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James

In about an hour, it would all be over.

My fate would be decided.

I tried not to think about the possible consequences as our wagon trundled over packed earth, narrowly avoiding ruts and rabbit warrens. The reins were getting slick between my fingers, making control of the horses a chore. The closer we got to our destination, the more my heart began to throb in my ears.

"James?" The sweet voice came from my back and was accompanied by a warm touch on the shoulder. I glanced back, trying to give its owner due attention while keeping a wary eye on the road.

"Yes?"

Her fingers found a firmer hold on the ceremonial tunic I'd put on that morning. Under the cologne I'd put on after my bath, I could smell the reoccurring, sour hint of my own perspiration. Those fingers changed from comforting to playful in a span of heartbeats, tugging at my clothes.

Of course. She knew, better than anyone else, what my moods at any given moment were.

"Even if we're all dressed up, you're not going to your own funeral. So," and the material another gentle tug, "cheer up and smile. Mother won't want to see you so grim-faced."

"I'll try." I twisted more in my lover's direction and pasted on what I hoped was a convincing smile. I was never a very convincing liar, not even when I'd been a boy in my father's household and caught dead to rights with a nicked pastry or stolen sweet.

And naturally, she saw right through that as well.

"James." My name left her couched in a sigh. We were away from the men now; she could afford to drop formality. "Honestly, now. I've written so many letters to Mother about you that my fingers are permanently cramped. She's never written back to say that she's against our being together."

"Does she know, Aria?" I couldn't help the question, even as I knew the mere act of voicing it would hurt her. We'd never had reason to doubt one another, not through the beginning of our ill-advised affections, not through the forthcoming consequences that seemed inevitable.

Even if it meant one or both of our deaths, we'd promised one another we'd soldier through whatever came our way together.

"Yes." Aria's hand withdrew. It was beautiful, slender like the rest of her, with long tapered fingers that were as skilled with a blade as they were in the art of love. I felt like a cad, watching those pretty blue eyes fill with sadness. "I told her."

Yet I needed to press on. "And that didn't change her mind?"

"No." Her usual lisp was more pronounced with that answer, a clear sign of hurt beginning to carry irritation's edge. "She trusts me."

The color in her voice advertised her wish that I would do the same. I blew a sigh of my own out through my nose, reaching back for her hand. It wouldn't do to arrive at her mother's homestead bickering with one another about the status of our relationship.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to doubt you. It's simply that--."

"This is a big step for both of us," she finished. Her hand found mine and brushed it, sending a tingling warmth down the length of my arm. I couldn't stifle a soft sound as it traveled further south; it had been nearly a week since we'd last bedded together due to the presence of the rest of the Devlan army. To outsiders, we were merely a commander and his soldier, two professionals twined together in a business context.

If they knew that in reality, we were so much more...

"Mother's farm isn't far now." Aria interrupted my rumination by pointing down the road a ways with her free hand. "She'll probably have the roasted sun fish on the table by the time we arrive. And," she leaned in closer to press a kiss to the back of my ear, "she makes the best honeyed squash in all of Skylessia."

It was the kiss that decided me in dropping the matter for the time being. In the months since that first intimate dinner together in her personal apartments, I'd come to relish the little things she gave me, not just the feel of her entire body meshed against mine in passion, or when we were spent, but also in the warmth of her lips, the sound of her voice, the way our hands fit together when we joined them.

"In all of Skylessia?" I echoed. "That's a high and mighty claim."

"But true." Now her breasts pressed against my back. Her arms draped over my shoulders, coming around to fasten just below my neck. "You don't doubt my word, do you, Commander?"

It seemed she was just as eager to change the subject, or perhaps she wasn't fully conscious of her effect on me. "Never. Not when you put it so convincingly."

She caught my meaning and pressed closer, resting her chin in my hair. "Good. The last bend right before the farm is just ahead."

We stayed that way, clasped together until the farmhouse, a small dark speck in the distance, came into sight. Nestled in the trees, acres of seeded pumpkin patch stretched before it, offerings to the prairie dragons whose existence we were supposed to be celebrating. The event coincided with the yearly eclipse of the planet's twin moons, Quintosis and Urna, and feasting was always in order to give thanks for the past and hope for the future. In my father's household, we'd always had pumpkins to observe the combined event and in my travels I'd seen several farms that grew them, but Aria's family farm looked to boast especially large ones.

As we looked for a place to settle our wagon, Aria pulled away suddenly. "Marlow."

"Pardon?" I gave the reins a light tug to signal the horses to a stop. "Aria?"

"Marlow," she repeated. "My brother. He's out tending the fields. He must be running late this year in picking the offering for the prairie dragons."

"I thought all of your siblings left home." I saw him as she spoke of him, a dark figure stooped over the large orange crop. A small knife flashed in the dimming light as he severed several thick vines from their tops.

"They did, but Marlow is another story." Aria sounded distinctly uncomfortable. "I kept meaning to tell you about him, but I never found the time. Someone was always there to keep us from properly talking."

I felt my heart sink. Aria could throw herself into battle with a startling single-mindedness against those she considered her enemies, but when it came to her family, she sometimes had difficulty speaking up. Clearly, this Marlow was going to present conflict.

"Why didn't he leave home as well?" I asked.

As the wagon came to a full stop, Aria slipped down from the seat. "You'll see in a moment."

"Aria, wait--."

But she wasn't listening to me, striding over to the fields, lavender hair trailing behind her. Today, she'd chosen to wear it back in a bun piled high on her head, but small tendrils escaped to rest against her shoulders. She approached the young man and, rather than calling out to him, moved to tap his shoulder. He whirled, all sudden animal grace. His eyes widened when he saw it was she, and then he sheathed his knife to rise to his full height. Both were taller than me.

Hands lifted. I tensed, preparing to climb down from the wagon if needed. Just because they were related meant nothing if her family chose to sell our secrets to my father; my father, the tyrant who hunted me for what he saw as my betrayal of our homeland, who depended on Aria to deliver his wayward son back home to Devlan so punishment could be decided on and meted out.

Instead, I watched as fingers flew, made signs. Aria's mouth moved silently, forming words for her brother to read. He signed back, glancing over at me with eyes that were a darker blue than his sister's.

That one look alone told me that I wasn't in for a kind reception from all of Aria's kin.

Aria

"What is he doing here?" Marlow had always been blunt, but when he saw James, his signs cut through the air with anger. He'd always wanted to know everything going on with all of us, my brothers and I. Mother showed him all of the letters I sent, and I knew he wouldn't be very accepting of my having a strange man in my life.

I swallowed and tried to smooth things over. After all the trouble it took to convince James to meet my family in the first place, I couldn't have Marlow spoiling it.

"Mama told you he'd be coming." That had been our childhood name for her, and I hoped he would take her feelings into consideration before lashing out where she could see. "It's James, remember?"

"I remember." His expression let me know that he'd been stewing for weeks over it, too.

"He came with me to meet you and Mama for the holiday," I stressed as ice threaded through me. She would very likely be outside any time now. Although she loved us all, Marlow held a special place in her heart and always had. If something upset him, real or imagined, she would want to know why.

He narrowed his eyes at me, then leaned past me to rake James with his gaze. Standing on tiptoe, even as a man, wouldn't have allowed him a good view, and I felt the old familiar awkwardness of being one of the tallest in my family. For a moment, I feared he would challenge James then and there, but then he relaxed, sheathing the knife he'd been using to cut through the pumpkin vines.

"He looks weak," he signed, a small, gloomy smile pulling at the corner of one of his lips. "What do you see in him, Aria?"

An ember ignited in the pit of my stomach and flew up into my hands. In my anger, I forgot about maintaining the peace.

"Everything!" Memories of our time together, while our friendship was still young, too young for deep feelings, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the new recruits. He watched us all, circling and scrutinizing every gesture, making sure we'd drilled the new additions to the letter--had his eyes lingered on me more than the woman next to me? Was I imagining it?

Looking back, he'd spent more time with me than the others. I'd wanted to know why, and so, one night, against everything intelligent, against the sum of who we were, I'd invited him to my personal quarters in the city while we were both on leave.

Neither of us had regretted a second, and I was determined not to let doubt snag me now.

"Why must you make everything so difficult?" I let him know the extent of my displeasure, connecting one gesture to the next in a long string. Had I been speaking, I wouldn't have paused for breath. In the very least, the irritation kept away the cold feeling that there was a smattering of truth to James' misgivings in coming tonight.

Marlow went still, assessing."Do you need to ask such a silly question?"

"I do."

"Aria!"

Mother had a way of shouting so that her voice rolled across the fields like a wyvern's cry. Marlow caught my shift in attention and turned, dropping his hands and stuffing them into his pockets. I felt immediately foolish for playing into his hands and wished we were children again so that I could throw mud balls at his head with impunity.

"Is that really my little girl?" Her short figure, looking all the shorter now that I'd been away from home for so long a time, appeared over the hill, her skirts gathered in one weathered hand. More grey had appeared in her hair in my time away, more tan across her arms. Her skirt, embroidered in a similar way as my own, looked strange on her; my fondest memories of her always had her clothed in trousers.

"Yes, Mother." I tried to forget Marlow and take my own earlier advice, giving her a smile. "We made good time in spite of all the bumps in the road." Literally and figuratively speaking.

"Dinner is almost on the table." I could feel every bone in her hand when she grasped mine and gave it a squeeze. It was difficult for her to watch me leave home every time, the knowledge that I might never come home again somewhere in the back of her head. I squeezed back in silent reassurance. I _would_come home, and I'd never break her heart by going away forever as Father had.

Then her eyes lit on James.

"And this must be your beau!"

James colored. It was a trait that I found endearing, those small occasions when I could say or do just the right thing to bring it about, but now I hoped he didn't forget custom in the face of embarrassment. It wasn't common practice in the city for a man to kneel to a woman he'd just met and when I'd tried to explain our country ways, he'd looked puzzled at first. I knew Mother wouldn't judge him if he did forget, but Marlow wouldn't be so forgiving.

"Ms. Schezobraska." He reached for the small mat I'd presented him with that morning and spread it before him to kneel on so as not to dirty his good breeches. Relief spread over me. "Thank you for inviting me into your home. May the eclipse favor you in its wake."

"Oh my." I could see that Mother was trying not to laugh. "So formal. I guess I have to be as well." With that, she dipped into a demure curtsey.

Marlow snorted and trudged up the hill towards the farmhouse.

More blood crept up into James' cheeks. "If I gave offense--."

"No, no." Mother waved his apology away. "Please do rise. It's been rainy here of late and the groundwater will soak through that flimsy little mat if you stay on it any longer. And please, do call me Wisteria." She extended a hand. "I'll help you up."

"There's really no need, but thank you."

"Nonsense." Before he could argue any further, Mother had him by the wrist, hauling him to his feet to look at him from head to toe. James froze like a cornered buck at the point of a hunter's arrow.

Mother hummed. "You've made a fine choice, Aria. He looks as if he could father many children."

James made a choking sound.

"She's teasing you," I told him, walking over to put my arm through his. His steady heat radiated through me, comforting and close. "She doesn't mean any harm by it."

"It's a bit early for children," he managed. "Perhaps someday..."

"Sooner rather than later," Mother told him with a grin. "My beloved and I had two children by the time we were your age."

"She's exaggerating," I murmured, feeling my own cheeks heat. Suddenly, tantalizing him earlier, letting him know how much I desired to lay with him again and relive what we'd had in my apartments, had taken on a different and sobering context. My parents had indeed had children, but I had been the only one; Marlow came along two years later and more arrived in our wake. Being a soldier had put a halt to my plans of marrying as soon as my mother could find a family with a suitable living arrangement, and along with that, the start of an early family.

If something happens to either one of us...

Mother had heard me and mercifully broke off my trail of thought. "He wouldn't know that."

I shook myself back to the present and tried to lay my fear to rest. "I've told him about our family, Mother."

"Then he should know that we're not your average country bumpkins," she rejoined, winking. "Come, come inside. The sun fish skin should just be browning over the coals as we speak. I must say, I've been looking very forward to meeting you in the flesh, James." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I need to know the sort of future you'll be giving my little Aria."

James cast me a look.Help, it whispered.

"James and I are tired, Mother. We were hoping to go to bed as soon as the eclipse begins."

"Mm." More tapping. "I do suppose I need to give you time to begin making my first grandchild, after all."

"Mother!"

She picked up her pace at my scolding, disappearing from view and her laugh trailed back to meet us.

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat.

James

The smell of the baking sun fish was the first thing to hit my nose as soon as we entered the farmhouse to remove our shoes. Thankfully, the only light to be had was cast by the fires in the hearth and the wood stove. I was certain my face was still a brighter red than I'd thought possible. Her mother's acceptance was a step in the right direction, but all of that talk of grandchildren...

We were far from ready for such things.

"Sit. Dinner will be out in a few minutes," Aria's mother instructed. There was no sign of Marlow, and I forced myself to stop entertaining notions that he'd creep up behind my back for a surprised attack of some kind. Aria's arm was still hooked in mine, and I glanced over at her as she led me to her family's large dining room table. Tapers had been set in candlesticks, yet to be lit, and by the way they shone, they'd probably been hand-polished earlier in the day.

Every muscle in her face had tensed during our short walk in from the fields.

"Aria?" I pitched my voice for her ears alone. When she turned her head, I caught the ghost of worry in her eyes.

"Is something wrong?" I wanted to embrace her, cup her face and make whatever ailed her go away.

"No." She took a quiet breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm being silly, that's all."

That mystified me. "Silly about what? If your mother's teasing bothered you, I can have a word with her." As much as swallowing my heart back and confronting her would be difficult, I hated to see Aria in distress.

"It's nothing. Let's just enjoy dinner, please?" The look on her face asked me to once again let the matter rest. I bit my tongue, blowing out frustrated breath. Pushing her would do no good. Instead, I turned my attention to the woman at the woodstove, vowing to have a word with Aria as soon as we were alone.

"Ms. Schezo--Wisteria." Everything in my upbringing balked at calling an older adult by her first name. "Would you like some help with the dinner preparations?"

She turned and firelight played in the cracks and crevices of her weathered cheeks. "If you insist, good soldier. The arthritis in my hands is playing up." She looked nimble enough to me, skillfully opening the burners to add more kindling from the neighboring woodpile. "The eggplant is holding up the works now, but Aria loves it so."

"All right. What would you have me do?"

"Keep an old woman company while she cooks." Her grin was pure mischief. "Aria, please go help Marlow down in the root cellar, would you? He has trouble with carrying it all up at times and the potatoes need to come up for breakfast in the morning."

Aria was about to say something when her mother cast her a significant look. "Please, dear. I can't leave the stove."

"Yes, Mother." Her gaze caught me just long enough to tell me she didn't want to leave any more than I wanted her to go, but her mother obviously had matters she wanted to express to me alone. She turned and her footsteps died away, supplanted by the crackle of flames and a quiet, melodical hum from the woman at my side.

"I was concerned, you know, when Aria wrote to me with who you are." She didn't turn away from her tasks, her voice almost a sing-song as she continued to stir soup and flip meat. "I asked her if she couldn't catch the eye of one of the other young men there."

Twin emotions clashed in my chest. My pride stung, but worry was quick on its heels. Had she pretended to approve of us being together when the reality was far different? Had she feigned it all for her daughter's sake?

"She replied to me in a trice. Faster than I thought she would, and she even paid the courier the extra fee to have it express-delivered. She said that she would give up everything for you, and I don't doubt her word." Her soup spoon clanked against the sides of her pot and my heart picked up its pace again. Aria had expressed the same to me, but to hear it from her mother lent it a different sort of gravity. She'd thought things out past our passion, and wanted her relatives to know. "I want to be honest with you, James."

Oh, here it was. "Yes?" The word wanted to stick in my mouth and I feared it came out strangled.

"I married a soldier. He was very much the same way you are. Strong, handsome, a noble sort."

"I--I hope you don't mind my asking, but...where is he now?" Even the strictest platoon commander would give his men and women time off for the eclipse.

"I don't know, which is part of the problem. Wherever he was stationed, he would always send me a missive, but one day..." One hand fluttered up in the air in an empty gesture, "Nothing."

"So you haven't heard from him since?" I guessed.

"Not a word. I have no idea where he is or how he's doing. It's been two years since his last letter. The only thing letting me know that he's alive is the money he sends to support Marlow and I." She let that sentence hang between us for an aching pause.

I steeled myself and finally dared the question. "Then you're worried the same will one day happen to Aria?"

"Every mother would be."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I want you both to be happy while there's still time. My husband used to tell me stories when he came home on leave. I know time can be shorter than one anticipates at times. I told Aria when she first signed up for the military that things can be unpredictable, but I think she knew, watching her father. I tried to discuss it with her, but her mind was made up." She raised the soup spoon to her lips and took a sip. "In spite of that, I want you to know that you have my blessing in place of her father's, since this is my household now. But if your father comes looking for you, for her, all I can do is trust that you've both thought this through and will do the right thing."

"I would die for her," I said softly. "My father be damned."

She shook her silvery head. "Don't be careless. I know how young men can be. I don't want a corpse for a daughter, or a son-in-law." Her eyes met mine squarely. "Do you understand?"

"I--Yes."

"Good, then that clears one thing up." The sadness that had drifted into her demeanor while speaking of her missing husband smoothed away. She shifted to look at the stairway that led to the cellar. "They should be up in a minute. Could you take the eggplant for me when it comes out?"

At least she wasn't discussing children anymore. I nodded. The weight had begun to lift but wasn't gone; I still needed to ferret out exactly what was bothering Aria. "Gladly."

Aria

Marlow didn't need my help and threw me an annoyed gesture when he saw my shadow descending the stairs. I signed back that Mother wanted me to and he turned his back to open one of the burlap potato sacks, yanking the string away from the top harder than needed.

My thoughts were traitorous when I moved to help. The last thing I had wanted to do was worry James, but I couldn't help but think of what might happen if one of us was to fall on the field, if his father found out about our relationship. In the kitchen, I'd wanted nothing more than to confide in him, but the holiday was supposed to be a happy time.

Happy.

"A happy home is filled with many children." Mother liked repeating the old country adage while I'd been growing up, and I recalled the day I told her I'd be joining the military, leaving home to go on what I'd thought to be an adventure. The way her face went still, so still, the questions she'd asked, the talks we'd had.

I tried to open one of the closed potato sacks, but my fingers were clumsy. The murmuring of voices above my head told me that James and Mother were talking upstairs. I wasn't concerned about any lack of approval from her. The dust of potato dirt became the clouds of dust kicked up from boots, combined with the sour, metallic smell of spilled blood.

Open eyes I'd needed to close when one of my platoon had made the last sacrifice, sacrifices that were now growing in number now that his father hunted us. We hadn't thought when we'd made love that first night about all the implications our growing bond would have. Now those implications were coming home to roost.

Would I be closing his glassy, open eyes one day, or would he be closing mine? If I expressed my fears to him, would he feel that his love wasn't enough? His comfort to me in the past had been so great, but was I depending on it, on him, too much?

Marlow gave me a sharp tap on the shoulder. "Mother will want the potatoes up quickly," he signed, picking up a few and tucking them into the crook of an arm. I knew he was hoping to go back upstairs in time to see if James had done anything he could criticize him for.

"She's speaking to James upstairs." I look my time in gathering my own potatoes, trying to duck and avoid the hanging clusters of herbs and garlic heads from the rafters. "We can take our time."

"No, we can't. I'm hungry." He took a firmer hold on a few more dirt-caked vegetables, then turned on his heel to ascend the stairs. I stared after him in disbelief. When we'd been young, Mother had doted on him more than she had the rest of us, but I hadn't dreamed that he'd still be carrying on like a spoiled urchin. Worst of all, we were usually so close.

I made to bound up after him, barely catching the bottom hem of his tunic between my fingertips. He spun around, eyes balefully glittering in the dim light of the stairwell. He didn't need to sign for me to release him; that look had been followed by blows when we'd been younger.

Between the poor light and my armload, signing was awkward. I almost bumped my hands and elbows against the narrow walls. "What do you have against him, Marlow?" Some deep part of me, even while acknowledging my choice to remain with James as possibly suicidal, wouldn't let go of the prideful love for him that was so hot in my chest it nearly hurt.

"He took you away into some fantasy land." Marlow had a more difficult time than I did with his wider frame and more dramatic gestures. "Now you follow him like a lost puppy. I saw it."

"You know I'm anything but," I retorted. "If anything, he's made me stronger than I was before. We love each other and I know that bothers you. That isn't a fantasy."

Emotions I couldn't read worked over his features. There was an instant where I saw him for what he was, what he had been, what he would be. Tending the farm, taking care of Mother, those two things were all he had. The farmers were ill-inclined to offer their daughters to him in marriage out of concern that they would also be deaf and unable to speak. All his life, all he'd had was the farm and us. Until I'd joined the military, he'd had me as well.

I may have felt pity for him had he not decided to dash it to bits with his next comment.

"His father is a man of importance. If he's a military commander, it's because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Why can't you wake up? People have died because of the folly he's lead you into. The Kirwiches buried their son last season. Perhaps if you'd seen the funeral--."

"Enough, Marlow." My sharp, cutting gesture made his hands stop mid-sign. "I'll show you exactly what he's helped me become."

Defiance splashed across his expression and he shifted the potatoes from one arm to the other. "When?"

"After dinner."

He eyed me, probably to assess whether or not I was in jest. Then he favored my offer with a curt nod.

I tucked the potatoes away more securely for the trip back up, holding my aggravation with him close. I needed it to steel me past other, more turbulent emotions that threatened to well up.

In that way, I was almost thankful Marlow had taken it upon himself to be so difficult.

We ascended the rest of the way with no more exchanges.

The tapers had been lit by the time we came up. Jagged shards of brightness threw themselves against the kitchen walls, offset by our moving shadows. James was helping Mother with the small centerpiece she put together the morning of the eclipse every year, picking the most meaningful of the final wildflowers the season had to offer before the first winter frosts. Some blooms had worked their way loose from the rest of the arrangement and he was trying to push them back in without breaking the stems.

I knew all the flowers and their meanings well: lavender stalks, wisteria, jasmine, trillium. Devotion for the first, but distrust when used between enemies. A welcome of playfulness but endurance of lost love. Desire, love and beauty. And last but not least, innocence and purity.

It was a strange sight to be greeted with. The same man who wielded a sword with such skill, went astride his horse when it was time to lead the troops into battle, commanded them through thick and thin, was doing what many would have seen as a woman's mundane task.

Marlow scowled and dropped his potatoes off in the foyer before stalking past us.

I ignored him and turned to James, who continued his struggle with a stem of wisteria. As I looked on, the stem threatened to bend and behead the bright little flower. He swore softly.

"James Sromvoski. You'd use such language in front of ladies' ears?"

He turned bright red again at my chiding. "I apologize, but this--this flower--."

"You have to be gentle with them." I deposited my vegetables in the bin on top of the ones already there. "Here, let me see it."

Amusement danced in Mother's eyes when James stepped aside to leave me to it. "He was doing well until he heard you both coming up," she told me.

James gave her an uncertain smile. "I couldn't be sure. I've never worked with flower arrangements before."

"There's a first time for everything," I said. "Mother had me working on these from my seventh season onward."

"She caught on quickly," my parent remembered fondly. "Seven seasons and her arrangements were halfway near to being decent."

James' smile gained strength at that. "So a bit like her sword work, then."

I didn't shift my focus from the flowers. My feelings towards Marlow and his nonsense softened into a bittersweet joy at seeing my lover try to integrate with my family. How many more moments would we have like this? I wanted to stretch this one for as long as it would last. "You know the old saying, 'a student is only as good as her teacher'?"

"Oh, so are you saying James' sword play had something to be desired?" my mother asked.

"In some respects." I poked a shoot of lavender back into place.

There was a pause from Mother's end of the kitchen. "Are we discussing the sort of sword that exists inside the bedroom or out?"

I choked and James turned a violent shade that could have made the flowers envious.

"Seeing that sort of reaction is one of the perks of getting on in years," she said, pleased with herself. "You can say whatever comes to mind and everyone will wonder if it's a whim or the oncoming senility speaking. Well," and she clapped her hands, "let's get the food off of the stove and into our bellies. I'll go find your brother."

"I'll help with the food," I offered.

"No, you sit. I have two strapping lads in the house. They can carry the platters and soup pot. I'll be right back."

She made her exit, leaving us both flustered yet again.

When she didn't return immediately with my brother in tow, James broke the silence. "Your mother and I talked."

My heart fluttered. I hoped she hadn't been as teasing with him privately as she was when we were both together. "About what?"

"Our future."

"And more about grandchildren?"

"No." James gave me a small smile. "Surprisingly. She granted us her blessing, but said we should be careful, that your father was--is--a soldier and he...I'm sorry. It really isn't my place to start talking about your family's business."

"It's all right." I made a gesture of dismissal. "I'm not worried about that so much as I am about Marlow. He said that one of our neighbors buried a son recently, and he--he thinks we're making a mistake."

"And what about you?" James' question was soft. "Are you beginning to feel the same way?"

I couldn't lie to him. "I've--been thinking about the more practical aspects of things recently. About the people who have died because of your father."

He shook his head. A thatch of brown fringe fell across his brow. I quelled the instinct to smooth it away as I had done many times before.

Hands found my shoulders. They were warm, firm and grounding, reminding me of the night they'd explored my each aspect and wrenched feelings from me that I had never thought it possible to experience.

The hurt that radiated from him almost broke my heart.

"If you think this is a mistake, Aria---."

"I do, and I don't." I reached up to hold his arms. "I love you, but this is something we really need to think through."

He released a pent-up breath. "And to think that I was the one that started out tonight being pensive."

"I'm sorry. It's just, the more I think, the more Marlow keeps pointing out the things we didn't consider and the more Mother talks of children, the more I think them over. I told you, I'm being silly."

"It isn't so silly when it's right to take them into consideration." He squeezed my shoulders. His pain was still there, but less of a thick blanket around us. "I may have to have a chat with Marlow later on. What's sign language for, "stop making someone I love worry so much?"'

It was my turn to smile. "I don't think he'll heed you if he doesn't respect you. I told him I'll be showing him exactly what you've helped me become."

His brows lifted. "Oh?"

"After dinner, we'll do some sparring. There are wooden practice swords in the cellar. Marlow likes to use them sometimes to complement his practicing with staves."

"Won't it be too dark with the eclipse coming on?"

"We'll not be long with it," I replied. "It could be that I lost my temper with him, but I don't want my brother thinking he can push us both around by being petulant."

"And if you have doubts about what we're doing, you'd rather have them be your own than someone else's?" he guessed.

My throat seemed to grow thick. Words rose up inside, froze and stuck. "I--."

"Found him!" Naturally, Mother made her entrance then, Marlow sulking a few steps behind her. "He was in his bedroom, sitting on the bed as if someone threatened to take away his best friend." She must have signed as much to him earlier, for Marlow's face showed darker storm clouds than before he'd gone.

"Right. So, with that done, let's get everything to the table. We have about two hours until the big event. James, Marlow, come help me with the cookery. I'm starving and as my children can tell you, I'm grumpy when I get too hungry."

I realized James hadn't detached from me when they'd come in, but at the prompting, he went to go assist.

The skin under my clothing felt colder without him there.

James

Aria's revelation was worse than a sword to the gut. Many times, I'd read and heard stories of torture, of soldiers captured by the enemy and subjected to acts that defied imagination. They would return home with shattered bodies and minds, never able to enjoy life properly again, let alone hold a weapon.

I'd been fortunate never to know that pain. Yet, in many respects, what I was now experiencing was worse. Somewhere, some private part of my mind knew that her fears were justified, that her brother was right. Immature though it was, I speared him with a dirty look when we helped carry the soup pot to the table.

It was a look he returned with a heaping measure of added hate.

His mother seemed to be oblivious. "Right there, lads, there you go. I'll get the sun fish. Sit while I serve."

Marlow scraped his chair at the head of the table back, a seat I suspected that his father had once occupied. I found mine next to Aria and slipped my hand under the table to hold hers. Her fingers brushed against mine, feather-light. Her heart wasn't in it.

I swallowed mine back. I feared that if I ate now, I'd be ill and insult her mother's efforts. She'd started to hum again and continued to do so as she scraped enormous fillets of sun fish from the oven to serve. The golden-baked flatbreads would be next, followed by roasted wedges of fruit, heaping bowls of rice, butter and cheese. The steam coming from the various dishes smelled of rich herbs. Chunks of tomato bobbed with potatoes in the soup broth. It was perfection on a plate.

I may have been looking forward to it if my world suddenly didn't seem bleaker.

Aria wasn't looking at me. I trapped her hand in mine to smooth my palm over her knuckles. She didn't react, not when her mother finished to sit down at the other end of the table and raise her hands in the traditional blessing.

"You know what? No, wait. James is our guest and he should be the one to give thanks this year." Her hands moved to sign with what she was saying for her son's benefit. He leaned back in his chair, exaggerating an expression of confusion and disgust.

He signed something back.

"No," Ms. Schezobraska--I couldn't think of her as anything else--signed with her reply. "It was your turn last--Yes, you did a beautiful job, but I'm letting James act as man of the house this year."

Marlow's hate verged on becoming palpable. He crossed his arms to stare his mother down.

"Don't you give me that look." Her lips went from twisting in dislike of his behavior to a pleasant smile. "James, lead us, please."

My lungs decided to compete with my heart to be the first internal organ to burst from stress. I opened my mouth and words refused to come.

Aria's fingertip brushed the inside of my wrist, her wordless way of trying to encourage me. I gathered up more breath.

"We all have much to be thankful for this year," I started. I could handle rousing speeches to my men before a large skirmish, when the adrenaline pumped and passions were at their height, but apart from being with Aria, speeches in more intimate settings stymied me.

"We have our health." My eyes found the wall to avoid any possible scrutinizing stares and with it, the small painting of a grizzled man. Trouble seemed to sit on his brow; grey eyes stabbed through whoever looked upon him. His moustache was pointed at the ends in following with the country's fashion. Feeling uncomfortable, I rambled on. "We have one another, and the love that we share between us." I glanced over to my side. Aria's smile wasn't in full flower, but it was enough to spur me on.

"A love that I hope shall continue to grow with the passage of time."

If you'll continue to have me, Aria.

"Don't forget to be thankful for new people in your life as well," Aria's mother broke in.

"And that as well," I finished.

The older woman ended the blessing with a clap of her hands. Bowls started to be passed around. I took more eggplant than I should have and hoped no one would notice when I pushed it around on my plate. Our wooden utensils sliced and raised pieces of sun fish to mouths. I stopped midway in raising mine to notice that the craftsmanship was far better than the usual fare I'd seen offered in the markets. I suspected someone sitting at the table had been responsible for shaping them.

I chewed and swallowed. It was difficult to register much about the food beyond the fact that I wasn't becoming ill with each successive bite. Aria tried to cook, but her last attempt, something she claimed to be curried bananas with caramelized sardines in lima bean sauce, had been enough to send me running to the latrine for three days. After that, salads became my mainstay.

I was unaware of the passage of time until a fork came to rest on the edge of a plate.

"Mother?" Breaking the silence our eating had caused, Aria's bid for attention was accompanied by her sitting up straighter and squaring her shoulders. "James and I have something to show you after dinner."

Ms. Schezobraska's forkful of eggplant paused halfway to her lips. "And what might that be?"

"We're going to demonstrate some swordplay." She too signed for Marlow's benefit. "We'll clean the dishes and pots and use the practice swords downstairs."

The other woman's eyes shifted from her daughter to her son; she'd rightly cottoned on that he'd had something to do with this abrupt want to demonstrate our skills. She finished her bite, went for the linen napkin in her lap, and dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

"Just remember that you haven't much time before it will get too dark for anyone to see much of anything," she cautioned. "Those practice swords haven't seen regular use by anyone but Marlow for years." Her gaze came to sit on me. "Watch for splinters before you take them up from the cellar."

Aria nodded. I could feel Marlow's attentions again and I didn't need to look up to see him glowering yet again. If this was what Aria needed to do to gain her sibling's admiration, I wasn't going to find the will to protest.

The rest of dinner finished in relative quiet. Requests for butter were made while sun fish was passed around, but Ms. Schezobraska made no further jokes. Marlow took to shoveling his food.

He was eager for us to begin.

Aria lapsed into another disconcerting period of silence. My efforts to make small talk and hold her hand yielded nothing. It continued as we took our plates and utensils to the sink, took buckets, and drew water from the pump to wash them in. It dragged when we took our hands, pruney from being in the water for so long, and hastily dried them so that we could descend the dank stairs to the storage area under the house.

Aria studied the hunks of wood propped against one of the walls, testing them by lifting them to feel their weight. One was held out to me and she took another for herself. Holding them was different from taking up the genuine steel article, but they worked well enough for those who were new to the sword or those who wished to hone their skills without grievously wounding a sparring partner. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, half-expecting to find some hidden splinter and tightening more when I discerned that it was smoothed down from repeated use.

We ascended the stairs, she ahead of me. Her shoulders were back as they'd been at the table. Had I been able to see her eyes, they would have doubtlessly held the glitter of a challenge to them. I was surprised to see that the dishes were already dried and the leftovers had been spelled not to spoil in their ice box for the next few days when we reached the top, and Marlow was already holding the door open for his mother.

She saw us come back. "I've heard it said by some that a man and woman who spar together unconsciously show the world how well they work together in other fashions. I wonder if that will also hold true for you?"

If her tone was any indication, she was thinking again of her husband. I imagined her much younger and in love, moving in circles around and testing the guard of the man she would marry with wooden sword in hand. In my mind's eye, the wrinkles and greying hair faded, replaced by a countenance that resembled her child's.

The light was already fading when we stepped outside. Thick shadows tagged and melded into one another in the trenches and dips of landscape. The air felt heavier than it had in previous years. Birds didn't sing from the treetops or take wing in the sky. Rabbits weren't taking advantage of overlooked crops.

The dragons would be here soon.

We proceeded a safe distance away from the house to give ourselves room. A real sword fight, by its nature, was designed to be to the death and therefore faster than eyes could follow, but we took our time to stretch muscles cramped from sitting and to practice some sword forms alone before we joined to test one another.

Aria's mother and brother stood outside of our imaginary perimeter to watch.

I went through my last form, cutting the air in timed, precise strokes. "Are you ready?" I asked of Aria.

She readied her weapon and gave me a small nod. "Whenever you are."

We advanced on one another, meeting in the middle. Immediately, years of training took over and she was no longer the woman I loved, but a soldier sent to end my life at the behest of her superiors.

I acted accordingly.

When she began to circle, looking for openings to attack, I paid careful attention to every subtle advertisement her muscles and expression made. She'd never been one to keep a completely straight face, telegraphing her strategies. I'd told her time and time again to be cautious, that if I could read her, my father's more loyal men would have no trouble, but the flaw seemed to be hewn into her very fabric.

She lunged, giving me more than ample opportunity to dodge. Wind whistled past my ear with her missed attack. I aimed for her open flank, moving closer to take advantage of her distraction to deliver my counter.

That fast, her sword was up, parrying my attempt and bending my wrist at an awkward enough angle that tingles of warning shot up my arm. I stepped back to break her hold, hoping the ground wasn't as uneven here as it had been in the road. Although my footing remained firm, Aria pressed me, hemming me in and making maneuvering difficult.

I'd taught her well. Perhaps, I thought grimly as another parry radiated through my arm, I did a little too well.

It didn't help matters that the exercise brought the color to her cheeks and teased more hair loose from her bun. I had to shift my footwork when she took notice of my distraction and tried to make me pay for it. I narrowly avoided what would have been a fatal slice to the leg if our weapons had any bite before pushing her back with a thrust.

"It looks as if you're losing, James," her mother called from the sidelines.

My teeth clamped together as my fantasy of fighting a nemesis fully evaporated. It hadn't been my original intention to throw the fight, but at the same time, she had told her brother that she intended to show him what I'd taught her. If I pushed too hard and disarmed her, Marlow would likely think me a bully. If I lost, his respect for me would further plummet.

I redoubled my efforts, but I was unused to drawn out affairs in front of family, and my sense of honor won out.

Better a bully than lost respect from someone whose opinion was fickle.

I turned to the side a little too late to avoid feeling the prod of the false blade in my ribs. Sweat had already begun to bead under my tunic and I plucked at the fabric, stepping back to catch my breath.

"Well played," I praised her. Aria smoothed a strand of escaped hair back behind an ear and lowered her sword.

"You allowed me to win," she accused. "Don't deny it."

My mouth had another fruitless affair with speech. "I didn't think--."

Her brother signed something from his place in the grass.

"Let's try it again." Her sword came up. Past it, her eyes became as piercing as those of the man in the painting, hardened to brook none of my arguments.

She wouldn't allow for leniency.

We met again in the center of our circle, and this time, we uncorked all of our passion. Each blow was precise and by the book, the sounds of blades meeting and our cries swallowed by the wordless sentinels of trees and earth. Each piece of footwork was designed to mimic what would have been done in battle. Aria was panting by the time I cornered her near a tree. Her resulting stab would have laid my arm open to the bone. With every attack she cried out, pouring the strength I admired into it. I scored a few hits of my own, but they wouldn't have been enough to fell an opponent.

While the fire in my belly proved eager, my flesh's weariness at last won out. Her sword found me again, adding another bruise to my chest, and I allowed my weapon to drop from a throbbing hand. On the other side of the weapon, her face was beet-hued, dew-dropped with perspiration.

She was fiercely beautiful. If not for the situation and her family being present, I would have asked if she wanted to retire to our personal quarters together then and there. Only a chill of warning, that telling me that her doubts were in equal measure with her passion for me, stayed my tongue.

Aria heaved out a breath, turning her back to me to place her weapon against the tree. "Thank you," she got out.

I kenned her meaning, but could only reply with a strained, "You're welcome."

"That was very impressive." I flushed again. Her mother's staccato claps sounded unnatural in so still a place. "Shall we have some leftover roasted fruit? I'll skim some cream off the top of the milk containers and whip it."

"Just a moment." I strode across the grounds to the pump and tried the handle a few times. Water gushed out and I cupped my hand under the spout. I needed to wash the grime from my face and hands and, my hostess permitting, find a tub to bathe in before we ate again or bedded down.

I'd just splashed a second handful of water on my face when I felt the tap on my shoulder.

I straightened up, tense and ready for confrontation.

It was Marlow. His brooding stare suggested he hadn't been at all impressed with our demonstration. Part of me wished he would simply strike me already so I had grounds for retribution. "Yes?" I hoped he could read lips.

His hands flashed in a quick sign. His mouth worked in the shape of words.

"Pardon?" Not being his relative, I was at a loss for how to interpret him.

He began to repeat himself, but Aria appeared, wiping her brow. She'd likely wanted to use the pump after me. The first few signs Marlow made gave her pause. Her face darkened.

"He said he would like to spar you as well. And," she waited while he signed more, "he doesn't expect you to throw another fight like a coward just because he can't hear or speak. He says he's more than able to be a man when it counts."

The food in my stomach began a slow boil. I'd been told I was graced with the gift of a slow-rising temper, but once its fuse was lit, it burned hotly. "If he thinks he can keep up with me, he's welcome to try and best me."

Aria relayed my message. Again, Marlow signed back.

"He says he's ready whenever you are."

Aria

I translated for my brother even while my anger at him again threatened to resurface. Dread danced with it like a mistress. Marlow could never have been accepted into the military, but that didn't mean he had no experience with fighting. Thieves weren't uncommon to the area. Our farm was ripe for the picking when news traveled that no one but an old woman and a deaf-mute lived there. I remembered very vividly the evening I'd been sixteen years old and Father had been away--the commotion, the shouting. Two men fled together, holding sacks filled with a good portion of our summer harvest.

I'd risen from bed to take up my sword, blundering over my own feet in the dark, my nightclothes tangling around my legs. I knew even as I tried that I would never reach them in time to stop them. My other siblings had taken an overnight journey into town to buy supplies. Mother, laying in the back room, would be the last to make it outside and even then age was beginning to reap its own harvest upon her.

I'd hardly made it four steps into the night when the plunders' cries turned from yells of triumph to dismay. My brother was a viper, twisting here, appearing there. He'd ambushed them from the shadows of the barn. The crack of his stave finding skulls and breaking bone lived fresh again in my memories while I watched James return to the circle we'd just vacated.

I hoped he didn't underestimate Marlow.

I made rushed work of washing the sheen sparring had left on my cheeks and hurried to join them. I would step in to put a stop to things if they got out of control. Another hope that I wouldn't have to do one or both of their heads in to get them to desist joined the first. I still needed to have a word with James for trying to bow out of his sparring with me.

Mother beckoned to me from her place on the grass. The way she sat and winced, the arthritis that had started to creep into her joints must have been bothering her.

"I had a feeling he might do this," she confided in me, her voice pitched only for my ears.

I remained standing. They were gauging one another, comparing height, strength, speed. One could strike out at the other in a flash.

"Why didn't you stop him?" My vexation leaked over. Marlow may not have listened to her, but the effort would have been appreciated. "His jealousy is beginning to wear thin."

"Your James is a big boy." Mother canted her head at me. Her sideways glances were familiar; she always caught me in one when she thought I should know better. "Marlow needs to do this for himself just as much as he needs to respect your choice in future husband."

I wanted to bite my tongue in twain. She was right, I realized. Mothers so often were, but... "Couldn't he have waited until the eclipse was over? This is still a holiday."

She clucked her tongue. "You know your brother. Once he has something in his head and his mind's made up, watch out."

The first strike rang like a backfired spell. My head jerked away sharply from Mother in time to see that Marlow had gone first, trying to catch James in the stomach with the tip of his stave. I recognized his handiwork in its carving--he must have been whittling away in what little free time he had to craft it. The end he'd thrust at James also appeared to have a small point to it, made for inflicting punctures and cuts.

Tension traveled across James' face. He must have been expecting the lighter, testing blows that were simply the nature of sparring. Marlow had no interest in etiquette. Thankfully, it put my lover on his guard. His steps became measured as they had with me. He minded the terrain, feinted strikes to try and break Marlow's guard. My sibling was having none of it, retreating when James tried to bring him to heel. He wasn't falling for James' false attempts into having him believe he was dropping his own defenses, either.

It took several minutes before he finally found a hole in James' guard. Then he was fast, jabbing the stave home into James' midsection. The blow was enough to crumple any man.

My muscles locked.

"Aria." My mother's fingers wound through the fabric of my dress hem. "Leave them be."

James was on his knees, holding the place where my brother had been cruel. His eyes were glazed and the breath wheezed out of him.

Feeling his point was made, Marlow didn't move to hit him again.

"He's injured, Mother. Marlow struck him too hard," I argued. "I can't just let him stay out there on his knees like a whipped--."

My sentence got no farther. James gained his feet, shuddering as what had to be agony spread through him. Things happened quickly after that, too quickly. While Marlow was being too rough for a normal sparring session, he hadn't crossed over into inflicting permanent harm. Nevertheless, James' patience with him must have torn, for he threw his sword aside. His body was a blur of color, his battle cry laced with rage, and then he was on Marlow, to tackle him about the waist.

Both fell as one. I heard bones impact on impartial earth.

"James!" My cry joined his without thought. They grunted and twisted, covering their holiday garb with soil. Both paid me no heed. Arms rose up from the tangle to punch, bruise and batter. Strangled sounds emerged. I couldn't see who was bearing the brunt of the fray. Mother continued to hold me in place, her expression fixed into an emotionless mask.

"Let me go!" I tried to pry her fingers loose but she was a gnarled tree root. Splashes of red lent color to the dirt and blades of dislodged grass. Blood had been drawn and when James broke free of Marlow's attempts to strike, I saw his nose was a morbid fountain of it. Under him, Marlow fared no better. One eye was swelling shut, colored with the promise of a bruise that could put our eggplants to shame.

James' fist wound into Marlow's tunic, lifting his head up. "Do you yield?" His voice had dropped into a growl. My pulse fluttered.

I half-expected another defiant act from Marlow--spitting in James' face perhaps, or shaking his head no. Rather than that, I saw him look away from James' raking gaze.

He kept his hands relaxed at his sides, a gesture of surrender. James released him, making a gesture of dislike that while not vulgar, was universally understood.

Marlow's head found the earth again in defeat. He lay still for a long moment before sitting up to wipe blood from a split lip. My love for Marlow hadn't changed, but in this situation, I had little sympathy for him. I'd never asked for his protection, family or no.

My love picked his sword up with an annoyed flourish and turned in the direction of the farm house. From where I was standing, I could hear him whispering curses.

Mother detached herself from me to assist Marlow. I broke into a jog to catch up to James. "Wait!"

He hardly gave pause. His shoulders and back reminded me of a bowstring, tight and ready to punish. "Yes?" The answer was thick with blood.

"Your nose."

His hand was to it. Crimson seeped between his fingers. "It will heal. I'll just need a washcloth." He shook his head in disgust. "You and your mother have my regret as witnesses to my losing my temper, but he didn't need to bruise me to the extent that I'll feel it for weeks."

"I'm certain he'll be sorry for being rash later," I half-lied. I didn't think Marlow had designs on expressing any such thing. James wrenched the farmhouse door open, then remembering that I was behind him, held it for me. I gave him a distracted thanks and slipped past him to the wash room. The copper tub sat on clawed feet in the corner, waiting for its next use in the kitchen when the water was heated and the weekly bath was taken. A basin was next to that, a cloth hanging over the edge.

I walked in and peered inside. The basin water against my fingertip was cool, drawn from our pump earlier that day. Mother was fanatical about changing it so it could be fresh every morning. I dipped the damp cloth in, soaking before wringing out the excess. Small bottles of healing herbs were kept in the small cupboard off to one side and I automatically reached for the first few in the front. Mother was never one to stray from predictability in that regard.

James tried to take the cloth from my hand when he came in. "I can do it."

It was his way of shunting me aside in light of our earlier unease. I wouldn't permit it. "No, you're bleeding too badly. Sit."

My command inspired a measured look, but he obliged me by taking a precarious seat at the edge of the tub. I was left to position myself in an awkward half-crouch in order to clean his face.

He hissed at my first touch. The bruising under my fingertips would be as bad as Marlow's within the passage of a few hours. I tried to tread with care. Outside, the eclipse was beginning, the first hints of a blackness darker than night pushing its fingers through the washroom windows.

It made the quiet between us like a funeral shroud.

"I'm sorry. Is that better?" I had to speak to rip it aside.

"Somewhat. It's still going to be sore." James tone turned wry. "Your brother has a mean right hook."

"Past experience has been a good teacher." I dabbed away a patch of drying blood. The cloth was changing into a rusty rag. "The village boys used to pick on him and one day, he lost his temper with one of them."

He winced. "The poor fool has my pity."

I hummed agreement. "He gave him a good beating."

I'd just started to clean his upper lip when his clean--cleaner--hand found mine. "May we talk now? It's private enough." There was no sign of my family. Mother must have been discussing things with Marlow.

I knew very well what he wanted to discuss, but decided to stall for time. "About what? Your throwing that sparring match?"

His hand stayed where it was. "That was wrong of me, I will admit. I just--I had a hard time with trying to balance the fight with how your family--your brother--would take it."

"He knows I'm more than capable." I tried to gently work my hand free. "I'd like to finish your face before it becomes too dark to see. And you may want to wash your hands."

"Along with the rest of my clothes." He started to smile, but it ran from his face almost as soon as it began. "I..." His lungs looked for air. "I wanted to ask if you still wanted me."

That expelled the air from mine. "I--Yes. But I--when Mother brought up our future and children..."

"You wondered if one or both of us may die before we see any of our own," he finished for me.

I could feel the underpinnings of the dam I'd built up start to give way. My throat felt raw.

"Yes. I keep asking myself if we thought this through well enough, if it isn't selfish in some ways to be together when your father is looking for us."

My own heart pulsed in my ears for what seemed an eternity before his answer broke through.

"I'd be a cad if I said we weren't acting in our own interests now. But," his grip tightened, "what choice in the world isn't selfish, Aria? Are there choices we can make in life that don't hurt other people in some way?"

In my mind's eye, I saw my younger self waving goodbye to my mother from the seat of the wagon that would take me to the military outpost and a new life. I'd been nothing but a naïve little girl in many respects. I thought again of how worried my mother must have been, sitting up nights waiting for news that I was gone. Marlow, too.

Perhaps I still in many ways still a child. I looked down to the cloth. It was a safe thing to consider and would soon need to be washed if I was going to finish my task.

"The people that died, that will die, they didn't choose to do it because we chose to--to be together," I whispered.

"They chose to follow us into battle." James' fingers stroked my knuckles. "They knew when they took up the sword that dying by one was a real possibility. For some of them, even a probability."

A few faces that would never fall into line again lived again briefly in my head. "But are we condemning more of them to death by courting your father's anger?"

"My father would find any excuse he could to kill people," James told me softly. "He never cared for anyone but himself. When I was a boy, he pushed me to be the best I could be, but not because he loved me in a way normal people can understand. He wanted a son who could take up where he left off."

A chill ran the length of my spine. The hangings I'd once seen in one of the smaller town squares had all been in the name of James' father, all triggered because one of the fruit merchants suggested that the man do things a different way. Not only had they put a noose around his neck, they'd found and done the same to his wife and young daughter.

"Then what you're telling me is that it doesn't matter what we do or don't do. Your father would still find a way to slaughter innocent people."

"Not at all. I'm telling you that it's in his nature to be a brute. I'd love nothing more than to live long enough to see the day he comes to justice for everything he's done. But in the meantime," his hand slid from mine and a fingertip tipped my chin up to meet his eyes, "I want to stay with the woman I love. Even if she decides that staying with me isn't something she wants to risk for herself, I doubt I'll ever stop feeling that way."

Coming from other men, I may have scoffed. Coming from James, I believed every word.

My chest tightened. "I don't want to lose you, but I want to avoid leading people into a bloodbath if I can help it."

"If something happens to them, it's because I've failed them, not you."

"I helped in failing them," I insisted.

His touch traveled up and brushed the curve of one of my cheekbones. "You really should listen to your commander just this once. I swear to you that I'll do my best, and if you keep letting negative thoughts rule you, you'll unravel before we ever end my father's nonsense."

There was an intimacy to the contact that sparked the fire I'd tried to quench since earlier that day. I wanted more, much more. For all the times he'd been thick or indecisive, he'd more than made up for it by being so kind and patient with me.

"Please let me finish with your face," I requested. We both heard the husky note at the end. His smile came back, full and genuine for the first time in hours. "I'm sorry that I hurt you by doubting. I told you, I was being silly."

"I wouldn't have you any other way." He allowed me to get up and rinse the cloth out, then return and do away with the worst of the dried mess on his face. I was just about to finish when an idea crossed my mind and I rose one final time to clean the material out.

I came back to his puzzled expression. "What are you--?"

"I missed a few spots." I knelt again and this time, the edge of it traveled down the length of his neck to the shadowy valley where his rumpled tunic hid his flesh from view. His pulse seemed to speed suddenly under me and the cool water warmed to his temperature.

He made a soft sound when I grazed his collarbone and made no move to stop me when I opened the laces. I continued to travel down.

"Aria--."

"You're still dirty," I murmured. His skin was so pale in what small amount of light we had. I pressed my lips to his neck and was rewarded when his hands moved to do away with what remained of my bun. The tip of my tongue traveled over the places where I'd cleaned, ending by tracing his lips. He inhaled sharply. I wouldn't have called myself a coy woman by nature, but things with James had always been different. Our first night together had brought sides out in both of us that we didn't know we possessed. I was moving faster than usual, taking the initiative. In light of all the uncertainty and stress, he was my rock. I needed his stability.

"Shouldn't we take this to a more private location?" he asked against my mouth. I broke away, feeling my face heat.

"I forgot for a moment that we're not in my apartments." I really did feel silly at that, but he didn't seem to mind, taking my hand to help me up. He held me to him, resting his face between my neck and shoulder.

"Don't do this because you want to make anything up to me," he said into my ear.

"I'm doing it because I love you," I countered.

He kissed my shoulder, pressing closer. "Good." His warmth traveled into me but he made no further moves, just holding me to him to take in the scent of my hair. I basked in the attention, in him. He finally pulled away, giving me a feather-light kiss.

"Shall we? Your mother did mention wanting that grandchild." Alone with me, he could be more at ease with such notions. I laughed. There would be no grandchildren made that night as I'd been too careful in taking the herbs that prevented childbirth and he knew that, but that didn't mean I wouldn't appreciate his efforts.

I took his hand, and we retired to my former bedroom.

***

We sought one anothers' flesh in the shadows by the time we'd managed to close the door behind us and throw the bolt. In the shelter of privacy, James' kisses began again in true earnest. I tipped my head back as we pressed close to one another, my heart hammering in time to his. His mouth was hot as it licked and kissed parallel lines down the sides of my neck and up to an earlobe.

"Please," I gasped, squirming. I tried to find his hands again and lead them, but he slid them out of reach, finding the round swells of my breasts under the fancy holiday dress. I could feel my body respond as his callused palms travel over my hardening nipples.

"Wait," he whispered. He smelled like the places flowers bloomed mixed with the tangier scent of horse. "Please wait. I want to enjoy you." His second round of kisses lingered longer than the last. "Please, Aria."

I hissed something that passed as consent. His hands moved around to the back of my shoulders. Cool air skimmed across and I felt the buttons loosen.

"You're beautiful," he added, backing away from me a step. The space between us felt more like a gulf and I reached for him.

"Don't tease."

"I'd never." He leaned in, guiding me to the bed at our backs. I sat, then laid back when he came close, opening myself to him. Although I was still clothed, he found ways to please me, putting his weight on top of mine long enough to allow me to feel the fruits of my labor. I arched against him.

"Yes, you would." James knew that I enjoyed him with clothing in place almost as much as when it was entirely absent and he moved back long enough to lift my skirts so he could place himself just so.

"You can hardly blame me. When I'm with you--."

I didn't need to feign another gasp when he rocked slowly and with care against me. I wrapped my legs about him, trying to pull him closer. He seemed a different person in the golden flame of the candle we'd lit before locking the door, chivalry gone and replaced with need. But then, most people had such needs.

I could feel the beat of his heart in his most sensitive of places. He shifted, finding a new angle to move against me while his mouth found mine again. I responded in kind, working my hips against his. He ended the kiss with the same care he took in pleasuring me, then leaned up again, all glazed eyes and tousled hair.

"I want to make you happy," he told me. His hands were clumsy when they untied my laces, parting material to fall on either side of my chest. His eyes glanced down at the valley between my breasts then back up to my face. "Here and now, and for the rest of our lives."

I must have looked a mess, tendrils of hair spread across the sword-embroidered bedspread, dress half-open. I'm sure my eyes were just as faraway as his when I nodded. I wanted to build a fortress against the remainder of my guilt.

More cool air filled the void left in a delicate place when he moved away from me. Before I could whimper, heat returned, starting at my knees and sliding up to move fabric away. Jolts moved from his hands to where I wanted him most. The skirt to my clothing wasn't hiked up in one swift, conquering maneuver; instead, he made circles and designs that drew fresh sounds from deep in the back of my throat. He skimmed the tops and then the inside of my thighs, drawing very light hints of fingernail down the sides.

His eyes looked down into mine when he at last and very deliberately began to stroke me through my underclothes.

I writhed and moaned. "James." His touches were measured, each one delivering a delicious shock that made the room blur. He hadn't been nearly as skilled our first few times in making love but neither had I. Everything had been fresh and new. He circled the area he'd found once more before slipping down to push lightly against me. I was aroused enough by then to ease his finger's passage inside, but still, he didn't move to take me just yet.

"Sit up." His hand supported my efforts to do so. The shoulders of my dress slid down. I worked my arms out under his assistance, and the kissing resumed. He was trying new things tonight, advancing just enough to make me cry out before doubling back to pay attention to neglected areas. He made his goal evident when another kiss was coupled by a cupping of my now bare breast, his hands moving the flesh, the same fingertips that had grazed my cheek earlier manipulating their stiff crowns. He spent little time on my neck, damp with sweat, before his tongue replaced them.

I breathed his name as he continued to suckle and lick. I tangled my own fingers in his hair, pleaded with him to move this way, touch that. He complied, taking my other breast in his hand and squeezing to give it attention while he plied the other with the barest graze of his teeth.

My eyes squinched closed. His work continued, following the shape of my chest down to my abdomen where he followed the contours of my first real scar, a sword wound that had taken a fair share of stitches, changed bandages and healing magic to become the neat little white line that it now was. My scars were nothing compared to his, but the worst of them continued to pain him at times. When we joined, I would often try to relieve some of the worst of their collective pain by kisses and licks of my own.

I couldn't stifle a groan when he dipped into my navel with his tongue. The rest of me melted for similar ministrations. I kept my hands laced through his hair. "More." I knew he also enjoyed applying himself in ways other than the traditional way a man and woman joined together. I'd discovered his particular like of it when I hadn't any access to my herbs but we'd still wanted to express our love for one another.

He obliged with a thankful sigh. I'd tried to return this sort of favor a few times after the initial embarrassment of our first time together had worn away, but I was unlike James in that he wholly enjoyed it. Taking him into my mouth, tasting him when he was done had all been an experiment he enjoyed but had left me of two minds. Mouths were made for talking, eating and drinking, not other things, but his sounds of enjoyment and my feelings for him helped me through the activities I wouldn't have done with anyone else.

James began with my underclothes, hooking a finger into their waist and sliding them down to my knees. "Still the same ones, I see." I could hear the grin in his voice. The first time he'd seen them, I regretted my childhood choice of having Mother embroider swords onto them, but since then it had become a joke of sorts between us, and the pairs I'd had crafted afterwards all carried the same design. I waited for him to give me the space necessary to kick my way free of them, then beckoned him down close again.

I only needed to give the word and he would begin.

James

Aria's first attentions had awakened all the feelings I'd tried to bury. Surprise flooded in to replace them; our lovemaking was usually a mutual decision, but everything tonight had been so different. I wanted to reassure her in all ways, but I hadn't thought it would lead to this in her family home. Her smell, myrrh and the heady scent of her arousal, made my head spin. With her, I could be a different man, not a soldier, not dedicated to my country and chivalry, but a true man with wants.

I knew she was self-conscious about her choice in underclothes but I could never help but to tease her. Those that knew her on the battlefield had no idea what treasures her more private self contained. Those she reserved only for me.

I was a lucky man to receive them.

"James." Her most secret flesh bared to me, she muttered my name, parting her knees to allow me in. I knelt, stroking thighs that put me in mind of fresh cream dashed with lavender. I was certain to place my first kisses against their insides. Her fingers tightened with a small sound that made my body ache.

My tongue's first contact brought her taste washing across it with the spice of sweat. I thought better of not fully removing her dress only after the fact; it hampered my progress in spreading that skin, in nuzzling and licking the nub of flesh that made her back arch with hoarse and needy cries. Some traitorous part of my mind told me that her mother could overhear us and it felt strange, but the rest assured me that she'd all but encouraged us to do this in her home.

I suckled her into my mouth before sliding an experimental fingertip inside. Her warm walls gripped me, drawing me in and asking wordlessly for more. I moved with the motions of her hips, alternating between making designs with my mouth and thrusting. I'd plied my fingers to her once while standing. The sight of her breasts heaving, nipples the color of rose petals pebble-hard, had been nearly too much for me to bear without wanting to complete myself within her. My breeches strained with a familiar ache, but I tried not to pay it too much mind until the time was right.

This was for Aria.

As she grew more aroused, I could hear the progress my fingers made. I increased my efforts, lashing her with small touches of my tongue. Her smell filled me to slow the rational workings of my mind. I went inside up to the knuckle and moved my head just so. It had been enough to undo her the last time when we'd been confined to smaller quarters, when our efforts had been in pure haste.

It did the trick. She lasted but a breath more, then exploded across my tongue. I held my breath in anticipation, but remembered to let it go again at her offering. I felt her muscles go slack, relaxation take hold. Her hands loosened to stoke the top of my head.

"That was...wonderful," she murmured. I had to strain my ears to hear her from my position. There was a reason that I preferred this act over others when we were together--I was close to her climaxes, what made her a woman.

"Thank you." I let out a breath as I leaned up again. Blood rushed to my head. "So are you."

Her smile was glowing contentment. "No, thank you." Her arms lifted limply to gesture me to the bed. "Why are you all the way over there?"

"Someone in sword-pattered underclothes wanted to be pleased, if what she did to me in the bathroom was any indication," I teased. It was as if rain had come to the drying land of my emotions, cleansing away all the negativity and stress from earlier.

Her face scrunched in a cute little frown. "Didn't I tell you to stop teasing me?" Our banter over her taste had moved from genuine confusion to affection quite some time ago, otherwise I knew she would have never let me see said underclothes again.

"You did," I responded, pretending contrition, "but I forgot. There were other things on my mind."

"Oh?" She stretched into a sprawl that was inviting as it was gorgeous. "Such as?"

I sobered. "You."

She did as well, flushing deeper under the color her cheeks had already taken on. The way our emotions could flow so easily from one thing to the next was yet another aspect of our relationship that was both trying and enjoyable. I eased myself on the bed next to her, still tasting her on my lips.

She turned to nestle against me. "I'm sorry," she repeated. Her afterglow was fading. "For before."

"Don't punish yourself." I plucked at stray locks of her hair to move them out of her face. "Don't go back to worrying. Let's just enjoy this, all right?"

"All right." Her hand came to rest on my thigh. "You said you wanted to make me happy. When do I get a turn to make you happy too?"

"Whenever you'd like." My mouth dried in anticipation.

"Now would be nice."

"Would it?" I raised my eyebrows to her.

"Yes." She sat up, not seeming to mind the taste of her own body on the lips she began to kiss. The hint of her tongue against my bottom lip was an invite to part them and allow her in, and she took the hint, sliding in for longer contact. I shut my eyes, abandoning everything but that moment that I wanted to seal in amber and suspend for as long as we both could.

It felt all too soon when her hands slid up and under my tunic, slipping it off and over my head. She giggled girlishly at the sight of it. I reached up to try smoothing spikes of wayward hair without success. She caught my hands in hers, putting them firmly down to my sides.

"Lay back," she said, using much the same tone I had earlier. My vision filled with the ceiling at her first touches, sliding down from my clavicle to the length of my torso. My manhood strained under its confinement, twitching when she treated the laces of my breeches with kid gloves. Her palm rested over top of it with the sweet promise of prolonged contact. I had to check myself before I pressed into it. Clothing rustled a second longer, and then her fingers wrapped me in a firm, pleasant hold as she finally freed me. I didn't stop a sharp sound. I enjoyed hearing her express her pleasure, and I hoped she felt the same about mine.

Her strokes were conservative and when I picked my head up, our eyes met. Hers carried that same coyness she'd accosted me with in the washroom. I wasn't about to question it. With the end of the eclipse would come new beginnings and I could only hope this was a hint as to the sort we would be having.

As I watched, she increased her speed. My breath hitched.

"Is this all right?" The note of uncertainty in her voice had to be for the sake of tantalizing me. Just when I thought I knew her, she showed me another facet of herself. All were mysterious. All were welcome and magnificent.

"Y-Yes!" If she stopped now, I didn't know what I'd do. She alternated her movements, all tight and spurring me on one moment, gentle and looser the next. Her thumb circled my tip. The crest of climax threatened to come crashing down then and there. She must have picked up on my methods of pleasing her and decided to mirror them.

"Aria." I scrambled over her name. The desperation in it made her pause, shift, and then she was above my head. The curtain of her hair was abruptly over both of us, licking my shoulders.

"I didn't mean to bring you so close with just my hands," she confided.

"Then what did you mean to do?"

Her answer was a kiss to my shoulder. At my mutter of encouragement, she trailed down.

"Yes," I repeated on a breath as she latched to a nipple. Mine were sensitive for a man, yet another unexpected aspect of myself our exploration those first several times had brought out. She mimicked the movements I'd tried with her earlier, then made a detour across the crisscrossing scar tissue that laced from one side of my body to the next.

These days, they didn't ache with the same ferocity they had back when they'd been fresh, but the damp weather brought out the salves and poultices I kept tucked in my travel bags. Applying them brought temporary relief, but the sole time they stopped nettling me entirely was when Aria paid attention to them.

She found one that made me shift. It was the remainder of a spear graze, something that I thanked the powers I'd lived through. Even a skilled healer hadn't been able to stave away infection completely and I'd been landed on my cot for the better part of two weeks downing broth and potions.

Seeing my reaction, she paid better attention to its length, fluttering her tongue and humming softly to herself. She was inches away from my own delicate flesh. The few times she'd taken me in that way had been enough to make me see stars, yet the faces she made sometimes afterward that she tried to hide from me told me that she didn't enjoy doing it half as much as I did in receiving it.

There were better things to be had anyway.

"Please take me inside," I requested. My voice caught on the last word at the recollection of that velvet surrounding my fingers, damp and ready. Aria slipped up to give the corner of my mouth a kiss of consent, then took me between her fingers, raising herself up to accept me.

Watching her expression change from cautious maneuvering to bliss was a view I wanted to carve into my mind. It was somehow sweeter, more beautiful that night than it had been all times prior. Her body enveloped mine and I disappeared into her up to the hilt with a low groan. It was sublime, the flexing, tightening intimacy as she took control of me, of us.

"Oh, Aria." I held her hips, not trying to guide but to assist. Each movement was perfect. Her moans gained a sharp edge that drove me mad. She whispered my name each time her body nested with mine, better than any praise the battlefield could give. I drew her flush across me, reveling in the feel of her mouth, both of us gaining desperation the closer we both got to finishing. As she worked faster, our bodies slick against one another, I slid my hand to the place where we were joined. The same nub of flesh I'd licked earlier was hotly firm and I stroked almost as quickly as she moved.

"James, I, I'm--."

"Gods, Aria, d-don't stop--."

Aria cut me off with a raw moan. Her finishing shudder came from the top of her head all the way down into her bones. Her inner muscles clamped down to milk the finale from me and I could do nothing but erupt, feeling my seed spill deep within.

Aria let out a little sigh of contentment. Then she relaxed, limp and spent, into my arms. Hair stuck to the patches of perspiration that slid down her body, mingling with my own as I held her. We didn't move for a long while, drinking in the sensation of closeness, the way the candle broke into the blackness, our hearts that beat as one. Her dress was still halfway on and it took me a minute to realize that my breeches were around my ankles.

"I love you, James." Her eyelashes were darker than the hair on her head, fans against her cheekbones. The words were distant; our journey here had been long and weariness was taking its toll on us both. Overhead, I heard the first trumpets of approaching dragons. I hardly remember combing my fingers through those long strands, but I did remember for days afterwards the sweet aroma of it as it chased me down into my dreams.

***

"Are you certain you can't stay just one more day?"

The eclipse had passed several hours before. The sun was too bright in its wake and I shielded my eyes from it, reassuring myself nothing Aria and I had brought with us was forgotten.

"No, I'm afraid we're due to report back the day after tomorrow, Ms.--Wisteria." I gave her a polite smile. If she'd overheard what her daughter and I had gotten up to hours before, she gave no indication. Marlow was at his mother's side, his face still a swollen mess. The corner of his eye caught mine and he just as quickly looked away. His hostility was gone, but I couldn't say we were approaching anything resembling friendship yet.

Perhaps all the matter needed was time.

The elder woman frowned. "At least enjoy more of the leftover roasted fruit and sun fish, then. They promote fertility."

"Mother, stop that, please." Aria emerged from the house, dressed in the simpler breeches and tunic I was more accustomed to seeing. She came to join me, catching my hands in hers.

"I don't know what else I can do to help." Thankfully, she didn't sign what she was saying for Marlow's enlightenment. "After the noise you two got up to making the other night, I thought I would help speed the process along."

No matter how much I loved Aria, no matter how welcoming her family, hearing her mother speak so frankly was still embarrassing. We made short work of finishing our preparations and then we were off, the horse clopping along as the farmhouse started disappearing at our backs.

Aria's mother gave us a shout so enthusiastic that it startled the blackbirds that had come back to roost in the trees. "You two give me a grandchild, you hear? I want to hear the good news in your next letter, Aria!"

She ducked her head from the seat behind me. "Sorry," she mumbled yet again. "She's not going to stop until I'm pregnant, either."

"Then she has awhile to wait." I was in good spirits and I wasn't going to allow anything to draw me away from them. "Perhaps in your next letter you can tell her I suffered a magical injury that's rendered me infertile for a few years."

That prompted a snorting laugh from her. "I don't think she'd believe me. She'd likely even want to come down to where we are to check."

The idea made breakfast rise in my stomach. "Bad idea then," I said hastily. Aria only laughed harder, putting her arms around my shoulders as she had before. I glanced back at her and in my peripheral vision, the farm got smaller and smaller.

And as before, I took Aria's hand. We didn't have forever, I knew that, but I would make the best of every day we did have.

If there were any more bumps in our road, we would face them together.