always and forever is forever young
your shadow on the pavement, the dark side of the sun
Solar dragons were one of the few animals in the world which Mallos liked. Small in comparison to its relatives, the bulky females no bigger than a Shetland pony, it lived in colonies on the surface of stars inhabited by nymphs. Peaceful and shy, the solar dragon avoided creatures which it did not see as kindred spirits. It could sense the magic in others and felt comfortable only in the presence of those who held power over fire.

There was a little solar dragon living inside of Croe.

Mallos felt it as soon as she pressed his hand to her belly, visibly protruding even in the dim light of the cell. That glow from within – the characteristic manner in which solar wildlife recognised and interacted with each other – warmed his palm and sent an electric spark through his veins. The foetus stirred, perhaps sensing the same thing. A trickle of inexplicable unease slid down Mallos’ spine, magnified into a dawning realisation he didn’t dare name when she spoke.

No, she had to be wrong. He was too careful about that sort of thing. But, just to check… he spread his fingers a little wider and psychically dove into her biology. The child was active, shuffling about even while relatively restrained in its upside-down position. If size and development were any indication, it was only a matter of days before Croe met her child face-to-face herself. As though it could feel his presence probing, the baby wiggled unhelpfully while he went deeper, picking apart its DNA, learning that it was actually a she, and she was… she was…

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Mallos withdrew his hand as though he’d touched a red-hot poker, his breath coming sharply, his heartbeat racing. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. Perhaps he was still under the Alhambra, waiting in watery darkness and inventing fantasy worlds in his head to keep from crying out in insanity. Perhaps his mind had been irretrievably broken down by Therait and he had blacked out into a lucid dream state. Perhaps he was really Sennefer, confused about his own identity, seeing the wrong people.

Croe was categorically the wrong person to see. She was, without a doubt, the wrong person to be pregnant with his child, even if a right person existed. How could this have happened? He was so, so careful. He used magic –

- except when magic wasn’t there to be used. The memory crept forward triumphantly as though it had been waiting all along on the sidelines, smug in the knowledge that he had no answer to it. The rocking boat, his burning shoulder… impulse and raw attraction had driven him then, like an animal. Like an idiot. Neither of them had taken any precautions and he hadn’t thought about it for a second since, except to sulk at her broken promises. The application of magical protection to the activity they had performed was so automatic that he had never, then or in any of the months succeeding, even thought about its absence.

There was no time to process any of this. A familiar feeling brushed his mind, aglow with concern. Sperantia had sensed his panic from the other side of Shaman and reacted to it, pressing him to see if he was alright. He didn’t respond, either to block her or to answer her questions, so she stepped deeper into his mind – hesitantly at first, then more confidently when he made no move to stop her. Silence ensued inside and out while she perused his recent memories. It took a moment for Mallos to find his voice again – at least psychically.

‘What do I do?’ He asked with a touch of desperation. He’d never sought her advice before, although she’d frequently offered it.

More silence. Sperantia dug through the other memories of Croe – in the caves, on the clouds, in the desert.

‘I suppose you should have thought of that before now.’ Her voice was like a drop of ice.

‘Sperantia – ’

‘No, I am done listening to you.’ Her voice was quiet, but emanated a cold fury which quieted him instantly. ‘I thought I could help you, but you’re beyond help. You don’t take it. You don’t try. You exert effort trying to hide the things you do when you should be making sure you don’t fucking do it in the first place.’ Through their connection, he felt her stand up, her claws unsheathed. ‘You know,’ she snarled, ‘it’s no fucking wonder your friends believed the things Gwythr did in your name. I’d’ve believed it too.’

The connection severed as sharply as a snapping rope, leaving Mallos temporarily stunned all over again. A moment later when he tried to reach out to her, she blocked him so effectively that he couldn’t slip a single word past her defences. He was as alone as he had been under the Alhambra, missing the part of his soul which calmly reasoned out his emotions.

Slowly, the jail cell came back into focus. His hand had moved from Croe’s face to grip her shoulder at some point in the interval, although he didn’t remember doing it. He replayed her words in his head, shifting his attention to her cracked vocals. His pupils had dilated, his vision sharper now than it had been before. He noticed the thick, iron chains which ran from the wall to the cuffs around her ankles, unmoving; the awkward angle of her legs; the newfound lines in her face ringing eyes which held him in a different way. It had taken him a moment longer to identify her cell because her energy had shifted to a quieter, subdued, haggard version of itself.

With a touch of hesitance, he brushed a strand of hair from her face and remembered his own words: you are worth every minute I will spend asking forgiveness.

She’d been right after all. But so had he.

The choice had been made. Mallos stopped trying to contact Sperantia and leant forward to kiss Croe instead, returning his hand to her cheek and running the other one around her stomach to her back. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“I won’t let them touch you,” he promised, unsure – even in his own mind – as to who he meant by them. He had turned enough friends into enemies tonight.

He removed his hand from her back, placing it on her lower leg, and focused. The iron chains melted away as though they’d never been there. He ran his hand slowly up her leg, checking for cuts and bruises.

“Are you hurt?” He repeated, this time adding a broader definition. “Any discomfort? Backache?”


i can feel you in the silence saying, “let forever be,
love, and only love, will set you free.”