Crackles from the fireplace sound so loud in this otherwise silent room that each pop makes me flinch. I was surprised to find Ben had been given his own room. I've grown used to the idea of a mass guesthouse, like the one on Hydra.

I add more wood to the fire before taking a seat on the floor next to the bed and hold up the copy of The Hobbit he gave me. "When I was a child, I used to—"

He interrupts with a bewildered, "You were once a child?"

I pause, fighting the urge to smile. "Are you going to let me finish? When I was younger, I used to have bad nightmares about—" I used to have terrible nightmares about my parents getting into a car accident, but I'm not in the mood to talk about that right now. "They were. . . you know. Bad kid nightmares. The ones that feel real even after you initially wake up. The only thing I remember helping is when my grandma would read to me. Falling asleep to the sound of her voice made me feel safe enough to sleep soundly throughout the night. Maybe falling asleep to the sound of. . . not scary me will help keep the nightmares at bay."

Ben's eyes flicker open and closed, but he somehow musters the strength to quip, "You think reading me a fairytale is going to magically cure my condition?"

It takes a surprising amount of willpower not to say something especially snide in return. "Well, if it doesn't, at least you won't be any worse off."

"Fair enough," he mumbles into the pillow.

I clear my throat, suddenly self conscious, but it doesn't last long. I read until his face is relaxed into what I hope is a peaceful sleep, and then I flip to the chapter I've been putting off reading.

"Well, that was. . . underwhelming," I whisper when I finish reading. "I hope you didn't pay too much money for this."

I jolt awake in the darkness at the sound of someone pounding on the door. A book slips out of my hands and slaps against the ground.

Blinking fast, I can somewhat see where I am, but as I rush to push myself to my feet, I realize I'm not in my room. Standing immediately floods my stomach with nausea to the point where I resign myself to my fate, although I mercifully never end up vomiting. Sleep deprivation is the literal worst.

That's when I remember where I am. That's when I remember why I'm here. I look over at the bed and confirm Ben is still asleep. Thankfully, it looks like my plan worked.

I flinch at the sound of someone banging on the door again.

They're going to wake Ben up and all this will be for naught. I hurry over and fling it open mid-knock. "Shhhhh!"

I bet my life Ben would have given anything to be awake so he could see the look on Gail's face. Her eyes dart behind me, and her question comes out incredibly slow. "Is he here?"

"He's not up yet."

"What do you mean he's not up yet?" Gail frowns, seemingly snapping back into her usual angry disappointment. "The sun rose half an hour ago, and you're departing soon."

I don't know how much sleep I got last night, but I do know it wasn't nearly enough. My body and brain feel disconnected, like the night of Margo's funeral. "Don't wake him." The dreaded heavy-lidded dry eyes fight against me as I struggle to keep them open. "He needs extra sleep more than any of us."

"He's not a child," she scoffs. "It will make—"

"Gail," I command sharply, "leave him alone."

Of all things, it looks like I've hurt her feelings. "Of course, my lady," she huffs indignantly, yet somehow manages a smile. "I'll be in your room when he finally decides to grace us all with his presence."

I blanche at her tone, but what am I supposed to do? Gail was so kind and attentive when we first met, but she's been acting straight up childish recently. I'm tired of having to defend Ben from her mean spirited energy, but even more importantly, I'm tired of feeling compelled to defend him. They're both at least 20 years my senior, but it's mornings like this when it doesn't feel that way.

It's stressful enough that I have so many actual human children to look after. Not to mention animals like Fenrir and—

"Oh no," I whisper, already halfway back to the door. I forgot about Pumba! Fenrir seems to be a little less paranoid, but Pumba is rightfully concerned with losing another parental figure. I hope he slept throughout the night. I hope he isn't mad at me again for not coming back to my room.

"One hundred and eighty thousand dollars."

"What?" I spin around, surprised to hear the sound of Ben's voice. I didn't realize he was awake. Did he even sleep? How long has he been silently lying there? "What did you say?"

"The book you've so carelessly tossed on the floor," he clarifies, rolling over to look at me with eyes that reveal it's unlikely he slept at all. "To answer your earlier question, it cost one hundred and eighty thousand dollars."

Ben shifts his backpack and squints at me in the sunshine. "What are you doing?"

I turn and fix him with an enthusiastic smile. Or, at least I would if I could stop yawning for five seconds. "I'm cheating. Excuse me?" I yell up at the birds. "Hi! Could any of you tell me which way a group of humans went? Would have been around sunrise, and they would have been carrying a bag about this big?"

A brightly colored bird asks, "What does the human want?"

"I. . . I just told you what I want?" It comes out like a question, but it's only because a whole rainbow of small birds have congregated to gawk at me.

"Is that human talking? How cute!"

"Look," another bird joins in. "A talking human. I didn't know they could do that."

A bright green bird glides down from the safety of the trees and lands gracefully on my shoulder. Then he screams, "Do you have food?!"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." I shrug off my backpack and pull out a granola bar. "You want this?"

Each and every one of the birds breaks out in a frenzied screaming match of "She has food!" I contemplate abandoning my entire backpack, but luckily they switch from swarming me to swarming the granola bar I toss on the ground as Ben and I make a run for it.

"So," Ben says when we've finally outrun the flock, "do you have any other bright ideas you'd like to try, or may I finally have custody of the map?"

I don't know why he bothers to ask because he pulls it out of my hands before I can give an answer.

"Why were we going this way?" Ben squints at the map like a tired parent desperately trying to navigate Disneyland. "We should have been going this way."

"No," I snap in defense of myself and point. "That mountain is there, right? So, we need to go through the valley here."

"First of all," Ben clarifies with no shortage of annoyance, "the marker you just pointed to on the map is that mountain."

I watch him point at a range of mountains on the opposite side of where I thought the map indicated. "Are you sure?"

"Is that a serious inquiry?" he deadpans while rolling up the map. "Or are you just mad about the bird comment?"

I am mad about the bird comment.

I once stayed awake for 32 hours straight because I massively procrastinated a final term project. After many mournful tears of frustration and unsteady trembling, I felt myself pass over into the mysterious world of sleep deprivation. It felt like a mix of floating on a cloud and the ultimate existential crisis. You no longer feel human. You feel like death.

I'm thankfully not quite there yet, but I'm getting close.

There's no telling what time of day it is, but I'm hot and sweaty and, if I'm being honest, bored. Which comes as a surprise. A part of me was looking forward to this scavenger hunt because it would have allowed Ben the one thing he wants more than anything—a chance to be rid of Gail. I was hoping this newfound freedom would cause him to open up a little, or at least make polite conversation. But he hasn't said a word to me since the birds.

For the first time since I've woken up on this island, I'm truly thankful for Gail's braiding skills. Having my hair up and off of the back of my neck is literally saving my life in this humid heat. I watch as Ben trudges steadily ahead and wonder if we're silently being followed. I haven't been allowed go anywhere without a guard "secretly" hiding behind a bush. Are they watching? Are they laughing?

Everything around us suddenly feels like a threat. I take a quick look around at the thinning trees as we make our way closer to shore. "How much—" A yawn overtakes me. "How much longer do you think it'll be?"

Ben doesn't turn around to answer. "We're only a few minutes away."

"A few minutes?" I surge with adrenaline at the thought of this finally being over. "Wow, they really took it easy on us, huh? Two days seems like a rather excessive time allowance."

Ben finally stops and turns to glare at me with a look of contempt. "You do realize this map is leading us to another map?"

"Oh." That's right. Scavenger hunts require multiple stops, dumbass. Of course this map doesn't lead directly to our goal. "Right."

"And that map will lead us to yet another map," he continues. "Which, if you haven't already guessed, will lead to yet another map before we eventually find the canvas bag we're required to bring home. I wouldn't be surprised if they added more maps than usual just to make my life miserable."

"Ok, jeez." You can tone down the rude comments, thanks. "I'm sorry I asked. And I thought you said we were only a few minutes away?"

"We are," he says without further elaboration.

Being this tired is strange. I don't recoil at his anger because it feels disconnected from myself. All of this feels disconnected. Like I'm watching us traipse through the jungle instead of actively participating. I feel disoriented. I feel angry. "Let me see the map."

"I know what I'm talking about." Ben points in the direction of screaming gulls. "This clearing is the only one in this area, so if we can pinpoint the exact—"

I'm about to throw an exhausted tantrum like a toddler. He felt comfortable snatching the map out of my hands earlier. Let's see how he likes it. I don't know if my reflexes are especially slow or if his are especially fast, but Ben holds the map up out of my reach before I can even touch it.

With a loud rip, all but the corner of the paper Ben has gripped in his right hand detaches from the rest of the map, taken away on a random strong gust of wind. It would be the funniest thing I've ever seen if world peace wasn't hinging on our—now hopeless—success.

Ben stares blankly as the map flutters and loops on the breeze, unceremoniously drops into the ocean waves, and disappears forever. "And on that note," he says, "I'm going home."

"But what about the scavenger hunt?"

"What about it?" He's already turned away from the ocean, heading back into the jungle. "Without the finer details of the map, there's absolutely no chance of finding the next piece."

"But you've been staring at the map for hours," I say. "How do you not know where it's buried at this point?"

"Because," he seethes, "I was looking for the marker on the map so I could begin the separate compass navigation instructions. Did you not wonder what all those numbers were on the bottom? Steps, Cora. Steps in a variety of directions that would have led to the next map. Do what you want, but I for one am not going to waste the rest of the day digging countless holes in a wild goose chase."

This was supposed to be easy. This was supposed to be fun.

I honestly don't even care anymore. You're telling me no-one has ever failed this scavenger hunt before? No-one? I find that hard to believe.

As I walk closer to the sounds of water, I realize we're a lot higher up that I initially thought we were. Peeking over the edge, I look down at the waves crashing against the side of the cliff and shiver with a burst of fear.

Maybe he's right. We could spend hours combing this area only to come up empty handed at the end. Without some kind of specific guidance, it's a useless endeavor. Great. Just great. Now everyone's going to want to hear the story about how we couldn't work together long enough to win a stupid scavenger hunt.

Does this mean the truce is off? Was this some kind of test, and now that we've failed, the war is back on again?

I turn around to follow Ben down the cliffside and almost slam face-first into my dad.

Someone is screaming. It's dark and cold, and someone is screaming. I open my mouth to call out to them, and my lungs fill with water. All four of my limbs thrash, weightless.

I break the surface of the ocean and cough like I've never coughed before. I'm in the ocean. Why am I in the ocean? I kick as hard as I can to stay afloat, but a wave crashes over me and sends me back underwater. Back to the darkness. Back to the sounds of the ocean that sound a lot like screams.

Someone has my arm. I'm pulled up into the air and gasp wildly, clinging to my rescue, unsure when I'll get pulled under again.

"Let go of me! Swim that way. That way," Ben emphasizes and gives me a push. I immediately sink, and he has to pull me up again. "What are you doing?"

I don't get a chance to answer. Like some kind of river rapid, the current pulls us towards the rocky cliffside with alarming speed. We're either going to drown, or we're going to be smashed to bloody pulp against the rocks.

Ben lets go of my arm and disappears. It's only a few seconds before the current pulls me under, thrashing me against rocks and slicing open my upper arm. I'm spun upside down and lose all sense of direction as my body smashes against rock, like I'm stuck in a washing machine.

Unable to hold my breath any longer, I resign myself to my fate and gasp, only to be met with air. I'm choking. Why am I choking? Who's choking me?

Ben finishes pulling me by my cloak onto solid ground. Then, and only then—as I lay in a sopping heap of heavy wet fabric, coughing so hard I fear I'm going to vomit—does it sink in that I'm not going to die.

"What happened?" I splutter, wiping wet hair and salt water out of my eyes. I can hardly even see Ben in this darkness, and he's sitting right next to me. "Where are we? What is this? Are we in a cave? How are we in a cave? How are people going to find us? How long will it be until they even realize we're missing? Do you think they—"

"Cora," Ben snaps with a quiet but seething force. "Stop. Talking."

Cave water falls from the high ceiling and ripples the calmer waters nearby, but I don't hear anything over the roaring waves rushing in and out of a small crevice in the side of the cliff. That must have been where my wounds came from. What I thought was me being crushed against the cliffside was actually me being slapped around the narrow opening to this cave.

I'm so full of paranoia at seeing my father that I'm not as scared of Ben as I probably should be. "Stop yelling at me."

"I'm sorry," he yells even louder in disbelief, "but which of us just jumped off a cliff? I forgive you for almost drowning me, by the way."

All this salt water has left me dehydrated, but I don't have my backpack. I'm not sure if it fell over the side of the cliff with me, or if I shrugged out of it after landing in the ocean. All I know is I need water to help calm my erratic mind. "Where's your backpack?"

"I took it off before leaping after you. You're welcome." Ben pants in the darkness, quieting for only a moment before continuing his tirade. "What the hell were you thinking out there? You don't grab people by the neck when they're trying to help you! You almost—"

I tune Ben out as memories come flooding back. Horrible memories from my childhood. Seeing my father, standing behind me at the cliffside, unlocked a primal fear that no smoke monster or scary story about the homicidal maniac I grow up to become can match the feeling I had in my very bone marrow at the sight of him. What does this mean? Was that actually him? Is this some kind of smoke monster trick, or does my family actually exist in this universe?

"Answer me," Ben yells louder than ever.

I don't specifically know what he just asked me, so I tell him the root of my problem. "I can't swim," I whisper.

"What do you mean you can't swim?"

Crisp cave chill, the unfiltered rage in his echoing voice, the fear from seeing my father, and the fact that I almost just died again is too much to process. Without even the slightest warning, I cough a phlegmy sob.

Ben thrashes and fumbles to remove his cloak, flinging it into the water with a silence louder than if he'd just kept yelling. Without another word, he quickly turns away and sloshes through puddles in the grooves of the rock until he's far enough away for his liking.

He's angry. Of course he's angry. He has every right to be angry. I've ruined this. I ruin everything.

Ben is silent for so long, I almost forget he's there. "Do you have any idea what they'd do to me if you died again? Do you even care?" It sounds like he has more grievances to unleash, but instead he sighs in the echoing darkness and makes no moves to come closer. "Why did you jump after the map? Especially if you can't swim?"

"I didn't." He waits for me to elaborate, but it's difficult to speak. "I didn't jump. I fell."

"You fell," he repeats in the most unamused tone.

"I thought. . ." I'm trying to explain myself, but thinking about my father is bad enough. I don't have the strength to talk about him as well. "Did you see someone? Someone standing behind me?"

Ben's voice echoes in the darkness, just as flat and unamused as before. "What?"

"Was there someone standing near where I fell?"

"We were the only two people up there." Ben pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Who do you think you saw?"

I swallow the burning lump in my throat, "My father."

"Oh, fantastic," he groans. "More gods. Thats just what we need."

Tears continue to well in both eyes, but I literally don't know what to do with myself, so I stay completely still.

"How does the daughter of a sea god not know how to swim?"

Despite the stress of the situation, I'm able to think back on my studies to recall the Norse deity family tree. Ben thinks I'm talking about Njord, Freyja's father and god of the wind and sea. He has no idea I'm actually talking about some alcoholic hick from the deep south who could barely hold down a job.

"I don't know who you're talking about. I was born into a human family." I'm too tired to think up a good backstory, so I just tell the truth. "I was raised human. Until I landed on this island, I had no idea about any of this. Never talked to animals. Never healed myself. Certainly never lifted grown men over my head. And I don't—"

"Cora," Ben interrupts. "You're going to explain this all to me in great detail as soon as we get out of here, but for now I need you to remain calm."

"About what?"

I hear him sloshing towards me. "You've decided to fall off a cliff at the most inopportune time." Fingers briefly touch the side of my face, pulling away almost immediately when they make contact. "The tides coming in, and this cave is filling with water."

We emerge from the ocean like a pair of cranky wet rats. Ben pulls out a knife and severs the makeshift fabric rope he tied connecting my wrist to himself in case I lost my grip on his belt as he swam us out of the cave and back to shore.

Without instruction, Ben leaves me sitting in the sand as he disappears into the trees. Despite my initial worry that he's fulfilling his original declaration of going home, he returns with his backpack and a bundle of firewood.

"You're more than welcome to walk all the way back to the Temple soaking wet," he says, reaching down to hand me his canteen. "I'm going to dry off a little."

It took the survivors a considerable amount of time to figure out how to light a fire, but Ben has one roaring in only a few minutes. Perks of growing up with Vikings, I guess.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts—so drowsy after the receding effects of adrenaline from our cave escape—that I jolt when I look over and see Ben pulling his shirt over his head. "What are you doing?"

"Auditioning for The Price is Right." He twirls the shirt in on itself and twists out excess water. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

As he bends to pull off his boots, I notice two thin lines curling up and over the very tops of his shoulders. Guess I know where at least one of his tattoos are. As nosy as I am, my eyes flick back to the fire, embarrassed at the sight of so much skin. In a paranoid attempt to ensure he's not going to take off all his clothes so he can dry them near the fire, I ask, "Just your shirt?" I realize too late that my question actually sounds suggestive.

"If you want me to take my pants off, you can just ask. No need to be coy."

I'm sure under different circumstances, I'd be mortified. Instead, I heave a sigh and rub my trembling fingers against the bridge of my nose. "We can't keep doing this."

"I wasn't aware we were doing anything."

"This." I flop an arm to motion between us. "The yelling and sarcastic retorts and. . . we have to be able to talk to each other if this is going to work. Yes, we'll have the treaty, and our marriage means you won't have to worry about random raids anymore, but if we can't talk to each other, we're still screwed. What if something happens? What if I have questions? Look, I—" Just to make sure we're alone, I take a quick look around, but even if there is someone spying on us, we're too close to the ocean for them to be able to hear. I lower my voice anyway. "To be completely honest with you, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Nooo," he says slowly with an extended drawl. "I for one am thoroughly shocked at this news."

"You see? You're doing it again." We both fall silent and then yawn in unison. I've only been deprived one nights sleep. I can't imagine how horrible he must be feeling. The fact that he just swam us out of a cave and all the way back to shore on God knows how little sleep is suddenly exponentially more impressive. "Thank you." I look over at him for only a second before needing to look away at literally anything else. "For rescuing me."

"I had no choice." Of all things, he smiles. "Now I only owe you one favor."

"I'm going to be charitable and say you only owe me two."

"I panicked," he says after a long stretch of silence. "Up to this point I've been at least somewhat prepared, but this. . . Gail failed to mention this would be quite the disaster it's turned out to be."

"Can you make me a promise?" He doesn't nod, but he does narrow his eyes, intrigued. "Can you let me know when Gail has plans? I know she's just trying to help, but I don't see how keeping me in the dark is helping anyone. Case in point," I add, "you'd be dead if I listened to Gail at your Holmgang. She thought she was doing what's best for me, but—" What I want to say is, She thought she was doing what's best for me, but how is you being dead better for anyone? Maybe it is. How would I know what Gail's ever actually thinking?

"She likes the power it gives her," Ben says. I was starting to wonder that myself, so it's nice to know our theory is the same. "She likes playing at being a Seer."

It makes sense. Ben would have been too young—and too ostracized—to have been trusted with whatever information the Seer had about my arrival here. Or, as these people keep calling it, my rebirth. "The previous Seer…Olga?"

"Helga," he corrects.

"Seer Helga. You mentioned before the Holmgang that she told you to practice swordsmanship. Did she tell you that directly? Or did you hear it secondhand through Gail?"

"Firsthand," he answers slowly, remembering. His mouth twitches with displeasure. "I was forbidden from visiting with her alone though. There isn't anything I know that Gail doesn't, if that's what you're leading up to asking."

I stare at him in the dwindling afternoon sunshine until he looks at me. "You're actually afraid of her."

"You'd be too if you knew what she's capable of."

"Listen, we don't have to tell Gail everything, right?" I snort a laugh before he can answer. "What am I saying? We're grown adults. We don't have to tell Gail anything." I hold out a hand for him to shake. "Deal? No more games of telephone. Just open and upfront."

"Am I to assume this is a secret truce?"

"We can continue letting Gail think she's running the show, if you think that'll be easiest. Just. . ." I'm fighting extra hard to keep eye contact so my eyes don't wander down to his bare chest. "No more secrets. Between us, at least. It's not very productive."

Ben yawns again and shakes my hand. "I don't want to talk about Gail anymore. And speaking of secrets, I believe you were going to share some of your own before our impending doom cut you short."

As emotionally exhausting as it is, I try my best to explain to him what life was like before landing here. I explain being a god is like watching tv, acutely aware of the fact that it was—in my case—literally watching tv. I cheer for my favorite humans and boo the ones making poor decisions, but I can't interfere. I watch. I judge. I laugh. I cry. That's it. That's all. Then, one day, I wake up here, and that's why I know so much and so little all at the same time.

He has so many questions about my human life, but I only give him the brief overview of my family—partially because it's making me homesick to think about them, and partially because I don't want to be reminded of all the bad memories. I tell him about my grandmother, and my strict Catholic upbringing, and—

"Wait, wait, wait, wait. . . You were—" Ben leans forward, barely able to get the question out through a disruptive bout of laughter. "You were evangelized?" I don't see what's so funny, but Ben has to hold a hand pressed tight against his stitches as he winces and laughs at the same time.

"What's wrong with you?"

"This is officially the most absurd thing I've ever heard in my life. You do realize you can't tell anyone?" Ben wheezes, still laughing. "Your people are absolutely not ready to learn you've been converted to the enemy." He calms down a little, only to lay back in the sand and break out in more laughter. "The Norse goddess of war. . . is Catholic."

I roll my eyes, but his laughter and my own lack of sleep is making me laugh. We sit in the sand, laughing like lunatics, absorbing the heat from the fire until our clothes have finally dried.

Ben happily tugs his shirt back on. "There's nothing quite like being dry. Ready to head back?" With a few kicks of sand, Ben extinguishes the fire at the precise time the skies open up wide and it begins to pour.

We look up at the sky in bewilderment, look at each other as we're immediately drenched all over again, and practically choke to death as the laughter hits us even harder than before.

I could handle the Norsemen's taunting questions when we returned to the Temple early and empty handed. I could handle Gail's disappointed expression as I refused to give her details about what happened. I could handle renegotiating the timetable of this wedding to allow Ben and me an entire day to just sleep.

What I can't seem to handle is Ben's constant snorting of air in a losing battle to keep from laughing at the obscene garish costume Gail forced me to wear for the wedding.

"A vacuum threw up on you?" His eyebrows are set seriously, but a small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth as he takes in the fact that Gail covered my hair in ash for some reason. "You've decided to become a professional chimneysweep?"

"One more word," I threaten, frowning with everything I've got. "One more word and I'll break your kneecaps."

"I'm only guessing," he defends. "Although, now that you mention it, you do look like an unhinged Vegas showgirl who barely escaped a fire. Can't be more uncomfortable than my collar though."

"I understand this ridiculous dress," I hiss from across the table. "It's the ash I don't understand. You're wearing, what? A suit? You poor thing. Remind me again why I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"You make a valid point," he says.

"You're just jealous that I have a cape."

"Am I that transparent?" Ben turns from where I'm seated at his kitchen table, starts to review the final treaty, stops, knits his brows in a bewildered frown, and turns to look at me. "Break my kneecaps? What kind of Italian family raised you?"

Gail opens the door to Ben's house, momentarily flooding the entryway with the insane volume of chatter and traditional music coming from the courtyard. With a snap of the door, the noise quiets to a low yet constant hum.

"So sorry about that," she says. Dumping a pile of bobby pins on the table, she gets back to work pinning my hair up in the most complex mess of braids I've ever seen. "I thought for sure I'd brought enough. Luckily, I was able to borrow some from Juliet."

"Cora?" I catch Ben's eye, and he slides the final page of the treaty across the table. "Do you need to read it again?"

"For the love of Mímir," says Gail. "No, she doesn't need to read it again. Here, Cora. Here's a pen. Sign right here and let's get this over with. It's barely two in the afternoon and half the party's already drunk."

I'm not even entirely sure where one ceremony ends and another begins. One second I'm signing the treaty, then I'm blinking in the sharp sunshine and standing next to Gail as she chugs a mug of alcohol.

"What do we do now?" I ask her.

Gail raises her mug and smiles. "We try to enjoy ourselves."

A woman approaches Gail and the two begin a lively conversation I can't understand. Unsure of what to do with myself, I wander around and try to remain calm at the fact that everyone seems to be in such high spirits. Great, that means this worked. Just have to hold out for a few more hours, and then I can relax and try to figure out a game plan for how to keep myself from devolving into insanity.

Even though both Gail and Ben alluded to the amount of people who were attending the wedding, I am in no way prepared for the reality of it all. As I squeeze through yet another crowd of cheerful party-goers, I stop and watch as Jack finally gives into peer pressure and starts a drinking game with a man who already seems drunk.

Now that I think of it, where are the survivors? I scan the crowd and immediately find Sayid fighting in an arm wrestling match. A few other survivors have been recruited into a round of tug-of-war, with my people and their people dispersed equally on either side of the rope.

I make my way around the different pockets of festivities, sampling foods from various tables laden with bowls and plates. Taking a few fistfuls from a few different platters, I shove the food in my pockets and spare a shameful glance around to ensure nobody saw me. When the coast proves clear, I grab another handful of some kind of dish wrapped in a leaf.

I eventually run into Charlie and Hugo and try to make small talk about musical tastes. Charlie admits to enjoying the traditional wedding tunes while I dive into the one thing my family could actually agree on—a shared love of ABBA. I walk away only when Charlie tries to convince me that disco isn't music.

That's when I see him.

"Jacob?"

"There you are." All smiles, he hands me a bulbous decanter full of liquid. "Brought you the very best wine money can buy. But not as a wedding gift," he adds. "My wedding gift is forgiving you for not inviting me."

"What are you doing here?" Eric and Liv both claimed to never have met Jacob, so why is he out of hiding? I look around at the faces nearest me, but nobody seems to care that he's here. "I thought my people didn't like you?"

"So far most of them are convinced I'm your brother." It's weird seeing him happy. It's even weirder hearing him laugh. "They think my appearance is the ultimate show of peace. But I'm here for the food, of course."

"Of course," I parrot. "Any recommendations?"

"Don't eat anything with a blue ribbon tied around it," he answers and takes a bite of what looks like an empanada. "I was told they're made with repurposed animal meat."

"Lady Cora?"

I look over at the voice and smile a little too hard. "Annie, hi!" I can tell she's drunk, so I overcompensate by focusing all of my energy into seeming like I'm having a good time. I shoot a nervous glance at Jacob, but he's long gone in the ever rotating crowd of faces.

Her eyes immediately travel to the bottle in my hands. "Is that wine?"

"This? Yeah, it's a gift. I don't want it," I add quickly. "Do you want it? Here. You can have it. It's apparently top quality, but don't take my word for it. I don't know anything about wine." I start laughing, still smiling, until my face is in unbearable pain.

Annie happily accepts the wine, uncorks it, and takes a hearty gulp. "It's a nice wedding," she says randomly. "You look nice."

"Thanks."

Annie takes another swig. "Where's Ben?"

"Uh. . ." I look around seriously, as if I know where anyone is. "I'm not entirely sure."

Something dawns on her, and she closes her eyes and lets out a huff of a laugh. "Oh wait, he's probably hiding."

"From?"

"His rugby team. Retired, of course," she adds as if it's obvious. "Team captains have a habit of getting the groom to drink until they vomit before sunset. . . but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Annie keeps getting closer, so I keep taking tiny steps away from her.

"Peregrine won't stop talking about you," she says. There's no real way to know for sure, but judging by how slow and deliberately she's speaking, she's had more than a few drinks before the wine. "I hope she's not bothering you too much. I can talk to her if you'd like. Is she bothering you? You can tell me. Please tell me."

"No, no, no," I plead, wringing my hands and smiling even harder. "She's great. No trouble at all. Don't worry about it."

"I didn't raise them to be afraid of you," Annie continues with a serious expression. "I made up my mind before I had children that I wouldn't tell them what you did. They're loyal to you. My girls and Flint. All of them."

"Oh? Okay. Thank you."

"If you need a sacrifice," she manages to get out before her voice wavers and she slumps against me. "If you ever need a sacrifice in the future, you can kill me."

I try to help support her weight, amazed at how quickly I feel like I'm going to throw up. "Annie, listen, I'm not going to kill anyone—"

"It's okay. You can kill me. Just—" Annie grabs a fistful of my dress, panting the rest of the words through a fresh batch of tears. "Please don't hurt my children. Don't hurt my children. I'll do anything. Just leave them alone."

Time slows. Noise dulls. All I hear and feel is my rapidly quickening heartbeat. I free myself from Annie's grip and hold a tight fist against my cramping stomach. Breathe. Just breathe. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Panic attacks don't last forever. You just have to—

It's not working.

I spin around, aimless, my mind blank. A man runs into me, or maybe I run into him. I can't understand what anyone is saying, and I need to get away from all these smiling faces. I need to get away from this stupid party.

Slumping against a tree bordering the barrack houses, I'm finally able to get my stuttering breaths under control. As more oxygen returns to my brain, I suddenly remember my pockets are full of food and take a bite of a fishy scented brittle. It tastes horrible, but I find myself mechanically reaching for another bite after bite after bite, when I finally force myself to stop.

What the hell am I doing with my life? I'm hiding from my own party, eating food that tastes disgusting in an attempt to feel better about something that can never be forgiven. How many people's lives did I ruin? How many adults on this island are completely dysfunctional because of me? I can't even blame Dolores for trying to kill me. In fact, good for her. Maybe that would be better for everyone—

"OW!" A sharp pain swells on the top of my head just as an apple tumbles into my lap. I reach up and rub at the pain, simultaneously craning my head back to look into the tree. "What are you doing up there?"

"I was here first." Ben sits on one of the highest branches, carefully concealed by the tree's abundance of leaves. "What are you doing down there? Please tell me you're not going to start crying again. I'm sorry for the apple. I was aiming for your lap."

A distant bout of laughter erupts from the party.

"Did I kill Annie's parents?" I struggle to fight against my quivering jaw just to spare me the embarrassment.

There's no fanfare in his immediate response. "You decapitated her mother."

"And her dad?"

"You stuck both hands in his mouth and tore his jaw off." Ben takes a bite of his own apple, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "Why are you asking about the dead? Shouldn't you know where they are and how they died?"

I don't answer. I can't answer. All I can do is cover my ears with the palms of my hands and try to think of literally anything else.

"Here." Ben has silently climbed down the tree and holds out a croquette in offering. Without waiting for me to accept it, he grabs the seafood brittle out of my hand and chucks it into the distance. "Nobody actually eats those. They're just a wedding tradition. These are much better."

I laugh through the tears when I see the basket nestled in the crook of his arm. "Did you steal all of the croquettes?"

"They taste so much better when I don't have to make them."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to do." I'm acutely aware of how close he's sitting, but he doesn't prod for answers and seems engrossed in the food. "I just had a mother beg me not to kill her children because I traumatized her in the past. How am I supposed to apologize for something like that?"

"Never put her children in danger, or give her a reason to worry about their safety. That's about as close to an apology as you're ever going to get."

"What happened to him?" Ben was right about these croquettes. I reach for another. "Ragnar?"

"Your people used to travel much more freely between islands," he answers, and I notice how much easier it seems for him to speak now that he's had a day to rest. "What happened to Ragnar was tantamount to a fluke. He was returning to Hydra when he was attacked by the. . . other monster. Hazel was with him. That was a year ago."

"That's why she doesn't come visit Alex anymore," I mumble to myself. I reach for another croquette and think about the message Ragnar gave me on the ship. "Oh, that's what he meant. He was trying to assuage her guilt."

Ben pushes the basket closer to me and takes more food for himself. "Does that happen often?"

"What? Communicating with the dead? Only since I died."

"You ever talk to my parents?"

I stop mid-bite and stare at him in horror. "I killed your parents?"

"No."

"I killed your dad?"

"No, he did that himself. Said some things about other people's wives that he shouldn't have," he clarifies. "Cora." I look up, but his eyes are focused off in the distance as he takes another bite. "You spell it different than Kore, but it's pronounced the same. Does that mean the Greek pantheon exists?"

"You ask too many questions when you've had decent sleep."

"There you are," a deep voice booms, and I turn to look up at one of the tallest, beefiest men I've ever seen in my entire life. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Ben smiles at the man, but his words come out exhausted. "Well, you found me."

As if picking up a kitten, the man reaches down and lifts Ben up off his feet, tucking him under his armpit and tussling his hair. "How's my favorite bear boy?"

"Cora," Ben wheezes, still trapped in the massive man's grip, "this is Kyle. Team captain back in our rugby days."

"Kyle," I repeat, already smiling up at the drunk norseman. You have won the funniest viking name I've heard so far, my good sir. "Is that short for something?"

"Short for something?" Kyle lets out a booming laugh. "I'm the farthest thing there is from short, my lady. This one however," he shouts even louder, shaking Ben around like a rag doll. "This one was a good gamble! No one else would have him on their team, but I knew he'd be useful. Our ace in the hole! Ha ha! Darted right through enemy forces like a rat."

"You couldn't have picked any other animal comparison?" Ben asks, and Kyle breaks out into more laughter, finally setting him back down on his feet.

"Bear boy?" I whisper.

"Our team name," he explains.

I stare at the both of them in bewildered amusement. The most surprising thing is realizing Ben has friends after all. Are these the men he was laughing with at Poppy's engagement party?

"There's the bears," Ben continues, "boars, wolves, and falcons."

"The falcons! I hate the falcons! The falcons can suck my balls, ah—pardon me, my lady," Kyle apologizes, suddenly looking sheepish. "I'm a little drunk. Speaking of which, you look remarkably sober, Ben. Let's go fix that."

As night falls, I anticipate most of my people passing out and falling asleep in the grass, but unfortunately the party only seems to intensify. At one point I'm corralled into the middle of the courtyard, and I look around in the sky, expecting fireworks or some other nighttime entertainment. As more and more people gather near, I begin to worry. I lean closer to Ben and whisper, "What's going on? Why are they all just staring at us?"

"Now that you're back, they won't do much without your permission," he answers. "They're waiting for you to start the dance."

"I don't know how to start the dance."

"Here." Ben takes hold of my shaking hand, lacing his warm fingers through mine. "I'll show you."

It looks easy, and that's why it's so frustrating. Ben actually knows what he's doing—each step in time to the drums in what looks like simple footwork—but when I try to emulate him, it's like my feet and my brain disconnect. At least everyone else has started dancing, so I don't have an audience to snicker at my attempts.

"Don't be discouraged," says Ben, as if he could read my mind. "It is more difficult than it looks. Try closing your eyes for a second and get a sense of the beat before trying to copy me."

Just as I think I'm catching on to the rhythm and footwork, a new song starts and a completely different dance begins. I'm sweaty and embarrassed and covered in ash, but when all of the people nearest us grab their partners hands and start hopping in a circle formation, I rush to copy them. "This is a viking hoedown from hell," I tell an amused looking Ben. "The Christian one, too. Not the cool Norse one. Oh, wow. Don't look now." I nod my head conspiratorially towards one of the massive cases holding the mead. "You're officially off the hook for the night. Gail is absolutely wasted."

Ben leans in close to the side of my face, so he doesn't have to shout over the roaring crowd. "Why haven't you asked about the tattoo on my back?"

His breath tickles a loose strand of hair near my ear, but I don't move away. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you saw it on the beach."

"What about it? I'm more curious about where your other one is." I pull away and narrow my eyes. "Is this Gail approved flirting?"

"Don't insult me," he retorts, smiling. "If this were Gail approved, I'd never have clearance to ask to see your ankles."

"Can't see them anyway in these boots."

"The night is young."

"How are you not drunk, by the way?" We break apart, spin once, and rejoin. "I thought Kyle was supposed to make you vomit before nightfall?"

"Ah, well, fortunately he'd already gotten a head start before he found me. I simply waited for him to knock one back so I could toss my serving in the grass while he was distracted." Ben raises his eyebrows in amusement. "He thinks I've had four horns full."

"Genius." As the song ends, I take note of how the jumping and rushing around the courtyard has made my feet sore and swollen in my boots. "Well, not that this hasn't been fun, but I'm exhausted. Do you think Jane would mind if I crashed on her couch? I don't feel like sailing back to Hydra tonight."

Ben tilts his head ever so slightly in confusion, his eyes momentarily widening with understanding. "Oh. I'm. . . Cora, I'm sorry, I thought. . . I thought surely Gail would have told you."

I can feel my brows pulling themselves into an automatic frown. "Told me what?"

"The wedding ends at sunrise. You're not allowed to leave the circle until then."

"Circle?" I spin around just as a long loop of women lock arms together, chaining us within the parameter of the courtyard. "Wait. . . sunrise?"

Ben is suddenly swarmed by women, and it's then that I realize that the only people enclosed in the dance circle are women. I can't understand what they're saying to him, but he nods and responds in Norse and they leave him alone.

"It would seem I'm being expelled from the dance-floor," Ben tells me, not seeming particularly aggravated. As if to prove he was joking, Ben offers the most genuine smile I've ever seen on him. "Enjoy yourself."

"Whoa, wait." I reach out and grab hold of his hand as an unfamiliar surge rushes up from my stomach, filling my head with endorphins. "Where are you going?"

"Oh," he exhales. "I'll be around here somewhere. Puking an obscene amount of alcohol, if the rest of my team has anything to say about it."

A confusing feeling settles in the pit of my abdomen. "Do you have to go?"

"Afraid so."

"Do you think they'll let you stay if I ask?" I feel my face burn at his curious expression. "You're the only sober person I know here. What am I supposed to do for the next five or six hours?"

"What everyone else is doing," he answers. "Drink."

"I don't drink." Yes, well, I also said that I'd never get married, and I'm literally at my own wedding right now. "Ive never. . ." I don't know why, but I'm suddenly embarrassed. "I've never had alcohol before."

"You can drink or you can dance." Ben's expression suddenly softens when he realizes how uncomfortable I am. "You don't have to drink if you don't want to. Do what makes you happy." Another round of women begin yelling at him to leave the circle. He gives my shoulder a light squeeze before disappearing into the female mob.

I am so unbelievably bored. How long has it been? How much longer until I can leave this circle and take a nap? Would anyone object if I just took a nap right now in the grass?

All of the Norse women know each other and have broken off in their own specific cliques—drinking, laughing, gossiping, and dancing together. Nobody pays me any mind.

I am a literal god, and I still can't make friends.

When I finally see a familiar face, I make a beeline for her.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little miss world peace." Jane holds up a wobbly arm in a toast and then downs the horn in a few gulps. "You need a refill?"

"I'm not drinking."

"What do you mean you're not drinking?"

"Not a fan of alcohol. Not a fan of drunks," I elaborate when she pushes the matter.

"That's bullshit. It's your wedding. One horn isn't going to get your drunk. Come on," she orders, holding out her horn. "Get me a refill while you're at it, your majesty."

I wander around in search of one of those tubs filled with mead when a women calls me to a table. "Enjoying the festivities, my lady?" She scoops Jane's horn full of mead and hands it back to me.

The realization hits me like a brick.

I just got married. I just broke the most important promise I ever made myself. I'm married and Jane's right. One horn isn't going to get me drunk. Isn't that the sinful part of drinking? You can drink if you want. Jesus used to drink wine. You just can't get drunk. One horn won't get me drunk.

I inhale and ask, "Can I have another, please?"

"Oh," the woman says in surprise. "Of course, my lady. Be careful!"

I don't bother explaining only one horn is for me.

Jane lights up when she sees I have two horns. "You got one for yourself? That's more like it! Come on, I'll do one if you do one. Skol, skol, skol," she chants, grabs her horn, clanks them together, and downs it in a few gulps.

I plug my nose and chug, expecting the burn of alcohol. All I taste when I unplug my nose is a terrible earthy aftertaste. "That didn't taste anything like alcohol."

"Who made this weak brew?" Jane sniffs her cup. "I swear, if they let Helga back into the brewery… ugh, that was actually pretty disgusting. Get me one from a different batch, will you?"

I return with two more horns, not intending to drink mine. Jane downs hers in a few gulps.

"Much better," she gasps and wipes her mouth. "So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About what?" she mocks in a drunken singsong voice. "The wedding, Cora. What do you think about the wedding?"

I shrug. "It's nice."

"That's not very specific." Without me offering, Jane grabs my full horn and takes a sip. "Hey, can you do me a favor? Take it easy on him. Ben," she clarifies. "He's had a shit life."

I don't know what to do with my hands, so I tug some gold embroidery on my wedding dress.

"I mean, most of us have had a shit life," she continues. "But he's had. . . you know, a shit life. I kinda hate seeing the poor bastard so sad. He stays out of my way, so he's automatically not on my shit list."

"What was so. . . shit about it?" I stumble over the swear, having never actually said it aloud before.

Jane blows raspberries and coughs a laugh. "You should know," she accuses. "It was entirely your fault. And. . . and. . . why is. . . why is the table purple?" Jane holds her hands up to inspect them. "What did you give me? I don't think that was alcohol. What the hell is—Oh, shit. Oh, no."

"What?"

Jane looks down at me with wide eyes. "Was that the Beserkr Bride Tea?"

"The what?"

"Where did you get the cups from?"

I point behind me. "At that table."

"Which one?" She sounds panicked, so of course my stomach begins to cramp with worry. "That table? The one with the ribbon on it?"

"I. . . yes? Jane," I yell over the festivities, my heart sinking. "Jane, what was in that? Jane." I grab her by the wrists. "What's in the Beserkr Bride Tea?"

"Shrooms!" Jane shakes my shoulders in return, looking terrified. "You gave me shrooms, you crazy bitch! This is supposed to be an exclusive religious experience for the bride, not me!"

"I didn't know! It wasn't labeled! I thought it was mead!"

"Oh shit," Jane screams. "I think mines hitting!"

I turn and run, as if I can simply outrun this problem, and I find I am weightless. Should I stick a finger down my throat and throw it up? Is that how this works? Or is it too late? I need help, but all of these women are drunk. Each beat of my heart pulsates throughout my entire body until I can feel the individual blood vessels under the layers of skin.

Whatever was in that drink has already started to take effect because all the pain in my feet is gone. I walk past the core of dancing women and find we are surrounded. Enclosing us, an outer circle of sober women stand linked together.

"My lady," one of them asks, "do you need something?"

I smile and wave at her. "I need to find my husband." A whole new wave of endorphins flows up from my stomach and into the back of my head at the realization I have a husband. "Can I please get by?"

"Our chain will not break until sunrise," she answers proudly. "Your husband is at the other end of the circle. See if you can get his attention."

Despite my initial panic, I'm smiling when I finally spot Ben standing amongst a loud, rambunctious group. I jump, weightless, waving my arms so he'll see me over the women guarding the outer circle, but the sky is suddenly hanging much lower, and I get distracted by the stars.

"Goddess," the men cheer happily. One of them jumps onto a table to dance and immediately falls off.

"Cora," Ben addresses me with a small smile. As he walks closer to the wall of women, I notice he's holding a full horn and shows absolutely no signs of having drank alcohol, so I guess he's successfully tricked his rugby teammates. "Giving up already? We're quite a few hours from. . . are you all right?"

I only partially hear him because I'm so busy trying to catch a star. Are they supposed to be this close to Earth? I hope they don't burn my hand. I should put one in my pocket. Oh! Maybe Ben wants one?

"What are you doing?" Ben's question sounds especially suspicious, and when I look at him, he seems worried.

"Ben." Try as I might to fight it, my smile only gets stretched farther across my face until I physically cannot smile any wider. "I've made a horrible mistake."

A blast of feedback sounds through the PA system, and the band dies down as everyone looks up at the speakers in confusion. "I hope you can all hear this. DJ Pace is in the house tonight! This one goes out to the bride, despite my better judgement. Cheers!" There's a crackle, and then the familiar opening beats to Abba's Lay All Your Love On Me begin to play.

Charlie? I look up at the swirling vortex of night sky and definitely know I'm under the influence of something, but I no longer care. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore except dancing, and I'm missing out.

I squeal happily and turn to leave.

Ben reaches past the women and grabs my sleeve in a vice grip. "Please, let me through," he begs, but the guardian nearest Ben looks dangerously close to punching him.

"It's ok," I tell her. "He can come in."

"I'm sorry." She gives me a pained look. "Men are not permitted inside, my lady."

"It's fine," I reassure her, trying my best not to laugh. "Groom exception. Let him in. I command it."

After a brief exchange with the women on either side, they relent with a reluctant nod, and Ben slips through.

Pouring out his mead onto the grass, he quickly throws the strap over his shoulder so the horn hangs across his back and frees both his hands. I try to walk backwards into the fray of the party, but he's grabbed hold of my forearms to steady me. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Have you ever wanted to know what it'd be like to be in an episode of Scooby-Doo?"

Ben narrows his eyes in confusion. "I'm not following."

"You're really attractive," I say, taking a step closer and pressing up against him. Staring into someone's eyes has never been this easy. "Do you want to make out with me?"

I wait for an answer, but he just stares.

"Oh no. You don't want to make out with me?" I look down at my damp palms and watch my multicolored sweat sparkle in the moonlight. Another quick rush of happiness gets complicated by a small burst of panic at the rate my heart is beating. I hold up my sweaty hands to show Ben the weird colors, and then I start screaming in horror.

Ben turns to the wall of women and yells, "What did you people give her?"

"What's going on? I don't . . . I don't like this." I grit my teeth to keep from crying. "I think I'm dying. Am I dying?" I grab a fistful of Ben's vest and tug him closer. "Please don't let me die again!"

"You're not dying." He sounds scared, and it makes me feel better knowing he cares. "What did they give you?"

I love the feeling of his hands on me. I don't ever want him to let go. I sigh and lean against his chest. "Dance with me."

"Cora, show me what you took."

In my attempts to stifle a laugh, it comes bursting out in one loud, slow motion honk. I step back, swinging his arms from side to side in time with the music as it speeds up and slows down and speeds back up again. I am an unstoppable dancing machine. I don't think I've ever moved like this before. Suddenly, I cannot stop walking backwards.

Ben follows me, always staying close enough to catch me as I stumble around. He keeps me from falling yet again, and in thanks I lean up and wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. But I never get it. He reaches up and pulls my arms halfway off him before I start fighting back. I'm not even trying, but Ben is giving it everything he's got, straining to pull my arms down to my sides. He's making very slow progress, but it impresses me all the same.

"Wow, you're really strong." I praise in a breathy huff against his face. "But not strong enough." Then I hoist him high above my head.

"Put me down," he yells. "Cora, put me down, now!"

"I'm sorry. I drank one too many horns," I admit and place him back on his feet. "They keep my feet from hurting. Look, they don't even hurt anymore!"

"So," he says, straightening his suit and pausing to appraise me, "you're just drunk?"

"I think so?" I stare at my hand and then slice the air and watch as the movement lags so badly it looks like I have five separate hands. "I don't know what that feels like."

"Ah." It's almost too much to bear when his brow relaxes and he smiles. "I see."

"You're not dancing."

"I'm not supposed to be in here." He turns back towards the wall of women. "If you're okay, I have to leave—"

I don't mean to jerk him back around quite as hard as I do, but it's even more difficult to contain my strength surges in this state. His eyes fill with surprise as he stumbles into me. "I don't want you to leave," I tell him. "I want you to dance with me."

"I'm not supposed to—"

"Well, I say you are. Dance with me."

I watch his eyes dart from one side of my face to the other before he relents. Ben twirls me out and back in again. I forget everything Ben taught me about dancing and start flapping my arms like a chicken. I've never danced with a man before, and the combination of his well-groomed appearance and the cool night air makes it impossible to focus on anything other than him. I want to tell him to wear a suit all the time. Instead, I grab his chin and move his head from one side to the other. "You have such a nice nose."

Ben opens his mouth to say something, but he ends up laughing instead.

"If I'm Freyja, and Freyja's a witch. . ." I release him and flap my arms like my life depends on it. "Why can't I fly?"

Hands grab me around the middle, and Ben makes a grasping attempt to keep me in his possession, but there are too many women vying for my attention. I'm suddenly flying through the night in a swirl of colorful cotton skirts. I spin with a woman only to be guided to another who kisses my forehead and twirls me into yet another smiling face. Everyone is so happy to see me.

Charlotte is trying to tell me something, all smiles, but I cannot hear what she's saying. It doesn't matter anyway because she is promptly sucked into the blob of a crowd and becomes nothing but another hopping body of joy.

I have so many friends here. It feels good to be liked.

Flashes of laughing faces, the brush of grass against my elbows as I fall, a woman's insistence I lean my head back, the rim of another horn against my lips as I close my eyes and chug the tea that no longer tastes rancid. Before I can finish the contents, someone rips it out of my hands.

From out of the chaotic happiness, I hear Ben asking, "What is this? What are you giving her?" I open my eyes and watch him sniff the horn in an effort to deduce what the tea is. "Where is your water?"

"This is our water," someone yells mid-twirl. "And you're not supposed to be in here."

Time slows and blurs out the whole world except for him. I take in his dress-shirt and vest, the dark colors highlighting everything I find attractive about his features. He's the most handsome man at this party. I push my way between two women and reach up to cup the sides of his face. "You're so beautiful."

This gets his attention, and he flinches slightly at the touch. "What?"

"Kiss me, Benjamin." I have never, in my entire life, felt this euphoric. "I think I'm in love with you."

Ben stares, unblinking, a million unreadable thoughts behind his eyes. "Are you high?" I try to kiss him again, but he leans away before I make contact. "Cora," he says firmly, "sit. Right here. Sit down. Don't move."

My mouth is unbelievably dry. It's getting harder to concentrate on one specific thing. I watch as Ben has a very angry conversation with the punch bowl woman. I stand up to tell him to leave her alone, but I'm stopped by an offering of more mead. I grab at it to quench my thirst, gulping as fast as I can.

"No!" Ben intercepts, rushing over to hold the horn out of my reach. "No more of that. Let's go find some water."

I'm so happy Ben's here, and he's mine, and he has a steady arm around me. The contact tingles with the slight pressure of each finger. His cologne swirls in a visible cloud of gold, enveloping me, perfectly in tune with the bass of my beloved Abba. It feels safe. It feels like love.

Ben spots another drink headed my way and glares at the holder to tell them to stop, so I take the opportunity to push up on my tiptoes and rest my head on his unsuspecting shoulder. My nose slides against his neck. I inhale and it all goes straight between my legs. "Mmm," I hum. My tongue darts out and licks where I feel his pulse.

Ben's grip on me tightens. "Jane," he says loudly. "Jane? I need you to—"

"Huuuuuh? Whaaaaaaat," Jane shouts happily. "Oh, Linus! Whatever you do, doooooo noooooot drink the tea." I'm not sure what she's doing with her shoulders, but it looks fun. She lunges forward and pulls me towards her, only to push me back out and back in again, both of us laughing as we accidentally knock over multiple women. Jane suddenly yanks me close as she leads us around in some sort of ballroom dance. "Listen," she yells over the fray, "I think I want to tell Charlotte I'm in love with her."

I gasp exaggeratedly, my cheeks aching from my smile. "That's a good idea!"

Jane's nod wobbles comically as her eyes widen at my excitement. "Yeah?"

"Yes, definitely! You should definitely go do that right now!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah?"

"YEAH!" I grab her shirt to pull her down to my level so I can kiss her forehead. "You've been blessed! GO! GO! GO! GO!"

"Gail's drunk," Ben announces. "Annie's drunk. Jane's drunk. Who here isn't drunk?"

I raise my hand. "I'm drunk."

"Yes, we've established that." Ben adjusts his grip on me as we're jostled through the crowd. "Come on, we're getting water in you one way or another."

"No water," I moan, grabbing his swirling face. I just want him to kiss me, but I cannot keep track of his mouth as it becomes one, then two, then three, then one again. "I want something else inside me right now."

"Why is this happening," I hear him mumble miserably under his breath. Instead of looking embarrassed, he just looks incredibly sad. "Cora, I need you to listen to me. Ok? Are you listening?"

"I'm listening."

"You see those women over there? Look, the outer circle? I need you to—what. . . what are you doing?"

Flinging myself down into the grass doesn't hurt at all. I roll to a stop and flop my arms at my sides. "I'm a bowling pin."

Ben closes his eyes for a second before continuing. "You see the women over there? I want you to tell them you're not feeling well and need to go home. They won't listen to me, but they'll listen to you." Our eyes lock and I want nothing more than for him to rip all my clothes off. "What are you going to tell them?"

I just want to impress him. I want him to know I listened to what he said. "I don't feel well and I need to go home."

"Yes, perfect." He looks relieved as he helps me stand and we maneuver our way through the dancing crowd to the very fringes of the circle. "What are you going to tell them?" he asks one final time.

I smile, happy that I know the answer. "I don't feel well and I need to go home."

"Pardon us," Ben says politely. "We need through. I know it's not sunrise, but I'm sure you can make an exception for the bride," he pleads. "She's not feeling well."

"I feel great," I say and wink dramatically. "He's just trying to get me home so we can. . ." One hand forms an O that I stick my pointer finger in. I look up at him, surprised that he looks comedically betrayed. Wait, that's not what I was supposed to say.

"That's not true," Ben tells the frowning woman nearest him. "She's dehydrated and delirious."

"Just try to enjoy yourself a little longer, my lady. Only a few hours more and we can let you pass," one of them tells me kindly before sternly looking back up at Ben, "after sunrise."

"Can somebody please just get her some water? That's all I'm asking for! Drag a hose over here for all I care! Hey!" Ben yells around the women, "Excuse me, Hugo? Hugo! Hugo! Are you drunk?"

"Uh, no?"

"Then you're a rare find. I would very much eternally be in your debt if you could please bring Cora some tap water. If I leave the circle now, they'll never let me back in."

All I can discern as truth is my legs have gone limp, I'm slumped against Ben, my head is flopped backwards and my mouth is wide open. Am I making any sound? I have no idea.

"Dude," I hear Hugo say. "Is she okay?"

I snap back to attention and cough. "Watch this." I bend my pinkie wildly.

"As soon as possible, Hugo?" Ben prompts.

"Yeah, dude. No problem. One sec."

"Cora," Ben's voice echoes like black silk in the dark. "Cora?"

"Ugh?" I peal one dry eye open and smile when I confirm it's him. "Hi."

"Hi." I feel his hands on either side of my body, steadying me while I sway in the silent sunrise. "Congratulations. You did it. Look," he says, nodding at the mounds of slumbering bodies nearby. "You're the last one conscious."

"Yay." I yawn. "What do I win?"

"You get to sleep in an actual bed instead of the grass." The pressure of his hands shifts to my hip, and suddenly my feet are moving. "There we go. This way. No, you don't have to dance anymore."

"I don't want to dance anymore. I'm tired and I don't feel good."

"I know," he soothes. "We're almost home. Excuse us, please."

Somehow, the women of the outer circle still look surprisingly alert as they move aside and offer me their congratulations.

"Ughhh." I want to go to sleep, but I cannot take another step. "Ben, I can't walk anymore."

One second I'm standing, and the next I'm cradled against his chest. Nobody has ever carried me before, unless you count Erik's piggyback ride to the barracks after first seeing Jacob. I like being held. The fact that he's able to carry me so easily just makes me love him even more.

There's the sound of pipes running water. A cup is against my lips, and I gulp.

I'm sitting. I'm finally sitting, and it makes me happier than anything else that's happened tonight. I'm on a bed. I want to sleep. "My feet hurt."

"I'm working on it." Ben keeps one hand on my calf as he unlaces the boots, and the touch brings my heartbeat back to my attention.

I hiss when he finally manages to pull one off.

"Don't heal yourself," he says gently, and my heart pounds harder. "I'm going to clean this up the good old-fashioned way." There's cotton balls and a bottle of something next to him on the floor. I watch as he shakes medicine onto a cotton fluff and very carefully cleans the bloody cuts where the boots rubbed me raw.

I did this for my mother when she was hurt.

A flash of memory resurfaces. My mother, bloody, skin ripped to shreds. Blood on the ground. Blood smeared across my hands. I swipe at her wounds to clean them, but there's so many. There's just so many. This is all my fault.

"Forgive me," Ben apologizes as the tears spill down my cheeks. "I should have warned you it might sting a little."

He's nothing but a fuzzy blur through my watery eyes, so I blink until I can see him more clearly. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"What's 13 plus 10?"

"Aghhh," I groan. "I can't think."

"Good." Ben doesn't look up. Instead, I watch his eyelids flutter a few times as he continues to swab medicine over my cuts. "I've been so worried about your return, I find myself unsure of how to behave around you. For years I've stressed over the details. Failsafes. Plan B's and C's and D's incase. . . incase another incident happened." Finally, he says, "But you're not the monster I was expecting."

"Aww, thanks."

His eyes quickly roll up to the ceiling before he caps the bottle and pushes up off the floor. "Let me wrap your feet, and then you can go to sleep. How does that sound?"

"My whole mystique is ruined." I pout. "You've seen my ankles." I smile when I hear him huff a tired laugh. I love making him laugh. I love the sound of his voice. I want him to keep talking to me. "Show me your ankles, handsome."

"You are going to be so embarrassed when you wake up." Ben looks like he's struggling not to smile as he blurs in and out of focus.

I smile and lie back against a pillow, my feet feeling even better as he ties a protective layer of gauze around each medicated foot. This is the kindest, most intimate thing someone has ever done for me. "Don't you want to kiss the disco dancing champion?" I sigh in an exhausted whine. "Please? I've never kissed someone before."

"Tell you what," he whispers. Ben leans down, and I flood with adrenaline, but he stops short and flits his eyes down to my mouth before returning my stare. "Ask me again when you sober up."

I smile. "Ok."

"Goodnight, Cora."

I'm asleep before I can complain.