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Of all the small things that had slowly changed since day that her wife had been resurrected, and the numerous things that were still changing, this was one of Jaina’s favourites. Waking up with Sylvanas’ warm weight on top of her. A glint of sunlight shone in through the green curtain, illuminating her soft silver hair. Like Jaina, she was nestled snugly under the soft, red blanket.
After, and even before their journey, Sylvanas had sometimes said that Jaina snored. Not very loudly, yet it had still irked that Lord Admiral. She did not, under no circumstances, snore. Neither did the elf. Still, Sylvanas made sounds in her sleep. Sounds that Jaina could only define as purring .
Her right ear flicks, twitching up from its relaxed position in her neck, and back again. As pinned as she was, Jaina could only admire it, without touching. The left ear soon follows, flicking in such an adorable way that Jaina cannot help but try to get her arm out from underneath Sylvanas’ body. Mere seconds later, it’s grasped by the wrist and pinned down again.
‘ mrhmm… no,’ Sylvanas slurs, nestling more closely against Jaina more. ‘Not yet.’
~~~~~
It’s morning. It’s morning and Sylvanas knows this. Jaina had tried to do something . Her sleep addled brain is too fuzzy to know exactly what, though. All she wants to feel now are the soft blankets, Jaina’s softer body and the warmth in their little universe that only encompasses the bed.
Then Jaina stirs again, stealing the blanket away from Sylvanas’ feet with her movements. Another tired whine comes form the elf’s throat. ‘ hmmrff no stay here.’
‘I have to go, Sylvanas,’ Jaina says, wiggling so much that Sylvanas eventually tiredly rolls off her, still trying to grasp her body before Jaina can escape.
This causes multiple things. Like a cold gust of air, grazing her skin and nearly making her scuttle underneath the blankets again. It also causes her revived body to shiver, which she still needs to get used to. Jaina groans and even has the sheer audacity to shrug Sylvanas off and sit up on the edge of the bed. Not deterred yet, the elf clasps her arms around her naked waist, nuzzling into her back.
Jaina jerks and yelps. ‘Not there! I- I have to go… bathroom! Stop pressing!’ She stands up and runs off, barefoot over the floor.
Now alone and cold, Sylvanas scoots back under the blankets, wrapping them tightly around herself, trying to preserve the warmth. Without Jaina though, it’s fleeting, and her ears droop into her neck, shuddering. She buries deeper into the blankets, only her ears sticking out. Yet she quickly stops her silliness when she hears Jaina open the bathroom door, peeking out from underneath the blankets to spy her wife Only the morning sun cloaks her body, as she stands in the door opening and says:
‘Shall I run us a bath?’
She is bubbly and bright as usual, in the morning. Sylvanas smiles underneath the blanket. ‘Yes, that would be great. And do come back to bed afterwards, I’m getting cold.’
Jaina laughs and flicks her fingers with a spark of arcane, at what Sylvanas thinks to be the tap. Inside the bathroom, water starts running. ‘We have about half an hour before I flood the castle.’
When she nestles back in the bed and Sylvanas reaches for her, she says: ‘Tides, you’ve sure gotten clingy after that ritual.’
‘Spending a few harrowing minutes in a cave while your nerves are being fried tends to do things to a person.’ Sylvanas expects Jaina to embrace her, but Jaina still waits , holding the blanket off both their bodies and shifting on her side, quirking her eyebrows very expectedly. ‘Go on, little spoon. I know you like it,’ she says, depriving Sylvanas from warmth for more seconds.
‘That’s not my… it’s Little Moon and it’s not even…’ Confused, the elf looks at the mattress. Then the realization hits her and she blushes deeply. ‘A-alright…’ she mumbles as she lies down before Jaina. The blanket descends on her and Jaina cups her body with her own, plunging both of them into blissful warmth.
Such laxness has only been brought back into her life since a few weeks. It is most enjoyable. Despite the fact that Jaina loves to tease her about her newfound clinginess, which is true, and her impulse to hog the blankets, which is also true. She shuffles closer, closer into the enticing warmth, humming contently. Then all of the sudden, Jaina shrilly squeaks when Sylvanas brushes over her ribs. ‘No!’
‘What do you have against my touch today?’ Sylvanas asks while repeating the movement. At Jaina’s laugh and subsequent attempts to wiggle out of her grasp, which only results in tangling her feet in the blanket, the elf suddenly realizes. With an impish smile on her face, she shifts so that she faces Jaina and rubs a small circle on her ribcage with the tip of a finger. The results are instantaneous. The mage yelps, batting away her hands and wrapping into the blanket entirely, stealing its warmth away completely.
‘No, no, no! Don’t you dare.’
A fleeing reaction, not what Sylvanas had been expecting. She pushes the Jaina-roll somewhat weakly to the other side over the bed. In theory, she could pick her up and pry the blanket off her with elvish strength. But to humour her wife’s lesser physical prowess, and her own bout of silliness in this particular morning, she instead worms an arm in through where Jaina’s head sticks out. Threading her fingers over the mage’s back causes her to arch off the bed and burst out in a laugh.
‘Could the Lord Admiral-’ Sylvanas runs her hands up and down Jaina’s sides. ‘- possibly -’ she gasps and laughs at the same time, completely vulnerable to the attack, ‘- be ticklish?’
‘Yes! Very! Now stop - aahh no not there!’ Jaina finally disentangles herself from the blanket and is sent into another fit of giggles and squirming beneath Sylvanas’ hands as the elf finds a particular spot on her tummy that sends her into hysterics.
She only stops when Jaina is breathless, lying back against the pillows, panting hard. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she languidly stretches her arms and threads her fingers in her hair. The bed dips as Jaina comes to sit behind her.
‘Had your fill of stupidity this morning?’ she asks.
Sylvanas hums thoughtfully. ‘Is there anything we need to do today? I am still a bit out of the loop, I fear.’
‘A single council in the evening. Where we need to finish those trade routes with the night elves we started before our quest.’
‘Well, then I suppose we can fool around for a bit longer.’
‘You have grown fond of that, haven’t you?’ Jaina rests her fingers against the very tips of Sylvanas’ ears.
Rather than jump, Sylvanas inclines her head, wishing for Jaina to continue. Yet before she can get into the ear rub properly, the mage jumps up. ‘ Gods, the bath! I forgot. I hope it hasn’t overflowed by now.’
Luckily, it hasn’t. It’s just a bit full, and Jaina drains some water before stepping in. Sylvanas strips down and follows her. Warm water blissfully envelops her. She allows herself to lean against the edge of the tub and close her eyes for a minute before starting to cleanse herself. The soap, imported from Kalimdor, is exquisite and very fragrant. Fresh herbs, floral and just a tinge of salt. Before her revival, she never took the time to bask in the feeling of warm water on her body, partially because she could not feel much of the warmth. Jaina however, had taught her the joys of it. Now, she had grown very fond of long baths. And her wife was more than happy to indulge.
When she had finished thoroughly cleaning her ears, so they stood tall and proud alongside her head, Jaina caught her attention with a well-aimed spurt of water. A sure disadvantage of having a water mage as your wife.
‘Can you wash my hair? I would like to use the oil we bought in Suramar.’
‘The one you bought because of the shameless advertising of the vendor?’ Sylvanas reaches for the small glass bottle on the side of the tub. ‘“Even the First Arcanist uses it!” I thought I was going to test my stomach’s newfound ability to throw up.’
‘It smells very nice!’ Jaina objects. ‘That is why I bought it. And it supposedly makes your hair very soft.’
She encases the top of her head in water, handily levitating it so not a single drop is spilled outside the bathtub. Sufficiently soaked, she turns to Sylvanas, pressing her back against the elf’s front and bowing her head for better access. After a moment of quiet admiration of her wife’s body and the novel feeling of her heart thumping harder and louder than usual in her chest, Sylvanas uncorks the bottle and pours a bit of oil into the palm of her hand.
As Jaina had said, it smells good. A heady smell, of camphor, cinnamon and other warm spices. Admittedly, it was very befitting of the nightborne culture. She starts to massage it into Jaina’s scalp, working it into her hair and skin alike. A very pleased hum sounds from the mage’s throat, as she leans into the elf’s nimble hands.
Sylvanas carefully separates blonde and white hairs, making the streak of gold neat and pristine amongst the white. She finishes by pinching Jaina’s ears, only to be disappointed when they seem to be insensitive compared to her own. They both retreat to the far ends of the tub to submerge themselves completely. As Jaina splashes around, splattering oil and cold water alike onto Sylvanas, the elf looks at her hands and feet. Greyer than the rest, since they are her extremities. Despite this, she feels the warmth of the water just as well. The skin around her joints is noticeably pinker than her fingers and toes. Yet while the final results of her endeavours are a bit blotchy, she does not mind it the slightest bit.
After Jaina finishes washing her hair with an impressive flip of the entire mass over her shoulder, dousing Sylvanas’ face in leftover oil and water, she scoots closer with a washcloth in hand. ‘Your turn,’ she softly says. ‘Let me scrub your back.’
Ever since Sylvanas had taken up training again, quite rigorously so, she is also reminded of how sore her back can get after a bit too much archery. Since her body was not preserved in pristine Ranger-General condition anymore, she had been pushing her limits and, in Jaina’s opinion, doing too many exercises. Yet she prevailed, because Sylvanas Windrunner would simply not grow even a little bit of tummy. The teasing would be endless. Jaina’s scrubbing was heavenly. She knew just how rough Sylvanas wanted her to be with the washcloth, pushing the tips of her fingers in all the knots and painful places on her back.
‘Jaina, want your eggs scrambled or boiled?’
The sudden voice from outside the bedroom makes both lovers jump, splashing water over the edge of the tub.
Jaina is the quickest to recover, raising her voice to reach her brother beyond their chamber’s doors. ‘Scrambled! Big portion, please, Tandred!’ She turns to Sylvanas. ‘And you?’
Any decent elf would have knocked, not yelled from the corridor like a savage. Sylvanas was still getting used to the Kul Tiran brashness all members of the Proudmoore family exhibited, especially when they shamelessly yelled at each other. ‘I don’t know, I… maybe I would-’
‘One for Sylvanas too! I’ll eat it if she won’t!’ Jaina bellows, making Sylvanas blush in the very tips of her ears. ‘Oh, and tell mother that I’m taking her to a harbour tavern, so we won’t be in the Keep for lunch!’
With this particular exclamation, Sylvanas cringes and once again silently curses her wife’s family’s fondness for loud yelling. ‘You are taking me to where?’ she asks, once Tandred had stomped off through the hall.
‘Oh, you’ll see,’ Jaina says, finally continuing the back scrubbing.
When they had toweled themselves off and dressed, they went to one of the castle’s suites for breakfast. The other two-thirds of the Proudmoore family were already there. Katherine is sipping her tea and Tandred eats his way through a stack of bread. ‘Eggs,’ he says, meaningfully pointing at two plates with half a sandwich in his hand.
‘Eggs,’ Jaina confirms, seating herself and kicking a chair under the table so Sylvanas could sit down too.
“Eggs” was an understatement. Two huge piles of scrambled, salted egg with fresh herbs generously sprinkled on top. Kul Tirans were no strangers to a hearty, fortifying breakfast, as opposed to the lighter ones that Sylvanas remembered from Quel’thalas. Hesitantly, she picks up her fork and begins eating. Only after taking a bite of perfectly creamy, savoury egg, she notices that the rest of the table has fallen suspiciously silent.
‘You ought to take some toasted bread with them,’ Katherine suggests, politely, despite her drawn up eyebrows.
‘And put the egg on top of the bread… not next to it,’ Jaina adds, gesturing to the creation on her own plate.
Sylvanas didn’t see the point of it. ‘Then the egg gets everywhere.’
‘Not if you are careful, like this.’ Jaina holds up her slice and takes a big bite. To Sylvanas, it looked anything but careful, yet the mage manages to eat it without spilling anything.
She had more trouble, however, getting at least a quarter of her breakfast on her clothes and the table. Cursing the barbaric Kul Tiran eating methods, she wipes her hands on a napkin and glares around the table. Luckily, the Proudmoores keep their laughing to a minimum.
‘So, you were going to take her out?’ Katherine says when the plates are empty.
Jaina blushes. ‘Well, I was planning to go to a harbour tavern with her. For lunch. Since we have spoken about walking around together in Boralus… a while ago,’ she trails off, somewhat awkwardly.
Under Lady Katherine’s watchful glare, Sylvanas says: ‘We should, indeed. It ought to show the public how our relationship has improved.’
‘Well, it’s settled then!’ With a breathy laugh, Jaina stands up from the table, expectantly looking at Sylvanas to follow her. Tandred quietly snorts behind his hand, but Katherine has one more quip:
‘Jaina dear, won’t your wife get cold like that,’ she says, gesturing at Sylvanas’ open neckline. ‘I heard that elves are ill-suited to our climate. Perhaps you should get a pair of ear mitts for her.’
Both lovers make their way out of the breakfast suite as quickly as they can.
‘Curse your family,’ Sylvanas mutters. ‘I will put on a cloak.’
‘Cloaks and harbour taverns don’t mix well. Trust me, I know.’
Neither do no cloaks and the Kul Tiran autumn. Sylvanas bristles in the cold weather, ears pinned back against her neck. As they walk along the cobbled roads down to the harbour, Jaina reaches for her hand. First, she entwines their fingers, later she loops her arm through Sylvanas’ and pulls them closer together. Brushing along Jaina’s shoulder and side with every step, Sylvanas can feel her warmth through her clothing. A little smile slips onto her face, so minute that she doesn’t notice it until more than a few people are staring at her.
Jaina guides her along the outer reaches of the city. For hours, they walk the streets. The Lord Admiral smiles prettily at every surprised face they come across. Sylvanas does her best. It all goes very well, and the longer they walk, the less Sylvanas feels like a new breed of Hawkstrider getting shown to the public. And when they finally get to the harbour of Boralus, she is pleasantly surprised to see it bustling with activity.
There is a kind of variety in the harbour that had been very different when Sylvanas first came to Kul Tiras. Orcs and humans alike are transporting goods from a nightborne ship to the warehouses. A goblin and a night elf are in a fervent discussion about perfume prices. Several elves salute her when she walks down the docks with Jaina. Her forsaken sigil adorns the flagpole of a ship, right underneath a flag with the Proudmoore’s golden anchor. Taking a moment to observe the busy harbour, they stand still on the pebbles of the road. Jaina still won’t let go of her arm, but Sylvanas finds herself only softly squeezing her hand. She sighs airily, and her heart does things inside her chest that she isn’t willing to define further.
‘It looks good, doesn’t it?’ Jaina brightly says.
Looking along the rows of ships, some slender elven boats, a number of pot-bellied Kul Tiran galleys, even a few Zandalari barges, Sylvanas slowly nods. ‘Indeed. Progress looks good.’
‘It might take a little longer to fully streamline the Horde-Alliance trade routes… but well, that’s what we will work on in the evening, with Lady Whisperwind, right?’
‘Don’t remind me, please.’
Jaina laughs and turns to the building they’re standing by. ‘Come on, let’s get you cultured!’ With those words, she shoves Sylvanas closer to the door of the tavern she had led the elf to. With slight apprehension, Sylvanas ducks under the low door and steps inside.
It is as seedy as she expected when Jaina first uttered the words “harbour tavern”. Dark wooden bar with a collection of ale vats. One tattered and worn green flag with the Proudmoore anchor behind it on the wall. Tables bearing the marks of a thousand tavern brawls, with visible dents where cups and plates have been set down many, many times. For a moment, she looks at Jaina as if she has entered the wrong place. Then her wife calls out to the innkeep:
‘Darren! Table for two, please!’
Predictably, Sylvanas cringes. Why can you not just walk up to the man instead of shouting both our ears off? she thinks.
When he shouts back: ‘There's a free one by the window on the left! Sit down, I'll be there shortly,’ she is reminded just where she is.
After sitting down and checking twice if the stains on the table are dried or not, then carefully folding her hands on the wooden surface, Sylvanas asks: ‘So, why exactly did you want to bring me here ?’
‘Because it's the best tavern of Kul Tiras. And I thought we ought to celebrate our successful endeavor with some good food,’ Jaina briskly says, leaning back against the wall on her bench.
I suppose that is where it started, with food, Sylvanas thinks. Before she can voice it, however, the innkeeper has arrived by their table. He runs a hand over his mop of brown hair and smiles a kind smile amidst his uneven teeth.
‘Lord Admiral, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Oh please,’ Jaina sighs, ‘Can't I go anywhere in the world without having that title stuck to my ass?’
Taking no note of her crassness, no, even laughing at the crude language, Darren the inkeep chuckles. ‘Well then, Jaina, won't you keep up your father's legacy by using the title?’
‘My father? Who brought me here when I could barely walk, to waddle over the tables, so he could show off his little daughter? Watching my brothers get into brawls and waiting for the day I could join them? I think he'd be proud that I'm taking my wife here now.’
‘Ah yes.’ Darren narrows his eyes at Sylvanas, though not in an unkind way. ‘Lady Windrunner…’
He pauses, flicking his eyes to the elf and back to Jaina, then clearing his throat. ‘So, you wanted lunch?’
‘Yes! Do you still serve clam chowder?’
‘Absolutely,’ the innkeeper beams. ‘Family's best recipe, after all. Two portions?’
Jaina hums in affirmation.
‘Cold sides?’
‘Cold sides and bread, please.’
‘Anything to drink?’
At this, Jaina frowns in thought. ‘It's a bit early for ale…’ she muses.
Only after a few seconds of silence does Sylvanas notice that the quick exchange between the mage and the barkeeper is over, and that she needs to say something now. ‘Do you have any suggestions?’ she asks the man, keeping as neutral of a tone as she can.
‘Well…’ he puts a hand to his chin, ‘I've bought a quarter shipment of fizzy fruit… stuff, from Quel’talan. It goes over well with the new mixed crowd I got the last few months.’
‘ Quel’thalas,’ Sylvanas hisses, once again bristling at the uncivilized way of the Boralus harbour folk.
Darren shrugs, evidently not impressed. ‘I got sweet and sour variants.’
‘I'd like to try a sour one. Everything that's called sweet in Quel’thalas seems to be made out of pure sugar,’ Jaina says.
After barely being able to restrain herself from making another disgusted noise, Sylvanas settles for one as well. The innkeep leaves, and she sits back in her chair, scraping her fingers over the wood of the table and sighing softly. Before she can do much more than contemplate how big her distaste for what Jaina calls “Kul Tiran culture” is, a large bowl is set before her with a hard clank. It’s followed by a mug of a reddish beverage she knows very well from her homeland. When the barkeep is gone, she murmurs: ‘ Belore, who on Azeroth puts this into a wooden mug? Any decent person knows that it is supposed to be drunk out of a glass.’
‘Elves drink it out of a glass. Kul Tirans drink everything out of a mug, especially in taverns.’ Jaina leans over her own bowl and takes a deep whiff of the steam rising from it. ‘Ah, just like I remember,’ she says, then looks up to Sylvanas. ‘Well, dig in! We’re not in the castle, no need to act so reserved.’
‘I am not reserved.’
With those words, Sylvanas averts her eyes from Jaina and takes in the meal. A large bowl full of whitish soup, with floating bits of meat and clams that don’t look all too appetizing. In between Jaina and her stands an oval plate filled with fresh salad. A plethora of vegetables, a surprising amount of variety, considering the tavern they’re eating. Sylvanas reaches for a leaf of lettuce and nibbles on it, pretending to be unfazed by the way Jaina slurps out of her spoon. Then she grabs a slice of bread, still warm and crisp. Dipping it hesitantly into the soup, she takes a bite from that too.
Despite how murky it looks, the taste is absolutely wondrous. Salty, but not too much. Tangy, with just a hint of freshly grated pepper. Sylvanas soon lays aside her bread to dip her spoon into the chowder. Blowing at it for good measure, she licks her lips before drinking. As the first taste revealed, the soup is rich in taste. It is slightly fatty, so she suspects that some cream has been added to it. The meat she saw floating in it is pork, as she tastes when biting into a piece. It’s salty, but not contrasting with the saltiness of the soup. There are little chunks of potato in it too, soft and a good filling, in between the clams and pork. She has eaten halfway through the bowl when Jaina moves the plate with salad to her.
‘Have some. It gets really heavy on the stomach if you eat an entire bowl at once.’
‘It is heavenly,’ Sylvanas admits while picking at the salad with the provided fork.
‘They’ve been making it here before I first came to this tavern. When my mother would allow it, my father brought me here for a lunch like this one.’ A fond smile spreads over Jaina’s features as she stirs her soup and softly laughs to herself.
Admittedly, it is quite a cute mental image. Sylvanas smiles too, imagining Jaina as a toddler, barely tall enough to reach the tabletop with her chin, eating her own little bowl of soup. She doesn’t know how Daelin Proudmoore looked, never having met the man, but she imagines a broad-shouldered man, as all Kul Tirans appear to be, proudly presenting his daughter to the rest of the tavern’s patrons. Yes, it is a far cry from the glamourous ceremonies centered around a child’s upbringing in Quel’thalas, but she can appreciate a part of it.
When they have finished the wonderful meal and are slowly drinking their beverages, Jaina lays her hand on the table, palm upwards. She beckons Sylvanas to lay her hand on hers. When the elf does so, she strokes over the greyish fingers, and further up to where the skin turns pink. Shoving her bowl aside, she grasps the other hand too. Sylvanas looks on, curious what her wife is getting up to, as she rubs firmly over the palms and wrists. Then she presses down on the veins, feeling the heartbeat underneath the skin.
‘Sylvanas -’ she says, voice suddenly heavy with emotion. ‘I know I said this already, when we were in the sanctum… but in the cavern, I was very afraid that you would die. You were in so much pain. I could hardly bear to see it.’
Sylvanas shakes her head, lifting one hand from the mage’s trembling grasp to cup her cheek. ‘ Dalah’surfal… ’
‘I’m fine, Sylvanas, truly… it’s just-’ Jaina clasps her hands around Sylvanas’ and leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. ‘- I was thinking back to when you told me about the meal I cooked for you months ago. And I never even expected you to like it, at that moment.’
‘But I did.’
‘You did,-’ As Sylvanas copies her wife’s movements, Jaina rests her forehead against the elf’s. She inhales, shuddering. ‘- and you did so much more. There were many, many moments where I thought we would fail… the storm, our first moments with Alexstrasza and Gods, when you collapsed on the altar.’
Sylvanas leans closer, whispering in Jaina’s ear so no one in the tavern could hear them, hiding her face behind the mage’s. ‘When I laid there, I could not feel my own body. But I felt your touch. I felt you shaking and crying.’
Tilting her head so her eyebrow brushes against Jaina, feeling her own ears flick and sensing Jaina’s breath ghosting over her cheek, the elaborate sentence she was constructing dies in her throat. Instead, she catches a glance of Jaina’s intense blue eyes, and looks away again when her throat threatens to clench with the strain of tears. She would not cry in a public tavern. Nor at all, about a subject long resolved. Her gaze drifts down to their entwined hands, where pale brushes against grey skin.
‘It was frightening,’ she whispers, more breath than sound.
The golden streak amidst Jaina’s hair bobs up and down in the corner of her eye as she nods. Her fingers come up to Sylvanas’ chin and tilt her head upwards. To the elf’s surprise, a small smile lights up her face, and not even a sad one. ‘Very frightening,’ Jaina agrees. ‘Yet here we are.’
‘I am not going to kiss you in public, if that is where you are aiming for,’ Sylvanas says, pulling away and barely dodging Jaina’s hand when she flicks at one of her ears.
‘Oh, you’ll come around to that sooner or later.’
‘Does the Lord Admiral have a particular time in mind?’
‘When we visit Windrunner Spire? We could firmly gross out your sisters with a lengthy kiss.’
Sylvanas barely holds a chuckle from spilling over her lips. ‘Then we would get treated to the sight of Alleria locking lips with the Life-Binder until they both run out of breath.’
‘Naturally, I forgot that everything must be a competition between you and your siblings.’ Jaina laughs as well, picking up her drink and draining the last few drops afterwards.
A little later, when they leave the tavern, Jaina once again hooks her arm into Sylvanas’ and steers her out of the harbour, keeping their bodies close together. When a sudden, strong gust of wind blows Jaina’s braid out of her neck and makes the hairs flutter all over her face, Sylvanas looks at her wife. She is laughing, spitting out hair and attempting to grab every strand and firmly tie it together again. It is such a silly thing to get so merry about.
And Sylvanas had forgotten. How loud a heartbeat is when it thrums in her ears. How quickly breath floods her lungs when she sucks in air to break out into her own bout of laughter. She had forgotten the weak, tingly feeling in her stomach that she gets when Jaina giggles and her rosy cheeks gain little pits near the corners of her mouth.
When she steps up to Jaina, who is struggling to fold the collar of her jacket so it doesn’t slap her in the face as the wind swells, she feels warmth bloom in her chest. She buttons up the coat and tucks the high collar away neatly. Then she grasps Jaina’s hand. When they walk on, setting course for the Keep, the wind blows in their backs. Sylvanas wishes she had worn that cloak, as her silvery-blonde hair sweeps into her face and obscures her vision. Yet Jaina’s bright laugher makes it worth the slight discomfort. Boralus’ salty air fills her lungs.
‘We might get storm tonight,’ Jaina comments, nodding at the black clouds gathering on the horizon.
Sylvanas shrugs. ‘I think we will live.’
‘Yes, but I ordered the cake again, from Quel’thalas. And the delivery needs to come from the baker down in the harbour. It’s a long way up to the Keep with a carriage, in such wind.’
‘Oh? Now, isn’t it handy to have a partner who can teleport?’
‘Don’t get too spoiled.’
‘My stomach disagrees with your statement, Lady Proudmoore.’
‘Well then, Lady Windrunner, perhaps you should learn to cook.’