A huge fireplace stood barren and caked black, a pile of split logs and tinder ready and waiting at its side. Lebendig removed her steel helm, allowing long braids of strawberry blond hair to fall free. The Swordswoman had none of the curvy softness Wichtig looked for in a woman. Stehlen loved her for her undisguised strength, for the way she ignored the judging looks of men as if she didn’t even see them. The Kleptic watched as Lebendig threw a few logs in the stained alcove. Once she had a roaring fire and the room’s harsh cold was blunted, the Swordswoman stripped out of her wet clothes. She hung them from the rusty grill keeping sparks from leaping into the room.
Stehlen sat on the lone cot admiring the roll of hard muscle beneath pale and freckled skin, the criss-cross slashes of scar, many long whitened with age. Some few newer scars, ridged and pink, the Swordswoman earned fighting at Stehlen’s side in the Afterdeath. Stehlen adored each and every one of those scars, saw them as badges of love. She bore more than a few of her own badges. Thinking of scars reminded her of Wichtig, and she snarled and spat into the fire. Somehow, no matter how bad things got, the fool always managed to escape unscathed. As if there weren’t enough other reasons to hate the idiot.
As Lebendig passed Stehlen on her way to fetch dry clothes from her pack, the Kleptic reached out a hand to caress a strong flank. Lebendig shook her head, eyes saying not now. Stehlen hid her anger at the rebuke. Was something wrong or did the woman not feel safe here? Stehlen opened her mouth to ask and then closed it.
Once dressed in dry clothes, a dull brown shirt and matching pants, all loose and allowing freedom of movement, Lebendig sat beside Stehlen, far enough away no part of them touched.
“Things have changed,” said Lebendig. “We’re not dead.”
“I know,” said Stehlen. “We should celebrate. We should get drunk and rut.” Again she reached a hand toward Lebendig and again the woman stopped her with a look. Stehlen bit her bottom lip and nodded as if she understood.
“I need some time,” said the Swordswoman.
That sounded bad. “Time?”
“We’re not in the Afterdeath any more.”
“Though you’d never guess for how grey the last few days have been,” joked Stehlen. “Remember how that first bite of food tasted after leaving the Afterdeath? I want to taste you like that.” She trailed off seeing the Swordswoman’s bruised look.
“Those whom you slay,” whispered Lebendig.
Stehlen scowled, feeling her lips curl back to expose yellow teeth. “Must serve in the Afterdeath,” she finished the catechism.
“We’re not there,” said Lebendig, examining Stehlen for her reaction.
“I already said—” Stehlen blinked. “Oh. You’re no longer bound to me. I forgot. I thought—” You thought she wanted to be with you? Fool! Stehlen clenched her jaw so tight she thought her teeth would explode. She blinked again, refusing to look at her lover, praying her eyes remained dry. Never show weakness. Say something. Tell her you don’t need her. Tell her to go stick goats. Stehlen’s throat seized shut. She could hardly draw breath.
“I don’t have to serve,” said Lebendig. “I don’t have to be here. I can leave any time I want.” Touching Stehlen’s chin with a strong hand, she turned the Kleptic’s face until they locked eyes. “I could kill you if I wanted to, and I do kind of want to. You killed me, cut my throat to annoy that pretty fop you’re in love with.”
“I’m not—”
Lebendig silenced her with a slight narrowing of her eyes. “That’s not an easy thing to forgive, even if our time together hasn’t been entirely unpleasant.”
Stehlen turned away, stared down at hands clenched into fists. Forgiveness? Stehlen crushed the urge to laugh, bit down on the mad cackle with sharp teeth. Forgiveness was the last thing she deserved.
“So?” You’re leaving? You’re leaving me? If the Swordswoman stood to leave, Stehlen wasn’t sure what she’d do. Would she cut her down, or watch? No one steals from me.
Stehlen turned to again face Lebendig. The Swordswoman’s eyes were rimmed red, her cheeks stained with tears.
What does that mean? Why sadness? Why tears? Stehlen dared not let hope set her up for the inevitable crush of disappointment.
“So?” she said again. For the first time she hated how calm she sounded. Now, when she wanted them, when she needed them, tears were nowhere to be found. She couldn’t cry. Her face betrayed no hint of the anguish within. What the hells is wrong with me? Why could she not admit to her emotions? Something deeper than simple fear of rejection stopped her but she couldn’t begin to understand what. Something deep in her past.
Lebendig looked away, stared at the clothes steaming on the grill before the fire. “I still feel—You and I, we—It’s different now. I have a choice,” she finished in a rush.
Stehlen stood, sucking breath past her constricted throat, trying to decide what to say. Should she tell Lebendig she loved her? She should tell her to get out?