A/N: *cracks knuckles* Y'all ready for this?

The Gift

Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply


A crash shudders through the large, sprawling house at Breakwater, as if a giant ripped a tree from the ground and clubbed the structure.

Sinbad jerks awake at the wrenching noise as a tremor wracks the building. It's early morning, not yet light, as his mind staggers to full wakefulness. Beside him, Maeve's body convulses. She bolts upright in one sudden, wrenching motion, a cry torn from her lungs, her face stark white and her arms curling instinctively over her rounded belly. Her legs swivel and she's struggling to rise to her feet before Sinbad can grab her, mind reeling as the house shudders, instinct screaming at her to move, to flee, to do anything but lie still.

"Down," Sinbad snaps, finally catching hold of her shoulders. He's not angry with her, all of his own reflexes telling him to do exactly the same: get out. Run. But she can't get up. Keely has forbidden it, he saw the blood with his own eyes when Maeve last tried, and until he knows what's going on she's staying exactly where she is. The building isn't collapsing around them—not that he sees, anyway—and right now the danger he understands trumps the possible one he does not.

Her body puts up a token struggle, her eyes bleary and unfocused, but it's pure reflex. He doubts she's even aware she's fighting him until he cups her face in his hands and presses his forehead to hers, letting her scent him.

"Stop. Maeve, listen. You need to stay down."

"No," she pants, but he watches as she blinks and her eyes clear, her mind returning swiftly to her after being tumbled from deep sleep to pure, animal fear.

"Yes. Let me figure out what's happening. You protect Fin." He'd gladly reverse their roles if he could, for he knows how much she hates stepping back while danger hangs thick in the air, but he can't. While their daughter lives inside her, Maeve has to be the one to protect her. There is no other option. Sinbad squeezes her shoulders and levers her gently to her back again. She doesn't fight him this time, thankfully, but her hands are tense and hard on her belly and she's panting lightly, which isn't her usual reaction to danger. "What's wrong?" he demands as another tremor shakes the building. "Are you in pain? You moved too much—did it hurt?"

She flinches hard at the building's shudder. "I don't know. What's happening? I want Cairpra," she says, her voice rising to a small yelp as ceiling plaster cracks and falls like snow around her.

"I suspect she'll be here in a minute. Nobody could sleep through this. And I'm going to find out what's going on." His heart hammers hard against his unyielding ribcage, far too swift and far too discordant for so early in the morning. He presses on her shoulders once more, his body pleading with her to stay down. It's not in her nature, but she needs to do this for Finleigh's sake. When she makes no protest, he climbs from the bed. The air is frigid against his bare chest and feet, but this morning he doesn't notice the uncomfortable chill. He shoves the glass window open wide, wet, colder air engulfing him as he leans out, attempting to see what the hell is battering the house.

It's not yet dawn. The sky should be dark, which it is...but it isn't. Ominous low clouds, eerily flat on the bottom, roil and churn in a way he's never seen clouds move before. They're too fast, and they look too solid, as if they were actual tangible objects and not just wisps of mist. They glow with a strange, dark, malevolent light, red-brown and a deep purple that somehow reminds him of blood. A bolt of lightning fires toward the house, but a shimmer of bright gold deflects it before it reaches the towering treetops: the protective spell safeguarding the island. The lightning discharges harmlessly into the churning sea. A bestial screech of pure fury rocks the tiny islet.

The door behind Sinbad slams open; bare feet pound heavily into the room. Keely pushes a hysterical Lily into Maeve's arms. "Hold her," she snaps, before joining Sinbad at the window.

"Scratch?" Sinbad demands, though he doesn't need confirmation. He knows that howl too well already.

"No kidding." She stares out into the churning clouds. "Guess it was too much to ask that he wouldn't try this shit again."

The solid stone and timber house shakes like a flimsy twig hut as freezing wind off the sea slams into it. Sinbad can hear the massive timbers supporting the structure groan under the strain, and one of the trees flanking the meadow cracks and topples.

"I thought you said he couldn't touch us!" he bellows as the wind slams him full in the face, stealing his breath and his voice. The growing fear in his belly erupts like a volcano, racing through his bloodstream. Everyone has been assuring him for moons that Scratch can't break into this island. He'd never have come if he thought his presence would bring danger to these people. There are too many innocent souls here, too many vulnerable children. Maeve's family—his family now. He can't let them get hurt because of him.

"He can't." For the first time, Keely sounds less than confident as she says this.

"Mama, Rory wet the bed," Mia says, pushing between Keely and Sinbad, gripping the window ledge and staring out with wide eyes.

"Don't tease him. I almost did, too. Where is he now?" She puts a steady hand on her daughter's head.

"Under his mama's bed with the rest of the boys."

"Good. I don't suppose you're willing to join them?"

"Why?" Mia stares up at Keely with wide green eyes. "They're missing everything."

Sinbad isn't in the mood to be amused, but he can't help a small, grim smile. That kid is definitely Maeve's niece.

Softer footsteps enter the room, and Sinbad turns away from the window long enough to glimpse Cairpra's smooth silver hair. She ignores him, crossing directly to the bed as another blast of wind slams the house. Lily's cries rise in pitch as she screams into Maeve's shoulder. Cairpra takes her smoothly, tucking the two-year-old under her thick woolen shawl.

"There, my little beauty. I know. I know." She touches Maeve's stark white cheek. "Breathe for me, Maeve. Just breathe."

"What's happening?" Maeve demands, shaking off Cairpra's hand. Her voice cracks; she sounds panicked. Maeve doesn't usually panic, but Sinbad will never think less of her for it. Their guards were down. Everyone told them they were safe. She has a right to fall apart as they're both swiftly learning this may not be the case.

"It's Scratch," Keely tells her, though this should be beyond clear by now. Her voice is grim, and she keeps firm hold of Mia. "We always knew he might find you, so calm down. This shouldn't feel like it's coming out of nowhere. He thinks Sinbad's soul belongs to him, and you're standing in his way. Of course he'd search for you when you disappeared from the Nomad. But he couldn't break through our shields before and there's no reason to think today will be any different."

"I'm not sure it matters whether he himself can get in if he can do this," Sinbad snaps as another gust of wind slams against the house. Above them, he hears a musical cracking sound. Bits of shattered rock fall from the roof and are whisked away by the wind as the slate shingles shear off and shatter. Another bolt of lightning fires from the roiling clouds, only to be deflected again. "Why can he hit us with the wind and not lightning?"

"An omission in the spell's crafting, likely," Keely says, her jaw tightening as they hear a window shatter. "He's getting creative as he gets desperate. We'll have to tell the council."

If Scratch leaves them alive, Sinbad thinks darkly, but he refuses to voice the words with Mia at his knee.

From the bed, Maeve cries out softly.

"It's going to be okay," Sinbad says without turning, his eyes trained on the churning clouds, the frothing sea.

Swift footsteps sound in the hallway, and a moment later Sinbad hears Niall's voice behind him. "Wren finally coaxed the boys out from under the bed and down into the cellar. Should I take the girls, too?"

"He can't get in," Keely insists, her hands gripping Mia's little shoulders tightly. "He couldn't before. He can't now."

"He wasn't so angry before, Keel," Niall says softly.

"That shouldn't matter!"

"But it does." Sinbad's voice drops into his captain's register, and the woman beside him jumps. He'd be amused at his ability to startle her with his authoritative tone, except there's nothing amusing about this situation. "Listen, it's me he's after. None of you. I can keep him busy here. The rest of you gather your kids and use one of your opals. Take them somewhere safe—one of the other Breakwaters." He glances at the bed, where Maeve is still breathing oddly as Cairpra hovers over her, brushing the hair from her forehead with a smooth palm, Lily all but hidden beneath her shawl. They have to go. All of them. He'll go outside and taunt Scratch, keep him occupied so they can get everyone else out, including Maeve. She and Fin are too delicate to risk leaving them here. They'll have to chance moving her. "I don't know how your spell works—can you transport the whole bed with Maeve in it?"

"I can't—" Maeve's voice cracks, and she abandons whatever she was about to say.

"Breathe," Cairpra insists. "Deep breaths. Sinbad, she can't be moved and that's the end of it."

Keely curses. "This is not your ship and you are not captain here!" she says, whirling on Sinbad.

"You're really going to argue with me about chain of command now?" Sinbad bellows. Another blast of wind shakes the house and a second shower of plaster falls from the ceiling. He's been patient. He's been respectful. This is not his ship, and he knows that. He's acknowledged Keely's authority from the beginning. But enough is enough. Maeve and Fin are too delicate to risk. He knows arguing with Keely is pointless and only makes her dig her heels in and resist harder. But he's terrified and his family is in danger. She can't just ignore that, not when there's another option so easy to take. Scratch may or may not be able to break through the protections placed on this island, but why take the risk if they don't have to?

"It may be best to evacuate the children," Cairpra says, glancing at Niall instead of Keely. Keely still does not particularly want her here, and will not take kindly to any opinion she endorses.

"I'm not going!" Mia howls, clutching her mother's arm, her little face drawing up in a furious scowl. Her wings lift and flicker at her back with the force of her outburst. "I'm not afraid of that creature!"

"Then you're dumber than I thought," Sinbad snaps back before he can stop himself. Lovely. Now he sounds like the five-year-old, not her. And he has an eerie feeling he's had this exact argument before.

"Enough!" Cairpra doesn't raise her voice, but her tone silences the room. Mia sticks her tongue out at Sinbad. He's sorry for being goaded into saying something stupid, but he still wants her and the rest of the children gone. He wants everyone gone—safe where Scratch will have to search again to find them, if he even bothers. He likely won't. It's Sinbad the demon's after.

Well, him and Maeve. But he can't do anything about that unless someone with magic agrees to move her.

"Everyone calm down," Cairpra continues. "Sinbad, right or wrong, this isn't your ship or your crew. It's your family, and you are not captain here." Maeve's hand seeks hers and the older woman grips it tightly.

"I am," Keely says, wheeling to face the window again. Her face sets as she stares at the roiling clouds, her jaw hard as granite. In this moment she looks older than her years, and suddenly resembles the dead woman from Maeve's vision much more strongly.

Sinbad and Niall share a glance that tells him they're united in their opinion—they want their families safe. Niall may defy Keely if she decides otherwise, and though Sinbad doesn't want any further infighting, he hopes the man does. He has too many vulnerable children currently huddled with their mother in the basement, and Wren and the boys are no part of this. Scratch has no desire for them; it's Sinbad he wants.

The tension in the room thickens as another blast of wind rocks the house. The sound of more shattering glass hits their ears, and the window Sinbad threw wide wrenches from its hinges, tearing away with a last groaning crack of wood and metal.

Keely curses. "Take them," she says tightly, the words forced between her teeth. "I can't leave Maeve, and she can't be moved. Take everyone else. Go to the council. Tell them what's happening; they'll keep you safe."

"No!" Mia redoubles her hold on her mother's arm, her wings battering at Sinbad as she tries to half-fly, half-climb her mother, seeking reassurance in a way he's never seen this over-confident child do before. "Daidí left. You don't get to leave, too!"

With her pregnant belly in the way, Keely cannot hold her. She catches Mia's shoulders and presses her gently to the ground once more. She drops to an awkward crouch that has to be uncomfortable, cupping her daughter's face in her hands. "I'm not leaving you," she vows, her green eyes steady.

"Yes, you are! You're staying with auntie and sending me away!"

Sinbad sees the moment Keely's face hardens further as she prepares to lie to her child's face. "There's no danger, mo chailín. Scratch is all noise, no substance. But your little sister is very scared. She and the boys need to go somewhere quiet so they can calm down, and you need to go, too, to help her. I can't be in two places at once, so I need you to take care of Lily for me. She's your little sister. She needs you."

Keely's face gives no hint to her inner emotion, but Sinbad is gutted. This isn't fair. He wants those children out of danger, but he doesn't want it to happen like this. The manipulation. The burden placed on little shoulders that don't deserve it. It's one thing to remind a small child about the others around them, teaching them about thoughtfulness and consideration. But this isn't that. Keely may be saying goodbye to her daughter for the last time. She knows this. Mia doesn't. This may be a lifelong burden she's unwittingly placing on that child, just as Sinbad's father, knowingly or unknowingly, placed it on Doubar. That burden is part of what's broken the brothers, Sinbad realizes abruptly as he watches it happen again before him, a new generation but the same unfair expectation. He stares, stunned speechless at this realization, unable to protest, though what he would say anyway he doesn't know. Mia isn't his child, and this isn't the time to criticize Keely's parenting.

But Mia is not Doubar. Her head does not drop forward as, willingly or unwillingly, she accepts the burden of her little sister's care. She stares defiantly at her mother, green eyes glowing, and refuses to accept it at all. "No!" she says, and whether this belligerence is something inherent to her nature or just part of being nearly five years old, Sinbad doesn't know. Either way, she throws the charge her mother tries to lay on her shoulders back in the woman's face. "I didn't ask for a sister! I didn't want one! You can't make me!"

You can't make me are words Sinbad has become very familiar with these past moons living with small children, but never spoken with such dead certainty, and never with such truth. Keely can probably make Mia go with Niall and Wren and the rest of the children, but she can't make her accept the burden of her sister's care if she doesn't want to. Dermott accepted it. So did Doubar. Mia does not. She juts her chin out defiantly and bares her baby teeth at her mother like some wild thing.

Sinbad holds his breath, wondering what Keely will do. She doesn't handle disagreements well, as evidenced by the way she and Maeve go at each other, and she's not used to being disobeyed. The children mostly know better than to push her when she's serious, but right now Mia doesn't care. He doubts yelling at the girl will change her mind, and he's never witnessed anyone at Breakwater raise a hand to their children, but he's not sure what else Keely might do.

The answer, apparently, is give in. A small, dry bark of laughter leaves her. "You may look just like your father," she says, drawing Mia close to her side, shifting the curve of her belly out of the way with a little groan, "but you're really all mine, aren't you?"

"All yours, mama," Mia agrees, hugging her fiercely. "I'm not leaving you."

"I wouldn't leave my mother, either, the last time she asked me to. That didn't end well, you know." She glances at the bed where Maeve lies, Cairpra holding Lily firmly in her lap. "Or maybe it did. Who can say?"

Another blast of wind assaults the house. Keely grabs the wall to help her climb upright again, her knees popping as more slate tears from the roof. Cairpra rises, handing Lily to Niall.

He takes the crying toddler hesitantly. "Aren't you coming, too?"

"My place is here," Cairpra says, casting a worried glance back at the bed.

Niall looks uncertain, but doesn't argue with her. "Mia?"

"She's not afraid. She can stay," Keely says firmly. "You go. Take Lily and Cara with you. The council needs to know what's happening, and I shouldn't tell you if you don't know yet, but Wren is pregnant. She needs to be out of the chaos, even though I don't believe Scratch can actually break through."

Niall casts an obvious glance at Keely's ripe belly.

"Shut up. The first couple of moons are the most precarious. You know that. My boy is fine, and Maeve can't be moved so there's no argument to be made. Go." The ghost of a smile touches her mouth. "Don't make me make Sinbad order you. That voice of his is scary. I didn't know he could do that."

"How do you think I get sailors to obey orders?" Sinbad mutters, exchanging a last glance and small nod with Niall. He still wants Maeve out of here, and the rest of them too, but at least Wren and most of the children will be out of harm's way. That's better than nothing.

"There will be a hell of a mess to clean up when you get back. That's all," Keely says.

"That's all, she says," Niall grouses, but Sinbad can see the worry hiding behind the facade. He doesn't believe their shields will hold as firmly as Keely does. Sinbad isn't sure he does, either. He's relieved when the man turns, Lily held tenderly in his arms, and heads for the stairs.

The buffeting wind changes tone, an eerie whistle picking up as it gusts, the pitch somehow both low and high at the same time. Sinbad stares out the window. "I'm going to go outside and taunt him," he says, his hand automatically reaching for his saber, though it's not hanging at his side and hasn't since he got here. How he thinks he's going to fight the elements with a blade anyway he doesn't know. "Maybe I can draw his attention and his fire away from the house."

"You absolutely will not," Cairpra snaps. "Maeve needs you here. And alive," she adds as an afterthought. Apparently even she isn't so sure anymore about how safe they are.

Sinbad glances at the bracelet on his wrist. Its glowing light is pulsing far too fast, proving that Maeve is still terrified. Cairpra's right; he can't leave the room. But he can't just huddle in bed, either. Not when Scratch is literally bringing the house down around them. He leans out the window as far as he can and cups his hands around his mouth. "Leave this place, demon! You already know you can't get in!"

The ominous whistle of the shrieking wind turns into a wrenching, bestial howl and the churning clouds overhead coalesce, forming a huge, glowering face that looms far larger than any giant over the tiny islet. Sinbad knows that face. He rescued Rongar from this demon. Stopped Rory from innocently allowing him onto the Nomad. The demon's ugly leer isn't any more palatable now. It's a nightmare of swirling cloud and what Sinbad swears looks like flickers of fire, the visage itself part man and part beast but all evil, wide, curling horns writhing like snakes as wind furiously whips the clouds.

"Hiding with the fairies is not playing by the rules, captain." Scratch's voice echoes through the air like thunder. He snarls, and Sinbad hears a strained, fearful yelp leave Maeve's mouth. Sinbad feels like snarling himself. Maeve does not need this right now. She needs to be able to rest quietly without stress, just as Keely says Wren needs. How far back this encounter may set her healing he's afraid to wonder. Everyone has worked so hard to keep her and Fin alive, to speed their healing, and they have so little time left before Samhain. Two days. Couldn't Scratch have left them alone for two more measly days?

"Endangering my family is not playing by the rules!" Sinbad roars back. He's beyond furious. Scratch can come after him all he wants, so long as it's just him. Not Maeve. Not Fin. Not anyone else living on this island.

"Oh, no, captain. That's where you're very much mistaken," Scratch says. His deep, malevolent chuckle turns Sinbad's stomach. "That's not only playing by the rules, that's the game in its entirety."

"It is not," Sinbad snarls. "You want my soul? Fine. I'll fight you for it, man to man. Or you can wait until Samhain and try to take it then. That's between you and me. No one else."

"It was," Scratch agrees, and the swirling face in the clouds stretches in a condescending smirk. "Until you changed the game. You chose to attempt the Tam Lin Protocol. You involved a woman who would otherwise have been out of this reckoning. Now you've hidden yourself away among the fairies and filthy heathens who play at being scholars. You made your pretty wench a target. You made her people a target. No one else but you."

The churning sense of doom in Sinbad's stomach explodes and drops deep into the pit of him, heavy and dark and oppressive. Scratch is right. Sinbad has known it almost from the first. He did this. It's all his fault. Cairpra told him about the Protocol, but no one forced him to use it. He put Maeve in danger by manipulating her, talking her into carrying a child she never wanted in the first place. Everything that's happened to her and her family since Scratch's fucking brand appeared on his chest has been his fault. There's no one else he can blame. The poisoning, the fear. Rumina's time-spell. Doubar's attack. The loss of Dermott, Nessa, and Antoine. None of it would have happened if he had refused to put Maeve in danger by naming her his champion. She'd be safe aboard the Nomad with their friends, Dermott on her arm and Doubar at her side, her brothers as they were before this mess.

Sinbad has always rejected the idea of fate and instead embraced the idea that people always have choices. Not always good choices, but choices nonetheless. He chose this. He could have done otherwise. He could have accepted that his end was drawing near, enjoyed the time he had left with his crew, and resigned himself to his fate on Samhain. Or he could have insisted on fighting Scratch himself, man to man—well, man-to-demon—no matter what the so-called rules said. He could have sought a sorcerer strong enough to send him to Scratch's underworld. He's not afraid of that place. He didn't have to put Maeve in danger like this. He chose to.

"Don't let him get to you, captain," Keely says, firm at his side. "You had no choice. There's no other way to fight his claim on you. We tapped our networks, asked every sorcerer we could contact across the known world. And that's the sìthiche known world, mind, not the limited human one. And you had no choice about coming here; Maeve can't be moved, and she would have died without you. I know you like to think you're some all-powerful uber-male, but in the end you're still just as human and limited as the rest of us. You took the only path you could."

Sinbad hears her, but he instantly rejects her words. There were other paths. Again, not pleasant ones. But ones that would have kept Maeve and her family out of danger. Better choices by far, from where he's standing right now.

Laughter rolls from Scratch like peals of thunder, shaking the house to its foundations. The three delicate glass light globes on Maeve's desk topple to the ground and shatter, as does the little round mirror affixed to the wall.

Keely flinches at the sound. Mia holds her ground, barely able to peer over the window ledge, her little hands steady on the wooden lip. "Wow, he's ugly," she says, staring at the looming face in the sky.

"You're winning no beauty contests either, you pointy-eared little freak," Scratch growls, though how he of all creatures could call someone else a freak, Sinbad doesn't know. "What are you, anyway? Part insect, part puny human, part tree? What does that add up to?"

"More than you." Mia's face wrinkles in disgust. Sinbad has never been prouder of the kid. If she even realizes she's been insulted, it doesn't show. "What is he supposed to be, mama? A ram? Goats are cute. He's not."

"I am the darkness at the heart of all souls, little mutt," Scratch snarls. "You dare doubt me?" A bolt of lightning fires from the cloud, but is again deflected by the magical shields protecting the island.

Mia tips her head to the side, considering Scratch. "I thought Taranis was in charge of lightning? Maybe you should give it back to him. You're not very good at it."

A boom of furious thunder shakes not just the house but the tiny island on which it stands, deafening Sinbad for a moment as flames lick at Scratch's visage in the sky. "You dare mock me? Me? You little mutt—"

Sinbad moves his body between Mia and the window, pushing her gently out of Scratch's line of sight with his hip. "Maybe it's best not to provoke the angry demon with the fragile ego, huh?" he says, brushing her cheek with his knuckle.

"I don't like him. He woke everyone up and scared Rory, and now he's making a mess. Only Dex is allowed to do that." Mia scowls.

"No one likes him," Sinbad confirms. "I just want him to leave, and I don't think he's going to do that if you keep taunting him." Mia likely didn't mean to insult the demon—she hasn't yet learned to do that deliberately, though considering the women around her, she'll have this skill down soon. But whether she meant to do it or not, Scratch is now furious.

"Letting little half-insect girls fight your battles for you now?" Scratch mocks Sinbad. A lick of flame flickers from his mouth, as if he were a dragon preparing to roar.

"I'll gladly fight you man-to-man, demon, if you appear in a shape that can be fought." Sinbad would love the chance. He'd far rather duel Scratch, no matter what form the demon might take, than force Maeve to continue fighting this battle for him.

"I can't appear in corporeal form in this world, and you know it. Higher powers forbid it, and your precious Dim-Dim placed other constraints on me, as you well know. Thus, I'm reduced to conducting my affairs in...unconventional ways. I cannot kill you myself in battle. But come All Souls Night, my night, no earthly magic will be able to protect you. That precious soul you value so highly will be mine. It doesn't matter where you hide. It doesn't matter what you do."

Something hard smacks into the roof. Then another. Then a rain of them, hammering down, far louder than any raindrop. Small, solid objects patter to the muddy grass below the window.

Just behind Sinbad, Keely curses. "Hail. Lovely. Add that to the list of things our shields weren't prepared for. The high council's going to get a piece of my mind very soon." She grabs Sinbad by the shoulder and yanks his upper body back inside just before a ball of ice as big as Mia's fist flies an inch past his nose. "Watch it. If one of those bigger hailstones brains you, it may be the last hit you ever take."

Sinbad grits his teeth but resists the urge to duck his head back out the window. "In what reality do chunks of ice big enough to kill a man rain from the sky?" he demands.

"It happens. Not often, but it happens. It's a good thing we got the crops in when we did. Otherwise there wouldn't be anything left after this." She stares out the window as Scratch laughs.

Several floors separate them from the roof, but to Sinbad it still sounds as if a whole army of blacksmiths is hammering at the house, trying to pull it to pieces. He glances worriedly at the bed, but he can't really see Maeve. Cairpra is leaning over her, speaking quietly to her. At least she's lying still again, as she should be. Keely won't be happy when she hears Maeve sat up and was moving around so frantically, though Sinbad can't blame her when they were wrested so violently from deep sleep.

"Why are you attacking innocent people?" Sinbad demands as he hears more pieces of the roof shatter and fall. The wind gusts, and hailstones slam into the house. A cacophony of breaking glass makes even Mia yelp and cover her ears, and an agonized whimper sounds from the bed. Keely curses tightly and tears herself from the window, darting to her sister's side. "You can't get in, you know it, and they've never done a thing to you. If you can't fight me anyway, what point are you trying to make?"

"The point that hiding is beneath you, and not part of this game!" Scratch bellows above the sound of the pounding hail.

"How long?" Keely demands from the bedside. "Maeve, how long?"

"I don't know!" she snaps back, but there's a quality in his sorceress's voice he's never heard before. She's not just rattled by Scratch's appearance. She's terrified. "I was asleep, okay? And then suddenly that fucking demon was laughing."

"I wasn't hiding!" Sinbad insists, yelling out the window though his voice will never carry as Scratch's does, booming through the house, as tangible as it is audible. Maybe there is something to Firouz's insistence that sound is actually vibration, Sinbad thinks wildly as his mind gropes for something, anything, to make the demon stop his taunting and go away. Maeve doesn't need this. She needs a break. "I'm not afraid of you, and I hide from no one! I was caring for my family, just as I always will!"

"Ah, yes." Scratch laughs again, the sound painfully low, making the innards of Sinbad's ears ache. "Yes. The child you've been attempting to hide. The child I knew perfectly well your wench carried. Do I look scared to you?"

"Calm down," Keely says, and it's an order as firm as any Sinbad has ever given. "Do you hear me? Slow your breaths. Breathe with me."

"I've been breathing for twenty years, I don't need—"

"Do not give me that line now. This is different, and you know it."

Sinbad feels his blood turn to ice in his veins as he stares at the demon's face hovering low in the sky. No. Scratch can't know. He spent the last eight moons desperately trying to hide this secret. Maeve spent the last eight moons trying to hide it. They struggled so hard, and Sinbad thought they were in the clear. Scratch harried and irritated them, but he never himself touched her. Sinbad assumed—had to assume—that meant Scratch didn't know. He convinced himself ages ago that the demon couldn't possibly know the truth because he wasn't trying harder to hurt Maeve. That's what the evidence said. What else was he supposed to believe?

Yes, he knows they weren't as careful as they should have been. They were stupid and reckless at times, both of them. Maeve by refusing to leave the Nomad and come north, he with his inability to stop touching her, to leave her alone as she consistently warned him to do. They should have stopped their midnight meetings the day they learned she was with child, remaining separate in their own bunks every night. He knows they fucked up, but even still he believed they were hiding things well enough because, while Rumina was a constant thorn in their sides, Scratch was not.

Or was he?

"Do not mistake the way I choose to align my pieces and play this game for idiocy or ignorance, captain. I am many things to many people—one might say all things to all men—" He giggles wildly at this, though Sinbad has no idea why. "—but I am neither an idiot nor ignorant. Of course I knew from the first that the only wench aboard your ship, the only wench you've ever cared for, would be your choice of champion. Who exactly did you think you were fooling?" He chortles with delight, and more plaster dust falls from the ceiling. Mia presses close to Sinbad's leg, fascinated but a little fearful at last.

"I chose to let you do as you would, chose to let this game play out. So few men know of the Protocol, you see, and it has been such a long time since I've had the chance to play this particular game. And there was the added interest of the witch, of course. My little Rumina. She didn't want to hand over your soul, but she thought she could double-cross me and win it back. Me! The sum of all evil! Watching her try to scheme was some of the best fun I've had in ages."

Sinbad feels sick. Was that the game this whole time? Scratch sat back, watching everything, letting Rumina take what amounted to potshots at him and his crew, so secure in his eventual victory that he barely intervened at all?

"Do you know where my sour little witch is now, captain? She's with your crew. I'm afraid none of them are doing very well, though." He tisks gleefully. "She was in over her head with me from the first, but then she went and involved a very dangerous man, one she had no business dealing with. Her soul will be mine by Samhain as well. A bit of a pity, I suppose. She's so much more entertaining alive, and combined we could have ruled this world. But the catch, as it always seems to be, is that she couldn't be trusted. No one willing to align themselves with me can be trusted. Loyalty is one of those pesky character traits incompatible with evil."

Sinbad allows a small, cold smile to touch his mouth. In this, at least, Scratch is correct. Evil and loyalty will never be compatible because evil is inherently selfish in nature. So Scratch will never find an ally willing to remain by his side, whereas Sinbad has a wealth of them. The strongest of whom lies in this very room. Maeve will never desert or fail him; he knows it as surely as he knows his own name.

"So yes, the past moons have been vastly entertaining to me. I laughed over your efforts, your pitiful attempts to evade detection. The funny little piratess you obviously couldn't bear to touch. She's a delight, truly. I would greatly enjoy devouring that twisted little soul. But thinking I would believe she might be your intended champion? Truly? I highly doubt you could have got it up long enough to prick her, you're so thoroughly whipped by your loudmouthed firecrotch."

Sinbad grits his teeth, wishing the demon wouldn't speak so baldly in front of so small a child, but asking the sum of all evil to clean up his language for the sake of small ears is a little too ridiculous for even him to voice. He touches Mia's shoulder lightly and is silent. She grins up at him. "You know a lady pirate? I want to meet her."

If that's all she took from Scratch's words, Sinbad is grateful. This kid knows perfectly well what adults do behind closed doors, but that doesn't mean he wants it rubbed in her face so blatantly.

"And you thought using a different human tongue would confuse me?" Scratch continues. "I am the master of all sin, the darkness that lurks at the core of all hearts. I speak all languages—or, rather, I speak a language beyond your worthless human tongues. The sounds your mouths make mean nothing when your hearts speak far louder, and far more clearly." He laughs, a high-pitched giggle of delight. "But you couldn't understand me, could you? Oh, no. Not even after I oh-so-charitably explained exactly what it was I planned to do. You couldn't tell my whispers from your own incessant chatter inside your empty head!"

Maeve whimpers, the sound barely audible above the pounding hail. Sinbad feels his heart sink, a sense of danger and deep foreboding taking him. She was right. She was right all along. He was never fully sure her conversation with Scratch in the darkness was real, but the demon just confirmed it—he's been whispering in their heads just as she insisted he was. He can't touch them here, can't slip past their defenses to seep into their minds, but Sinbad does remember the insidious nature of his internal voice in the days leading up to Doubar's attack. Whispers, Scratch says, and he's right. Sinbad didn't notice. He didn't even notice when those vicious whispers disappeared, too caught up in his worry over Maeve to even perceive their absence.

"Breathe, child," Cairpra croons. "Sinbad, get him out of here." Her voice is calm, but the note of command in it is clear.

He's trying. He swears he's trying. But Scratch seems to want to gloat.

"To be fair, you and your wench were harder to manipulate than that oaf of a brother of yours. Your firecrotch paid me very little attention until after my Rumina and that fairy-man knocked her flat. After that, she was easy. I made her run. I made her try to leave you, and she and the child she bears would have died in the process if you hadn't prevented it."

"And you're proud of that?" Sinbad's body is stiff as iron and he can barely move his jaw to speak, he's so furious. He wants badly to lash out with his fists, his saber, but he's literally yelling at clouds and he recognizes this. "You goaded a pregnant, desperately sick woman into panic and would have killed her, and you're boasting to me about it?"

"Of course. All in a day's work. Although, I grant you, it was more than a day's work to push her to that point. She's a strong one. You made a decent choice of champion in that sense, filthy heathen or no. I'll be glad when the pope and his men finish their good work of spreading their myths into other realms. Where they go, I go, and once their overthrow of the old gods is complete I will be able to work much more freely. Who knows?" he chortles. "Maybe they'll take over the world for me, and I won't have to lift a finger."

"I don't think you're very nice," Mia says, frowning at the demon.

"What would a filthy little bug like you know about it?"

"I'm not filthy!" Mia insists. "If you think I am, you don't know anything about filth."

"I know plenty about filth. I invented it, thank you very much. Shut your mouth, little cockroach."

That's it. Sinbad tilts his head to the side, calling back into the room to be heard above the pounding hail. "Do either of you know any weather magic? Can you blow this blowhard back out to sea, maybe?" Or back to hell where he belongs, preferably, but Sinbad refuses to be picky.

"No," Cairpra and Keely snap in unison. "True weather magic takes ridiculous amounts of power and it's not wise to mess with nature so badly anyway," Keely continues, her voice sharp and tense. "The repercussions can be devastating."

"It may not work, besides," Cairpra adds, her voice calmer but no less tense. "Scratch is an unnatural being in an unnatural form. Acting on natural forces may not do anything to his apparition."

"Listen to the wise old bird," Scratch approves. "And take heed. I warned you. Explicitly. I told you exactly how I would play this game. Is it my fault you were too full of hubris to listen? The mighty Sinbad, master of the seven seas. The conquering hero, always so quick to foil my schemes and thwart my movements. You had no idea I was inside Skull Mountain with Rumina the day you attacked, did you? That we were about to complete an alliance that would have doomed this world for all eternity?"

Sinbad stands, stunned. No, actually he had no idea Scratch was there. No one did. They were concerned with stopping Rumina, and they never thought to question what she might be doing.

"I partially reanimated our dear friend Turok as a gift to my little witch. She really is quite the fascinating, fetching thing. I'm not the settling down type any more than you are, captain, but I have to say I might almost have changed my mind for the little wench. Her mind is so twisted, her soul so dark. And she's even more appealing because she wasn't born that way. She is entirely Turok's creation. I would have gladly united with them to jointly rule this world—with me on high, of course—but no, you and your crew and your little army of villagers had to waltz in at exactly the wrong moment and ruin everything. Turok died again and the body was lost in the rubble your flying pet created, and dear little Rumina was quite miffed with me about that for a time, before she decided that the fault was purely yours, not mine. I believe it was partially pique over this that goaded her to hand your soul over in the first place." He chuckles. "Humans are so easily manipulated. Even the nastiest of you."

Sinbad isn't sure what to think. He's glad he stopped whatever plot Scratch and Rumina were hatching before, and certainly glad Turok remains dead, but he's not sure the revelation really matters to him at this point. It happened. It's done. If he could go back, he wouldn't alter his choice to attack Skull Mountain, even if it did ultimately make Rumina hand over his soul. He might change some decisions he made along the way in hindsight, and certainly wouldn't have let Firouz stop him from kissing Maeve, but the attack itself he doesn't regret, especially if it prevented the union of a very dangerous trio.

"By far, however, the easiest to manipulate has been that bumbling giant you call a brother." Scratch snickers as hail continues to pelt the building. "He listened. He obeyed. He was easier than the little boy who locked you in the hold, even. Your Moor saw the danger he posed. He warned you. Your wench warned you. Even I warned you, but you listened to none of us. You had so much faith in the oaf, you were blind to what was unfolding in front of your eyes." The demon's laugh drops low and thunderous once more. "What he did to the girl, he did under my whispers. And the fault is entirely yours, captain. You let them both remain aboard ship. You let the danger not only drag on but escalate. You could have stopped it all with a single order, but you didn't. You believed in him too much. Trusted him too far. And there we see the price you paid for your loyalty. Trying to teach you any sort of lesson is pointless, since that soul will be mine in two days' time, but you have a little cockroach beside you. Listen well, child. People will try to teach you that loyalty and trust are positive qualities. Good things you must embrace. Learn this lesson that Sinbad could not: loyalty and trust are nothing but weakness dressed up in fancy clothes. Your only loyalty should be to yourself, because everyone else will fail you in the end. If not of their own free will, then by their inherent weakness. Big, stupid Doubar would give his life for his brother. Even now, after Sinbad has forsaken him, he still would. But he was too dense to resist my whispers, Sinbad too blinded to see the truth, and it was the wench who paid the price."

Sinbad's soul screams in pain, but he's oddly numb at the same time. Scratch is right. He's right about all of it. He trusted Doubar too far, which means the attack on Maeve is fully his fault. He already knew this, because he's the captain, but it's worse than that. He didn't just allow it to happen. He caused it. He tries to open his mouth, but as happens so often lately, no words come. He can't refute the demon, because he's right.

"You better watch out," Mia says, lifting herself with her wings to hover at the window. Automatically, Sinbad puts out an arm to prevent her from leaning out. "You're a very bad man, and on Samhain, Maeve is going to kick your ass."

Scratch explodes into laughter. He howls, the sound ripping through the remaining people in the house with waves of physical pain. "I do not think so, little cockroach."

And he disappears.

The hailstorm stops, the sudden silence pressing hard on Sinbad's ears as Mia's little wings give out and he catches her before her bare feet can hit the floor. He swings her to his hip, holding her warm little body close. He didn't beat Scratch, didn't chase him away. If anything, Mia did. "You're not a cockroach," he says as she puts her arms around him. "You know that, right?"

"I know," she agrees. "I'm daidí's princess, and I'm strong like auntie and mama."

"You are," he agrees, some of the feeling slowly returning to his body. Scratch was right. Everything that's happened is his fault, and Keely can yell at him all she likes about placing blame where it doesn't belong, but he knows better. He can't change any of it, though he wishes he could. All he can do is protect Maeve and Fin to the best of his ability from here on out. Cherish them. Keep them from further harm. He can never make up for all he's taken from Maeve, but he can spend the rest of his life attempting to give her the world. Whatever she needs. Whatever she wants. He sways on his feet, rocking Mia gently in his arms, though she's really too old for this now. She doesn't protest, hugging him and letting him hold her, and he wonders if she misses her father more than she's let on. Lily's the one still throwing a fuss, but Mia's made of sterner stuff.

After a long moment, Cairpra's voice reaches him through the overwhelming rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. "Is he gone?"

"For now." The hail has stopped, the wind died down. Scratch's face and the unnatural, glowing clouds have vanished. A light rain drips from the flat gray early morning sky, but this is wholly natural. Sinbad wonders how much of a reprieve they'll get. Until Samhain? He hopes so. Maeve desperately needs that time to recover.

The answer to this question is immediate, and comes in the form of Keely's loud, explosive curses. Still gripping Mia, Sinbad lurches for the bedside. This response is automatic, instinctual, returning to Maeve's side as he always does, the tide to her moon. And now that he does, his attention back where it belongs after the chaos of the storm and Scratch's taunting, he sees that something is very, very wrong.

Keely and Cairpra have thrown back the blankets, which Maeve usually protests, and pulled her fine cotton shift up over the roundness of her belly. A fine sheen of sweat coats her skin, and her panting breaths are shallow and light.

"Breathe," Keely snaps again. "I keep telling you, and you keep ignoring me. Breathe slow and deep. Calm down."

But Keely's not calm, and shouting shrilly at Maeve like that will not work, Sinbad knows that as surely as he knows his sorceress. A wet stain mars the cream-colored linen sheet between her legs; he can't tell in the light of a dark, rainy dawn, but it might be stained pink.

"Auntie wet the bed just like Rory," Mia says from Sinbad's arms.

"No," Keely says tightly. "I wish she did. Her waters broke." She strokes Maeve's forehead gently. "I need to fetch Wren back before things progress any further. Stay with her, Cairpra." She kisses her sister's cheek and rises.

"What does that mean?" Sinbad demands.

"No," Maeve insists. Her voice is high and tight, and something in it wrenches at Sinbad's insides.

"Yes," Keely says firmly. "It means that you're having a baby today. Once your waters break, there's nothing more I can do to prevent or delay it. Fin is coming, and I need Wren here to help me."

It's the first time she's said his daughter's name. Sinbad doesn't know what that means, whether it's a good sign or bad.

"No!" Maeve insists, shoving her elbows against the mattress and propping herself up. It's the most upright she's been in a long time. Keely doesn't prevent her. "No! It's two days too soon! I refuse!"

"It's a moon too soon," Keely yells back at her. "Samhain be damned! But it's out of our hands now. You can't refuse."

"Watch me," Maeve grits through her teeth.

"If you try, what I'll watch is you both die." Keely's voice is dangerous. "Do not dare do that to me now. Do you hear me?"

A tremor wracks Maeve's body, but it has nothing to do with her emotions. Sinbad can see as her muscles tense, and movement ripples below the stretched skin of her belly. He lets Mia drop softly to her feet, slithering down his side. She crowds the bed, pressing close to Cairpra's knee.

Fin is coming. His daughter's about to be born. A strange rushing panic fills his head, thick as cotton yet sharp as knives. He watches numbly as Keely tries to hold Maeve's hand as the pain takes her, but Maeve pulls free and shakes her off. Her eyes snap tightly shut as she closes herself firmly off, removing herself from her sister. Sinbad is fully on Keely's side in this: he doesn't care about Samhain, about his soul, his war with Scratch. Only the souls now thrown into the most dangerous process most women ever face, the ordeal that claims the lives of so many women and babies. Maeve is strong. The strongest woman he's ever known. But she's also been through too much these past moons, and she's apparently set on fighting this thing she cannot fight.

"Will she be okay?" He doesn't even recognize his own voice through the rushing in his head. "Fin. My girl. It's a moon—"

"I don't know," Keely snaps. "I won't know anything more about it until she's born, so do not ask me again. I need to go get Wren before things progress any further."

But his mouth won't stop, even though he's been warned. "Why today? Why now? Did Scratch—"

"He can't touch her," Keely says firmly. "But the stress of the chaos may have just been too much. I don't know. We'll never know for sure, so stop asking."

But Sinbad can't stop asking, at least internally. Did Scratch intend this? Was this his goal? Sinbad assumed he came just to taunt, to admit how much control he had over the situation the whole time, and to cause as much damage as he could. Now he wonders. What if the damage the demon meant to cause wasn't to the house or island at all?

"I will go fetch the others instead, if you wish to stay," Cairpra offers, her eyes on Maeve as she speaks to Keely.

"You don't know where you're going. Best if I do it," Keely says, though Sinbad can see that she doesn't want to leave her sister no matter how angry Maeve may be in this moment. "If Niall's in conference with the council, I won't wait. I only need Wren. You're fine, no offense, but you're not a midwife and have no children of your own. Wren knows what sort of help I need."

Cairpra accepts this calmly as Keely stands and kisses Mia's head. "Be good for mamó, ladybird, and don't touch Maeve. She's in pain and doesn't want to be pawed at." She stands and considers Sinbad. Fear takes him. He's sure she's going to kick him out of the room, but he can't leave now. Childbirth is women's business, everyone has told him endlessly, and they don't want men present. But Maeve is in pain, desperately angry, and he can't leave her now. He can't. What if something goes wrong? This can't be the last glimpse he has of her, it just can't.

But Keely doesn't order him to leave, as he assumes she will. "Lying still is pointless now," she says, her voice clipped and terse. "If she walks around it will hasten and ease the process, but don't let her try it alone. She's been down too long to trust her balance or her legs. Stay with her so you can catch her if she falls."

And with that, she's gone.

"I'm going to inspect the kitchen after that storm, and start a fire if it's safe," Cairpra says, making a very judicious exit. "Come with me, my beauty. You were very brave today." She holds out her hand for Mia's.

"I need to stay and take care of auntie until mama gets back," the girl protests. "Fin is scared. She doesn't understand what's happening, and it hurts. She doesn't want to move."

"Tell her it's okay," Cairpra soothes. "Tell her she'll be able to meet you just as soon as this is over, and her mother's waiting for her."

"I am not," Maeve grits through clenched teeth. "Not until after Samhain. She can come then. Not before." She rolls onto her side, facing the wall, away from the people in the room.

Mia stares up at her new grandmother, torn. Cairpra gives Sinbad a significant look he can read clear as day. She expects him to fix this, but he's not sure he can. Maeve is intractable and obdurate, and when she gets in these moods she won't listen to anyone, least of all him. Keely may reach her better, with the knowledge she can draw on as a midwife, her certainty that what Maeve means to do is both dangerous and pointless. But he'll try. Keely is busy, and he can't stand to see Maeve hurting.

"Come, my love. We'll start a fire and make Maeve some nice tea. That will cheer her up." Cairpra guides Mia firmly from the room and closes the door behind her.

Silence engulfs the room.

Sinbad stares at Maeve's form, curled around her belly in the big bed. The blankets are pulled back to the end of the bed, exposing her fully, her long bare legs, knobs of spine clearly visible below the soft cotton of her shift. She's still far too thin despite weeks of rest and food, and it will take long periods of gentle exercise and intermittent rest to build back the smooth, lean muscle she lost thanks to Rumina's devastating spell. But she's alive.

That's what stands out to him the most, and that's what he has to remind her of. She's alive, which means she and Fin are strong. They can do this. They can get through anything: birth, the next two days.

Life without him.

He climbs hesitantly onto the mattress and reaches out a cautious hand, almost as afraid to touch her as he was when they first met. He was terrified then that she might burn his hand off, and in this moment he sort of is again. She gives off the energy of cornered prey, desperate and furiously angry but also fully aware that fate has closed in. His fingertip grazes her bare shoulder, the lightest feathering of touch.

A ragged breath leaves her lips and she flinches, but doesn't pull away. "Don't touch me."

Usually when she says this she means it fully, and he knows better than to ignore her. But this time he's not so sure.

"It's okay," he says softly. She needs to know he doesn't blame her for this—for any of it. She tried her hardest. No one could have done more. And he's at peace. So long as she and Fin survive, that's all he wants. He's relieved, actually. Now she won't have to face Scratch and brave whatever task the Tam Lin Protocol demands. All she has to do after the trial of birth is rest. Her family will help her. Rongar and Firouz, too, if she lets them. And at least Sinbad will be able to meet his daughter before Scratch takes him. He gets this gift, and he's grateful.

"It's not okay," she says, staring blankly at the white wall in front of her. A long crack in the plaster snakes up toward the ceiling, where it splinters into a spiderweb of cracks and fallen pieces, exposing the wattle and timbers underneath. "Nothing about this is okay."

"Shh." Slowly he spoons his body around hers. As his chest contacts her back she flinches, but she doesn't pull away or order him to move. She closes her eyes and drops her face into the mattress. He wraps his arm around her tightly, fitting in the narrow space left between her belly and breasts. His chéile. His beauty. His champion. He presses his mouth to the perfect curve of the back of her neck, graceful and sweet. "It is. It's fine. As long as you and Fin get through this, everything is fine." He breathes the words into her skin. She's perfect, every inch of her. Her fire. Her strength. The vulnerable pieces of her heart she shows to so few. Everything.

"It is not," she seethes. Her body tenses, drawing up hard as granite in his arms, and her breath hisses through her teeth as another pain takes her. He holds her tightly, and somehow her hand finds its way into his. She clamps down with more strength than he thought she had, and he's gratified to feel it. Maybe she can do this. Maybe, after all the care everyone has poured into her, she's at least physically prepared, though neither of them are mentally.

When her body slumps against his again, her spine melting into the supportive arch of his chest, he kisses the hidden divot behind her earlobe, where she's petal-soft and extremely sensitive. "I love you. And I'm sorry."

"What the fuck for?" Her volume doesn't rise but her pitch does. She's barely in control of herself and about to lose it. He can see tears when she blinks, the bitter wetness she hates shedding. "You didn't fail. I did."

"Fail? You? Never." He presses his cheek gently against the silky red curls he loves so much. Will Fin be born with hair like flame, too? He hopes so. He'll never get to see it tossed by a warm salt wind now, but he still wants his daughter to have these curls. He wants her to be a perfect little replica of her mother, wants her to be the happy little girl Maeve was never allowed to be. She won't have a father now, he knows, but she'll have everything else a child could ever need or want. A loving mother. Aunts, and at least one uncle. Cairpra for a grandmother. More cousins than she'll know what to do with. A safe and stable home. Next to all that, what is a father, really? He touches Maeve's belly hesitantly, afraid to hurt her but wanting this connection with his daughter. She'll be fine, he tries to tell himself. He'd give her the world if he could, as he planned to, but she doesn't need it. "I failed you by asking you to do this in the first place. I never should have. It placed too much burden on you, put you in too much danger."

"Do not recite to me the shit Scratch just shoveled," she spits. "None of this is your fault, and you know it."

"It is. I knew it long before he opened his big mouth. I had no right to put the weight of my soul on your shoulders. If I hadn't, you'd still be on the Nomad right now, with Doubar and Dermott beside you. Nessa would be here, safe where she belongs, and Ant would be waiting on Keel hand and foot as he waits for his son. You know it's true."

"Shut up. It is not. You know how I know?"

"How?" he asks, humoring her. He knows the truth and nothing she can say will change that.

"Because you never asked me, you fucking idiot. You never asked me. I brought you here to ask Antoine if the Protocol would really work, and I told you we were doing it after Rumina goaded me in Omar's stupid little library. I did this. I did it all."

"Semantics, firebrand. You always were a pedant about language."

She tilts her arm and elbows his gut. Hard. He grunts softly, but takes it without complaint. She's angry, and hurting. She's about to lose her céile forever, and she knows it. There's nothing more they can do. She can't fight nature any further, and once Fin is born Scratch has won.

"I'm going to fight Scratch," Sinbad vows. "He may say I can't, but I will. Still, I need you to stay here, where you're safe, until you know what he's done with me. If all he wants is to consume my soul, that's fine, but if he plans to use me for some dark purpose, I need you and Fin out of it." He swallows hard. "Promise me. To keep her safe."

"I promise you nothing." Another pain takes her and she freezes against him, her too-thin body turning to stone in his arms once more. Keely keeps telling her to breathe deeply and Maeve refuses, her breaths light and shallow high in her chest. Sinbad wants to call her on it, but he doesn't dare. Not now. He has no right to ask anything of her anymore, even something as small as this.

"You've been itching to get out of bed," he says hesitantly when her body relaxes against him. "Keely said it will be easier, and move things along faster, if you walk now."

"I'm not moving anything along. Fin is staying where she is if I have anything to say about it, and if I don't, I refuse to be part of this."

"Keely says—"

"I don't care what she says!" Maeve turns, her movements choppy and awkward, one arm supporting her belly, the other elbow propping her upright. Her dark eyes flash with fire as she glares at him. "You're dying in two days! Why should I listen to any gods-be-damned thing you say now?" she demands. The hand on her belly rises and for the first time he can remember, she slaps him hard. His cheek stings, but he can barely feel the physical blow because the internal one is far worse. She's rough, yes, and quick to fight, but she's never outright attacked him before. Except the first time they met, but that was more Dermott's doing than hers.

"Out."

The voice comes from the doorway. Sinbad turns his head numbly, watching Keely stride in followed by Wren and a terrified Cara. Maeve's sister gestures impatiently at him.

"Come on. I tried to give you time, but you're only making things worse right now. Go. Let me do what I do. She'll come around."

No. This is the showdown he expected before and he refuses. He can't just leave Maeve like this. He can see the pain in her eyes, the hurt that has absolutely nothing to do with the normal pain of childbirth. This is the hurt he put there, the pain he has to fix. "I'm staying," he says firmly. He'll do whatever tasks Keely wants. Maeve can lean on him as she walks. He'll fetch water or—hell, he has no idea. Whatever might need doing, he'll do it. But he's not leaving her. He'll fight Keely to the end on this, he doesn't care how pregnant she herself is. She's not winning this time.

Except it's Maeve who now speaks.

"You're not staying," she says flatly. "You're leaving—permanently. So what does it matter if it's now or in two days? Go."

And what is he supposed to say to that? She's right. He is leaving her in two days. No matter how hard he fights Scratch, he can't deny this fact.

"I love you." It's the only truth he has, the only thing he knows. He's not pleading anymore, at least he doesn't think so. Hell, maybe he is. How should he know anymore? All he knows is that they can't be parted. This bond is too strong. What will become of either of them without it?

"So you love me. Tell me what that fixes." She grits the words evenly through a tense jaw.

Nothing. It fixes nothing. No matter how much he loves her, he can't stop what's coming. He's a hero, but this is something he cannot do.

"Go," she snarls.

He goes.