“This changes everything.” Cvareh sat. “What we are was not what we were.”
She watched the muscles in his back stretch. His skin had a certain pallor in the dim candlelight. Flickering shadows danced in lines and muscular curves. Lean and strong. Strong enough to hold her up. Strong enough to support her if she chose to let him shoulder some of her burdens.
“Nothing has changed,” her mouth insisted. She spoke lies, to herself, to him, to everything they were. Her body may have been ready, long overdue even, for a lover… but her heart. Her heart was another matter entirely. “We are two people merely filling needs.”
He placed a hand between her arm and side, leaning toward her. His fingers brushed the line of her jaw but the touch was different than before, without haste. And yet it still possessed fire. They had not been a flash in the pan. Something burned deeper, more determined. A small flame, but a white hot and relentless one.
“You don’t believe that.”
“I do.”
Cvareh smiled knowingly. She rose upward and kissed the expression. He’d given her no choice. There was only one way to expunge that look from between his cheeks. Still, it persisted when she pulled away.
She kissed him again. She kissed him harder. He tasted suddenly of longing and salt tears her eyes had stopped spilling years ago.
“I know you, now,” he muttered upon her. “I know you, Arianna.”
Resistance was futile. The man could think what he would; the more she objected, the more he persisted, the more she slid down into him like quicksand. She could hardly breathe if the air wasn’t sweetened with the tang of his scent.
“I want to show you something.”
“What?” She let his hands tangle in her hair, a mess from the fight and their sex.
“It’s not on Ruana, so we’ll have to travel.”
“Where?” The idea of venturing into the unknown with him was not as frightening as it should’ve been.
His fingers coaxed out the knots he’d made. “Do you trust me enough to let me not tell you?”
She hated him for the question. She hated him more for the answer that already leaped from her tongue. “Yes.” Arianna pressed her eyes closed. How had she arrived at that answer? It was like adding two and two together and getting yellow. “And I will kill you for it.”
“I will not give you a reason to.” Cvareh stepped away, hunting for his clothes. He made no effort to smooth them, only enough to patch them back together from where she’d torn at them. His shoulder pieces were hopelessly lost. Fortunately, Dragons wouldn’t think twice about him walking around in next to nothing.
Arianna followed without instruction, picking through what was salvageable. She was still too Fenthri to stomach the notion of walking in nothing, even with her illusion. Still, the most important piece was the splint that helped her hold her illusion in place.
“Head upward, and tell me if you have trouble finding the departure platform. I’ll saddle the boco.” His palm fell on her hip, and his magic surged at the touch. It wrapped her up in a familiar embrace, already intertwined before his lips fell on her ear.
“Arhoncedov,” he breathed.
It was a sound just for her and it sparked off his tongue with sheer power. He’d cast forth a tether, and now it fell on her to take it.
Arianna took a half step closer, her own arm wrapping around him. Cheek to cheek, she leaned for his ear. It had been a long time since she’d last established a whisper link. The silence that had filled her mind upon Eva’s death should have been enough discouragement to ever do it again. She’d vowed not to.
“Ranhoftantu,” she replied.
Magic pulled taught with a twang. Another line holding them together under tension. A step closer, when she should’ve taken a step further away. A yes that should’ve been a no. And a want indulged before a thought could be applied.
They were drunk on each other still. Their magic was still fresh, and new, and desired. But eventually, they would sober. They would wash away the sweat of sex and the heat of each other’s skin. When the time came, what would they find?
31. Florence
Nora and Derek were set up across the hall from her. Florence heard them entering in a haze, but sleep’s hold was too strong on her to even cast off her covers. She would ask them in the morning how their meeting with the Vicar had gone.
But when morning came, a knock awoke her, and she found neither was waiting.
Powell stood on the other side of the door in the same, simple, pocketed worker’s pants he’d worn the whole journey. Well, judging from the lack of smell and stain they weren’t the exact same trousers. They were belted, and a loose cotton shirt was tucked into them, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“I woke you.” His observation seemed mildly apologetic.
“I might have slept for the next two days if you hadn’t.” She rubbed her eyes with a yawn. He had been right, there was no substitute for sleeping in a proper bed.
“Then I’m glad I woke you, seeing as I don’t know when you’re leaving and there’s much I’d like to show you before then.”
“Well, I don’t seem to have much else to do.” It was nice to feel welcomed by someone, to have them engaged in her wellbeing. Nora, Derek, and the rest of the Alchemists’ Guild were poor substitutes in that regard. Since Ari left, Florence had no one to look after her other than herself. “Are you sure you have the time?”
“I will until I won’t. I’m at the leisure of the guild’s Masters and Vicar. Whenever they reach their decision, I’ll find out if I have something to do, or if I’m returning home with my mark as it is,” he explained. “Here.”
Florence accepted the bundle of clothes he offered. She’d brought her own, but they were still soiled from travel and the prospect of something clean was incredibly appealing. She wondered if he had paid that much attention to her needs or if this was standard hospitality for the Harvesters.
“You can wear what you want, but I thought after the organ halls we may head into the mines, so you might want to wear something you don’t mind potentially getting soiled or ripped.”
“These days, all my clothes can potentially get soiled.” Powell didn’t know the half of what she’d been through. The days of her pristine vests, matching top hats, and perfect stitching were gone. Her vests were wrinkled, her top hats lost or left behind while she was on the run, and the seaming at the elbows of every one of her shirts had been torn. “But, thank you. It’s nice to have something clean.”