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Fordola hadn’t looked Varinia in the eye once the blasphemy had lain dead. Varinia wouldn’t have looked herself in the eye, either. From the pound of her heart in her throat, the roar of her pulse in her ears, she hadn’t needed a looking glass to know what she’d have seen there.
She makes no sound as she drifts over the hard sandstone ground before the Ala Mhigo aetheryte, as muscle memory guides her through the twisting, labyrinthine streets. She doesn’t realise where she is headed until she stands before a dark, empty throne room. The dais looms before her, griffins wrought in stone glaring down at her accusingly, knowing what— who —occupies her mind even before she does. Varinia glares at the animals, forgetting for a moment that they are merely rock, then passes behind them towards the narrow, time-worn stairs.
The heavy doors creak open unpleasantly as she shoves her way into the rooftop garden, and she flattens her ears against her head as the sound grates on her. She scans the darkened flowerbeds, the still, shallow ponds in the gloom, and almost misses the figure standing amid the blanket of crocuses and pansies, pink and red lilies climbing up her boot-clad calves.
Varinia does not know what she had expected to find here, but she had certainly not been it. What she had hoped to find, however, is another matter entirely.
“You’re ruining them,” she calls softly across the dusk-darkened garden, a faint twist of delight seizing her when Zenos visibly startles. “Planning to cut your throat again?”
As she draws closer to her, a near-imperceptible half smile tugs at one corner of the prince’s lips, a mere twitch before it disappears again. She levels Varinia with her hollow stare as she stands almost beside her, reluctant to aid her in further crushing the vibrant perennials. Zenos watches her for a long moment, those empty eyes softening ever so briefly that Varinia begins to fear she imagined it. Then, they change again: her stare is suddenly sharp, piercing as she knows it to be, as she prowls towards her, making a point of trampling yet-unmarred flowers underfoot as she quits the flowerbed.
“You’ve more compassion for a flower than your fellow man,” she remarks disinterestedly, looking her up and down. Out of the corner of her eye, Varinia sees her fingers twitch, but her gaze remains firmly on her throat.
“My question wasn’t rhetorical,” she replies, her voice far more steely than she’d intended.
Zenos smiles, and Varinia almost wishes she wouldn’t. “That is an honour I’d rather grant you this time,” she says at last, a hint of amusement sneaking into her soft voice. “You look like you’ve a mind to lunge as it is.”
“You’re the one who first put the idea in my head,” Varinia reminds her as she drags her gaze up the column of her throat to her eyes, still steadily boring into her. She darts out the tip of her tongue to wet her lips, and the way Zenos’ gaze follows it does not escape her notice. “Perhaps I’d like to watch you bleed.”
“Tempting,” she rumbles as she approaches, and the sound makes her think of a purring tiger. “But, no. I have no interest in exactly replicating our last altercation. I want more.” She inclines her head, a disarming presence lingering about her as she blatantly studies her, the near-constant absence that clings to her abating somewhat.
Silence falls, but Zenos’ eyes remain locked on hers, as Varinia’s remain on hers. A frown creases Zenos’ smooth brow, her eyelids lowering over her eyes as her lips press into a thin line, and before Varinia can ask a gil for her thoughts, Zenos has closed the space between them. She curls a gloved index finger beneath Varinia’s chin, her thumbnail digging harshly into the space beneath her lower lip, and jerks her head upwards so quickly that her joint pops.
“What happened to your eyes?”
“I don’t— Excuse me?” Varinia splutters, looking at her as though she’d struck her.
“They were dark purple,” Zenos elaborates, her voice devoid of emotion. Whatever thoughts she may have on the matter, she does not betray them. “Now, they’re not.”
Varinia cannot help herself as she breaks into a startled laugh at Zenos’ bluntness. Of course, if anyone were to tactlessly assess the light’s ravages on her appearance, it would be her.
“That’s a story for another time. With more spirits,” she answers at last, her eyes settling on Zenos’ throat once more when she notices her lifting her unoccupied hand and unconsciously toying with a cord she had not seen before. Varinia examines the cord when Zenos lowers her hand again, eyeing the amethyst at her throat. “I never thought you to be so sentimental.”
For a beat, Zenos seems almost wounded. “Did you not?”
Varinia only shrugs.
Zenos releases her chin almost as roughly as she’d seized it, splayed hand hovering in the air beside her face before she rethinks whatever she’d wanted to do, curls her fingers into a fist, then lowers her hand back to her side.
Varinia does not miss the way her fingers drum against her thigh.
“You seem upset,” Varinia tests after a moment, gently rubbing her stinging chin.
“Perhaps,” Zenos murmurs, her voice softer as her hand returns to her throat, toying with the smooth stone. “I am… not entirely immune to sentimentality, as you observed.”
A small smile creeps across Varinia’s face at the admission, and before she can think it over, she extends an open palm to her, crooking her fingers in askance. Zenos stares for a moment, then meets and holds her gaze again as she reaches for the clasp at the back of her neck. She moves to place the necklace in Varinia’s palm, then rips her hand away just as she starts to reach for it. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“I will not repeat myself,” she snaps, lifting her other hand and swivelling her index finger. It earns her a withering glare, but Varinia obeys nonetheless.
Zenos makes a small sound that seems almost like a pleased hum as she reaches around her, carefully draping the jewel over Varinia’s neck. Varinia covers the pendant with her hand almost on instinct, the stone still warm from Zenos’ touch, and suppresses a shiver when her fingertips ghost over her skin as she fastens the clasp with an uncharacteristic gentleness.
“There,” Zenos announces, settling a hand on Varinia’s shoulder and guiding her to face her once more.
She does not remove her hand.
Varinia is about to speak when Zenos moves again, the ghost of a smirk settling on her features. Zenos hooks a finger beneath the cord of the necklace and uses it to pull Varinia almost flush against her, peering down at her with a look of curiosity that borders on mischief.
“I should have known you’d do something like that,” Varinia huffs, failing to affect offence.
“You should have,” Zenos echoes, releasing the necklace and dragging her hand slowly up Varinia’s neck. She tenses under the touch at first, then relaxes into it as Zenos’ fingertips settle on her nape, thumb resting on the corner of her jaw. “Permit me an indulgence.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, Zenos uses the hand on Varinia’s neck to drag her into a kiss. Her mouth is awkward and clumsy on hers, but demanding and rough nonetheless, and Varinia cannot help but smile against her lips.
Zenos’ other hand settles on the small of her back, fingers splaying as she tugs her impossibly closer, in the same instant that Varinia reaches up to toy with her hair. Zenos sighs softly in response to her touch, pulling away after a moment to rest her brow on hers. The hard bump of her third eye presses uncomfortably into Varinia’s skin, but she soon finds that she doesn’t quite care.
“I half expected you to bite me,” Varinia says after a lengthy silence. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft?”
“I still may,” Zenos replies, nudging her gently even as she pointedly digs her short nails into Varinia’s neck, drawing a startled hiss from her. “Though, I think, I shall save further bloodshed for our contest. You will humour me, will you not?”
“Don’t hold your breath,” comes Varinia’s quiet retort. “I’ve a star to save, first. I’m still annoyed at you about that, by the way.”
“I shan’t apologise. In any case, you’ve a strange way of showing this annoyance,” Zenos states bluntly, slowly beginning to pull away. As soon as her brow leaves Varinia’s, though she still remains in her possessive hold, that hollow emptiness returns to her soft features. “But I shall wait. I have been patient thus far, no?”
“You and I have very different definitions of ‘patient’,” Varinia scoffs as she wriggles out of Zenos’ grasp, her hand returning to the pendant. She takes to twisting it between her fingers as she falls into a contemplative silence, all too aware of those keen eyes on her as she stares at the ground beneath her feet. “Though… you will have to be patient for a little longer. I only came here for the blasphemy, and now that it is vanquished, I am disconcertingly aware of how much time I have lost.”
Zenos exhales softly through her nose at that, but if the sound is amused or not, Varinia cannot say. “How cruel of you to dedicate such energy to a lesser target.”
“Do not presume to lecture me on cruelty, Zenos,” Varinia counters sharply, her silver eyes like shards of ice as she stares her down. Under the wintry chill of her stare, Zenos relents and withdraws a step, though the glimmer of amusement in her eyes at how easily Varinia had taken the bait only vexes her further.
Zenos’ eyes remain hot on her back as Varinia turns from her, making to storm off before catching herself. Varinia hates herself for it, but she pauses anyway. Turns just enough to look at her over her shoulder. Scowls, but addresses her almost pleasantly.
“You shall have your rematch,” she assures at last. “Until then, keep out of my way—unless some unlikely change of heart makes you inclined to help.”
With that, she sweeps away, leaving Zenos smiling privately to herself in the dark.