by R. Cooper
“We should give them a moment,” Ran whispered, somewhere far away.
Prityal looked intently at Delf, likely with all the strength she had. “You kissed my hand before Rosset. You told me I was precious to you.”
Delf turned their hands to bring Prityal’s up to her mouth. Then she pressed a kiss to the thin skin of Prityal’s wrist. The contact burned again, a swift, faint rush of magic.
Prityal regarded her with eyes clearer and more pure than even Tili’s pond.
If all this was to be taken from Delf, then Delf might as well speak.
“I will protect Ainle for you.” She did not know how, and the reckless promise made her shake as the earth beneath the shrine had. “If that is to be my life, and I am to know you from now on as a friend alone, then it isn’t…” Delf looked down and smiled tightly to herself. “It isn’t as if everyone doesn’t already know that I swore myself to you. You know, as well, since I have done everything but state it plainly since we began our quest. That is your seal of devotion on my ribs, never to be marked over.” Delf made a face at her own foolishness, then lifted her head to meet Prityal’s eyes. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?” Prityal’s brow was a thundercloud. “You give me that, then take it away?”
Delf stared back at her with her jaw slack and her heart racing. “What am I to say?” she wondered at last. “I will keep your bed warm as long as you wish me to. I will strive to be wise, and lead well, and drink a little less wine. I will keep you as safe as I can, but I have never—”
Prityal tugged on her hand, pulling it with Delf’s hand back to her chest. “Delflenor,” she said sternly, and waited.
“I love you.” Delf jumped at the sound of her voice, strained and unsteady. It was not enough. She tried again, louder. “I love you. So much that I have done what you asked.”
Prityal pressed Delf’s hand firmly to her breastbone. Her gaze did not leave Delf’s face. “Tell me.”
The Wise were watching this and laughing.
“I am the chevetein.”
There was no other way to say it but plainly. Delf sighed once it was out. The others in the room shifted in their seats, or stopped breathing, to hear it said at last.
Prityal closed her eyes.
Delf leaned closer to her, no less terrified at Prityal’s silence. “Are you surprised?”
“I told you it wasn’t ridiculous.” Prityal spoke so slowly, Delf did not immediately realize she was trying to tease her. Just as she did, Prityal opened her eyes. “Did you argue with Them?”
Delf snorted despite the panic in her chest. “Yes. Though negotiated is what I would say. Or that I was allowed to pretend I was negotiating.”
Prityal gave a small nod. “Did the sky light up?”
“Ah.” That, for some reason, made Delf falter. “Yes. It still might be full of color, if the clouds have not won out.”
Prityal made a wistful sound, as if she wanted to view for herself but knew she couldn’t. “Did you…” She looked around, and seemed to notice her friends for the first time. She smiled at them, a wide, warm, special smile Delf had not seen her share with anyone else. Then she focused back on Delf. “I suspected too late. Rosset was quicker.”
She had yet to release Delf’s hand. Delf was not going to remind her to. Every moment now was precious.
But she scoffed at the mention of Rosset. “He thought he needed a knight. A great one. And you rode into his courtyard, brilliant and beautiful. The hero of all of Ainle. What else would he think? But you knew how to get me here, how to make me understand.” She’d used Delf’s feelings to do it, but Delf couldn’t find any resentment in her heart over it. “We are going to save you. We will figure out what he did, and counteract it.”
“I would suggest what worked before,” Bon interjected in a brisk, impatient tone. “I am not sure of Rosset’s intention with this magic, but the intention often doesn’t matter in the end. Just act against the magic that is there. Delf,” added sharply, drawing Delf’s eyes up to her. “You were never serious as a student, and you do not listen once your mind is made up,” she paused, briefly, at the small, angry noise from Prityal, then swept on, “but your faith has always been present, and power with it. I did not think you had learned to direct it. You didn’t want to. You needed only the motivation, it seems.”
“Protection,” Prityal said, as if explaining to Delf or perhaps the others. “And sturdy gorse, and Clarity of Vision. And one more.”
She didn’t say which, but the word caught in Delf’s throat.
“Break his magic with something stronger.” Bon threaded magic into her voice, calling Delf’s attention to her again. “We’ll worry about the details later.”
Delf was very tired, but even she could see she had no shield, no weapons to throw down.
“What I used before?” She glanced around without understanding, then saw Ran’s bloodthirsty grin. A tremor went through her, although these words should have been little to what else she had said aloud today.
“Prityal of Ters.” Delf spoke to the bedding, to their joined hands, to the tiny scar on Prityal’s cheek. “I wore your colors with joy. I want to wear them again, and sleep against your back, and make you comfortable when you’ve had too much ale. That is…” She was doing this wrong and shook her head. “You cannot be expected to feel the same. And now that I am… that I am chevetein, I do not know where my duties will take me. But I would still want those things. I’ve wanted them in some way since first seeing you, and kissing you. Knowing you more has only made the want stronger. You are… endearing.” She locked her gaze on auburn curls. “Courageous and honorable, yes, but you’re also charming and… I told them to take care of the goat, so you wouldn’t worry. I am certain you named it, though I didn’t want to ask. Prityal…” She looked into Prityal’s eyes at last. “I offer myself. I have strength to spare, and it is yours.”
Moisture prickled her skin beneath her clothes. Her hand went limp. She searched Prityal’s face again and again for any sign that this had worked, that Rosset’s magic was undone.
“You are the chevetein,” Prityal repeated after a terrible silence, but she had not closed her eyes again, still had not returned to her unnatural rest. “And you are mine,” she said also, almost as a question. “Does that not frighten you? To say that so easily?”
“You think it was easy?” Delf would have laughed if her chest hadn’t been so tight. “You should be out of my reach.”
Prityal clasped Delf’s hand painfully tight. “Never say that again.”
“I won’t,” Delf promised instantly. Prityal’s grip was strong.
“The mark on your ribs is mine?” Prityal pressed, watching Delf intently. She said Delf’s name with her particular softness, leaving Delf confused and shivering. “Delflenor.” She gave Delf’s hand another, gentler, pull. “Will you kiss me again?”
“Yes,” Delf agreed without hesitation, and sat there, staring, until Prityal frowned. “Now?” she asked, to the sound of distant snickering, and leaned down. She took a moment to study Prityal’s closed eyes, the sulky pout, and then gave her a kiss, small and soft.
Prityal parted her lips and raised a hand to the side of Delf’s face, holding Delf still for a moment longer. Then she fell back against her pillows. She was slow to open her eyes.
Delf put her fingertips to her own mouth, to the whisper of heat at her lower lip, on her cheek. The last, fading traces of the gift of the Three. She praised Them silently, and pleaded with Them, and was unable to summon any more patience.
“How do you feel?” She had to know.
“Tired.” Prityal’s voice was a mere wisp, putting a lump in Delf’s throat. Then, without pause, Prityal coughed and spoke louder. “Jareth,” she looked away, to her anxiously watching friends. “What of Rosset?”
It was the voice of command. Delf pulled in a startled breath.
Jareth replied, only slightly hoarse with whatever emotions she held in check. “There are s
ome on their way now to deal with him.”
Prityal nodded, then turned to look up at Bon. “Well?” she demanded. “Do not tell me that wasn’t enough.”
Bon pursed her lips. “You were healing from the moment the chevetein touched you,” she informed Prityal and everyone else, with no inflection in her voice except for when she said chevetein. “Possibly before. Rosset’s magic could not withstand theirs.”
“Ah.” Delf suspected she was repeating herself, or perhaps she had said so many things out loud today that normally would have been kept to herself that she no longer knew what had been spoken. She was grateful she was already seated, so her legs turning to water didn’t make her fall. “Some use for my heart at least.” She gave Prityal a smile, bright and happy, before pulling her hand away.
She stared down at her lap, wiped her face again on her arm, and wondered if she ought to ask Ran for help standing up. She also wondered if she ought to ask for a room to sleep in, or if she was supposed to make the journey up the hill to a cold, empty house. She had a feeling she had been crying for some time now, but scrubbed her eyes and smiled again when she found Prityal watching her.
The line between Prityal’s brow meant Prityal was alive, and would live, and was feeling better, so Delf smiled for that, too.
Prityal reached out to capture Delf’s hand again, and pull it back to her chest. “If you all would excuse us, please.” Her tone was polite and yet unrelenting.
“There are things to discuss. Duties for the new…”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Ran interrupted Bon merrily. “There is much to see to now that Prityal is recovering. The Seat will be aflutter even before word travels about the rest.” He came over, swiftly and clearly without pain, to drop a kiss on the top of Prityal’s head. Then he turned and snagged Jareth’s arm, tugging his petal in his wake.
Jareth called out, serious and concerned, “Your rest and recovery would be aided by food!”
“Later.” Prityal remained firm.
“I give it two hours before she is back in here with food and herbs for you both!” Ran shot Delf one final grin before he pulled Jareth out the door.
Prityal was not holding Delf down with any force. Only the warmth of her hand and the intensity of her gaze. Delf nonetheless wanted to squirm, even as she stayed where she was. “Prityal, please,” she gave in at last, with an embarrassing sniffle.
She nearly forgot about Bon.
“I will speak to you in the morning, Delf,” Bon informed Delf stiffly. She thawed slightly for Prityal, nearly smiling. “It’s good to see you awake and aware again.” She inclined her head in farewell, and then left, shutting the door solidly behind her.
“You are fond of me, but I don’t expect anything.” Delf said it before Prityal could open her mouth.
“Delflenor.” Prityal released a shuddering breath. “You look how I feel. You’re tired?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “You’re wet. You shiver. You should rest. I should as well. I’m… weak.” She scowled for the word.
“You didn’t eat for several days,” Delf informed her while wiping her face again. “I did try to make you, but you are quite stubborn yourself.”
Prityal huffed, then angled her head to the side to study Delf in a manner that was almost nervous. “You should remove those clothes and get into bed with me.”
“Scandalous,” Delf teased without thought. She realized Prityal was serious a moment later; Prityal was nearly always serious, but Delf was worn to the bone, and the day had been long. She wondered if the sun had gone down. The room had one window, a small rectangle high in one corner, but the clouds outside made everything dark and gave her no answers.
Prityal watched her expectantly, so Delf was moving in the next moment, bending to clumsily remove her boots. They clunked to the floor while she undid the clasp of her cloak. Her shirt was not as damp as that, but the arm had been bloodied, something that Prityal hissed to see. Delf pulled the shirt away, shivering violently, and swayed once on her feet. Pushing down her breeches took focus.
By the time she stepped out of them, Prityal had shifted over and pulled the bedding down.
“I’m cold and my hair is damp,” Delf warned. Her wound did not appear to be currently bleeding, but she might strain the stitches again and stain the bedclothes.
Prityal, in only a loose undershirt, regarded Delf silently, looking over her body until Delf sighed and climbed into bed with her.
It was warm beneath the blankets, but Delf kept to herself on one side of the narrow bed, trying not to spread her chill.
Prityal put her hand in the scant space between them and watched Delf. She breathed slowly in and out like a contented cat.
I love you, and I am yours, Delf thought. I am so grateful for your life. You are beautiful. She had said these words, or something close to them. She had revealed everything, irrevocably and unmistakably. Yet it was all trapped behind her teeth once again.
“Did it rain?” Prityal asked, whispering. “Or were you drenched by the waters of the spring?”
Delf’s teeth didn’t quite chatter. “Both.”
“You are the chevetein.” The corner of Prityal’s mouth turned up. “And you say you are mine.”
Delf made a noise, embarrassingly weak. She had not allowed herself to think of the kiss, and the fleeting, vanishing magic, and the things she had said. But she had said them, and Prityal was smug before her.
“Does that please you?” she wondered tentatively, and did not care for the flat look she received in return.
Prityal’s hand disappeared beneath the bedding, pressed hot to Delf’s stomach, and then settled firmly over her ribs. Over the mark.
“It does not seem something that should please me as deeply as it does,” Prityal confessed. “But I have worried over you for years, and in all that time, this was here.” She pushed against the mark to make her point, then leaned in to kiss Delf softly on the mouth. “You’re far away,” she complained when she pulled back. “The room is cold.”
“I told them to put out the fire.” Though some of it still burned, since no one had brought in candles. Delf shuffled closer, gasping at a little at the shock of Prityal’s much warmer skin and the immediate tangle of their bare legs. She wanted to tease Prityal for being bossy, but everyone in the barracks knew Delf didn’t mind it, and Prityal was obviously enjoying herself. Since Prityal was still touching her, Delf risked a touch of her own, and slipped her icy fingers beneath Prityal’s shirt to find the scar where the wound had been. “You truly feel better?”
“I think I’m hungry.” Prityal shuddered away from the touch, then back into it once Delf’s fingers had warmed.
“You should—”
She was stopped with another kiss. Prityal had learned so much already. “Sleep. When you wake, we will have much to do. And Ran is right. Jareth will return.”
Delf was not sure she could sleep. Prityal had accepted her heart, and times of legend were coming.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered as Prityal had first done, like they were begleys sharing a cot for warmth on a winter’s night. “I’ve walked myself to this, and the signs are there, but I am. Of failing you, and the others. The cheves will not be pleased. If they knew me at all, they will doubt me, and there is so much risk for you, for all of you.”
“But you meant it, when you asked.” Prityal slid her hand down and over Delf’s hip, bringing her closer just to duck her head beneath Delf’s chin. She sighed, warm against Delf’s neck. “Did you even ask? Or did you tell Them as you told Bon just now?” Prityal laughed softly before Delf could think of a reply. “I do not understand how you view yourself. Or don’t view yourself. You’re a good choice, for reasons Jareth will happily list to us in the morning—she’ll be up all night now, you know, thinking.”
“I’ve been told I have that in common with her.” Delf managed to say it dryly, with some humor.
Prityal exhaled against Delf’s throat. “It is not the only thing. Ran is… R
an and I both have the same difficulty. I told you how I was, but I didn’t say all of it.”
Delf freed her hand from Prityal’s shirt and the bedding in order to gently stroke the back of Prityal’s neck. “You don’t need to talk about this, now, or later. Just because I bared myself does not mean….”
Prityal clutched Delf’s hip. “I did not ask for a shield, Delflenor.”
“No, you asked for a hero,” Delf heard herself answer, like a fool.
“I did.” Prityal sighed. It was a forlorn sort of sound, and Delf immediately, tiredly, despite the pain in her arm, began to scratch Prityal’s back. “But she should stand with me, at my side. Not below the high circle, not before me to take all the danger, and not across an entire hall.”
“Ah.” Delf was not like a fool, she was a fool. She licked dry lips. “What about from a house atop a hill, so very far from this barracks? No. Never mind that. That’s a thought for tomorrow. Or never. I should not have…”
Prityal squeezed Delf’s hip enough to leave marks, silencing her. “You wore my colors, plain and unadorned white, torn and filthy from travel, without shame. You volunteered to wear them before a knight we did not know. I am… pleased, very pleased, with your love so far, my ladylord. But I will not have it be at the cost of you, or your name. You will fight, because you are a champion. You are mine,” she added, shyly and viciously happy. “My champion. And because of that, Ainle’s, I think, as well. You might be a shield, but you are a sword as well, and a mace, and a sewing needle, and hands that might shape dough or bring me pleasure.” She hummed, a note only, not a song. “I’m tired, but I am not wrong.”
Delf went still and eventually scoffed, at what or who she did not know. The Three, for playing tricks on her, or herself, for being oblivious, or Prityal, for guarding her softness so carefully. Then she huffed and burrowed her hand back under the blankets and into Prityal’s shirt.