Oralia forced a slow, ragged breath between her tusks as she looked Sascha up and down, taking stock of the damage. The thick layer of blood, mud, and grime made it difficult to calculate the damage's severity, but it looked bad. Very bad. The kind of bad that warranted being carried off the battlefield on a stretcher. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a stretcher big enough for the task nor the hands required to lift it. A cart might do, but Oralia hadn’t seen one of those during her sweep of the village, either.

  She bit back a whimper and hid the growing worry from her face.

  “Hello, Sunflower,” Oralia said, softly ghosting her fingers along the side of his face. She didn’t want to inflict pain by brushing against the open cuts and bruises that marred Sascha’s flesh, but he seemed to respond to her touch the most. “You were so brave.”

  Sascha’s lips were split and a chalky blue-gray, nearly drained of color. He still managed a small, adoring smile.

  “I am going to get you out of here, understand? You and me, together. But I am going to need your help. I need you to get up. Can you do that for me?”

  Mul and Briony hovered behind Oralia’s crouched form. She could feel their eyes boring down on her, their breath bated, anxiously waiting for what would happen next. Oralia shared their anxiety, but couldn’t show it. Sascha needed her to be strong. He needed to believe that he really could rise onto his own two feet and stagger away to safety. Oralia needed to believe it, too, because the alternative meant soldiering on without him and, good gods, she didn’t have that kind of strength.

  “You can do it,” she said, fighting the tightness in her throat. “Show me.”

  Sascha’s burly arms shifted into position. He braced his knuckles against the ground and used the combined strength in his arms and legs to lift his large body. Oralia locked her hands under his right arm and used her knees to lift. Mul ducked under Sascha’s left and did the same. Sascha was nearly halfway upright when his legs gave out. His knees buckled and the rest of him followed, collapsing into a pained pile back into the wet dirt.

  The distress that bled into Sascha’s agonized expression made her heart lurch. “It is alright.” Oralia rubbed her hand against his shoulder for comfort. “Catch your breath and we will try it again.”

  She meant what she said. She would keep trying, they both would, until it either worked or it didn’t. Nothing else mattered to her. Not the battle, not the war, not even the fate of the world that hung precariously in the balance. Oralia had no desire to live in a rectified world if there was no Sascha with which to share it. That was her decision, however. And it was unfair to exact it on anyone else.

  Her teary-eyed stare swept over the grim faces of Trant and Novera Belfast before settling on her crew. Mul and Briony were all that remained of the second evacuation team. The rest had already retreated into the protection of the woods and to the secret underground bunker beyond. “Take the Belfasts and go.”

  Mul’s bushy brow furrowed over his eyes. “On our own?”

  “Briony knows the way better than do I.”

  “You know that’s not what I’ve got a bee in my bonnet about. I’m not worried about losing my way, I’m concerned about you,” Mul replied. “You’re not going to be able to get the big feller out on your own.”

  She really wished he hadn’t just said that out loud. Sascha wouldn’t agree to it if he knew she intended to share his fate, for better or for worse. Oralia kept a straight face to assure Mul she’d already considered his point and had it covered. “Then come back for me after you have delivered the Belfast’s to safety. Briony may know the way, but they will need your brawn to fend against enemy attackers.”

  “My brawn? Briony shattered three skulls today using nothing but her own head. These blokes don’t need me.”

  Trant and Novera Belfast lingered awkwardly near the mouth of the alley, nervous to be on their way. The latter held Dewpetal’s limp body cradled in her arms. They were right to be anxious. Time was of the essence and Oralia had already wasted enough arguing. “A head is no good against steel, Mul. No more arguing. Go.”

  “But—”

  “The quicker you leave, the quicker you can return.”

  Mul’s eyes narrowed, only half convinced. “Fine.”

  “Good. And do not half-ass it, either.” Oralia shooed him away with a wave of her hand. Her eyes settled on Briony. The somber look on the tan and brown faun’s face nearly caused Oralia’s mask to slip. Unlike Mul, Briony knew it was simply an excuse to get them to safety. Oralia could speak of returning all she liked, but talking about it didn’t make it any less of a fantasy.

  Oralia offered Briony a grateful nod as her throat cinched tighter, causing her words to waver. “When you see Rali or my sister, Ashwyn, give them my thanks. Tell them I could not pass up my last opportunity for lone martyr shit.”

  “You won’t be alone, ‘cause I’ll be coming back!” Mul assured her as he herded the others out the open end of the alley with his outstretched arms.

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  “Your daring escape would be more successful if you lowered your voice,” Oralia called after him.

  “Na-uh! You don’t get to tell me how to evacuate from afar. I’m boss-less now and I’ll do it any which way I like!”

  Judge Belfast must have hit Mul over the head with reason, as the Stoneclaw’s resounding voice went thankfully quiet shortly after they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

  Oralia’s attention, at last, returned to Sascha’s pitiful form. She caught the flash of pained guilt that crossed his battered face and challenged it with a single, raised eyebrow. “I hope you have caught your breath, my love, because I am not giving up on you. Mark my words, this will not be your final resting place. We are making it out of this accursed village together.”

  Sascha’s mouth parted and her own pitiful name rasped free. “...Oralia.”

  “Sascha Yukah, as the gods as my witness, I will drag your body inch by inch if necessary.”

  He reached for her hand, pleadingly. His formerly iron grip was disturbingly limp. “Think of the baby.”

  Think of the baby? Seven realms, she was thinking of the baby! Particularly how she couldn’t possibly raise it on her own without her better half. Others may have had the strength, but not her. Oralia needed Sascha just as badly as the life growing inside of her needed its father. “Stow it,” she ordered. “Whatever else you have to say, don’t. I do not want to hear it. Save your strength for the long walk.”

  Sascha’s trembling arm dropped to his side. Having given up on words, he didn’t speak. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only thing he’d appeared to have given up on. He didn’t struggle to his feet. He sat still, instead, like a miserable lump, desperately waiting for Oralia to reach the same conclusion he’d already accepted himself.

  He was giving up. No, worse, he’d already given up. One measly attempt to get to his feet and he’d called it quits. Oralia didn’t give in so easily, though. She had one last underhanded tactic up her metaphorical sleeve and if it didn’t spur him to reconsider, then she’d have to accept that nothing would.

  Oralia dug deep into the hidden pocket stitched into the inside of her jacket and pulled a hidden treasure free. She’d intended to do this with a real ring, not one of the silly woven bands she’d used to kill time in hiding. She certainly hadn’t planned for this to happen now, either. But, as many before her had learned the hard way, sometimes the right moment wasn’t a matter of setting, mood, or proper planning, but of seizing the opportunity before it slipped through your fingers.

  “Marry me,” she said.

  Sascha’s wide eyes were too transfixed on the woven ring clasped between her fingers to look her in the face and gauge whether she was serious. “Now?”

  “No, not now. Where in chaos would I find an officiant in the middle of an evacuation?” Oralia held the ring tantalizingly closer. “You say yes now and we marry later. I do not care when or where, so long as it is outside of this wretched village.”

  Finally, his gaze lifted from the ring to her eyes.

  Oralia saw the beginnings of color trickle back into his ashen complexion. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I have no intention of marrying a corpse,” she said. “So if you would like to do more than merely picture our wedding day, I suggest you try finding those feet of yours.”

  Wordlessly, he extended his hand in her direction, fingers splayed, demanding his bribe upfront.

  Oralia’s smirk transformed into a full smile, front teeth and all, as she slipped the ring onto his finger. “Is that a yes?”

  “You know damn well it’s a yes,” Sascha grumbled. He shifted his body, slowly gathering his arms and legs beneath him. “Figures you’d wait for a moment like this to finally pop the question. Even had the bloody ring and everything!”

  His anger was good. It meant there was still enough of him left over to feel, to fight, and, ultimately, ensure they died somewhere other than a dark, dingy alley. The sounds of battle waged in the distance, farther away than before. Oralia had left Rali and Captain Bernstein in charge of the fighting, with explicit instructions to push the enemy to the far side of the village, away from the residential area. There was a small chance she and Sascha could make it on foot if they started now before Captain Berstein pulled his forces back.

  Oralia positioned herself next to Sascha, locking her hands under his left arm. Ideally, she would have been positioned behind him and assisted him upright with her arms locked around his chest, but his sheer size prevented her from being able to reach all the way around. “I am going to help pull you up onto your feet,” she instructed, “and then you’re going to use all the strength on your legs to stand. After that, you and I will go one step at a time.”

  It took three attempts before together, they got Sascha upright and semi-steady. Oralia tucked herself under his left arm, shouldering his weight, while Sascha steadied himself against the alley wall with his right. From there, it was simply a matter of stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other. The going was agonizingly slow but, eventually, they staggered out of the alley and into the street. Oralia made sure they stayed close to the stone cottages, as a means of support and to better disguise their escape. Little by little, step by step, the pair made their way through the maze of tightly packed cottages until those too started to recede, offering heartening glimpses of the dark tree line beyond.

  They were nearly to the final edge of town when Oralia caught movement from the corner of her eye. She followed it, watching as an elf darted out from the safety of a boarded-up house and scurried over to join them. “Oh thank goodness,” he panted as the gap swiftly closed between them. “I was afraid I’d missed you. What luck, I have, stumbling across you all the way out here.”

  Sascha’s body tensed against her. Amidst the worry and exhaustion weighing her heavy limbs down, Oralia felt a familiar chill stir to life within her bones. Liquid ice pooled deep inside her chest, stealing her breath, as the pendant hung around her neck burned so cold, it nearly singed her skin.

  “Sascha,” Oralia said under her breath, studying the newcomer warily. The elf wore neither a military uniform nor the decorative robes of the Division of Divination. She saw a thin blade tucked beneath his cloak, but he approached with his hands held in the air as if he were a friend, not foe. Pleasant demeanor be damned. Oralia couldn’t shake the sudden urge to draw her sword and run the stranger through. “Who is this?”

  Sascha unslung his left arm from around her shoulders and staggered forward, placing his gargantuan body between them as a shield. He refused to tear his eyes from the approaching elf. A single word emitted from between his clenched teeth. “Run.”