Chapter 12: The Price of Trust
The smoke still hung low in the air, heavy and bitter, clinging to Tara's hair and clothes like it didn't want to let her go. Her eyes burned, not from the ash, but from everything around her. The house was gone. Not just the roof or the walls—everything. Charred wood, collapsed beams, blackened stone where the hearth used to be. The warmth that had once lived there had been replaced by something cold and empty.
People moved like ghosts around her. Villagers staggered past with buckets and blankets, eyes wide and dazed, clothes covered in soot. Some wept. Some didn't speak at all. A few whispered her name, but she didn't answer. She couldn't. Not with the way her throat had closed up.
She turned her head toward where her home had been, the place she grew up. It wasn't just a building—it was everything. The dinners at that old creaky table, the spot where she used to hide when she was little, the way the walls always smelled faintly of thyme because her mother insisted on keeping it hanging in the kitchen. All of it—burned to nothing.
Doria sat in the dirt a few feet away, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly. She kept mumbling, her lips moving without sound that made any sense. Tara couldn't tell if she was praying or just broken. Maybe both. She had never seen her mother like this before. Not loud, not angry, not even scolding. Just... shattered.
Tara's chest tightened until she couldn't breathe. Her eyes fell on the smoldering ruin of the bedroom. The room where Solan had been napping. Where Lexa had been laughing. Where she—Tara—had promised to keep them safe.
She had promised.
Her father... her throat clenched. Kallos had gone in after them. He didn't come back out.
This was her fault.
Doria had asked her to help. She was supposed to watch the kids. She was the one who'd decided to leave. She was the one who let her guard down, let her doubts and questions about Borias take over. She left for answers that didn't even matter. And while she was gone, her whole world burned to the ground.
Her eyes stung again, but she didn't cry. She couldn't. Not here. Not in front of them. Without another word, Tara turned. No one stopped her. No one even noticed.
She walked past the sobbing villagers, past the ones trying to put out the last bits of smoke, past her mother still rocking in the dirt. Her feet picked up speed. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care.
She had to leave.
She couldn't look Xena or Borias in the face. She couldn't stay in a village that only saw her as the girl who left children all alone in a house to burn. She couldn't face her mother again, not after this. Every corner of this place would remind her of what she did. What she didn't do.
She ran.
Away from the ash. Away from the people. Away from everything she had known. And she didn't look back.
Gabrielle stepped quietly into the room, the hem of her clean tunic clinging damply to her legs. Her hair was still wet, hanging in heavy strands around her face. She didn't look at anyone. She kept her eyes on the floor as she stepped over sleeping bodies, careful not to wake them.
Lila sat on the floor near their borrowed bedroll, her back pressed against the wall, knees tucked under her chin. Her eyes shot up the moment Gabrielle entered.
"You okay?" she whispered.
Gabrielle gave a small nod, barely more than a twitch of her head. "I'm fine," she said, her voice low and flat. She dropped to the floor beside Lila, not touching her, not meeting her eyes.
Lila hesitated. "You were gone a long time."
Gabrielle picked at the edge of the blanket. "The water was cold." Silence fell between them. Heavy, uncomfortable, silence.
Lila studied her sister in the dim light. Gabrielle looked clean, but not better. Her eyes were red. Her hands trembled just slightly before she tucked them under the blanket. Lila didn't know what to say. Nothing felt right. Nothing would undo what had happened.
"I thought about coming after you," Lila said softly.
Gabrielle shook her head. "I needed to be alone."
"I know," Lila said. "But... I didn't want you to feel alone."
Gabrielle didn't answer. Her jaw tightened, and she pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders.
Lila leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "Gabrielle, you don't have to talk about it. But you don't have to pretend it didn't happen either."
Gabrielle's eyes stayed fixed on a knot in the wooden floor. "I'm tired."
Lila reached for her hand. Gabrielle didn't pull away, but she didn't grip back either.
"I'm tired too," Lila said. "But I don't think sleep's going to fix anything."
Still nothing.
Lila's voice cracked. "I hate him. I don't even know his name, but I hate him. I keep thinking about what I should've done, how I should've screamed or hit him or something. But I froze. I just stood there while he—while he—"
Gabrielle's hand suddenly tightened around hers, stopping the words.
"Don't," Gabrielle said. Her voice wasn't angry. It wasn't loud. But it was sharp. "Don't talk about it."
Lila nodded slowly. "Okay." She didn't let go.
"I just want you to know," Lila added quietly, "whatever happens next, I'm not going anywhere." Gabrielle's shoulders sagged, the fight leaving her all at once. She leaned her head against Lila's shoulder, her voice barely a whisper.
"I don't feel like me anymore."
Lila blinked back tears. She reached up and gently brushed Gabrielle's damp hair behind her ear.
"Then we'll figure out who you are now. Together."
Gabrielle closed her eyes, and for the first time since it happened, she let herself rest—not because she felt safe, but because someone was still holding on.
Tara's legs nearly gave out as she stumbled into the village. Her breath came in short, dry gasps, every muscle in her body aching. Dirt clung to her skin, dried mud caked on her legs, and her cloak was torn at the edges from branches she hadn't seen while running in the dark. Her stomach groaned, twisted tight from two days without food. She had no idea where she was. She didn't care. She just kept moving.
The village was quiet, tucked between the trees like a secret. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, the soft sound of pots clinking and faint voices coming from the tavern nearby. It smelled like stew.
Tara staggered toward the sound without thinking. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes stung. When the tavern door swung open, a woman stepped out holding a basket of laundry and nearly dropped it at the sight of her.
"Gods, child," the woman said, rushing to her. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Tara stared at her with wild eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but no words came. The woman touched her arm gently, frowning at the bruises and scrapes.
"Can you speak? What's your name?"
Tara shook her head violently, backing up half a step. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Her face was pale and drawn. Her eyes were distant.
The tavern owner looked her over—saw the torn cloak, the dirt-streaked skin, the trembling hands. She assumed couldn't have been older than fourteen or maybe a little older. She was so dirty, so tiny, it was hard to tell.
"Alright," the woman said softly, dropping her voice to something gentler. "You don't have to talk. Come on. Let's get you fed."
She guided Tara inside with a hand on her back. The tavern was warm and filled with the smell of food. A few women sat near the hearth, but no one looked up. Tara kept her head down, like an animal ready to bolt if anyone got too close.
The owner ladled out a bowl of stew and set it on the table without a word. Tara didn't wait for an invitation. She sat and devoured it like she hadn't eaten in weeks. Every few bites, she paused and looked around, her eyes darting toward the door like she was waiting for someone to drag her away.
The owner watched quietly. When Tara finished, she handed her a crust of bread and said, "There's space upstairs. You can sleep in the shared room with the other girls."
Tara didn't respond, but she followed when the woman waved her upstairs. Her steps were slow, unsteady. As they neared the door, Gabrielle sat up straight on the floor, her whole body tensing. Footsteps. Slow, dragging footsteps right outside the room. Her heart dropped.
Lila stirred beside her. "Gabrielle—?"
But Gabrielle's hand clamped around Lila's wrist before she could finish. Her breath came in short gasps.
"They found us," Gabrielle whispered, her eyes wide. Her whole body had gone stiff.
"What?"
"The army—" Her voice broke. "They're coming. They're coming to finish what they started." Lila sat up fast, looking towards the door, her own breath catching in her chest. The other women in the room stirred, murmuring sleepily.
Gabrielle's nails dug into her palms as she braced herself, already imagining the door flung open, the rough hands grabbing her, the heavy boots thudding against the floor.
Her knees pulled up to her chest and she clutched them tight, pressing her legs together so firmly her thighs began to ache. Her breath came faster. Sharper. Her chest rose and fell in short jerks. She kept her back pressed to the wall, as if the wooden frame could somehow hold her together.
Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for anything—anything—that she could use. A clay pitcher in the corner. A pair of worn boots near someone's bedroll. A hairbrush on the windowsill. Nothing was sharp. Nothing was strong. But her fingers twitched anyway, already planning how hard she'd swing it.
She could hear them—the steps outside, slow and steady, drawing closer with every heartbeat. Her eyes locked onto the door, wide and unfocused, glassy with fear. Her body had gone still, like she could disappear if she didn't move.
"Not again," she whispered, barely able to get the words out. "Not again. Please not again."
Her breath caught when the latch clicked. Her whole body tensed, every muscle pulled tight. The door creaked open. Gabrielle's chest tightened. Her thoughts spun out of control. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't stop the sound that tore out of her—
"NO!"
The room jolted to life all at once. Someone knocked over a basin. A woman yelped. Lila scrambled upright, her hand reaching out for Gabrielle. The door swung open—and Tara froze in the doorway, staring.
Gabrielle's chest heaved, her face twisted in panic, her arms wrapped so tightly around her legs it looked like she might snap in two. Her eyes were still wide, filled with terror that hadn't caught up to the present yet.
Lila grabbed her shoulders. "Gabrielle—it's okay! It's just a girl! Gabrielle, it's not them, look at me, it's not them—"
Gabrielle gasped for breath, her throat closing. Her whole body trembled. Tara still hadn't moved. She looked stunned, like she was the one who'd just been attacked.
The tavern owner appeared behind her a moment later, her face lined with concern. She glanced from Gabrielle to Tara and back again, then stepped forward slowly. "She's not here to hurt anyone. Just another stray looking for safety."
Gabrielle blinked fast, trying to come back to herself, but her chest still rose and fell too fast. She couldn't speak. She only nodded weakly, burying her face against her knees.
Lila pulled her into her arms without another word. The tavern owner gave a quiet sigh and nudged Tara gently into the room. "Go on. Just lie down. No one will bother you."
Tara sank down in the farthest corner, curling into herself like she wanted to disappear. She didn't even look at the others. She just stared at her hands like they belonged to someone else.
Gabrielle finally let out a slow, shaking breath. Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Lila leaned over, whispering.
"It's alright. She's just a girl." Gabrielle nodded, but the tremble in her jaw didn't stop. She didn't feel safe. Not yet.
Morning light filtered in through the window, weak and pale, barely cutting through the heavy silence in the room. Tara sat curled in the corner, her head drooping forward every few minutes before jerking back up again. She hadn't really slept. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't shut off long enough to let her rest.
She was surrounded by strangers. Survivors. Women who had lost everything just like she had. Their quiet breathing filled the space, but it wasn't peaceful—it was heavy. Every person in the room was just trying to hold it together. Then a sharp cry cut through the stillness.
Everyone stirred at once. A woman near the edge of the room clutched her belly, her face contorting with pain. Another groan followed, louder this time, and suddenly everyone was wide awake.
"What's happening?" one of the women asked, panicked.
"She's in labor," someone else said, eyes wide.
The room erupted into confusion. No one knew what to do. They looked at each other, talking over one another, trying to figure out what was needed. Except for Lila.
She moved quickly, kneeling beside the woman and trying to keep her calm. "Breathe," she said. "You're going to be alright. Just breathe." She looked around the room. "I need water. Cloths. Anything."
Tara didn't move. She stayed in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes half-lidded with sleep but still watching. Why should she help? These people weren't her problem. Her hands were already stained with enough failure to last a lifetime. Let someone else mess this up.
But her eyes kept flicking back to Lila. The girl was doing her best. She wasn't panicking, but it was clear she needed help. Her hands trembled as she tried to comfort the woman. Gabrielle stood off to the side, frozen, unwilling to go near.
The woman let out a low, pained moan. Her body twisted. Lila winced. "Gabrielle, I could really use your help." Tara looked towards the woman that Lila was trying to convince but she could tell that the woman wasn't going to budge.
Tara let out a breath and stood. "Fine," she muttered. "Move."
Lila looked up, surprised. Tara didn't explain. She knelt beside the laboring woman and took over, her hands steady, her movements calm and certain. She checked the baby's position, helped the woman sit up more comfortably, and gave short, firm directions.
"Push when I tell you," she said. The woman clung to her, nodding through the pain. It wasn't long before the cries changed—one last scream, then a sudden silence. And then the sound of a baby's first cry filled the room.
Tara cleaned the infant with a cloth one of the women handed her and wrapped them in a torn piece of blanket. She handed the baby to the mother without saying a word and stood up like it hadn't meant anything.
Lila looked at her with quiet amazement. "Thank you," she said.
Tara shrugged. "Someone had to do it."
Lila stood and walked beside her, lowering her voice. "You're good at that. Have you done it before?" Tara didn't answer.
Lila tried again. "What's your name?" Still nothing.
Lila didn't push. Instead, she touched Tara's arm gently. "Come on. I want you to meet someone."
Tara hesitated but followed. Lila led her across the room to Gabrielle, who had stayed pressed against the wall during the whole birth. She looked tired. Still shaken. Her eyes met Tara's, and they both paused. They were the same height. The same age. Something about that hit them both at the same time.
Lila gestured between them. "Gabrielle, this is... well, she hasn't told me her name yet. But she helped with the birth."
Gabrielle studied Tara for a moment, then gave a small nod. She didn't smile. She just looked at her. Tara gave a nod back, just as guarded. Neither of them said a word, but they both understood something in that moment. They weren't all that different.
By the time the sun had crept to its peak, the camp had quieted. Most of the soldiers were still passed out drunk or dragging themselves through the motions of the day, clutching their heads or finishing off what was left of the wine. The fire pits smoldered, smoke rising lazily into the air.
Inside the tent, Xena lay half-covered by the fur blanket, her body tangled with Borias'. His arm was stretched across her waist, his fingers drawing slow circles against her skin like he didn't have anywhere better to be—which, for once, might've actually been true.
Xena had her head resting on his shoulder, one leg tossed across his, her eyes fixed on the canvas above. She hadn't said much since they woke up, which wasn't unusual for her. What was unusual was the way she stayed curled up next to him instead of getting dressed and barking orders before her boots even hit the ground.
Borias took full advantage. He kissed the side of her head, then moved to her temple. Then lower.
Xena rolled her eyes. "You're acting like we didn't spend the entire night wrapped around each other."
"That was hours ago," he said. "I'm touch-starved now."
She snorted, amused, but didn't push him off. Instead, she reached behind her and yanked the fur up over both of them again. "Fine. You've got five more minutes. Make the most of it."
Borias didn't need to be told twice. His hand slid along her hip, pulling her in closer. He tilted his head down and gave her a slow kiss, one that made her lips curve in spite of herself.
When he finally pulled back, she asked, "How much milk did you leave for Lexa?"
Borias blinked, caught off guard. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"
"She's my daughter. I get to worry about things."
"I left enough to last them a few days," he said. "Doria knows how to portion it out. She's not useless."
"She's not careful either," Xena said, her voice tightening just enough for him to notice. "Lexa's teething. She needs more than a warm blanket and a nap schedule. And don't even get me started on how fast Solan eats."
Borias tilted his head, his fingers gently tracing down her arm. "So what? We bring them back here? To this place?"
"I haven't figured that part out yet," Xena admitted, her voice lower now. "But leaving them there doesn't feel right anymore."
Borias studied her face. "So you do miss them."
Xena looked at him. "They're my children."
He smirked. "That wasn't a no."
Xena didn't answer right away. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the fur blanket, and for a second, Borias thought she might deflect the whole thing. But then she said, "Solan's probably asking where we are. Lexa's probably screaming her lungs out."
"And you hate that you're not there," Borias said. Xena didn't correct him.
He leaned forward and kissed her again—softer this time, slower. "Let's go get them," he whispered against her lips. "We'll figure out the rest later."
Xena pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "After we deal with the army."
They both started getting dressed. Borias, of course, took his sweet time, trying to slip his arms around her every chance he got. At one point, he mumbled, "Don't judge me, but I have to pee. The wine didn't ask for permission before it filled my bladder."
Xena shot him a look. "Romantic."
"Hey, you get love, lust, and honesty with me. That's the full package." She rolled her eyes, but her smirk gave her away.
When they stepped out of the tent, the sunlight made her squint. Most of the soldiers were still sprawled around the fire pits. A few were gathered near the horses, trying to act useful.
Xena climbed onto an overturned crate and called out, "We're moving out in one week. That gives you time to sober up, rest up, and clean the stink off yourselves. If you're not ready by then, don't bother showing your face again."
That got their attention. Some stood up straighter. Others groaned, dragging themselves toward whatever water they could find. She hopped down, brushing off her hands, and turned toward Borias. "Let's go."
He was already tightening the saddle on his horse. "I was hoping you'd say that."
They rode side by side, hooves pounding against the dirt as they left the camp behind. Xena's hair whipped in the wind, her eyes fixed ahead. Borias kept stealing glances at her. She looked fierce, focused. But under it all, he knew exactly what was driving her now. Family.
They rode in silence, the steady rhythm of their horses filling the space between them. The sun hung lower now, casting a golden glow over the hills, stretching long shadows across the dirt path. Xena adjusted her grip on the reins, her gaze set ahead, her thoughts still drifting between war plans and the unease she couldn't shake.
Then, out of nowhere, she felt it—Borias' hand sliding over hers. Xena blinked, turning to look at him. He didn't say anything right away. He just held her hand while they rode, his thumb brushing the edge of her knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. But it still caught her off guard.
Xena raised an eyebrow. "You feeling sentimental now?"
Borias glanced at her with a smirk. "I just remembered how nice your hand feels when it's not throwing a dagger at me."
She scoffed, but her fingers didn't pull away. They stayed wrapped in his, firm and steady.
This—this was the Xena he remembered. The one who let her guard down when no one was looking. The one who didn't always have to be the conqueror. He gave her hand a squeeze, then without warning, reached across and grabbed her reins.
"Hey—" she started, but he was already steering her horse off the main path.
"Relax," he said. "I want to show you something."
Her eyes narrowed. "If this ends with you trying to sell me weeds as romantic, I'm turning around."
He only grinned. "No promises."
Still, she let him lead. He always knew how to push her buttons just enough to keep her from biting back. They rode a little farther until the trees opened into a wide field. The grass was tall and soft, dotted with bursts of color—purple, yellow, white, the wildflowers blooming without anyone around to ruin them.
Borias jumped off his horse and turned to her, arms wide like he had just revealed some great treasure.
Xena stayed in her saddle, unimpressed. "So... a field."
He laughed. "A field of weeds, right?" He walked over to her and reached for her waist, helping her down with both hands. "Come on. Sit with me before you talk yourself out of enjoying something."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't stop him. He tugged her forward, dragging her down into the grass, and pulled a blanket from his saddlebag. A moment later, he popped open a bottle of wine he'd clearly stashed earlier. He poured them each a generous cup, then leaned back against his elbows and held one out to her.
Xena took it, sniffed it, and made a face. "This is the cheap stuff."
"It's all they had. You want wine or complaints?"
She drank.
He laughed and took a sip of his own. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed her. Not rough. Not hungry. Just slow and soft, like he had all the time in the world.
His hand cradled the back of her neck as he kissed her again, deeper this time. Xena's body tensed at first, but then she melted into it, her fingers curling around his vest as his lips brushed hers again and again, then wandered down to her jaw, then lower. He kissed her cheek. Her collarbone. Her shoulder. Her cup dropped somewhere in the grass.
"You planning to make a move?" she muttered, her voice low.
"I already did," he said, kissing the curve of her neck. "You're just slow to catch on."
She shoved him back, smirking. "I'm letting you have your fun."
"Funny... I thought you were finally letting yourself enjoy something.
"I'm not complaining," she said, leaning in this time, kissing him with more fire. Her hand slid under his shirt while his arms pulled her tighter. The wine was forgotten. The flowers bent beneath them. The sky above started to turn orange and gold, but neither of them noticed.
Borias' mouth found her skin again, and Xena let her head fall back with a sigh that sounded more like peace than surrender.
"I missed this," he said softly. His hand moved to her cheek, brushing back a strand of hair. "You. Us. Before everything got so damn heavy."
Xena didn't answer right away. She looked at him for a long moment, her fingers still resting against his chest. Her walls weren't completely down, not yet. But the crack was there. And he saw it. She leaned forward and kissed him again, slower this time.
"Maybe we deserve a moment," she said against his lips. "Before we go back to burning the world down."
He grinned. "We'll burn it later. Tonight, I just want to lay in the weeds with you." She laughed softly and pulled him down with her.
Borias leaned back on one elbow, watching her with a lazy grin as the wine loosened what little filter he had left. His hand reached beside him and plucked one of the small white flowers blooming near the edge of the blanket. Without warning, he tucked it behind her ear.
"There," he said. "Now you look dangerous and beautiful." Xena's eyes narrowed. She reached up and plucked the flower from her hair without hesitation, holding it up like it had personally offended her.
"You're pushing it."
Borias laughed. "What, I can't admire my own lover?"
"You can admire me without turning me into a flower basket," she said, but her voice had softened, her glare losing its bite.
He took the flower back, letting it fall from his fingers as he leaned in. "Fine. No flowers." His hand slid to her cheek, his thumb brushing her jaw. "But I'm still gonna admire you." Before she could argue—or pretend to argue—he kissed her.
It wasn't like the night before. This time, there was no firelight or drunken laughter echoing in the background. No rush, no need to prove anything. Just the grass beneath them, the quiet hum of nature, and the feeling of each other.
Their bodies moved together in slow, perfect rhythm, the tall grass swaying around them like waves, brushing their bare skin with every soft gust of wind. The wildflowers trembled under the breeze, their petals fluttering as if nature itself was holding its breath. Xena arched beneath him, her thighs tightening around his waist, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back. Every time Borias whispered her name into the curve of her neck, it pulled a breathless moan from her lips, her body answering him before her voice ever could.
He kissed her deeply—along her jaw, over her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast—each kiss pressed to her skin like a promise. His hands traced the shape of her slowly, memorizing her curves like he was touching her for the first time and the last. Then, in the stillness between their movements, Borias reached to the side and plucked a small white flower from the grass. His eyes never left hers as he gently tucked it behind her ear, his knuckles brushing her cheek. Xena moaned his name again, her voice soft and full, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He smiled, not saying a word—just watching her with something deep and quiet burning in his chest.
Xena could barely think. Every slow movement of his body sent warm pulses rolling through her—thick, melting waves that left her gasping softly against his mouth. The way he moved inside her wasn't rushed or forceful. It was steady, anchoring, like he wanted to match the rhythm of her heartbeat. She felt completely open, her body no longer her own but something they shared. Every thrust made her want to cry out—not from pain, but from the sheer intimacy of it. She had never felt this kind of closeness with anyone. Not like this. Not so quiet. So full.
The sun bathed their bodies in gold, warming the sheen of sweat on their skin as they rocked together, hips pressing in a rhythm that felt instinctual. Borias buried his face in the side of her neck, breathing her in, his voice catching on every exhale. He didn't need to say what he felt—Xena could feel it in the way he held her, in the way his fingers locked with hers, in the way he slowed down just to savor the moment longer.
The field around them had gone silent, as if the earth itself was watching, reverent and still. Every sigh, every kiss, every hushed sound of pleasure felt sacred. Just the two of them, bare and open and completely wrapped in one another. And for once, Xena didn't feel haunted or hardened. She felt... safe. Wanted. Loved, even if she'd never say the word out loud.
When it was over, they stayed that way for a moment, tangled together under the sun, her head resting on his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her back.
Eventually, Xena sat up, brushing the grass from her arms. "Come on. That's enough rolling around in weeds. We've got kids to get."
Borias groaned like she'd just ruined his nap. "Yeah, yeah..."
They got dressed again, Xena fastening her leathers while Borias downed the last of the wine. As she turned to mount her horse, he reached for her reins, pulling her back just enough to smirk at her.
"What now?" she asked, already suspicious.
He shrugged, clearly too pleased with himself. "I'm just saying... we might've just made baby number three." Xena's head snapped toward him, her glare deadly.
"Don't even joke about that."
Borias raised his hands in surrender, though the grin didn't leave his face. "I'm just saying, we're very productive when we're emotionally connected." She shot him a look that promised violence.
He clicked his tongue. "Alright, alright. One war baby at a time."
Xena turned her horse around, muttering under her breath, but Borias still caught the smirk tugging at her lips. He rode up beside her, brushing his fingers over hers one more time before they kicked up their pace, riding toward the village with thoughts of their children pulling them forward. They didn't know what waited ahead—but for now, they were together.
Xena adjusted the reins, her fingers still a little damp from where Borias had kissed them earlier. They were nearing the edge of the forest path that would open into the lower valley, the wind cooler now, brushing against her cheek as the horses trotted side by side.
Borias looked relaxed in the saddle, a slight smirk still playing on his lips from his last joke—something about her being the most dangerous flower in the field. She had rolled her eyes, but she hadn't looked away.
Then the wind changed.
Xena's nose crinkled, and her head snapped forward. She slowed her horse without saying a word. Borias noticed right away and pulled up beside her.
"What is it?"
She didn't answer at first. She sniffed the air again. Borias followed suit, drawing in a breath. That wasn't campfire. They both knew the smell. Smoke. Not old, not distant. Fresh. Acrid. Close. Xena turned to him, her voice lower than usual. "Do you smell that?"
Borias nodded, all the humor gone from his face. "Yeah. I do."
For a second, they just stared at each other. Panic crawled in beneath Xena's ribs, fast and sickening. Borias didn't wait for more. He kicked his horse into a gallop. Xena was right behind him, their horses thundering across the path like they were chasing down death itself.
Neither of them spoke as they rode. There was no point. The scent grew stronger the closer they got—thicker, hotter, clawing at their throats. And then, over the last ridge, they saw it.
The smoke curled upward in thick, dark columns, blotting out the sun as it twisted toward the sky. Screams carried faintly on the wind. They rounded the last bend and flew into the village square, the horses skidding slightly as they stopped. Everything was chaos.
People were crying. Some were hugging each other, shaking, covered in soot. Others ran with buckets, trying to put out the last dying flames still choking what remained of the homes. Xena jumped down, her eyes darting wildly as she scanned the wreckage.
Borias dismounted fast and ran up to the nearest group of villagers. "What happened?!"
A man turned, coughing violently. "Fire—too fast—we couldn't stop it!"
Xena grabbed a woman by the shoulders, her voice hoarse. "Where's Doria? Where are my children?!"
The woman's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. "We don't know—we tried—someone said there were children inside—but the house collapsed—"
"No." Xena pushed past her, racing toward the smoldering ruins she recognized too well. It was Doria's house. Or what was left of it. The front of the house was nearly gone—burned to the ground, only smoldering pieces of frame left behind. But the back—where the bedrooms had been—was still standing, though barely. The walls were blackened, half-split from the heat, leaning like they might collapse with the next gust of wind. The roof above that section had caved inward, and thick smoke poured out through the cracks. Xena stood frozen. Her breath caught in her chest and refused to move. Her legs stayed locked in place.
She couldn't breathe. Borias was right beside her. He didn't speak. Didn't reach for her. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles had gone pale, his jaw locked.
And then Doria stumbled forward, covered in ash from head to toe. Her shawl was half-burned, hanging crooked off one shoulder. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, wild and filthy. She wasn't crying. Her eyes looked empty, like she hadn't quite registered what was in front of her—or what was gone.
"Doria!" Xena grabbed her by the arms, shaking her. "Where are they?! Where are my babies?!" Doria blinked slowly, her lips parting, but no sound came out. She looked past Xena like she didn't even see her.
"What?!" Xena shouted, shaking her harder.
"I... I told Tara to watch them..." Doria finally said, her voice quiet, dazed. Xena's heart dropped straight to her stomach. Her grip loosened, her fingers trembling.
"Tara?" Borias said, his voice sharper now. "Where is she?!"
No one answered.
A man from the crowd—face streaked with soot, hands still shaking—spoke up, barely above a whisper. "She ran off. Right after the fire started. No one's seen her since."
Xena didn't hear the rest. She couldn't see Solan. She couldn't hear Lexa. The silence from inside that charred, cracked wall was deafening. Then a new voice came through the haze—desperate and close.
"Borias!" It was Poma. She rushed over, face streaked with tears, her dress singed at the hem. She didn't even glance at Xena. Her eyes were locked on Borias.
"The fire... the house caught so fast. Kallos—he ran in to get the children. But—no one's come out. Not him. Not the kids. And... there are no bodies. Not yet. They think... they think they're still inside."
Xena dropped to her knees. It wasn't slow or graceful. Her legs just gave out, like they'd finally caught up with the weight crashing down on her. Her hands hit the dirt, her nails digging into the ground like she could tear through it and find her children there, safe and hiding.
"No..." she whispered. Her voice cracked. "No. No, no, no—"
Borias dropped down beside her, pulling her into his arms. He wrapped around her tightly, holding her as her body shook with the kind of sobs that didn't even sound human. She clutched at him, nails digging into his back. He didn't flinch.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. "I'm so sorry..."
But she stiffened. Xena pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face streaked with tears and ash. And then something changed in her eyes. It wasn't just grief anymore. It was rage. Her voice was low, rough, full of venom. "This is your fault."
Borias blinked, stunned. "Xena..."
"You wanted to leave them here. With her. With that woman." Her voice rose, cracked again. "I told you I didn't trust them. I told you I didn't want them here!"
He opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late. Her blade was already out. She stabbed him hard, right in the chest. Not high enough to kill him fast. But deep. And then she twisted it. Borias let out a sharp gasp, clutching at the wound. Blood soaked through his vest fast, his body dropping backwards in the dirt. Xena leaned over him, breathing heavy, eyes wild and wet.
"If I ever see you again..." she hissed, "I'll put your head on a pike."
And then she stood. Poma screamed, dropping beside Borias. "No! No, no—hold on—don't move!" She ripped fabric from her sleeve, trying to press it against the bleeding wound. "Stay with me. Stay with me—please—"
But Xena was already walking away. Her footsteps heavy. Her face streaked with dirt, blood, and tears. She didn't turn back.
Not once.