Lord Arvis helped her gather her skirts up. Layered atop each other with no end in sight, they managed to hike her dress above her knees with no trailing additions. He refused to take his boots off, let alone join her in the surf; as she held the bundle of her skirts up, he bent for her to undo the straps of her sandals. His fingers ghosted across her calves.

"Have we been?" she asked.

"I will show you a map of Grannvale and let you answer that for yourself." Boring! He pulled her sandals off, setting them on a rock. The salt in the air stuck his hair to his temples.

"May we go?"

"In time," he said. "There is much to do before then."

She passed the hem of her gown to him, taking a few steps forward. He followed, maybe in love. His refusal to wade into the surf meant she could not go too far, edging the wet sand with her toes. There were shells somewhere in here, and she hoped to leave with one. Autumn came upon them, but the sun shone warm overhead.

"What do I do in our world?"

"You manage the house. We take meals together." The water licked the edge of his boots. She looked better at him, his cloak fisted in his hand off the sandy beach.

"And what do you do?"

He smiled, leaving it at that. She huffed. Her sleeves did not roll up easily, but she pushed them back to her elbows to reach down for something glittering in the sand. Cold water on her fingers was different than her toes.

Out of the sand came a smooth, white shell. On the front was a dark chip. "I will take you anywhere, Deirdre, here or our world, if you are willing to wait."

She stepped deeper in the water, now aware of each shell that could pierce her sole, solidly in shell territory now. "I am willing, Arvis," she said. Her dress dragged against her knees as he refused to advance. "Are you?"

"These are my nice boots, woman."

"And this is my nice dress."

"Do you know what salt does to fabric?"

"Do you?"

"Yes." Her right hand, clutching the shell, grabbed her dress, light fabric darkening as the water soaked into it. "Deirdre."

Tilting her chin up, "I would like a good shell found by my own hands!" She gave a yank on her dress; he took one lone step forward.

Eight shells gathered in a basket, she stood on the street outside the inn as Lord Arvis went inside to secure them a room for the night. The village they rooted in tonight readied for a harvest festival (all invited!), so this was their third inn they tried.

Deirdre's eyes slid down the street. On the corner was a table was set up with a purple table cover, manned by a bald figure in a robe, complete with a crystal ball. If Lord Arvis stepped out of the inn before she got back, she'd be in plain view. She stepped off the curb, going down to the stall.

The mysterious figure smiled, ball beginning to glow. "What would you like to know?" Plainly, they were putting on a show with their words, yet some part of it felt very familiar. "Your future? Or perhaps that of someone dear…"

She looked back at the inn; the figure's smiler spread. "Someone dear?" they asked. She nodded slowly. Their eyes slid shut hands hovering above the ball. Lord Arvis occasionally complained she was gullible, and perhaps this was the moment she believed him as nothing happened. Perhaps she could come back and ask about her past. Did that work? The past was set in stone, nothing to foresee, only recall as she could not.

Until the ball cracked in half on the table and landed with a solid thump. Both of them looked at each, then back down to the shattered glass.

Clearing her throat, adjusting her grip on her basket, "Is that bad?" she asked sweetly. Standing before a crystal ball while her future unraveled before her — what is this feeling?

"Who - who are you?" they asked.

Deirdre did not offer her name. "Would you like to be compensated for the ball? I truly am sorry."

"You did not break the ball," they said quickly. "Only the cloud that hangs over you."

The darkness that broiled in her heart, threatening to swallow her whole if her mind wandered. Her stomach flopped. Did the ball see it? What was it is to shatter the seeing ball? She dug through the shells for her purse, laying a handful of coins on the table. "For destroying your ball," she said.

Lord Arvis would not dance in public; in a ball, yes, even their own home back in Castle Askr, but certainly not in a peasant festival, but he kept his hands on her all night. She sipped her cider, taken in by the atmosphere of the space. Now, she knew in their world he was more than a simple duke and she his wife, but Lord Arvis did not seem as drawn to the festivities.

Still, she rarely did not get what she wanted; it was one dance at first, a bawdy number lost in the body of the peasantry, but he was a quick learner, eyes on their feet before scoping her back in his arms to lead. She could not disappear, after all, keeping up with the pace of the music. Two dances went into three, then four, five, six. Warm beneath her dress, calves sticky from where she waded through the salt water this morning, his cheeks were appropriately tinged red.

"Are you tired, husband?" she teased.

"This is not how we dance in our world," he corrected. She pulled him out of the crowd, leading him away from the tight crowd. The inn was not far, but she did not want to go in just yet, only to get fresh air. Who knew who they were here?

She stepped back against the smooth stone wall of the inn. She reached up to cup his cheek, brushing the faint red mark on his face where a rock chip stuck him earlier. He leaned into her hand. "Are you alright?"

He meant the dancing, surely, for wives were frailer than their husbands (he claimed), and he cared for her. What sort of grief could find her in the safety of his arms? What was so tragic to obliterate an enchanted ball? Who could she give it to if not him? (Who, who, who?)

"The — the crystal ball broke." Deirdre said; Lord Arvis' brow creased, staring at her as if she sprung a second head. She set her other hand on his chest. "While you were booking us a room in the inn I wandered over to a booth that was set up. I asked the teller our future and the ball broke!"

He did not stop staring, but his brow softened. "Deirdre."

"It broke! Our future broke!"

Here, hidden away from the homely rabble of the harvest festival, with his face illuminated by the light streaming out of the inn window beside them, her back on the stone and thoroughly hidden by him, he dipped his head to kiss her. She was not after that at all, here to air her grievances to her husband, but it worked. His hand fit neatly on the small of her back, pulling her closer. "I do not care, dear wife, what a glass ball in a world we do not live in says."

She picked at the white of his vest. "It does not bother you our future exploded?"

Lord Arvis smiled, just for her. "No. If I was going to listen to any auger it would be one in our world."

Their world? She leaned back to better find his eyes. "In our world?"

"Would you like me to take you to one?"

Deirdre nodded, so he dipped to kiss her again. They…they were fine. Yes, just the boundaries of the world. Were they from Zenith, the crystal ball wouldn't have been confused and shattered in fear. Surely that was it. "You are my wife, Deirdre. I know this, you know this…what else matters?"

"Oh, nothing else."

"Nothing else," he agreed.