“Let us make a child,” he said. “Stop using that root powder and let’s be parents to a new generation.”

“Not now. Look at what’s—”

“Yes, now! We’ve waited long enough. Do you really want to let me leave to face the Numrek without even trying? What if I don’t come back? Will you wash your hands of my memory?” Mena started to object, but he spoke over her. “Why shouldn’t I think that? You already do it. I hate the way you wash me out of you! Like there’s something wrong with me. Like you don’t want any remnants of me inside you. Every time we make love, you kill that part of me that wants to make life with you.”

He dropped her hands, a gesture of disgust to match what he was accusing her of. His face—so perfect when he smiled—became a mask of creases, disdain, frustration. It was horrible to see. As he backed away, Mena stepped toward him. “You just told me not to say foolish things. You don’t either. I always want you inside me. Always. You are here already. Right here, in my center.” She showed the spot by making a blade of her hand stabbing it in her chest.

“Don’t tell me the world is going mad again,” Melio said. He did not hide the spite in his voice, a twisted sort of malice that coiled with vulnerability and love—hard to separate one from the other. “You always have a reason. You wanted to wait until Aaden was older, to make sure he lived and was healthy. Nice of you not to compete with your sister. But he did live. He’s healthy and he’ll wake up soon, better than ever. He’s the heir. She can’t possibly worry about your having children. Just tell her that. Then, it was that you couldn’t be with child and fight the foulthings. Fine. That’s done. And now you’re going to say that the world is in chaos again. Too dangerous, right? Not right now. Afterward. Excuses, excuses, Mena!”

He said that harshly, then seemed to regret his tone. More softly, he said, “There always needs to be a new generation, no matter the circumstances of the moment. We can never know what the future holds. But I know what’s true right now. Right now I love you and you love me. That love is a gift from the Giver, and you should thank him for it by making something of it.”

“No,” Mena said, but then hated the word and knew it was what she meant. It was she who drew closer to Melio now, one arm pulling his torso against hers, her other hand wrapping around the back of his head and pinching his hair between her fingers. “Not now, but after whatever is coming—with the Auldek, I mean—is over we can try.”

“Me-naaaa!” He drew the name out, exasperated. “These things of life-love between two people, the quickening of new beings—they don’t stop when events ask them to. They are life, much more so than the wars we make, the monsters we slay.”