Traveling on horseback came with both benefits and drawbacks.

One of the chief benefits was that the horse did most of the work. Mizzo picked her way competently across the terrain, her gait slow and steady, leaving Mara free to engage her mind elsewhere. She marveled at the stars, she ruminated on Tiff’s comments, she planned how best to ask Eli what Tiff might have meant and what her life at the Enclave would look like. Once she was competent with the horse, she took Nick to ride ahead of her and she pointed out shapes among the stars, trying to find the constellations she’d read about and sharing their stories with him. It was nice, being able simply to sit. Her feet certainly appreciated the rest.

The primary drawback of riding was the cramping. Her legs, which had grown accustomed to constant movement, vehemently protested their static position. First her bottom cramped, then her calves. Then the former spread to the backs of her thighs, the latter to her feet. The first time Eli called a halt, she nearly collapsed when she slid off the horse, her knees stiff to the point of sharp, stabbing pain. After that, she made a point of pulling her feet free from the stirrups periodically as they rode, moving them around and wiggling her toes to keep the blood flowing.

They passed two nights and days in an uneventful, quiet equilibrium, traveling under cover of darkness and bedding down for the day in whatever concealment the land presented.

Little changed around them as they traveled, the terrain a dull and seemingly endless sea flat earth and sparse vegetation. Little changed in her dreams, either. Davy continued to meet her, with no further threats to leave. She continued to lay in his arms, grateful for the respite, for his continued presence in her life, however it looked. She didn’t make any efforts to ask him hard questions, too anxious she might provoke him once more to leave.

Eli, however, she had no such qualms about interrogating.

Late on the third night after leaving Tiff’s, they rode abreast with the gray eastern sky at their right. The warmth of the previous day still lingered in the thick air. Nick sat in front of Mara, leaning back against her chest, fiddling absently with the length of rope lashed to the front of the saddle and blinking sleepily.

Mara guessed they had at least an hour of travel left before they started looking for a campsite. Plenty of time.

“Eli?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wondering–what do you think life will look like once we reach the Enclave?”

He turned his gaze to the north. “Whatever you want it to look like, I imagine.”

“But what if I don’t meet their expectations?”

“Whose expectations?”

“Davy’s parents’. What if he’s built me up into something I’m not, and I can’t rise to whatever role they expect me to fill?”

Eli slowed Rizzo, who had drawn a bit ahead, and turned to study her. The waxing sliver of moon overhead cast just enough light to make out that he was frowning. “What’s behind this line of questioning?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Mara.”

“It’s just something Tiff said to me.”

“What did Tiff say to you?”

“I forget how exactly she phrased it, but she implied that the Linharts will probably…I don’t know… value my opinion? That by virtue of Davy, I’ll be given some kind of responsibility. Do you think she was right?”

He shrugged, turning his attention back to the north. “She was, in a sense. An advising position will be yours to claim, should you want it.”

“But all I did was marry Davy,” Mara argued. “That hardly qualifies me for an advising position, does it?”

“No it doesn’t, but you didn’t just marry him. You did good work before your marriage, and after it, and you constantly took Davy aback with your resilience, your compassion, your competence, your knowledge, your wisdom. Don’t forget, it was his job to seek out recruits and he saw your value beyond the bounds of your relationship. That’s what he shared with Elise and Rorick, and that’s what will have earned you their trust and respect. Not your marriage oath.”

“You don’t think it will make others angry? Won’t it look to them like I’ve been given power just because I’m family?”

“No, because everyone at the Enclave knows Elise and Rorick. Their faith in Davy himself was earned, not given. It had little to do with him being their son and everything to do with his possessing the qualities they want in an heir.”

And now, Mara thought, they had lost that heir. She tightened her arm to support Nick’s increasingly heavy weight. His head lolled forward, and she tipped it back and sideways to rest against her arm before returning her attention to Eli. “What do you think I should do?”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Whatever you want. As I said at the beginning, your life at the Enclave will take whatever form you wish it to.”

“I don’t even know what the options are.” They had spoken briefly on the matter in Ashfall, but all she’d gleaned was that there were jobs to be done, not what those jobs actually were.

“Well, you could always work as a physik. There are two healing centers, and from what I hear, they’re always short of manpower. You could take a position as an advisor to Elise and Rorick. Your opinion on intracity tactics would be invaluable, considering your familiarity with the Capital and the years you spent moving about undetected within it. Not to mention you’d offer a fresh perspective on more established strategies. If you want to be out of doors, you could join the Scouts or the Sentinels. You move well in the woods, and if you work a bit more on your sensing you’d make an excellent tracker. You could teach, you could wash laundry, you could help build homes, you could manage refugee intake, you could–”

“Okay, okay,” Mara laughed. “I get it. Options abound.”

“They do.”

“But what about Nick?”

“Each neighborhood has designated caretakers for the children and the elderly, and there are the schools we talked about before, for older children. If you want to be around children, you could be a caretaker or a teacher. Of course, if you want to keep to yourself, you can do so. You’ll have Elise and Rorick’s support, no matter what you choose.”

“What about you?”

“You’ll have my support as well.”

“No, I mean what will you do? What are your options?”

Silence lingered as his gaze dropped to the horizon ahead of them. “I don’t know, exactly. It depends on where I’m needed.”

“Maybe we can both advise the Linharts. Tiff said they might need a quelling force, and you’re a lot more quelling than I am.”

He snorted. “My effect on Elise and Rorick tends more toward incendiary than quelling. I’m afraid Tiff was right to assign that task to you.” Straightening in the saddle, he stretched his neck and braced a hand on his thigh. “I’m going to ride ahead a bit. See if I can find a good place to put down for the night. You alright to keep the course?”

She wanted to say no just to keep the conversation going, but even if she held him back, it was over. She recognized when a door had been shut in her face.

“I’m alright,” she said.

Already, he was pulling ahead. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Keep your senses wide while I’m gone. See if you can pick up my footprint when I return.” This was their newest exercise, now that she’d gained some mastery over resistance technique. When he rode out to scout, he would leave in one direction and return in another. She was meant to reach out with her senses and predict his arrival. She struggled with it, her perception vague and foggy in the presence of such sparse plant life.

“Okay. Be safe, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, urging Rizzo into a canter and melting into the shadows before she could respond.

~~~

That night, Mara awoke in the four-poster and lay staring at the canopy of the bed. She’d never before taken the time to appreciate the quality of the fabric draped overhead–gauzy and light, dyed a pale cream color and decorated with tiny, perfectly embroidered red flowers. Each flower was unique, the delicately crafted petals in various stages of unfolding. She’d never seen anything so intricate at the markets in the Capital. She turned on her side, away from the flowers, and propped herself on an elbow to study Davy’s sleeping profile. Reaching out, she traced the bridge of his nose with her finger, smiling when he sniffed and turned away from her in his sleep.

She continued her light perusal, feathering the pad of her finger over his jaw, his collarbone, down his sternum, until his hand came up and wrapped around hers, stalling the innocent quest.

“Good morning, my love,” he said without opening his eyes, raising their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. The rough, drowsy rumble of his voice engulfed her, lapping at her senses like a warm bath.

“Good morning,” she said, squirming closer as the sun warmed her back through the thin cotton of her nightgown. She lay back down, resting her head on his shoulder. He released her hand, and she set about tracing her name on his chest with her finger. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he said, like the miniscule world they inhabited didn’t threaten to crumple every time she tried.

Mara closed her eyes, breathing in the spicy morning scent of him. “What do you think our lives will look like, once we reach the Enclave?” He tensed, and she went on before he, or the dream, could stop her. “Nick and me, I mean. What do you think we’ll do?”

The muscles beneath her cheek relaxed, and he brought a hand up to trail his fingers idly over her arm. “You’ll be safe. You’ll be cared for.”

“Yes, but what will we do? What will your parents expect of me?”

He hesitated a breath, then sighed. “Mara, my love, I know you’re worried about how they’ll receive you, but there’s no need. They’ll adore you. They already do.”

It should be enough for her that Davy knew her so well. Well enough to read between the lines of her questions and recognize that she did worry over the Linharts’ reception, despite Eli’s reassurances. She shouldn’t need more from him than that, especially when more might push the limits of what discussions were allowed and which would pull the dream apart at the seams. She shouldn’t need him to hear what she was truly asking–what burdens of responsibility had been placed upon her shoulders by his death.

But the problem was that this didn’t feel like a consequence of the dream. It didn’t feel like some old, unknowable magic was shielding his eyes from the truth of her question, or like he was holding back his answer to protect their time together.

It felt like he knew her deeply, but no longer completely. Like he was stuck here, living in this endless loop of starting anew in different versions of the same quiet place while she ran about in the noisy color of the world. Like he couldn’t understand her question, her concern, because life since his death had changed her in ways he would never have the opportunity to understand.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his skin, hugging him close. “You really think they’ll like me?”

“I’m certain of it.”

When she began to cry, warm tears slipping over her cheeks and landing on his chest, he wrapped strong arms around her and didn’t ask why she wept. Davy never had to ask. He always knew, always had the words to soothe her worries and her hurts. “I promise you they will. I know you’re afraid, but my family is yours, my love. You’re not alone in the world.”

She cried harder, and he held her closer, thankfully saying nothing more.