TW: There is discussion and depiction of past sexual assault (following a line break and contained in italics). Please skip this section if you are uncomfortable reading this subject matter. I've tried to treat it with sensitivity and without getting graphic, instead leaning into the dissociation that is so common in such situations. The conversation with Gale will resume after a second line break.


Chapter Two

I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night

And now I see daylight

- "Daylight," Taylor Swift


Once they'd returned to camp and cleaned up, Zarra finished her evening routine and prepared herself. She had to talk to Gale and explain herself—they'd kissed, and it was beyond perfect, but she'd gone and ruined it. Her gods-damned past had reared its ugly head and sent her spewing the contents of her stomach mere moments after the most perfect kiss of her life. If Gale didn't hate her—'doubtful,' she thought—she hated herself enough for both of them.

She took a deep breath and shook her arms out. She needed to dispel her tension as the dreaded conversation loomed. Her muscles were tight to the point of quivering as the anxiety mounted. This was the first time she was going to share this story, and it was Gale she preparing to let in. Gale, who always had a warm smile and knew how to make her laugh. Gale, the man who looked at her like she'd hung the moon. The man who made warmth pool in her belly and made her feel so safe. She was going to show him this part of her history and a part of her no one else had ever seen before.

It broke her heart to imagine him looking at her differently, but he needed to know. They couldn't go further until he did.

Gods, she was pitiful. One kiss—an admittedly incredible kiss—and she was preparing to spill her deepest secrets to a wizard of all people. To Gale, she corrected herself, one of the kindest people she'd ever known.

"Fuck," she breathed.

She ducked into the too-quiet darkness and forced herself to approach his tent. Even the Harpers didn't seem to dare make too much noise despite their safe bubble in the midst of the curse. She understood to an extent; the shadows were vicious, often growing colder or snapping harder at any light or sounds of joy. It was a stark change from what she'd felt in Gale's arms earlier, and that only made her rue her body's reaction to the endearment more.

My beauty.

Just thinking those words had her stomach threatening to turn once more.

Zarra tried to steel herself for Gale's reaction to her revelation, tried to convince herself that telling him was ultimately a good thing. It was a sign of trust on her part, a trust she'd long thought herself incapable of sharing that he'd revived. But it was a gamble too. If her explanation changed everything between them, if it changed how he looked at her—felt about her—then at least it would spare them both any additional discomfort.

"Gale?" she called softly, crouching by the entrance to his tent. "Can I talk to you?"

His head popped out and his carefully polite smile almost made her cry. "Of course! Just… give me a moment."

He slipped back inside then, she could hear him hastily shuffling papers about and muttering to himself. When he reappeared a few moments later, Zarra slipped in through the flap he held up for her and saw scrolls and tomes piled against the back of the tent. She couldn't help smiling at his voracious reading and the tidy script lining several loose sheafs of paper. Like him, his handwriting was fastidious and elegant. However much she wanted to peruse his meticulous notes and soak in his thoughts, she had a purpose in coming here.

Sobering, Zarra settled opposite him in the small space and… Floundered. She knew what she needed to tell him, knew that she owed that to him—and to herself. But she had no idea how to start.

"What brings you to me on this gloomy night?" Gale asked, his familiar humor coloring his voice. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I—" She swallowed roughly and began tugging a lock of hair. "Gale, I—"

He watched her closely, his sharp gaze not missing a thing. "Zarra, are you alright? What is this about?"

"There's something I need to tell you, but I don't know how to say it." She began braiding the strand of hair and struggled to meet his gaze. What she saw nearly broke her. "Gale..."

"It's alright, I think I know what you wish to tell me." The soft brown eyes she adored crinkled and his expression crumpled, though he fought to keep a small smile on his lips. He gestured between them, trying a failing to distract her from the emotion he wore so openly. "Emotions were high after the skirmish earlier and we were simply… swept up, tossed about like a ship on the stormy seas. I cannot, in good conscience, hold you to anything that happened. I had assumed the feelings were mutual—but that was unseemly of me. I am sorry."

She practically threw herself across the space between them, grasping his hands and pressing them over her heart. "No! I don't regret anything that happened between us—it was perfect. You are perfect. It's precisely because I-I care for you so much that I'm here. I owe you an explanation for why I… for what happened. After."

"That's a relief," he sighed, sagging with relief. Gale twined their fingers and squeezed. "I must admit, I'm not ready to let you go, not now that we've finally started… Well. That's a separate conversation and not the one you came here for."

"No, but it is a conversation I'd like to have," she assured him. Her hand tightened around his as the fear of losing him rose up to choke her from within. It took all of her willpower, but she slowly released her hold on him. "You may change your mind after hearing what I have to say, though."

"I sincerely doubt that." Still, he dropped his hand back to his lap and studied her intently. "I hope you know that you can tell me anything and I won't judge you. How could I when you've been so understanding of my follies?"

Zarra fidgeted again, her gaze falling to a loose thread on her knee. "I've never told anyone about this before. It's not easy. I don't… Gods! I don't know how to actually say the words. It's been a secret for so long that even my own mother doesn't know."

"I hesitate to suggest this, given my own reluctance to use them or invite anyone into my head—gods know my thoughts are busy enough without adding someone else's to the mix—but would it be easier for you to show me?" Gale asked, watching her cautiously. "Do not feel pressured to agree, I merely thought to offer an alternative."

Her eyes went wide at that, the thought of showing him almost worse than saying it aloud. On the other hand, he would see it all and be able to pass his own judgment which wouldn't be possible if, when her words failed. Zarra nodded tightly.

"Brace yourself. This was one of the worst nights of my life, and it isn't pretty," she murmured, fighting to settle her racing heart. "I'll try to gloss over the worst of it—you don't need to see it all, and I don't want to relive it—but please… Well. You'll see, and I'll answer any questions you may have."

Gale nodded and held out a hand to her. "Whenever you are ready."

With a deep breath, she took his hand and dropped her mental walls to open herself to him. When they connected, it sent a shiver down her spine. Where she expected to find a wall, instead she found a wave of warmth reaching out to her. Gale. He was open and receptive, greeting her with all the tenderness he carried within him. It actually made her heart flutter even as her resolve strengthened.

She caressed him with her mind, keeping the touch light like running a finger down his arm, and invited him in. He followed tentatively, reaching out to her and twining about her consciousness to go only where she wished him to go. The absolute trust he had in her was astounding, so much so that she almost changed her mind. She couldn't bear it if, when, things changed between them.

'Don't shut me out, Zarra. Please.'

A shudder rippled through her at the gentle brush of his consciousness against hers, but she forced herself to go on. She only hoped he wouldn't be repulsed by her.


The tavern was a kaleidoscope of color, movement, and sound. A trio played on the modest stage, blaring a lively tune that had a dozen couples spinning and laughing wildly. Barmaids weaved through the patrons with trays of food and drink held high to avoid the drunken crowd. From her table in the corner, Zarra was distantly aware of the activity though all of her attention was focused on the man next to her.

He was charming, his bright smile catching and his laugh contagious. If his bright blue eyes didn't have all the women (and some of the men) tripping over themselves to steal his attention, his broad shoulders and thick, dark curls often did the trick. Even their other companions continued to compete for his attention, but Conrad only had eyes for her.

She heated under his constant attention, stomach lurching and pulse racing. They'd journeyed together through the mines near Neverwinter in search of the Forge of Spells, and she'd found herself longing for his attention. If she could make him smile or earn an approving nod, the sense of satisfaction would sustain her for hours. It was pathetic (what would her mother say?), but what could a girl do in the face of her first love?

After his second ale, Conrad turned his attention to Zarra and purred jokes in her ear. He spoke lowly so that no one else could hear, creating a sphere of intimacy that none of their companions could pierce. The warrior slung a muscled arm about her shoulders as the others trickled away with knowing smirks, leaving the pair alone at the table shrouded in the shadowy corner. It was the closest they'd been since a stolen kiss before their final battle.

"I must confess that I've been curious to know you better, outside of camp life and fighting," he murmured, gravelly voice sending a shiver through her. One large hand ghosted down her arm and raised a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "I'd forgotten how loud taverns can be on market days. Come—let's go upstairs where we can talk in private."

"Upstairs?" she asked, sobering at the implication. "I-I don't think they have any rooms available."

Conrad fished a key out of his pocket, dangling the simple iron thing in front of her. "I got one of the last ones earlier to surprise you. I hate the idea of you sleeping in the tavern or the stables with the drunks. Any one of those ruffians could hurt you, and, well…" He rubbed a hand sheepishly over the back of his neck, shooting her a wide-eyed look like a kicked puppy. "The bed is big enough to share, and I thought—I'll be on my best behavior, I promise. Gentleman's honor."

Something prickled at the back of her mind, perhaps some instinct trying to warn her, but she shoved it away. They were friends, compatriots. He'd taught her how to live on the road, saved her life at least once during their adventure, fought by her side, and acted the perfect gentleman the entire time. Towards the end, she'd even shared a few kisses with him. There was no reason for her to worry now. She trusted him.

With a nod, she allowed him to lead her through the swirling crowd and towards the stairs. His hand was large and warm around hers, the callouses from his sword sending a pleasant anticipation through her.

"Conrad!" she squeaked when he spun her into his arms and danced them across the dance floor. Zarra laughed brightly, head thrown back and hair flying about as they twirled and leapt through the crowd.

White teeth flashed in a beaming grin, setting her heart stuttering. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"I'd tell you to stop," she said, grinning wickedly even as she gazed up at him through her dark lashes. "But I'm not that modest."

It was his turn to laugh, the dark sound setting heat to pool in her belly. She'd never felt such an attraction before for anyone, man or woman. Perhaps she had high standards, or perhaps her family had kept her too sheltered, but no one had ever drawn her in like Conrad.

He tugged her insistently towards the stairs, ushering her ahead of him and making a sound low in his throat at the sight of her pert rump in the tight leathers she favored.

"Fuck beautiful," he growled, swatting a hand at the globe of her ass. "You're downright sinful."

Zarra nearly froze at that. No one had ever touched her like that before and gotten away with it. Her hand reached instinctively for her blades, freezing when she recalled the tavern's strict 'no weapons' policy. Her daggers were locked away in a safe downstairs.

She forced herself to keep moving. This was Conrad—safe, reliable Conrad. He'd saved her from being killed by Nezznar the Black Spider and ensured she was recovering as they finished their adventure, even going so far as to insist the party remain together back to Neverwinter. Besides, she'd never made any secret of her attraction to him. Zarra kept it to a minimum in the field, of course, but now the job was over and they weren't bound by those same rules.

She should be flattered—was flattered by his appreciation of her form. Still, she wasn't exactly experienced with men. Perhaps this was just how things were supposed to go. She decided to trust him here just as she had in the wilds and ruins. If she stumbled, he would catch her.

The noise of the tavern faded to a dull roar on the second floor, growing quieter and quieter as they moved away from the stairway. Her nerves jangled and palms grew sweaty as they neared the last door in the long hall.

Conrad fit the key into the door, shooting her a smirk. His cheeks were flushed with excitement and he looked almost boyish as he pressed it open for her. The door closed and the lock clicked softly behind him, and Zarra stood frozen in the middle of the room.

There was only one bed in the space, barely big enough for his large frame much less big enough for two people to share comfortably. A single bedside table was squeezed in between the bed and the wall with a wash basin and ewer atop it. A lone chair, rickety and scuffed, sat at the foot of the bed, and their packs were already there, stacked neatly against the wall.

Heavy hands landed on her shoulders, and Zarra stiffened. Conrad's warm breath puffed over her ear as he murmured, "Don't get shy on me now, my beauty."

"I'm sorry," she said, fighting to make herself relax. "This is all… new to me. Sharing a bed is a little different than separate bedrolls near a fire pit."

He moved away to kneel by their bags and she could breathe again. His boldness was overwhelming. The weight of his touch and the heat of him at her back was almost enough to make her run from the room. Her first time alone with a man and she couldn't stop jumping like a skittish rabbit. She needed to relax. He wasn't going to do anything to hurt her.

"Aha!" He proudly held a bottle aloft, two simple mugs in his other hand. "Waterdhavian whiskey is the only way to truly celebrate." Conrad poured them both a generous measure of the stuff and passed her one of the dented tin cups. "Here's to you and your first successful adventure."

"I'll drink to that," she replied, relieved that he wasn't invading her space again. They drank, and pure heat seared down her throat, emanating out to suffuse her limbs. "That is divine. Pour me another?"

"Anything for you, my lady." Conrad obliged, passing it back with a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. "Your turn to propose a toast."

"To the us of tomorrow—may we never face any regrets."

They raised their cups and drank heartily. This time, the burn was almost sweet. Her muscles went soft with the drink and Zarra sank to the bed, warm and content. She watched as he settled in the small chair, studying her through half-lidded eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his hair tousled—he was utterly charming.

"Tell me something, Zarra," he said, leaning back in the perfect picture of tipsy contentment. "Have you ever been with a man before?"

Heat flooded her face and she threw an arm over her eyes, the movement sluggish and taking more effort than usual. She blamed it on the alcohol; she didn't usually drink more than a glass of wine or two, and her cups had been constantly refilled in their celebration that night.

"Is it that obvious?" she groaned, tongue too thick in her mouth. "No, I'm frightenedly—fryingly—ugh, no. I haven't."

"Don't be embarrassed. I think it's sweet, part of what makes you so tempting." A warm, large hand was suddenly on her leg and tugging at her boots. She didn't bother shifting away and allowed him to remove them.

'Surely,' she thought, warm and heavy with drink, 'he only means to make me more comfortable.'

"Men rarely enjoy venturing on well-trodden paths. I certainly don't. It's why I got into adventuring—a tidy fortune and untouched landscapes call to me. There is little so tempting as a pure meadow, an untouched spring, and undiscovered treasure." When her boots fell dully to the floor, his hands continued roaming over her legs. Their warmth seeped through her leathers. "I'll admit, I've always had a preference for virgins too."

When she tried to shift away from his touch with an uncomfortable murmur, his grasp tightened until she gasped. "Conrad, wha—"

"Hush, my beauty, and relax. Let the drink do its work."

Zarra's heart hammered like a bird beating its wings against a cage. Something was wrong. Her eyes were too heavy, her hands clumsy and slow. She didn't think she could stand if she tried. Even the ale and whiskey shouldn't have done this to her despite her petite frame. Cloying sweetness clung to her mouth and she couldn't summon the saliva to wash it away. She was too hot, too dry, too heavy—

She struggled to open her eyes and found Conrad leaning over her. Hands worked at the laces of her shirt, tearing and ripping until chilly air danced over her skin. He undressed her like a child would a doll, her body disobeying her wishes to move, to bat him away, to—It didn't matter. The moment he had her shirt off, he lashed her wrists to the iron bed frame with a length of rope. Zarra hadn't even seen him grab it.

"No, stop," she slurred, trying to wriggle away, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Lights flickered and danced on the edges of her vision while dread hovered at the back of her mind.

Rough hands tore her breeches from her legs, leaving her completely exposed. She tried to curl into herself, to hide, but those same hands forced her open. His gaze roved over her body, devouring the sight of her so helpless beneath his touch. A hand forced its way between her legs, and he grunted his approval of whatever he found there.

"Stop, please. Stop," she slurred, desperately willing her body to move, to fight, to do something.

It was all in vain. His harsh touch forced her open. "Relax, my beauty."

Those were the last words she heard before he spat between her legs and forced himself into her. Everything in her wanted to cry out, to fight, to escape, but she couldn't even move her pinky finger. Her muscles were frozen. No matter how she railed against it in her mind, she couldn't make a peep. Despite that, she felt it all.

The pain of unwanted invasion.

The burning stretch of never-before-used muscles.

The tears leaking from her eyes, cold and uncontrollable.

Rope chafed at her wrists, so she focused on that. That pain was different, a distraction from the man grunting above her. She turned all of her attention to the burn of coarse fibers, the ache in her arms and shoulders, the metal headboard slowly warming with the heat of her skin. Her mind drifted, distancing itself from the acts being done to her body. Zarra let it happen, let her mind float away and make her numb to everything else. What else could she do?

She was powerless to stop him, but that didn't mean she had to give him all of her. He was violating her body, but he wouldn't get her mind. That was hers and hers alone.

Distantly, she heard him groan and something warm seeped over her skin when he withdrew. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to face the burning humiliation of the aftermath. Zarra didn't know how much time had passed since he started. There were no windows in this room, no way for her to track the time. Maybe he'd been at it for hours, maybe it was only a few moments.

She swallowed a sob, unwilling to give him so much as a peep of her discomfort, so she distracted her mind with what she'd learned on the road: take stock of injuries and assess surroundings.

Her mouth was dry and coated with something too sweet. A drug of some sort hidden in the drink. Her thighs ached a bit, and she was sore in that most private place. Understandable. When she tried wiggling fingers and toes, she felt a heartening twitch in response. She was slowly regaining movement, though her fingers burned. Perhaps the rope was tied too tightly, maybe it was the drug he'd laced in her drink. But her toes… those didn't burn. She kept wiggling them, trying to focus on regaining control of herself without drawing his attention.

She tried not to think about the sticky mess between her legs.

Something warm and heavy moved against her then, pressing insistently at the secret place between her legs again. His hand, thick fingers coating themselves in the mess between her legs, prodded at her sore body. She hissed at the touch, and earned a sharp smack to her abused flesh. Her yelp made him chuckle darkly and repeat the move, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"Welcome back, Zarra," Conrad said. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice your mind wandering?"

"If it was a problem, you should have stopped," she said, voice raspy with the effort to suppress her despair.

He knelt between her splayed legs, completely dressed save for the appendage protruding from his breeches. A hand worked over his member, stroking as it rose to stand at attention once more. His other hand ran over her skin.

"What did you do to me?" she asked, words slightly slurred. "Poison?"

"I only gave you the thing you've wanted me to do since we first met," he replied easily, stroking roughly between her legs. His grin at her pained hiss was sharp and predatory. "I saw every flutter of those eyes and every flush of your cheeks. You want this, my beauty. I've seen every look you sent begging me to fuck you every day since we set out. You had to know I'd never be satisfied with those chaste little kisses you gave me. You know how much of a tease you are, swanning about in those tight pants and gaping shirts. A few glimpses of untouched tits was never going to be enough. I've simply made your wish come true with the help of a bit of drow poison in your drinks—just enough to incapacitate you long enough to break you in."

"An infatuation isn't consent," Zarra bit out, trying to shimmy away from him. "I never consented to this."

Conrad shifted to pin her legs with his knees and delivered another cruel slap, his member twitching at her cry of pain. "What does a drow bitch know of consent?"

She didn't know how, but she managed to land a glancing kick on his jaw. If she was a bitch, she was going to fight like one.

"You stupid…" He cursed her with all the venom he could muster, even spitting between her legs. "You wanted this—you deserve this."

The large man growled and pinned her again, smacking her across the face with his full strength before forcing himself on her once more. Stars danced before her eyes and her breath left her in a rush. She didn't regret kicking him even if she'd pay for it.

At least she could tell herself she'd tried.


Zarra gently ushered their minds away from that memory, careful not to show Gale too much of that night. It was bad enough that she had to remember it in her reverie; he didn't need the worst of those images in his head too. She also shielded him from the memories of the morning after as she dragged her battered body to the local apothecary. She shielded him from the woman's horrified gasp at the bloody lines carved into her upper thigh, a constant reminder of that night. She'd spent the last of her coppers on a contraceptive and took on work in the apothecary's shop for a few months until she healed and saved enough to set out on her own. Despite being in Neverwinter, she couldn't bring herself to go home. She couldn't face her parents after that… Not for several years. She couldn't stomach her mother's disappointment or her father's heartbreak.

Conrad had stolen everything from her, save her life, her lute, her storybook, and a few worthless items from her pack. She didn't know where he was now, only that he'd vanished into the sunrise with the others from their party.

She didn't regret seeing them go.

Once she carefully extricated their minds from the memory, she closed herself to Gale once again. The tent somehow felt colder without his consciousness wrapped in hers. She missed the feeling of him. Even though he sat only inches away, it felt like miles. Her arms wrapped tightly about her middle as she curled in on herself, unable to meet his eyes.

"When I pulled back earlier, I wasn't—it wasn't you," she started, careful to keep her voice soft enough not to carry beyond the canvas walls of his tent. "It was what you just saw. I froze. Not because of you, never because of you. The last time I felt something for another person and let myself be vulnerable… well. You saw what happened. When you said 'my beauty,' it all came flooding back."

"Oh, Zarra," he breathed, pain lining his lovely face. "I'm so sorry. Please believe that I never meant to frighten you. The last thing I want is to hurt you, or remind you of past hurts. You are so precious to me, more precious than the rarest of tomes or hardest won treasure, and I would never wish to jeopardize this thing we've been building. As beautiful as you are, I promise to never use that phrase again."

"Please don't apologize; there's no way you could have known," she rushed to assure him, head flying up to meet his gaze once more. Desperate to reassure him, she even tried joking, "I'm sure your vast vocabulary is more than up to the task of finding better endearments—ones that are wholly ours."

"I've already started a list," Gale replied, voice soft even as the lines around his eyes crinkled fondly. "But I am sorry for ever reminding you of that man, however unintentionally."

"Gale, if there is one thing I trust in this world, it's your good heart." She held a hand out to him, warming when he clasped it between both of his. "I l—care about you so much, and I'm sorry if I put you off when I froze. I'm sorry for hurting you like that, for making you think I didn't want you."

He stroked fingers over her palm and the soft skin of her wrist before raising their hands to press a lingering kiss to her fingers. "You have nothing to apologize for. I only wish that never happened to you. You're so good, and to have something so horrible done to you—it defies all imagination, all laws of nature."

"Terrible things happen to better people than me every day." Zarra shifted closer to him, stroking her free hand over his jaw. "This was almost twenty years ago. I've been intimate with people since then, but none of it meant anything. I've never let anyone get close since that night. Not until you."

"Is it hard for you to do that? To be touched and seen, to be vulnerable like that?" He leaned into her touch, still holding her other hand with his own.

She considered the question for a long moment, running over those other encounters with all the benefits of hindsight. As she worked to find the right words, she spoke carefully. "It can be. At first, I didn't care how I felt after; it was about being in control of myself during the act. I needed to take back the control that I didn't have that night, and I thought—there wasn't so much active thought as it was a desperate drive, you understand. I didn't realize this until later—I thought I could recover the control by jumping into bed with people that meant nothing to me. But now… I regret doing that to myself, though I do find pleasure in a shared touch. It took time, a lot of reflection, and healing, but it happened."

"I understand something of that," he murmured. "Our situations are different, of course. Not to try comparing my ignoble end with Mystra to what you've endured…"

"Gale, if anyone could understand, it's you." Zarra dropped her hand to rest over his heart, its steady rhythm reassuring beneath her palm. "We've both been taken advantage of by someone we admired, who taught us valuable lessons we still rely on, who exploited our inexperience—inexperience relative to theirs, I mean. Your situation was more insidious, but we were both hurt by someone who had power over us."

He fell quiet for a long moment, the furrow between his brows deepening as he mulled over her words. She could practically see the thoughts racing in his head, the parallels being drawn and facts distinguished. It was fascinating to watch his mind work. Her heart softened even more as his fingers traced the lines and scars littering her hands, seemingly without him realizing what he was doing.

"Comparing what happened between myself and Mystra to what you went through doesn't sit well with me," Gale said slowly, threading his fingers through hers. "But I also cannot deny the similarities. While I was a willing participant, I believe I was too young, at first, to truly understand the ramifications of what I was signing on for. And after… Well. I regret my actions following the dissolution of that part of the relationship, and often regret ever straying into the sexual aspect altogether, however much I enjoyed it in the moment. It was doomed to end with my pain and her ambivalence; the power imbalance was too great for it to ever be otherwise. I wanted to be an equal, and she wanted me on my knees. We have both been misused most cruelly, it seems."

She shifted again until she was beside him and their sides pressed together. "Yes, but neither of us is the sum of that mistreatment. I can only speak for myself when I say it helped to shape who I am today, but it does not define who I am."

"I think it's safe to say you speak for both of us in that most eloquent statement," he said, lips quirking with a hint of his usual good humor. "I do not say this to frighten or pressure you, but I desperately want to kiss you again."

"The feeling is very mutual, 'chev."

"Don't think I haven't noticed that word twice now," he murmured, lips ghosting over hers with every word. "I fully intend to discover its meaning and will not be satisfied until I do."

With that, he leaned in to capture her lips in the sweetest kiss of Zarra's life. Warmth flooded through her like sunlight over bare skin at the gentle glide of his lips over hers, and she wanted more though she knew this wasn't the time. Anticipation unfurled in her belly and Zarra promised herself that soon she'd let the last remnants of her walls down for the wizard. She pulled away reluctantly, though she continued to nestle against him, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

Gale dropped a kiss to her temple and his warm breath puffed over her skin as he said, "Perhaps this is a foolish question, but are you… how are you now? I don't ask to pressure you, I hope you know that. I only do so because I want to extend you every consideration and courtesy possible. Communication, I am told, is the cornerstone to building such trust."

"That's good advice. Who gave it to you?"

"My mother," he admitted. She could hear the grin in his voice.

"Do your parents have a good relationship?"

Gale's fingers started to comb through her hair as he talked, the gentle strokes shivers of contentedness over her skin. "Mother—the fearsome Morena Dekarios—married once, and hasn't remarried since father died. I think they were happy, though she doesn't talk about it. But she is a strong, willful woman who I cannot imagine accepting less than the best sort of treatment from a partner, so I am sure the advice is sound."

She chuckled at that and breathed in the scent of him, soap and herbs and paper and Gale. Zarra loved that even that made her stomach flutter. "She sounds formidable."

"Yes, much like yourself." He shifted a bit before pulling back to look at her. "Would it trouble you greatly if we were to…?"

"Lie down?" Zarra reclined on his bedroll without further invitation, groaning as her own hips popped with relief. "That feels much better. All this travel and fighting is hell on my back and hips."

Gale settled in beside her, moving slower and with a great amount of caution as if he were afraid of spooking her. "Is this alright?"

"No." She wriggled closer to him and curled into his side, dropping a kiss at the corner of his mouth for good measure. "This is perfect."

His sweet, starstruck smile was so beautiful that Zarra vowed to make him smile like that as often as she could possibly manage. The sparkle in his dark eyes, the charmingly befuddled furrow between his brows, the disbelief gathered on the edges of it all—someone (and she very strongly suspected she knew who) had found him wanting and made sure he knew that he was deficient. She hated that he would ever think himself undeserving of such affection, loathed that anyone would make him believe it.

Zarra resolved, then and there, to show him every single day that he was more than worthy of gentle, mindful treatment. If he could keep reaching out to her and make her feel safe enough to feel again, she would bend over backwards to show him just how much she cared for him.

She was afraid to examine those feelings too closely, even though she'd come desperately close to revealing it to him earlier. But he made her brave enough to let her walls down, and this felt like a test of that. If she could admit it to herself, maybe she could work up the courage to tell him.

She loved him, desperately.

Her heart hammered at the silent admission. He was the first person she'd ever felt this way about—this comfortable, safe, warm, protective sort of love seemed like it should be reserved for a friend or a close relative, but no. Gale set her pulse racing and had heat simmering in her belly, but made sure she was safe enough to relax with him too, even as that attraction smoldered below the surface. He could irritate her like no other and somehow circumvent that by making her laugh. He'd proven himself respectful of her privacy though he knew when she needed to be pushed. He challenged her and supported her, encouraged her and accepted her support in return.

She loved him.

Gods, she hoped the feeling was mutual.

"…never did answer my, very possibly foolish, question," he was saying as she drifted back to the present. His fingers had resumed stroking through her hair as she lay with her head on his chest.

"Hm? What's that?"

"How are you now? After what you went through?"

Zarra twisted so that she could see him as she responded, choosing her words carefully. "For the most part, I'm alright. Sometimes, like earlier, something will send my mind back there—it can be a phrase, or a smell, or a song—but it's not constant anymore. I… I don't feel like—like I'm trapped in reliving or running from it all the time now. Now, it's like a broken bone: Sometimes it still aches under certain conditions, but it doesn't bother me most days."

"I think that's a rather apt metaphor," he said eventually, detangling his hand from her hair to trace the ridges of her spine through her thin shirt. When she pressed closer and threw a leg over his, Gale dropped another kiss to her temple. "I am glad to hear you've healed. I must admit it is heartening to know it's possible with enough time and patience."

"It helps to be spiteful, too. I'd be damned before I let that man ruin the rest of my life." Despite her attempt at humor, his words twisted her heart like a knife, the implication clear. She moved to look at him head-on, then, his earlier insistence on good communication still ringing in her ears. "Gale, I have to ask: Do you still harbor feelings for Mystra?"

Any lightness was chased from his face at the question as his expression fell and sadness crept in. "Plenty of them," he admitted, "and all complicated."

She rested her chin on his chest, waiting silently for him to gather his thoughts and continue. Bands constricted around her heart as the quiet dragged on for two heartbeats, three, four, but Zarra forced herself to stay quiet. It was a conversation they needed to have before she could consider opening herself to more than a few kisses. She needed to know if she was just a passing fancy until he could either kill himself for his former lover or save himself to resume pursuing his goddess. Zarra's heart cracked at the idea of sharing so much of herself with him just to be discarded when a path to the goddess of magic cleared up, but she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for letting things go further without knowing. She'd lick her wounds and patch her broken heart together quietly, if that were the case.

"It's… not easy to turn away from one you once loved, but now that I see our relationship with all the illumination hindsight has to offer, I mostly feel only regret," Gale said eventually, words careful as he intentionally selected each one before its utterance. "I was not the first wizard to fall under her spell, nor will I be the last. I was an amusement to her, a mortal to be trifled with, amused, and eventually discarded…. I regret the way I hurt her—of course I do—but she would see me destroy myself to earn her forgiveness. There is no love lost between us."

He traced the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand and murmured, "No love lost at all."

Her throat was tight and she had to squeeze her eyes shut against the wave of relief and hope that threatened to overpower her. "Thank you for telling me."

"Anything for you," he murmured, curving his fingers to cup the back of her head and make her look at him. "In case that was not clear enough: My heart does not beat for her anymore. I've realized these last weeks that it has not for quite some time. Trust me when Itell you that there is no one else with any claim to that part of me."

Zarra's heart fluttered at the earnestness giving strength to each word. "Gale, I—"

"You don't have to say anything tonight, dear heart," he breathed when she hesitated. His thumb ghosted over the shell of her ear and sent shivers racing over her skin. "There have been a number of confessions tonight and emotions are high. I wouldn't wish you to say or do anything you might regret."

She shook her head gently, careful not to dislodge his hand. "I don't think I could regret anything with you."

He smiled softly at that and seemed to radiate contentment at the admission. "Nor I you."

His quiet gasp when she twisted to press a kiss to the soft skin of his wrist was gratification enough. "Would it be terribly forward if I asked to sleep here tonight?"

"No," Gale breathed, drawing her in for a tender kiss. "It would be perfect."

He shifted, tugging the blankets up higher and dismissing the floating orb of light to soak them in darkness. The mound of pillows about his bedroll had Zarra nearly purring with contentment as she settled in to watch him doff his shirt and join her once again.

"I've been wondering for some time now what it would be like to share a bed with you," he admitted, tugging her close.

She hummed and nestled against his chest, soaking in the solid warmth of him. "Well, here I am. I haven't been told that I snore, so here's hoping I don't embarrass myself tonight."

He chuckled and dropped a kiss to her temple. "I sincerely doubt I'd mind. I'm still trying to decide if this is a dream or not. Perhaps a lifelike hallucination, or a vengeful spirit's illusion…"

Zarra pinched him lightly, sniffing when he laughed at her indignation.

"Real then," he decided. "Very real."