Note: Thanks very much to everybody who reviewed. Sorry for the long wait for an update—high school is running me ragged.

twenty-one: plots hatched

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The night is frigid and windy, unsurprising for late December. It is even colder on the coast than it is inland, and Ozorne retreats into the not-quite-adequate sanctuary of his metal wings, ducking his head against his chest, while still keeping an eye on the ship below.

It is docked on the far side of the northern harbor, just out of sight of the Imperial Palace. Ozorne allows his gaze to linger almost longingly on what he can see of his former home, before going back to observing the quality of the wood on the boarding planks.

The wind howls again, rattling the riggings on the ship's mast. Ozorne digs his talons into the post he is perched on, fighting back a shiver.

Far below him and three streets over, a small figure wrapped in a black cloak tiptoes through the lower city's streets cautiously. Deciding not to risk a lantern, she has a small orb of easily extinguishable blue fire in her palm, which lights the streets with an eerie sapphire glow.

Kalasin has never been out in Carthak alone, not in the four years she's been here. The slightest sound makes her jump, and she looks askance at each shift in the shadows. She draws her shawl tighter around her shoulders, and repeats the directions he had given her to the northern harbor again, under her breath.

It takes her a quite a while longer than anticipated to make it to the dock. She has to pass a tavern on the way, and spends five minutes huddled into the shadows in an attempt to avoid the drunken men staggering through the streets.

She is alone on the docks of the harbor, at last, and she looks up at the sky doubtfully, shivering a little in the cold air. Part of her wants to call his name out, but that would be beyond stupid. So Kalasin stands, and watches, and waits.

After a few minutes, her sharp eyes catch a glimpse of a flash of silver on the top of the mast of a ship about halfway down the dock. Something tells her that it is Ozorne, and Kalasin lights her Gift again, before setting off to the ship at a quick run.

--

An unpleasant thing beleaguering his wings and legs wakes Ozorne, and it takes him a few moments to blink the sleep away from his eyes.

He recognizes the woman pelting him with rocks instantly, although she stops as soon as he cracks an amber eye open to glare at her weakly. Kalasin folds her hands behind her back, hiding the rocks, before smiling innocently.

Ozorne flutters down to her. "I wish I didn't have such a weakness for your smiles," he says grumpily.

To which Kalasin kneels down and wraps her arms around him. "Oh, how I miss your sense of humor," she says mischievously.

He eyes her for a moment. "You won't miss it for long," Ozorne says, cryptically. "Come with me."

He leads her to the deserted captain's quarters, and she flings herself down onto the cot, reclining on her elbows and pushing her chest out ever so slightly. "This is very romantic," she says, with a smile. "But somehow, I don't expect that you only invited me here for an evening out."

Ozorne tries to remember the last time they had an evening out, and is struck with an odd urge to laugh at the thought of both of them, human and Stormwing, seated at a table in the Imperial Palace, drinking mild wine and discussing current events with elderly statesmen.

He blinks.

Maybe the cold weather is affecting him more than he thought.

Ozorne tilts his head to the side. "Get the blanket, if you need it. I don't think I like this area."

Kalasin gathers the thin blanket, giving him a questioning look as she stands up.

He spreads his wings out as far as they will go. "Stormwings don't like closed spaces."

"Oh," she says, abashed, as she follows him outside. Being taller than him is a strange sensation, and she almost wants to kneel, so that she can feel that things between them are almost normal again.

The front of the ship is deserted, and there is a hollow under the prow that Kalasin fits into quite comfortably. Ozorne chooses to pace on the deck, his metal claws clicking against the old wood. "What is it?" Kalasin asks curiously. "You seem…preoccupied."

Ozorne closes his eyes momentarily, gathering his nerves, and when he opens his eyes again, he remembers the milky-eyed goddess. "You might want to make yourself comfortable. I have something to tell you."

--

By the time he finishes, Kalasin is sure that she is on the verge of a complete breakdown. She opens her mouth, closes it again. "You're…going to be human again?" she whispers hoarsely. "But…"

"Shakith is a goddess, Kalasin. She has the power to make it happen."

Kalasin frowns. "Why?" she asks suddenly. "I mean, won't she be in…trouble…with the other gods if she turns you back?"

"She owes me," he says grimly. "I think the pantheon will understand."

Kalasin bites her lip. "Shakith will make you human again. And,"—her voice breaks slightly—"she'll let us leave here in peace. Let us start over?"

"In Sarain. I thought you would like it."

The former empress is silent for a little while. "What do we have to do in return?"

The question takes Ozorne by surprise. "Nothing," he says, a little too quickly. "Nothing."

"Gods never do something for nothing," she retorts.

Ozorne sighs. "You've grown cynical in my absence."

"Only a little. But can you blame me?" she exclaims, forgetting to keep her voice down. "In one year, everything has changed so much! You're a Stormwing, I've been put in virtual exile for refusing to accept, if I may quote, that you were dead and our marriage annulled, that I would never be allowed to return to Tortall again, and on top of that, your own nephew asking me to marry him!"

Ozorne turns away from her, refusing to acknowledge his hurt pride. "…I thought you would be happy," he says stiffly. "Obviously, I was wrong."

Kalasin exhales slowly. "Don't be angry," she says at last. She reaches out and touches his claw tentatively. "It's just that I've wanted something like this to happen for such a long time, but now it seems too good to be true."

"I would never mislead you," he replies, before turning back to her gaze. To his surprise, he feels a prick of guilt in his chest, but he shoves it away quickly, telling himself that his worries are in vain.

"Can you be a normal person?" she asks, after a few minutes. "I mean, we won't be nobility in Sarain."

"We'll manage, I suppose," he mutters. "You can heal. And I'm sure that I'll find a use for my magic."

Even though more questions are gnawing at her mind, Kalasin sits back, as close to satisfied as she is going to be tonight. "Very well," she tells him softly.

"Are you sure?" he questions. "I need to give Shakith my definite answer tonight."

Kalasin nods resolutely. "Does that mean that you'll be gone for a while?"

"Yes." He closes his eyes briefly. "Tonight is the last time you'll see me like this."

Kalasin blinks sudden tears from her eyes, and nods again.

"Don't worry." Ozorne touches her shoulder with his wing awkwardly. "I'll be in touch." He looks skyward. "We should go."

"Wait!" She tosses the blanket off, before leaning forward and hugging him tight. Ozorne lets her hold him, as he always does, and feels the dampness of her cheeks against his. When she finally lets go, her cheeks are streaked with tears, but she manages to smile, nevertheless. "Gods all bless."

Ozorne inclines his head. Not trusting himself to speak, he turns and flies away, heading south, until he is just a small silver speck in the night sky.

Kalasin watches him for a little while, before wiping her eyes and standing up, donning her cloak again. It is time to return to the Imperial Palace again, before she is missed.

--

The next evening, Kalasin is alone in the gardens, absentmindedly toying with a red rose, although her thoughts are all with her absent husband. She wonders about Sarain—the war-torn Sarain that she's read about in the history books, and the beautiful, wild Sarain her mother has told her about. The country that her namesake had been queen of.

She wonders what being a commoner is going to be like. It sounds intriguing, in a way.

"Kalasin?" a surprised voice asks, and she jumps off the bench, turning around.

She drops the rose upon seeing who her visitor is, and stares, startled, for a moment, before remembering to curtsey. "Your Majesty…"

Kaddar Iliniat walks over and takes her by the hand, gently lifting her up. "There is no need for the formality, Kalasin."

She nods at his feet, before taking a deep breath and looking up into his eyes. He lets go of her hand, and sits down, beckoning for her to do so as well.

Kalasin sits, folding her hands in her lap. She feels nervous, somehow, and thinks ruefully that things had been much less awkward between them before, at least on her side.

At last, Kaddar reaches out and touches her hand gently. "Kalasin?"

She manages to keep her body from tensing at his touch. "Yes?"

He struggles with what he has to say for a moment. "…Have you considered my proposal?"

"I…" She makes the mistake of looking back at him, and promptly buries her face in her hands. When she speaks again, her voice is muffled. "I…oh, Kaddar, it's so hard. I miss him so much."

Kaddar stares at her, obviously at a loss, before stroking her shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry," he says, even though he is a little bemused as to how his uncle could have been loved so much.

Kalasin sniffles. "Thank you. I promise I'll have my answer for you soon."

Kaddar exhales softly. "All right." He bends, kisses her cheek chastely. "I'll see you at the ball tonight?"

"Yes," she replies. "I'll see you then."

Kaddar leaves her alone then, slipping away through the lilac bushes. When she is sure he's gone, she sighs her relief at having a few more days, at most, of borrowed time.

--

The oldest temple in Elkallatum is deserted, as it had been the last time Ozorne visited. He flutters in the same fashion as before, and takes his place in front of the statue of Shakith, closing his eyes and casting them downward.

Shakith makes her appearance faster, this time; stepping out of the statue softly, save for the clinking of her gold anklets. "Look at me. Do you have your answer?"

Ozorne looks up, and his amber eyes fix on the goddess unblinkingly. "I'm ready."

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Note: This story will be concluded in another chapter or so. As always, reviews appreciated.