I walked over and looked at his collection spread across the bed. Swords, daggers, throwing knives. And at the end, his favorite axe with the carved handle.
“You’re bringing your murder axe?”
He paused. “It is not a murder axe, it’s just...” He trailed off.
“You literally call it your murder axe.”
He paused, caught between sheepish and defiant. “Yes.”
I laughed despite my anxiety. We worked in comfortable silence after that, moving around each other with practiced ease. He handed me a pouch for my herbs before I could ask. I adjusted a loose strap on his armor without him mentioning it. Wordless teamwork, built over years of partnership.
Eventually, we climbed into bed and he pulled me close.
We lay face to face, his hand on my cheek, mine over his heart.
“What if this doesn’t work?” I asked quietly. “What if Tyreen can’t help?”
“Then we find another way.”
“What if there is no other way?”
“There is always another way. We will find it. Together.”
I was silent for a moment, then I admitted it. “I’m scared.”
“Of the journey?”
“Of failing him. Killian. What if we can’t protect him?”
Mal pulled me closer. “We will. Whatever it takes. No one touches our son.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. We will come back to him. All of us.”
I pressed my face against his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you. More than yesterday. Less than tomorrow.”
I groaned. “That’s cheesy. But against my better judgment, I love it.”
We fell asleep tangled together.
***
Dawn came too early, pale light creeping through the windows.
I dressed in travel clothes. Practical pants, a tunic that wouldn’t snag on branches, comfortable boots broken in from years of use. I pulled my hair back tight with my scrunchies I’d brought from Earth because I absolutely despised the leather straps they used here.
Mal dressed in similar clothes with light armor underneath. The metal gleamed dully in the morning light as he moved, checking buckles and straps.
I looked around our chambers one last time, trying to memorize every detail. The bed we shared. The wardrobe where our clothes hung together. The small table where Killian liked to draw. Not sure when we’d be back. Not sure what we’d face in those woods.
Mal offered his hand, his face serious but determined. “Ready?”
I took it, adjusting Killian’s wilted flower crown on my head with my free hand. The petals were drooping but I wasn’t taking it off. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You are wearing the flower crown.”
