They sat before Señora Behike like chastened children caught with sticky fingers in the pantry.
The fire in the center crackled, the scent of sage curling in the air. Shadows clung to the corners of the room as if eavesdropping.
Elena kept her eyes down. Jaime's hands rested on his knees, rigid as carved stone.
"Tell me," the old woman said simply.
So they did.
Piece by piece, detail by detail.
The gods' hands and mouths, the fevered breaths, the wellspring under moonlight, the blow, the tearing out of the heart, the lion's growl.
Their voices overlapped at times, one confirming what the other had seen, as if speaking it aloud might make it more believable.
When they finished, the room was very still.
La Señora leaned back in her chair, her earrings swaying like pendulums.
"Even I did not know the truth about Coatriskie's death…" she murmured. Her eyes, usually sharp as obsidian, softened for a fleeting moment. "…and it was at the hands of El León Negro?"
They both nodded.
Elena's voice was a raw whisper, as if saying it would make it hurt less:
"Was he just… tricking me the whole time? Are the past ten years of our lives together… a lie?"
Jaime flinched. The question struck him like a thrown blade. Not because it was aimed at him, but because of the way it made her shoulders fold inward, as if she were bracing for the answer.
Señora Behike shook her head slowly. "No. That's not it at all."
Elena swiped at her eyes with her hand, her expression unreadable. Jaime wanted to speak, to tell her she had done nothing wrong, but the words caught in his throat.
The old woman's gaze turned weighing, calculating. "Have you noticed," she asked at last, "a red glow around his eyes? A smell, rot, perhaps, when his temper rises?"
Elena froze. The memory struck her with cruel clarity- the night his voice turned sharp, his hand raised against her, the unnatural light burning in his gaze. She nodded. "Aye, Señora. What does it mean?"
Behike leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her voice low and steady.
"He is being corrupted. The more he rages, the more the corruption takes hold. Soon there will be nothing left of him. No humanity, no reason. El León Negro will cause great harm if we do not tread carefully."
She leaned back again, and her voice became almost a whisper. "And I see no way to stop it. Niegal is as good as gone now."
The words fell like a bell tolling for the dead.
Elena stared at her, searching for some flicker of hope, some glimmer in the old woman's eyes, but there was nothing there to give.
"Niegal is… as good as lost…" she repeated, her lips trembling.
She shook her head sharply and rose. Jaime moved as if to steady her, but stopped.
"No," Elena said, voice tightening, "we'll find a way. There- "
The goddess's presence struck like a wave against rock, bringing her to her knees. Elena's eyes flared violet, the spiraling scars on her chest glowing in the firelight.
We have seen and felt it firsthand, vessel of mine, Guabancex hissed through her. Do not forget how he nearly struck us. How he marked your daughter as a pariah for what was never her fault. He is gone. Accept it.
Elena's fists clenched. Her chest ached as hot, bitter tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
Señora Behike rose without hurry, taking a woven blanket from the back of her chair and laying it gently over Elena's shoulders.
Jaime hesitated, then placed a careful hand on her other shoulder.
She let it stay. Pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
The three of them stayed like that until Elena's sobs quieted, leaving only the fire's slow crackle.
Finally, the old woman spoke. "Take her home, Jaime."
He nodded without a word, helping Elena to her feet. She did not let go of the blanket.
The walk back was silent. Elena's thoughts whirled, jagged and fast, while Jaime walked beside her in the role of silent sentinel.
What comfort could he offer? What words could soften the truth that the man she'd built her life with was already slipping into something monstrous?
At her doorstep, Jaime bowed his head, ready to leave her in peace, but her fingers caught his sleeve, holding tight.
In the dim lamplight, her tear-bright garnet eyes met his.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I… can't be alone right now. Stay?"
He hesitated only a moment before nodding, stepping into the warmth of her home.
Niegal had been watching from the shadows.
He saw them leave the Behike's hut.
He saw her reach for Jaime, saw him follow her inside.
His eyes burned crimson.
He turned away and slipped into the dark.
Inside, the cottage was quiet save for the faint stirrings of the children in their rooms.
Jaime sat at the kitchen table, posture straight, careful not to intrude.
From within, Coatriskie's voice laughed softly.
All thumbs, Jaime? This would be the perfect moment to get closer.
He ignored it, watching her instead.
She looked worn to the bone, yet somehow more at ease within these walls than he'd ever seen her. The home smelled of herbs, hearth smoke, and lived-in years. Jaime realized he'd never set foot in a family home he wasn't meant to burn to the ground.
She moved quietly, starting a pot of tea, the simple domesticity almost surreal after everything they had seen.
Minutes later, two steaming mugs sat between them.
They drank in companionable silence at first.
Finally, Elena spoke. "Thank you for staying. I just… after that news…" She sighed, resting her chin on her hand, eyes down on the tea. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk right now."
Jaime's lips curved faintly. "Please, Elena, after what we just went through, this is the least I can do."
The unspoken memory of what they'd felt together through the gods' vision flared between them, hot and undeniable. He tried not to think about it, but the faint flush on her cheeks told him she remembered, too.
"I think…" she said slowly, wrapping both hands around her mug, "we should just do what we want. Gods be damned."
Jaime blinked, surprised. "I-"
She cut him off with a raised hand. "I'm not denying there's… something. But I want to know if it's us talking. Not just the gods."
He met her gaze. The glint in his eyes matched hers. "I agree."
Relief softened her features. "Good. You just saved me a whole speech."
He laughed, low and warm. "Do you usually monologue?"
She snorted into her tea. "Not usually. But I can if you like."
Their laughter lingered, the weight of the day loosening its grip, for now.