Page 22

The dawn bleeds silver against black stone. We make our way down a narrow mountain path, my boots finding purchase where Calliope's would slip. She sleeps against my chest, cradled there, breath coming in soft puffs that freeze in the bitter air. Her magic pulses erratically—sometimes a small storm, sometimes barely a whisper. The child grows stronger each day, while I know she grows weaker.

There is a war inside me, a conflict of such magnitude I have never had to weather before. But I do now. I know I have no choice.

I've carried her since sunrise. Since the night before that. Since she stumbled three days ago and could not rise again. The exhaustion that claims her now is deeper than mere physical fatigue—it roots in her bones, in her blood, in the very essence of what she is. What our child is making her become.

I do not resent our child. How could I? Already, I feel the kind of love for them I never thought I could be capable of, not before Calliope. Still, seeing her this way is unparalleled agony.

The path winds endlessly south. Jagged peaks loom on either side, their ancient faces scarred by wind and ice. Even my enhanced vision can barely pierce the pre-dawn gloom. But I know these mountains, know their moods and mercies. Know how they can kill.

At some point, Calliope stirs against me. The hours have been passing strangely, too fast and too slow all at once.

"Put me down," she mumbles. "I can walk."

"You can barely stand." The words come out harsher than intended. Smoke curls from between my teeth despite the bitter cold. "Save your strength."

"For what?" Her laugh is soft, humorless. "The next fight? The next storm? Your brother's next scheme?"

I say nothing. What can I say? That I would burn the world to keep her safe? That every step south feels like betrayal, leaving my kingdom vulnerable while I carry my pregnant wife through endless winter? That the fear of losing her again burns hotter than any dragon's flame?

Instead, I adjust my grip, pulling her closer against the wind that howls between peaks. Her skin feels too cool even through layers of fur and leather. The storm that has followed us for weeks has gentled somewhat, but the cold remains deadly.

"There's a sheltered valley ahead," I tell her. "We'll rest there. Find food."

She doesn't argue, which worries me more than her earlier protests. Through our bond, I feel her exhaustion like a physical weight. I feel each inch of pain her ordeal has left her bearing. I wish I could take it for her, take it from her.

The sun climbs higher as we descend, washing the snow in shades of rose and gold. The path widens slightly, allowing me to move faster. Every so often, Calliope's hand drifts to her swollen belly, a gesture that makes something twist painfully in my chest. How long before I can no longer hide her condition? How long before my enemies learn of this vulnerability?

Near midday, we reach the valley I remembered. Ancient pines crowd close here, their branches heavy with snow but offering some shelter from the wind. A stream still runs beneath thick ice, and I catch glimpses of fish moving in the clear water below.

I set Calliope down carefully in a hollow formed by massive tree roots. She leans back against ancient bark, eyes closed, breath shallow. The shadows beneath her eyes have deepened, and her cheekbones stand out too sharply in her pale face.

"Rest," I tell her. "I'll find food."

Her eyes flutter open. "Be careful."

The words catch me off guard; not a command or challenge, just simple concern. Like a wife worried for her husband. Like we're normal people who can afford such ordinary fears.

I touch her cheek briefly, savoring the trust in that small gesture. Then I move into the forest, tracking the scent of prey through snow-muffled silence.

The hunt is quick—these woods still hold game, sheltered from the worst of winter's fury. I return with two hares, already cleaned and ready for the fire I know she needs more than I do. My blood keeps me warm, but Calliope…

She's dozed off again, curled around her belly as if protecting our child even in sleep. I build the fire without waking her, positioning it to reflect heat off the stone outcropping behind us. The flames catch quickly, and soon the scent of cooking meat fills our small shelter.

"You remembered." Her voice startles me. I turn to find her watching through half-lidded eyes.

"Remembered what?"

"How I like them cooked. Not too rare." A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “Toward the end, you used to have the kitchen staff prepare them specially. I never asked you. But you knew."

The memory hits unexpectedly: Calliope in our chambers in Millrath, those days after we first started to see eye-to-eye when I was still learning her preferences, still trying to win her trust through small kindnesses even as I kept her chained. How young we both seem now, looking back. How foolish I was, thinking I could cage something as wild as her heart.

It was mere months ago, but it could be lifetimes away from us now.

"Here." I hand her a portion, carefully cooked through. "You need to keep up your strength."

She eats slowly but steadily, and I feel some of her exhaustion ease through our bond. The food seems to calm the magic within her, too—the air grows noticeably warmer around us, the endless winter relaxing its grip just slightly.

We rest through the afternoon, conserving energy for the journey ahead. I check her wounds; the spirit guardian's burn is healing slowly but cleanly, and no infection has set in. Small mercies.

The sun begins to set, again bathing the snow in shades of amber and rose. Calliope dozes against my chest, one hand resting over her belly. Through our bond, I feel the child's magic pulse in time with her heartbeat—a rhythm that both terrifies and awes me.

"Tell me about Millrath," she says suddenly, her voice soft in the gathering dark. "What I might find when we return."

If we return, her tone implies. If we survive this journey. If you don't lock me away again, and I can see the city, truly see it.

I choose my words carefully. "The Lords were circling when I left. Bellrose especially—they've always wanted the throne. But Darian will hold them off as long as he can."

"And if he can't?"

"Then we'll rebuild. Find somewhere to live on." The words come easier than I expected. "Whatever we find when we return—the kingdom, the castle, all of it—none of it matters as much as keeping you both safe."

I almost mean it. She can tell I’m lying, but she can also tell I wish I wasn’t.

She shifts to look up at me, firelight catching in her dark eyes. “You’re kinder than you used to be, Arvoren.” A simple sentence, rich with implication, rich with what she will not say.

I touch her cheek, marveling that I'm allowed this simple intimacy now. "I hope I am.”

When we make love that night, it is achingly slow and tender, not a frenzy of impossible passion and desire. I take my time, savoring every moment with her. Calliope's body is softer now, frail from all she went through but growing with pregnancy, a testament to the new life we've created between us. The life she has held, despite it all. Her skin feels like warm silk under my fingertips as I trail them along her curves, memorizing each dip and swell. I want to etch these contours into my very bones, never forgetting how she feels in this moment.

She undresses me just as unhurriedly, her fingers brushing against the rough fabric of my shirt before it pools at my feet. The chill air bites at our bare skin but we don't care; all that matters is the heat between us. Our breath mingles in the frigid air as our lips meet.

I go slow, exploring, considering. Calliope's lips part with a soft gasp as I trail kisses down her neck, savoring the quickening pulse beneath my lips. She arches into my touch, a quiet moan escaping her as I cup her fuller breasts. They're sensitive now, and I'm careful as I lavish attention on them with gentle caresses and feather-light kisses.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging me lower. I oblige, mapping the swell of her belly with reverent touches. I press a tender kiss there before continuing my journey downward.

Calliope's thighs part for me as I settle between them. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating.

“I love you,” I promise her. I’ve never meant anything more.

As I ravish her, she moans high in the back of her throat, head tipping back, legs shaking. I bring her to climax twice as her fingers thread gently through my hair, holding me as if she can't bear to think of me hurt, even now. Even despite everything.

As the last tremors of pleasure fade, Calliope's body relaxes against mine. I gather her close, cradling her head against my chest. Our skin is flushed and damp despite the chill air, a sheen of sweat glistening in the dying firelight. I pull the furs over us, cocooning us in warmth.

For a long while, we simply breathe together. I listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, feeling it slow in time with mine. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, following the lines of old scars and newer marks. The calluses on her hands catch slightly as they move, reminding me of all she's endured, all the strength that lies within her seemingly fragile form.

The sun sets fully, stars wheeling overhead in ancient patterns. Tomorrow we'll continue south, seeking paths through these treacherous peaks that might lead us home. But for now, in this moment, I hold everything that matters in my arms.

I press my lips to her hair and settle in to watch the night.