She kissed him slowly as he walked her backward toward the bed. She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth as he lowered her to the slim mattress and gasped as his fingers slid along her ribs.

These were the only moments when Caledonia’s mind released her problems and uncertainties. Cloudbreak demanded more of her than her crew ever had, but when Oran slipped into her chambers at night, she could put it all aside for a short time. These were moments when she made demands for herself, when Oran was the only person she allowed to take up space in her mind.

Later, when they were both flushed and out of breath, Caledonia slipped out of bed to prepare the bitter tea that would prevent her from conceiving a child. The drink warmed her insides even as her skin cooled. When she’d drained her cup, she slid beneath the blanket once more and pillowed her cheek against Oran’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around her and his fingers toying with her hair until they stilled suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Her answer was too immediate. She knew it as soon as she’d said it, but it was too late to take it back.

“All right, nothing’s wrong.” He caught her hand in his, holding it against his scarred chest. “Then tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Everything,” she admitted with a long sigh. “I keep coming back to the Fivesons. Lir took out his competition, but he also thinned his own ranks, risking gaps in loyalty at best and sowing dissention at worst. Why take that risk? Is the power play, the symbolism, really worth it?”

Oran was quiet while she spoke, letting his fingers drift lazily up and down her forearm. The tickling sensation made it difficult to think clearly.

“They—we—were dangerous to him,” Oran said at last. “Aric may have called us sons, and we may have called each other brother, but we were the furthest thing from it. Maybe Venn and Decker would have been loyal for a while, but Tassos? He hated Lir more than anyone.”

“More than me?” The words were out of Caledonia’s mouth before she could stop them.

Oran’s fingers stilled in their path along her skin, then he pulled her closer. “Differently.”

Caledonia hated to ask him these questions. Whenever she did, she watched him drift into the past, where he was forced to confront the terrible deeds that had made him a Fiveson. It left him dimmed for hours, sometimes days, after.

“How many different ways are there to hate Lir?” she asked with a teasing smile, but Oran’s expression only darkened.