He nods and slides out of bed, his wings tucked against his back as he gets to his feet. Normally Nemeth would stretch, letting his wings ripple outward as he yawns off the last of his slumber. Today though, he seems just as restless and uneasy as me. I didn’t sleep very well last night, constantly on edge. Worried for the dawn even as I waited for it, and I know Nemeth felt the same.

It’s here now, and there’s no avoiding our fates.

My big, handsome mate offers his hand to me. “Can you sit up? How is your stomach this morning?”

“I think I’m good.” But the moment I lift my head, my stomach rebels and I’m reaching for the chamber pot once more. I throw up everything in my stomach and then lean against the bed weakly. “All better.”

Nemeth watches me with a worried expression. “I do not understand. You had a full dose of your potion last night. Why are you yet sick?”

I wonder how long I can hide a pregnancy from him. If he knew I was pregnant, he’d make me stay here and go out alone. I shake my head, playing it off. “It’s probably just a left-over from my missed doses. It’ll take my body a few days to feel set to rights again.” I get to my feet, ignoring the queasy turn of my now-empty stomach, and turn to my mate. “Shall we dress?”

“Are you sure you can travel?” he asks.

“I’m committed,” I joke back, but he doesn’t laugh with me.

He just sighs and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let us dress. We should leave before the sun gets too high. I don’t want you getting overheated.”

I nod, wishing for a real kiss, but I probably wouldn’t want to kiss my mouth either. Not after my usual morning. So I rinse my mouth out and braid my hair, then pin it up off my neck. I put on one of the dresses I’ve prepared for travel. It’s a plain, boring deep blue with all the decoration stripped off of it, the sleeves plain. My shoes for the journey don’t match it, as they are a plain, sturdy pair of slippers with reinforced soles (thanks to Nemeth) in a deep black. I shouldn’t care about fashion. It’s just that my skirts were shortened to make walking easier and now everyone will see my hideous footwear.

I tighten the laces on my bodice, and my breasts ache enough that I have to loosen my dress. I smooth a hand down my front—my stomach is still flat, at least. I wonder how long a Fellian carries a child? Will it be too obvious if I ask? I decide yes, it would be too obvious, and slip my enchanted knife into the front of my dress, tucking it between my breasts.

Nemeth is dressed in his favorite kilt, a sword buckled at his waist and our heavy packs slung over his back. “Ready to go?”

Biting my lip, I study our little chamber. “I need to make the bed.” I plump the pillows, then pull the blankets up. “And then I should wash out the chamber pot, and make sure the kitchen is clean⁠—”

“Candra,” Nemeth says in a gentle voice. “Leave it. Anyone that comes here will understand why we had to leave.”

Will they? Or will we be reviled by both Fellian and Liosian peoples for what we’re about to do? We’re not supposed to leave, even if we’re starving. Even if we’re dying. We’re supposed to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good.

Not that I’ve ever wanted to do that. Nobody asked me, either. I’ve been told. Perhaps that’s why I feel so damned guilty that we’re leaving. We don’t know what’s going to happen…we just know that no one will be pleased. I wring my hands, anxious. He’s right. No one’s going to care that we left the tower a mess, only that we left the tower. “Right. Of course.”

He holds his hand out to me. “Come. It’s time to go.”

“I’m scared,” I confess, a panicky feeling settling in my stomach.

“I know,” he says, and continues to hold his hand out for me. “But we must go anyway.”

I nod. It’s not even a question of if I should stay behind anymore. We’ve committed to our path. I take his hand, squeezing it tight as he leads me through the hall and toward the curving stairs. “Do we have everything?” I ask anxiously.

“I packed last night,” he reminds me. “I checked my list three times.”

Right, because Nemeth is nothing if not prepared at all times. I hold onto him as we go down the stairs, toward the now unlocked doors on the first floor. We’ve left them accessible in case someone came by. Nothing barricades us inside anymore. A simple tug on the handle will open the doors, and then we’ll be on the beach, a travesty to the goddess for leaving the tower five years too soon.

“Do you think she’ll strike us down?” I ask Nemeth as we pass by the altar, the remnants of our prayer offerings still upon the tiny plates. “The goddess?”

“No,” Nemeth says. “If we are to believe the stories, her wrath takes the form of drought and famine, or flooding and destruction. Her hand is never direct upon those that offend her.”

“Because it’s more fun to punish everyone, I suppose,” I say lightly.

He only grunts.

“Do you think she will punish us?” I prompt. “For abandoning the tower?”

“If the stories are to be believed, aye.” He doesn’t let go of my hand. If anything, his grip tightens. It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind.

I won’t, but it doesn’t mean I’m not terrified.

“What do Fellian stories say?” I continue as we head towards the double doors, the only path out of the tower. My voice wobbles with fear. “About those that abandon the tower?”

“Nothing good.”

“They’re just stories anyhow,” I decide. “They could be full of dragon shite. Maybe the goddess will understand. Maybe she won’t be upset.” Maybe she knows I’m pregnant with Nemeth’s child and any path we take will be a difficult one anyhow.

“Mmm.”

That’s a non-answer if there ever was one.

We stand in front of the doors. My hand is sweaty in Nemeth’s. He reaches forward and tugs one door open, swinging it outward. There’s a scrape against sand-covered stone, and then the doors fall open. Bright sunlight spills inward, and it looks like a gloriously sunny day. The air is warm, and a gentle breeze touches my face. The skies are blue, the waters less so, but still beautiful. The strip of sand that surrounds the tower is deserted and unmarked.

We stare out, and neither of us moves forward to take that first step. I breathe in the fresh air. If it’s going to be bad for us, why must it smell so good? I want to stand in the sunlight and drink it in so badly, yet I’m terrified, too. This isn’t just my future at stake. I have a child to consider—a child that I’m trying very, very hard not to think about.

“I should go first,” Nemeth says abruptly, releasing my hand. He gazes down at me, his strange, sharp Fellian features resolute. “If the goddess’s punishment is instant, I would rather that it happen to me and me alone. Yes?”

I sputter. “What? No, absolutely not.” Grabbing his arm again, I cling to him. “We’re doing all of this together, remember? That includes everything.”

“Candra, let me do this,” he says in a soft voice. “If the gods will only punish one person, I would rather it be me.”

“I’m not going to let go of you,” I say, obstinate. I loop one arm in his belt and twine the leather about my sleeve. “When you step forward, it will be with me dragged through with you, at the same time, because we’re doing everything together. Like we promised.”

“Candra—”

“I am prepared to be dragged!” I shout dramatically, anchoring myself against his waist. “Don’t think that I won’t hold on, because I will!”

He sighs heavily. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Because I love you, and we’re doing this together.”

He glares down at me with those eerie green eyes, and then runs a hand over his face, his two shorn claws evident. “Fine. You stubborn mule of a human, fine.”

I smile at him. Not just because I’m getting my way, but because it’s clear he loves me as much as I love him and is trying to protect me even now. So I let go of his waist and hold out my hand. “We cross together.”