A wet, chilling wind blew in from the restless sea. The rolling waves grew more agitated by the minute, sheets of foam hissing louder each time they struck the shore. Sthrena had just finished gathering her ritual items and carried them across the room in a wooden box. She stopped and stared through the window above her altar, where the world outside was cast in a grayish green. Her hands shook with uncertainty as she reached into the box and placed an aquamarine crystal atop the purple linen runner.

As hard as it was to ignore the worsening conditions outside, the equal discomfort of feeling useless simmered under Jovar’s skin as he sat in idle silence on the bed. He had no experience in witchcraft, never so much as opened a single book on its elements. Some fields of magic reprehended even the suggestion of offering help to practitioners, and he had no way of knowing whether hers fell under that category. Sitting, watching, staying out of trouble – since his exile, those were the principles he knew best.

“You don’t talk much, do you, dathei?” Sthrena kneeled on the floor and set the box down beside her. Jovar’s heart skipped a beat at her question. She picked out a wax-sealed jar of what he assumed were dried herbs. They all looked like shriveled weeds to him, but everything she kept had a purpose. Fingers curled around the jar, she closed her eyes. A faint white glow traced the lines of sprigs and the veins of leaves. When she opened her eyes, it faded.

“Not particularly,” Jovar answered. He cleared his throat, realizing how that may have sounded. “I mean, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Sthrena laughed. Her smile outshined the worry that wilted her face, wrinkling the bridge of her pointed nose. After setting the jar beside the crystal, she twisted a candlestick into a brass holder.

“How long have you lived at the mercy of a thrinari master? And before that, how long were you subjected to all the titles and proprieties and frivolities of our way of life? You can speak freely with me, Zhovar. You are my equal.”

“I—yes. Of course.” Jovar was never good at conversation, but perhaps she recognized that. The space between them became calmer in an instant. She placed the candle on the altar, clear of the runner, and pressed the tip of her finger to the wick. Once it caught fire, she drew back and sat herself cross-legged. She spun herself a quarter turn to face him.

“This could be my last night living here.” Sthrena looked down, crossing her thumbs over each other. “Your Maestus will be held to his word of rebuilding, but… These walls, these planks, they’ve borne witness to so much of my life. So much love and joy and grief and despair. They’ve endured all of it, are drenched to the core in it, and if not tonight, it’s only a matter of time before it's all washed away.”

The more she spoke, the less he knew what to say. The last time anyone had confided in him to any extent was far beyond his memory, if it had ever happened at all. They’d met mere hours ago, yet she insisted on calling him dathei and treating him like a longtime friend.

“It’s all right,” said Sthrena, trying to keep her smile as it faded, “V’thron will do what is most fit for the seas. Sometimes he is too generous, and she must be cruel; other times she is ruthless, and he must be merciful. My home encroaches on theirs, and so whatever their judgment, I will be grateful to have lived here so close to them.”

Still Jovar said nothing. He knew nothing of the figures she described, nothing of her way of life. It was clear by her expectant pauses that she wanted him to speak, but he wouldn’t know where to begin. Not without risking any inadvertent insults or other blunders just as humiliating. Sthrena studied his face, not relenting even when he averted his gaze.

“Your eyes burn with curiosity, but you are still afraid to speak.” She climbed onto the bed and sat beside him. “I know that is what the thrinari do to the minds of those unlike them, but I don’t often have company these days, and one last conversation with some authenticity would do this place honor.”

Jovar shifted in his spot and ran his fingers through his hair. Over the hours spent in the salt air, it had gotten waxier and more clumped. It was frizzled, unruly, and it made his scalp itch. On her, though, the very same looked beautiful and free.

“Your belongings are still here,” he said, “If the storm stands to destroy your home, why haven’t you moved them for safekeeping?”

“I have no possessions that I wouldn’t sacrifice to V’thron,” she said. “Everything I own is an offering. In fact, I would offer myself, but that does not sate my family’s monster.”

“You owe a debt?”

“My mother did. And my sister, Gira, whom you met earlier, is only a few years my junior. It would be cruel of me to pass on that burden.”

Rain patted against the roof. The wind picked up and the sky grew darker. Sthrena took a deep breath. The storm was marching in, but she didn’t want to end the conversation just yet.

“What got you exiled? Was it the necromancy?”

Jovar’s stomach turned. He was hoping the subject wouldn’t come up. It wouldn’t be fully a lie if he answered yes, but it wouldn’t be the complete truth, either. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to someone who had been so genuine, but there was no way he could tell her everything.

“Yes,” he answered, and did not elaborate. Sthrena narrowed her eyes, looking him up and down, but she didn’t press for details. Her lips twisted, warring with words she wanted to say while the storm swirled around them and demanded her diligence. Surrendering to it, she stretched out a hand toward him with her palm upturned.

“Give me your hand,” she ordered, and he obliged. Her skin was soft, if a bit clammy, but he found himself savoring the warmth of it. Giving a slight squeeze, she voiced a plea to her gods – or whatever they were.

“A woman the tempest, a man the temperate. When we one day return to the sea, let us become part of your likeness.” The wind howled, lobbing huge raindrops against the exterior. The floor jolted beneath them. Sthrena’s face turned to stone as she stared forward, moving on with the rest of her prayer. “But tonight, grant us mercy. Imthron, quell the tempest, soothe her anguish. Vithra, let your maelstrom heart be stilled.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The roar of wind and rain enclosed them. Sthrena remained steadfast, mouthing her prayers to herself; or she may have been whispering, but every second the storm grew louder until it overcame every other sound. Jovar wondered how long they’d have to endure before she saw fit to try and escape with their lives.

Blinding light flashed through the window. Thunder rumbled and shook the floor again, this time long enough that it almost felt like an earthquake. Then came the sound of breakage, like wood snapping, and something slammed on the wall outside. All was still for a moment, and then creaking and cracking sounded from beneath the floor. Sthrena squeezed his hand harder, her lips moving faster as a teardrop cut a path between the freckles of her cheek.

“We need to get out of here,” said Jovar, slinging his pack over his shoulder as the world tilted away from them. He stood and gave her a gentle pull, but she still sat praying. A crack on the joint of the opposite wall started gushing water. With the support posts already giving way, it was only a matter of time before the pressure would bore a hole.

Roof spars snapped, sending a mound of loose thatch down into the room. Rain poured in through the opening and accelerated the flooding. More and more, the feeble little shack sagged into the water. Jovar’s heart pounded.

“Yi-va—Sthrena.” Jovar choked on her name. He was hardly sure of his worthiness to speak it. “It’s lost. We should go to safety.”

Sthrena blinked fast a few times, then bit her lip and shuddered. She nodded, letting him lead her with their hands still cupped together. As they started for the door, the shattering of glass and an ear-splitting cacophony of sounds burst from behind them. She looked over her shoulder and gasped; the window and her altar were destroyed. Jovar could feel that he was tearing her away from everything she ever knew as he gave her hand another gentle tug.

He opened the door, and the wind grabbed it and slammed it against the wall. They stepped out onto the deck, hopping over the gaps where planks were missing. Sthrena faltered on one of her landings and nearly fell through, but Jovar’s grip saved her.

“Vrok,” she swore, wrapping her arm around his and holding on tight. “I knew that one was rotting for some time.”

By the time they reached the beach, their hair and clothes were already soaked through. Jovar shielded his eyes and scanned along the cliffside, then looked to the spot where Sthrena’s raft had been moored. It was gone. What was left of it wouldn’t take them anywhere. They wouldn’t make it to the Noth Dozrin hideaway.

“I know a place,” Sthrena shouted over the whistling wind. She pointed to the rock arch about fifty yards to their left. “Just beyond there. Let’s hurry.”

Debris swirled in the wind as they trudged their way across the beach. Jovar directed them clear of it each time it neared. The wet sand hampered their footing and slowed their progression, but they made it to the arch and took a brief respite under it. Sthrena held herself in a hug, shivering as she looked back at her home.

The shack was teetering on its last posts, its walls bending under their own weight. It leaned with one edge dipped into the water as if it were testing it before it dove in. Lightning flashed again. The bolt touched down and pierced what remained of the roof. It left behind a gaping hole that burned for a moment until the structure folded and collapsed with a drawn-out groan, tumbling into the sea. The waves washed over it, swallowing everything.

She stared, frozen but for a slight swaying, lips parted with no expression. No words found her. It didn’t look like she was even breathing at all. Jovar thought the wind might topple her over. She shivered again, holding herself as she turned to face him.

“Let’s go.” Her lips formed the words, but she didn’t speak loudly enough for her voice to carry. She stepped out from the cover of the arch and waited for Jovar to join her. Staying close to the rocky cliffside for shelter under the overhang, they moved on toward whatever place it was that Sthrena knew.

The cold was setting in for Jovar as well. His clothes were sodden, and the further they walked the more sand clung to them until it gritted against the goosebumps on his arms. Waxy, clumped-together hair was luxurious compared to this.

After some distance, the cliff face curved inward, further from the waves. Sthrena slowed down as she continued along the curve, the slight turn of her body and tilt of her head indicating she was looking for something. They must have been close.

“Here we are,” she said after a short distance more. A protrusion of rock jutted out at waist level, and beneath it the wall opened into a cave. Sthrena ducked into it, turning around to beckon him in. Another test of discomfort – he hated constrictive spaces, but there was no choosing where to stay for the night.

The space was little more than a small alcove, but it did open up to standing height. He had no lantern to ease the darkness, but Sthrena already thought ahead of him. The same as earlier that day, she held her bottle pendant to her lips and spoke a short spell.

“Ularine vro-thados.” A soothing, dim light bathed the space in seconds, but there was little to see. A sea-sprayed dirt floor with pebbles and sand scattered over it, some larger rocks here and there. Sthrena removed the pendant from her neck and placed it in a recess on the wall.

Jovar set down his bag and checked on his belongings. To his dismay but not surprise, everything was either damp or soaked through. He set clothing aside in a heap and took out his rolled wool blanket. Wet splotches had leaked from the surrounding items, but it was still usable. Sthrena came and sat beside him, letting out a shivering sigh. Her teeth chattered.

“Here.” Jovar passed her the blanket. He tried to avoid her gaze, but her scarlet eyes captured him. Tears glazed the surface of them but did not fall. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she managed a distorted smile.

“You’re different from the timid little twinemouse I met earlier, dathei. Still sweet, that is certain, but when it comes to it, you’re capable.”

He had thought anyone would be capable when survival depended on it. His only thought was for the two of them to escape alive, but he now realized it was a strange thought; he wasn’t used to caring about anyone but himself. Perhaps in the moment, something did change in him.

“I’m sorry about your home,” Jovar muttered. He blinked, realizing what he said and wondering what had come over him.

“Please, Zhovar.” The tears escaped and ran down her face. She brushed a rain-soaked lock of hair behind her ear. “V’thron has made judgment, and we are alive. New things and new memories will come. We could even start now.”

“How?”

Sthrena smiled, shaking her head. She grasped the corners of the blanket and wrapped him in it with her, pulling him into an embrace, and then a kiss. His breath vanished, his arms stiff and lost. He eased back into himself, finding her waist with his hands. Her skin was cold, but the warmth of her lips and her tongue melted him like a balmy spring sunrise after an arduous winter.

Never in his life had Jovar known his desires reciprocated. Even as she unfastened the buckle of his belt and the button of his trousers, he kept denying to himself that any of this was real. He found the loose end of her top and untied it. It unraveled and fell to the ground as she helped him out of his shirt.

She broke away from him for a moment to set the blanket flat on the ground behind him, then pulled him back into a tighter embrace. Their bodies pressed together, she laid him down. Pebbles and sand grated his skin through the thin layer of the blanket, but all his peeves in the world all at once couldn’t spoil the moment, couldn’t make him want her any less.

For the time being, there was nothing beyond the two of them. Despite how the storm raged outside their shelter with no sign of letting up, their thoughts were as distant as the sea-swallowed shack.