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The city of Kugane was, as usual, a whirlwind of activity. Street vendors called out to passers by, gaggles of people strode the streets in easy steps, and the air was punctuated by the calls of seabirds. Friendly faces smiled as Valencia Shell passed through, and she gave them a polite nod, but did not slow her pace. She had on good authority that her quarry was here somewhere, and she was going to find it.
It was nearly sundown when she did find it.
An’fa Reshan relaxed against the stone wall of the hot spring, looking out to the Ruby Sea beyond without seeing it. Her eyes glazed over, her mind elsewhere. A book was nevertheless open in one hand, carefully kept out of the hot spring’s reach. She didn’t hear Valencia’s approach until the Viera was standing a few feet in front of her.
“Always the last place you look.”
An’fa didn’t turn to look at her. She didn’t even acknowledge the fact she’d been purposefully sought out by Shell, a woman of great import in her own right. She returned her attention to her book, hoping that maybe by ignoring the six-foot-whatever wall of toned muscle behind her, she’d go away.
“Raha ratted you out,” Valencia said finally, when it was clear An’fa wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Tsk.” G’raha Tia was wonderful in all the right ways, but this was about the third time he’d told someone she was staying in Kugane to recover from her journey to the First. She was going to have to have words with him about it. She looked up to meet Valencia’s gaze. Valencia didn’t wait for a further invitation.
“Are you going to the Skybuilder’s Banquet in Ishgard?”
An’fa pulled a face. “No? No. Why would I?”
“Because it’s a good chance to make a public appearance after you’ve made yourself almost impossible to find.”
“I don’t do public appearances anymore. Especially not for a bunch of racist, classist elves.”
“Elezen.”
“Whatever.”
An’fa returned to her book, waving Valencia’s question away. After a moment, Valencia sighed.
“I need you to come to the Skybuilder’s Banquet. With me.”
This earned a look of furrowed-brow confusion from An’fa. It was rare that Valencia ever needed anything from anyone, let alone her.
“Why?”
Valencia actually had the good sense to look slightly abashed. “Someone asked me to go with them, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“You should have just socked them.”
Valencia continued as though the girl hadn’t spoken. “So I told them I already had a date, and then they asked who it was, and I… just… named the person most likely to scare them away for one reason or another.” When An’fa didn't react, she added, “You. I told them you were my date for the evening.”
An’fa opened her mouth to retort, then closed it suddenly with a click as Valencia’s words settled in. The sea birds above and the rushing water below were the only sounds in the silence between them, but An’fa could practically hear the wheels in her head trying to grind themselves forward while there was a wrench stuck in them.
“Uh,” An’fa said. She was now acutely aware of Valencia, who stood what felt like three malms above her, watching An’fa closely as the auri woman lounged half-naked in the hot spring.
“I would be in your debt,” Valencia put in after a moment, as though that had crossed An’fa’s mind.
(It hadn’t.)
She forced her gaze over the Viera’s shoulder and towards the inn, shifting her train of thought. Shell had proved herself a very powerful ally, and a force to be reckoned with besides. Not many had a strong enough force of will or command over their aether to become their own focus for magic - and even fewer did it regularly. Valencia was also blisteringly smart, and had a hunger for justice that once rivaled and now surpassed her own.
“You really don’t want to be indebted to someone like me,” An’fa said with a wave of her hand, only half meaning it.
“I don’t really have a choice,” Valencia said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be asking if it was still the matter of just one would-be suitor. He…” she sighed and shook her head. “He’s a talker. By now, the rumor of us going together has circulated enough that it’s gotten back to me. This is now a matter of image. Your’s, too,” she added as a throw-away.
“And showing up with a poor-tempered god slayer, who has been a recluse and unlike herself since returning from a far-flung world, almost like someone else was wearing her body, would be better for your image?” An’fa snorted, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Valencia’s face go carefully blank. “Just because I don’t care about what people think about me doesn’t mean their empty gossip doesn’t circle back to me in one way or another.”
“You either think too little of the way people talk, or too little of yourself,” Valencia said after a moment. An’fa searched Valencia’s eyes for a further explanation, but the Veira kept her expression unreadable.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, and the Kugane night life was starting to pick up. What was once a semi-private conversation was becoming a public one as more people filtered into the springs. An’fa rose from the water to dry off, turning the idea over in her mind. She’d be stupid not to accept. Valencia was a Warrior of Light, and ostensibly a more well-liked one than herself. And this seemed to matter to her a great deal. Budding kinship aside, she was a powerful person to be able to cash in a favor with. And yet something nagged at her. Something she’d buried deep since parting with the woman last.
“You owe me for this, Shell,” An’fa said quietly before that feeling could unearth itself any further.
“You’ll do it, then?”
“I’ll do it.”
Valencia gave a small, but very satisfied, smile. She put two fingers under An’fa’s chin, tipping her face upward to look in her eyes. “I’m grateful. Thank you. I’ll be in touch to work out the details with you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
And before An’fa could un-swallow her own tongue, Valencia was gone. She could still feel the ghost of the woman’s touch on her face, and there was only so much she could do to attribute the growing heat in her cheeks to the steam that rose into the night air.
Stupid, sexy bunny.
Alanari, retainer to the Champion of Eorzea, Eikon Slayer, Warrior of Light, and Recently, Kind Of A Bitch An’fa Reshan, had her work cut out for her that week. Rather than her usual gathering tasks, which were mostly quiet, methodical work, Alanari found herself running around as a glorified delivery moogle.
Her mistress rarely left her room in the Kugane inn. When she did, it was for trips to the Steppe, or occasionally, to Mor Dhona. Alanari wouldn’t have minded these sudden and unannounced trips, if not for An’fa recently reminding her every time she sent out a letter that she needed a prompt response. To An’fa’s credit, she did usually leave a note on the door where she’d gone, but one can only just miss someone so many times before it became frustrating.
She managed to catch An’fa at the Kugane aetheryte before the woman rode the stream to gods-knew-where this time.
“Miss An’fa!” she called from across the plaza, which probably drew more attention than An’fa wanted, but it kind of served her right. An’fa stopped dead in her tracks and looked over at her retainer, then beckoned her over. Alanari took a moment to catch her breath before taking a notepad out of her coat pocket and relaying her messages.
“One Valencia Shell says she would prefer a way to visually distinguish that you two came as a pair, even if you are not fully matching. She says a matching corsage or similar color palates would be enough.”
An’fa scoffed and leaned back into one of her hips, crossing her arms. “We’ll be seen walking in together. What more does she need? Don’t – don’t ask her that,” An’fa added quickly, seeing Alanari begin to scribble on the notepad.
“She also asks,” Alanari’s tone became a little dry, “why you keep, and I quote, ‘playing a game of linkpearl with your retainer instead of just discussing it in person.’”
An’fa bristled. Any onlooker out of earshot would assume the retainer had said something out of line, and that An’fa was reacting appropriately. Alanari knew better, after serving the woman for so long - this was An’fa’s way of covering up the flush quickly developing on her cheeks and nose. “I have no further messages for her. Thank you for your hard work.”
Alanari curtsied and left, leaving An’fa to the next task at hand. She reached out to the aether stream and closed her eyes, the smooth Doman air fading into the arid warmth of the Steppe. She relaxed into the atmosphere for a moment, then began her trek to find the Mol tribe. She sprinted across the plains without a thought of her chocobo or her yol - it had felt like a lifetime since she’d been home. The pounding of the ground beneath her feet was oddly meditative; the sun on her cheeks was comforting in a way most children find their favorite blanket to be.
For the first time in as long as An’fa could remember, she was at peace. More than at peace - she was an ecstatic young girl again, without a thought of the world beyond the plains, responsibilities levied on her. She was a child, flying across the thin grasses and over the hills, feet barely touching the ground.
And so by the time she reached the Mol tribe, she was out of breath and covered, horn to heel, in sweat. Still feeling the rush of freedom and glee, she brushed the door flap to the central tent aside and strode in without a second thought.
Cirina looked up from her seat on the ground, her expression quickly softening into a smile. “An’fa! A pleasant surprise.” She stood and strode to greet her clanmate, quickly brushing their horns together. “What brings you back?”
And this is where all of the childlike spirit rushed out of An’fa, replaced by the anxiety she’d been saddled with all week. She kicked at the ground and hoped the heat in her nose could just be explained away as a hold-over from the sunlight. Predictably, and somewhat dreadedly, Cirina’s eyes lit up as An’fa spoke.
“What… what does a person wear when they’re invited to a banquet?”
“You’re going to freeze,” Alanari said simply.
Of all the things An’fa had had her do in the past, what, week in a half? Two? Checking out the hero’s outfit for an event in Ishgard was probably the strangest. Not that she was complaining - it was better than the courier work that she’d been tasked with.
They were in An’fa’s inn room, which meant Alanari didn’t need to keep up appearances as a proper retainer. She lounged in a chair, speaking plainly and picking over the fruit basket the front desk brought up every few days as a thank-you gift for helping free Doma from Garlean rule. As usual, An’fa had hardly touched it, and when Alanari asked about it, she was instructed to help herself.
“The banquet will be inside, I’m sure,” An’fa retorted, looking herself over in the mirror. Cirina had given recommendation after recommendation as she looked through her own armoire, and once An’fa had gotten home, the only item she had that matched Cirina’s list was a bolero and matching high-waisted skirt. “I’m just wondering if I should wear pants underneath…”
“You are going to freeze,” Alanari repeated, “and I should know. I’ve been based out of Ishgard as long as I can remember. How many yalms and malms between the aetheryte and this banquet?”
“I am not going to freeze. I am asking you, do I wear some kind of pants with this?”
“Tights,” Alanari sighed. “Or leggings.”
Alanari watched as An’fa dug through her dresser, looking for an adequate pair of either. She’d chosen to dye the bolero black, making the gold and red detailing stand out against the dark fabric. Overall, it was a very becoming look on the woman, who Alanari rarely saw in anything approaching formalwear.
“This is nice,” Alanari commented, picking up a long black togi that was laid in a heap on the bed. An’fa waved a hand without looking up.
“I don’t wear that anymore.”
“Why? It’ll bring out your–”
“I don’t wear that anymore,” An’fa repeated with some finality. Alanari rolled her eyes but dropped the dress.
It would be much warmer, the retainer thought as loudly as she could, hoping maybe somehow An’fa’s Echo would pick up on it. The girl really had no idea how the Echo worked, but she knew An’fa had it.
If An’fa heard it, she didn’t respond.
“These?” An’fa asked finally, pulling out a pair of simple black leggings. Alanari looked them over and nodded.
“Those’d work. Did you and Valencia ever decide on your matching element?”
An’fa thought for a moment, pressed the leggings to her face, and groaned into them. “It never ends! It simply never ends. Alanari–”
Alanari got on her knees and bent forward so that her forehead was on the floor of the inn. “Mistress, I am begging you. Please do not make me go find Valencia to ask anything else about this banquet. If you pick something, I will tell her what to wear to match you, but by the Twelve, please don’t make me scurry back and forth playing linkpearl again.”
An’fa let out a frustrated sigh, but didn’t retort. She didn’t even tell the girl to get up off the floor. Instead, Alanari heard some more shuffling in the armoire. After a moment, An’fa knelt by her retainer. She lifted her head with a hand, and held a white lily of the valley corsage.
“Give this to her. I have a black one I’ll be wearing. If that’s not matching enough for her, she can give you something for me to wear.”
Alanari took the corsage, stood, and bowed. She turned to leave the inn room, but before she could, An’fa cleared her throat. The retainer looked over her shoulder back at the godkiller, who looked incredibly small in that moment.
“Thank you. For… yeah.”
Alanari smiled. She wondered, as she often did, if anyone else got to see just how human the Scion’s dog and savior was. “Anything for you, boss.”
Dawn Mother and all the Twelve help me, I am going to be sick.
An’fa sat on the benches below Kugane Tower, trying not to look too restless. Valencia had been rather insistent that she meet An’fa in Kugane, and that they arrive in Ishgard together. Never mind the fact they were just going to use the Aetheryte to get there. The sun was now setting over the water, setting the water on fire in crimson hues. If An’fa looked hard enough, she could just barely make out a few intrepid stars that promised to be the first heralds of nightfall.
“Were you waiting long?” a voice asked as An’fa squinted at the sky, trying to decide if she’d found another star or not. An’fa turned her head to address the voice, and was immediately too dazzled to speak.
Valencia wore a pastel blue coat rife with midnight blue bows and trim, gold edging, and white lace. The coat itself hung lower on the sides than the skirt that hugged her upper thighs beneath, giving the illusion that it was all one piece. Her boots were knee-high and white, with that same tasteful gold trim and detailing that you only saw if you really looked. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in sea-green waves, framing her face in such a way that it framed her aethersea green eyes. And there, tucked in front of her ear, what the corsage she’d asked Alanari to deliver.
“Yes. No,” An’fa corrected quickly, absolutely failing not to stare.
Valencia gave a small smile and cocked her head. “How do you like the outfit?”
“You look… fine.” Her words were quick and clipped, as though if she lingered on them, they’d betray her. Valencia’s smile only grew, becoming a touch more cheeky, and An’fa forced her gaze elsewhere.
“You’re going to freeze,” the mage said after taking a moment to consider the dancer’s outfit. Before An’fa could open her mouth to respond, she added, “but it does look very nice on you.”
“We should go,” was all An’fa could say in response, all her stupid little brain would feed her mouth. Dusk was falling, more stars waking up to dot the sky. Valencia nodded, once, and reached out to the aetherstream to find Ishgard. At the last moment, her aether reached out to An’fa’s, and the sensation was so familiar and warm and nostalgic, and yet somehow just a little melancholy.
She shoved all of the feelings aside as best she could and reached back with her own aether, following Valencia on the flow and into the bitter Ishgardian air.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. She was going to freeze.
She’d forgotten that it was perpetually snowing in The Holy See, as she’d avoided Ishgard after the ending of the Dragonsong War. Painful memories of loss aside, she didn’t go out of her way to spend time with people who would happily see her put down if she hadn’t also been their savior. Isgardian elves - Elezen, she corrected, mentally rolling her eyes - were mostly insufferable pricks who saw everything that existed outside their fair cities walls as an affront and threat to their precious church. Nevermind that their stupid city was falling into ruin from riding their high horses of High Houses too long.
An’fa understood, dimly, that that’s why Valencia wanted or needed to come to this gods-burned banquet. She’d had a huge hand in the city’s restoration efforts, spending countless days in the Firmament both before and after their trip to the First. Valencia had been just as subject to the “outsiders be damned” mindset as An’fa had, if not moreso. While An’fa had been virtually a footnote in the Dragonsong War, choosing to leave the city to rot when Haurchefant died, Valencia had been instrumental in resolving the conflict and helping Ishgard back on their feet. Even if they didn’t deserve it.
Valencia offered an arm to An’fa, who pulled a face from under furrowed brows.
“This is your event,” An’fa said, sticking out her own arm for Valencia to grab. Valencia made that screwed-up face she made when she was trying not to laugh.
“We will look ridiculous if you are the one escorting me.” The woman gestured to the height difference between them. An’fa pursed her lips but didn’t argue the point further. She took Valencia’s arm, and they strode through the needlessly convoluted streets of Ishgard.
The walk itself was quiet, peaceful even. It was vaguely reminiscent of when they’d traveled through Amh Araeng. Except, they were both dressed in their versions of finery, and also, they were less than an ilm apart.
“Have you been to a banquet before?” Valencia finally asked, breaking the snow-laden silence. An’fa shook her head.
“Not the way you’re thinking. Feasts, potlucks, celebratory dinners, yes. But nothing so formal and fancy. Have you?”
“Once or twice, while studying in Sharlayan. Scholarly types love a chance to look important in front of each other.” She grinned, like she was sharing a joke with herself. An’fa snorted good-humoredly.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s why we make a good team.” The mage’s voice was light-hearted, playing off the truth of her own words, but An’fa could still sense the earnest undercurrent beneath. “I know what I know, and you know what you know. And in the places where knowledge doesn’t overlap, it helps cover the other one of us.”
“If you say so, Shell,” was all An’fa could respond with, even if she knew Valencia was right.
“I do. Also, please, it’s Valencia tonight.”
“Valencia,” An’fa repeated quietly, the name both familiar and foreign in her mouth. After returning to the Source, both had returned to stalwartly referring to each other by last name. They were sort of in this weird limbo - for one reason or another, both of them acknowledged the fact they’d spent their entire time in Norvrandt together, but they tiptoed around the bond that they’d slowly but surely forged over the journey.
“And I’ll call you An’fa,” Valencia said obviously, simply, like the name came easy. An’fa had to wonder if it really was that simple for her.
After walking for so long that An’fa was sure her skin was going to turn to ice, they finally came upon a grand building in the depths of the Firmament - no doubt sponsored by one of the High Houses in an attempt at proving their virtue. Two boys no older than sixteen summers old manned the gargantuan, intricately decorated wooden doors. They swung the doors open at the women’s approach, revealing a great hall full of mingling guests. A blast of heat radiated into the night air, and An’fa was grateful for the roaring fireplaces that dotted the walls.
Another boy-servant approached them once inside, arms outstretched. “May I take your coat?” Valencia shrugged off her thick overcoat, revealing that she was wearing a matching pastel blue wrap dress with a tastefully plunging neckline underneath. The boy bowed and excused himself to the coat room.
A short Elezen man stood at a podium just within the door, stopping them with a wave once the doors had shut behind them.
“Your names?” He asked, choosing to look down at An’fa instead of look up at Valencia. It was Valencia who spoke anyway.
“Chief Sergeant Valencia Shell of the Twin Adder,” she said simply, as if that was the only accomplishment to her name. “And guest, Lieutenant An’fa Reshan of the Immortal Flames.” She gestured to her date on her arm, and An’fa gave a small, unsure head nod. The man wrote down their names and announced them to a small receiving line of impeccably dressed Elezen. Two sets of recognition hit their faces as the women’s names were announced - esteem and reverence for Valencia, and… delighted shock for An’fa? She had to be imaging that.
Each shook their hand in turn, thanking them for coming, thanking Valencia for her service to Ishgard. The last in line said something quietly to Valencia that An’fa didn’t catch, and Valencia looked down at An’fa.
“We’re being asked to join the procession before dinner,” she said in a low tone. An’fa’s polite smile froze on her face.
“I simply must insist,” the noble, who’s name An’fa had already forgotten, said. “It simply wouldn’t do to have the heroes of Eorzia not be considered highly esteemed guests.”
An’fa’s hand searched for Valencia’s and squeezed. Valencia in turn let go of her hand and wrapped a hand around the auri woman’s waist, pulling her into Valencia’s side. An’fa was acutely aware of everywhere their bodies touched, and also that Valencia was doing everything in her power to keep from touching An’fa’s exposed skin.
“While your offer is… most gracious, we must decline.” She offered a dazzling smile in place of any further explanation and guided An’fa away from the receiving line and towards the minging crowds.
“You didn’t have to do that,” An’fa said, voice low. Valencia squeezed her hip and shook her head without looking down at her.
“You looked about how I felt,” she said, sounding a touch relieved. “‘Guest of Honor’ isn’t quite what I’d wanted for this event.”
“Did you want to come at all?”
“I was expected to.”
“But did you want to?”
Valencia sighed. “No. So… thank you for being here,” she added, and even though the mage looked straight ahead, An’fa could still see the flush just barely creep into her cheeks. Abruptly, Valencia seemed to remember she was holding her… friend? Compatriot? Acquaintance? Around the waist. She let go suddenly, putting some space between the two of them and once again offering an arm. An’fa took it, and tried to content herself with being Valencia’s arm candy as they made a round about the room, stopped occasionally by gratefuls and well-wishers and the occasional bright-eyed “holy shit, the Warriors of Light.”
She wants to be here as little as you do, An’fa would remind herself as she smiled and curtsied and offered polite “mhm”s and “I see”s at the correct moments. Whenever she felt herself get antsy, she would squeeze Valencia’s arm, and Valencia would politely excuse them both from the conversation.
“We make a good team,” Valencia said for the second time that night as she lifted two flutes of champagne from a passing server’s tray, handing one to An’fa. An’fa took a slow sip as an excuse to not answer, which turned out to be fine, as Valencia was apparently not expecting one. They settled into their usual comfortable silence as they stopped by a fireplace.
An’fa was not at all in her element here. There was a constant din of conversation in the room, and try as she might, she couldn’t not hear her’s or Valencia’s names in the mouths of others. The rumor mill was well on its way to churning out something that would keep the populace of Ishgard entertained for weeks. The room itself was uncomfortably crowded, even if there was enough room to walk about at a leisurely pace. The whole experience was something An’fa would not wish for herself, not now or ever again.
And yet… and yet. She felt herself relax into Valencia’s presence all evening. And despite the Au Ra’s social ineptitude in high society - despite her hard edges and barbs - she could swear she felt the Veira leaning into her presence as well.
“We do make a good team,” An’fa said, almost to herself, staring into the flames. She heard Valencia inhale beside her, like she was going to say something, but the short Elezen man from the door banged his silly little gavel on his silly little podium, announcing dinner would be served shortly, and would everyone please move to the dining hall. Another huge set of doors opened at the end of the room, and guests began filing through them.
An’fa cocked her head at Valencia, who shook her head. “It’s nothing. Shall we?” She offered her arm once again to An’fa, who was getting more and more used to taking it.
Before dinner there was a procession of very important-looking people entering two-by-two as the band played something jaunty. They half-danced, half-walked into the room, with no real rhythm. At the same time she realized most of these people were from the receiving line, it dawned on An’fa that this was what the two Warriors of Light were asked to join, and the idea made her skin crawl. Everyone was watching closely, clapping in time to the music as they entered, and that many people watching her uncomfortably shuffle across the floor would have threatened to kill her. World eating terrors? She’d take those over being the center of attention at a social gathering any day.
After that, there was grace. And of course, it was a long, stupid, drawn-out grace. And finally, after all of that, servers began coming around with food. There were dozens of courses - tiny fried vegetables, delicately plated meats, sweet breads, rich soups, each one tasting better than the last. This, this almost made the whole ordeal worth it.
But of course, they were surrounded by other guests at the table, and these guests wanted nothing more than to talk, and talk, and talk. And one couldn’t talk and eat at the same time. An’fa and Valencia sort of tag-teamed the conversation, taking small bites while the other answered the questions or remarks of the others around them. Valencia seemed to handle this with ease, but An’fa now knew what to look for - the company was starting to chafe on her, too.
Worse, An’fa was expected to be as polite to these people as possible - these people who were so clearly out of touch with the world outside, even now. How many stupid questions based on incorrect assumptions about the Steppe was she supposed to answer or side-step before she was allowed to start being curt? Valencia, though more practiced at this, seemed to be faring no better, answering questions about her studies.
Under the table, An’fa’s hand searched for the edge of Valencia’s chair, then for Valencia’s side, tugging once at her sleeve. If she felt it, the woman ignored her.
The heat of the room and all of the bodies in it, the overwhelming smell of food, the din of the people, the occasional ting ting ting on a glass as someone rose to make another self-congratulatory toast, all of it was buzzing around in An’fa’s head until she couldn’t hear anything else.
“If rumor is to be believed, you won some kind of battle against all of the other Auri tribes on the plains in the name of Doma, Lady An’fa, is that correct? I suppose it’s not uncommon in that region, but it’s hard to imagine killing kin and countryman in the name of–”
She stood abruptly, murmured some kind of “pray excuse me,” and hurried out of the dining hall, out of the great room beyond, and into the freezing Ishgardian air. She gripped her arms to protect from the cold, painfully aware of her tail lashing behind her, of her attire that clattered as she walked aimlessly around the streets of this city, frozen in temperature and in time.
As her rage subsided, guilt began to set in. Valencia was probably getting more barbs in her now for her powderkeg of a date, who all but fled the scene before she could explode. She sat on a bench, enduring its absolutely unyieldingly cold stone, and dropped her head into her hands. Fuck. Of all the things she’d fucked up, why did it have to be this? This, which meant something to Valencia - where moments of honest, if not hesitant, warmth between them punctuated the evening?
“Stupid,” An’fa muttered into her palms, though she wasn’t sure exactly what part she was referring to - the event in it’s entirety, the fact that she’d begun to buy into the lie Valencia and she had crafted and the masses ate up, or the fact she’d let Valencia down. Angry, hot tears pricked in her eyes.
Something warm and heavy gently dropped onto her shoulders.
“You’re going to freeze,” someone said from beside her, and An’fa whipped her head around to glare at whoever said them. And immediately, her gaze softened.
Valencia.
An’fa pulled the coat closer around her, but broke the Veira’s gaze. “Sorry,” she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, Valencia shook her head before looking back in the direction of the banquet hall.
“You made the exit for me. I should be thanking you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Honest. Your tolerance for such things is about the same as mine, you know. You’re just better at plowing your way out, through, under, or around a situation. That’s not always a compliment, but it is one now.”
An’fa snorted and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“Yeah.”
The silence blanketed them for a moment before Valencia sat on the bench next to An’fa. “Despite it all, I enjoyed myself, I think. More than I would have without you there, An’fa.”
And there it was again - she said her name so easily. Just a hint of hesitation before it, instead of the gaping pause An’fa had to swallow before saying “Valencia” out loud. An’fa turned to look at her and found she was being watched. Almost immediately, the Au Ra dropped her gaze, unable to keep it at this distance, at this moment. She felt the mage’s two fingers under her chin, just like at the bath house, tipping her head up to look her in the eye again.
“Eyes are up here,” the Viera said with a sly smile.
“Do you know how fucking intense your gaze is, Shell?”
“Valencia.”
“Come on now, the night’s over–”
“Valencia,” she repeated slowly.
“Valencia,” An’fa repeated just as slowly, tasing every syllable, trying not to lose her nerve, “do you know how fucking intense your gaze is?”
“Can’t take the heat?”
An’fa pursed her lips, glaring into those smug eyes that dared her onward. She broke eye contact just for a moment as the corsage in Valencia’s hair fluttered in the wind and caught her attention. “This is all just for tonight, right?”
“That was the deal, yes.”
“Is it still the deal?” she asked, fixing her gaze back on Valencia’s face. Valencia was watching her very closely, but her expression had not changed. This was Valencia trying to call An’fa’s bluff, and it wouldn’t work. Not this time.
“I don’t believe we’ve changed the terms.”
“Fine.”
An’fa leaned forward and kissed her.