Chapters I & II for those brave enough to begin.

Know Before You Go

Content warnings for those who need them, and those who didn't know they needed them.

The Devil May Care is a queer, emotionally devastating reimagining of the Jesus story. It is also, somehow, a love story. A brutal one. A healing one. One that will smile gently and then punch you in the throat. With tenderness.

The Bad Stuff:

• Religious trauma (the kind that lingers in your bones)

• Childhood abuse and domestic violence

• Sexual violence (not depicted, but referenced in ways that will give you the ick)

• Graphic violence and murder

• Historical misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, and imperial goat-shit

• Reinterpretation of sacred figures (aka: "I'm going straight to Hell, do not pass Go")

The Good Stuff:

• Warm bread and quince tea

• Consent as a sacred love language

• Boys kissing

• Lots and lots of toe-curlingly filthy gay smut with a light D/s dynamic

• A really hot morally gold Greek stonemason

• Queer joy

• Complete and utter blasphemy

• A dog (who lives a long and happy life filled with cheese and ear scratches. Nothing bad happens to the dog, I promise!)

Proceed with care, be kind to yourself, and listen to your mind when it tells you "no." Close the book and walk away if you stop feeling safe. I wrote this to heal something, not to hurt you. The gods and I will both understand.

The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.

— Matthew 1:1, KJV —

CHAPTER · I

31 AD

"Shabbat Shalom, my friends."

The hushed chatter of the congregation turned into murmured returned greetings before quieting into reverence. Sunlight streamed through the open windows, soaking into the old weathered limestone of the synagogue and warming the air into something peaceful and welcome. Serene and divine.

It was a beautiful lie.

My gaze swept the room, taking in each familiar face that smiled at me. I almost couldn't bring myself to smile back. Not when disappointment sat low in my throat.

A face I didn't recognize caught my attention. I'd never seen the man sitting next to my father in the front row. But he was looking at me like he knew exactly who I was. He had a wild look about him, his hair long and unkempt, his beard thick and untamed.

My eyes snagged on his hands, fingers absently worrying the fringes of his tallit as though soothing himself through prayer. From the frayed curl of them, it seemed to be something he did often. His skin was visibly dry and cracked, like he'd gotten in a fight with the desert, and the desert spat him back out.

His watery eyes stared at me unblinking. I shifted uncomfortably and quickly returned his overly-reverent smile before searching the room again just to be sure. But in a room of barely eighty people, it was hard to miss the god-shaped hole Elysian left. It was rare for him to not come to a Shabbat service, even if it was not a religion he followed. But he didn't come for God. He came for me.

It was only the burning of my father's stare that turned my lips and softened my voice.

"Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One."

Voices joined me as I continued reciting the Shema, declaring our devotion to God and our covenants to Him. The words came by rote. After a lifetime of repetition, they hardly had meaning for me anymore. By the time I started chanting from the Torah, my mind had slipped away to my favorite memory from three years ago to daydream.

Quiet peace filled my soul as I gazed up to the star-strewn sky. The air smelled of newly bloomed wildflowers. The grass beneath my fingers was slick from the fading rain. I was chilled to the bone, but I didn't care. Elysian was at my side.

His fingers found mine amongst the flowers, squeezing until I turned my head to look at him. His hazel eyes sparkled in the moonlight, alight with mischief and a profound adoration.

"I love you, Yeshi," he whispered. I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to blink. Forgot how to even think. I'd known, but to hear it said out loud…

"I love you, too, Lys," I managed to say through the tears joining the rain on my face. He broke into a smile bright enough to bring the dawn.

"All the way to the garden?" he asked.

I chuckled and pushed a wet golden curl from his forehead. "And back and then back once more."

"How then, Yeshua, can we find such peace?"

I blinked hard, slamming back into the present at the sound of my father's voice. I glanced down quickly at the scroll beneath my fingers. Where was I? What had I just said?

The sermon he'd written for me was really more of a script. A call and response of his own making, dictating the questions he would pose to guide the congregation's minds toward righteousness with thinly veiled warnings of condemnation for the wicked.

Ah, there it was, the prescribed answer written in his spiky handwriting halfway down the scroll.

"The Psalmist tells us even the sparrow finds a home," I said, casting my voice in the beatific cadence of the holy man he wanted me to be. "Is it not so that five sparrows are sold for two prutot, and not one of them is forgotten before God?"

A hum of agreement rippled through the room. It flowed in a wave of nodded heads. The man next to my father leaned in as though my words were the most profound thing he'd ever heard.

"No, they are not forgotten. He finds them. Loves them without restraint," I said. "And so it is that He counts every hair on your head and values them more. He knows the quiet ache you carry like stones in your satchels. The anger. The…"

Movement in the entrance caught my eye, and suddenly the room felt brighter, the air sweeter in the presence of the man filling the archway.

Elysian.

He raised an amused brow at the two Roman soldiers who stood post on either side of the door when they stood a little taller and glared at him. Several heads turned when he eased into the furthest seat next to our friend Shimon. Some smiled and gave him small waves or nods of greeting, but he only had eyes for me. All it took was a crooked smile and a wink, and I nearly launched myself across the scroll table to get to him.

"…longing."

A subtle but pointed cleared throat from my father had me blinking hard again, giving myself a small shake. I didn't dare glance at him for fear of the warning I knew I'd find in his eyes.

"If it is stones we carry, what is the way to release them?" my father asked. To anyone else he sounded genuinely curious. To me, he sounded like he was scrutinizing the thin line I walked between obedience and dissension. "To bear the weight of sin is a tiresome task, and yet I cannot help but wonder if there are those of us who hold it for fear of retribution from our Lord."

I nearly rolled my eyes. Those of us and yet he did not consider himself one. And yet it was he who was the greatest offender. I checked the scroll again to make sure I was giving the answer he wanted before I spoke.

"Indeed, the burden can be great, and the fear even more so," I said.

A flurry of activity rustled near the back as Shimon's seven-year-old daughter wiggled from her mother Shira's grasp and sprinted across the room to where Lys sat.

"Dalia!" Shira hissed. The girl didn't pay her a second of mind as she climbed into Elysian's lap to whisper in his ear. He pressed his lips together and shook with laughter, his eyes crinkling. Shimon leaned over, gesturing for Dalia to return. She ignored him, still whispering to Lys. He whispered something back, then mimicked Shimon's gesture.

Dalia grinned and hopped down, skipping back to where her mother and the other women sat. Shira seemed to be grasping every bit of patience she possessed when she tucked Dalia into her side and leaned in to whisper to her.

"I had to tell him now or I would have forgotten!" Dalia said loudly. A rumble of suppressed laughter swept the congregation. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, but I didn't bother hiding my smile, especially when my mother on Dalia's other side offered her lap to the girl. Dalia settled in and Ima began braiding her wild hair.

"The fear, Yeshua?" my father prompted, bringing me back from where I was losing myself in Elysian's eyes again.

Right. The fear. Fear of his anger. Fear of his hatred. Fear of his narrowed eyes on Elysian, poisoned with contempt.

"Fear is not needed when the Lord forgives so freely," I said. "He already knows your deeds, your thoughts, your worth. He knows the stones you carry and the ache it leaves."

Did He know mine? Did He see the pain etched into my soul from the life I'd been born into, the one my father claimed He ordained me with? If He did, then why the hell hadn't He done anything about it yet?

Probably because you stopped praying for freedom years ago, Yeshi, I thought bitterly. There was still a small notion in the furthest corner of my mind that said I just didn't have faith enough and if I had kept praying and believing, He would answer one day. But it was drowned by the hopeless resignation that filled the rest of me.

I was the Son of God, whether I wanted to be or not.

"Then why do we need to repent at all?" a man seated at the end of the top row above my father asked. Malachi was a gentle soul. It was common for him to chime into the discussions, usually with a single pointed question or well-thought insight. The older man came alone and sat in the same seat every Shabbat, always leaving with a kind word to me and soft peace in his eyes. "If the Lord already knows our transgressions and sorrowful hearts, does it need saying?"

It was a good point. And a question my father had not scribbled into the margins under his list of potentials.

I paused for a beat, waiting to see if my father would be the one to answer and steer the conversation back to where he wanted it. Sure enough—

"He knows our sins, yes, but we still must show our devotion and penance by admitting to them," he said, glancing over his shoulder to Malachi with what I'm sure he thought was a gentle smile.

Gentle as a jackal.

"Would you not agree, Yeshua, that the Lord is willing to take our burdens if we give them to him?" His brow raised pointedly, his eyes flicking to the scroll crinkled in my sweaty palms. God on High, I couldn't wait for this to be over. "Would you not agree that though He knows, we must still make the first step past the fear of being unloved for our mistakes?"

A faint scraping noise reached my ears. Elysian's whittling knife rasped over a small piece of wood as he carved tiny details into his current project. Small piles of shavings followed him everywhere he went. He didn't know how to not be doing something with his hands. The familiar rhythmic sound relaxed my own hands. It was one of my favorite things to listen to.

"Yes, Father, indeed we must acknowledge our faults before the Lord," I said. I tried to tell my eyes to look back at him, but I couldn't take them off Elysian and the sure movements of his steady hands. "If we come to the Lord, He will give us rest. Our burdens are not ours alone to bear. Though we may stray, He will always invite us back. Though we may wander, He will still bring us home. And though we may think ourselves unworthy…"

Elysian looked up from his carving and locked my gaze. A devastatingly soft smile touched his lips. He blinked slowly three times.

I love you.

"…still, He calls you Beloved."

Three blinks. I love you, too.

My father cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. I held back a sigh. That wasn't the answer he'd dictated for me. I was going to hear about this later. My thumb rubbed against my fingertips as I looked down to the scroll again.

Almost done, Yeshua. It's almost over.

"You asked how peace can be found, Father," I said, nodding to him and sweeping the room to give me something to look at that wasn't him. "It can be found in the mercy of our Lord. Found in releasing the stones to Him. Found in finding the sparrows and loving them like you have already been forgiven."

More nods, more humming, more hope in the eyes of my people. Guilt ate away at me for how little I cared for my father's sermons, and yet they were words that brought peace to their hearts. But they didn't know my words were his. They didn't know his true face. I did.

Several more congregational questions later, I reached the end of the scroll. Malachi stood and made his way down the tiered stone benches carved into the wall to recite the final blessings. He clapped my shoulder warmly as I stepped aside for the Levite elder to take his place at the reading table.

"May the Lord bless you and keep you," he said, smiling at the congregation.

"Amen," we said as one. Elysian was looking at me again. My cheeks burned when his eyes traveled slowly up my body, the corner of his mouth curving up even slower.

God on High, not the time, you olive pit!

"May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you."

"Amen."

Elysian tilted his head ever so slightly. I didn't need to see into his head to know all the ways his thoughts were defiling this house.

I clenched my jaw. Perhaps we needed another blinking code for when I needed to scold him to behave.

"May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace."

"Amen," Elysian said with the rest of us. I also didn't need to be next to him to know he'd flavored the word with his thick Greek accent. My lungs expanded as far as they could go as I fought to control the urge to cross the room and kiss that smirk off his stupidly handsome face.

Sandals scuffed the stone floor as people stood and stretched, murmuring Shabbat wishes to their neighbors and brushing sleep from their children's eyes. They left in groups, never by themselves, scurrying past the Romans that still watched from the door. The soldiers marked each of them with suspicious eyes.

Many came to greet me at the table with smiles and offers or pleas for blessings. Familiar voices and hands reached for me, and I met each one with the carefully crafted mask I worked so hard to maintain, if only to keep my father from my throat.

But it didn't matter if he was pressing the knife or not, I still couldn't breathe. I was suffocating under the weight of their belief and faith in me. The more people crowded me, the more my hands shook. I stuffed them deep into my robes, my thumbs tapping against my fingertips.

1, 2, 3, 4… 3, 2, 1…

A practiced rhythm I'd learned in my early childhood to give myself something to focus on other than the panic that tightened in my spine. My mind retreated until I was looking at myself from outside my body as I waited out the storm.

"Yeshua."

His voice broke through the clouds like a ray of pure sunlight. I turned, already smiling—

—only to find my father blocking my path to Elysian. He glared, furious that I'd strayed from his scroll. Though we were the same height, I always felt so much smaller in his presence.

I was grateful, however, that height was the only physical similarity we shared. His face was round and etched with harsh, angry lines from years of demanding strict obedience through force. Force that often ended with bruises or worse. His small, beady eyes only served to give him a pinched look, like he'd eaten something sour. They were pinned on me now with anger and warning.

The very stones I had preached about sank in my stomach. My hands trembled harder, waiting for his judgment to fall.

"You deviated," he said quietly. He never shouted in public. That was saved for closed doors. But he didn't need to raise his voice. "Do you think you are above the words of the Lord?"

I caught the slight shift in Elysian's stance—the single step forward, the clenched jaw, and fingers twitching like they longed to form fists. My pleading look stopped him in his tracks.

Not here. Not now.

His eyes flashed with protective rage, but he stepped back, falling in line with my mother, who had approached on silent feet behind my father. Her brow was creased, eyes just as fiery as Elysian's. She gave me a small nod, and I could practically hear her voice in my mind.

I'm here, Motek.

I tried to smile at her but failed. Father was still waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry, Father," I said, eyes cast down. "The words just… came. I couldn't stop them. Perhaps I… was inspired by the Lord."

A poor excuse, and he knew it. He narrowed his eyes. I knew he was finding the right words that would cut the deepest.

"Yochanan, come join us."

I flinched at his sudden bark, startled by the sharp turn in conversation.

The strange man from earlier approached from where he still sat on the benches. I shivered at the way he looked at me. A pious awe that made my skin crawl.

He glanced nervously between me and my father, even looking behind them at my mother and Elysian. I almost laughed at how far he had to tilt his head just to see Elysian's face. Almost—until the man gave him a look of pure disgust, and my amusement boiled into anger.

"You let Greeks into your synagogue, Yoseph?" he asked with a sneer.

Elysian quirked a brow at the man but otherwise didn't react. My mother's lip curled in distaste as she flicked her eyes over Yochanan but quickly dropped the expression when my father turned to follow Yochanan's gaze. He scoffed.

"This particular one never seems to know where he belongs," he said icily. I silently begged Lys to keep his snarky comments to himself, but it was an impossible feat.

"Oh, I think I know exactly where I belong," Elysian said, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance.

He caught my eye and winked. It took all of my muscles clenching to keep the blush off my face as the rush of heat and desire from just two nights ago raced through my memory.

Elysian—settling between my legs—placing slow, reverent kisses along my thighs— "This is exactly where I belong."

I shook myself back into reality with a sharp breath. This was neither the time nor the place. My father was glaring, a desert man was sneering, and I was actively thinking about Elysian's mouth.

God on High, get it together, Yeshua!

"Greek arrogance," my father scoffed again, turning away. "Yochanan, this is the man you've been wanting to meet."

He gestured to me with a tilt of his head, bordering on reverence. Or a mockery of it.

"This is Yeshua."

Dread coiled in my gut at the ominous words and the wonder that now crossed Yochanan's face. His eyes filled with tears as he smiled.

"It is you," he breathed.

I just stared at him. My father's face was smug. Triumphant, even. I could only guess why.

"My name is Yochanan," he continued. "Yochanan ben Zekharyah. And I have been looking for you, Yeshua ben Yoseph, the Son of God."

I wanted to vomit on his sandals. Here was the first of the devout believers outside of our small community my father had worked to cultivate. It was bad enough that he'd convinced nearly everyone in Beit Anya that I was a divine being, but this man… He was proof that my father's lies were spreading.

"I have been searching, traveling, wandering in the wilderness, as the prophet Yesha'yahu of old has foretold." His voice was full of reverent fervor, like he had been rehearsing those words for years.

I tried to keep my face neutral, but my eyes were widening. I glanced quickly to my father and found him staring at Yochanan with hate in his eyes, all traces of beatific goodness gone from his face.

"I have been preparing the way of the Lord, making a path in the desert for our God," Yochanan continued.

No, no, no. This was bad. So very bad. This man claimed to be the Lord's chosen forerunner, ordained to be the man to introduce the Messiah to the world. The man my father believed himself to be.

I took a lifesaving breath, and pasted on the smile I knew my father was waiting for.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Yochanan," I said faintly, holding out a slightly trembling hand to clasp his arm in greeting. Did this man even know the danger he was in?

"Truly, it is my own honor," he replied.

His skin was rough against mine. Abrasive. I vaguely thought of the salve I kept for Hestia—Elysian's and my dog—when her paw pads got dry and cracked in the colder months.

"Yochanan will be joining us for dinner this evening," my father said. His voice had slipped into that oily tone he reserved only for the well-respected and those he was trying to impress. "He has much to discuss with us concerning the future of the Son of God."

The stones in my gut dropped further. I was certain I didn't want to know what that meant. Behind them, Elysian had gone still, his narrowed eyes flicking between Yochanan and my father, as if trying to decide which was the greater threat.

1, 2, 3, 4… 3, 2, 1…

Elysian's eyes flashed down to my hands, then back up to meet my gaze. He blinked twice, which I returned in kind.

Are you okay?

Yes.

My forced smile became real for the barest moment at the grumpy acceptance on his face, before I turned back to my father and Yochanan.

"I look forward to it," I said. Perhaps I could get him alone and warn him about my father. Things never ended well for people who disrupted his sense of order.

"As do I, Lord Yeshua," Yochanan said, bowing slightly.

Gross.

I caught my mother pressing her lips tightly together and looking down, but not before I spotted the gleam of laughter in her eye. I repressed a sigh of resignation and turned to my father.

"I will meet you at home. I need to check on a few sick children across the city before dinner," I said.

It was true, but mostly I just needed time alone before I had to deal with whatever goat-shit was coming.

"See that you don't tarry long," my father said, still oily but I was well-versed in his hidden threats.

"You truly are a master healer, then?" Yochanan asked, eyes swimming with tears once more. "Your goodness and mercy have been proclaimed since ages past, but to witness you caring for the children…"

"I do what I can to help them heal themselves," I said, which was apparently the wrong thing to say for two entirely different reasons.

Yochanan began weeping about my humility.

My father began fuming over my denial of divine ability.

I began pleading with the Lord to get me out of this situation.

"The Lord's chosen was born with humility in his blood," my father said, smoothly regaining control of the conversation. "Come, Yochanan, let me show you to my home. Food and wine are the best companions to good company."

He led Yochanan back through the synagogue, my mother following in their wake. The soldiers still posted on either side of the arch scrutinized each of their faces as they left.

My father turned back to me as the shadows passed over him, his scorching look searing straight through to my broken soul. He was not going to forget my wrongdoings today.

My lip curled at the soldier who watched my mother a little too closely as she walked by. The other turned to me, snorted, and muttered something in Latin to his partner before they both walked away. A chill skated down my spine.

Rome's presence had increased exponentially in recent years. Their empire was spreading like a swift and devastating sickness. Their only goal was power, and they kept it by any means necessary.

And now, with my father constantly pushing me further into the public eye, it seemed I was becoming a problem for Rome. Soldiers at my Shabbat service were proof enough of that. And though he whispered in the ear of the High Priest and Roman prefect alike, he didn't seem to care that I was in their sights.

The final footsteps faded away, and I let out a long breath.

"Epitélous, gamó to," Elysian cursed in exasperated relief.

He closed the distance between us in a few long strides and swept me into his arms. I'd heard the phrase before, but I didn't care to find out the translation because he was kissing me with all the passion of the sun.

Every tense muscle unraveled. Every urge to shake or flinch vanished as my fingers tangled in his hair and his broad hand pressed into the small of my back, pulling me closer.

I melted into him, my breath catching on a gasp as the world narrowed to just this space surrounding us. It was the first full breath I'd taken since I last touched him two nights ago.

"I missed you," I murmured against his lips.

"And I you," he said, kissing me sweetly. "I'm sorry I was late."

"Where were you?"

He snorted.

"Hestia got into that bramble patch by the creek," he said, chuckling. "I was stuck picking stickers out of her fur."

"Poor girl," I laughed. Our dog got into far too much trouble. "Did you check her paws? Make sure they didn't get stuck there?"

"She's fine, glyký pragma," he said.

God on High, I loved when he spoke Greek to me. The language rolled off his tongue like honey. I knew what that one meant—sweet thing.

He'd tried calling me "sweetheart" once, but I'd cringed.

"Absolutely not. That's what my mother calls me."

"Your mother calls you Motek."

"Which is 'sweetheart' in Hebrew, you olive pit!"

I sighed, pulling away from his warmth to gather the scrolls from the table. He grumbled, latching on to my hips and trying to pull me back, but I swatted at his hands, chuckling.

"Stop it, you," I said. "I have master healer stuff to get to."

"Ah, yes, wouldn't want to take away from your Messianic duties," he said seriously.

He yanked me back, crushing another kiss to my lips before sighing dramatically and letting me go.

"Besides," I said, rolling the scrolls carefully and stowing them away in the alcove behind the dais, "this synagogue is still a little bit holy. We should probably try to keep it that way."

I had long since come to believe that God would forgive me for who I loved, especially someone so good and kind as Elysian. But I still felt a flicker of guilt when I touched him on this hallowed ground. I'd been conditioned to think loving a man was a sin for most of my life, and those types of scars run the deepest.

Elysian had no such qualms. In Greece, where he'd grown up, most didn't so much as blink at a male relationship. I often wondered what that must be like to live openly, without shame. To never feel like an outcast.

At least as a prophet I wasn't expected to marry. As I grew into adulthood and my peers became betrothed and married, the thought of it made me sick. Not just because the girl would be barely older than a child, a custom I found revolting, but because I knew I would never be able to bring a wife true happiness. And I myself would not be happy.

And when I pictured marriage… I always pictured Elysian.

No, I would never marry. But I had him. And he was enough.

Elysian followed me through the streets of Beit Anya as I made various stops to care for the sick and injured—several children with a cough that was spreading through a neighborhood, an older man with an aching knee, and even a little boy's beloved cat with a broken paw.

As we walked, I couldn't help but sneak glances at Elysian. It didn't matter that I'd known him for almost twenty years. I would never become immune to him. He was beautiful in the way mortals were never meant to be: carved to perfection by the gods he worshipped. The afternoon sunlight burnished his curls in gold, making him look like he was glowing. His whole body glowed, actually, illuminated from within with the light of the sun god he claimed had chosen him. His four cubits towered over my barely three and a half, but I never felt small next to him. Not like my father.

The light was fading by the time I'd made it to everyone on my list. Long shadows streaked across the road as the sun sank behind the limestone and plaster buildings. A cool breeze floated past, carrying the faint scent of rain, and I tilted my face into it, letting it whisper through my hair and soothe my aching mind. My sandals scuffed along the ground as we walked. I was so tired.

"Are you alright, Yeshi?" Elysian asked quietly. His hand brushed against my arm, but he didn't take my hand like I knew he wanted to—not out in the open where anyone could see. "Are you worried about dinner with that man?"

"I'm more worried for him," I said. "My father clearly hates him."

"Why would he hate him?" Elysian asked. "He believes the Son of God myth. Isn't that what Yoseph wants?"

"Because Yochanan believes he's the one prophesied about, destined to clear the path for the Lord's anointed," I sighed. "Me."

"Okay…" he said slowly.

"And my father believes he is the one foretold to clear the path. And now Yochanan is encroaching on his territory."

Lys blew out a breath. "That man is in danger then."

"Yes."

Our footsteps were the only sounds between us for a while as we made our way through the streets. Twice, Elysian steered me down a side alley when we saw troops of soldiers coming our way. It was always best to avoid them, even if you were doing nothing wrong. They rarely needed a reason to terrorize someone.

"Why do you think Yoseph invited Yochanan to dinner if he hates him?" Elysian asked, breaking our silence.

"Probably to keep him close. Learn why he's here and what he wants." I shrugged. "And Yochanan probably just wants to talk scripture and prophecy. It's all people want me for these days."

I walked several more paces before I realized Elysian had stopped, practically seething with indignation in the middle of the street. I rolled my eyes and walked back to him.

"Do I need to recite a list?" he growled. "Or should I just drag you into an alley and show you with my tongue and teeth why, how, and what I want you for?"

Heat prickled up my spine, and I struggled to shut it down before my body got carried away.

"You know what I meant, Lys," I said with another roll of my eyes. "I'm well aware of just how much you love and want me."

"Agathón," he said. His fingers flexed like he wanted to reach for me, and I almost gave in. I squinted up at him, searching my memory for the translation of that word.

"Good?" I asked.

"Good," he purred, with far too much sensuality for this wide, open street. I flushed, crossing my arms to keep myself from reaching for him.

"You know, sweet thing, I really enjoyed the way you said my name in your sermon today." His eyes wandered over my body possessively, and the heat in my face became an inferno.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Beloved," I said, smiling as I turned back to the road ahead. "I was just speaking for the Lord."

He caught up, falling into step beside me.

"Hm," he mused. "I didn't realize your God was one for pet names."

I snorted, glancing up at him and admiring the way the light caught his hazel eyes. It really was unfair how beautiful he was.

Completely unfair… to everyone else, I smirked to myself.

We reached the end of the street and paused. Left took us home. Right led to my father's compound, where I lived. Elysian looked around, scanning the street for prying eyes. Finding no one close enough to be suspicious, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me into a darkened alcove crawling with creeping ivy.

My back hit the wall as Elysian grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me fiercely. I looped my arms around his neck, arching into his body. He scraped his teeth along my jaw, trailing kisses of fire down my neck.

"Come home tonight," he murmured against my skin.

I shivered, vision going hazy with need.

"I…" I couldn't think. Couldn't make my brain move around the feel and sheer presence of him.

I lived with my parents because no one could know about my relationship with Elysian. My father would kill him for it.

But home… Home was where Elysian was. Home was where I was Yeshua—just Yeshua—and Elysian was mine, and I was safe.

He pulled back just enough to see my face, eyes searching mine as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Come home to me," he whispered. I reached for the hand now caressing my cheek and twined our fingers together.

"I don't know if I can," I said quietly. I kissed his knuckles. "But I will try."

He nodded, nothing but understanding in his eyes. His other hand cupped the nape of my neck, drawing me in for a gentle but scorching kiss.

"I'll leave the door unlatched," he promised.

We breathed together in the quiet of the alcove, stretching the minutes as long as possible before stepping back into the twilight streets and going our separate ways. I looked back as I walked away, only to find him already looking at me. He gave me a lopsided grin and a wink, and I couldn't help but smile too.

I'd wait until Father was deeply asleep. Then I would go home.

The courtyard at my family's compound was silent. It hadn't always been that way. Once, the walls had echoed with laughter and life. Children chased circles around the well, meals were shared by the hearth, and stories were told long into the night.

Now, only ghosts remained.

One by one, they'd all disappeared—either by choice or in fear—until only three were left: my mother, my father, and me. The one too afraid to run.

I stepped beneath the archway and felt the last of Elysian's warmth fade from my skin. The shadows here pressed too tightly, draping the limestone walls in dread.

I swept the space, searching and listening for my father or Yochanan, but they were nowhere to be found. The only signs of life in this place were the fig tree in the corner, its branches stretching beyond the walls, as if it too were trying to escape, and the small pots of rosemary, thyme, and lavender I tended for my tonics and salves.

The soft clatter of pottery echoed from the gathering room, along with a waft of garlic and roasted meat. I followed the scent and sound into the house to find my mother setting the table by the hearth for dinner. She moved quietly, carefully. She knew what it meant to be loud in a place that demanded silence. I watched her for a moment, afraid to break the spell of her solitude.

Her beauty was the reason gods went to war and why poets wept over prose. Not just for her soft features and radiant smile, but because of her kindness. Her goodness and ferocity, even in the life she had been forced into. Her spirit shone with quiet strength I could only hope to mimic.

She was who I had been painted after, our large, dark, almond-shaped eyes and pointed chins were mirrors of each other's. Her hair, dark as cypress bark with faint threads of silver, was pinned at the nape of her neck, though wisps always escaped, curling softly around her face like they couldn't bear to leave her.

I scuffed my feet to warn her of my approach.

"Hello, my son," she said warmly, without turning. The fact that she didn't startle told me she had known I was standing there all along.

"Hi, Ima," I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "You knew I was there?"

"You're the only one in this place who bothers to announce their presence. Your father prefers to move in silence."

I took the bowls from her hands and gestured for her to sit. She had already done far too much. She smiled faintly but didn't argue, accepting the small kindness. Large ones were denied her far too often.

She watched me thoughtfully as I set out the bowls and collected cups from the shelf on the wall.

"Interesting sermon today," she said. "Almost like it took on a life of its own."

I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners, mouth turned up in a smile.

"What can I say?" I lilted. "I'm just the mouthpiece of the Lord."

She chuckled softly.

"Interesting that you spoke of finding sparrows. I could have sworn there's a sparrow that comes to find you at the synagogue every Shabbat." She spoke slowly, choosing her words with great care.

I paused and met her gaze. She nodded ever so slightly, and I knew she was talking about Elysian.

"Yes, well, who can resist such compelling sermons?" I said lightly. "Especially ones crafted toward sparrows."

"Who indeed?" she mused. Her eyes sparkled with mischief—a rare emotion reserved only for me. "It seems that this particular sparrow has become quite fond of you."

At that, I froze completely.

Did she know? Of course she knew. She always knew everything. I'd be surprised if she didn't.

"It would also seem that such a sparrow could make a wonderful lifelong companion, if such a thing were wanted," she continued, now rising to fetch the wine from the shelves.

There were too many emotions at once, all vying for my attention.

Love, for a mother who saw me.

Fear, for a secret worth protecting.

Anger, for never being able to speak freely.

And other, softer things for sparrows and small mercies, like stolen kisses in a forgotten alcove.

She poured the wine into two of the cups and handed me one.

"Find the sparrow, Yeshua," she whispered. "Love like you don't need to be forgiven."

Come home to me.

Elysian's words echoed in my mind as she touched her cup to mine and we both drank.

"Well, wasn't that heartfelt," a cold voice said from behind us.

We both flinched, whirling to find my father standing in the doorway, Yochanan looming behind him like a shade.

My father's arms were crossed, and the very air seemed to congeal as he narrowed his eyes on us. Ima ducked her head low, hands now trembling so hard she almost dropped her cup. I took it from her and set it on the table. Neither of us needed his reaction to spilled wine.

My heart pounded, and my mind raced. How much had he heard? How much had he understood?

"We were merely discussing the triumph of Yeshua's well-received sermon, as it was written by your careful planning, husband," Ima said quietly, face still downcast.

His eyes lingered on her too long, making my lip nearly curl in disgust. Finally, he snorted and looked away, his mask of piety sliding into place as he welcomed Yochanan to his hearth.

"Come, sit," he said, gesturing toward the table. "Miryam has prepared our meal."

"Miryam," Yochanan said, turning toward Ima. I hated the way he looked at her, like she was just as holy as he thought I was, but for all the wrong reasons. "The virgin mother of the Savior."

"That's kind of a personal assumption, wouldn't you say?" I said flatly, moving to stand in front of her.

He at least had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

My father caught my eye, and I saw retribution rising, but I didn't care.

"My apologies," Yochanan said quickly, looking away and taking his seat next to my father. "It's just… I have been searching for so long, and have studied and prayed over the prophecies for so many years. They ring in my mind like echoes of the songs of our fathers passed."

Ima and I exchanged a look of weary resignation as we gathered the plates and bowls of food and brought them to the table. Hopefully, this meal would be the only time we had to deal with Yochanan, and then I could tell him to run, and he would go back to wandering in the wilderness.

Ima and I sat across from my father and Yochanan. I pressed my knee into hers and took her hand under the table. My father cleared his throat, but Yochanan cut him off before he could begin the prayer.

"Should not the Son of God bless our meal?" he asked.

Ima's fingers tightened on mine slightly as we both watched a slow, simmering tension rise in my father's posture. His jaw clenched, and a dark flush began creeping up his neck.

"I am the patriarch of this household," my father said tightly.

My heart began to race again as I recognized the signs of his brewing violence—the muscle ticking in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes on the offender.

"I'm happy to have my father preside over this house," I said quickly. "Let's pray and eat before the food goes cold."

Yochanan smiled at me, no doubt planning to bring up my humility again later, and nodded. This man had no idea he had willingly entered a viper's den.

My father cleared his throat once more and began praying before he could be interrupted.

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth."

Yochanan swayed, mouthing the words with his eyes closed, moving in time with the prayer. I caught Ima's eye again, and we both looked away quickly, biting our tongues to keep from laughing.

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine."

Our amens had barely finished echoing when Yochanan began to speak again.

"How long have you been teaching in Beit Anya, Yeshua?" he asked.

I took my time spooning lentils onto Ima's plate before answering.

"I led my first Shabbat service when I was sixteen," I said.

An old, deep ache stretched its claws, the ghost of my cousin's laugh whispering through my mind. Azaiah had thought it was absurd that my father made me lead so young, but had laughed, knocked my elbow, and told me he'd be waiting with Elysian when it was over.

"So young!" Yochanan said, raising his eyebrows. "No doubt you felt the pull, the calling to spread the word of He who begat you."

Begat. Gross.

"Something like that," I said. Really, the pull was a push. A shove into a table and a shout that my worthless hide should feel grateful he was bothering to save my wicked soul from my own iniquities.

"What is keeping you from preaching outside the city walls, then?" he asked around a mouthful of stew.

Because that sounds awful and exhausting, and I don't even want to preach in Beit Anya.

I picked at my food, trying to decide how best to answer without angering my father, who was watching me closely over his second cup of wine.

"I have not needed to be anywhere else but where my people are," I finally said.

Yochanan nodded, understanding in his eyes. He took another large bite of stew, chewing loudly.

"Your father and I met yesterday at the river," he said. "I was there preaching and performing baptisms."

"Baptisms?" I asked, startled. "Of other people?"

"Yes, it must be so," he said, his eyes lighting up with a fiery fervor. "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand, Yeshua, as you must know. The people must prepare and repent. Baptism is the only way."

"I don't follow," I said slowly. The ritual baths—mikveh—weren't for repentance or moral cleansing. They were for a return to ritual purity after contact with the dead, after illness, after the natural rhythms of the body. A return to cleanness, not a confession of sin. They were deeply personal, not something another did for you.

I didn't really find much use for them. I tended to too many scrapes and cuts to bother.

"The time of the Lord has come," Yochanan said reverently. "You, the Son of God, walk among men teaching and healing. But these people—these sinners—know not who you are."

His voice sounded like he was pulling scripture from the grave to be reunited with the living. I shifted under his gaze, wishing he would look away. He was barely blinking.

"Repentance through baptism is the only way to save them from damnation." His hand pressed into the table as he leaned in. "The mikveh is a purification, yes, but of what? The body? What I am doing is a purification of the soul."

A profound silence fell. This man was well into zealot territory. That kind of break in tradition was sure to anger the chief priests and Temple authorities, not to mention the Romans if it started causing an uproar, and I wanted no part of it.

I was surprised my father hadn't condemned him for it, being one of the senior-most elders of the Sanhedrin. His need for order and ritual rarely let him accept anything outside of the prescribed scriptural law and commandment.

"I have decided that you should be baptized, Yeshua," my father said, refilling his wine cup for the third time.

Fuck.

"I don't… You want me to be baptized?" I asked, looking between them and trying hard to keep the shock from my face. I felt Ima's hand find my own under the table again, squeezing tight.

"Well, I didn't agree at first," Yochanan chuckled. "You are the Lord's son, after all. What need have you to be cleansed?"

"Even the most holy are not infallible," my father said. His tone was neutral. Spiritual, even. But his eyes… He could never hide his true feelings there.

Maybe you should do it, then. I bit my tongue to keep from spitting the thought at him.

Yochanan nodded sagely in agreement.

"We thought that if you were to be baptized, Yeshua," he said, "then it would show the people by example what they must do. If they see the Lord entering the waters, then they will follow their shepherd."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no getting out of this. Not with Yochanan still looking at me with wonder and my father looking at me with violence. Not with Ima still sitting next to me, silently shaking, though she tried not to let it show. I sucked in a deep breath.

"When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow at sundown," my father said with a horrifically pleased smile. His teeth were stained red from the wine. "That will give us plenty of time to spread the word to the people."

And not enough time for me to find a way out of it.

"An excellent plan," Yochanan agreed.

And that was that. The rest of the dinner passed with chatter between the two of them and silence between Ima and me. I couldn't eat anything else. I merely pushed my food around, pretending. All I could think about was how far and fast this was going to catapult me into the arms of the Romans. By the time Yochanan finally left, my mind had spiraled so far, I wasn't sure where I had gone.

"Yeshua," my father said sharply as I cleared away the food dishes.

"Yes, Father," I said automatically.

"You did not seem pleased about the baptism." His words were slightly slurred—not surprising after his fifth cup of wine. I didn't know how to answer, so I stayed silent.

"Are you refusing the gift I have offered you?" he asked, deadly quiet. "The gift the Lord has offered you?"

"No, Father," I said quickly, turning back to the table to gather the next plate.

He sat back in his chair, scrutinizing me. His eyes bored into my back, and I hardly dared to breathe.

"Come here, Yeshua." His voice was soft. Almost inviting. But I knew the venom beneath. Ima looked up from the hearth, her fearful gaze landing on me. I closed my eyes, willing strength into my bones as I set the plate back down and walked to my father. If not me, it would have been Ima. And I would always put myself before her. Always.

Each step that took me around the table was a drumbeat in my blood. My mind, already so far away, curled into a safe corner to wait out the storm. My vision turned hazy and dim when I reached him, as if even my eyes were trying to distance themselves from the moment.

He swigged from his cup once more, then stood, swaying slightly under the wine's influence.

"Do you think a father's love is enough to save the wicked?" he asked.

I didn't have the strength to answer.

"Speak, boy," he spat, wine-tainted saliva striking my cheek.

"No, Father," I whispered. My hands fisted. Nails dug into my palms—a pain I could manage. Focus on.

"Then why do you think you do not need saving?"

Crack.

Red. White. Pain followed just behind the light, splitting across my face as a backhanded blow landed so violently, I stumbled and fell.

Blinking hard, I pushed myself up. The echo of the blow rang in my skull.

"Perhaps the Lord chose wrong when He decided you were the one to bring righteousness to the world."

His foot drove hard into my ribs.

A cry rang out—Ima?

No, me. That was me.

Blackness swam at the edges of my vision, threatening to drag me under. Trying to get me to fade away.

Come home to me.

I couldn't fade. I had to stay. I had to go home—to Elysian.

A metallic tang coated my tongue. I'd bitten through it. I lay curled on the floor, trying to breathe through the pain and waiting for the world to right itself.

I heard his footsteps coming toward me and my heart seized again, eyes squeezing tight. Then his hand caressed my cheek over the handprint I knew was blooming.

"I wish you didn't drive me to this sin," he said almost gently. "But our Father's will must be obeyed."

He stood with a sigh.

"I'd hoped that after thirty-one years you would've learned that," he tsked. "But perhaps there is still time. Perhaps the baptism will make you see the true path of righteousness."

I kept my eyes closed. I couldn't look at him. His footsteps retreated toward the door.

"Clean this mess up, Miryam," he demanded. "Then wait for me in our bedroom. I need to go commune with the Lord and repent for what Yeshua made me do."

I didn't move from where I was, afraid of the fire that was sure to burn in my side if I did. My eyes finally opened when I felt my mother's soft touch on my shoulder.

"Let me help you up, Motek," she whispered, running her fingers through my hair. "And we will make sure you can move well enough to go home after Yoseph is asleep."

"But I am home, Ima," I said. She smiled softly.

"No, you're not," she said. "Come, Elysian is waiting for you."

The soft shick, shick of my carving knife and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds in the house as I sat before the hearth. Hestia was stretched out across the warm stones, fast asleep—the only time she was still enough to be my muse. She sighed deeply, nose twitching.

Such a hard life, I thought, smiling. She was five times the size she'd been when Yeshua found her in an alley several years ago. A steady diet of cheese and unconditional love had turned her from a scrawny pup to a gloriously fluffy, golden-brown hearth goddess. I held out the carving I was working on to compare it to her likeness. It was coming along nicely. It just needed a few finishing touches, and it would be ready.

I glanced out the window for the thousandth time. The night was slipping away, and Yeshua still hadn't come home. He hadn't promised, but he'd said he would try. I was anxious to know how that dinner with the wild desert man had gone.

And anxious to hold him.

I sighed, thinking back to the stolen moments in the synagogue and in the alley before we parted ways. His body had molded to mine like it was made to be there. Because it was. But his touch, his taste, his mint and sage scent—it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

I understood his need for secrecy—understood that we would be condemned and his father would… Well, I could handle his father. But I wished it didn't need to be hidden alcoves and nighttime trysts. I wished we could just... be. I had half a mind to whisk him away to Greece, where we could live, love, and be in the open with each other. But I knew he wouldn't leave. The fear of his father turning to drastic measures was too great.

A flicker of sadness floated through my memory. A bright smile and a carefree laugh whispered through the night, the ghost of Yeshua's cousin Azaiah visiting briefly.

Yoseph had already proven the lengths he would go to to keep Yeshua in line.

I fished in my tool bag slung over the arm of my chair for my sanding tool and started smoothing the surfaces of my sculpture, defining the delicate features of Hess's face and ears.

Why couldn't we leave? And why couldn't Miryam come with us? Why couldn't we just… disappear? Yoseph wouldn't hurt the ones Yeshua loved if Yeshua wasn't around to hear about it.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and my head whipped in its direction, already rising from my chair. Hess let out a sleepy huff but didn't move. The door opened slowly to reveal Yeshua, glowing in the moonlight.

"I'm sorry I made you wait so long. I—"

His words cut off as I crossed the room and swept him into my arms. I kissed him desperately, like I needed his air.

He had come home.

I pulled him inside, wrapping him in my arms as I kissed his lips, his cheeks, his neck. I heard his satchel hit the floor as he held on to me like I was the only thing keeping him in this world. My hands ran up his sides, letting myself feel him. I froze as he let out a sharp gasp of pain.

His eyes were wide, staring at me, and so far gone from this world that I cursed myself for not seeing it before I threw myself at him. Carefully, I let go of his sides and placed my hands on his arms instead, my blood already screaming for retribution for whatever Yoseph had done.

"Tell me what he did, love."

He looked away.

"I…" He swallowed hard and didn't continue. It took every scrap of my self-control to rein in the rage coursing through me.

"Yeshua," I said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "Yeshi, look at me."

It was several moments before he finally lifted his face. Rage gave way to white-hot wrath as the firelight illuminated the shadowed imprint of Yoseph's hand on his cheek. I flexed my fingers, refusing to let them curl into fists as the fire licked along my bones.

Chalepón. Gods, how had I missed that?

I was too consumed by my own need for him to see that there were dried tears on his face. The careful way he was holding himself. His hands, shaking ever so slightly as he fought not to move too much.

"Oh, sweet thing…"

I traced light fingers over the mark as if I could brush it away. His breath hitched, a tear slipping free as he closed his eyes.

"He didn't… I didn't react the way he wanted when he told me the real reason Yochanan is here," he said shakily. His hands grasped at his robes, and I knew it was to hide the tremors. My jaw clenched as I assessed the way he was leaning slightly to one side.

"Ribs?" I asked. "Are they broken?"

"Not broken," he said, shaking his head. "I'm fine, Lys. Really. It's not that bad, and Ima already applied a poultice and wrapped them."

Not that bad.

I struggled to keep my hands from shaking and the anger from my voice. As if Yoseph's forked tongue wasn't enough, he had to lay his hands on my Yeshua. All in the name of his God, of course. Regardless that Yeshua was now a grown man, as the head of his household, Yoseph felt it was his sacred right to do as he pleased to keep his authority and maintain "righteousness" in his home.

I should have ended Yoseph's reign of terror years ago. Gods, I wanted to end it years ago. But Yeshua had begged me not to. He asked for peace.

And how could I deny him? My Yeshua, whom I had loved from the moment I laid eyes on him when I was barely fifteen and brand new to Yehudah. He was the first person to speak to me like I belonged here. My first friend. Just a local boy who'd turned a corner too fast and slammed into me head-first. I'd helped him pick up the dates and herbs he'd been carrying, and he asked me if my hair was made of sunlight.

I'd gone home that night and breathlessly told my mother I had found him—my hetairos psychēs. My soul companion. She didn't laugh because I was young and didn't know what I was talking about; she laughed because she was overjoyed for me.

"Then he is blessed by Helios himself, Elysianáki, to have you by his side."

And by his side I had stayed all these years, and would stay until the cosmos collapsed.

"Yeshua, please… please let me take care of you," I whispered. He hesitated, closing his eyes against whatever horror was now haunting him, then finally nodded.

A sigh of relief escaped me, and I pressed a kiss to his forehead before leading him to the fire. I helped him to sit, and he hissed softly, squeezing his eyes shut. My jaw clenched again, but I managed to keep the rest of my body relaxed. Hess looked up when he settled into the cushions, thumping her tail on the floor in greeting.

"Hello, Hearthling," Yeshua said, smiling for the first time since he arrived. I could have sworn Hess was smiling too when she put her head in his lap. He scratched her ears, murmuring softly. The fire raging inside me cooled as I watched him. That his goodness still shone after everything he'd survived, that was the truest testament to his beautiful soul.

I made for the shelves built into the wall, pulling out mint, honey, and a jar of quince preserves, throwing it all into a pot of water over the fire.

"Is that quince?" Yeshua asked, sounding more than hopeful.

"It is," I said, smiling. "Nikandros is in town."

The merchant only came to Beit Anya twice a year at best, selling goods found only in Greece, quince included.

I stooped to gather my carving and tools I had dropped in my haste to get to Yeshua and tucked them back into my bag, then sat in my chair, waiting for the tea to steep. I reached for Yeshua's hand, squeezing his fingers. His fingertips played against my skin, unable to be still.

"Why is Yochanan here?" I asked quietly.

Yeshua closed his eyes, breathing deeply as if bracing himself. "He took the prophecies of the virgin-born messiah a little too seriously."

My lip curled. I hated the lie Yoseph had forced on Yeshua since before he was born. The Son of God. A coverup for an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. Not that Miryam was to blame—no, she had only been a girl of fourteen. But Yoseph had been thirty. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"So he heard Yoseph's lies," I said. "And came looking for you."

Yeshua stared hard into the fire, brushing through Hess's fur absentmindedly.

"He teaches repentance through baptism," he said. "Not purification, not like a mikveh. This is different."

I frowned. "Different how?"

"It's not private. It's not for cleanliness. It's for… guilt. A public confession of failure. A cleansing of the soul. And he's the one who does it. Not you."

"That seems…" I searched for the word. "Radical."

"It is," he said, still staring into the flames. "Radical enough to upset the Sanhedrin. And the Romans. It cuts against everything we've ever been taught. It's loud. It's new. And it makes people in power very nervous."

I didn't like where this was going. Yoseph hated radical. Hated anything out of the ordinary. I sat a little straighter, trying not to jump to the only conclusion that made sense.

Yeshua's hand in mine began to tremble again. He curled his fingers tighter, nails biting into my skin.

"My father has convinced him that I need to be baptized as an example to the people."

And in doing so, mark him as a target for incitement and unrest. My heart pounded in my chest. What the hell was Yoseph's game here?

"He wants people to think I believe it," Yeshua said bitterly. "That I truly am the one Yesha'yahu spoke of. If they see me submit to it—submit to him—it makes the Son of God lie real."

"When?" I asked. Maybe I could get him out. We could leave tonight if we had to.

"Tomorrow. Sundown," he whispered. "And don't even try to suggest I don't go. He's already…"

He gestured helplessly to his side, closing his eyes against the pain—physical and mental. My muscles locked, rage tightening beneath my skin.

"And that was just for not smiling about it," he said. "God knows what he would do if I flat out refused. He'd… Ima…" His face creased, mouth pressing into a thin line.

Miryam. Yoseph's guaranteed way to ensure Yeshua's compliance. Yeshua would lay down his own life for her without question.

"There's no escaping this, Lys," he whispered.

"What if there was?" The words left me before I could call them back.

"What if… What?" He turned a confused look on me.

The smell of quince started wafting through the air. I poured the tea into a mug and passed it to Yeshua. He held it in both hands, bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply. His features melted into one of pure serenity as he breathed in the steam.

Hess, who no longer had hands scratching her ears, flopped back down in her spot on the hearth stones. I pulled my chair closer to his and sat, leaning in.

"What if we left, Yeshi?" I said. "Just… started over. Somewhere no one knows us. Me, you, Hess, your mother… We'd go together."

He took a slow sip of his tea, staring at me with startled eyes.

"My father would just hunt us down again. His hands are all over Rome, you know that," he said.

It was true; Yoseph had connections everywhere. It had started with the soldiers assigned to Beit Anya. His ambition and thirst for power led him to turn on his own people, reporting anything out of the ordinary. Pressing for tax collections. Using his oily words and influence to smooth over contentions. Then his influence spread to Yerushalayim. To the Roman governor himself, Pontius Pilate. He had their ears and their coins.

"I told you in the beginning that if he laid a hand on you again, he would lose that hand," I said, anger simmering beneath my skin once more at the handprint across Yeshua's beautiful face and the bruise I knew was under his tunic. "He still has both only because you asked me not to. But Yeshua… I have no qualms about making sure he will never touch you again."

I wasn't violent by nature. But I would be if it meant fiercely protecting what was mine. Yeshua looked at me with such tenderness that I thought for a heartbeat he would say yes.

"That's not who you are, Lys. And if I let you become that for me, then he still wins," he said. He looked down into his cup, swirling it gently.

"No matter how much he deserves it," he added quietly. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes as he drank.

"I would love to leave," he whispered. My throat tightened at the raw ache in his voice.

"Say the word, Yeshua," I said. "Say the word and I will make it happen."

He nodded slowly before draining the last of his tea. I took the cup and refilled it, pressing a kiss to his forehead before I sat again.

"I am saying the word, Lys."

I froze, my heart leaping out of my chest as I blinked stupidly at him.

"What?"

"Sort of," he amended with a small smile. "I want to leave... eventually. We'd need to plan. To make sure my father can't follow us. And... I'd want Ima to come with us."

"Yes," I breathed, almost not believing what I was hearing. "Yes, of course. Of course she will come with us."

"Where would we go?" he asked. A small spark of hope flickered to life in his eyes.

"To Greece," I said immediately. "It's beautiful—sun and sea and fertile soil for your plants…"

"You mean we could have a garden?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes, sweet thing," I grinned. "Our garden."

"Well, you should have led with that," he laughed. "I guess we're going all the way to the garden, then."

The garden. The fabled Eden we had tried to find as children. We never did find it, but we made a pact: wherever one of us went, the other would follow. Always.

"All the way to the garden," I echoed, taking his hand once more and kissing his knuckles. He hummed softly, some of the light returning to his eyes. I had no doubt he was going to retreat into his mind again tomorrow, but at least for tonight he was here with me.

Yeshua's eyes were drooping by the time he was finished with his tea.

"Come on, love," I murmured softly, lifting him into my arms and carrying him to our bed. As I adjusted the blankets, his tunic bunched enough for me to see the dark bruise spreading underneath the poultice he had wrapped around his ribs.

Instead of fire, all I felt was ice. Cold, calm, calculated ice threatening to freeze every good intention in my body. Yoseph deserved much worse than a missing hand. But not tonight. Tonight, Yeshua was safe. He was home. I curled my body around him, and he sighed.

"Shema Yisrael, Adonai Elohe…" He drifted off to sleep before he could finish his prayer.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to his hair, and began a prayer of my own.

"I will get him out," I whispered to Apollo, the god of light and healing. The god that had chosen my Yeshua. I vowed he would see Greece. I vowed I would get him out at whatever cost—even if I had to carve the path with my bare hands.