Light of the Heavens

XL. Spring Roses

Strange, how small a world can be and still feel overflowing, Vassa reflected. At the moment, hers ended at the edges of the bed. She wrote poems on the skin of Seben's back with her fingertips, in her language and in Eth. Fortunately, it did nothing to disturb the human's slumber. There was something so endlessly peaceful in being able to close her eyes and focus on only her breath and the contact between them.

It was strange to think, but in her lifetime of service to Lysaerys, not once could she recall spending a full night with another person. Lysaerys's love burned like midwinter ice against bare skin, but it always ended in absence. It fed the addiction, offering tantalizing tastes of what Vassa wanted, but never everything.

Perhaps it was the nature of a mortal that changed it. Humans seemed, in large part, to evade the cruelties native to her own people. While they still acted with malice, no one could twist a knife with exquisite malevolence like an elf. Lysaerys far exceeded any competition in that regard with delighted abandon. Even Vassa had tortured for no more cause than the alleviation of boredom, and enjoyed herself thoroughly by doing so.

Not only once, in fact, but countless times.

Vassa looked back on those days with a certain amount of loathing. She didn't regret what she'd done, but nursed a bitter resentment for being sculpted into something that could find anything so ghoulish enjoyable.

How much had she really changed?

Seben shifted in bed as the masked woman traced the next syllable over the apprentice fire-speaker's shoulder blade, then rolled onto her side so she was no longer half-draped over Vassa. "You're still here." The gratitude and surprise in Seben's voice made Vassa's heart twist.

Behind the mask, Vassa's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Do I offend?"

Seben beamed at her. "Never."

"Truly? And yet you pout at me so often." Vassa let her fingers ghost across Seben's ribs, earning a shiver even as she committed the curves and grooves to memory. Her magic was well-suited to preserving such things, much to her delight and downfall.

"May I?" Even keeping a respectful distance between their lips, Seben's glance made it clear what she wanted.

Vassa nodded, almost hypnotized by the gentleness of Seben's tone. It was nothing she had ever experienced before, like coming awake safely at home after a night of terrible nightmares. Seben's kiss was not demanding, just warmth and love against her covered lips. The fabric limited depth, but the presence was intoxicating. She let her fingers follow the grooves of Seben's ribs to her back, splaying out across the apprentice fire-speaker's spine. It took her a full minute to find her senses again, as much as she didn't want to leave the moment.

"Something wrong?"

The masked woman shook her head, turning the ring she had put on Seben's finger. It looked better on the young woman's hand than on her own. There were no vows attached, but the possessive part of an elven soul rather liked Seben wearing something of hers. "Only that we should rise," Vassa said reluctantly. "Rhujag will be up soon if he is not already, and that will mean the beginning of your last rites."

"He'll understand."

"And will your masters?" Vassa shook head, a rueful smile forming on her lips. "The hours are fleeting and it would not do to present you late. Are you not looking forward to your trials?"

Seben sighed as she propped herself up on one arm, studying the elf from under long lashes. "I was looking forward to this more."

Vassa's amusement got the better of her and she ran a finger's tip over Seben's collarbone with a featherlight touch, then trailed it down the apprentice fire-speaker's sternum. When she spoke, the words were infused with heat. "You should be careful what you start, Seben. You may find flattery will get you everywhere."