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It was nice for Ashani to offer the Order’s safehouse, as they claim it is. Or maybe nice wasn’t quite right. A sense of guilt might have played in, Veyer supposes. Whatever Ashani’s reason, they can’t complain.
They brush their hand against Ephyra’s as they walk through the modest garden. The place is tucked away in Ithyria, and the tiny garden is private, as is the house itself. They have no idea how long Ashani has been the owner, perhaps centuries. Long enough that the house isn’t associated with Lethalis or perhaps even The Guild of Mages. Very convenient, and Veyer suspects the house is simply one of many Ashani has access to.
Ephyra stops, admiring the large orchids growing in pots on the wall. They’re stuck there with magic, but they don’t bother warning her. If they fall, they fall. They’re still a little curious about how her abilities works, but mostly it doesn’t matter. It matters that when she touch them, the burning inside of them ceases.
Ephyra touches the soft petal of the delicate flowers.
“Pretty.”
“Yes.”
They walk on, circling the small pond, the water feature somewhat predictably taking up most of the outdoor space. Every time her hand brushes theirs it’s like drawing a fresh breath of air. They give in to it, and grasps her hand. She lets them, with a small smile and something akin to triumph in her eyes. They flick their thumb across Ephyra’s hand in slow deliberate motions.
The garden isn’t big, and soon they’ve circled the pond and admired the rest of the exotic flowers.
“Let’s explore the inside?”
“Of course, Ephyra dear.”
They had decided to walk the garden first, each of them slipping inside the hidden door – hidden to them at least, possibly not to Ephyra – using Ashani’s passphrase.
The house isn’t big; a sitting room connected to the garden, a kitchen and dining room, and a stair leading upstairs. Ephyra lets go of them and throws herself on a divan in the sitting room.
Veyer sits on the other end, and Ephyra throws her legs across their lap.
“Tell me a story. Something funny, or embarrassing from court.”
“Do you think the nobility has a habit of making fools of themselves for your entertainment, my dear?”
They slide their hands up her legs and her pants are heavy, offering no reprieve, no contact with her skin. Their banter isn’t new, but this is – the delay of gratification, spending time together before the inevitable crash together in bed. Or if they’re lucky, on this divan. They can wait.
“Perhaps not for me, but for you. Or are you telling me truly nothing ever happens?”
They know the well muscled legs underneath her clothes; they know every scar on them. Veyer tries not to think too much of what that means.
“Barely,” but they grin and launch into a story, only embellishing slightly. Ephyra’s laughter is worth it, and they try not to think too much of that either.