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Ead was no longer a Lady of the Bedchamber, not technically, but she had been Sabran’s bedfellow every night since the Nameless One was defeated. And now, the night before she was due to leave for the South, to Lasia and the Priory, she needed Sabran’s warmth by her side.
Sabran called out her name as Ead entered the Great Bedchamber at Briar House. She laid in bed, wearing naught but a shift, her black hair unbound and curling about her face. Ead had never seen a sight more beautiful.
“Sabran,” she said, breathing out her name as if it was the finest crystal, and joined her in the bed without a moment’s hesitation. She was still garbed in her brocade coat, her hair woven into a braid, but she did not care. Ead could not spend another moment away from Sabran’s side, knowing how soon they would be forced apart. “I leave tomorrow.”
Sabran knew, of course. She drew Ead in close, cradling her head under her chin, and simply held her. No words were required. They had their duties, and they could not flinch from them now.
“I’ll miss you,” Ead said, her voice gentle. Then she shook her head. “What a thing to say. I miss you every moment we are apart.”
Ead drew away from Sabran’s embrace to meet her gaze. Unspent tears glimmered in her green eyes, but she was smiling softly.
“Oh, Ead,” she breathed, the word scarcely more than a whisper. “We cannot stay together. You have the Priory-”
“And you the queendom,” Ead finished, and sighed. She sought out the comfort of Sabran’s cool hand, their fingers clasped together in caress. “I know what the future holds. I simply wish to forget, for one night.”
“That is something I can give,” Sabran said, and drew Ead forward once more. They kissed in the firelight, coming together again and again, until Ead could only think faintly of the world outside Sabran’s arms.
She slept soundly that night, even if tears stained her cheeks when she woke.
Sabran looked glorious in the dawnlight, her red gown glittering as if it had been woven with diamonds. Knowing the Inysh, perhaps it had.
Ead drew her forward into an embrace, squeezing as tightly as she could manage as her head rested on Sabran’s shoulder. There was nothing of propriety or courtesy in their actions, but Ead did not care.
“My love,” Sabran whispered fiercely in her ear. They were close as two could be, companions in all but one sense of the word, and Ead wished she never had to let her go. “Dearest Ead.”
When they moved apart, Ead thanked the Mother that she had managed not to cry. “Goodbye, Sabran,” she said, and gripped her hands tightly. “We will see each other once again.”
“We shall,” Sabran promised, and let her go.
10 Years Later
Early Spring, 1016 CE
Perchling, Queendom of Inys
The winds of early spring whipped mercilessly through Ead’s hair as she hurried along the sands of Perchling. The dark waves crashed upon the shore, a thundering symphony to accompany the pounding of her heart.
Ten years, and not one sunrise more. Her own words echoed in her head-had it really only been ten years since she left Sabran for the Priory? Some days, it felt like only a day had passed since she had last seen her. Other days, an eternity.
Ead caught sight of a tall figure on the beach, and quickened her pace. The figure turned, skirt swirling in the wind, and called out to her.
“Ead!”
She had missed that voice-missed it like her own blood, her own bone. Ead ran to Sabran, heedless of anything other than the woman waiting for her.
“Sabran,” Ead said, breathless, her name like a poem. At first look she could have been an unquiet dream, her green eyes sparkling and her smile no less beautiful for the few lines of age that creased her face. But then her arms were around her, Sabran’s woolen cloak smooth under her fingers, her cheek cool against Ead’s face. “Sabran.”
“Ead,” she said, her embrace as tight as it had been the day Ead left, ten years ago. “Oh, Ead.”
How long they remained like that, drinking in every moment of the other’s presence, Ead did not know. But when they finally drew apart, tears ran freely down both their cheeks.
“Ten years,” Ead said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“And not a sunrise more,” Sabran finished, and laughed as if she could not believe the sight in front of her. Ead knew exactly how she felt. “Ead. My Ead. I’ve missed you.”
“I love you,” Ead said. Three words-hardly enough to encompass what Sabran meant to her. The woman who sang to her very soul. But they were the only words she had, and they must do.
“I love you, Ead,” Sabran said, and kissed her.
She tasted of oranges, Ead thought, intoxicated by Sabran’s lips on hers, by her hands in her hair, by the heat burning under her own skin.
“Sabran,” Ead murmured against her mouth, and kissed her again. There was so much she wanted to say, but what could she, at a time like this? There was only Sabran, as brilliant as she had always remember.
They drew apart, foreheads touching and hands clasped. Ead knew the thought was foolish, but she was afraid to let go of Sabran, and lose her again.
“I have a room,” Ead said eventually. “In Perchling.”
Sabran smiled with a tenderness that made Ead’s heart flutter. “Then let us go.”
They talked as they climbed to the town, traversing the narrow streets until they arrived at the boarding house where Ead was staying. They talked of Ead’s time as Prioress, and the clever young woman who was her successor. They talked of Sabran’s abdication, the council left to govern in her place.
And then Ead drew Sabran into her room, unclasping the cloak around her shoulders and tangling together in her bed.
“I cannot offer you the Milk Lagoon,” Ead said hours later, when night had fallen and they laid together under the sheets. “But I will not part from you again. I cannot bear it.”
“My love,” Sabran said, her eyes glimmering. “We will not leave each other again. I swear it.”
“And I to you,” Ead promised, and a weight finally lifted from her shoulders.