‘We’re going home.’ That’s what she’d promised.

In the lingering darkness – her back burning under the layer of frost attempting to solidify her shirt, her tummy and one arm warm snuggled against Jonas’s back, her other arm holding the stolen coat firm across his chest to retain what heat she could for him – Llew wondered, once again, where exactly was home.

Cheer, the town Llew had called home since she’d arrived there with her father some twelve years earlier? No. With no family and no real friends there, she had no ties to the town. And Jonas certainly didn’t.

Rakun, with Anya? The idea held some appeal. Rakun lay in neutral Brurun, well away from the cells of Turhmos, or the hatred of Quaver. And Llew had never had a friend as loyal as Anya. Rakun also had the added benefit of Anya having planted an Ajnai tree.

But only one Ajnai tree really mattered anymore: the one in Taither, its roots wrapped around the bodies of Llew and Jonas’s unborn twins, its soul entwined with the soul of the baby not slain by Aris’s blade.

Taither. In the heart of Quaver. Jonas’s home for many years. The only sway Taither held was Llew’s draw to the tree, and the soul of her baby. Otherwise, thinking on the town only caused pain. Quaver had held her captive there. Her children had been murdered there.

Home. Where was home for them, now?

Jonas shifted slightly and Llew sat up, scrubbed her face with her hands. Her throat ached and her eyes felt raw. She didn’t belong anywhere.

Home. The only place that seemed to fit the word was Merrid and Ard’s farm. Nowhere else had Llew felt safe since— Well, since her father had disappeared. Maybe even since her mother had left. Although, in her father’s sober moments, she had missed her mother less.

Arms relaxed over her knees, Llew looked over her shoulder at Jonas. He’d rolled onto his back, stared up at the slowly lightening sky. He blinked, assuring her he still lived, but he didn’t meet her gaze, allowing her to look on him a few moments more.

Bruised and covered in a collection of new cuts after Llew had erased years of scarring, she supposed he might not appeal to all. His nose had acquired a new bump since his fight with Braph. His eyes were often narrowed against the sun, or something distasteful. And yet, any time Llew had a moment to gaze upon him, something welled up inside her. She couldn’t put a name to it. It made her want to keep looking, or maybe reach out and touch, but looking was reward enough. The almost physical reaction in her chest was hard to name. It was much easier to label the emotional impact. Looking at him made her happy. It was that simple.

She’d been running her gaze along his jawline when she sensed Jonas looking at her, his gaze lazy, his lips curled ever so slightly, drawing a broad grin from her. That was one thing she would never get enough of. Without saying much, with barely a change in expression, she felt she read him well. He was laughing at her. Not audibly, and not so as anyone else might recognize it, but it was there. And then it was gone. He was in pain, and so was Llew at seeing it.

She turned away, allowing Jonas his private agony and protecting herself from feeling it along with him. They still had a long way to go. She had to remain strong.

Damn the Aenuk-Karan barrier. If he were almost anyone else, Llew could have healed him by now with a simple touch. It was stupid. The world needed Jonas to wade in and put the wrong things right. It needed Llew to be able to heal him.

Braph – damn that man! – had shown them they could circumvent the Aenuk-Karan barrier by injecting Aenuk blood directly into the injured Karan’s body, but that required tools they didn’t have.

But they did have the tools required to impregnate an Aenuk with her Karan lover’s child.

Llew pursed and chewed on her lips and reached forward, plucking some grass spears to roll between her fingers at the thought. Jonas was injured; he could hardly be expected to, well, perform. But . . . Jonas was injured. Wasn’t this exactly what he needed?

She peered over her shoulder at him, caught his eye.

Something about the angle, or the crease of his brow and his several days’ beard growth broke the spell. A flash of Jonas’s half-brother, Braph, seared through Llew’s mind and nausea filled her gut. She turned away, trying to blink the image away, shake the sensations from her body. Her skin still remembered the man’s touch, his heaving, and her involuntary responses. She’d been intimate with Jonas since, and it had been wonderful. Why couldn’t she hold onto that memory? Jonas was here, not Braph: the monster. Why did the mere flicker of a reminder of Braph have to affect her so, and wipe away all the realities of Jonas?

She flicked the grass free of her fingers, stood and brushed dirt off her trousers, held out her hand for Jonas without making eye-contact.

He needed healing in the conventional way.

They needed help.

Jonas gripped her hand and moved to push himself up, but as soon as he put weight on his right leg, he cried out, silenced himself, and fell back on the ground, teeth gritted.

‘What is it?’ Llew asked.

Working through his pain once more, Jonas indicated his right leg above the knee.

‘From the fight?’

Jonas nodded, still lying on the ground, a forearm shading his eyes, though his face was set and Llew understood that to mean he was preparing to try to stand again no matter how much it hurt. ‘Flew into a post. It hurts. A lot. And in deep.’

‘There’s got to be a town somewhere upriver.’ Town’s needed water, she knew that much. They were in Turhmos, and there would be no hiding who Jonas was from anyone who could help them, and not a lot of chance of keeping his weakness hidden, either. But what choice did they have? Llew might’ve grown up without anyone close who she could put complete faith in, but she knew a thing or two about warily relying on strangers. There were ‘nice enough’ people out there. And then there were Merrid and Ard. But the farm was too far to reach with Jonas barely able to walk.

Jonas reached up for her to grasp his hands and she pulled him up on his left leg alone. He tentatively placed the toe of his right boot on the ground, and his silent grimace told Llew he’d be largely hopping the rest of the way. She slipped under his arm and they carried on much as they had the day before.

Pain without purpose was futile. Braph’s pain was for a higher purpose. For that, he would endure it. While Orin was allowed in attendance to view proceedings, Braph had enlisted Orinia’s assistance to connect the cuff to his bloodstream, not prepared to trust the steadiness of a needle in a child’s hands. Only, of course, she was now in labor.

Abandoning her first attempt at driving the high gauge needle into the visible vein in his upper arm, she leaned into his workbench, groaning. Orin looked pained at his mother’s suffering and flinched like he wanted to reach an arm out to her, but then flaked and sat back in his seat.

‘Uh oh,’ said Joelin. Braph would’ve preferred not to have to deal with the toddler right now, but the child needed to be comfortable with them all as a family unit if he was to join them on their travels, and so far, that seemed the most sensible plan.

Expressing his annoyance with nothing more than a grimace, Braph rolled the tourniquet off over the round stump below his right elbow, hooked what remained of his forearm through a thick elastic band attached to the wall and pumped, keeping the blood flowing, keeping the vein at the surface full. He reached his left hand out, rubbing it over Orinia’s curved back, memories returning of the day Orin was born. She had appreciated back rubs and hot water bottles. But she wasn’t in full blown labor yet. The contractions were still haphazard in timing, length, and strength.

Her groan turned to heavy breathing, and she relaxed, though she remained hunched over a few moments more. Orin, too, visibly relaxed.

‘What number is this?’ Braph asked. He applied gentleness to his voice. As unattached as he was to this child of the state, his heart felt heavy at the thought of Orinia’s misuse.

‘I’ve lost count.’ Orinia eased herself to stand again. She closed her eyes and slowly released one more controlled breath. ‘They’re still irregular, but they seem to be getting stronger.’

Braph smiled. ‘No. I meant the baby. How many half-siblings does Orin have?’

‘Oh.’ Something darker crossed Orinia’s face, and he thought she might clam up. She hadn’t done much talking since her release from the Aenuk bunker, though she always turned to him when he offered displays of affection; a loose hug, or a kiss on the cheek. Then she spoke quietly. ‘Seven. This is number seven.’

‘Seven?’ Orin’s jaw dropped.

‘Sa,’ said Joelin, mostly distracted now by a rolling contraption Orin had fashioned out of some cogs and scrap metal.

That would be one a year since they took her. Braph felt a mild pain in his gut. He stopped pumping his elbow, distracted by these unpleasant feelings. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.’

Orinia shrugged, most of her attention inwards, focused on the baby within. She tightened the tourniquet in place. ‘Better move quickly.’

Braph bent and unfolded his arm several times without resistance. The cephalic vein was visible. That was all he needed. Once he had magic flowing through him, the rest would be simple. Orinia realigned the needle, and hesitated.

‘Go on, before the next one comes,’ he said. ‘This is the hard bit.’

Orinia placed the sharp tip to his skin and pushed against the resistance. Braph felt a slight ‘pop’ and burning as the needle sliced through his skin.

‘Good. Now the tube,’ he said.

Orinia picked up the finely wrought rubber tube, slim enough to slide through the thick needle and into Braph’s vein. The extension of the tube into his vein sent a fiery pain through his arm, but Braph focused on how close he was to tasting the power. All this would be worth it.

Holding the tube in place, Orinia gently slid the needle over it and out of his skin.

‘Quickly,’ Braph muttered, aware that her next contraction could start any time. If he’d waited any longer, they would have three children underfoot. Two was bad enough.

Sliding the needle free of the tube, Orinia collected up the miniature metal cuff parts as Braph had shown her, creating a seal on the end of the tube that would screw into the larger cuff that already had one of Orin’s crystals fixed in place. Braph almost salivated at the closeness of the power. Orinia’s pair of delicate hands twirled the two pieces together, screwing them tight. Braph reached for the crystal’s enclosure, pressing the mini pump a few times. It needed to be manually primed, but once the power was flowing, he could set it to look after itself. Magic was wonderful stuff. The ache where the tube met his body turned to a fizzing sensation then spread beyond the connection site and through the rest of his body. He savored it a moment before turning his concentration to healing his flesh around the tube with plenty of scar tissue to hold it in place.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

Orinia was already distracted, clearly feeling the next contraction coming on. She pushed the crystal casing into Braph’s hand and turned to grab the bench.

Torn for the briefest moment between comforting her and getting on with things on his own, Braph lined the larger cuff up with his stump – he could hardly wait this close to completion. The metal join, where the tube connected to his bloodstream met the tube to the large cuff, kept falling in the way.

‘Orin.’

His son moved quickly, lifting the tube out of the way. Braph gifted him a slight smile, pressed the cuff against his fleshy stump, twisted it a little one way, then back again, and corrected a little more. Only when he was totally satisfied by its positioning did he flick the latch that released the clamps. Four slightly curved strips of metal dug into his skin encircling his arm. The pain was almost unbearable, but short-lived. He fired magic through his system, numbing the pain first then healing his flesh around these new intrusions. Beside him, Orinia controlled her breathing, dealt with her own pain. Pain that, in Braph’s opinion, was pointless. She didn’t want the baby. He didn’t want the baby. They would deliver it to the Palace soon after it emerged. And then they would move on and consolidate themselves as Turhmos’s premiere family. Syaenuk mother, Immortal son, and extremely intelligent and powerful Karan magician father.

Braph took a new high gage, tubular needle and lined it up on his skin where he estimated the brachial artery to be. He paused pumping magic through his system to plump up the artery and shift it slightly closer to the surface. For the moment, the magic flowed into him only, dissipating after several minutes as his body broke it down. While it sat in his bloodstream, though, it was a high he didn’t think he could ever beat. Although, a shimmering tree flickered in his mind’s eye. A return to Taither beckoned.

He pushed the needle into his flesh, fed through another rubber pipe, slid the needle out, healed his flesh and held his arm up for Orin to do the fiddly bit: attaching the tube to the cuff. Now the magic could flow through him, and any excess could be recycled, or stored for the next time.

Orin already brandished the new hand, pride putting a glint in his eyes and plumping his cheeks.

‘Orn. Orn! Orn!’ The toddler demanded the masterpiece as the good son handed it over.

As Braph took it, Joelin threw himself on the floor, hitting his head hard and bursting into shrieks.

Orinia’s contraction had come to an end and she scooped up the child and set about trying to soothe him.

Tuning out the racket as best he could, Braph took the metallic hand and forearm and fitted its nodule into the nest of the cuff. It slid in easily initially, with a final push needed to click it into place, then it was back to Orin to connect the flexible metal tubes connecting cuff and arm.

The fingers of the metal hand drooped lazily, clinking together as Braph shifted. The trio waited while the power from Orin’s crystal slowly built up within the system; Braph’s body and the attached gadgetry. After several minutes, Braph thought about moving the index finger. It trembled, bent slightly at the two “knuckles”. He’d been trying for a full contraction, but he would accept small victories. He, as well as anyone, knew persistence mattered more than the size of the steps taken to get there. Orin was not so schooled. A muted grunt escaped the child’s throat.

Braph let his left-hand fall, swung it a fraction behind his hip.

Without thinking too deeply on the details of how to move a finger, he simply told himself to curl both index fingers in unison. Under those watchful gazes, the new metal right index finger folded its two top joints, while his fleshy left did the same out of sight.

‘Yeah!’ Orin bounced on the spot and clapped a hand against Braph’s back, then swiftly pulled both of his hands behind his back. ‘Oops,’ he murmured.

Braph let the slight slide, even shared a smile with the boy.

Then Orinia broke the moment with a gasp and another contraction. As soon as she placed Joelin back on the floor he fell, smacked his head, and began to wail again.

And Braph began to wonder if they really needed to take the child with them, or indeed if he needed him at all.