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The tinkling of wind chimes woke Amalda. She stayed still as she listened for the creaking of footsteps on the porch’s slats or the squeak of the front door’s hinges following it but only the chimes broke through the night’s silence. It was just the wind. It was always just the wind.
Worry waning, Amalda’s attention drifted to the silhouette on the other side of the bed, barely visible in the sliver of moonlight that slipped around the curtains. After years of living in such a blustery country, Amalda wasn’t surprised to find Misha hadn’t stirred. Amalda watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, the simple movement mesmerizing. She wanted to press her lips against them and feel them melt in response. She wanted to press herself against them and feel Misha melt in response, her serenity washing over Amalda to chase away her last remnants of unease. But that same unease held her back as it shifted focus to the woman laying beside her.
For far from the first time, Amalda was left at a loss as she wondered how this could be her life. Why was she here sharing a bed, a house, a life with someone instead of in a cell or shallow grave? She’d supported a tyrant as he drained their dukedom dry to terrorize his new kingdom. Her hands were stained with so much blood. Blood of soldiers she once called friends. Blood of civilians whose only crime was wanting their suffering to end. Blood of children, so many children. Why was she allowed to live with that? How could someone look past that and find a person they wanted to love underneath? Why would they even try? No matter how many times or in how many ways Misha said that she did, Amalda would never understand why.
The inches between them suddenly felt like miles and Amalda couldn't tell if she wanted to cross or widen them. She tried to shift to her other side but paused as Misha’s breath caught.
"'malda?" Misha called, voice muffled in her barely awake state.
"It's nothing." Misha's small snort let her know how much she believed that. "The wind woke me, that’s all."
“It doesn't sound that strong."
"Spoken like a true Silessian." Amalda allowed herself a small smile at Misha's amused huff. "Your tolerance for this weather borders on frightening. I'd have never believed anyone could sleep in so little in temperatures like these."
"This is warm for early spring." Misha finally turned to glance over her shoulder at Amalda. "And someone hogs the blankets."
It took a bit of shuffling for Amalda to find the nearest edge and pull it out from under her, wrapping both them and her arm around Misha. "My apologies for such selfishness."
Misha hummed as she arched back into Amalda, nuzzling her head into the crook of her neck. "I suppose I can forgive you."
Amalda placed a kiss against the top of her head. "You're too good to me." She had meant to keep the tone light but her lingering thoughts weighed her words down. Misha stiffened against her, warning Amalda this hadn't gone unnoticed.
"It makes up for how hard you are on yourself." Misha shifted her arm under Amalda's, reaching her fingers up to lace between hers. Amalda clasped her hand around Misha's and Misha pulled them against her chest. “Together it balances out to what you deserve.”
“Does it?” The question left her lips before she knew it was there. She pursed them and pressed them into Misha's hair to keep any more for following. She never asked Misha questions like these. There wasn't an answer she could give that wouldn't be painful to hear.
"No, it doesn't." Misha brought their hands to her mouth, placing a kiss against the back of Amalda's. "You deserve to never have to raise your sword against those who don't deserve it." She placed another on Amalda's thumb. "You deserve to serve only lords that are good and caring." She placed one more on Amalda's wrist. "You deserve a life in a kind, peaceful world."
"It's a bit late for any of that."
"It is," Misha agreed. "But it's not too late to have it now."
Everything she said did feel less farfetched nowadays. Since the war ended, there had been not a whisper of conflict and only praises for the new rulers of Jugdral. From their short time together in King Leif's army and Misha's stories of him before the war, she knew King Ced was a good man and all he'd done for Silesse so far was deserving of the praise it received. But the thought of the Hero on the Wind, a boy who fought against the child hunts from the moment he discovered them, any brightness her thoughts could have had withered away.
Misha let go of her hand, turning over to face Amalda. Even the Silessian winds weren't as piercing as her gaze. "You're not the one the war showed to be a monster."
"Nothing you did comes close to letting children be sacrificed."
"I enabled it."
"You didn't know."
"I knew they mistreated the people and were allied with Loptyrians. I knew this before I left Silesse to offer my squadron to them. You tried to stay good in a country that became corrupt, I chose to become corrupt to get what I wanted. I am crueler and more selfish than you could ever be."
Amalda tightened her arm around Misha. "A monster wouldn't do so much for orphans they have no obligation to.”
"And a monster wouldn't risk their life to rescue as many children as they could." Misha's gaze softened. "Or feel so much guilt over the ones they couldn't."
Guilt didn't change that she'd walked by cages of children for months without doing a thing for them. It didn't change that she'd led so many into carts to be delivered to the Loptyrians, she flinched every time a similar cart passed their cottage. It didn't change the cries and curses of parents about to no longer be parents that filled her dreams most nights. Maybe she wasn't a monster but guilt like this wasn't the result of being a good person. "Then what are we?"
Misha raised her hand to Amalda's face, warmth blossoming out from her fingertips. "Together." The word was firm but she remained soft. "Whatever we were or are or become, that's all that matters to me."
Oh. So this was why.
Amalda closed her eyes as she leaned into Misha's touch, soft smile forming on its own. "Then whatever else I am, I'm yours first and most."
Misha's lips brushed against hers, almost too chaste to call a kiss. "You deserve to be loved, unconditionally and unfailingly. And you are."
Of everything she'd said, this Amalda had no trouble believing.