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Detraeus grit his teeth. Breathed in. Narrowed his lids as his gaze swept out to the open ocean at his side, tail lashing to one side, and then swaying back the opposite way. And then he resumed his pacing. The night was young — barely enough so to be termed it, yet — with light still warming the far horizon. He stood on the back porch of the beach house that Lithian and Casseth called home, and inside, his mate waited, unconscious still, last he had heard, and being tended to by Lithian.

His was a terrible idea.

He had known it, in some portion, even before suggesting it. But habit, selfishness, foolishness, and pride had all played into making him eventually leave the safe confines of their Ayr home with his mate to take personal, sporadic part in the erupting race war. He had put it off himself, even after suggesting it to Araceli, lingering behind with her on the windy continent and spending weeks there biding his time. Eventually, however, he had left with her, and at first, things had gone well.

Or, well as they could.

Araceli did not share his hate in the same portion, and it was only with reluctance that she joined him. He knew that. She said as much, and it showed in her actions besides. But she fought well with him, powerfully as she always had and all the more skilled for her years of practice. Alone as they were, however, just the two of them out of their own accord, left them necessarily exposed. They were, both of them, talented fighters and hiders, runners and tacticians of their own sort, but it was only a matter of time, he realized now, before something went amiss.

Araceli had been wounded.

It hadn’t seemed especially grievous at first — or, she insisted that it wasn’t. Detraeus, however, had worried immediately, and insisted they turn their trek to Taliuma, where Lithian could at least see to her. In the handful of days it took to make the trip, the damage worsened. Magically infected, by the look of things, and it drained her energy greatly. When he had arrived earlier this present day, she had been drifting into and out of consciousness, and hadn’t awoken since the last time she had passed out.

Now, he waited.

When the sliding doors to the back porch shifted and opened, Detraeus whirled on his new company, anticipating Lithian. “Is she—” But instead, Casseth’s face greeted him, and Detraeus exhaled the rest of what might have been his sentence. He eyed his friend, and then rolled his shoulders, frowning.

“She must be,” he said. “Or it will be my fault. I—” Gritting his teeth, Detraeus bit back what might have become of that statement, and his tail flicked instead, the spines rippling at the tip as his eyes scanned the wide horizon, rapidly darkening. It was some time before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice was low and quiet. “I convinced her to follow me.”

It would be the greatest punishment of all for his hubris, he thought, if the fates took their toll on her for his mistake. For better or for worse, however, the door opened again before he could delve back into that line of thinking, and his shoulders stiffened with an even mixture of anticipation and fear as he spotted Lithian. The dovaa, though, was speaking before Detraeus got beyond opening his mouth.

“What,” Lithian snarled, somehow managing to make the sound simultaneously angry and a hissed whisper, “were you thinking?”

Detraeus blinked, and immediately after, his fears surged upwards. “She’s getting worse. What happened. Is she—”

“She’s pregnant.”

Lithian did say more than that. He was still talking. Something about how foolish he was, how reckless, mindless, taking her out to begin with being bad enough, but to do so while she was with child—

But Detraeus heard next to none of it, because he was already moving. Past Lithian and Casseth, through the porch doors, inside, and towards his mate. If anyone told him to stop or wait, he paid that no heed, and the next he knew it, Araceli’s hand was in his. He studied her. Though still resting, he thought at least, that she looked better. More hue in her cheeks, more even breathing, and no sweat on her skin now. Her palm felt a natural temperature in his.

Pregnant.

Though part of it — mostly raw shock and need to see her immediately — had hit him the moment the words left Lithian’s mouth, more of it hit him in a trickle effect now. All the implications that came with it. Of all the things he had expected at this point in his life, another child (or more than one?) was the last thing he expected. And yet…

He felt his pulse flutter, a sort of soft, giddy anticipation building in his gut and warming as his throat knotted. The signs had been there, he realized. He had attributed her appetite and minor weight gain as part of their lifestyle, but now with the fact before him, this made more sense.

Another child.

Was it dangerous to have one so late in life? It wasn’t common, so far as he knew.

The anxiousness that came with that thought, though, was surprisingly small as compared to realizing how much he wanted this—this thing which he had never considered possible to have again, now. How his mate would react to the revelation was another matter, but for the moment, Detraeus settled for lifting her hand, and brushing a kiss to her knuckles, eyes shutting.

“Come and wake, sky princess,” he murmured beneath his breath. “There is news for you…”

Lithian’s frown was tight as he watched Detraeus’ retreat, but something in him relaxed at the squeeze of Casseth’s grip, and the anger in him petered out in the form of an exhale. After glancing to his mate, he nodded.

“The worst of it has passed, and what I wasn’t able to rid her of with my magic will work its way out of her system soon. She was wounded, but infected by spellwork of another sort that had intertwined itself with the wound. I managed to untangle and dispel most of it, and the child seems healthy, but I worry…and between that and carrying, she was exhausted, though her energy should return when her body is coping with less strains at once…”

After trailing off, there was a long pause before he ventured a glance towards Casseth.

“And she is…a bit far in years, to be carrying a new child…it worries me,” he admitted.



Detraeus felt a flicker of nerves, and then relief as Araceli stirred, eyes opening to meet him tiredly, and he brushed his fingers over the skin of her knuckles, squeezing lightly. “You’re awake,” he greeted. “I worried for you…”

He opened his mouth, then, gaze flitting down her and back up to her face, but in the moment decided that perhaps now was not the best of times to bring up such information. He assumed that, given her lack of mention of such things, she did not know either, and there was a private, hopeful giddiness that came with the thought of breaching such news.

But for now, she could likely use the rest.

So, after pressing a light kiss to her forehead, he released her hand long enough to stoop and remove his boots. Then, especially careful not to jostle her, he climbed onto the bunk beside her, layering an arm and his tail over her and brushing dark hair from her face. “How are you feeling…?”

“She is, yes, of course…” Lithian said. That did not mean that there wouldn’t be issues. A woman’s body, no matter how healthy, became less fit for the specific task of bearing children fairly early in her lifespan. But, he supposed, that wasn’t immediately relevant. If it was, it would be an issue to consider later, with Araceli present. For now, there was no need to give his mate extra cause for concern. “And…I suppose we shall see?”



“Mm.”

Detraeus shut his eyes, the tip of his tail flicking against the mattress slowly as he considered his response, though most of his mind wound itself up in the present as it was: Araceli, in his arms, safe, recovering. With child. His child. Again. He opted to start at the beginning of her injury, not precisely sure when the damage had begun to affect her memory as it apparently had, and told her of them being attacked, their eventual escape and his insistence on bringing her to Lithian, their arrival, and the dovaa’s aid insofar as her wounds were concerned.

“It was…my fault,” he said at length. “I should not have taken you from safety. We…” He hesitated, but the pause only confirmed his thoughts, particularly with her in the state she was. “We will end it now. And return home,” he said. “As soon as you are ready. I owe nothing more to a war between goddesses who do not respect the children we sire.”

Detraeus grunted.

It was his fault, of course. But that didn’t seem to merit further argument for the time being. His mate was, according to Lithian, recovering, and despite their other differences of opinion, in this regard he trusted the dovaa’s judgement. The news revealed to him lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he held that back, too, in light of her state. A few days, he thought, would be best in order to allow her time to recover, regain her strength, and get back on her feet again. So, he did just that.

For the next two days, they stayed in the beachside house with Casseth and his family, giving Ara an opportunity to heal and settle back to her usual state. On the evening of the second day, satisfied that she was well enough to handle the news at least and that soon they ought to return to Ayr, Detraeus stood with her on the back deck, facing the great sea. After eyeing her, he stepped close, tail coiling loosely — instinctively — to the side of her legs as he dipped, kissing her shoulder.

“Have you…given thought again to children since we last spoke of it?”

“I…” Detraeus hesitated, eyeing his mate and picking his words carefully as he stepped back in, touching his hands lightly to her hips and eyeing her belly, then her face. “It would be an unexpected blessing to me…though of course your choice to make. I ask not to pressure you, but because…” His tail swept to one side, and then the other, the tip flicking as it did. “If Lithian’s word is to be trusted, then if nothing is done now…we will have another soon enough. He tells me you are with child.”

Detraeus studied his mate’s reaction, expression careful and assessing. Though he couldn’t deny a genuine, budding and hopeful want—eagerness, even, Araceli was clearly some steps behind that, and in the end, her wishes came before anything else. Thus, despite the temptation to immediately close the gap she put between them, Detraeus let it linger, giving her the space she evidently wanted and letting the information sink in.

When he spoke, his words were quiet, but spoken with assurance. “I do not suppose he would say as much if he were not,” he said. “Are you…unhappy?”

Guilt wound through Detraeus like a threaded needle and with it, a persistent twist of anxiety. Araceli’s upset with the situation was — rightly or wrongly — greater than he expected, though perhaps he ought to have anticipated it, given their previous conversations on the subject. He supposed he had, even, and yet—he drew a breath, rolling his shoulders as he eyed her and working to contain his frown of concern.

The fact that his own eagerness for a child, undiscovered until the prospect became so real, had not diminished in the least furthered his guilt. “It is…your choice what we do,” he said at length. “You cannot have been so long…and if it is dangerous for you to carry, perhaps…”

He could not force the words from his lips, but if Araceli decided that not having children at this age and stage in their life was the best course of action, he would not argue. How could he?

“I am sorry to have been careless…”