill her, I swear I would.”

“They said-” Zeke swallows, swipes at his face, and pulls a smear of blood away. “They said they wouldn’t hurt her, so long as I fought and obeyed.”

August lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s a load of shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if that witch is digging in right now. The Father knows she’s been waiting for years for just a bite.”

His body goes cold all of a sudden. “She won’t. Th-they won’t. I know. Because they need me.”

The other man turns his accusing gaze on him. “This is all your fault. You promised me you’d care for her, and that entails protecting her. And you know that Nuibaba-”

He starts pacing again, back and forth and back and forth. He wrings his hands together, mumbling, and pulls at the cuffs of his shirt when he isn’t doing that. The length of his paces get shorter. He gets more visibly nervous with every passing second.

Zeke wobbles a little as he leans off of the shelf. “Listen, I know you’re upset. How do you think I feel?”

“I don’t care how you feel. How do you think Tatiana feels? She’s on Fear Mountain, rotting in some mangy witch’s dungeons. You know she’s scared stiff of Nuibaba!”

“We all are,” Zeke protests. “I’m terrified! What if they lie to me, and they harm her, but don’t tell me? What if she’s not even alive anymore? What if-?”

“Shut up!” August snaps. “Gods, just shut your mouth! Shut! Up!”

Zeke has never seen August so unreasonable, and tries to calm his racing heart. “Listen, I know that you’re upset, after what happened to Maria. I know what you two went through, and-”

August whirls around, his temper flared up like a hurricane, and stalks towards Zeke with a pointed finger. “You have no idea what we went through. You don’t know anything, you son of a bitch!”

Zeke grits his teeth. “August-”

The anger is mixed in with panic, and it shines in August’s eyes as angry tears fill them. He chokes on a sob, buries his face in his hand, and grips his bangs tightly in his fingers. “I don’t want another funeral. I don’t want to dig another grave that won't have a body!”

Zeke doesn’t know what to do as August stumbles to a stool and sits down heavily. His anger is gone, replaced with a tired resignation, and his face is buried in his hands.

“Not again,” he hears him groan. “I can’t do anything again.”

“What do you want?” Tatiana breathes.

Nuibaba takes a step forward, her boot smashing the snow. “Nothing much. Just come here.”

The well is still right behind her, and she grips the lip of it. “Why are you here? Y-your food allotment isn’t ready yet. We agreed on next week.”

“I’m not here for that.” Nuibaba extends a hand as she walks forward, and then glances around. “Nice and quiet, right? I made a barrier. All for you.”

Tatiana’s heart is beating straight out of her chest, and she feels panic swelling in her. If there is a barrier, there is nowhere to run. There’s no one to hear her scream. No one to come help. Part of her is glad, because she doesn’t want to think about what Nuibaba would do to anyone who got in her way.

Instead of running, she circles the well, and the witch follows. It’s a slow, careful dance they have, both of them watching the other; Tatiana is wary. Nuibaba is delighted.

“You made an agreement to not steal girls from this village anymore.” She tries to speak bravely, but her voice is quivering. “We’ve abided by all the terms, so-!”

“Doesn’t this remind you of way back when?” Nuibaba looks up at the fluttering snow, clearly pleased. “A snowy day. Cold. You, me, but no one here to protect you now.”

Her heart jumps in her throat as she stumbles away. “Stay back! What do you want from me?”

The witch sighs, hangs her head, and shakes it. “Unfortunately, I won’t be having a meal tonight. You’re part of something more… important. A big picture, let’s say that. A bone to hang in front of the dog.”

Tatiana’s mind is racing too fast to really comprehend what Nuibaba is talking about, and she finds herself tremoring violently. “Go away. Please. Just leave me alone.”

“I can go away.” Nuibaba grins. “I’ll make a deal: I can go away and leave you alone, and I’ll disappoint Jerome. In exchange, how would you feel if three or so children suddenly, mysteriously, passed away in their sleep tonight?”

Everything freezes: Tatiana’s heart, her mind, her trembling. She swallows and looks over at the witch, then down at the ground. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. I will, if you don’t give me your hand right this instant.” Nuibaba's finger curls towards her, and she looks to be growing impatient. “Give me your hand, Tatiana.”

She thinks about all the kids, holding out a book and begging her for story time only minutes ago, and can’t stand to imagine their faces, pale in death. Limp, lifeless bodies, so normally full of energy and life. She can’t stand it, and knows that there’s only one option:

Her staff materializes in her hand, the metal humming with a Seraphim spell, and Nuibaba’s shock at her sudden lunge gives Tatiana an edge. She slams the staff, glowing with white magic, into the witch’s side, and is so deeply satisfied by the genuine cry of pain that rips out of her throat. Nuibaba stumbles back, hissing as she holds her offended side, and growls deep in her throat as Tatiana throws her arm back to strike her again.

Nuibaba throws out a hand. “Insolent! You insolent, stupid little bitch!”

There is suddenly heat starting on Tatiana’s hand, and she knows what it is. Before it gets to painful burning, she drops her staff. The second it hits the snow, the poor thing starts to screech as it releases steam, and she winces at the thought of that burning hot metal on her flesh. She squeeze her eyes shut as the staff starts to warp and melt as it glows orange.

“Not completely stupid,” Nuibaba muses. “Now, come. Here.”

Tatiana backs away, and her hand starts to shimmer under the weight of another Seraphim. Magic without a staff as a conductor is risky for her, but she hasn’t got any other options. She’s not about to lie down and let herself be taken. It doesn’t matter how scared stiff she is. It doesn’t matter how hurt it gets her. She doesn’t care if Nuibaba gets bored and kills her, because she would rather be dead than served on a silver platter for dinner.

“Back!” Tatiana shouts. The magic bursts from her hand, bright and glimmering, but disperses when Nuibaba waves it away.

“Adorable.” Her voice is without its teasing lilt and almost cheerful tone, and she reaches out, coming closer and closer. A snap of black magic flickers on her fingertip, and just the one spark fills Tatiana with dread. “I said I wouldn’t put a scratch on you, but I’m sure Jerome will understand.”

She’s dizzy from two spells in such close succession, and she’s stumbling as she tries to move away. The cold seems to fold in on her more intensely than ever as Nuibaba comes closer, closer, closer, a sneer on her brightly painted lips and a dark look in her visible eye. Her heart beats faster, and suddenly, she is grasping at Maria’s hands again, screaming, begging, sobbing into the snow.

“Go away,” Tatiana tries to say, but it comes out like a stiff murmur.

“Shut up!” Nuibaba hisses, and she draws her hand back swiftly, then brings it forward just as fast.

Tatiana clenches her eyes shut and throws her hands out in front of her.

“Zeke!”

Tatiana wakes up because people are screaming. Women are screaming. Girls. Their shrieks and howls ring around her head, and Tatiana wakes up all at once instead of slowly, with all the pain in her skull hitting her suddenly. She winces.

The screaming stops as soon as she collects her bearings, and she wobbles to her feet. Her body is stiff; she wonders how long she has been resting on very hard, very cold ground. Her balance is all off, her limbs have pins and needles, and she grimaces as she leans against the damp wall of what looks like a prison cell. There’s a cot in the corner, a ragged dress for a change of clothes, though not much else. There isn’t so much as a window, and Tatiana is starting to get really scared.

The last thing she remembers is a blinding pain in her skull as Nuibaba struck, and she reaches up, trembling, to tap her head. Her temple hurts badly, and she feels a dry streak of something on her face. She rubs at it, then pulls her fingers back to examine, and there is red powder on the tips. Dry blood. Ouch.

Tatiana paces the cell for a moment, getting all the feeling back in her arms and legs, and examines the outside. There’s not much, though. It’s essentially empty, except for a table for guards that probably don’t exist. There’s a few crates, but it’s otherwise empty. The exit is really high off the ground, a heavy door above a staircase along the wall, and she swallows. The cot in the corner is uncomfortable when she goes and sits, but it’s just that. A place to sit.

She doesn’t know why she’s here. She doesn’t know why Nuibaba, whose only redeeming feature is her policy to always keep deals, has snatched up Tatiana out of the blue. She suspects that she’ll be tonight’s dinner, and feels tears coming on when she thinks of how uneventful her last encounter with Zeke was. A simple kiss, a little teasing, and that was all. Now, she’s never going to see him again. She’s never going to see anyone again.

The door above swings open, and Tatiana recoils as Nuibaba’s silhouette appears. The witch lingers there for a moment, and then starts to descend the staircase, her skirts hiked up in her hands, and her eye never once leaving Tatiana.

“Morning, beautiful! Or, well, I suppose it’s almost midnight, but time will get away from you soon enough.”

“Why am I here?” Tatiana gets up and meets Nuibaba at the bars of the cell, but she still leans away. “You’ve broken your deal!”

She doesn’t respond, but does give Tatiana a pointed glare. After a moment has passed, she snaps her fingers, and the door to the cell opens. Tatiana moves back, warily staring at the open door, and doesn’t move until Nuibaba addresses her.

“You can join me for a meal, Sister Tatiana, and I’ll explain everything to you.”

The food that Nuibaba provides, despite being served by bumbling, brainless witches, is delicious. When served, Tatiana gives it a pointed look, decides not to eat it, but then does anyway when she figures there’s not much sense in rebellion at this point. Besides, she hasn’t eaten a big meal in weeks, and this is a borderline feast.

The manor is dimly lit, decorated with blood red carpets, looming bookcases, and black cauldrons. The chandelier above the dining table frightens Tatiana, because it looks as though it’s made from finger bones, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was.

“Do you drink wine, Sister Tatiana?” Nuibaba asks her. She holds up a bottle with purple liquid sloshing around inside. “From my own cellar. It’s very good, if I do say so myself.”

She pokes the fork next to her plate and only glares.

Nuibaba snaps her fingers and the wine leaves the container on its own. It appears in Tatiana’s glass as it empties the bottle. “Please, drink, eat. I haven’t had a dinner guest besides Jerome in a while.”

Eating is better than sitting there and staring at Nuibaba, so she does help herself. Her stomach is growling, and it looks so tempting. Despite the fact that it’s Nuibaba’s food, and she’s eating it in Nuibaba’s manor, she enjoys it. The food is well-seasoned and steaming, and the wine is sweet and full-bodied.

“So, about why you’re here.”

Tatiana takes a long drink from the wine glass, silent.

Nuibaba piles shredded pork on her plate while she speaks. “Jerome came and told me that your Ezekiel was being a problem.”

Tatiana nearly spits out the wine and slams the glass down, pushing her chair out and rising to her feet. “Did you hurt him?! I swear, if you have-!”

An intense flare of anger spreads on the witch’s face. When she snaps her fingers, the chair scoots back into the table, and Tatiana’s body sits back down against her will. “Don’t shout at my table!”

A second passes. She swallows and picks her fork back up stiffly, trying to display her willingness to cooperate. “I- I’m sorry.”

“The manners that whelps have these days,” she mutters under her breath. “No, we did not hurt him. Jerome was most certainly tempted, but we reasoned it out in the end. Your Ezekiel’s insistence on standing up for the locals is bothersome, and so is his hesitance to fight the war. So, we struck up a little bargain. Ezekiel’s loyalty in exchange for-”

“Me,” Tatiana says quietly.

“His loyalty for your safety,” Nuibaba confirms. “You’ll be staying here until we see fit.”

Her eyes burn with tears, blurring her vision. She tries to hold them back, but a single blink sends them running down her face. At the very least, she doesn’t start sobbing, which is what she’s truly tempted to do. She’s a hostage, a pawn to make Zeke put himself in danger, and she’s almost never felt more terrible.

“Don’t cry, Tatiana,” Nuibaba says. “It’s unbecoming! Pretty girls ought to smile.”

She swallows, trying to stop the damned tears. “A-are you going to hurt him?”

“Oh, no,” she says. “However, if he makes one wrong move, then I’ll finally get to rip that pathetic soul from your body and have it for dinner.”

Tatiana covers her mouth and tries to choke back her tears as another bout of screaming comes up from the basement. A witch drifts by them, hunched over and wobbling as she walks, like she’s forgetting how to move her legs on her own.

Nuibaba picks up the bottle of wine, muttering to herself, “I wonder, which wine would taste best with you?”

Zeke dreams of soft fingers and gentle lips, and it is what keeps him sane. He dreams about pretty eyes and hair that cascades like a waterfall, a lovely voice and cheerful attitude. He dreams about those things, and when he wakes up, he remembers that he no longer has them. Tatiana has been locked away on Fear Mountain for three weeks now, and every day is worse than the last one.

He hasn’t been back to the village since the day she was taken, because he cannot bear to look anyone in the eye. Everyone had been distraught at the news that Nuibaba had taken Tatiana away, and Zeke just can’t stand that kind of feeling in the air. He’s been cooped up at the base since then, and he barely leaves his office. His hair has grown out a little, he doesn’t shave as often. Jerome keeps him busy with paperwork, and he hardly gets any sleep.

He doesn’t care about sleep, though. Doesn’t care about the long nights he has to work, the hours and hours spent without so much as a wink of sleep. Tatiana’s life is hanging by a thread, and for all he knows, all it could take is one wrongly filed report for Jerome to snap his fingers and have it cut. So, he works, and he works, and he works, until his eyes are sore and he feels like he can’t breathe.

Zeke does other things, too. He goes out and trains the soldiers, and even though he’s exhausted, he’s still capable at it. He checks up on his men, and he knows that they all look at him with pity when his back is turned. Everyone knows what’s happened. Jerome hadn’t wasted any time in boasting about his victory, all smiles and arrogance.

He waits on Jerome hand and foot, essentially. He brings him his meals, brews his coffee and tea, and it’s almost agonizing the way that his superior smiles when he does it. He’d rather be mocked and taunted explicitly, rather than have that stupid grin and a, “Well, thank you so much, Ezekiel. Good of you to do this out of the kindness of your heart.”

When Zeke gets to bed, he can’t sleep. He’s been able to sleep without Tatiana before, for certain, but it’s different knowing that your lover is just at home a few miles away, sleeping soundly in your nice, soft bed, and knowing that she is locked away on top of a mountain, likely sleeping on the damp floor of a prison cell. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she has any kind of comfort. At least a meal a day. A pillow. Anything.

Sometimes, he wonders if Tatiana is even still alive.

His men are getting frustrated, that much is obvious. Before, it didn’t matter so much if Jerome pillaged the towns, because Zeke would just set aside some time and take back what he could. Now, Zeke sits in his office, ignoring the spoils that Jerome brings back, though it gets hard when they turn from food to things like young women, tempted by the sight of a few coins to feed their families. They slip away in the middle of the night, their money held tight in their hands, and smile at him when he offers to escort them home, because it’s all he can do for them now.

Zeke is disgusted. He’s disgusted because he knows he could have prevented all of this. The food, the wine, the women. He knows that if he had just dealt with Jerome a long time ago, none of this would have happened.

It’s hard. It’s so hard. He wishes this was all a nightmare, and that he’s just going to wake up in bed. It will be autumn again, and he’ll hear Tatiana humming as she moves through the kitchen. Things will be at peace. He’ll get dressed, go out and kiss her, and hear her voice. He wishes, he wishes, he wishes-

“Sir?”

A pair of small hands shaking his shoulders wakes Zeke up, and he’s immediately distraught to find himself asleep at his desk. His head is cushioned on his arms, his quill still clenched in his fingers, and his paperwork is nearly finished. Astrid is standing next to him, nervous, and moves away as he sits up.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

On instinct, he shakes his head. He leans back in his chair and runs his hands over his face. “What time is it?”

“Afternoon. You’ve probably been asleep for a couple of hours.” She looks nervously at the door to where Zeke hears a commotion outside. “General Jerome came back with a big haul. Are you- are you gonna do anything?”

Zeke would like to. He’d like to so badly, to go out there and shut the hoopla down, but he can’t. And Astrid knows that, based on the guilty way she looks at the ground. He sighs, pats her arm, and goes back to paperwork. He feels shaky as he dips his quill in the inkwell, and apparently looks so as well, because she offers to go get a meal for him.

When she comes back with a plate of bread and a few strips of salted meat (not from Jerome’s stash, she assures), she hovers nearby for long enough that he knows she wants to say something.

“Speak,” he invites. “What do you need, Astrid?”

“Sir, we all know that you can’t go out and do the things that you used to,” she starts. It sounds like she’s planned this, like a speech. “But, um, could we?”

He sets his fork down. “Sorry?”

“I mean, since you can’t do it, because Tatiana might get hurt, what if we did it? What if you stayed here, and the rest of us go on patrol and take things back to the villages? We could-”

“No,” he says firmly.

She looks upset at his response. “But-”

“It’s risky,” he says. “I don’t know what Jerome’s boundaries on our agreement are. I don’t know if it extends to my men. Call me selfish and heartless, and I’ll accept it. But I won’t do anything that could even begin to put Tatiana in danger.”

Her face goes red with thinly-veiled anger, she looks like she might protest, but instead, she marches right out of his study. She slams the door when she goes, and he sighs into a hand. Children that young are too idealistic, and while admirable, it’s risky. It’s dangerous. Everything right now is risky and dangerous, and Zeke finds himself losing his appetite.

Tatiana, Tatiana, Tatiana.

A month passes.

Tatiana thinks it might be a month. It probably has been. It’s been close, at least. It feels like an eternity, however, because every day is nothing but hell. Every day is nothing but hearing screaming, howling, begging and pleading (“Please, please, please! No! Help me!”). There are other women in here with Tatiana, but never one in the cell with her. Nuibaba claims she’s getting luxury treatment, not having to share her cell.

There’s so much screaming. It’s the worst when it is going strong, a girl screaming her lungs out in defiance, sometimes for minutes at a time without pause, and then it just stops. It stops so suddenly, and Tatiana finds herself wondering if the girl has been beheaded, or thrown to the fire, or sliced open, or or or.

There’s no telling in this pit.

She gets a tiny meal a day, and it’s always a thin cup of soup with chunks of fish and a little piece of flatbread. It doesn’t really taste bad. It’s just simple, and small. It’s not filling. And on top of that, Tatiana finds it hard to keep her meal down when she hears the shrieking and begging starting up again, the cries for help that seem to get worse every single day.

Nuibaba comes down to see her today, humming happily as she descends the stairs. Tatiana notices that she looks more youthful than normal, with tight skin and a bright eye, and wonders how many girls died for that glossy hair. She glares from her place curled up on her cot as the witch descends and doesn’t make a sound. It’s not much, but refusing to indulge in Nuibaba’s mind games is the little defiance she can afford.

“Hello,” Nuibaba greets. Her eyes flicker about the dungeon. “Dusty in here. How are you holding up?”

Tatiana suddenly feels the bags under her eyes and the pain in her empty stomach acutely, but doesn’t show it. “Just swell, madam, thank you.”

“Don’t get cheeky,” she warns as she comes close to the door. “Come along. I have some chores for you.”

Tatiana glares, unmoving. She’s a hostage already. She’s not going to be a maid.

Nuibaba snaps her fingers with a raise of her brow, and suddenly, Tatiana’s chest feels like it’s closing up. Her ribcage feels like it is squeezing on her heart, attacking it relentlessly, and she starts to choke after a moment of trying to act like everything is fine. Her limbs are burning for no reason, her head is screaming, and she can’t breathe. She gasps, tumbles from the cot, and clutches at her chest as she struggles for air.

And then it stops, so suddenly that Tatiana wonders if it ever really happened.

“Don’t get cheeky,” Nuibaba repeats as she swings open the cell door. “Come on.”

Tatiana follows, unsteady on her feet, as Nuibaba takes her up the stairs and out of the dungeon for the first time in what might be at least two weeks. The abode is as disgustingly terrifying as it was last time, with witches wandering and potions bubbling in cauldrons. It looks like a scene out of a cheesy storybook, but nothing about this is cheesy at all.

Whenever they walk past a witch, Tatiana takes a moment to examine her, and Nuibaba notices.

“Looking for a friend or two?” she asks with glee.

Tatiana clenches her jaw, but Nuibaba isn’t wrong.

She wonders, every single day, what Maria and Liliya’s fates exactly were. She suspects she’ll never get an answer, but knows she won’t ever stop thinking about it.

“I have a ballroom that I never use,” Nuibaba begins as she throws open the doors to a room, “but I don’t like how dirty it is. Clean it up, please?”

She gives Tatiana a change of clothes more appropriate for menial labor, a handkerchief to tie her hair back with, and shows her a closet of cleaning supplies. Tatiana is happy to be out of the cell, and doesn’t complain or show any resentment about having to clean the ballroom, which is probably the size of the whole church. The floor is black marble, and though she can’t see the dust with her eyes, it clouds up whenever her skirts sweep the floor.

Nuibaba draws up a chair. “I’ll supervise.”

Tatiana pulls her hair up and draws water to scrub the floor with, and tries to not think about Nuibaba right there, watching her do chores. It’s unnerving, having those cold, lifeless eyes trained on her back. Her hands shake as she cleans, no matter how she tries to stop them. Nuibaba doesn’t say anything, Tatiana doesn’t say anything, and two hours pass without the witch so much as moving.

“Did you know that it’s rather easy to read someone’s mind while they sleep?” Nuibaba asks, and Tatiana stiffens.

She swallows, soaks her rag in the hot water again, and continues wiping away the dust. “No, I didn’t.”

“I always enjoy learning about my guests. Brings me a little closer to them when I sacrifice them, you know?”

It makes Tatiana feel sick, and she nods mindlessly. She knows where this is going, and she doesn’t like it. She focuses on getting a particularly hard bit of grime off the floor.

“You were abandoned at the church when you were… eight?” Nuibaba says. “An unusual age to be abandoned.”

Tatiana wipes away a smear, desperately wishing that the witch would stop talking.

“Your parents weren’t incredibly rich, but influential in your city, right?” Tatiana doesn’t respond, and Nuibaba says more insistently, “Right?”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “My father was a successful merchant.”

Nuibaba hums. “People admired him. Aspired to be like him. A successful man with a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter, isn’t that right? A good, kind man.”

Tatiana sets her jaw, and Nuibaba, fortunately, doesn’t make her agree.

“But he wasn’t very nice to you,” she continues. “He’d hit you, wouldn’t he?”

She grips the rag in her hand, water squishing out and pooling on the floor. She scrubs more vehemently, her contempt for the witch growing with every passing second she talks, every second she is made to think about that man.

“Your father beat you for as long as you could remember.” Nuibaba pauses, then continues. “He’d tell you things, too, like that you were worthless without him. That you were stupid. That you’d never, ever amount to anything, unless he let you. Is that what he would tell you?”

She raises her voice as she says, “Yes,” and it rings through the empty ballroom.

Nuibaba’s giddiness is rolling off her in waves, and she gets up from the chair. Her heels click against the marble floor as she circles the room, circling Tatiana like a vulture.

“And then, he started to come into your room at night when you were about seven.” Her lip curls. “Even I find that disgusting. Slapping you around wasn’t enough? He had to defile you as well?”

The memory, the sensations, rush back to her so quickly that Tatiana wonders if it’s Nuibaba’s doing. That man telling her to not make a sound, the feeling of his hand around her neck, the harsh way he would speak to her. She throws down the rag and presses her hands up to her ears, bending over until she feels the chill of the stone floor tickling her face.

Stop stop stop stop stop-

“And your mother didn’t do a thing about it when you finally told her. She told you to never speak of it again, and a month later, they packed up your things, got in a carriage, and dropped you off at some random village in the middle of nowhere, all without ever looking back. Tossed into the snow like trash.”

STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP-

Tatiana grabs the edge of the bucket and swings it up, throwing the water at the witch. Nuibaba splays out her hand with a smile and the water stops, hovering in place, before splashing down onto the floor. It spreads, soaking into the knees of her skirt as she trembles on the floor.

“Stop it!” Tatiana yells. “Get out of my head!”

“I must say, you’ve done an excellent job at coming to terms with what happened to you,” Nuibaba tells her. “I’ve seen plenty of girls abused in their childhood, and hardly any of them come out with your sunny disposition and happy ways. I’m almost impressed by you, Tatiana. Acting like anything about you is at all normal.”

With shaking hands, Tatiana picks the rag back up and starts to mop up the water. The rag is soaked with just a touch, but she keeps trying, her heart racing and her mind screaming at her. Nuibaba stares down at her, and Tatiana doesn’t dare to look any higher than her calves.

“This was fun,” she says, and she makes for the door. The clicking of her heels sets Tatiana on edge. “Clean as much as you can tonight. I’ll give you a good meal and a bath if I like the job.”

The ballroom seems to stretch on forever, and her wrists start to hurt from scrubbing so hard. She misses the village, the seashore, the church, and she misses Zeke most of all. She starts to wonder if they’ll ever let her go, if she’ll ever even see him again, and struggles to hold back her tears.

Tatiana wants to go home.

Jerome bursts into Zeke’s office one day, face red with rage, and fists clenched at his sides. He storms in, anger pouring off of him in waves, and Zeke is automatically afraid. He wonders if he has done something wrong, and if the hammer is about to come down, so to speak. He says a quick prayer and then stands politely, trying to not appear flustered.

“Sir,” he says mildly, and half-a-second later, Jerome is screaming.

“You good-for-nothing, worthless, stupid bastard!” he shouts. “I didn’t think you’d be dense enough to have your men act as a proxy for you!”

Zeke’s heart falls to the floor as he remembers Astrid’s suggestion from a week ago. “No, no. What have they done?”

“Taken back everything from my last trip, and then some!” Jerome slams his hands on Zeke’s desk, leaning up to get in his face. “Every scrap of my food, every bottle of wine, everything! This is exactly what you were not supposed to do! This is a violation of our agreement, Ezekiel.”

“No.” Panic is bubbling in him, and he shakes his head. “No, no, I promise I didn’t tell them to. I told them not to. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“You want me to believe that?” Jerome scoffs. A moment of silence passes, and then he slams his fists on the desk again. Zeke jumps. “You want the girl to die?”

“No!” He isn’t thinking as he throws his hands out to grab Jerome’s shoulders. “I’m begging, please-”

“Unhand me!” Jerome knocks his hands away. “Insolence!”

“I ordered them to do nothing,” Zeke insists. “I have done nothing to violate the agreement. Leave Tatiana out of this!”

“Insolence, insolence,” Jerome keeps muttering. “You’re a fool.”

“I did nothing,” he says desperately. “Please-”

“I’m going to my study to think about this,” Jerome says, and he turns on his heel. “Perhaps if you come and ask me again to reconsider, I will. Know that this must not happen again.”

“Don’t hurt her,” he begs. “Sir, please-”

The door slams shut behind Jerome without another word. Zeke collapses back in his chair. He feels his panic swelling, growing in his chest, and he grips his head in his hands. The fire snapping breaks the utter silence of the room, and that little sound annoys him. Everything annoys him. He should have kept a closer eye on his men. He should have been more insistent on them not doing anything to provoke Jerome. He should have-

Listen to him. He’s getting angry over his soldiers doing some good in this hellscape.

There’s a knock on the door, and he doesn’t reply to it. People come in regardless, which is a bold move. It’s a couple of his soldiers, a pegasus knight and an archer, and they’re solemn as they file in front of his desk. The light of the room is dim, and the fire crackles loudly. Zeke doesn’t pull his head from his hands.

“Where is Astrid?” His voice is low and tired.

“This wasn’t Astrid’s fault,” the archer says, just as quietly. “She didn't do anything. After you told her no, she gave up on it. Like we should have. But we- we just wanted to do something that you would have done. So we did it anyway.”

“We were the ringleaders,” the pegasus knight says, and she dips her head. “Please give us the punishment.”

“‘Punishment?’” Zeke repeats, feeling like there is a cold rock in the pit of his stomach. “‘Punishment?’ Is a punishment going to fix what you have done? Is a punishment going to soothe the commander’s tantrum?”

“But, General Ezekiel-”

“Do you know what you have done?” He can’t bring himself to look up. He’s so tired. “What you have done to me?”

“We didn’t know that General Jerome would extend the terms of your agreement to us,” the archer protests. “We thought it was just you.”

“You act in my name,” Zeke says, his panic and exhaustion turning to anger. “Of course it extends to you. None of us get to be decent people! Do you hear me? None of us!”

“Sir!”

He stands from his desk suddenly, and both of the soldiers flinch away at his speed. “Do you know what you have done?”

“He- he can’t hurt Sister Tatiana over something like this,” the pegasus knight tries to reason. “Please, calm down. We won’t do it again.”

“‘Calm down?’ You want me to ‘calm down?’” Zeke feels close to exploding, and it takes everything he has to keep calm. He clenches a fist, and then extends a single finger in emphasis. “I love one thing in this world. Do you understand that? I have one thing that I truly love. Just. The one.”

Terrified, both of them nod. “Yes, w-we-”

He throws his hands against the abused desk. “Do you understand you might have taken her away?!”

The pegasus knight squeaks, jumping away, but Zeke doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that, as he raises his voice, the few people left in the hallways can probably hear him fly into a passion. He doesn’t care he doesn’t care he doesn’t care he doesn’t ca

“Get out!” he shouts. “You absolute morons, get out!”

“G-General Ezekiel, please, we’re so-!”

He hasn’t yelled in so long, so, so long, and it feels therapeutic. “Did you not hear me? Are you deaf? I said to get out! Get OUT!”

They flee, stumbling over one another in their panic, and the door slams shut. Zeke takes a shuddering gasp, choking back a scream as he clenches the edge of the wood. He wants to throw the desk, tear the papers, rip the maps and charts from the wall. He wants to throw a tantrum. He wants to scream, because this is all unfair, because Tatiana doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to be held hostage, a bargaining chip for his lance. She doesn’t deserve that, to be treated like this, just because she had the soft heart to fall in love with a worthless, pathetic man she pulled from the sea.

She doesn’t deserve this. None of this. And now, she might die, all because of absolute idiots with hearts too big for these warring times.

He sits down at his desk, all of the anger suddenly flowing out of him as he thinks about how disappointed Tatiana would be with him if she saw him like this, yelling and losing his temper, shouting at his men like they are nothing more than dogs. The anger just rushes out of him, and all he can do is put his face in his hands and weep for her.

Zeke hates himself.

He slips into Jerome’s study a couple of hours later, with his eyes dried and his temper calmed. His superior is sitting by the fire, appearing pensive, and looks over with an annoyed expression when Zeke shuts the door.

“You may approach,” he says.

Zeke walks forward, trying to keep his hands from trembling. “Sir. The soldiers responsible for inconveniencing you have been stripped of their pay for the month.”

“They should be stripped of their ranks,” Jerome shoots, not looking away from the fire.

“In these times, losing payment is more prudent, as we need the soldiers,” Zeke defends. “And they’ll be under strict observation. I promise once more that their actions were not on my command. I implore you, please don’t harm Tatiana.”

Jerome gives him a glance, then looks back ahead to the flickering flames. “Kneel.”

His heart stops. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t feel like you mean it. So, come over here in front of me, and kneel.”

To be degraded to such a degree, to grovel before this disgusting brute of a man… It’s awful. But, there’s no choice, so he takes slow, careful steps to stand in front of Jerome. He looks up at Zeke expectantly, and his eyes flicker down to the floor, like he is saying, “I’m waiting.”

Zeke takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and gets to his knees.

“I want to see Tatiana.”

It takes Zeke another two weeks after that little incident to work up the courage to say it. As soon as he does, he regrets it, because Jerome gives him a sharp look and a sneer that doesn’t suggest anything good.

“Visitation isn’t part of the arrangement.”

“Prove to me that she is alive.” His body feels cold when he says that, and he swallows. “I just want to see her. It doesn’t have to be for long. I just need to see her.”

Jerome sighs and buries a face in his hand. “You’re a stubborn man. But, I’m not unreasonable. I’ll allow you to see her, for a few minutes.”

Zeke’s heart lunges, and he takes an eager step forward. “When?”

“Soon. Give me a few days to contact Nuibaba, and we’ll arrange something for the two of you.”

Jerome smirks, and even though Zeke knows that this meeting isn’t going to go the way he wants it to, he’s still excited.

Nuibaba comes to Tatiana when she is doing the witch’s dishes. It’s always in Tatiana’s best interest to try and ignore her, but it’s hard when she comes walking up right behind, dragging her hands over the curves of her body and looking almost dreamy. It’s hard to ignore someone when you know that they are just thinking about putting you on a silver platter and having you for dinner.

“It’s been over a month since you last bathed, right?” Nuibaba puts her chin on Tatiana’s shoulder and hums, drumming her claws over her waist. “How does a nice, hot bath sound?”

Tatiana puts a washed plate to the side and moves on to a bowl. “Heavenly. But I’m not likely to get one, am I?”

“Well, you’ll need one. Gotta be fresh and pretty, right? Your hubby is coming to see you, after all.”

Tatiana drops the bowl, listening as the ceramic shatters into pieces at her feet.

She feels Nuibaba’s face stretch into a grin, and her heart sinks when she says, “In a manner of speaking, that is.”

“You’ve brought her here?” Zeke follows Jerome through the halls of the base, noting that they’re headed towards the basements. It makes sense, because no one is stationed there. No one will hear them there. It’s private as private can be, but it still makes him nervous.

“For the umpteenth time, yes!” Jerome rolls his eyes as they start making their way down the stairs. “Honestly, you’re much too eager. Hoping we’ll give you some alone time?”

“I expect nothing from this visit,” Zeke says sharply. “I won’t tolerate any inappropriate comments.”

“You’ll tolerate what I say you tolerate,” Jerome says snidely, and Zeke shuts his mouth.

He’s not wrong.

They come to a backroom, and Jerome rests his hand on the doorknob. “Best behavior, Ezekiel, do you understand me?”

Zeke stares anxiously at the door, then over to Jerome. “I understand. Best behavior.”

“One wrong move, and you know what will happen. You don’t have any weapons on you?”

Zeke rolls his eyes and holds out his arms at his side, allowing Jerome to quickly pat him down. But, he would never try to ruin this. No matter how great the temptation to slaughter Jerome and Nuibaba while he has them in the same place, to take Tatiana and run somewhere far, far beyond the consequences of his treason, Zeke won’t take the chance. He doesn’t have a single weapon on him, and Jerome seems satisfied when he pulls away.

“Five minutes,” Jerome reminds. “You will be supervised the whole time. I’ll allow for some touching, since I am kind. But, the point of this meeting is simply to prove to you that we have made every effort to keep our end of the bargain.”

“You truly haven’t harmed her?” Zeke asks nervously. He’s worried about what he might see when he walks in: Scars, bruises, blood, cuts, burns-

“Just shut up,” Jerome grumbles. “You’re more annoying than I ever thought a person could be.”

Zeke wants to say something back, perhaps, “I could be less annoying if you’d let her go,” but it’s probably best to not get cheeky. Not when Tatiana is so close by, so close, so close. He doesn’t care if it’s only for five minutes, but he can’t wait to touch her hands, give her a kiss on her forehead, scan her body for any sign of abuse. He doesn’t know what he can do in the now if he finds any sign of harm on her, but he’ll keep it in mind for the future, when all of this is over.

Jerome opens the door and steps in, then holds it open for Zeke. Immediately, he feels weak in the knees.

Tatiana and Nuibaba are in the center of the room, and slowly, slowly, Tatiana turns to look at him. She’s pale, gaunt, dressed in ragged clothes, but she is there, and she is looking at him with such sorrowful eyes.

“Tatiana,” he breathes, and Jerome and Nuibaba disappear.

She doesn’t reply to him. She only presses a hand to her chest and looks to the ground, as though she can’t bear to see him. Does she hate him? Does she hate him for doing this to her? He’ll get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, if that is what it takes. He’ll beg for an eternity if that is what she wants and needs. He doesn’t care what of his dignity he has to throw away for her.

Zeke ignores Jerome’s smirk and walks forward, towards Tatiana and Nuibaba. Nuibaba doesn’t move and only stares coolly at the situation, as though she’s watching a show at the theater. Tatiana lifts her hands to her face as he gets closer, and he grows more worried.

“Tatiana,” he says, and he stops in front of her. “Tatiana, please, look at me.”

Without pulling her face from her hands, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” he whispers to her. “This is all my doing. Please, just look at me. It’s been so long. I only want to see your face, my love.”

She takes a loud sniffle, lowers her hands back to her chest, and there are tears dripping from her eyes. She doesn’t look up at him, but this is better than her hiding her face away. It’s hard to do so, but Zeke smiles and lifts his hands to tilt her head up towards him.

And they go right through her.

He jerks them back then turns in horror, and Jerome, the bastard, looks absolutely delighted.

“What is this?” Zeke seethes. “What have you-!”

“It’s a spell,” Tatiana says quietly, and he looks back at her. “We’re seeing each other, but- but I’m still on Fear Mountain, and you’re still- still-”

The illusion bursts into tears, crumpling to her knees and hunching over the ground. She cries at his feet, and he drops to a knee. Her sobbing is horrible and agonized, and all he wants is to scoop her up in his arms and hold her to his chest. But, even when he tries to set a hand on her shoulder, it goes right through her. Nuibaba, who walks up and bends down next to Tatiana, appears to have no issue with holding her close and stroking her hair. It makes him sick.

“Now, now, Tatiana,” she croons. “Everything is just fine.”

Tatiana shakes her head. “No! Please, don’t touch me!”

“Tatiana!” Just a touch, just one touch, that’s all Zeke wants. It’s all he wants, and all he is getting is the sight of her weeping, Nuibaba carding her fingers through Tatiana’s hair, and the sound of Jerome howling with laughter behind him.

This is too much. Zeke doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

“Just let me go home,” Tatiana begs quietly. “This has been enough. We understand what you want!”

“I’ll get you home soon,” Zeke promises. “Don’t cry, please.”

“I don’t want you to be lonely.” Her voice is so soft and wavering, and he swallows. She pulls her face out of her hands and extends them towards him, carefully, and he holds his right below where hers would be physically. “Are you eating right? Are you sleeping? Please, tell me you’re okay.”

He’s doing none of those things, and he’s certain that if she got a good look at him, she would see that.

“I am,” he whispers. “Don’t worry about me. Just- Hey!”

Nuibaba leans in and nuzzles Tatiana’s neck, appearing to delight in the disgusted and weak sound she makes in reply. Zeke lashes out, but his hand goes through Nuibaba just as easily as it does Tatiana, and he recoils when she looks at him with deep, unfeeling eyes.

“Bad move, handsome.”

His heart skips a beat, and then Tatiana cries out with a strained sound of pain. His eyes snap over her, trying to find a problem, and his heart stops when he finds Nuibaba’s hand at her side, her claws dug into her flesh. Red blooms across her dress, and he jolts and fumbles as he tries to figure out what he can possibly do.

“Stop, please! I’ll do anything, I promise, please.”

“Don’t beg her,” Tatiana chokes out. “Y-you’re above that!”

“I rather like it when he begs,” Nuibaba says. “Jerome does as well, so how about we make him do it some more?”

Her claws dig deeper into Tatiana’s side, and she muffles a sob against a hand.

“Bend your other knee and grovel before me,” Nuibaba tells him. She drags her other hand down Tatiana’s cheek, and places her claws frighteningly near her eye. “Or you might not get all of her back.”

He falls to both of his knees without thinking, and is about to put both of his shaking hands on the stone when he hears a hiss of pain. He snaps his head up, and is mortified to find more blood in front of him. It’s not Tatiana’s blood, however.

She has buried her teeth in Nuibaba’s hand, and is refusing to let go.

He’d be proud of the fire in her if the witch didn’t shake her hand free, grab a fistful of her curls, and slam her head against the ground.

The illusion disappears suddenly, shattering into pieces like a vase fallen to the ground, and it’s like nothing was ever there.

“It was just getting to the good part,” Jerome says with a sigh from behind. “Well, on your feet, Ezekiel. There’s more work to do upstairs.”

Zeke feels numb.

“Little! Insufferable! Bitch!”

Nuibaba slams Tatiana’s head into the ground with every word, and the rage pours off of her as thick as the blood from her hand. Tatiana tries to stay strong and silent, but she can’t help but cry out whenever her head meets the stone. Her whole body is throbbing, her side burns with excruciating pain as Nuibaba digs her claws in ever harder, but she doesn’t regret anything she has done to deserve this. Biting her hand, causing her some pain, has been the most satisfying thing Tatiana has done in over a month.

The beating goes on, and on, and on, and Tatiana doesn’t see an end in sight. But, she still has Zeke’s voice breathlessly calling her name ringing in her mind now, and it makes everything okay.

“You’re never getting out of here! I’ll kill you before I give you back! You’re mine, mine, mine!"

Everything will be okay.

Chapter Text

Rain pours down outside, and it beats on the roof of the house. Tatiana has a hot mug of kompot in her hands, spiced up with some cinnamon, and smiles as a blanket is draped over her shoulders. Maria sits down across from her at the table, and they stare as the rain keeps pouring down.

“Where’s August?” Tatiana asks.

“Putting finishing touches on whatever it is he’s making,” Maria replies. “Rainy day, huh?”

Tatiana puts her mug to the side. “Yeah.”

There’s a nervous, tense air between them, and Maria runs her fingers over the table. Her fingers, always moving, always tugging at a bowstring or messing up Tatiana’s curls. Occasionally, the silence is broken by the sound of a hammer hitting metal in her uncle’s workshop a few rooms over, or August moving something in the kitchen, but it’s otherwise quiet.

Tatiana knows that Maria wants to say something, but also knows that she doesn’t want to broach the sensitive topic. So, Tatiana keeps her mouth shut, picks her mug back up, and keeps watching the rain. It’s not like she needs to talk, or anything like that. She’s fine, sitting here, being quiet as can be, not-

“So, I know you’re upset.”

Sigh.

“I’m not upset,” Tatiana says sharply.

“That’s bull,” the other girl shoots back. “You’re upset over Liliya.”

She tenses up and looks outside even harder, like the rain is the most interesting thing she has ever seen in her whole entire life. “No.”

“Just talk about it,” Maria insists. “You mad because people won’t tell you the truth?”

Tatiana’s fingers curl up against the table. She shakes her head.

“Mad because everybody keeps sayin’ she’s gonna be back soon?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head more insistently.

“Well, hell, Tatiana. Are you mad that she didn’t come home at all?”

Tatiana has been holding it in for a week. Holding it in since she last saw Liliya, when she swung her cloak on, asked what she wanted from the market, and went out. Tatiana barely remembers now what she said she wanted—maybe something like a pastry from the bakery. But, she had waited by the door for an hour, and then two, and then four, and then Father Alexi had made her go to bed.

When she had woken up, no Liliya. Two hours after breakfast, no Liliya. She knew what had happened, but when she asked the adults, they’d all given her nervous looks and said, “She’ll be home soon. Just you wait.” But Tatiana knew. She knows. She knows, and she’s been holding it in, and now she explodes.

“How can I be mad that she didn’t come home when it’s not her fault?!” Her hands slam against the table, sending the mugs all atremble, and Maria flinches back. “I know what happened. Nuibaba came and got her. I know she’s dead! I know it's not fair for me to be mad!" Silence in the sitting room, and silence in the kitchen. Tatiana sees August peeking in out of the corner of her eye, but ignores him. She just crosses her arms and pouts, glaring out at the rain. “But I am mad. I’m mad at Nuibaba. What did Liliya do?”

Maria swirls her mug around and shakes her head. “Dunno. I think Nuibaba’s just a bitch.”

Tatiana grimaces. “One of the priests told me a while ago that Nuibaba eats girls to make herself pretty. Do you think- do you think Liliya got-”

She swallows and can’t continue.

“I dunno,” Maria mutters.

Silence passes between them again, and Tatiana whispers, “Is Nuibaba going to come back for someone else. Like… us?”

Maria throws a hand down on the table. “Like hell!”

Tatiana gives her a doubtful look.

“Listen, Tati, nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise. I mean, obviously, if Nuibaba wants to stroll in here and snatch up the prettiest girl after Liliya, that’s gonna be you.”

“Maria!” August snaps from the kitchen.

“But, listen, I’ll be right here.” Maria’s face is warm and friendly, and her hand even more so as she extends it across the table. “I’ll die before anything happens to you, promise.”

Tatiana feels tears coming on, sniffles, and takes her hand. “I don’t want that.”

“And if Nuibaba kills me first and then comes hunting for you, you don’t show her a lick of weakness.” Maria squeezes her hand, intertwining their fingers. “You don’t let that nasty witch push you around, ever. If she ever gets you, you spit in her eye, alright?”

Tatiana looks at her doubtfully. “I don’t know if I have the guts for that.”

Maria frowns and squeezes her hand until her knuckles go white. “You’ve got fire in you, Tatiana. I know you don’t always acknowledge that, knowin’ where you came from. I get it. But you got life in you, y’know? Life that’s only gonna get stronger the harder it gets. You lived that long in that house with your dad, and now you can do anything. I know it."

A tray slams down on the table, a small cake on it, and August glares down at Maria. “Regular poet, ain’t you?”

Maria lets go of Tatiana’s hand and shrugs. “It’s hard to not wax poetic over pretty girls, right?”

They argue, just a little banter, and Tatiana looks out the window with a small flush on her cheeks.

Life, huh?

LATE WINTER, BEGINNING OF VALENTIAN YEAR 402

It’s probably been two months, Tatiana thinks. She hasn’t had a bath in three weeks, not since she was allowed to “see” Zeke. Her meal, after that stunt she pulled with the biting, is the same, but now it’s only once every three days. When she wakes up in the morning, grimacing as she tries to work out a crick in her neck, the sight of her hand is disturbing. The bones and veins in her wrist jut out, and when she runs her hands over her stomach to give herself a daily examination, she can feel her ribs.

Nuibaba isn’t killing her, but she’s letting her get awful close to death.

She wakes up that morning with a groan, blinking as her eyes adjust to the dark, and mumbles as she swings her legs over the edge of the cot. A squeaking mouse races by, but Tatiana got used to her cellmates a long time ago. She much prefers them to other women, whom she’d have to see dragged away on the daily. Nuibaba probably does something bad with the mice too, but at least Tatiana doesn’t have to see it.

She pulls her ragged dress over her head, her limbs aching and her stomach growling, and reaches for her one spare outfit that she came in. It’s filthy, covered with dust and water, but it makes her feel better to change into a new outfit every day. She alternates between the two, and Nuibaba frequently says, “Is that a new dress? So stylish! You’re ready for the ball, honey.”

Tatiana wishes she knew more black magic, because then she could at least set the skirts of Nuibaba’s dress on fire. That’d probably get her another, more severe, beating, but at least it would be satisfying.

She sighs as she goes to the bars of the cage. She holds them in her skinny hands, staring outside, and wonders what she can do today. Her options are: Wallowing in misery, trying to sleep the time away, going through practiced prayers and ceremonies in her head, or trying to think upon fond memories. Not a lot of fun things to do, but she opts for the latter, and she thinks about the dream she had last night. It strikes her that she hasn’t seen a single witch who looks like Liliya or Maria, and it bothers her. She wonders if they weren’t sacrificed as witches, but rather fed to monsters, and then wonders if that’s not a kinder fate.

The door opens suddenly, and Tatiana flinches at the sudden burst of light. She blinks as Nuibaba comes down the stairs. The cell door swings open wide, inviting her out, and she glares up at the witch perched above her on the staircase.

“I have dishes to be done,” Nuibaba calls. “Get those working hands up here, and then you can have a nice meal after. You’re getting too skinny for my tastes.”

Tatiana sighs and comes out of the cell, following Nuibaba up the stairs and into the manor. “What, not enough meat on my bones for me to be good eating?”

“Just so.”

She wishes she hadn’t asked.

There’s a mountain of dishes in the kitchen, and Tatiana honestly doesn’t know where they all come from. Someone obviously does the cooking around here, but she’s never seen them. Besides the cooking dishes, there’s cauldrons caked with mucky grime, stirring spoons that are halfway incinerated, and a truly awful smell like the decaying dead.

It’s like when Zeke cooks.

Tatiana gets to work while Nuibaba watches. She pulls a spoon out of an icky cauldron, grimaces at the gunky red slime on it that probably does something horrible, and starts soaking it in a cauldron of steaming water next to her. She does that for about an hour, takes dishes and soaks them, scrubs them until her back aches from the strength she’s using, and then sets them aside to dry. If she shuts her eyes and ignores the potions, she can pretend she’s back at the church, and it’s comforting.

It’s comforting until Nuibaba opens her mouth to say, “Word has it that the Zofians are headed this way. They beat down Lord Berkut, made him run like the craven he is.”

Tatiana whirls around. “They’ve invaded?! Wh-when?”

“Well, about a week ago, I suppose. It was about three that they took back the sluice gate and decided to come have a word with Emperor Rudolf himself.” Nuibaba stretches, long and languid, and huffs as she settles back down against her chair. “They’ve set up camp on the border, but they’ll be here soon. Whether they go this way, or towards the Plains, well. That’s the mystery.”

Tatiana’s heart starts hammering, and she feels weak in the knees. If they go towards the Plains, they’ll run into Zeke, and she doesn’t want to think about what happens then. He either fights like a beast, beats them back with all the strength in his body, and this is all over. Zeke’s the strongest soldier this side of the continent, and if he can’t beat them, she doesn’t know who can. Rigel might as well be done for.

But, then again, these Zofians seem strong. And if they kill his men and get him alone, then…

“They’ll slaughter your Ezekiel, and then you’ll be all mine.” Nuibaba looks almost dazed with delight. “Do you know how awful it is to have a scrumptious snack like you, just sitting in the basement for two whole months? I’ve been salivating for days on end, just thinking about how good I’m going to feel after I sink my teeth into your soul.”

“He won’t die,” Tatiana mumbles, but she’s really not so certain.

Nuibaba waves a hand. “He’s as good as wormfood, should they go that direction. But, if they come this direction… Well, I guess I’ll just kill them, and then I’ll eat that Branded boy’s soul. Immortality will be mine, and you? I guess I’ll let you go.”

Tatiana’s heart soars, then falls when the witch laughs and says, “A jape! I’ll have you as an after dinner snack. Even if I won’t need you anymore, I’m always fond of recreational snacking, you know.”

Something in Tatiana snaps, and she doesn’t know what it is. But, she knows she’s fed up with this. This mockery, this cruelty, being treated like a maid and a slave and made to grovel and be quiet and beg for scraps of food and and and

“Shut up.”

She says it so quietly, but Nuibaba still stops in the middle of talking. She can feel the witch’s eyes on her, burning into her back, and it scares her. Tatiana doesn’t want to be looked at so intensely by this monster. But also, the shocked silence, and the rage building in her give her courage. They fill her with defiance.

“Say that again,” Nuibaba dares.

Tatiana balls her fists and puts them on the counter, almost politely. “Shut up.”

“What was that?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and starts beating the counter ruthlessly. “Shut up shut up shut up shut up! I’ve had enough of you!”

Tatiana turns, rounding on Nuibaba, and the witch stands out of her seat. Her eye glares coldly down at Tatiana as they start to circle each other.

“Mind your tongue,” she warns. “You are my prisoner!”

“Kill me if you hate it so much,” Tatiana snaps. “I don’t care, kill me!”

Nuibaba’s eye flashes. She bares her teeth in a snarl. “You’d never see your lover again, little idiot.”

Never see Zeke again. But, if Nuibaba does as she says she will, she’s not going to anyway. The thought would normally bring tears to her eyes, but now it’s just fuel on the fire. She’s getting angrier and angrier, her body burning hot in a way it hasn’t been in a really long time, and Tatiana realizes that this anger kind of feels good.

“Kill me and let him be free,” she spits. “And I hope you know that when Zeke knows I’m gone, he’ll hunt you and Jerome to the ends of the earth!”

Something in Nuibaba’s eye flashes, and if Tatiana didn’t know better, she would say that- that the witch is actually getting pale.

She presses a little more. “Not even the Father would be able to save you then, and it will make all of this nightmare worth it to have you on the end of Zeke’s lance. You’re all nothing but a nuisance to him. If he wanted, he could have-”

Tatiana’s head turns as a sharp pain blooms over her cheek, and it takes her a second to realize that Nuibaba has struck her across the face. She looks almost inhuman when Tatiana looks over meekly, her teeth bared so her gums are visible, her gray skin clammy, and her eye so wide that it is bloodshot.

“Shut your damned mouth!” Nuibaba hisses.

It’s then that a delightful, and also frightening, realization spreads over Tatiana. A smile creeps onto her face, and she feels actually smug as she fixes Nuibaba with a look.

“You’re afraid of my Ezekiel.”

The reaction is instant, and so violent that it makes Tatiana squeak. Nuibaba grabs her by the hair and starts to drag her out of the kitchen. Her clawed hands scrape against Tatiana’s scalp, and she feels blood start to drip down her face. Desperate, she clutches at Nuibaba’s wrist, but it does nothing.

The witch is mumbling, and her utterances get louder the further they go through the manor. “Insolence! Me, afraid? Of a man? A mortal man? You’re the stupidest girl I’ve ever met!”

Tatiana’s heart sinks lower as the vague screams of the manor get louder, and she realizes that this is where it happens. This is where the begging comes from, and she frantically looks from open room to open room, where she sees every torture and horror imaginable. She struggles as she’s dragged, clawing her long, chipped nails down Nuibaba’s arm, but she doesn’t seem to care even when she draws blood.

“Afraid? I’ll show you afraid!”

If this is it, then this is it. Tatiana lets everything spill out.

“Damned witch! You’re scared stiff of him! You know that if you fought him without any of your surprise visits or hostages, he’d cut you down in a second flat! You know that he’s one of the only people capable of killing you, and you’re a coward! That time you came to our house and provoked him, so you could try to kill him on your terms; it makes sense now! You’re a coward!”

“Shut up!” Nuibaba takes a sharp turn into a room with a large pyre in the middle. A sweep of her hand sets it aflame; the heat washes over Tatiana. It irritates the new wounds on her head, and she flinches.

“A coward, a slimy old lady,” Tatiana shouts. “You figured out you couldn’t kill him, that’s why you took me! Because you know he wouldn’t lay a hand on you so long as I’m under your power. Coward, coward, coward!”

She feels like she’s screaming incomprehensibly now. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. But, whatever it is, it’s driving Nuibaba mad. Her teeth clench tighter the closer she takes her to the fire, and Tatiana is terrified. But, she won’t show it.

You don’t show her a lick of weakness.

“Kill me, then! He’ll come for you, and not even the gods will be able to stop him!”

“Shut your damned mouth! You’ve been a thorn in my side, evading me for years, and I’ve had enough!” Nuibaba takes her closer to the fire and throws her to the floor. She appears demonic when Tatiana looks up. “I’m no coward, you little hussy. I’ll have you now, and let your Ezekiel come for me. I don’t normally like the taste of men, but I’m sure I can make an exception!”

Nuibaba sweeps her up and starts to push her towards the fire. The heat presses against Tatiana’s back, and she fights, struggling and trying to plant her feet against the ground. The inconvenience irritates Nuibaba, and she only pushes harder, harder, towards Tatiana’s certain death.

Zeke.

You got life in you, y’know?

She grits her teeth and shoves back, taking Nuibaba’s wrists in one hand and a horn in the other, struggling. “You’ve taken everything from me! Liliya, Maria, my sense of safety and comfort! You’ve taken so much from the people of Rigel, and someone’s going to come and be the end of you, mark my words!”

A devilish grin pulls Nuibaba’s lips up. “Did you say Maria? Oh, that girl that you threw away?!”

She flinches, and Nuibaba pushes her back. The flames lick at Tatiana, leaving red streaks across her skin, and she nearly cries out in pain. The screams around them seem to get louder, and she wonders, for a horrible second, if the souls of Nuibaba’s sacrifices are howling inside the fire itself.

This is hell.

“You’re the coward here, letting other people die for you, throwing them in front of you like shields while you cry helplessly! You’re soft, weak, a whimpering mess who needs someone to take care of you.” Her grin grows wider, and she pushes with newfound strength. “I’ll tell you something before I throw you to the flames: She cried out for you! I remember, that girl screamed your name even as I took the blade to her gut. She loved you desperately, and you repaid her with death!”

Tatiana’s entire being goes numb, so numb and cold—Maria had truly screamed her name until she died?—that she lets Nuibaba throw her to the fire.

Or, she would let Nuibaba throw her to the fire, if she was still trying.

Instead, there’s a ruckus outside, Terrors screaming and witches crying, and the fire stops suddenly. Tatiana gasps as Nuibaba throws her against the charred and smoldering wood that burns into her. She lunges away from the heat with a hiss, batting at the soot on her gown.

Nuibaba takes Tatiana’s hair in her grip again and starts pulling her away, out of the room, and back towards the dungeons as the commotion becomes louder. She hears spells being fired, faint shouting, and doesn’t know what’s going on. But something in her, a still and small voice, whispers, “You shouldn’t be afraid.”

She still is.

Nuibaba throws her back in the dungeon. She tosses her onto the floor of the cell so hard that her palms are scraped when she throws them out to break her fall. Grimacing, she looks up from the ground. Her captor locks the cage, snarling, then smiles slowly.

“I have dinner guests,” she says. “I must go greet them, as I am a proper hostess. You, you little treat, can stay right here. I’ll roast you over the fire when I get back, don’t you worry.”

“What’s going on?” Tatiana asks, and she begs to know again as Nuibaba goes up the stairs. “Hey! What’s happening? Answer me!

"Who is here?!"

Their entire battalion has been camped out on the Plains for a week now, sleeping in tents and doing their best to brave the cold. Zeke often finds Astrid and her friends, all of the younger recruits, shivering and huddled together by the fire. He does what he can with small things, like giving them all of his extra coats and cloaks, even daring to ride back into the village to get things from his closets.

But no matter how cold it is, Jerome has them under strict orders to not retreat. The Zofians are on their soil now, and they’re the first line of defense. Zeke knows that it’s serious, and not just Jerome forcing them all to sit in the cold because he hates them, because Jerome is out here, too. With fur-lined coats and the closest spot to the fire, of course, but he is here.

They should just be fortunate that the worst of the winter has passed. There’s no more heavy snowfall, and some grass is visible beneath what’s on the ground. The water on the river is no longer frozen, and it isn’t completely unbearable to wade in it and wash your hair. The sky is blue more than it is gray, and even though the wind is cold, Zeke can feel the coming of spring upon it.

Two years. Almost two years since they started courting. Almost two years since I thought something like Zeke might be kind of cute. It’s been almost two years since that first dance, when she stepped on his toes, when they almost kissed, when they laid everything bare on the beach. It’s been almost two years since he first felt her lips against his, and Can you kiss me again? Please?

It all feels like too long ago.

“Ezekiel! Be a good boy and bring me a mug of coffee, would you? And make it right.”

Zeke sighs, broken from his reverie, and gets to his feet. He pulls a tin of coffee from the supply caravan, and slowly, finds his eyes drawn to Fear Mountain in the distance.

Tatiana.

It won’t be long now.

Tatiana covers her ears as another deafening explosion shakes the manor. Dust falls from the ceiling of her cell, right onto her, and she coughs. She’s trembling, flinching with every harsh sound from the outside above her, and grits her teeth as she clenches her wrist in a hand.

“Stop it,” she hisses to herself. “Stop, please.”

And then, all too suddenly, after hours, everything stops.

Tatiana sits, frozen, and waits. But, nothing happens.

She waits and waits for another hour, nervously tugging at her messy hair and waiting for Nuibaba. There’s movement upstairs, she can tell that much. It’s loud, like there are a lot of people, and she’s confused; witches and arcanists don’t make that much noise. What she hears above her sounds like boots, heavy with each step. As she listens and makes out the sound of people talking, a little spark of hope flares up in her.

And then, not a second after she builds up her courage to try and call out, the door swings open. Tatiana jumps back, shrinking as far back into the cell as possible, but can still see the silhouette of a young man. He glances around, and then starts to descend the stairs. On his heels are another two men, in red and blue armor respectively, and Tatiana is quiet.

“Think there’s anything that could help Forsyth down here?” the younger man asks.

The red-haired man shakes his head. “Doubtful. I think we’ll just have to pray that Silque can cure the poison. But, she says she’s too unfamiliar with its composition to be able to break it down with magic. Things look grim.”

“We shouldn’t give up,” the man in blue says. “And we should- Oh.”

Tatiana flinches as he looks right at her, wishing that she was invisible as the other two whirl around to see what it is that he’s looking at.

The young man in particular draws Tatiana’s attention: He’s young. A teenager, obviously. He has dark green hair, fluffy and messy, and brown eyes that are wide with youth. There’s scratches and dents in his armor, clearly fresh, but he otherwise looks pretty unharmed. He is the one who takes a step towards her cell and furrows his brow.

“Hello?” he asks.

“Um.” Tatiana swallows and tries to think of something to say. “Hi.”

“This could be a trap, Alm,” the red-haired man warns. “We haven’t found any other alive women. This is highly suspicious.”

Defensiveness flares up in Tatiana, and she crosses her arms. “I’m not a trap. I’m a prisoner. A special one, I guess.”

“She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly,” Alm shoots back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out. Do you know where the key is?”

He seems nice. She wonders if he's from some sort of liberation force that has risen against Nuibaba. Tatiana wrings her fingers together, then mumbles, “It opens with magic.”

“Alright.” He draws his sword, then apologizes when she flinches. “I’m just gonna bust it open. Stand back.”

It takes a minute of beating and bashing for the lock to finally break, but he swings it open. She stares in disbelief for a moment, looking from the cell floor to the outside, and she cannot believe that someone is letting her out. Someone who is seemingly kind is extending a hand to her after all this time of torment and fear, and she nervously takes her first step to freedom.

“Nuibaba’s been dealt with,” Alm says. “I’m sure she put you through a lot, but you’re safe now.”

Her heart drops. “‘Dealt with?’”

“Dead.” A new man shows up in the door, crouching to peer into the dungeon. He’s tall and lanky, with blue hair and a bow slung over his shoulder. “Where’s that medicine for Forsyth?”

“Not here,” the red-haired man admits. “There’s only a prisoner.”

Dead, Tatiana repeats in her head. Dead.

After so many years of Nuibaba, she’s just… dead?

Tatiana stumbles, and the man in blue reaches out to catch her. “Careful, miss.”

“She’s gone?” she asks in a hushed voice. Tears start to fill her eyes, but she blinks them back. “You really mean it?”

“You could go see her corpse if you please,” the archer says as he leaves the doorway. “Stop dragging your feet and find something to help Forsyth!”

Dead.

Tatiana sniffles, holding a hand to her mouth. “Oh, thank you so much. Y-you don’t know. You don’t know how much that means.”

No more fear. No more cowering in terror when Nuibaba comes for her food allotments. Heck, no more food allotments at all. No more groveling, no more girls being stolen from their rooms in the night, no more horror looming over their Plains like a heavy stormcloud. No more Liliyas. No more Marias. No more, no more!

“Thank you,” Tatiana says again in a stronger voice. She blinks back the tears threatening to spill and decides to smile. “My name is Tatiana. Who are you all, if you don’t mind my asking? A renegade force?”

“I’m Alm. We’re the Deliverance,” Alm tells her. “It’s nice to meet y-”

All the color drops from her face. “Uh, say that again?”

“I’m Alm.”

“No, the other part.”

“We’re the Deliverance?”

Shit.

Tatiana takes a step back. “So it’s true. The Zofians really have invaded!”

Alm winces and stretches out a hand. “H-hey, uh-”

She takes another few steps back, hurried, because she got out of a cell after two months, and there’s no way she’s going to be a Zofian prisoner. She bumps into a couple of crates, feels around behind her, and her fingers brush against a stick—the shaft of an old broom, perhaps? Doesn’t matter.

“S-stay back!” Tatiana brandishes it clumsily, upset that the men look more amused and perplexed than anything. She knows that a scraggly girl with greasy hair in a ripped up dress probably isn’t the most threatening thing they’ve ever seen, but still. She’s offended. “I’ve had enough trouble! You stay away from me!”

The red-haired man takes a calm step towards her, a hand raised in a soothing motion. “Now, now, madam. Please, put that down. Nobody is-”

Tatiana whacks him with her weapon, smacking him straight on the hand, and he hisses and waves it.

“Ow,” he says.

She sniffles with the realization hitting her that even though Nuibaba is dead, she is still cornered by three Zofian men. She squeezes her eyes shut, tightens her grip on the broom, and does the only thing a starved, terrified, weakened girl can do in this situation. It's outlandish for certain, but she ducks her head and cries, "Zeke, help!"

And of course he doesn't come.

“We didn’t invade Rigel to start harming innocent Rigelian civilians,” Alm tells her, exasperated. “And we did just save you.”

She opens her eyes, and her view of them is blurry through her unshed tears. She feels desperate to trust. “Oh. Oh, you… you won’t hurt me?”

“Oh, by the Mother Mila, no,” the blond man says. “Don’t worry. We only came here for-”

“Hey!” It’s the archer’s voice, frantic, calling from above. “He’s getting worse! Find something, fast!”

“Oh, no,” Alm mumbles. “Sorry, uh, Tatiana? Glad you’re safe and all, but we have a medical emergency.”

Medical emergency? Her attention piques at that, and she grabs his hand as he takes off. “I’m a saint. If you have wounded, then I could possibly help. Especially if it’s a poison Nuibaba was using. Y-you helped me, so now I need to help back."

“Bring her,” the redhead says immediately. “She can’t do us any harm, and she cannot make Forsyth any worse than he is.”

Alm takes her hand and starts dragging her up the stairs. “You think you can help? Really?”

Anxiety sweeps over her as they come to the open manor, where Zofian soldiers are bustling about all over the place. In the thick of it is a group of clerics, bent over a man in green armor, who is pale and sweaty. The air around him reeks, and he’s definitely infected with some nasty poison. She lets Alm take her over and kneels next to the man, observing a cut on his cheek that is oozing a pus-like substance.

“This is definitely Nuibaba’s work,” she mumbles. “Does anyone have a spare staff?”

A cleric pushes one towards her. “Use mine.”

“The composition of Nuibaba’s poisons are purely Rigelian,” Tatiana mumbles. She pokes at his wound, grimacing as more liquid spurts out. “Yuck. It’s a local poison. Ingredients that you’d only find here. Of course none of your clerics would have the medical knowledge to break it down. But, give me just a minute. I’ve dealt with this before.”

They give her space as she starts casting a spell on the Zofian soldier. The only people around her now are the men from the dungeon, the archer, and a blonde woman who is covered in blood that isn’t her own.

“I’m sorry I panicked down there,” Tatiana mumbles.

“We can’t blame you for being wary,” Alm admits. “We did invade, after all. That’s not a lie.”

“Regardless, even after just speaking to you for a few minutes, I can tell you’re more honorable than the troops lording over our village,” she says with a smile. “In fact, I-” The spell glitches for a moment, and then burns strong again when she regains her focus. Tatiana gasps, “Zeke! Oh, which one of you is in charge here?”

She snaps her head over to the blonde woman before any of the others can respond. “You! You’re so tall and dashing, you must be the leader! Please, you need to-”

The woman smiles, but shakes her head. “I am not the leader here.”

Tatiana’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Oh, really? Hmmm.”

The man under her spell is starting to stir and make slight sounds, and his wound is closed. Tatiana stops the spell, gives his cheek a pat, and eases him back to sleep before continuing her guessing game. One of these Zofians has to be the leader.

“You!” She looks to the redhead and grabs his hand. “Yes, you, it must be. Witness the focused air about you! Listen, I-”

“Wrong again, I fear,” he says good naturedly. He then nods his head over to Alm. “Alm here commands us.”

The boy looks miffed, and then says, “Uh, hi.”

Him? Him? He’s just a boy. Tatiana frowns, studying him, and then says, “You? But you’re so young and… young."

Maybe not the smartest thing she’s ever said, but he’s just a baby.

“Am not,” he protests, and then blushes, because that’s probably not the most mature thing he’s ever said. “Uh, sorry. But yeah, I’m the leader here. Alm, at your service.”

She doesn’t have time to think about how hard leadership must be on such a young boy, or how unfair it is that he’s been made to lead this rebellion, and instead grabs his hands. “Please, listen to me! My lover, Zeke, is in peril!”

“What?”

“Zeke, Ezekiel!” Her heart feels ready to beat out of her chest. What if they’ve sent a force towards the Plains while one invaded Fear Mountain? “Look, long story short, he’s a general. His superior officer, Jerome, is a no-good rotten lout. He takes from the villages and makes us all suffer. My Ezekiel refused to stand for it, but-”

She swallows and looks into her lap. Alm squeezes her hands, friendly and encouraging, and gives her some strength to go on.

“I’ve been here for- for two months, I think. When Zeke kept calling Jerome out, and started having doubts about whether or not he wanted to fight all of you, I was taken captive. With me stuck up here, in Nuibaba’s clutches, my love had no choice but to obey.”

The woman next to her frowns. “That’s quite awful. But, you have no need to worry now. You are safe.”

Sure, she’s safe, but- “My Ezekiel!”

“You don’t have to worry. We haven’t been the way of the Plains yet,” the red-haired man assures.

“This Zeke- Ezekiel.” Alm frowns and looks pensive. “If he attacks us when we go that way, we’ll have no choice but to attack back.”

A little flare of defensiveness builds in her. “Awww, he won’t attack you. He’s a sweetie pie!”

They all look at each other doubtfully.

Tatiana pouts and tries to argue some more. “I mean, heck, he’s gonna be over the moon about how you all saved me. In fact, he might even come to your aid. He’s just that kind of man.”

She thinks about him, his beautiful eyes and broad shoulders, that thick golden hair and rich, sensual voice, and can’t help a sigh from escaping. She hasn’t seen him in so long, hasn’t touched him or held him, and her heart is racing at the thought of it. She’s free, she’s free, and neither hell nor high water can keep her from Zeke now. She’ll fight her way through these Zofians to get to him, or she’ll die trying.

“You’re awfully convincing,” Alm tells her.

She’s been told that before, and she smiles. “Of course I am. But, please, if you tell Zeke that I’m free, then-”

She pauses, and then wonders: Why is she telling them to tell Zeke that she’s free, when her accompaniment would be solid proof? She keeps the Zofians safe that way, and more importantly, she keeps Zeke safe. If they fought, Tatiana has no doubt that it would be a bloodbath, and neither side would escape without dreadful costs.

“Take me with you,” she says. “See, I just healed this nice man easily. I’m not a burden. If you take me with you, back towards the Plains and my village, I can both heal your soldiers and get my Zeke to stand down.”

They all look at each other, down to the man in green armor, then to Tatiana, and then back to each other. They seem so pensive about it that it gets her a little worked up; she’s five-foot-three and, after this stint in the Nuibaba’s cell, probably barely weighs anything. Does she really look like a danger? Is there really anything to consider? To be honest, she kind of likes these people. Tagging along with them for a couple of days until they get to the Plains might not be so bad, even if she’s spent the last months terrified at the mere thought of them.

“Take me, please,” she implores. “I don’t have anything to offer but my services and my ability to make Zeke stand down, I know. But trust me, you don’t want to fight him. He’s- he’s really something else, you see. Even the most veteran commanders say he’s ‘unprecedented’ in the Rigelian army. He’ll kill you.”

“I resent that,” the blonde woman says.

“He will,” Tatiana says more firmly. “I don’t want anything from you. Really. I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m starving. I’ve been here for months. I just want to go home to Zeke and my village. All I ask is that you take me there, and I’ll heal in exchange.”

“I could do with some help!” a cleric calls over.

“Sorry, Silque,” Alm calls back, and then sighs. “Okay. You really promise you can make this General Ezekiel stand down?”

Tatiana smiles. “Please. I can have that man on his knees in seconds. Do you really promise not to hurt him?”

“On my honor,” he says.

She purses her lips and tries to look at least a little tough. “Alright. One more time: No hurting my sweet Zeke. Got it?”

“Got it, got it!” the archer says irately.

“You watch your tone with me, young man,” Tatiana snaps.

He shuts his mouth.

“I like her,” the blonde woman says before offering a hand. “My name is Mathilda. Let’s get you bathed, and I think I might have a dress that will fit you.”

“Clair got you that dress,” the man in blue reminds.

“I have appreciated the gift, but never worn it. You know I don’t care for frills. I think it will service Miss Tatiana here much better, and Clair would agree.”

“Yes, yes, get the poor girl out of those horrid rags, and wash her hair! A little rouge on the cheeks would work wonders as well.” A blonde girl comes rushing by, supplies stacked in her arms, and doesn’t stop to talk beyond what she has said.

“Approval,” Mathilda proclaims, and then takes Tatiana’s hand. “Come on. You’ll feel better after a bath. We’re moving out at dawn. Think you can handle it?”

Tatiana feels weak, like her limbs are made of paper and glass, and she’s dreadfully thin. She can’t imagine how awful marching will be, and doesn’t think they’ll give her any special privileges just because she’s a freed prisoner. But, she follows Mathilda along, and quietly says that she can handle anything.

Home is within reach, after so long.

It takes five days to get from Fear Mountain to all the way across the Plains. It normally only takes two, but with the Deliverance’s sheer numbers and their caravans and supplies, it takes longer. Not to mention that they have to stop, plan out their movements, and scout ahead to see if there are any ambushes awaiting them. Tatiana waits for those scouts to come back every time, anxiously waiting while she does some chore, like mending a torn shirt. She waits to see if they’ll come back and say that there is a Rigelian force on the grassland over, hopeful that it is Zeke.

They come back every time, however, and say, “Nothing there. Just grass.”

Tatiana looks over a map at a strategy meeting, where she is sorely out of place. Everyone is dressed in their uniforms and armor, looking intense and war-ready, and Tatiana? Well, she doesn’t have a uniform. Her saint clothes are back at home, tucked away for ceremony. Instead, she’s got on the soft red dress that Mathilda loaned her, and she definitely doesn’t belong in a war council.

“Can you show us where some major landmarks are? Or tell us important information?” Forsyth asks kindly. He’s always kind to her, constantly proclaiming his gratitude to her for saving his life. He walks her around camp, glares back when people glare at the strange Rigelian too closely, and does laundry with her. She likes him.

“Major landmarks? I can do that.” Tatiana takes a quill that Lukas offers her and starts marking up the map. “Right here? This area? These are the Rigelian Plains. Where we are, obviously. This is the most fertile land in Rigel, so it’s got a sizable military faction stationed to protect us from thieves and brigands.”

“And yet, the army here have become the thieves,” Clive muses. “Despicable.”

Tatiana nods and circles another area. “In this area is where the military base is. It’s probably only a day’s march from where we are now, if I’m guessing right. That means that Jerome probably has his troops stationed somewhere out… Here. All in one big place.”

She circles an area not far from the base, right near the village, and Mathilda asks, “What makes you say that?”

“He’s lazy,” Tatiana scoffs. “Zeke always tells me that if he were in charge, he’d station multiple factions of troops along the Plains to weaken you on your way to him and his battalion, but Jerome disagrees with that strategy. He’s a lazy man, and doesn’t want to go through the trouble of spreading his men out. Also, he won’t want to leave the comfort of the base too far behind. So, logically, they’re all going to be right here.”

“It sounds like Zeke tells you a lot,” Alm marvels.

She blushes and scratches the back of her neck sheepishly. “To be honest, I’m not that smart, especially not when compared to Zeke. I don’t understand a lot of the military jargon he spouts. But when he talks about positioning and different landmarks, I know the land well enough to understand it.”

“This is beneficial,” Lukas says. “Our understanding of how the military around here worked was limited, along with the our knowledge of the land itself. It would seem we were fortunate to have come across you, Miss Tatiana.”

Mathilda leans over and traces Tatiana’s scribbles with a finger. “Beneficial indeed. Now we know that if we launch a heavy ambush on the place that Tatiana has marked, we’ll all but wipe out the entire military force here on the Plains.”

“How can we be sure it isn’t a trap, though?” Clive asks. “I like Miss Tatiana as much as the rest of you, but we should be cautious. What if she’s just a carefully planted agent?”

Ridiculous. Tatiana shakes her head and keeps drawing on the map. “I love my homeland. I don’t want to see you destroy it, but you’ve assured me that that’s not what you’re here to do. So, I don’t mind helping you, especially when it comes to helping you beat Jerome’s greasy face into the ground. I love my homeland, but I don’t like the military.”

“Aren’t you, like, living with and sleeping with a high-ranking general?” Python asks.

Tatiana points a finger at him and frowns. “That’s different.”

“Sure, kid.”

“No, really,” she protests. “I knew Zeke before he joined the army. So, it’s different.”

“No time to argue about it,” Lukas interrupts. “I’m certain that Miss Tatiana is not a spy. Alm trusts her as well. We’ll trust in the information she has provided, and it will undoubtedly lead us to victory.”

Tatiana smiles and gives Python a smug look, and then looks away and goes back to marking the map. The way he sits, the way he talks, he reminds her a little too much of August. It’s making her dreadfully homesick, and she blinks back some tears.

“One more thing,” she says. “The military on the Plains is basically split into two factions. Those that side with Jerome, and those that side with Zeke.”

“Differences in morality,” Alm guesses.

“Just so. The soldiers that side with Jerome are stuck to him like glue, but we could say the same for Zeke’s men. When I get Zeke to defect from Jerome’s command, there’s really no doubt that his men will follow suit. That’ll cut down the number of soldiers you have to fight by a really good chunk, and they might even fight on your side for the battle, if Zeke does as well.”

“Excellent news!” Forsyth proclaims. “Our march towards the valley is going to be easier than we thought. And, don’t you worry, Miss Tatiana—we’ll have you home, safe and sound, before you know it.”

Tatiana can only hope so.

“It’s getting warmer,” Astrid says.

Zeke hands her a coat despite the statement and says, “It is. Spring will be here in a couple of months, I imagine.”

The mage sticks her skinny arms through and pulls the lapels of the coat up. “It’s still cold.”

“It is.”

“We’ve been out here for almost two weeks,” she complains. She follows him as he moves to a caravan. “What’re you getting?”

“Hm, only some coffee. Do you want a cup?”

“Thank you.”

There’s already a kettle of water steaming over the fire. Zeke grabs it with a nearby rag, pulls it off, and starts brewing the drinks. Astrid hovers behind him, occasionally looking around. He knows that she’s looking at Fear Mountain, because she asks, “Do you think she’s okay?”

Zeke tries to hide the way he flinches. “I don’t think she is.”

“You think they hurt her?!”

He puts the lid back on the kettle to let the drink brew, sets it back on the fire, and stands. He glares up at the damned mountain, his heart racing. “They have. I saw it. They promised they wouldn’t hurt her, yet they have. But, I know she’s alive.”

“Tatiana didn’t deserve this,” Astrid exclaims.

“You’re telling me,” Zeke mumbles. “Go grab some hardtack and two mugs from the caravan, please. We'll have a bit of a meal."

He watches as she scrounges around and thanks her when she comes back with the requested items. He pours the coffee and hands her the cup, warning her that it’s hot (“Don’t treat me like a kid.”), and then pours his own cup. It’s bitter when he drinks it, but also thin and honestly kind of gross. Nothing like what Tatiana brews in the morning to go with breakfast, and he takes a heaving sigh as he puts the mug to the side.

Everything. He misses everything about her. The way she feels curled up against his chest, the sound of her laughter, the sight of her working over a patient at the church. He misses her, he misses her. He’s certain it reflects in his appearance as well. His hair is longer than it was two months ago, without her there to give it a trim, and gods know he’s not allowing anyone else get close to his head with scissors. He’s thinner, his shaving isn’t as clean, he slumps when he walks, and he doesn’t know for how much longer he can take all of this.

“Hey, General.” Astrid tugs on his sleeve and points over to Jerome, who is conversing with a soldier. “What do you think-?”

Zeke is already on his feet when Jerome says, “Bring me Ezekiel!”

“Careful,” Astrid whispers as he walks away.

It feels like a death march, walking over to his superior. He looks smug and poised to mock, the way he always does when Zeke gets close. There’s nothing Jerome likes more than a good mocking.

“I’m here, sir.” He stands a polite distance away, a hand to his chest in proper form. “You have need of me?”

Jerome waves away the soldier and comes to stand uncomfortably close to Zeke. “The Zofian rabble are on their way. They’ll be upon us in due time. Ready yourself to fight them. I’m putting you on the frontlines of the battle.”

Zeke narrows his eyes. “They’re coming?”

“If you don’t screw this up, I’ll see your lover returned to you by the morning.” Jerome reaches out and smoothes down a crease in Zeke’s coat. “As promised. Safe and sound, back at home. I can’t guarantee she won’t have some trauma, but, well. These things happen!”

He clenches his fists.

“Mind your allegiances wisely,” Jerome reminds suddenly. “Because if I smell even a whiff of betrayal?”

Jerome grins wide, but it looks almost like a snarl. It raises the hairs on the back of Zeke’s neck.

“You know what will happen.”

Zeke looks back towards Fear Mountain, letting out a soft sigh, and goes to rally his men.

A scout comes back with word that Rigelian forces have been found across the river, almost exactly where Tatiana said they would be. And, as promised, Alm takes Tatiana out towards the scout’s given coordinates on horseback, after she says, “He’s got to be there. Take me to him, and I’ll get him to stand down.”

Her heart is racing, and she squeezes Alm tightly as they ride. It’s a short journey, only thirty minutes, and the Deliverance is moving behind them, albeit much slower. The plan is that, by the time Tatiana gets him to defect and withdraw his men, they’ll be able to ambush what is left.

Alm pulls on the reins of his horse as they come up to the river. A small army is on the other side, soldiers who haven’t seen them yet milling about. They’re certainly getting ready for the Deliverance to appear, unaware of the two who have come alone, and Tatiana desperately looks across the river for Zeke. This isn’t the full battalion. She only sees Zeke’s men. Jerome must be somewhere else, and of course he would decide to send others to the frontlines before he joins the battle.

“Do you see him?” Alm asks. The horse trots a little farther down the river bank. They hide in the cover of trees, as quiet and hidden as possible. “What’s he look like? I can help find him.”

“Really tall,” Tatiana responds, still glancing over, annoyed that she doesn’t see him in the midst of the soldiers. “He doesn’t wear armor. He’s got a long, black coat and cape. Blond hair, commanding, really handsome!”

“Blond hair, commanding, really handsome,” Alm repeats. “Got it.”

“His horse is black,” she carries on. She tightens her hands into the mane of Alm’s horse, her heart hammering. “What if he’s not here? What if something happened to him?”

“Don’t lose heart,” he reassures her. “If this Zeke is as strong as you say he is, I’m sure he’s just fine.”

“What if Nuibaba hurt him? Or Jerome did?” she continues. “I haven’t seen him in so long. I don’t know if he’s even alive, or if-”

And then, the world stops when Tatiana’s eyes catch a glimpse of sunlit blond hair, a broad figure that is so familiar, and a commanding stance. Everything stops. She stares stupidly for a moment, watching the way he moves around, pointing and gesturing as he speaks to his men, and is certain.

“Alm, stop!”

Zeke is standing there, right across the river, with his back still to them. He places a hand against Ephraim’s nose as he nudges him, and surveys his soldiers preparing carefully under his orders, oblivious to the presence of Tatiana and Alm behind him.

He’s there.

He’s right there.

Zeke is right there, twenty feet away from her across the river. Tatiana has been atop Fear Mountain for months, stuck in a dingy old cell miles and miles and miles away, and yet, she’s never felt as far from him as she has in this moment. It’s unbearable. It’s the worst. She’s this close, and she has never felt worse, because it’s still too far.

“Tatiana?” Alm reels back as she throws her leg over the side of his horse. “What’s wrong? Do you see him?”

“Go back and get your army,” she tells him. “I’m going to keep my end of the bargain, and you’ll be able to ambush the remaining forces safely.”

Alm looks back across the river, frowning at the group of soldiers. “Will you be safe here if I leave?”

“Zeke’s here,” Tatiana says. “I can’t imagine anywhere else that I’m safer.”

Alm digs his heels into the side of his horse and takes off back towards where the Deliverance is waiting for an order. The wind rushes through the trees on the riverbank, and as Tatiana stands right at the edge of the water, anxiety swirls through her. She doesn’t know why; maybe part of her is expecting Jerome to lunge from the bushes as soon as she calls out, ready to skewer either her or Zeke. Anything could happen. Nothing is beyond possibility. She’s so scared, almost too frightened to call out to him.

Zeke lowers his hand from his horse and takes a step towards his men, away from her.

Tatiana’s heart stops and she lowers her head against the wind.

“Zeke!”

He doesn’t stop, but does slow a little, and she wonders if he is able to hear her that well against the rush of the river, the shaking of the trees in the wind. A few tears spill out, a helpless sob escapes her, and then she pulls herself together. She shouts his name again, louder, trying to make herself heard.

And then, he stops. He’s frozen in place. He turns, slowly, and it’s hard to see his expression across the great distance, but she can see surprise and disbelief on his face. He stands completely still, staring at her, and the wind chooses then to die down. The rush of the river turns amiable, into a gentler, happier babble, and Tatiana rubs at an eye. She can hear the sounds across the river more clearly now, and hopes that their voices will carry over the water.

“Tatiana.” She hears her name come from him, and her heart flutters. “Tatiana!”

His voice is so sweet, so warm, and she can’t help from letting a sob escape her. The tears should be saved for when she actually gets to touch him, but just his voice is the sweetest thing she’s ever heard in her whole life. Tatiana brushes away her tears, annoyed with herself and her awful habit of crying at every little thing, and then for some reason, she laughs a little.

He’s here. She’s here. They’re so close.

His voice is soft over the distance, but she can still hear the disbelief in it. “Tatiana, how-”

“The Deliverance saved me!” she calls back. “Nuibaba is dead!”

A long pause, filled with shock. And then, he rushes forward, straight into the river, as though he means to cross twenty feet of strong water in that very moment.

“Stop!” She throws out her hands. “Listen to me, you know what this means, right?”

Zeke stops when the water is up to his calves, rushing about him, still silent as though he cannot believe what he sees.

“Don’t do anything else Jerome says,” she calls. “You don’t have to! The Deliverance is on their way right now. Please, don’t fight them! I told them not to hurt you.”

More silence, more silence, more silence, until he weakly calls out, with a wavering voice that sounds near tears, “You saved me.”

She sniffles and lets a few tears fall, and then snaps her head back up when she hears the pounding of horses not from her side, but from Zeke’s. He steps out of the river, grabbing Ephraim’s reins and staring in the direction of the noise. The soldiers also tense, looking the same direction, and Tatiana swallows.

“He’s coming,” he says, and he waves an arm to her. “Go somewhere safe. I’ll handle this!”

She doesn’t have her staff anymore, she knows that, but she’s not useless without it. “Let me help! From here, I can use Physic, and-”

“Go!” he calls again, mounting his horse. He pulls his lance from the saddle. “I’m ending this.”

Chapter Text

Astrid looks up at Zeke astride his horse, flashes of excitement in her eyes. “Was that-?”

“Nuibaba is dead,” he tells her, and his heart soars to say it. “Tatiana is free.”

“You don’t have to do what General Jerome says anymore,” someone says excitedly. “What does this mean?”

“Are you going to still fight the Zofians?” Astrid asks.

Zeke furrows his brow and runs his fingers along the hilt of his lance, thinking as he feels the cold metal. “No. I’m going to do my job and free these Plains of the atrocity that plagues them.”

Her eyes go wide. “Y-you’re going to fight General Jerome?”

“That’s treason,” someone says. “Sir, if you turn your lance on him, who’s to say what will happen? It’s just treason, plain and simple.”

He knows that. And for some reason, the feeling of it seems familiar. The feeling that he is about to go against orders and do something, despite the fact that he knows it is for the greater good. He knows it is treason, and not even his status as the emperor’s favorite will be able to dig him out of this one.

The sound of Jerome and his men getting closer brings Zeke back, and he moves Ephraim in front of his soldiers. They all look about, anxious, but stand at attention as Zeke and Ephraim pace in front of them.

“Turn back now, if you don’t wish to be dragged down with me,” he orders. “None of you will be punished. I will see to it that no harm comes to any of you, should you go back. But, you may also choose to ride and fight with me against this tyrant. Nuibaba is gone; Jerome is all the terror that still looms over this place. If you join me, we’ll put an end to him and free our people. Make your choices. Quickly.”

They’re all quiet. The thundering of the approaching cavalry in the distance is all there is to be heard.

There is a small hand on his leg, and Zeke looks down to Astrid. There’s a fire in her eyes as she tells him, “I don’t care if people say it’s treason. Letting Jerome continue to harm our people is worse than that. Let me fight with you.”

“Astrid, I think you should go back,” he whispers. “You’re fourteen. This isn’t fighting some foreigners—this is fighting your commanding officer. Go back.”

“I don’t care,” she protests, and she turns to the rest of the group. “We all know what’s right! General Jerome has done nothing but bring us of the Plains suffering. He’s stolen our food, killed loved ones. He had an innocent cleric captured to force our general into submission! You can all go back if you want, against your consciences, but I’m staying.”

“We’re not cowards,” someone protests. “I’ve had it with that bastard, too. Sister Tatiana has never been anything but kind to us. She’s healed many of us. I can’t keep fighting under someone who would have her tormented.”

“He got my sister into bed with him for the promise of a few coins,” a pegasus knight spits. “I’ll skewer him. I’m done.”

And, to Zeke’s surprise, not one of his men turns back. Instead, they grab their weapons and rally, more motivated to fight Jerome than they ever were to fight the Zofians.

“You’re a good person.” Astrid’s hand is still on his leg, and she smiles up at him. “You make people want to do good things. Look at all these people who want to side with you. Heck, I joined the army because I heard about you. We can do this, if you’re going to lead the way.”

He opens his mouth to say something, admittedly a little choked up, but hasn’t got the chance. The thundering of hooves becomes all-consuming as Jerome comes riding in with his own soldiers. He glances around, then regards Zeke. He urges his horse forward, frowning as Zeke does the same. They start a slow dance, circling one another in the space between their respective factions.

“What is this?” Jerome demands. “Where are the Zofians?”

“Not here yet,” he replies. “And my men and I won’t be fighting them.”

The general’s face goes as red as his armor. He hand hovers towards the lance in his saddle. “What do you mean, you fool?”

Zeke narrows his eyes, turns his lance in his hand, and brandishes it. He keeps his eyes on Jerome, but calls back, “Men! Set your sights on the target. We march on Jerome’s army. Prepare to attack!”

There is a rallying cry from his soldiers, and beyond that, Zeke can hear more people in the distance. He spares a glance over his shoulder, and he sees the Zofian colors, charging into the fields. They’re across the river, but he hasn’t a doubt that they’ll be able to cross it easily.

He looks back to Jerome, who is so angry that he’s not even red anymore. He’s pale, his teeth grit, and his eyes bloodshot with fury.

“You dare?” he demands. “I didn’t think you fool enough to betray me, Ezekiel. You know what fate awaits the girl now that-!”

“She’s free,” Zeke interrupts, and to say it is like a dream. He tightens his grip on his lance. “And now so am I.”

Jerome goes even paler. “Nuibaba. What has happened to her? What have the Zofians done?”

Ephraim stomps the ground, preparing to charge as Zeke yanks on his reins. “It doesn’t matter. What does are your actions. You have ground the people here under your heel, and threatened my love! Prepare to answer for your crimes.”

Jerome scowls and brandishes his lance. “Is that whore worth this, Ezekiel?”

He feels calm, a certain peace of mind, as his men and the Zofians start their charge on Jerome. Ephraim rears, swinging his hooves through the air, and bursts into a trot.

Tatiana winces and tightens her grip on Mathilda as the knight deflects an arrow with her shield. The sounds of battle rage around them, and to be honest, it’s making Tatiana sick. This isn’t an environment she’s ever been in before; she’s practically useless, clinging hopelessly to a protector and wishing for it all to be over soon.

“Don’t fear!” Mathilda calls over the sounds of metal clashing. “No harm shall befall you while you ride with me. I give you my oath.”

“That’s nice,” Tatiana mumbles into her back.

Another arrow comes flying towards them, and this time, it’s Forsyth who knocks it out of the air with his lance. He doesn’t stop to talk, only carrying on with his fighting, but does give her a little smile before heading back into the thick of it.

“You were right about everything,” Mathilda says again. She cuts through a woman as easily as if she were butter while she is talking. “His men did turn on their superior officer. We have them severely outnumbered! We’ll be victorious soon enough.”

A spatter of blood hits Tatiana on the cheek. She takes a shaking breath and nods against Mathilda, squeezing her tighter and tighter around her armored waist. She peeks out to the fighting across the river, and she can sometimes see Zeke lunging and lashing at Jerome. It’s a dangerous dance the two are engaged in, but she has confidence and faith. Nothing has ever beaten Zeke before, and-

A shield bashes into Mathilda’s horse.

Tatiana falls to the ground.

“You’re a grand fool, Ezekiel,” Jerome spits. “I don’t care if Nuibaba is dead. I’ll make that wench of yours suffer myself.”

His lance clashes into Zeke’s shield, and he grimaces as Ephraim is pushed back. Jerome is a pitiful man for certain, but he’s talented. Besides that, Zeke feels distracted, and he can’t help but throw a glance across the battlefield every now and then, wondering if Tatiana is still out there.

“Keep your eyes on me, you bastard!” Jerome slams his lance against the shield once more, and Zeke winces as his balance is thrown off. “Not even Emperor Rudolf can help you, now that you’ve turned your lance on a fellow general! Is a single woman worth it?”

He grits his teeth, spurs his horse forward, and slices along the flank of Jerome’s horse. The creature cries out and struggles for a moment, and Zeke feels horrible for causing the poor beast such pain, but it alarms Jerome enough that he gets a good hit in between his plates of armor.

Jerome hisses, lashes out with his lance, and Zeke tugs on Ephraim’s reins. He draws back, alarmed at the suddeness of the command, but is not fast enough. A wicked smile crosses Jerome’s face, he charges to the side with his shield out, then slams directly into Zeke once, twice, and then on the third time, knocks him clean from Ephraim’s back.

He goes sprawling, and he makes a pained noise as he falls to the ground. He’s fortunate that his feet didn’t get tangled in the stirrups, that his fall is clean. With that fortune comes misfortune: His right forearm is scraped badly through his coat as he falls, and he drops his lance in the shock of pain, like some rookie. Ephraim whinnies in panic as Jerome keeps lashing at him, and as he races away, his hooves knock the lance far out of his reach.

Zeke is up in an instant, drawing the sword on his belt as Jerome looms over him, sneering and regarding him with glee. He’s mountless, without his weapon of choice, and infantry against cavalry is never a sound strategy. He’s at an utter disadvantage this way, and scowls.

“I don’t think I’ll kill you,” Jerome muses. He rests his lance against his shoulder as he regards Zeke. “I think I’ll keep you alive and make you watch as I torture that godforsaken woman of yours.”

He grits his teeth and searches for an opening, an area where he can get a good cut in with his sword. He can’t stop the way his hands shake in rage, however, and Jerome delights in his reaction.

“What should I do to her, Ezekiel?” Jerome asks. In a blink he has his lance back down, thrusting at Zeke in a way that’s more playful than serious. “Whip her? Cut her fingers off, one by one? I could burn and brand her. Or, perhaps Lord Jedah would like to have a look at her up north?”

Zeke lashes out with his blade, a yell in his throat, and Jerome lunges to the side. “You’d harm a defenseless woman?”

Jerome scowls. “I haven’t forgotten the way she slighted me when I desired her. I offered her money, comfort! Everything my status could provide, and she turned her nose up at it.”

“Do not speak of her,” Zeke hisses.

Jerome smirks and pushes back as the sword falls on his shield. “Perhaps, after all this time, I will have her.”

The rage in him is white hot now, and Zeke crashes against the shield with such strength that Jerome grimaces.

“Craven!” he shouts. “I’ll cut the tongue from your mouth before I gut you!”

“I've never heard such strong words from the noble general Ezekiel,” Jerome taunts. “I think her head would come off nice and clean after I’m done, don't you?”

He blocks another blow from the sword.

“I'll have you watch every second of it!”

He lashes out, nearly slicing Zeke’s arm.

“And then, oh no, I won't kill you; I’ll have you thrown in a prison cell to rot and think about what your undying love has brought upon her!”

The tip of Jerome’s lance lands a hit, slicing through his thigh. The pain is immediate, agonizing, and he nearly loosens his grip on his sword. Blood oozes out, and he's relieved to find that the wound is shallow, despite the pain.

Jerome’s eyes flicker over his head for a moment, a smile spreads over his face, and Zeke swears under his breath. He clenches his sword and starts to turn, but a knife jams into his side in one fluid motion. He makes out one of Jerome’s lieutenants, clapping his hands free of dust, smirking above him.

Zeke falls to the ground.

Mathilda is forced away from Tatiana right after she falls off of the horse. She’s left alone in the thick of the fight, curled up while people scream and yell around her, and she’s terrified. She’s never been more frightened in her life, stuck on the ground, curled in on herself while a war is fought around her.

She hears Mathilda calling for her, but the knight sounds far away, and Tatiana doesn’t think it’s just the fight. She probably is really far away, and there’s little chance of her making it back over. Tatiana is without a staff, or any other sort of weapon. Her staff, her trusted companion, was melted down months ago during her capture. She’s never felt the loss of it so acutely before. It’s not there for her to pull out of empty space in the nick of time. She doesn’t have any possible way of defending herself. A horse gallops past her, nearly crushing her feet. A few tears slip out as she presses her hands to her ears, wishing for this to all be an awful, awful nightmare.

This is what Zeke does? This is his life’s calling?

Gods, she never wants to let the poor man leave her embrace again.

“Tatiana!”

A voice is calling her name, and she looks up from the ground with a sniffle. Not a second later, someone is kneeling in front of her, and something heavy is planted into the ground behind them. She squeaks and recoils, then realizes that it is just Forsyth and his shield.

“Where is Captain Mathilda?” he demands.

Tatiana trembles and sniffs. “I got knocked off the horse. Forsyth, I don’t know what to do!”

The man frowns. “It’ll be alright. I’ll protect you in her stead.”

The waterworks are really flowing now. She shakes her head vigorously and covers her ears again. “I can’t be a burden. I can’t! I can’t!”

“Then fight.” Python appears, kneeling down next to them behind the shield. “Stop crying.”

“Be kind,” Forsyth snaps. “She’s just a civilian! Forgive him, Miss Tatiana.”

“I don’t have a staff,” Tatiana whispers in a quavering voice. “Nuibaba melted mine when she took me. And I’m not good at fighting anyway. I- I’m a village cleric! I heal fevers and colds! Why would I ever have to know how to fight?”

Python’s face softens, and he puts a hand on her back. “Don’t be scared.”

A joyless laugh leaves Tatiana. “Too late!”

“Python, get back to the fighting. Leave her protection to me. If you find Captain Mathilda, tell her that Miss Tatiana is being cared for.” Forsyth pulls his shield out of the ground and pulls Tatiana up with his free hand. “Just stay behind me. We’ll get out of the thick of this.”

Except, as time passes, they get forced into the thick of it. Cavalry herds them into the middle, even closer to the river. The enemy ranks are thinning, but those that are left aren’t going down without a fight. They strike down Deliverance soldier after Deliverance soldier, but aren’t quite tough enough to break through Forsyth’s defenses. The knights that approach them are hardly any cause for worry in any case; Forsyth explains to her that his Ridersbane is effective against cavalry, and if she just stays close, she’ll be safe.

Tatiana has literally never felt less safe in her entire life, yet smiles at him anyway.

A chill rushes up her spine suddenly, though she doesn’t feel like she is in any danger. She glances left, right, and even peeks from behind Forsyth to see if there’s any impending danger. But, there isn’t.

She slowly turns around, more than mortified to find Zeke, just across the river, crumpling to the ground with a knife in his side.

Jerome is in front of him, sheathing his lance. One of his lieutenants pulls the knife out from Zeke’s body, and she scowls at their obviously underhanded trick. What knight fights, only to have his subordinate stab the enemy from behind? No knight worth their rank, that much is for certain. No proud Rigelian.

Zeke isn’t moving.

Tatiana tries to think of what to do.

She could cast Physic, but without her staff to conduct her magic, she doesn’t know if it would reach him. If it did, she doesn’t know if it would be potent enough to both close the wound and heal his fatigue. She could try getting as close to the river’s edge as possible, but that’s the same as painting a big target on her back and begging someone to slaughter her.

Forysth grunts as a lance crashes into his shield, lashes out with his lance, and a knight falls. “Miss Tatiana, don’t worry! This is almost over!”

She’s not listening. Her heart is beating as Jerome and his horse trot around Zeke’s body, looking at it smugly. She knows he isn’t dead. She can feel him. He’s not dead, he’s not, and she still has a chance, if only she had a damned-

An enemy cleric nearby falls, her staff falling out of her hand, and it almost seems too perfect to be real. Just ten feet away is a staff, of perfectly excellent Rigelian make, exactly to her tastes. Just ten feet away, far beyond the comfort and safety of Forsyth’s shield.

It’s a risk that Tatiana is willing to take, and she starts running.

“Tatiana!” Forsyth calls. “Tatiana, come back!”

It’s dangerous, instantly. Three arrows fly past her, a javelin soars overhead and falls where Tatiana was two seconds before, and people charge her. Before they get to her, they’re sniped down by Tobin, or knocked off their horses by Lukas, or skewered from above by Clair. It’s only fifteen seconds for her to rush over and grab the staff, and just as she reaches to take it, a knight rears up beside her. She recognizes him:

This is the knight that hit her over two years ago, the one who had ruthlessly beaten Zeke to a pulp before his arrest. A big, hulking brute, a favorite of Jerome’s for obvious reasons.

He smashes his heavy lance into the ground next to Tatiana, laughing as she lunges and skids away. “Missy! Always a delight to see you. Should I slap you across the face again and put you in your place?”

The staff is in her reach, and she reaches to grab it, shocked that the knight is not stopping her. If anything, he looks amused as she takes it and fumbles back. He spins his lance in his hand and urges his horse towards her, pushing her further away from Forsyth and everyone else.

“I think I’ll do a little more than slap you around this time.”

Tatiana’s eyes flicker across the river to Zeke, where Jerome has dismounted to crouch next to his body. She can tell he’s still alive, because his arm weakly moves as Jerome reaches down to grab him, and her heart lunges.

She doesn’t have time for this.

She takes a deep breath, prays to Duma and Mila both, and tries to calm down. She focuses, tightens her grip, feels the hum of magic moving through her, up her arms, out her fingertips, and into the staff. It’s unfamiliar. This is all unfamiliar. The staff, made of a completely different metal. The magic buzzing through it, dark and hungry. It’s all so different, but Tatiana doesn’t have time for uncertainty.  As the knight lifts his lance to skewer her, she opens her eyes.

When she swings the staff with a shout, a burst of black magic comes out of the orb. It’s purple, almost gunky, and hits the man right in the chest. It doesn’t dissipate, but instead sticks to him, contracting as though it’s alive, and crawls over his armor. He gasps and drops his lance, clutching at the thick magic, but it only sticks to his hands and oozes more.

“What-?”

His face goes pale in the blink of an eye, and he falls off of his horse. He writhes, gasping like a fish out of water, pulling at the spell. It clings to his hands hungrily, worming its way up his arms from there. He looks at her with a hint of fear, and as Tatiana walks past him to the river’s edge, she kicks his lance out of his reach. She feels strength pouring into her, strength that doesn’t really belong to her, and it makes her confident. It makes her feel energized, calm, like she can do anything.

Tatiana has never hit somebody with a Nosferatu spell, and it feels good in a way that nothing else does.

She pauses, looking over to him. “My thanks. That was just what I needed.”

He shakes his head, still struggling with the Nosferatu crawling all over him, terrified.

She braces the staff in both hands, staring across the river, and finds her mark. She takes another deep breath, shuts her eyes, and starts to whisper the incantation. The orb on the staff’s end glows with a soothing blue light, something more gentle than the Nosferatu. She sends it far, towards its mark, and puts her entire being into this one spell.

Please, she whispers to Duma. Just let me help him.

“Pitiful.” Jerome crouches next to Zeke, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “You’re so honorable that you hold others to your standard. You really thought I planned on taking you down one-on-one? Please. Even off your horse, you’re a force to be reckoned with. Of course I had someone stab you in the back.”

Zeke glares up at him, swallowing back blood, and then chokes out, “You’re no knight.”

“Well, not like you.” Jerome reaches out, presses a hand on Zeke’s side, and pushes. He seems to revel in the shouts of pain the action gets him. “I’m not a picture perfect knight who waltzed out of some storybook, got the girl, and won the favor of an emperor without doing anything. I’m not like that. I’m part of the real world, you see.”

Zeke shouts as Jerome pushes his hand against his wound harder. There is a sudden memory sharp in his mind, of two children clinging to him, begging, screaming (“Don’t let them take us! Don’t let them! Camus!” ), and utter fear on their faces as he hands them away. As he fails in his duty as a knight, fails his duty to protect those two children, fails fails and fails. He doesn’t know who they are, but the memory of them hurts.

He grimaces, digs a hand into Jerome’s wrist. “I’m– not– perfect!”

“Of course you are!” Jerome spits, fighting back to crush the wound beneath his palm again. “Always showing me up, always in the spotlight! You’re the one who gets private audiences with the emperor. You’re the one who gets called to attend his parties. You’re the one with someone who loves you, who waits at home for you every night with a hot meal and loving words. Of course you’re perfect!”

Another shout escapes him as Jerome slams on the wound ruthlessly. The strength leaves his body, and he can no longer try to fight back. All he can do is sit there, a punching bag for jealousies he never even knew of, and think about Tatiana in his last moments. Tatiana, who was so close to going home. Tatiana, standing across the river in that red dress, hair fluttering in the wind, Tatiana, Tatiana, his sweet Tanechka-

Zeke grimaces, his body tightening, as a wave of what is very distinctly healing magic washes over him. He gasps, panting, as he feels the knife wound mending shut between every punch from Jerome. It hurts, as it always does; his body doesn’t like magic, healing or not. But, Zeke himself likes this magic, because he knows the feeling of it.

It’s Tatiana’s magic. There isn’t anything else in the world that has this gentle, loving feeling except for her.

Blearily, even though the spell is also pushing strength back into his body, he tilts his head back to look around. He winces with every punch from Jerome, but manages to focus on a figure across the river. Sure enough, it is Tatiana, a staff in her hands glowing blue with a Physic spell.

And oh, gods, Zeke is in love with her.

The wound shuts just enough, and when Zeke shifts his leg just barely, he finds that it has also received a bit of healing. He grabs Jerome’s fist when it comes down again, grunting as he pushes back. There is shock on the other man’s face, a little bit of fear, and he relishes it. It’s good, almost as good as the magic, and gives him an extra burst of strength.

“That’s been quite enough!” Zeke throws him off, sending him sprawling on the ground, and grasps the hilt of his sword as he gets to his feet.

“The wound- How-?” Jerome’s eyes go across the river, and he grits his teeth. “That damned girl. That little bi-!”

Zeke kicks him square in the chin, getting a pained cry in return. He grimaces while Jerome gets to his feet, rolls his shoulders, and cracks his neck. His body is a little tight after the spell, but nothing he can’t shake off.

Jerome moves back to his horse, pulling his lance from the saddle. He doesn’t try to get on; he probably knows that Zeke would skewer him while his back was turned. He brandishes the weapon in a tight form. “I’ll kill you. I should have killed you the second I saw you. I shouldn’t have taken you to the capital and given you a fighting chance!”

Zeke inclines his head. “I suppose that’s the one thing I owe to you. You gave me the chance to live with Tatiana. But while that is true, it’s time for you to take your leave of this existence.”

Jerome pales and steps back. “I won’t die here. I’m a blueblood! A general! Knighted by His Majesty, and-”

Zeke steps forward, thrusting the blade out. Jerome dodges to the side and shuts up, brandishing his lance and swinging it down. It grazes the sleeve of his coat, just barely, but he moves in time, stepping into another swing of his sword. It catches a belt on Jerome’s armor, slicing through it nice and clean, and his shoulder pad falls to the ground.

Jerome’s fighting is sloppy, heavy and clumsy with panic. But, Zeke has no pity. He thrusts forward with his blade, catching the newly exposed flesh, digs in, and then slices up. Blood floods forward in a steady stream, eliciting a strangled cry of shock from Jerome.

“That’s right. When was the last time you bled like this?” Zeke lashes out again with a snarl, easily slicing open Jerome’s cheek. “You send your men to fight for their country, yet never join them. When was the last time you bled for your people? For any reason? Answer me!”

Clumsy, Jerome swings the lance. It’s a weak swing, and it hurts his arm to do it, but Zeke reaches out and catches the shaft. It takes much of his strength, but he yanks it from Jerome’s grip, holds it tight, and bashes the blunt end of it straight into its owner’s skull. Jerome cries out again and stumbles backwards.

“That was for the young women you paid to get in bed with you,” he spits.

“Damn you,” Jerome mutters, clutching his bleeding forehead. “Damn you to hell.”

Zeke throws down the lance, steps forward, and kicks him in the stomach. When he falls to the ground, he says, “That was for August.”

“You are nothing,” Jerome insists. His voice is desperate as he looks up at Zeke. “Nothing! An immigrant! A parasite on your lover!”

Zeke swings the sword again, giving the slice on Jerome’s one cheek a twin on the other. This cut runs deeper, bleeding profusely and soaking into his mustache. “That was for all the people you stole from and made to starve and suffer.”

“Kill me, and this will be treason!” Jerome sounds close to pleading now, moving back on his hands slowly. “St-stop this, and I’ll see you pardoned. Yes, I’ll- I’ll have you pardoned, and you can even have my position. Ezekiel! Do as I say!”

He scowls, swings the blade in his grip, and slices a tie on Jerome’s neckpiece. It slides a little out of place, and that’s all he needs. “I am not a dog! You command me no longer.”

Jerome cries out in panic, begging any of his men for help, but a quick glance around the battlefield reveals that most of them are dead. Those that are left are surrendering or retreating. “No, no. Pl-please, Ezekiel. You are a kind man! Good, gracious! Y-you can’t do this. Please, I’m begging. Don’t kill a man that begs, please, please.”

The words only make Zeke angrier. The despicable sniveling, the whimper in his voice, it’s all nonsense. He puts a boot on Jerome’s chest plate, pushes, and shoves him to the ground as he cries out in fear. At this point, even the begging of brigands normally twists Zeke’s heart a little. A human life is a human life, but-

He sets the tip of his saber at Jerome’s exposed throat. “I am not a kind man. I am a soldier, a tool that serves the country and its people. I eliminate what disturbs the peace and harms the innocent.”

Jerome swallows heavy and starts to squirm under his foot. “No, no. Please, I’ll resign and disappear. Please.”

“Most importantly, I am somebody with a family,” Zeke continues, and he clenches his jaw in a moment of passion. “You threatened her. The only thing I love, nearly ripped out of my hands, by you. Your pleas fall upon deaf ears, Jerome.”

“Stop, stop!”

He pulls back the sword and holds it above Jerome, and he feels nothing, not even any satisfaction, as he stares down at the sniveling man. “This is for Tatiana.”

Zeke brings the blade down, straight through Jerome’s throat, and leaves it there. He watches, silently, as the life fades from his eyes.

It feels like freedom.

An hour passes after the battle is over. People are celebrating. There’s no more Jerome, no more Nuibaba, and the people of the Plains are free from their reigns of terror. There are people shaking Zeke, slapping him on the back and offering thanks. Jerome’s body is covered with his cape, and they try to decide what to do with it. The proper thing to do, Zeke says, is to send it back to his home and his family in the capital. But, what they all want to do is toss it in the river and let it feed the fishes.

“We should send it home,” Zeke says more firmly. “We still have honor and pride, and we will be the better people and extend it to him in his death.”

There are mumbles of discontent, but they eventually stop complaining and load the corpse onto a wagon.

Astrid comes running up as Zeke takes a seat, panting as she stops. “Sir! We still can’t find Ephraim. He must’ve been pretty spooked to have run off like that.”

Zeke frowns and rubs his jaw. “Poor boy. I don’t think he’s ever been so brutally attacked or threatened like that. Spooked indeed. I just hope he didn’t run off too far and get cornered by some wolves.”

“But forget about the horse!” Astrid exclaims suddenly.

He frowns. “I like my horse.”

“Where’s Tatiana?” she asks. “She’s more important.”

Zeke looks across the river, where the Zofians are licking their wounds and gazing at them warily. “She’s over there. Somewhere. I’d have gone over to look for her immediately, but she’d have my head if she thought I wasn’t taking care of my men.”

Astrid huffs and puts her hands on her hips. “I think you should go and get her. They might not be raining arrows down on us, but I still don’t trust those Zofians one bit! They’re on our turf.”

“They seem like good people. Better than I'd imagined them to be.” He takes a damp cloth that a pegasus knight hands him, sliding it over his forehead and neck to pick up sweat. “They saved Tatiana, after all. They could’ve killed her where she stood, or taken her for a hostage, but they did not. And they did not harm us. I'm wary, but I don't distrust them.”

Her expression softens and she kicks the ground. “Fine. I’m gonna go keep looking for Ephraim.”

Zeke sighs and rubs the cloth over the back of his neck, then holds it in his hands as he gazes over the river. He can’t catch sight of Tatiana, and for a moment, he starts to worry that something has happened to her. He last saw her casting at the edge of the river, but what if someone got to her when his back was turned? What if she’s over there, wounded? What if-

He hears a very familiar sound of hooves clopping over the dirt, sighs, and stands. It’s Ephraim, undoubtedly, come sulking back now that all is said and done. He drops the cloth, puts his hands on his hips, and turns, prepared to fix the horse under a stern gaze.

“You terrible horse. I could have-”

He freezes when he sees Tatiana holding onto Ephraim’s reins. Slowly, his hands leave his hips, and he just stares. She shifts in place, looking anywhere but him, but smiles when Ephraim gives her a nudge with his nose in the way that he does when he wants her to feed him sugar cubes.

“I don’t have any,” she protests with a giggle. “Stop it.”

Zeke strides forward without thinking, stopping and standing in front of her, so close that he’s practically looming. Tatiana takes an alarmed step back and looks up at him, and he notices that there is indeed something different in her eyes. Something a little hard, a little pained, but more than that, there is pure love.

“I found him,” she says. “He came over the river when I finished healing you. I grabbed him, and-”

He doesn’t need the story of how she found Ephraim. Zeke lifts his hands silently, letting them hover over her cheeks, struck with the memory of them going right through her last month during Nuibaba and Jerome’s cruel game. He’s nervous that if he reaches out to touch her now, it’ll be the same, it’ll just be a dream, and none of this will be real anymore. He feels like he’s holding a very fragile reality, and even the slightest thing will break it into something worse.

Tears start to fill her eyes, and he watches as she swallows a lump in her throat. Instinctively, he rests his hands on her cheeks, touches her, feels her, strokes his thumbs over her dirt-caked skin. Her big gray eyes look up at him, searching his face, and he doesn’t know what she finds. He doesn’t know what expression he is making. Something wistful, perhaps, because he can hardly believe that this is happening.

“Tatiana,” he whispers. “Is this really you, my sweet?”

She squeezes her eyes shut and nods. “Yeah.”

Zeke swallows and reaches up to brush her bangs out of her eyes. “Look at you. Alive. You need a trim.”

“You too,” she shoots back.

“You’re alive,” he whispers again. And then, it hits him like a raging horse. He sucks in a breath and feels his own tears coming on, threatening to spill over at any second. “Oh, gods, it’s over. Tatiana.”

“They’re gone.” She sounds like she’s in equal disbelief, but smiles nonetheless. She lets go of Ephraim’s reins, lets a soldier take him, and puts her hands over his own. “It’s over. Everyone is free. We’re free.”

He realizes that she’s here, that he’s touching her, and just stroking her cheek is not enough. He chokes back a sob and grabs her, squeezing her to his chest, both of his arms wrapped around her shoulders. He pushes kisses into her hair, exasperated, but so happy, when she bursts into big tears.

He’s never felt more relief in his life. Of that, he is sure. There’s hardly a scratch anywhere on Tatiana, barely a bruise or bump, and he chokes back the tears even more. She’s soft and warm, wrapped up in a shawl against the cold winter air, and he folds her tighter against his chest. She buries her face in his shoulder and grips him back, and Zeke lets her cry as much as she wants.

He strokes her head, running a hand through her hair, and is mortified to find that he nearly forgot how silky it is to the touch, terrified that he almost forgot such simple things about her. He nearly forgot the softness of her skin. He nearly forgot all these things. He grits his teeth and shakes his head, feeling her hair against his skin.

“Oh, gods, you’re safe,” he chokes out. His knees feel weak, and he struggles to stay standing. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry. I did this. I’m so sorry.”

She continues to cry, unable to string together a sentence. She raises her hands up shakily and holds him, pressing her hands against his shoulder blades and struggling to calm herself down. Her breath hiccups and comes fast, but she’s trying.

The pressure becomes too much, and he falls to his knees, bringing her down with him. He buries his face into her neck, breathing in her scent, which is far too much like cold stone and something musty instead of her usual warm, cinnamon smell. Thinking of her sitting on the cold floors for months agonizes him, and he kisses her neck in quick pecks, an attempt to reassure her while she cries.

“It’s alright now,” he tells her, running his hands over her hair. “You’re safe now, sweetheart. It’s okay. Listen to me, it’s okay.”

Tatiana’s breath shakes, and she manages to say, “I was really scared,” before breaking down once more.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “Please, stop crying, it’s just fine now.”

He pulls himself from her neck and frantically presses kisses against her face: The corner of her mouth, her eyelids, her nose, her forehead, and he can hardly believe that finally, finally, he has Tatiana back in his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. “Are you hurt, Tanechka?”

She shakes her head against him. “I was scared. I didn’t know if you were okay!”

“I’m fine. I’ve never been better,” he assures, even though he does have a bad scrape on his arm from where he fell off of Ephraim, and the cut on his leg. His arm stings when she runs her hand over it, but he does his best to not flinch. “Don’t be scared anymore, my sweetest love.”

Her sobbing subsides, and she lifts her face from his shoulder, still sniffling, and won’t look him in the eyes. Zeke sighs and rests his forehead against hers, attempting to slow his rapid heartbeat, and he then registers that someone has come to stand next to them. He instinctively pulls Tatiana back to him, resting a hand atop her head, and looks up to see a young man looking rather awkward.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he says nervously. “I know you two were just reunited, but I-”

“You must be Alm,” Zeke interrupts. He gives Tatiana’s head a reassuring rub. “You helped her.”

“I suppose we did. It was our pleasure.” His eyes are wide and soft, and Zeke can see how Tatiana was easily swayed into trusting him.

“Thank you,” he tells him. “If something had happened to Tatiana, I don’t know-”

He cuts himself off, unable to finish the sentence, or even think of it. He ducks his head and plants a kiss on top of Tatiana’s, comforted by the fact that her crying is subsiding. He stands, pulling Tatiana up with him, and looks down at the boy.

“Think nothing of it, General,” Alm says. “I’m just glad we could help.”

Tatiana takes in a shuddering breath, and then looks up. “Alm. Thank you. You didn’t have to help me, but-”

“Don’t start crying again!” Alm hastily begs. “Please, it’s fine. Not a big deal. We’re glad to help anyone in need.”

She sniffs hard, looks to the ground guiltily, and buries her face in Zeke’s shoulder again.

Zeke pushes her a little closer to him, finding a faint smile. “You’re cute when you cry.”

“Don’t encourage my bad habits,” she complains in a thick voice. “You’re gonna make me wanna cry more if you compliment me for it.”

He laughs breathlessly, kisses away the last few of her tears, and then looks to Alm again. “You want something.”

The boy is blushing, embarrassed. He must be young. “Well, uh, I heard you were opposed to this war.”

Zeke pushes Tatiana’s hair behind her ear. “It’s brought Tatiana and I nothing but suffering. You can’t imagine how I loathe it.”

“Would you lend us your strength?” Alm asks. “Not a man among us wants this conflict to last any longer than it must. We just want to make our way to Emperor Rudolf and put an end to Rigel’s intrusions on our soil.”

“You invade to stop an invasion,” Zeke says bitterly, and then gives a pensive, conflicted sigh. “I cannot offer you an answer here and now. The emperor… That is a sensitive topic.”

“Zeke,” Tatiana whispers.

He pushes a kiss to her eyelid, quieting her, then speaks to Alm again. “There’s a village a ways ahead. I’ll await you there. Until then.”

The boy looks uncertain, turning his eyes to the ground, but he nods. He gives Tatiana one last glance, smiles and waves at her, and then goes back to the bridge to cross back to his side.

Tatiana looks up at him, blinking big tears away from her eyes. They cling to her eyelashes, and he brushes them away as she says, “Zeke, what’s going to happen now? Awful as Jerome was, this was treason! We- we can’t just go home and curl up by the fire. Going with Alm is your best chance to escape a punishment.”

He frowns and pulls away from her, but still holds her hands. “Tatiana, I- I cannot fight the emperor. He is like my own father.”

“But he won’t be able to show you mercy,” she reasons. “Zeke, I don’t want you to go away. I never, ever want to be separated again. But, if this is how you get out of a punishment, then-”

“I am going to think about it,” he lies. “I’m going back to the village, and I’ll wait for the Deliverance there.”

She sighs and scrubs at her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”

“You’re not coming with me,” he tells her.

She freezes immediately and looks up. “Excuse me?”

“I need you to stay with the Zofians until they come to the village,” he explains. “Just in case the military police show up for me. I won’t have you getting dragged into any of that nonsense.”

Her face goes red with anger. “That’s not fair!”

“Be reasonable,” he implores. “It’s only going to be an extra day or so that we’re apart. As soon as the Deliverance shows up, we’ll be reunited again. I just don’t want you getting involved in any legal consequences of… what I have done here.”

“Treason.”

“Treason.” Zeke sighs, because the word feels strangely familiar on his tongue. He drags a hand down his face. “Yes, treason. Just- just stay with the Deliverance for a while longer. I’ll meet you at home, alright?”

She pouts a little and glances away, but nods after a moment. “Okay. I’ll see you then. But, do you really think the military police will act that fast?”

“You never know,” he says, and he gives her one more kiss to her cheek before steering her towards the broken down bridge. “Go now, darling. Just a while more.”

“Okay,” she whispers, clearly unhappy. “Fine.”

Zeke rides into the village in broad daylight for the first time since Tatiana disappeared. It’s surreal, seeing the place in the day, and not when he’s sneaking around at night to gather things from his house. People look at him, shocked at his bedraggled state and very presence. He dismounts Ephraim and starts pulling him along towards home, grimacing as his leg begins to ache.

“You’re back.” August steps into his path, looking him up and down. “You… got the Zofians?”

“No,” Zeke mumbles.

A wave of fear comes off of August. “You ran from them.”

“No.” Zeke starts walking past him. “They aren’t going to harm anyone.”

August opens his mouth, something about lies and nonsense falling out, and then he quiets down when Zeke says, “Nuibaba is dead.”

It catches the attention of everyone in the vicinity. They stand, still and quiet.

Zeke keeps walking. “I’ve dealt with Jerome. Permanently. Tatiana will be home in a short time with the Zofians on her tail. They rescued her, and there is no need to fear them.”

“You’re joking,” August breathes, following close behind. “Hey, General. What do you mean, ‘they rescued her?’”

“She’s coming home,” Zeke whispers. “Finally. She’s safe.”

He leaves them all to chatter among themselves, making his way home for the first time in a while. He ties Ephraim to the post, pats his nose tiredly, and fumbles with the key for the door. Exhaustion has settled into him, after that long fight and the adrenaline rush that had lasted for hours after, and he just wants to sit in his favorite chair. He wishes Tatiana was here with him right now, but she’s with the Zofians for her own safety.

Zeke enters the house quietly and shuts the door behind him. It looks untouched, except for where he has briefly been on his supply excursions. It’s clean, though, free of dust, and there’s no doubt in his mind that August has been keeping it maintained just as Tatiana likes it. The wood by the fireplace is gone, however, and there’s no food in the cupboards. Times must have gotten tough, and he’s got no problem with the people raiding the kitchen; not like he was here to use any of the supplies, anyway.

He grimaces as he settles down in his chair, winces as he unlaces his boots and pulls them off, and leans back. There’s no fire going, no sound of Tatiana moving around while she goes about her business, but it’s still home. Still his home, and so he shuts his eyes and goes to sleep.

When Tatiana walks into the village, two days after the fight, she kinda doesn’t know what she expected. Definitely nothing big, even though people undoubtedly know she’s coming home because of Zeke. She just expected to walk in, say hello to some people, and then go home to where Zeke is waiting for her and Alm.

What she gets isn’t entirely what she expected. She gets swarmed by people, all weeping and wailing while they reach for her, and she squeaks as she’s pulled into three different hugs at once. Alm, her escort into the village, goes, “Oh, Mila,” and lunges away as she’s attacked. She watches as someone approaches him, speaks with him, and then starts guiding him further into the village.

Elena clings to her hard, crushing her under her biceps. “Myshka! You’re alive! Alive!”

One of her sisters from church grabs her hand. “By the gods, you’ve been saved from Nuibaba. Miracles do exist!”

“I can’t breathe,” Tatiana tries to say, but no one can hear her. More people just keep rushing in to hug her, touch her, cement her once more in their realities. It gets particularly emotional when Father Alexi comes forward, eyes filled with tears, and embraces her.

“Sweet child,” Alexi breathes, stroking her hair under his old and withered hand. "We all thought you dead.

“I’m-” Tatiana swallows, gently putting her arms around him. She feels herself starting to tremble, and lowers her head. “The Father and Mother helped deliver me. Just as you always taught me they could. I’m free by their graces.”

He holds her close for five minutes, crying so softly. For once, it is just him who is crying, and not Tatiana. The roles are reversed, from when she was a little girl and would go wailing to him, begging to be held and coddled when something went wrong. And he would hold her, always, whispering reassurances to her and offering to help fix whatever problem she had. Now, she holds him, and Tatiana wonders if that little girl ever existed after what she has been through in the last months.

The next person who sweeps her up—literally, sweeps her up and off her feet—is Maksim. He charges in the second the priest has let her go, grabbing her in his big hands, and lifts her off the ground in a spine-crushing hug. Tatiana squeaks and pats his arms.

“I can’t breathe! Uncle, please!”

“Oh, chickling!” He’s crying hard, and she sighs with sympathy when she looks up into his face. “I’ve been so dreadfully frightened. To lose my Maria, and then you? You wound this old man’s heart.”

Guilt pushes down on Tatiana, and she can’t bring herself to look Maksim in the eye. He sets her down on her feet, carefully fixing the white ribbon holding her hair back.

That girl screamed your name even as I took the blade to her gut.

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” she whispers. “I made it out, but Maria-”

“Made her own choices,” he replies quietly. “And she would be thanking the gods every second of every day if she were here to see your return. Put your guilt to rest, chickling. This old man is more than glad to have you back in his arms.”

She keeps fighting back the tears as he moves away, and there is one more person waiting for her, when all the other hugs and kisses are exchanged. He hangs back at the edge of the crowd, his fists clenched, looking to be in utter disbelief. His hair has grown, Tatiana notices, and he looks a little thinner. She sorely hopes that it isn’t her fault.

“Aw, hell,” August whispers, and he buries his face in his arm. “Damn it all. Shit. Don’t look at me.”

Sweet August, precious August, her dearest friend left in this world. The other villagers have run to Tatiana, but she runs to him, her arms outstretched. He falls against her the second they collide, folding her up in his arms, and cries on her. Heaving, gasping cries that she hasn’t heard from him in four years, since they erected a grave with no body.

“You’re alive,” he gasps. “I thought you were dead. I thought- I thought-!”

“I’m alive,” Tatiana reassures. “Look. Got all my fingers and toes. Both my eyes. Every single one of my teeth. I’m alive.”

“Nuibaba is dead,” he utters, and a hard sob almost like a laugh leaves him. “Jerome is dead! Ugh, gods, don’t look at me! Not like this.”

“No shame in some tears,” Tatiana says with a laugh. “Cry all you want. She’s gone. We don’t have to think about her anymore, August.”

He puts a hand on the back of her head, pushes her closer, and takes her advice.

Alm offers Zeke his hand, allowing him to turn it over and examine it with a perplexed expression.

“You’re telling me that Emperor Rudolf said I would be the savior of Rigel? And Valentia?” The boy sounds to be in disbelief, and Zeke can’t blame him. “That’s… kinda strange.”

They’re outside the bakery, having the discussion while everyone herds at the front of the village to greet Tatiana. But, he supposes that the hugs and tears have been exchanged, because people are starting to go back to their daily routines. By the fields, it’s still quiet, and perfect for he and Alm to have a talk.

“I agree.” He puts Alm’s hand down with a quiet thanks. “After all this time, I had almost forgotten the advice. But, now that I have met you, I must heed my emperor’s words. I am yours to command, my lord.”

Alm pales a little. “He told you that, back when the war started?”

“Yes. He told me a great many things when we spoke then, but that was among the most important.” Zeke watches as Alm slips his glove on. “I must follow you.”

“Just don’t call me ‘my lord,’” Alm begs. “I’m just some kid from a rundown village.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This all kinda happened to me because my grandfather was a famous Zofian general. The people picked me and raised me up as a symbol.” Alm’s voice is tired. “But, if at the beginning of the war, Rudolf told you that… I didn’t even know about Desaix’s coup until long after it had happened. What does that all mean?”

It’s perplexing for certain, so Zeke shakes his head in response instead of trying to formulate an answer. “I’m not sure. I just- I just hope that when we get to the castle, you two can try to talk it out. I told you, Rudolf treats me as his son. I treat him as a father. If I must see him bleed, I don’t know how I would be able to bear it.”

The thought of Rudolf, cut down with Zeke’s help, chills his blood. He pushes it out of his mind and fixes the cuff of his coat while Alm kicks at the dirt on the ground. A commander he is, but more than that, he’s still just a boy. Awkward, a little lanky, crushed with responsibility that a boy his age shouldn’t need to shoulder. Zeke finds himself fond of him, for no particular reason.

“Well, I guess we’ll be marching out towards the Dragon’s Maw in the morning,” Alm tells him. “The villagers offered to feed us, so we’ll be around. I guess if you’re going to come with us, you’ll have to tell Tatiana your goodbyes.”

His breath catches in his chest, but he tries to not show it. “Yes. I suppose I will. Have a look around our home, since I’m sure this is the first time you’ve been in a Rigelian village. I’m going to go look for Tatiana.”

“She went towards the beach while we were talking,” Alm says. “We’ll be here to come get you when it’s time to leave. Please, enjoy your time relaxing until then.”

Zeke watches the boy leave, hands clenched behind his back, and doesn’t know how to break the news to Tatiana. Something like, Hey, we’re back together for a day, and now I’m off to war and won’t be back for months!, maybe? He doesn’t know if that would go really well.

Then again, Tatiana had spoken of wanting him to leave to avoid punishment, but he doesn’t know that it’s even coming for him. He’d told all of his men to pin the blame on him, to insist that he had made them commit treason, but the military police haven’t come his way. Maybe, with news of the fall of the Plains spreading, the army has more to do than hunt down one measly general.

He finds Tatiana on the beach, despite the chill in the air. The sand is coated with melting snow, the water is slow and lazy, and it’s not a particularly wonderful sight. Zeke thinks the seashore looks much better in the summer, when Tatiana is splashing around in the water and trying to goad him into having fun.

Still, it feels surreal to see her. To be able to reach out and touch her. A part of Zeke wonders if this is a cruel nightmare, and he’ll wake up in an empty bed and Tatiana will still be miles and miles away, on top of Fear Mountain. Given his general luck, he wouldn’t be shocked if that’s the way things decided to go.

The wind pushes her hair back, and she tucks a strand behind her ear. She hears him approaching and turns, and his heart aches just at the sight of her. It shouldn’t ache, though. It should be happy. Soaring. He feels as though he could scoop her up off her feet and spin her around, he’s so delighted to have her back, but the feeling in his chest doesn’t reflect that.

“Are you leaving?” she asks him in a small voice.

That’s it: It’s anxiety in his chest.

“Let’s go home,” he responds, and he holds out his hand to her. “I cleaned up the house a little already.”

Tatiana takes his hand, a slight streak of concern in her expression. “Were you not living there while I was gone?”

She says it as though she was simply off on a vacation, and it makes him want to laugh. He squeezes her. “It was lonely, and Jerome had me on a short leash anyways. I’ve been living in the barracks.”

He opens the door for her when they get there, and he swears he sees her entire body relax the second she steps inside. An audible sigh leaves her, and Zeke shuts the door behind them to block out the late winter chill. It's almost weird, to take off his coat and hang it by the door and to walk around freely, without having to set an example for his soldiers, without having to watch his every step, lest Jerome see any bad behavior.

“Did everyone say hello to you?” he asks.

Tatiana sighs as she makes her way over to the sitting area. She sits on the couch, pulls her shawl close, and stretches her legs out. “Oh, they all almost crushed me to death.”

Zeke rolls his sleeves up his arms and makes for the fireplace. He grabs a couple of logs, throws them in, and strikes a match to light them. A little kindling gets the flames roaring, urging Tatiana off of the couch and onto the floor.

“That must be uncomfortable. Let me get some pillows and blankets.”

“No need for a whole nest,” she mumbles. “Just get the ones on the couches and chairs. Come here and sit down. Lay your head in my lap. I’ve missed that.”

“Alright.” He grabs all the cushioning in the room and settles them around, and then takes a seat next to her. The fire crackles and reaches for them, spreading its warmth, and Tatiana sighs as she flops down against him.

“When do you leave?” she asks quietly.

Zeke rests his head on top of hers. “How do you know I am leaving?”

“You wouldn't stay when there's work to be done. I know that. And you were talking with Alm for a really long time, just to tell him ‘no.’”

He shuts his eyes and puts an arm around her. “Tomorrow morning.”

Tatiana doesn’t flinch, but does sigh. “So soon?”

“The Deliverance cannot wait,” he explains. “I am… deeply sorry to have to leave you here, my sweet.”

Tatiana swallows and looks up at him. One of her arms creeps over Zeke’s chest, clutching his bicep in her hand. There is worry creasing her brow, and he tries to kiss it away. Yet, she appears worried still, but not angry. That’s good. Worry he can handle, but he doesn’t deal well when she gets upset and raises her voice, rare as the occasion is.

“You’ll have to pack warm,” she says quietly. “Even though spring is coming, the nights will still be chilly.

“I can’t take much.”

“I know.” She squeezes him close and shuts her eyes. “I know that.”

Zeke looks back to the fire, unease in the pit of his stomach as he pulls the earlier memory of the two children back into his mind. He doesn’t know who they are; he’s never recalled them before. He wonders for a moment if the memory could be a harbinger to even more recollections of his past. He wonders if going to the war and dealing with more fighting, more death and pain, will banish his amnesia all together.

He thinks of the woman with golden hair, the thought of whom is both comforting and unpleasant, and wonders if he wants that.

“I guess I’ll be here,” Tatiana murmurs against him. “Waiting. Will you try to write me?”

He looks down at her, falling in love with her all over again. He dimly recalls some old saying, something like “Distance makes the heart fonder.” He supposes there will be even more distance for a while longer, but if it means he comes back and loves her more strongly than ever, that’s something he can live with. He’ll take it as his sole comfort.

“I’ll write you a letter every day,” he promises. “Even if I cannot send it, I will write it.”

Tatiana sniffs, blinking to dispel her tears. “Okay.”

Zeke kisses her on the top of her head, and they slip into comfortable silence.

There’s a lot of sounds outside, of the villagers and the Zofians mingling as they share a meal, but Tatiana ignores that. Normally, she would be the first to help with a celebration, but she hasn’t got the time tonight. Tonight, she is shaking off the fear and worry from the past months. Tonight, she is staying tucked away, safe and sound in her own home. That is all she is doing, all she wants to do.

Just her and Ezekiel. Completely alone.

They fall back against the bed, clothes half-off, lips melded together, and hands feeling at as much skin as possible. The mattress squeaks under them as they collapse, but they don’t pay it much mind. They’re much too busy clutching one another, getting as close as possible, and feeling their hearts beating against the other.

Zeke pulls his lips away from hers, gasping out, “Aren’t you tired?”

Tatiana is annoyed that he’s moved away, and grabs his face in her hands. “Yes. Aren’t you?”

“Exhausted,” he breathes, and they come together again in a hot, desperate kiss.

She doesn’t want him to go. She doesn’t care about this ridiculous war. She doesn’t want her people to keep dying, nor the Zofians. She doesn’t want to send her most beloved away, off to the frontlines like she was so frightened of when this war started what feels like a century ago. It terrifies Tatiana, to think of receiving letters from him on the regular, and then to just have them stop. It terrifies her to think of him not coming back, and Alm bringing her some scrappy memento like his pocketwatch for her to remember him by.

She hisses softly as his lips move to work against her throat. She tilts her head back, arching against the bed, and sinks her fingers into his soft hair. He moves lower, kissing the swell of her chest, panting whenever he moves his lips away to breathe. His desire for her to be back home was obvious before, but Tatiana is amused to find that his longing for the more physical aspects of the relationship is more desperate than ever.

Poor boy. He’s going to go away for gods-know-how-long come the morning, separated from her again.

Zeke drags his hands up her waist, and then stops abruptly. He frowns down at her, and she squirms at the sudden pause. Her clothes are practically hanging off of her now, and it’s actually really cold in the bedroom, so she would prefer if he would keep going. But he appears genuinely concerned over something, so she holds her tongue and any smart comment.

“You’re thin. Very thin.” He pokes her stomach almost hesitantly. “What did she do to you?”

The better question is “What did she not do to you?” But, again, Tatiana holds her tongue for a moment, then says, “I only ate every three days. I must have lost a lot of weight. Is it really that noticeable?”

He stares down at her a while longer, eyes tracing up the hard lines of her boney frame. He visibly swallows, shakes his head, and then puts his lips back to her neck. The movement is softer, gentler, this time. He’s calmed down considerably from the earlier desperation, and she doesn’t exactly mind it. She likes the slow movement of his lips pushing at her skin, his teeth grazing her throat.

“Do you think I’ll break?” she asks amusedly.

Zeke hums and stops again, not pulling his face out of her neck. “Promise you’ll eat a lot while I’m gone. I’m going to leave all of our money here. Buy a lot of food for yourself.”

“You should take some of it with you,” she says.

“No. I won’t need it. Take it, and take care of yourself with it. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Tatiana.”

He’s stiff against her now. She frowns and wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, and rests her head on top of his. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to go,” he says quietly after a few minutes of listening to the people outside. “I only care about you. But the emperor-”

“You have to go,” Tatiana insists.

She feels the hum deep in his chest. “I’ll be home soon.”

Tatiana knows that’s probably a lie, but doesn’t say so. She lets him out of her embrace, tilts his head up towards her, and lets herself be consumed. She only has one night with him, only a few more precious hours until he leaves to where she cannot follow, and plans to use her time very wisely.

They wake up, tangled together, a while before the sun begins to rise, and start packing. It’s only a couple of bags that Zeke says they can use, so what they pack is minimal. Some extra clothes, a couple pairs of boots, medicines, and a couple of books for leisure time. He won’t get much of it, he tells Tatiana, but she insists on it anyway. It would be terrible if he were to get bored, but he laughs at that sort of notion.

There isn’t any food in the house, so they aren’t able to share a last meal together. It disappoints her that she cannot do something so simple for him, but he waves it off and says they can eat together when he comes back. There wouldn’t be time, anyway; there is a bustle in the village, and it’s undoubtedly Deliverance soldiers come to get Zeke.

“Time to go,” he says.

Tatiana hovers behind him nervously as he picks up his bags and makes for the entrance. She twists her fingers together, shifts on her bare feet, but doesn’t say anything as he opens the door. The sound of the sea fills their ears, somehow comforting, and it almost feels like a normal morning.

He steps out, and she follows on his heels. Lukas and Clair are waiting in the distance, patient as they watch the two lovers stop in the doorway. They don’t have all the time in the world, but they have enough to allow them to say their goodbyes.

Zeke turns and looks down at Tatiana, noting with faint amusement that she won’t look at him. It’s because she’s primed to burst into exhausted tears the second she does, and surely enough, one little glance sets her off. But, she cries quietly, clearly irritated with herself for not being able to hold back once, just once.

He brushes the tears away from her cheeks, takes a sigh, and offers her a kiss. She sniffles, bunches his coat in her hands, and accepts it. She pulls away too soon, falling back on her feet from her tiptoes, and then looks away again.

“Write,” Tatiana begs him.

Zeke rests his hands on hers. “I will, my love. Please, just wait for me.”

She takes a shaking breath, gives him one more kiss, and then lets him go. Unable to watch him leave, she flees back into the house, slamming the door behind her. He makes his way to Lukas and Clair, but turns back to look at the house. He finds a peek of her glancing out the window, smiles, waves, and takes another heaving sigh as she goes away.

“We are sorry to part you,” Clair says quietly. “But your assistance is invaluable. Thank you for coming with us.”

“Think nothing of it,” Zeke says. “My only request is that you get me back to my family in one piece.”

Lukas smiles politely. “Even if I have to give my own life, sir. I will see that you are reunited.”

Zeke retrieves Ephraim from the stables, looks over the village a last time as they ride out, and prays that he gets to come back.

Chapter Text

Tatiana sleeps a lot, now that Zeke is gone. Now that all the excitement is over, now that there’s no Nuibaba or Jerome, she’s really just tired. She finds that the bed is too soft for sleeping, however, after all that time spent on a hard cot in a dungeon cell. It feels stifling, like she’s drowning in the down pillows and being smothered by the quilts, and can’t stand it. She sleeps on floor for three nights, and then on the couch, determined to slowly work her way back up to the comfort of her own home.

It’s been four days since she’s come home, and people still swarm her whenever she leaves the house. She takes a step outside in a sweater that looks a little too thin, and one of her childhood friends is running up to give her theirs. She tries picking up a log for firewood, one of her brothers from the church insists on chopping and carrying it for her. If she strays too far from her home in an attempt to exercise her new freedom, Elena offers to give her a ride home on her back.

Tatiana is reminded just why she loves this village so much. It warms her heart like nothing else does, and it eases the pain of Zeke’s absence, just a little.

She spends most of her time inside, though. Friends bring over food for her, okay with using the last of their winter reserves on hot meals to share now that crop season is right around the bend. They sit and talk with her, comment that she needs to get meat back on her bones, and catch her up on all the gossip and news she missed. One of her childhood friends, the bride from the wedding in the late summer, is pregnant. So-and-so has been offered an apprenticeship in a town over. One of the children awkwardly attempted to court another and had their first heartbreak. Things like that.

It feels almost too normal, but Tatiana still likes it.

August comes over most frequently, bearing gifts and his quiet company. His tongue is less sharp than it normally is, like he’s still dazed over the fact that she’s home and alive with every part of her intact. Physically, at least. They both know that there’s something inside of her that will never be the same again, after those long, long weeks of death and screaming in Nuibaba’s clutches.

“You’ve been through tough stuff before,” August assures her when he’s giving her hair a trim. “And you’ve gotten through that. It’ll just take a little bit of time for you to be able to feel okay again.”

“I want Zeke to be here,” she replies every time.

He frowns and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, measuring them between his fingers before he starts to cut. “I know. I know. But, you know, I guess he’s off doing important stuff. Stuff way beyond the scope of plain, average folks like us. I knew from the second I saw him that he was bigger than this village.”

Tatiana shuts her eyes as the hair flutters into her lap. “I know. I knew that, too.”

Tatiana has disturbing dreams when she sleeps. Sometimes nightmares, and sometimes just simply disturbing dreams. A lot of them are the same ones she always has: Nightmares where she waits by the door for Liliya to come home, and there is suddenly a decaying corpse with beautiful red hair rotting on the church’s floors. Nightmares where her father is sitting atop her, beating her head against the ground, and he has fangs and claws instead of human teeth and fingers. Nightmares where Maria’s fingers are around her throat, blood pouring from her mouth, eyes, and ears, while she demands to know, “Why did you use me?”

The disturbing dreams are less terrifying, more a little disquieting. There are ones where things are like normal, and Zeke is home with her. Nothing is amiss, and they go through their normal routine, take a walk, the works. When she turns around, however, he is gone. He’s gone, and when she asks about him, people tell her that he never existed. There are disturbing dreams where she is back on Fear Mountain, bedraggled and paralyzed on the floor, and outside the cell is Nuibaba simply staring at her with a smile.

Tatiana wakes up clawing at the sheets, dripping with sweat, and it takes another couple hours before she can go back to sleep. By this point, five days of being home, she can sleep on the couch with some ease. The bed is still too soft, but she wants to hurry up and get accustomed to it again. Their time in it might have been short after those months, but it has a lingering smell of her Ezekiel that she could just drown in.

But, for now, the couch is the most she can handle. She flops down on the bed before going to sleep, though, inhaling the vague, but still-there, smell of him. Strong, warm. It’s heavenly, and she soaks it in for a few minutes before going to sleep in the living room.

“Tatiana, I brought you breakfast! Tatiana? Tatiana!”

She mumbles, stirring underneath the blankets, and then sits up. She hears a “whoa!” as she turns towards the door, and finds August standing at the entrance with a basket in hand and the other over his heart.

“Scared me,” he says. “Why’re you sleepin’ over there on the couch?”

Tatiana shrugs and rubs at her eye. She moves aside the quilt easily and stands, stretching her arms up into the air and arching her back. She sighs when she’s done, slumping her shoulders, and rubs the back of her neck.

“Not entirely used to sleeping on a mattress yet,” she responds, and she follows him to the kitchen. “But I’m not sleeping on the floor anymore.”

“Well, alright.” August sets the basket down on the counter. “You’re skinny as a rail. Let’s work on gettin’ you back to a healthy weight. You think you can stomach something heavy?”

She frowns and lifts the cover on his load while he busies himself with getting a frying pan and lighting a flame underneath it. Inside the basket is a loaf of soft white bread, eggs, and a few rashers of bacon. It looks good, but she moves it away from August when he reaches over to grab it.

“I can’t eat this,” she protests. “This is probably the nicest food you’ve seen all winter.”

He regards the basket quietly. “My mom and aunt don’t mind. In fact, they just about begged me to bring it over and get it into you. They said the fat and protein would do you good, and I agree. Now, hand it over.”

He starts the fire and jerks his hand insistently. Annoyed but hungry, Tatiana slides the basket back over, and he snatches it away. Expertly, he slides thick slabs of the bacon into the pan, and after they sizzle for a moment, cracks the eggs in right next to them. It immediately smells divine, but the rich, heavy scent makes Tatiana feel a little ill.

“Slice the bread, please?”

Tatiana grabs a knife and pulls the loaf out. White bread is a treat, softer and sweeter than their typical black rye, and it collapses easily with even the slightest press of the serrated knife. Sizzling and popping fills the kitchen, and August whistles like nothing is amiss while he rolls the pan over the fire. It’s like this is no different from any other day, like she hasn’t been locked up for two months, and like the Zofians haven’t just marched through to siege the capital.

But the Zofians don’t seem bad. A little spoiled, perhaps, a little soft at their cores, but nice people. She prays nightly for their safety, after all they did for her. A sinner's prayer is truly the least she can do for them.

“Almost done,” he says. “Tatiana, can you set the table?”

“Yes,” she says quietly, and she notes the very worried look he gives her. She tries to smile, but he rolls his eyes at its obvious fakeness and goes back to cooking.

It feels normal to set two places at the table, but more than odd to not have one place being set for Zeke. Tatiana puts it out of her mind, however, with a sigh. There’s no use in dragging her feet, weeping and wailing because he’s gone for now. This won’t be much different from before she was locked up, when he was gone for days and days at a time. Except, there won’t be nights of reprieve where he comes home to share a meal, talk a little, and warm the bed.

And Tatiana missed him so terribly and absolutely, sitting all alone in that dark cell. Maybe it’s selfish, but she wonders a little bitterly if she could have gotten maybe one more day with Zeke. Just one. One more lazy day, curled up in bed and getting her strength back, comforted with Nuibaba and Jerome’s deaths and her lover’s arm over her.

“You’re zoning out. Do you need to go sit down?”

August slips a portion of the bacon and eggs onto a plate in her hand, and Tatiana jumps back to awareness. She stutters something like “I’m fine,” sits down awkwardly, and stares at her plate of food. She realizes quickly that she’s neglected to set the rest of the table, but August doesn’t seem to mind; he gets the glasses himself, pours a drink out of a flask (“It’s apple cider,” he snaps when she gives him a suspicious look), and sits down with her.

“You can eat now,” he reminds gently. “It’s okay.”

She carefully picks up the fork, rubbing her thumb over the metal, and sighs as she cuts into the hot eggs. The yoke bursts with just a little push, and it soaks into the bread. August hasn’t touched his food, and it’s obvious that he won’t start until she does, so she takes a bite. It’s simple, but delicious, as all of his food is. Even though her stomach is confused at the sudden consumption of rich bacon and sweet cider, she forces it all down.

“What did Nuibaba make you eat?” August asks between bites.

Tatiana hums and picks up her slice of bread. “The first night I was there, she let me eat a lot of really good food. But after that, just hard bread crusts and kinda suspicious broths once a day. I did something that made her mad, though, and then it was only every three days.”

“Suspicious broths?”

“I never asked what they were, and she never told me. I think they were made with fish, but-” She shudders and puts it out of her mind, and he doesn’t press it anymore.

“Only every three days, huh?” August cuts into his bacon and frowns. “Well, things got really hard around here while you were gone, but even we ate better than that. Spring’s in a little while, though, so things are looking up.”

“This winter has been really long,” Tatiana says. “That’s not uncommon, but why this year of all years?”

“I guess it’s our good luck,” he jokes humorlessly, and they finish eating in silence.

Tatiana wakes up that night after an unsettling dream, gasping and scrubbing at her eyes. In the dream, the knight from the battlefield, Jerome’s brute who had been unfortunate enough to cross her path, had lain dying at her feet. He’d stared up with her with such horror in his eyes, sobbing as the Nosferatu crawled up his body and sapped his life out of him, flooding it into her. She had felt powerful in the dream, staring down at him, content with her work. She hadn’t felt pity. She’d even felt amused as the spell crawled up his throat, over his chin, and started squirming into his mouth.

Now that she’s awake, though, she feels discomforted and horrified.

She had done that. She had nearly killed that man on the battlefield. She remembers that he’d been near dead by the time she’d finished casting Physic. Breathing, but shaking and frothing at the mouth when the Nosferatu dispelled.

Tatiana remembers being taught that spell, shortly after she’d announced to the church that she was going to become a cleric. She remembers Liliya giving her her very own staff, and telling her in a very serious voice, “This isn’t a small thing. You’re going to learn magic. Even if you have a natural talent, it’s going to be hard. The first spell you have to be taught is the Nosferatu.”

Tatiana had replied, “But that’s a bad spell! Father Alexi said it hurts people.”

Lilya’s firm response had been, “You need to know bad magic if you want to know good magic. It’s all a part of the balance. Just use it responsibly, only in your times of need.”

And the battlefield had been a time of need, yet-

Tatiana had almost killed that man.

She gets up, gets herself a glass of water, and tries to forget how disturbingly satisfying the Nosferatu had felt.

The next night carries the worst nightmare yet, and for Tatiana, that is saying something. She has, all her life, had nightmares that made her sick for hours upon hours. Nightmares that kept her from sleeping for days. She’s had those. She knows what terror is. It’s not a term that she uses very lightly.

This is pure terror, though.

Tatiana wakes up in her home, asleep on her couch where she fell asleep reading. The first part that is terrifying is that she realizes she is completely paralyzed from the neck down. She cannot even move the very tips of her fingers. Her chest seizes up. She wants to scream, but the sound catches in her throat. Haltingly, she lifts her head to look around, to try and look for some affirmation that this is a dream.

Nuibaba sitting at the kitchen table, staring straight at her, doesn’t help her any.

She finds her voice when she lets out a strangled gasp. The witch continues staring at her, devoid of her usual smile. Nuibaba looks different, very different, but still recognizable. All that has changed is that she looks older. Her skin is lightly wrinkled and sagging, her hair thinner and streaked with gray. The horns on the top of her head don’t glimmer in the candlelight, the way Tatiana got used to seeing them.  The mask she normally has is gone, and there is only a gaping hole where her eye should be.

“Awake?” Nuibaba stands and starts walking towards her. Her voice is dull, without its normal perk and delight, and she walks slightly hunched over. “Wretch.”

Tatiana trembles, desperately trying to move her body, but it doesn’t respond. Her lips quiver as she realizes she can do naught but stare up in horror at Nuibaba and hope that this is only a nightmare. But, her claws brushing over the tip of her nose feel so eerily real, and she can feel her eyes start to burn with terrified tears. She wants to wake up. She wants Zeke.

Nuibaba narrows her eye and her socket. “I loathe you. I was like you, once. Beautiful, young. In love.”

Tatiana shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut when Nuibaba crouches down, hunching down over her.

“I gave up this eye to Medusa for power to protect my wife from anything that would harm her. I was promised limitless possibilities. But the power corrupted me.”

“Stop talking,” she whispers. “Please, let me wake up.”

Nuibaba scowls. “My wife left me! Love is such a shallow thing. Yours is no exception.”

Tatiana doesn’t know why this is happening. She doesn’t know if this is a fragment of her lingering terror, paranoia, fear. She doesn’t know if this is Nuibaba’s spirit from beyond the grave, come back to taunt her once more. She doesn’t know if it’s real or false. She doesn’t know anything except that it’s terrifying, staring up into that sagging face, that empty eye socket as deep as a void.

Nuibaba drags the back of her clawed fingers down Tatiana’s face, almost like a caress, and then slams her hand around her throat. She chokes, instinctively trying to throw her hand up to wrench the witch away, but she’s still paralyzed. She can only sit there in mute horror as Nuibaba climbs onto the couch with her, straddling her, and puts her other hand on Tatiana’s neck.

“You’re a fool,” Nuibaba whispers, her voice like a hiss. “You’re such a fool to think that man truly loves you. I offered you my help all that time ago. You rejected it, and now he will reject you! The war will bring his memory back. He’ll remember his last lover, and he’ll go scampering back to her. You know it!”

“No,” Tatiana chokes out. “Get- off!”

Nuibaba leans in, her breath sickeningly sweet against Tatiana’s face. “You’re nothing. You poor unfortunate soul. How much more are you going to lose in the face of your overwhelming weakness?”

She begs her hands to move, but they don’t. “Off!”

“You deserve this. You deserve to have him leave. You’re a selfish thing, and we all know greed is a sin!” Nuibaba tightens her hands around Tatiana’s throat, yellowed teeth bared in a snarl, and says, “You are nothing. He does not love you. Give it time, and he’ll leave. They all do. They take your love and your care and throw it back in your face.”

Tatiana tries to throw back, “That’s wrong!,” but instead she lets out a strangled sound that makes no sense.

Nuibaba’s lips twist up into a sneer. She leans down, her heavy weight choking Tatiana, and puts her lips right up to her ear. Her voice is cold, but filled with delight as she whispers, “My only solace in death is knowing that your suffering is just beginning.”

Tatiana feels Nuibaba’s claws piercing the flesh of her throat, and then she wakes up.

She sits up on the couch, drenched in sweat and gasping. There are tears in her eyes, and they spill down her cheeks when she blinks. She huffs and puffs, wiggling her fingers, and then throws her hands up to her throat to feel for any puncture wounds. There are none, and there is no evidence of Nuibaba in her home.

But she does not feel relief.

She finds herself outside her house within mere minutes, one of Zeke’s too-big sweaters draped over her thin nightgown, and has no shoes. She didn’t think to grab shoes when she made for the door, and she doesn’t think about them now as she walks over the cold, frozen ground towards the edge of the village.

The moon is completely full, illuminating her path, but it’s not like she needs the light to see where she’s going, not when she knows the way to the forest like the back of her hand. In the back of her mind, as she walks out of the safety of the village and into the wilderness, she thinks that she should be wary of wolves. Her new staff, the same one stolen from the dead cleric on the battlefield, materializes in the air and falls limp in her hand. She all but drags it behind her as she walks over roots and boulders towards her destination.

Tatiana stops in front of Maria’s grave, breathless and freezing. She doesn’t entirely know why she’s here. She doesn’t know why she had the sudden and completely overwhelming urge to take the thirty minute walk through the dead of this winter night, and she still doesn’t feel any comfort or relief.

Instead, she just starts rambling.

“I don’t know what to do!” she blurts out. “I just wish you were here to listen!”

But the damned stone grave doesn’t even have a body to watch over. There’s nothing here, nothing except for Tatiana’s own guilt.

“I don’t know what to do at all,” she says again. “I never know what to do, but this time it feels different. Because I feel like I should be doing something. But I just don’t know what. And I don’t know why.” Tatiana sucks in a deep breath and rubs her eyes with the sleeve of Zeke’s sweater. “I’ve stayed in this village for nearly my whole life. With you. With August. With everyone. But right now, it just doesn’t feel right. I want to be with Zeke. I love him, and I don’t want to be here without him. But he left, and now I keep having these scary dreams, and I feel useless!”

The stone does not reply to her. It never does. It never has. It never will.

A thought that has been simmering in the back of Tatiana’s mind comes forward, and she says, “I wanna go with him. I don’t want to sit here and cower at home. If he’s meant for bigger things, I want to be meant for bigger things, too. Even though I’m not even a military cleric. Even though I might get in the way more than I’ll help. I want to be out there with him.”

A sob wrenches its way out of her throat as she thinks about how he’s probably long gone, and how awful going to war would be in any case. She had been so terrified during that scuffle at the river and nearly gotten herself killed and trampled. She had been so worthless, clinging to Forsyth and Mathilda like deadweight. She had done nothing, nothing at all, except for take down a single knight and cast one measly Physic spell.

Tatiana falls into a crouch, leveling herself with the stone. “I don’t like this. I just want things to go back to normal. Before this stupid war started. I wish Desaix had never killed Lima. I wish the emperor didn’t let this happen to us!”

But, a voice in her whispers, if none of this had happened, wouldn’t Jerome and Nuibaba have hung over you the rest of your life?

Tatiana takes a long sniff and glares at the ground. “I don’t like this. And I might get myself killed if I go. But I still really want to. I don’t want to sit around in an empty house, waiting for someone who may not come back. Whether because the war takes him, or because- because he-”

He remembers who he is and decides to not come home at all. He remembers, finishes his business in Valentia, and gets on a boat and goes back to where he came from. He never comes back to Tatiana. He never thinks of her again. She waits, alone, forever.

The thought makes her mad.

“Maria.” She looks up at the stone, gently brushing her fingers over one of the engraved words: Beloved. “I don’t want to let myself suffer anymore.”

For a moment, she can hear that treasured voice, rough, yet sweet, and brimming with energy, say, “Then don’t. Go fight.”

Tatiana digs her fingers into her knees and finds her courage.

It’s an unholy hour of the morning, but Tatiana knows she has to go now. She goes back to the village, feet red from the cold, but pays that no mind. She heads back into her house, pulls off her nightgown, and dresses herself in old trousers and a button-up. Not her typical fashion, but a dress won’t service her well during travel.

The amount of bags she has to pack with is minimal, granted the fact that Zeke took many of them, so she’ll just have to make do with what she has. She pulls two extra outfits out of the wardrobe, rolls them up tightly, and shoves them in a traveling pack. Tatiana gets to her knees and pulls out the only drawer on the wardrobe at the bottom, revealing her Saint uniform, all nicely folded and pristine. She normally wears it only for ceremony, but she’ll need it now. She folds it up and crams it in, and then moves on to collecting other personal items.

Before she moves out of her bedroom, she contemplates taking Maria’s bow with her, and then decides that she wouldn’t be able to put it to much use. Instead, she moves to the closet and grabs another keepsake: Maria’s coat, the one so casually thrown over her shoulders on their walk back to the village on that last day. It’s a long hunting coat, warm and heavy, already worn down, and it should be suitable for marching. Tatiana takes it, slips it on, grabs her bags, and gives the bedroom one last, lingering look before shutting the door behind her.

In the kitchen, she grabs a small amount of food that should last her a few days, should she eat it sparingly. She pulls a drawer open, the place where they keep their money. She puts it into a couple of coin purses and packs those as well. She makes sure things around the house are all tidied up and in place, and then makes for the door. Her new staff is leaning against the wall, and she picks it up and gives it a nervous squeeze.

She looks back as she puts her hand on the doorknob, hesitancy and anxiety building in her as she wonders, Is this a bad idea? Perhaps she should just unpack all of her things and forget all about acting like she can go out and do something. Maybe she should just lie back down and go to sleep and wait by the window for Zeke to come home.

But Tatiana steels her nerves, opens the door, and reminds herself that she cannot and will not be content with sitting around. Not after all the sitting and waiting done on Fear Mountain. Not after what she has been through. She is not going to sit and wait for suffering to fall upon her again.

Tatiana is taking her fate into her own hands. Nobody is going to stop her. Ever.

Not even the person who will most likely be abject to her going. She walks through the village, her bags strapped to her and her staff firm in her grip, and makes her way to his house.

August opens the door a few moments after she knocks, his hair stuck up all over the place, half-awake and disgruntled. He takes a deep breath, blinks, and then looks down at Tatiana.

“It’s the middle of the damn night,” he says, then starts shutting the door.

Tatiana yips and throws her arm inside, stopping it. “August!”

“What is it?” he asks sleepily. “Didn’t I just say it was the middle of the night?”

“I need help,” she says. She shoulders her packs to put an emphasis on them.

His eyes indeed wander over to her traveling pack, her clothes, and then to the staff clenched tightly in her hands. He narrows his eyes, a little confused, and then realization very visibly wakes him up.

“No." August comes out of his house, shutting the door behind him. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“But I-”

“No!” he shouts quietly. He gestures around the air aimlessly, at a loss for words, then runs his hands through his hair. “Holy gods, Tatiana, don’t tell me you really want to go to war?”

“I’ve spent almost three months stuck in a witch’s basement,” she states. “I don’t feel like I can just sit here. And besides, Zeke was home for a few hours, then he had to go! I want to be with him. I want to go protect him.”

“Listen, listen, General Ezekiel is undoubtedly one of the most capable soldiers on this continent, if not the. Maybe he’s even one of the best soldiers in the whole world.” August clasps his hands together, as though he’s praying, and gestures to Tatiana. “You, on the other hand, are… Tatiana. You trip on flat ground and cry because snakes don’t have arms.”

“I’m telling you, that’s all different,” she snaps. “I have to follow him, please. Th-they need more healers! The Zofians need my help. I have the talent to do it.”

“No,” August says. “It’s cold. Go home. I refuse to take you to a warzone, Tatiana. Maria would have my head on a platter.”

“Maria isn’t here anymore!” Tatiana shouts, and it wrenches her heart to say it. “I- I- I don’t know! I just can’t leave him! Wh-who-”

“Tatiana, slow-”

“Who’s going to take care of him?” she asks desperately. Her hands twist around the smooth metal of her staff, turning her knuckles white. “I don’t want to sit here and cower like I always do. I want to have some control over my fate! I want to be out there, helping! I can heal, you know I can.”

“There’s no denying that you’re an amazing healer,” August assures, and his voice has softened. “You know more spells and tricks than anyone else here on the Plains. Hell, probably more than most army healers. But if you go out there, you’ll lose people. You won’t be able to save everyone.”

Tatiana swallows, shoulders slumping as she loosens her grip on her staff. “I know that.”

“It’s going to hurt you, Tatiana,” August says. “I don’t want that to happen to you. There’s so much pain and suffering in a war campaign. You gotta know that. I know you do.”

“I-” She opens up her hands a little, staring at the handle of her staff. She misses her old one, but this new one feels a little similar. It feels comforting and familiar, a reminder that she’s not useless. She’s not powerless. “I do know. And I want to be there to ease it for everyone. The Zofians saved me. I want to go save them.”

August sighs and hangs his head to the ground, once more dragging his hands through his hair. He’s quiet for a long time, merely shaking his head and tapping his foot, and then he looks back up at her.

“It’ll be bad out there. Hard. And even though spring’s comin’, it’ll be cold.”

“I’m a Rigelian. I can handle some hard conditions. And it’s not like I’m used to the lap of luxury.”

“Okay.” August shakes his head, even as he says it. “Okay. Let me go get my boots. A campaign that big can’t have moved too fast, so I think we can catch up, even though it’s been a week. They’ll be easy to track, too. You have everything you need?”

She nods.

“Good. Okay, good. Give me a minute.”

He opens the door to the house, disappears inside, and Tatiana feels more nervous than ever. Snow starts to fall in a light flurry, nipping at her nose, and she leans against the fence and waits, waits, waits. She’s going to miss the village, being away from home for so long. The months she spent on Fear Mountain will probably feel like nothing when she’s constantly marching and healing, but she’ll have the opportunity to be useful. To be a part of something. She’ll be able to be with Zeke. She’ll be able to, for once, feel in control.

August comes out of his house a few minutes later, dressed in his travel clothes and with a pack of his own. “Food and water,” he explains to her. “I mean, it’ll probably take a bit of time to catch up.”

“Thank you so much,” she says as he pulls his horse from the stables. “August, I can’t thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by not going out there and dying,” he says a little sharply. He fixes his horse’s saddle, taking his time, and sighs. “You really gonna go?”

“I want to be with Zeke,” she says firmly. “I love him. More importantly, I can help all those people.”

“You want to help Zofians?”

“They rescued me from Nuibaba. And I could tell they weren’t bad; they just want their country back.” She sets her lips in a straight line. “Emperor Rudolf isn’t a bad man. I want to know why he allowed all of this to happen to Zofia, and to us. I want to see things for myself.”

August pauses, his face unreadable, then swings himself up onto his horse. “Come on up.”

“Can she carry both of us?” Tatiana asks.

He scoffs. “You barely weigh anything. Come on, up we go.”

She takes his extended hand, sets her foot in the stirrup, and lets him pull her up onto the horse. Tatiana settles against him, wrapping her arms over his waist, and waits for him to take off.

“You’re really sure?” he asks once more. “You want to go to war?”

“I don’t want to. I have to.”

August tightens his grip on the reins, and for just a second, she can feel him shake. But, he digs his heels into the horse, kicking her into a gallop, and they take off.

They travel for two days towards the Dragon Maw, taking few breaks between long hours of traveling over the grasslands. August is quiet most of the time, but always speaks to Tatiana when she speaks to him. He’s not mad. He’s just thinking. She knows that. She knows that without her, he would be lonely. That he will be lonely.

The snow is melted in the particular area where they are, and they put a blanket down and rest on the ground for a while. His horse nibbles at the budding grass, trying to get a meal, and then gives up and goes to a nearby puddle of melted water for a drink. August and Tatiana sit there, curled up close to each other against the chill in the air, and watch as clouds roll over the sky.

“What happened to you up there?” August asks.

Tatiana curls up closer. “A lot of stuff.”

“You’re the same, but at the same time, you aren’t.” He puts an arm out, fingering the grass as he stares up. “I promised to protect you, but I let that happen. I’ll never be able to apologize enough.”

“Maybe it was for the best.” A breeze rolls over, and she shuts her eyes. “It was terrifying. I wish it hadn’t happened. But maybe it was something I needed. I feel… stronger now.”

“Mmm.” He takes a deep breath, rubbing at his eyes. “Hmmm.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just that I’m proud.” He turns his head to look at her, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re so different from that kid that got thrown out of a wagon.”

“That was thirteen years ago.”

“You know what I mean.” He shuts his eyes and turns his face back towards the sky. “You promise me that you’ll be safe. That you’ll come home. We’ll cook a nice dinner, and we’ll go to Maria’s grave and eat it there. And then we can go to the market, and I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“You’re going to spoil me,” she teases. “Why?”

August’s slight smile falls away. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you. Is wanting to see you satisfied so unusual?”

The feeling in Tatiana’s heart warms her whole body, and she falls on him and gives him the tightest hug she’s ever given. He chokes and whacks her on the back, spluttering that he is dying, but she doesn’t care.

Another two days pass, and they run out of food. The bright side is that they start to see stronger signs of the Deliverance passing through—campsites freshly abandoned, wheel tracks in the mud—and know that they are close. It’s going to get dangerous soon, though, the closer they get to the Dragon’s Maw.  However, it’s the Deliverance’s only option, because there are no doubt platoons of Rigelian soldiers waiting on the other side of the valley, expecting them to take the easy, Necrodragon-free route to the imperial capital.

“I don’t like this,” August mumbles as they ride through the dark. “I know Necrodragons don’t come this far out here, but I can still feel ‘em.”

“Have you ever seen a Necrodragon?” Tatiana asks nervously.

“Gods, no. I’m a damned merchant. I take the easy way out of every bit of danger, even if it means I have to go the long way around. The hell am I supposed to do if I’m confronted with two tons of pure evil?”

“I’ve taken down Bonewalkers and even a couple Mogalls before, but I wonder if a simple Seraphim would work on them,” she wonders.

“A Terror is a Terror, and a Seraphim is a Seraphim. Might take a few. I wouldn’t take your chances, though. You promise me you’ll try to get those Zofian idiots to avoid the Necrodragons, okay?”

The very real possibility that Tatiana will actually have to come face-to-face with a Necrodragon suddenly hits her. The very real possibility that it will probably be among the least of her problems hits her as well, and she is suddenly very afraid.

August nudges her suddenly. “Hey, look.”

She glances up, her heart soaring when she sees the faint glimmer of torchlight and the outline of tents in the distance. “We made it?”

“You sound so shocked.”

“I-” She buries her face against his shoulder. “I was a little worried they were already through the Dragon’s Maw.”

“Apparently not.” August grips the reins and urges the horse into a quicker trot. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

They draw closer to the camp after a few minutes. In the dead of night, it’s completely silent, almost unnervingly so. But with August pressed up against her, she feels safer. And with Forsyth to meet them at the entrance, even more so. Or, at least, she thinks it’s Forsyth. His outline in the dark has the same broad shoulders and close-cut hair that her friend does, but she cannot be sure.

“Halt!” His voice is strong and sharp, and he brandishes his spear. “Who goes there?”

“Forsyth?” Tatiana questions in a soft voice.

The spear lowers, and he steps forward. He comes into a little patch of moonlight, and it most certainly is Forsyth. He squints at them for a moment through the dark, then lowers his spear completely to lean it up against a tree.

“Miss Tatiana?” Forsyth draws closer and helps her when she struggles to get off the horse. “What a surprise! Why are you here? And who would this gentleman be?”

“Don’t worry about me,” August mumbles. “I’m just the transport.”

“A friend,” she rectifies as she brushes off her pants. “He agreed to bring me here.”

Forsyth crinkles his nose. “But why did you need to come? Has something befallen your home?”

“No, nothing at all.” Tatiana pulls her bags off of the saddle. “I decided to join the Deliverance.”

A sigh comes from August, while Forsyth simply stares uncomprehendingly.

“Can you take me to Mathilda or Alm?” she asks. “Or, um, maybe even Zeke? If he’s awake, that is.”

Forsyth picks up his spear and turns towards the camp. “Well, of course he’s awake. He’s hardly gotten any sleep. He’s dreadfully worried about you.”

Tatiana wonders if her presence will worry him even more. She’s concerned, and then remembers that all of this is as much for herself as it is for him.

She looks up towards August, still astride his horse. “Are you going to come with us?”

He squints towards the camp, looks down at her, and shakes his head. It’s harder than normal to read his expression in the dark, but she can see the concern on his face. Moreso, she can feel it pouring off of him in strong, hefty waves.

“I don’t want to,” he mumbles. “I still don’t care for the Zofians that much. And if General Ezekiel is in there, I know he’ll keep a good eye on you.”

Forsyth waits for her patiently as she moves closer to August, resting a hand on his knee. “But, August, it’s so late.”

“I’ve had later nights,” he assures. He hesitates a moment, then bends down and puts a hand atop her head. “Come home to us safe. Okay? You don’t go out there and throw yourself in danger or play the hero.”

He sounds strangely small. Tatiana nods, the butterflies in her stomach quieting as he gives her head a firm stroke.

“Aw, geez, you know I don’t say this much, but, uh.” August clears his throat and pulls his hand away. “You know I love you. Right?”

He says it once in a blue moon, and always with such conviction and care. Tatiana reaches up, grabs his hand, and pulls it to her lips for a quick kiss. He almost jerks it away, then looks abashed and pats her head once more.

“And I you,” she says. “Get back to the village safe, okay?”

He glances away with one last sigh, grips his reins, and turns his horse around. Tatiana listens to him vanish back into the grasslands as she follows Forsyth, listening and listening until the galloping of his horse is long gone.

She’s really on the frontlines of a war.

“Just this way,” Forsyth tells her. “You must be exhausted. Was your travel rough?”

“No,” she replies. “Just kind of long. You moved faster than we anticipated.”

He puffs out his chest and looks proud. “Well, we’re a very efficient force, you see. But, er, we’ve been parked in this spot for the past three days. We can’t figure out how to deal with these pesky Necrodragons with minimal losses.”

“Sounds like a rough problem.”

“Indeed it is. It would be easier if we had more Falcon Knights, or even clerics who knew Seraphim, but, alas. Lady Clair is one of our few Falcon Knights, and we don’t employ many clerics.”

They walk through the camp, and Tatiana notices that she receives more than a few wary looks. She puts them out of her mind, knowing that nothing will happen to her so long as she’s with Forsyth, and keeps listening to him.

“What about mages?” she asks.

“Mmm.” Forsyth rubs his jaw. “Well… Delthea is attempting to learn to master the Seraphim, but I fear it won’t happen soon enough.”

She looks to the ground, then up at him. “Well, I know how to use Seraphim. I can help.”

His face bursts into a delighted grin. “You do? Splendid! You haven’t even officially joined, and you’re already proving your great worth.”

Tatiana smiles.

They come to a large tent, surrounded by torches. She hears chattering inside, anxious voices that keeping cutting each other off, and it doesn’t take long for her to assume that there’s a meeting going on inside. Probably a loud, angry, irritating one, based on the way she hears Mathilda speaking. She stops walking, hanging behind while Forsyth moves to the entrance, and kicks at the ground nervously.

He pauses, looking back at her as he lifts the flap of the tent. “Yes, well, you wait here. I’ll go get General Ezekiel.”

Tatiana’s heart seizes up as he disappears inside. A little sweat breaks out on her palms. She wipes her hands on her pants, then twists the straps of her bags. She waits, setting them down, listening closely as the clamor inside dies down with Forsyth’s entrance. She feels scrutinized by the Zofians who pass her, like she is unwelcome, and knows that she is. She isn’t a soldier or a fighter. She’s a visible burden.

There’s a hushed murmur from inside the tent, words that she cannot make out, and then she hears a loud, “What?!” Not a moment later, Zeke comes out of the tent, looking to the right, and then to the left, and he sees her. He looks for a long moment, silently, and it almost feels as though he is staring right through her. Tatiana looks away, kicking at the ground, and tries to find something to say.

“Tatiana?” Zeke sounds wary, like he thinks he might be hallucinating or seeing things. His face is pale, and it instantly fills her with guilt. “Tatiana!”

He rushes to her, there in the blink of an eye, and grabs her shoulders so tightly that she winces. When she looks into his face, there’s no anger, though. She supposes she can forgive him for simply not knowing his own strength. She reaches up, tentatively putting her hands atop his, but can’t bring herself to make any eye contact.

“Tanechka, why are you here?” He seems to realize how tightly he’s gripping her and loosens his hold. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to the village?”

“No, everything is fine at home,” she replies softly. “I just-”

“Tatiana, you must go home,” he implores, and her heart stops. “If anyone were to see you with this army, nowhere would be safe for you. You understand that. I know you do.”

She tightens her jaw, finally managing to look into his eyes. They’re firm and worried, but she’ll stand her ground. “No. I’m going to stay.”

Zeke lets go of her, recoiling in shock. “You’ve gone out of your mind. What did Nuibaba do to you?”

She colors with anger. “I’m perfectly sane! I’m going to stay here, and I’m going to help. Besides, I can’t leave you all by yourself. That’s that.”

His eyes soften, but only a smidge. He puts his fingers beneath her chin and tilts her face up to him. “Sweet Tanechka, this is a war. Not a church. You don’t understand-”

It is Tatiana’s turn to recoil away. “I understand. I understand completely! Stop- stop talking down to me like I’m a child! Like I don’t know what pain and suffering are. I know what they are, Ezekiel. And I’m here to keep others from them.”

“Tatiana,” he says warningly. “I’m well-aware of the fact that you aren’t naive or ignorant to how this world is. My concern is that you aren’t prepared for this brand of suffering. Everyday is a living hell. What if you were harmed, or—gods forbid—killed? What would I do with myself then?”

She clenches her teeth and her fists, stepping closer so that she’s leaning into him. “What would I do with myself if you were killed? I don’t want to cower at home, waiting for you to return. I want to take some control of my own fate! And that means I want to be here.”

Zeke hangs his head. “Tatiana-”

“Who’s going to care for you like I do?” she continues. “Who- who’s going to hold you when you wake up with those awful nightmares? Who’s going to tell you to rest when you’ve worked too much? Who’s going to help you get to sleep when you’re having problems?”

“Darling, I’m-”

Her eyes are filling with tears. Tatiana takes a long sniffle before continuing in a quivering voice. “I can’t even sleep on the bed at home.”

He closes the slight gap between them, folding her into his arms. “Tatiana, my angel.”

Tatiana clings to him, digging her fingers into his shoulderblades. “It’s too soft. It makes me uneasy. I can’t be alone there. Who’s going to care for me like you do?”

She feels his lips pressed to her head and hears his low, soothing voice close to her ear. “My love, don’t be so worried. Fretting over silly things like the bed being too soft.”

“It’s not silly,” she protests weakly. “I can’t sleep. I had to sleep on the floor, and then the couch, and even that was hard. Nothing feels right.”

“I know.”

“And no matter how big I make the fire, the house is still cold without you.”

“I know.”

“And eating without you is lonely.”

“I know.”

“I want you to come home.”

“I know.” Zeke cradles her head gently in a hand and rubs her back with the other. “I know, my sweet.”

“So if you can’t come home, and I can’t be comfortable doing nothing at home, then it’s logical for me to be here, right?” Tatiana blinks away tears clinging to her lashes and buries her face in his chest. “Right, Zeke?”

He’s quiet. She hears his heartbeat thrumming strong in his chest and leans in towards it, feeling comforted for the first time in over a week.

“I think her coming with is a good idea.”

Zeke loosens his grip on her as he turns his head. Tatiana peeks out from his chest, finding Alm at the entrance of the meeting tent. He looks a little nervous to have interrupted the moment, but more than that, simply looks incredibly exhausted.

“We need more healers,” Alm says. “And from what I saw while she was with us, Tatiana is incredibly talented, Zeke.”

“Of course she is,” he replies immediately. “But, well-”

She squirms out of his grip and strides over to Alm, blinks away the last of her tears, and grabs his hands. “Alm, you’re right! I can be really useful! I know how to use Fortify and Physic spells, and I’ve been learning Invoke and Warp in my free time. And in my Exemplar training, I’ve also been learning Ward and Restore.”

Zeke gives her a curious look. “Exemplar training? When was this?”

She crosses her arms and looks away. “Before you. I put it on hold to care for you. I didn’t get far, honestly.”

“Fortify and Physic are spells that none of our other clerics know,” Alm muses. “But, Tatiana, you don’t know how to fight. That’s our only problem.”

“That’s right.” Zeke mirrors her as she stares defiantly, his own arms crossed. “She’s a civilian cleric. Not military.”

“I can fight Terrors,” she shoots back. “Forsyth said you were having problems with the Necrodragons. I know how to use Seraphim.”

“You are not fighting a Necrodragon!” Zeke exclaims in sheer horror. “Over my dead body!”

In all honesty, Tatiana would like to bend to his will and say, “Oh, you’re right, I shouldn’t go fight two tons of pure, undead malice and evil. That’s not really in my comfort zone. You are absolutely right.”

“We can put her on the backlines,” Alm says hesitantly. “She can provide support from there with Fortify and Physic. And if we need her to come to the front and fight the Necrodragons-”

“I-!” Zeke balls his fists, looking from Tatiana to Alm. A moment passes, and all at once, the tension seems to flood out of him. He slumps and buries his face in a hand, slowly shaking his head. “Can’t tell you what to do.”

He looks so tired and worn that she feels guilty, if only for a moment. She reaches out to gently put a hand on his arm. He doesn’t reciprocate the affection, but he doesn’t flinch away from it. He only stands there, face in his hand, like he can’t bear to look at her.

“Well, Tatiana, let me be the first to welcome you to the Deliverance.” Alm smiles and holds out his hand. “We’re glad to have you.”

Tatiana takes his hand with a more than a little anxiety, but his smile puts her worries at some ease. Alm leaves after that, but not before popping his head into the tent to officially declare the meeting dismissed. Mathilda and Clive come out, and Mathilda offers Tatiana a slight wave before heading off.

Zeke still has not moved, and Tatiana looks at him nervously. He takes the hand that she extends towards him, pressing it to his lips. She smiles, reaches up and pushes the bangs out of his face, and strokes his cheek. He leans into her touch, eyes closing in contentment.

“I don’t like this,” he says in a hushed voice.

“Neither do I,” she replies. “But at least we’re in this together. As we should be.”

He sighs and pulls her hand away, then reaches down and lifts her bags. “You can stay in my tent. It’s bigger than the others, so there’s plenty of room for two.”

Tatiana takes the hand he offers her, finally at ease as she follows him to his tent.

That ease lasts only three days, and then everything goes to hell.

The three days are fairly simple and calm. There are plenty of people who express their displeasure at having a Rigelian in the camp with them. General Ezekiel is one thing, people mutter. He’s a foreigner, and his accent makes that much obvious. They can deal with someone who isn’t even Valentian. But a Rigelian? Perish the thought.

Beyond the gossip, it’s fine. Tatiana spends much of the time sprucing things up, because the Deliverance camp is in sore need of a domestic touch. She isn’t really surprised by that, because many of the soldiers are nobles who have hardly ever picked up so much as a broom in their entire lives. People on laundry duty don’t know how to get any sort of stain out, especially not blood. Those in the mess tent really have no idea how to properly season food (she finds out later that that’s kind of just a general Zofian thing). The supply tent is woefully disorganized, and she spends probably ten minutes lecturing Tobin and Kliff on how they can do better.

Even if Tatiana can’t be overwhelmingly useful on a battlefield, she’s at least gotten the camp into shape. Faye comes to her at dinner on the second night, tears almost in her eyes as she thanks her for serving edible food and giving the camp some semblance of sense and order.

On the third night, she’s finished showing some of the other clerics how to make medicines with Rigelian ingredients, because those they’ve brought over from Zofia are running thin. She heads back to the tent, back sore from bending over a mortar and pestle for three hours, and hopes she can get some sleep before someone comes complaining of a fever or bad bruise. Zeke is already in the tent at their makeshift table, looking over some pieces of paper.

“Long night?” he asks her.

“It’s barely sunset,” she says.

He grimaces and rubs his eyes. “I haven’t been outside this tent in hours. Is it really still so early?”

“Mmm.” She bends down at the table, urges the papers from him, and gives him a kiss. “How about you work for an hour longer, just until the sun sets, and then we go to bed early? And then, you can wake up and work more.”

Zeke hums, glances over the documents, and sighs. “We’re just trying to figure out how many Necrodragons to expect at the Maw. Even one takes a good two platoons. Or, so I’ve been told. I’ve never actually seen a Necrodragon. I mean, I don’t think I have.”

“I’ve never seen one either,” she admits. “But, I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’re a good, what, ten miles from the Maw? The Necrodragons won’t come out here to bother us. We’ve got as long as we need to figure out how to deal with them.”

Zeke puts a nearby quill to a map on their table, drawing a line. “Until the army finally figures out we’re not going this way, and they come around and sandwich us between the dragons and them. And then, we’re done for.”

“You worry too much,” Tatiana says, even though she thinks he’s probably worrying a proper amount. “Come on. Another hour, then bed.”

He does as told, poring over the papers and maps until she opens the flap of the tent and shows him that the sun is finally gone. He retires to the cot with her, flopping down after removing his coat. They snuggle close against the air that starts nipping with the sun set, and he sweeps her hair out of her face.

“You’re filthy,” he says.

“You’re all gross, too.”

“Let’s see if we can’t find a river tomorrow to at least wash our hair in,” Zeke suggests.

Tatiana hums and nestles closer, pressing her head against his chest. “Alright. Go to sleep.”

He mumbles something she doesn’t catch, presses a kiss to her forehead, and pulls the blankets up around her. They drift off to sleep, completely unaware of what is about to befall them.

They wake up a few hours later to the loudest sound Tatiana has ever heard in her life.

She sits up in bed immediately, and Zeke does the same. The sound comes again before she can even ask, “What was that?,” and it nearly splits her head in two. She slams her hands over her ears, curling in on herself as she internally begs the gods to make the wretched sound stop. She opens her eyes when she feels Zeke leave the bed, watching as he throws his coat over his shoulders and moves to grab his lance.

“What is that?” she asks when the sound dies.

Clamoring has started outside. He glares at the flap of the tent, as though hesitant to open it. “Come over here,” he says. “Right now, Tatiana.”

She’s shaking badly, but manages to get up off the cot and move to his side. He puts his hand on the flap of the tent, still visibly hesitant, and just as he goes to open it, Tatiana hears a sound like wings. Like the sound the village’s hunting falcons make when they flap around, except magnified to an absurd degree. The color falls from her face, because she already knows what it is before she hears someone shout, “Necrodragons!”

Zeke doesn’t have to open the tent, because there is a sudden burst of wind, and it basically falls down around them. She tries not to yelp, tries to hold her tongue and steel her nerves, even though the force nearly carries her off her feet. Screaming and shouting fills the camp a heartbeat later. She lowers her arms a little, opens her eyes, and nearly faints at the sight:

Two Necrodragons, one landed in the middle of camp and one perched upon the peaks of the hills surrounding the valley.

They’re not as big as Tatiana thought they would be, honestly, but they’re still terrifyingly large. They’re purple and black, with eyes as red as fresh blood. Green oozes from their jaws like saliva, and the one in camp also has red gushing from between its teeth. She realizes it’s because it has landed by the stables, and it has a horse in its great maw. There’s a long pause while the dragon swings its head around to regard them, still chewing (Tatiana wonders for a horrible second if it has devoured sweet Ephraim), and then people burst into action.

Zeke grabs her hand. “Don’t leave me!”

Her legs are shaking pitifully, so she lets him drag her along. “Does it seem like I want to?”

He doesn’t have time for banter and does not reply to her comment. He takes her closer to the dragon, but they move behind wagons and caravans and still erect tents as they move. He hands his lance to her when they get close enough, puts his fingers to his mouth, and whistles. There is a horrible second where Tatiana is certain that Ephraim has become a Necrodragon’s snack before the big black war horse comes galloping towards them.

“Thank the Father,” she breathes.

Zeke fixes the horse’s saddle briefly, mounts, and then pulls Tatiana on behind him. He takes his lance from her, nervously sizing up the dragons, and guides Ephraim into a wide circle around the camp. Clair is leading a charge of Falcon and Pegasus Knights from the sky, and it fortunately seems to be bothering the Necrodragon, compared to the infantry attacking from below, who seem to be of little worry to the beast.

“I thought they wouldn’t move from the Maw!” Tatiana yells over the shouting and roaring.

Ephraim lunges over a collapsed post and keeps running. The wind nearly carries away Zeke’s voice, but she hears him say, “I suppose they got tired of their snacks sitting around just out of reach. They decided to come hunt us.”

Tatiana holds her hand out to the air. Her staff materializes, and she barely catches it. She watches, horrified, as the Necrodragon over on the peaks opens its wings and starts a dive to join its friend. On its way, it snags a Pegasus Knight from the air in a massive clawed foot and eats her so fast that she almost doesn’t see.

Almost.

Unfortunately, she does see the woman fall to pieces beneath the Necrodragon’s teeth, her lower half falling uselessly to the ground alongside a wing from her pegasus.

It steels her courage more than anything. It makes her mad.

She tightens her grip on her staff and puts a hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “Get me close!”

“What?!”

“It might not kill it, but even one good hit from a Seraphim spell could slow it down,” she calls. “I just need to get closer! I can’t waste a single shot trying to cast from a distance.”

He looks ready to protest, then swallows and clenches his jaw. “You think you can do it?”

“Do you believe in me?”

Zeke snaps the reins and jerks Ephraim towards the thick of the conflict. “A ridiculous question.”

Tatiana trembles as she braces herself and slowly stands in the saddle. Zeke slows a little to accommodate her, but there’s no luxury to go at anything less than a full gallop as they enter the thick of the fight. She sets her bare feet against the leather, pleased that it gives her a strong grip, and takes hold of the hand that he throws up to steady her.

“Careful!” he calls, and then much more quietly says, “I’m going to have a heart attack.”

There’s a burst of light from the opposite side of the first Necrodragon, and it screams, a long and horrible sound. Tatiana watches as Python picks up Silque and carries her away on horseback as the dragon locates her and lashes out. It demolishes the ground where the other saint once stood, and a chill rushes up Tatiana’s spine.

“We’ll have to move away as soon as you cast,” Zeke shouts to her. They both wince as a pegasus knight falls from the sky, knocked right out of the air, and falls in a heap of broken wings and legs and blood to the ground next to them. “I think they can sense units that are a danger to them.”

“Sure. Of course. Because why wouldn’t they be able to be?” Tatiana holds her staff in her free hand, shutting her eyes as she feels the thrum of magic start to vibrate through the conductor. The orb begins to glow, and just as Zeke gets dangerously close to the dragon Silque already weakened, she swings it and lets the light fly out. The dragon screams as the Seraphim hits it directly in the eye, and it collapses. Zeke jerks on the reins, galloping away as the Terror falls so heavily that the ground trembles, and Tatiana blinks.

Sure, Silque had done most of the work, but she- she did it.

She just killed a Necrodragon.

Zeke squeezes her hand and calls out, “Is it okay if I say I’m a little shocked?”

“Please shut up!”

There’s a brief moment for whooping and hollering from the Deliverance before the second dragon, seemingly upset by the fall of its friend, screams and starts lashing out indiscriminately. It demolishes a caravan by picking it up and throwing it right at a group of cavalry. Most of them scatter, but an unfortunate two are crushed by the force and weight of the projectile.

No time to celebrate yet.

Arrows litter its hide, and lances are stuck like spikes alongside its back, a product of Python and Clair’s combined efforts. The dragon has slowed only slightly, and even a few spells from the mages does nothing. A blow from Silque slows it some more, but this dragon is larger and tougher than the first, and doesn’t bow to one measly Seraphim.

Tatiana stands in the saddle again, a little more confident, and throws out another Seraphim. She’s dizzy almost immediately, weak in the knees and a little lightheaded, and Zeke squeezes her hand tighter as he guides Ephraim through the chaos and carnage. The Seraphim goes right by the Necrodragon, but not without scraping its snout. Her blood chills as it slowly turns its great head towards them, and only one thing goes through her mind as it breathes steam out of its nostrils:

If she separates herself from Zeke, it might not hurt him.

It could be the dizzy feeling in her head talking, but that makes sense. Tatiana snatches her hand out of Zeke’s grip, ignores his cry of alarm, and once more catches the look in the Necrodragon’s eye. As she thought, it has eyes only for her, just her, and she instantly regrets it as she throws herself from Ephraim’s back.

“Tatiana!”

Something in her arm snaps as she lands awkwardly on it. A scream of pain escapes her, but nobody is around to care. Most of the infantry has retreated to leave the task up to the clerics, mages, and Pegasus Knights, so at least there is nobody around to trample her. She struggles to get to her knees and pick her staff up, but spares the dragon a glance.

As she suspected, it has taken its eyes off of Zeke and Ephraim and is looking straight down at her. It lifts a foot, raising it up high, and Tatiana scrambles to grab her staff in her valid hand and scurry away as it brings it down. She escapes by just a hair, but the force of the stomp still sends her sprawling to the ground. She gasps and shouts again when she falls on her bad arm.

“Tatiana!” Zeke is circling back around, eyes trained warily on the dragon before flickering to her, then back to the dragon.

“Don’t come closer!” Her arm is burning like someone has dumped molten lava over it, but the adrenaline helps her ignore the pain. She stumbles to her feet, relieved that the dragon is preoccupied for the moment with Clair and the other Falcon Knights above. It snorts, dark black smoke coming from its nostrils, and the knights break formation.

“Lousy dragon,” Tatiana mumbles. She fixes her grip on her staff, gathers all the magic in her body, and pushes it through the metal. Her whole body starts burning, complaining that it doesn’t have another Seraphim in it and that she needs to stop, but she ignores it. She ignores Zeke dodging a tossed wagon and having to skirt the camp to try and safely reach her. She ignores everything except for this spell.

“You can’t be an Exemplar,” she had been told shortly before finding Zeke by the seashore, “because you don’t have the stamina to cast more than two Seraphims in a row. It’s hopeless. How are you supposed to learn high-level magic like Ward if you can’t do something as simple as that?”

It had discouraged her, but she’d put it out of her mind then. Now she wishes she had paid attention, strove to do better, because she sorely needed to have. She sorely needed to have done better, because now the magic is stuttering through her staff, sputtering lifelessly, and she feels ready to simply fall backwards and collapse.

But just one more.

Tatiana braces the staff in her valid hand, grits her teeth, and swings. A Seraphim, larger and stronger than she had ever expected, catapults through the air and hits the Necrodragon right in the neck as it tilts its head back to try and snap Clair out of the air. It shrieks, shakes its head irritatedly, and fixes her under its gaze again, as if to say, “You again? Do you want to die so badly?”

And then, by the gods' good graces, Clair shoves a lance into its neck, it jerks around, spasms, and then stops moving. It sways, wobbles, and then collapses just as its companion did. The ground shakes, and Tatiana is so weak that it knocks her over. She crumples into a pile on the ground, relieved that it seems to be over, and grips her now-obviously broken arm in agony.

“Father,” she hisses between her teeth as tears start welling up in her eyes. “That hurts.”

Her everything hurts, to be honest. Her blood burns, her head throbs, her chest tightens, and her stomach twists. Her entire existence is screaming, demanding to know why she pushed herself like that, why she went beyond her limits, but it paid off.  She gave Clair just enough time to shove a lance in the beast and be done with it, and now-

-now the Necrodragon moves suddenly, stretching its neck towards her, snapping its big, bloody teeth, and she knows what it means. It means, “If I am to die, someone will go with me.”

She seizes up ut and prepares to have the dragon snap her up into its jaws as its final act of defiance. A sob nearly escapes her as she hears Clair shouting, “It’s not dead! It’s not dead!” and she waits.

A bark of, “Die, villain!” cuts through the chaos. Tatiana watches as Zeke rides in, lance brandished, and shoves it directly into the Necrodragon’s eyeball. It writhes, jerks, and she worries for an awful moment that it will turn its head and snap him up instead, but it only uselessly squirms as Zeke and Ephraim press on, shoving the lance in deeper and deeper. The beast cannot even manage a scream, and only utters something like a whimper as he shoves the weapon in as deep as he can manage.

It gives a trembling shudder. It stops moving. This time, it does not get up.

Tatiana lets out a sob of utter relief, shaking from the aftershock and the pain in her body.

Zeke dismounts Ephraim before he stops completely, stumbling as he rushes over. “Tatiana!”

She grits her teeth and struggles to get up. “‘m fine.”

He drops to his knees next to her, making an attempt to scoop her up before he realizes her arm is broken. She honestly expects some kind words, a pat on her head, a little bit of praise, but instead he takes her shoulder opposite of her broken arm and shakes her a little, shouting, “What were you thinking?”

She can’t articulate an answer that is truthful, because really, she actually wasn’t thinking. She would not be able to emphasize just how little she was thinking. She just knew she had to get off Ephraim’s back and pull the Necrodragon’s attention away from him.

She must have mumbled that aloud, because Zeke starts yelling, “Ephraim could have outrun that brute! You have such little faith in us that you think we couldn’t have dodged one measly dragon?”

“Measly?” she echoes in disbelief. “Did you not see it eat ten of our soldiers?”

Zeke grits his teeth and squeezes her shoulder tighter. “Gods damn you. You’re an absolute fool. A fool with no sense of self-preservation, no battle acumen, no instinct, no-”

He cuts himself off with a bite to his tongue, takes a shaking sigh, and tilts his head down towards her. “Please do not do something like that again. It was very unwise. You know that.”

She’s a little stung from his harsh comments, but takes them as what they are: The harsh truth, spewed in a moment of panic. She lets Zeke help her sit up as Silque comes over, staff in hand, ready to set her bones right.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

Zeke takes her hand and holds it as the bones in her arm start popping, shifting, rebuilding. Tatiana’s adrenaline is still so high that it acts like a natural anesthetic, and she barely feels it.

“Casualties?” he asks Silque after a few minutes.

She purses her lips as she pulls the staff away from Tatiana. “Fifteen, and many more injured. We- we never could have expected a surprise attack from this distance.”

Zeke squeezes Tatiana’s hand. “And we have to deal with more of those monsters.”

“But two down,” Tatiana mumbles.

He sighs as Silque walks away. “Two down.”

He picks her up and moves her away from the chaos and bustle, propping her up against a supply wagon that has been spared in the battle. She hisses as the feeling starts coming back into her arm, the aftereffects of having her arm rebuilt in such short time catching up with her. There are tears undoubtedly in her eyes, and he brushes them away for her. Ephraim paces the space behind them in a manner reminiscent to that of a loyal watchdog.

“Don’t do that again,” Zeke repeats. “It was terrifying when you jumped off like that. And you got yourself badly hurt.”

“But it’s all better,” she mutters. “Everything turned out okay.”

“It did not turn out okay,” he snaps. “It just-! You can’t just-!”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Tatiana assures. “I know you don’t want to be pushy or condescending. But you also want to scold me. I know that. I know you well enough to know exactly what you’re feeling.”

Zeke hangs his head and runs a hand through his dirty hair. “I just got you back. Only just. I- I only have you, Tatiana.” He offers her his hands then, gently running his thumbs over the backs of her own when he holds them. “Only you. My shining sun. The last light of my life.”

“Ezekiel,” she whispers. “Don’t you-”

“It’s true,” he protests. “I have absolutely nothing else. I’ve turned my back on Rigel. At the end of this, Emperor Rudolf will most likely have to perish. I have nothing in this world but you, and I take that very seriously.”

She slumps against the wagon, tired, and listens to the hustle and bustle as people flip supply carts back over, carry wounded on stretchers, and try to get things back in order after the attack. It’s hard to do it in the bare moonlight, when the sky is dark and covered with clouds rolling in from the north, but they have to manage. She feels a little guilty for not being able to help, but she has no feeling in her arms and doesn’t think her legs would hold out for long if she tried standing.

Tatiana pulls her hands out of his, weakly, and holds open her arms. “Sweet man. Come closer.”

Zeke appears hesitant for a moment, and then scoots closer on his knees and lets her wrap him up in her embrace. She cards her fingers through his hair, listening with pity to the shaking sigh he lets out.

“I love you,” he utters quietly. His hand rests on her waist, and he says it again. “I love you, more than I have ever loved anything else. Do you know that, Tatiana? Have I been able to express that to you well enough? Can I even express this feeling?”

Tatiana knows that she cannot express the sheer amount of love she has in her worn out heart for this man, this perfect man riddled with flaws and fears that not even he can understand. She cannot express the utter, heart-splitting love she has for him, and it brings tears to her eyes that she will never be able to let him know just how much she loves him. If he loves her even a tenth of the way she loves him, she knows that he cannot express the feelings either.

“You don’t have to say it,” Tatiana whispers. She sheds a few tears as she buries her face in his neck, pressing kisses to his hot skin. “I know. I know it’s hard to say.”

“I want to.” Zeke pulls her closer, and her arm cries with pain, but she ignores it. “All I ever want is to be able to tell you how much I love you. But it feels impossible. There’s so much. I love you so much, Tatiana. I love you so much I can’t breathe.”

She falls in love with him a million more times in just one second.

“I love you more,” she teases lightly.

He squeezes her. “No. I love you most.”

People walk by them, but one glance at them and an angry huff from Ephraim, and they get the hint. They scurry away to leave the lovers to their moment.

“I’ll try not to be stupid again,” Tatiana whispers to him.

“I won’t be stupid either,” he assures. “Let’s just get out of this alive. Tomorrow awaits if we survive today.”

“That’s right.” Tatiana inhales the smell of sweat and blood on him, sorely missing the nice, woody, clear smell that he has when they are at home. But, this is his smell, so she loves it regardless. “Let’s just get out of this alive, and then we can go home.”

“By the seashore,” he mutters. “Just a while longer, then we can go home to the sea.”

“I didn’t know you liked the sea so much.”

“It’s the place you love. So I love it, too.” Zeke pulls away from her, eyes heavy with exhaustion and concern, and plants his lips against her forehead. “Long night.”

“Long night,” Tatiana agrees.

“Let’s find somewhere to lay you down,” he suggests.

“But people need healing.”

“The other clerics can handle it for now. I just want you to rest. And I promise I’ll be by you the entire time.”

The thought of him watching over her while she sleeps is comforting. Tatiana grabs his arm as he scoops her up into a bridal carry. “Promise?”

Zeke smiles and strokes her hair. “I will be by your side always. I promise.”

And Tatiana knows that he means it.

“He won’t make it.”

“We just can’t do anything about it!”

“Tatiana, leave him be. Don’t drag out the poor man’s suffering.”

“He must have been mugged, or something. Look at that awful stab in his side. How he’s even made it this long…”

“Tatiana, leave him!”

Even August had implored her to leave the stranger be. But, how was Tatiana supposed to leave the poor man be, when he had been so clearly grasping on to whatever life he had left? How was she supposed to have dragged this man back to her church, gotten him in a bed, only to then let him bleed out?

So she’d spent hours with him. Hours upon hours upon hours, scrubbing the blood from his broken body, identifying the wounds, stitching him up, rubbing medicine into every cut and gash, and washing healing magic over him. It had drained her to her core, and when all was said and done, the man stabilized and in no immediate danger, Tatiana had almost collapsed right there on the infirmary floors.

But, she hadn’t, because there was more work to be done. She asked August to, when he passed through nearby towns during his business trip, stop and ask people if they were missing a family member. She threw out the stranger’s old clothes and got to work with finding him new ones for when he woke up. She sat by his bed, listening for any stutter in his shallow breathing, staff at the ready to pull him back towards the living if he strayed again.

And now, it’s been a full week, and Tatiana is so tired. She’s exhausted, ready to fall onto one of the other beds in the infirmary and sleep, but she can’t. She keeps herself awake with quilting, slowly dragging her needle through the fabric and finishing the edges. It’s mindless work that keeps her awake just enough.

When Tatiana goes to put her project away and grab something to eat, she hears a groan come from the occupied bed, and turns so fast that she trips over her skirt and stumbles. She doesn’t fall to the floor, regaining her balance in time, and she rushes over to the bedside, a hand planted on the headboard, to make sure she wasn’t just hearing things.

“Wake up,” she whispers to the stranger. “Please, come on. Wake up. I’m right here. I’m waiting.”

And he does, not a second later. A little moan, low in his chest, falls from his lips as he examines his surroundings with half-lidded eyes. Tatiana hovers nervously, hands clasped in prayer and held close to her chest, and finally, his gaze falls on her. His eyes open a little more, and her heart just about stops in her chest. He’s got beautiful eyes, she thinks. Dark and soulful, truly breathtaking.

“Where am I?” he mumbles.

He’s awake. He’s truly awake.

“You’re awake!” she exclaims, fingers pressed to her lips. “Oh, I thought you were dead for sure.”

The stranger fixes her under a quizzical, tired gaze. “What-?”

“I found you collapsed by the shore earlier,” Tatiana rambles on. She rushes forward as he tries to move out of the bed. “No, no, darling. You were gravely injured. I thought you might not make it.”

But, he has, and he is moving, and he is alive. He keeps staring at her, like he’s barely processing her words. He lifts his hands weakly, brushing his fingers gently over her wrists as she pulls the quilt back up over him. He breathes, “Who are you?”

His voice is deep, lovely. Tatiana thinks she could get used to hearing it, and she smiles at him as she sits on the edge of the bed. “My name is Tatiana. I work here at the church. See? You’re in a safe place. What’s your name?”

He blinks, as if thinking, and then appears startled. A few expressions pass over his face: Shock, confusion, and then fear. Pure, utter fear. He digs his fingers into the sheets and gasps out, “I… My name is…”

Peculiar. Tatiana leans in, smiling, and whispers, “Yeeees?”

He stares at her blankly, and then looks away, as if guilty. “I… cannot remember. I don’t know. My name…”

He… doesn’t know his name?

“Who am I?” he mumbles to himself. His voice gets tight, but it’s more desperate than angry. “From whence did I come? It’s all a mystery to me.”

Well, he certainly talks like a person who isn’t common folk, but Tatiana keeps that to herself for the time being. She thinks the formal dialect is endearing, and as he starts to speak more confidently, she can pick up stronger traces of an accent.

“Oh, my.” She puts a finger to her lips and stares, puzzled. “Amnesia? I’ve never treated an amnesiac before.”

The stranger glances away. “I apologize for the trouble.”

“Oh, don’t apologize!” Tatiana leans in, urging him down once more as he tries sitting up, and brushes his bangs out of his face. “I wonder how that happened though. I mean, how are we going to let your family know that you’re safe? They must be worried sick.”

He flinches, turning his head on the pillows with an agonized expression and a discomforted sound.

Aw, hell.

“Ah, yes, I-” Tatiana fumbles over her words, so eager to try and put this poor, poor man at ease. She stops, after a moment, not bothering to scramble for something falsely comforting to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to give you something else to fret over. You know, I’m sure we’ll get it all worked out. You should rest in the meantime.”

The stranger leans back against the pillows, eyes drifting shut. His voice is so soft, so relieved, so exhausted, a little trace of pain beneath it as he says, “Yes… Rest…”

Tatiana stands from the bed and puts the quilts over him a little more, wondering what this strange, foreign man has been through. What has he been through, to make him so tired? What has he been through, for him to have all these old scars on his body? She recognizes burns, almost similar to the one on her shoulder. She recognizes the lashes from a whip, like the marks on August’s back. And then, there are marks that she doesn’t even want to think about, like the odd marks on his palms. They look similar to burns, but…

She doesn’t want to think of it.

“You’ll be alright,” Tatiana assures, because she knows it. “I just know you will. I mean, I’m taking care of you, after all!”

His eyes fly open in a heartbeat, and he starts sitting up with more conviction than before. Tatiana squeaks, frustrated at his third attempt, but more concerned that her stitches she’s so carefully sewn will burst if he pushes himself too hard.

“Miss… Tatiana?” He blinks at her, genuine confusion in his eyes. “Why are you… being so kind to me?”

Tatiana’s heart stops, and for a split second, she doesn’t see the stranger, this obviously foreign man. For a split second, she sees a sobbing little girl, thrown into the snow and abandoned. She sees someone who is starved of care, desperate for a warm touch, an ember of kindness, a flicker of love.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” this little girl had once asked a cleric.

She doesn’t see this man right now, no.

Tatiana sees herself.

“Oh, you sweet-” She eases him back down on the bed with gentle hands, uncomfortable with how familiar the heavy, sad look on his face is. She’s worn that expression so many times in her life. She looks into his face, smiles, and repeats what she has been told:

“I wasn’t aware kindness needed an explanation beyond itself,” she tells him with as much cheer as she can. “See, when someone is in trouble, you help them. I think that’s common decency.”

“But-” He turns his head on the pillows again, so guilty. “What am I to you but a stranger? Another gaping maw to feed?”

Tatiana frowns and crouches down by the bed. “You don’t worry about that. You’re a stranger, sure, but that doesn’t matter to me. You needed my help, so I’m giving it to you. And you can stay here for as long as you want, even after you get better. I mean, there’s chores to do: Floors to sweep, wood to chop.”

He doesn’t look entirely pleased with that.

Tatiana smiles, reaches up, and brushes the bangs out of his face. He leans into the touch, very subtly, but she knows. She knows he’s reaching for any trace of love and care. “But your only job right now is to heal. Okay?”

The stranger looks at her. “I still don’t understand.”

Of course you don’t, Tatiana wants to say. It’ll take time to understand kindness.

“I knew I couldn’t leave you,” she admits softly. “From the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-what?”

The darling man really knows nothing. He knows absolutely nothing about himself, or his pain, except that he has it.

Tatiana sighs and tries to find the proper words. “Well, I could tell you were hurting. And, um, not just on the surface.”

He makes another soft sound, pain-filled and tired, and she bites her tongue.

“Glugh! I’m sorry. I really need to stop laying on the misery!” Tatiana pulls her hand away and stands, turning to the table next to the bed to pour a glass of water. “But I am here to help you. I mean it.”

He stares at her as she moves, disbelief and hesitancy clear on his expression. She finds herself mad at whoever did this to him, whoever took this man and ripped him apart the way her father did to her every time he raised a hand to her. The way Nuibaba did when she took Maria away kicking and screaming.

Tatiana knows this man better than he knows himself, and it hurts so awfully.

“Lean on me,” Tatiana offers. She leans down and pulls the quilts around him again. “Okay? Lean on me, and let me be your crutch for as long as it takes.”

The stranger looks up at her once more before he drifts off to sleep, and he finally shows the vaguest trace of a smile as he says, “Thank you… Tatiana.”

He shuts his eyes, goes to sleep, and she takes her seat on the stool again, her own rest and relaxation forgotten. She’ll be by his side, protecting him, watching him, healing him.

Tatiana promises.

END