The Swordswoman took Stehlen’s clothes and nodded at the crackling flames. “Sit.” Without waiting to see if the Kleptic obeyed, she set about hanging the damp and threadbare clothes on the nearest low-hanging branches.
Stehlen grimaced at the stained state of her clothes. Gods, how old were those leather pants and that shirt? What colour was it when I first stole it? Purple? She remembered thinking it might distract people from the sallow yellow of her complexion. Now the shirt was a uniform grey, darkening to something almost green near the armpits. It was long past time to steal another shirt.
After Lebendig stripped away her own wet clothes, she sat at Stehlen’s side. She held her hands to the fire, thick fingers spread wide. Her swords lay sheathed on the ground at her feet, within easy reach. “It’s warm here.”
It was. Warmer than Stehlen expected. “The trees must shelter us from the wind.”
Lebendig nodded, watching Stehlen awkwardly try and ring the water from the many scarves hanging from her wrists. “That’d be easier if you removed them.”
Stehlen folded her arms, trying to hide the scarves from sight. “No.”
“Sorry,” Lebendig said, attention once again locked on the fire.
Shite. I hurt her. Lebendig had seen the scarves a thousand times and never commented on them. Stehlen licked her lips, trying to figure out what to say and struggling to ignore the part of her screaming, they’re mine they’re mine!
“They’re just scarves,” she said, knowing how pathetic the lie must sound.
“Some look new,” said Lebendig, eyes sliding closed as she lay back in the grass, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
Stehlen no longer felt quite so warm. The comfort of this little oasis faded and once again she felt the damp wind of the world beyond. She shivered, huddling her arms tighter even though Lebendig was no longer looking. How can she be so comfortable?
“You took some from the garrison at the border?” the Swordswoman asked.
Stehlen stared at Lebendig. Don’t ask me this. You can’t ask. You know not to ask. Why now?
A content smile lit Lebendig’s strong features as if she basked in the sun. “Did you take them from men or women or both? What do they mean to you?”
The bright edge of the knife in Stehlen’s hand caught the Kleptic’s attention. She focussed past the blade on her naked lover. She’s helpless. It would be nothing to kill her, so easy. She’ll be mine again. Truly mine, bound by the Warrior’s Credo. Lebendig would never hear her coming. Stehlen knew how to kill painlessly, just as she knew how to cause grievous wounds that took days to kill. She’ll feel nothing.
“I notice,” said Lebendig, eyes still closed, “that new scarves come and go. But there’s one, faded and falling apart, which pre-dates them all.”
Bedeckt would never ask about the scarves. In all the years they travelled together, he never once acknowledged their existence. Wichtig might mock her about them, but even he knew not to push it. Teeth pulled back in a rabid snarl, Stehlen stood over her lover. Ask about that scarf. Ask. The knife felt hot in her hand. I need this. She needed to steal, to take what wasn’t hers and possess it. Completely. She needed blood. She’s picking at your past, at your deepest wounds. We could have been happy together but she doesn’t want that. She’s stealing it from you.
“No one steals from me,” whispered Stehlen.
“Hmm?”
Stehlen blinked at the knife in her hand, the edge a hair from Lebendig’s throat. She was crouched at Lebendig’s side. The hairs on Stehlen’s arms stood straight, her sallow flesh puckered by goosebumps. Blissfully ignorant of how close to death she was, Lebendig breathed slow and deep like she enjoyed scents Stehlen couldn’t smell. How can she be so comfortable?
Though she felt the cold wet breeze against her skin, the grass beneath the tree didn’t move. It all leaned in her direction. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the grass there also leaned toward her. Removing the knife from her lover’s throat she held the edge against her arm. The grass pulsed, straining toward her. That’s not enough. Cutting yourself is no escape. You’ve done it enough to know. She stared at the arm, so laced with scars she couldn’t remember which ones she’d caused. It wasn’t enough. Cutting was only a temporary relief. She gave it up long ago. It was better to cut others.
Your throat. Do it right. Do it here and you’ll be free of everything. Forever.
Do it here. The grass pulsed again, straining in her direction like it might pull itself free of its roots. Here.
It has to be here.
Standing, Stehlen slashed the knife across her forearm, opening a long gash.
She blinked, glancing again around the clearing. “Where are the horses?” Blood ran from her arm and the grass beneath her writhed as if fighting over the falling droplets.
Lebendig shrugged. “They probably went to the lake to drink.”
Rage drove a cold spike into the back of Stehlen’s skull. Stupid whore! Instead of gutting Lebendig she cut herself again, another long slash. “You didn’t hobble them?”