“Are yousure?” she’d asked doubtfully, but Lady Norr had only waved it away, and drawn Maria back into the corridor again.
“Of course we’re sure,” she’d said, her eyes alight. “We’ve been desperate to deal with Warmisham for ages now. You were a gift on a platter, Maria.”
She’d softened those words with a wry grin, contagious enough that Maria had almost smiled back — but even despite the activity and the excitement, all of which Maria might have otherwise enjoyed, there was still the misery. Cold, black, empty, dragging heavy against her belly.
She’d broken her word. She was leaving. Maybe — forever.
And as she stood here in this strange corridor, while various strange orcs bustled and chattered all about, she couldn’t seem to stop scanning the darkness, the misery deepening with each breath. Was Simon not even going to say goodbye? If not to her, then even to their son?
But Simon had been conspicuously absent these past hours, not in the corridors, or the Skai wing, or even in his room when Maria and Lady Norr had passed. And now, as Joarr and Baldr approached together — Joarr bare-chested and unencumbered, Baldr fully clothed and carrying a massive-looking pack — there was the rising, overpowering urge to ask after Simon, to beg one of them to take her to him, one last time —
Until there was a telling, familiar prickle, shivering up Maria’s back. And when she whirled around, peering into the corridor’s distant darkness, she could only see shadow, dark and forbidding.
But her heart was pounding, seeking to leap into her throat, and she took one quiet step into the darkness, and then another. Fighting not to think, but only to feel, as her hand reached out, and found warm shifting skin beneath it.
Simon.
Maria couldn’t speak, suddenly, over the catch in her throat, but her fingers were spreading wider, feeling the truth beneath them. The deep, forceful thud of his rapidly racing heart.
And surely he was still furious, and perhaps Maria would never change that, and she choked back the surging misery, the rising urge to weep. The desperate need to see his face, to hear him speak, toknow—
“You shall — stay with Joarr and Baldr, ach?” Simon’s voice said, low and gruff, a sheer, painful relief. “You no seek to run from them, ach?”
The misery surged again, clamouring against the relief and the ache. Because gods, clearly all Maria’s hopes of gaining Simon’s trust had been futile from the start, if he truly still thought she wouldrunfrom Baldr and Joarr, after they’d offered their help with such kindness?
“No, I’ll stay with them,” she replied, her voice wooden. “I know how skilled they are. I’m very grateful for their generosity and protection.”
Her other hand slipped reflexively down to clutch at her waist, and she swallowed hard, her eyes dropping. And maybe that was all Simon had wanted to say, one last barb at how untrustworthy she was, but she still couldn’t seem to move, to draw her hand away from the power of his racing heart.
“You ken,” Simon continued, abrupt, “I should come with you. Ach? If I were no Enforcer. If I must no —”
Oh. Maria’s body twitched to stillness, her eyes blankly blinking. Simon would have come? If not for his work, and for… Ulfarr?
But yes, surely that was what he meant. That fight to the death was now in five short days, and Simon surely couldn’t afford to miss that, or slack off on his training. He couldn’t risk Ulfarr taking over as Enforcer. He couldn’t.
But Maria would miss it. She wouldn’t be by his side to support him, to cheer him, to glory in his victory, or grieve his death. She would be gone, and he would be fighting for everything he cared about, and she wouldn’t evenknow.
“I — wish you all luck, Simon,” Maria said, the truth fervent in her voice. “And all Skai-kesh’s blessing. I’ll be praying every day for your strength. For your victory.”
But there was only more silence in return, stretching out heavy and dark, overpowering even the distant clatter of orcs up the corridor. And Maria needed him to say something, needed to hear his voice for perhaps the last time, please…
And she could try. She could say this. Truth.
“If I can,” she whispered, “would you want me to come back here? After?”
And it was a foolish idea to begin with, because gods knew what would happen next with Ulfarr, with her husband — but as the question hung there between them, echoing in the silence, Maria suddenly felt its insult, its gods-damned presumptuousness. Here she was, in the very act of running from Simon, stealing away the son he’d so desperately longed for, leaving him to face his fight to the death alone — and she already wanted his forgiveness? His permission to waltz back in here afterwards, as though nothing had happened at all?
And Simon surely felt it too, his big body utterly still in the darkness, his heart beating its powerful pulse against her fingers. And before he could speak his refusal aloud, Maria jerked away from him, ducking her head, dashing the water from her eyes with a shaky hand. It was done, she was doing it, she had to —
“Maria,” came his voice, husky and thick, and with it was a clutch of warm strong fingers, closing around her wrist. Holding her there. Perhaps even not wanting her to leave…
“You are Skai,” he continued, very quiet. “You are thus now free to come and go as you wish. Ach?”
But the ache kept crawling, kept dragging, clamping close at her throat. Because it wasn’t a yes. Itwasn’t. It was just Simon again keeping his word. Being kind. Giving her yet more generosity that she didn’t deserve.
He surely didn’t want her anymore. And Maria surely couldn’t blame him. Not now.
“Th-thank you,” she made herself say, over the obstruction in her throat. “And j-just in case, was there something you” — she dragged in a hitching breath — “wanted to name your son?”
