Shade POV
I dream of the first time I met her.
I – my dream self – both know and don't know she's there, hiding and waiting on the overgrown ledge. As our little group walks up to the arranged spot, I crane my neck toward it, eager to glimpse our elusive allies. Florins, who must've noticed my spying in the last curve, turns her head back to glare at me, jutting down her chin to remind me to keep my eyes on the ground, to stay in line and follow in her footsteps.
I hold her gaze while it lasts. Reese in front of me snorts, but doesn't look behind. It's the tension all four of us share. It's been running in our blood for months, if not, for some of us, years. Too high on adrenaline and too often harmed and betrayed, no Red nortan soldier was quick to join in the conspirative meeting. There aren't many more willing to rise up, period. Even among the few people Eastree dared to propose to make contact with rebels, she found only us three agreeing to go to the meeting.
"Don't let them see how few we are," Eastree told us before we left camp, "four is a good number for this."
Another safety measure among many. To stay safe – alive – we need to be unremarkable, careful, and attentive, for the dangers of the war, of the enemies and from our own officers. I can't keep my eyes on the ground, even though my head stays down. Every whistle in the wind has me suspect the appearance of a Silver.
Ironic, in a way. And which kind of danger will the fabled Scarlet Guard pose for us?
The truth is, we don't trust them. Rumours gone through the friend of a friend of a friend, most of them enwrapped in the criminal underworld like Will Whistle, carried the notion of the Scarlet Guard as the censored news never would.
But we're criminals too, now, as are the Scarlet Guard. And the Scarlet Guard are lakelanders, on top of that.
Nortan Silvers would love to report of unrest and protest in the enemy country if they weren't more afraid of their own Reds getting inspiration from foreign rebels.
I'd love to bring it over in their stead.
I'd love if I could be sure that's what we're doing here, too.
There are a multitude of options how this could go awry. We could be caught, of course. Or this whole meeting could be a trap.
I should be used to marches like this that might result in my death but my relatively safe weeks as an aide have sunk in. My heartbeat races as we approach the ledge – and finally, I see the other group, including their rifles pointed at us.
A trap a trap a trap
Someone climbs down to "welcome" us, a tall woman of light colouring unusual in Norta.
At least she looks like a lakelander, I remind myself. So does one of her companions and yet I feel no relief. If an officer the least bit interested in the Red soldiers got whiff of insurgents, they'd do everything to find and exterminate us. And if they got brains, they'd make us sing first and how better to do that than by infiltration by fake rebels from the enemy country?
If this was a scam by the Silvers, why shouldn't they pick a decoy looking distinctively lakelandian to lull the traitors – us – they want to catch? The collaboration alone is enough to get us hanged, we all know that, yet we are here.
Has the lakelander woman there the same fears?
She doesn't show it. We're as close as we're going to get and I see she's even taller than I thought, the same height as me but bigger all in all. She's also surprisingly young, hardly older than me, and quite pretty. She doesn't wear a uniform, neither nortan nor lakelandian.
Has she ever ducked in the trenches and shot at other Reds, like us? Is she even a soldier?
But no, I can't imagine her a rookie. She's too casual and confident, versed in matters like this. Whoever she fights for, she's a soldier through and through. Her composure is strong and sure, her eyes are assessing us coolly.
I avoid her gaze to find her comrades' guns. They are the threat we can't overlook. If the woman with the pretty face was the luring distraction, the others were the trap to snap shut sooner or later.
It could be the other way round too, though. The Lakelands sending out false rebels to stir up trouble in the nortan army. Although, were that the plan, the Cygnets would also risk inciting their own population. Unless the rebel operatives were instructed to wreak the greatest havoc and appear terrifying enough to throw off ...
Eastree speaks up and all present twitch in their own way. The rebel leader, swaggering, puts her hand on the pistol on her hip while her male comrade starts, just a little bit. It offers a clearer image of them. They aren't utterly cold and detached yet professional enough to keep focus. A safe, relieving attitude.
They are soldiers like me. But can that bridge the trenches of enmity between us, our countries warring for a hundred years? One of them, the other woman, I suspect for her scars, has likely fought in this war. Killed nortans like us, just like we killed her comrades on commands from the enemies we share.
The enemies that should unite us.
I can't look at her and glance back at the leader. She plays it cool but eventually, I find the signs of her own nervousness, too. She isn't certain of this either, yet she's willing to risk it.
I want to trust her. Trust that she needs people like me and that she has motivation going beyond orders she can't deny. I want the rebellion to be real. But if she's suspicious of us, for the same things I've considered, she still might not let us go: If it's truly the rebellion she wants to protect, would she silence us by death out of mistrust?
When Eastree calls out our names, I step forward and stare at the rebel. If she wants to kill us, she has to do it while looking into my eyes. I know firsthand how hard it is to shoot a person who has a name and a face.
"I'm Barrow. Shade Barrow. And you better not get me killed," I say sharply. Too late I realize it doesn't sound angry, but cocky, like a joke. One that doesn't make her smile, no – but though her eyes narrow, the corners of her mouth lift enough to see the impression I've made.
"No promises," she retorts.
I didn't expect one. But I believe she understands.
I believe we follow the same cause. What she believes, I don't know. Her face freezes for an endless second until all falls away.
I wake, gasping silently. The memories linger freshly in my mind even though six months have passed. So little time, but how far we've come in the meantime.
In the dark and damp room, I snuggle deeper into my pillow on the thin mattress. To think I've been afraid of being killed by the same woman who's hugging me from behind right now, the two of us sleeping with our bodies pressed against each other like spoons. I sigh, closing my eyes for one moment more. Another memory rises, from last night when Diana sat down on my lap and we made love. Maybe we shouldn't, curb ourselves; we'd warning enough. Yet. Neither me nor Diana can deny this wild desire that is either fear of death or lust for life. If we lose everything, we'll have had these moments. Her legs encircled my hips, her hand rested on my chest, close to my shoulder as if to measure my heartbeat. The whole time, her eyes fixed mine. Even when the waves of her orgasm ran through her, even when I came a few seconds later. The whole time, we didn't talk, even agreeing on a condom went without words despite all we have to talk about. What we've got into. What we could be. What we should do.
Falling out of night's peace, the return of day's weight makes me groan. The arm I lie on is pins and needles, with the other I pull our entwined hands to my mouth, kissing Diana's knuckles. Her fingers are coarse, callused and harder than mine. As always, a whiff of gunpowder sticks to them.
Does the move rattle her? Suddenly, her breath against my neck becomes stronger. I can almost feel her eyes opening and looking ahead.
The silence continues and I realize that she yawns. "Time," she mutters eventually, with a note of excited anticipation in her voice. She shifts and kisses the line between my neck and jaw and then she glides from the bed while I'm still blinking myself awake.
I groan when she turns on the small but bright light over the door. As I still struggle for morning shape, Diana refreshes herself and puts on clothes, humming. She's strangely elated and not sick at all. My head spins. Does that mean something? Were her hunches wrong? She stretches, only in trousers and bra. If she's pregnant, she's certainly not showing yet. (Would she?) She's had large breasts before but rather lost a little weight here at the notch. Still big and curvy-shaped over muscles long-worked for, she might be somewhat leaner. Though the biggest change from my dream is her hair, neither a long braid nor cropped short but just reaching over her ears in yellow waves. She shakes them out of her face all the time; I wonder when she'll cut them off in annoyance.
I smile – now she is fussing over her hair. The next moment, she stands over me, arms akimbo.
I slouch up, draping the pale blanket over my brown chest decoratively. Diana takes in my sight with joy, obviously. She's frozen, her lips slightly open. I can't help chuckling, thinking of the time she caught me staring at her like that. Soon she catches herself. She crouches next to the mattress. She's serious now but - without needing to look - our hands clasp.
Her other hand musses my hair. I grimace. "Good morning, Barrow," she says, "training time."
I nod slowly. Of course. The next mission throws its shadow, mere two days left until we'll storm the Corros Prison.
Diana frowns with the gloom of impatience. I clear my throat. "Give me a sec," I say. "But you, are you ... umm ..." I'm not sure how to say it. Until the night in the manor, I could pretend there was no terror in risking our lives.
She squeezes my hand and I find her eyes. "It's okay," she assures me.
Okay. Whatever that means.
The corners of her mouth twitch. "Ready?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. Yet she doesn't wait for an answer and pulls me up and into a kiss. I wish it was so easy to be "ready" as to sink into Diana's embrace. To be a parent, as well as going to war. But I know that this has likely been exactly the bound between Diana and me right from the start. If I saw what I could be under the yoke of the Silvers, she made me certain to take it. We can't be lovers without being rebels because either is an innate part of who we are.
Through the narrow and winding corridors of the dark notch, we head outside. The place is only half-awake; with few sounds penetrating doors but no bustling activity.
Diana's excitement keeps on shining. She strides wearing only a thin sweater over a sleeveless top while I'm freezing in a similar attire. She's more at home in this climate but today she's filled with energy as sleep still tucks at me. She glances behind at me when I yawn another time and reaches back to take my hand. So I'm the first to see Crance at the notch's front exit.
Diana starts, just stopping herself from running into him. I grin. Not so awake after all.
"Hi Crance," she mutters, "we're off to exercise."
"Captain." Crance nods in salute.
Diana pauses in her tracks. The use of her rank has become unusual fast. I don't know either whether to use it or not, whether Diana enjoys the show of respect or resents it now it's been taken from her. Finally, she nods to him in return, but with arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "Care to join us?"
Crance's jaw drops and he blushes. "Oh no, I'm keeping watch here," he replies quickly. Then he winks at me and blood rushes to my head.
"Good," Diana says unperturbed though the corners of her mouth lift.
We go on. Did she intent to make Crance feel like a third wheel? If so, does she want our relationship to be ... less secret now? Although, only to those who don't guess it already. Her smile tells me nothing, as enticing as it is.
Outside, dawn is breaking though hidden by the twilight of a cloudy November day. Just bright enough for a run. Diana pulls off her sweater and decides on a course. I grind my teeth, wishing to start the training since that will get me warm at least. I don't have patience for stretching, the run will have to be enough.
Diana counts down for us to start. I watch her getting ready and so she gets in front even easier than usual. She's the better sprinter of the two of us while I need time to hit my high.
Ahead of me, she calls, "no cheating!" back at me and I suck in a breath as I try to catch up. Teleporting is a temptation to avoid at sports like this. As helpful and lifesaving as it is, I can't rely on it alone.
My stamina kicks in as we race through the woods, now side by side, smelling the scents of the fog, the trees and each other. Diana slows as I expected and still I see it costs her to keep up. Willpower pulls her through the rest of the mile. Gasping, she points at a specific tree as the finish line.
"No cheating," she repeats, winking.
"Promise," I confirm with a gasp, and push for the goal, as does Diana. Focused on the goal, I reach it a length ahead of her. I moan at the end yet we both run on, slowing down step by step. Finally, Diana leans down on her knees, panting.
I sidle over to her, raising my hand to rub her back, then change my mind to muss her hair. Revenge for the morning. As she stays down, I crouch in front of her with a spin. "Are you okay?" I ask quietly.
She jerks up straight. "Sure," she retorts, and walks on.
I feel like losing my footing. In this moment, I question whether the two of us have very different definitions of "okay". Swallowing my confusion, I follow her. When she doesn't wait, I grab her arm.
She glares. I take a breath. "When you said 'it's okay' before," I say in a low voice, "what did you mean? Have you reason ... I mean, are you sure now? Do you ... have news?"
She blinks at first while she figures. My mind twists as well. Was it all a mistake?
Then she snorts. "If I'm pregnant? Oh, no. I don't know. No news there." She shrugs.
Shrugs.
I sigh with frustration. Does she have to be like this, so nonchalant about our future? I squeeze her arm. "Well, why don't you find out? How can you stand not knowing!"
Her face flushes and she breaths heavily. I wonder if she's thirsty. I wonder if she would throw the bottle if she had one right now.
She pulls away, definitely angry. She must've been angry for so long, we all are. She only balanced it with the adrenaline of a fight before.
Instead of that, she shouts. "Well, I'd be the one to have a baby! Of course I'd like to know!"
I wince, despite myself. I've caused this outburst and maybe I should feel sorry. I don't. I let her shouts sink in, digest them, and a part of me enjoys that. Finally, I've coaxed an honest confession from her. What I feel in turn is like a better kind of pain, like a release. The pain of exertion. Of healing. Of love.
I hope she shares it.
When she's done, I nod. She stares at me, gasping.
The silence grows between us, no words of mine to invalid hers. Yet I want to touch her, let fingers slide over her bare arms, warm from exertion, cold from the air. It's often like that between us, a draw that's almost magnetic. She's a sun whose warmth I'm tempted to absorb and I withstand until I'd freeze without it.
Then there are moments like this when I'm afraid to get burned by her. If I hurt her.
So she's the one to decide, to pull me aside with a sigh and lead us to a tree we can lean against, facing away instead of each other.
"You already said we can't stay at the notch," I begin tentatively.
"Hm."
That's enough to go on. "I'm aware Tuck might be a problem but there have to be other bases you know of. We could try one of them?" I have to think of my parents, my siblings, still on Tuck Island from where Diana's estranged father chased us away. I wish they weren't in the same place. If her father is no longer family to her, she can be with mine. But Diana hardly met them. I'm certain they'd help us, even if only by being with us. I ponder on bringing them up as I wait for Diana's response. Time with my family has been cut short, the way we've been running away. I miss them. How much we have to sacrifice to survive, to –
"... I've considered that," Diana replies finally.
I swallow from the rip from my thoughts. "There might be someone to give you answers, too," I add.
I hear another "hm", then Diana clearing her throat. "Possibly," she says wearily. Is she blushing? My head jerks though not enough to catch her sight. I let her play this game.
"I'll consider that," she repeats, firmer now. "After Corros – "
"Why?"
Now, she is the one to turn her head. I see her frown from the corners of my eyes and imagine the rest of Diana in her captain mode. "After Corros," she goes on, "I'll relay the locations to Ada. Maybe Cal, too. I can't share vital intel with everyone, not when they could get caught."
Taking that in, I wonder if she still mistrusts Cal. She appears welcoming enough to him but I know she won't make the mistake of relying on a Calore's promises alone twice.
"Or we could all die, of course," she adds sardonically.
I startle. I feel for her hand and take it, damn the play. "And what if you do die?" I ask sharply.
I glimpse another look. "I'm always aware of the risk," she says with earnest. But there is a flash of fear in her eyes. Just a little. Is she really aware what that means now, or does she ignore it?
I push away from the tree to face her. "You can't die, Diana. I'll make sure of it."
She looks almost sad when she leans her head into the crook of my neck. Her hand, the one I don't hold, embraces my back. "Thank you," she whispers.
"You can tell me the locations. I swear to protect the information."
She lifts her head, smiling weakly. "Then you have to protect yourself, too."
"Obviously," I promise. How could I not? Maybe I shouldn't promise anything but then I could give up from the start. I've always used teleporting to keep people safe. It's natural for me yet I'm also the only teleporter we know. If I had a trainer or a jumping partner, things would be different. The queenstrial and what Mare and Cal told us make clear how Silvers use nearly all possibilities of their abilities. Teleporting could easily be turned into an offensive tactic, a lethal talent. I did that, once. Perhaps I could get into Maven's rooms and murder him in his sleep.
Am I a coward for not daring that? Am I even a soldier when I hate to kill?
I hug Diana and hold her tight. It grounds me. I'm not like air, blowing hither and thither. If I'd told her that, she'd reassure me that I've proved my worth to the Guard again and again. My deeds advance our cause, and daring to meet Diana has made it possible. I know that, as I know that I, we, are more than that.
I breathe in her scent, now mixed with the notes of sweat and the forest around us. In my mind circle the few conversations we had about another more, the question of her possible pregnancy. It loads every word Diana said with meaning I'm desperate to decipher. But maybe there is none, I fear. She's just so reserved, relying on herself, that she's turned her heart into a puzzle box.
She doesn't want me to solve her like a riddle. But I can't throw my hands up in the air either. My lips nuzzle her cheek to relax her and accordingly, she moans dreamily. "You said you don't want to lose anyone else," I begin. "Or did you mean you're afraid of starting to love?"
She pulls back, aghast. "Of loving someone you might lose," I clarify.
"I figured," she snaps. She's still in my embrace but I'm very aware of the space she's put between us, as well as the hardening press of her hands on my sides. "And I said," she goes on, pausing for emphasis. Her eyes wander as she gathers herself and when they turn on me again, she concludes, "I said I love you. I mean that."
"And – "
"And I'll love our child," she rejoins. Without a doubt. Then her face darkens once more and her head lowers so our foreheads touch. "I am afraid," she murmurs. "So afraid."
"Yes," I soothe her. "It's okay. I'm with you." I've said it so often. I believe it. She must know it. What else I can give her, I am not so sure. It certainly affords more bravery. "I'm frightened too," I say. "Every day, I just keep going because you, Mare, the others are with us." She cackles lightly in agreement, filling the one more moment I need. I remember the dangerous woman from my dream, the one I've been afraid of and trusted nonetheless. "The same applies to you, Diana. You aren't alone, no matter what. And fear ... we have to accept fear. It's the only way to live with it."
She gasps, her eyelids fluttering. But she doesn't speak. Foreheads touching, we stand still, our breaths fogging and intermingling. What is there to say? Words alone can't shatter the obstacles ahead of us. Aware of them looming, we grasp this moment of resting together.
Diana's fingers start play with mine but instead of clasping them, I lift my hand to her abdomen.
Her eyes widen. "There's nothing to 'feel' for," she warns.
I catch her gaze. "Let me," I say in a soft voice. She swallows but nods, her face intense in a way I can't define.
She was right. Her hitched breath is all I can feel. She feels like always, the curve of her belly, soft flesh and strong muscles beneath. I can only imagine a tiny being, if there is one, as ephemeral as a candle flame. It could go out as easily, especially with the way we're living. And yet. It withstood so far. I hope it's as brave as us.
The realization of the thought hits me. I want it. To protect it, and the future it entails. I want to be with Diana and for us to be safe.
She said she will love it. No "would", although she keeps up her claim of uncertainty. As if it's certain we'll have a child one day; if not now, then later when this world might be another.
Though I imagine our child to be brave, I also wish it won't have to be.
Diana watches, however much she can read in my face. "I think I'll love it too," I whisper, and she smirks. She squeezes my hand and caresses my cheek with the other.
The concern lingering in her expression pulls me out of my reverie for good. "Diana, if you need anything, I'll get it for you," I promise, knowing it could be anything if she wished for it. I want her to know that, that I'd support her in every case. Even though she seems to as good as have made up her mind.
She nods slowly.
"I mean," I continue, "I'll also ... do whatever you ask for."
"'Do'?" She raises her eyebrows.
I make a face. Of course, she's asked me to do many things as my handler. I close and open my eyes. "I trust you to know what's best. For you, us. But if you don't trust ... want to confide in ..." I'm unsure how to phrase it which further confuses her. I sigh. "In case you want to pull out of a mission," I say, "I'll back you. And would veil the reason."
She almost grins. She wasn't prepared to be amused but now she is.
Well done, Barrow, unintended transition.
Her grin widens. "Thanks for the offer. But not just yet, as you know." I incline my head. "So you're positive about Corros, Barrow?" she asks.
I smile back. "Absolutely."
She stares at me silently. No longer joking, her brow lowers. Suddenly, a breeze sighs around us to remind us of the cold morning. "There are never absolutes," Diana says, her tone grave. "No promises."
"That's why we think of contingencies and plan ahead," I say, reviewing our conversation.
She nods, tucking back a rebellious curl. "We do," she confirms. Then she smiles and clasps my hand, pulls me close to whisper another plan into my ear. It's brilliant, yet easy to follow. Our lips meet and still kissing, we head off to mould unknown futures into realities.