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Chapter Text

Jaina had not been impressed the first time that she’d met Sylvanas Windrunner.

She’d been shockingly pretty to look at– tall, with broad shoulders that filled out a finely tailored tailcoat, gazing down at Jaina with surprise flitting across even finer elven features. The effect had been ruined almost as soon as she’d opened her mouth, of course.

Though that may have had something to do with the fact that Jaina had just crashed into her.

“My apologies,” Jaina rushed out, the wind all but knocked out of her from how quickly she had been walking and how abruptly she had stopped, colliding soundly into a suited back, “I’ve done a poor job of watching where I’m going in my haste, pardon me, Mister…?”

The stranger turned and Jaina had only the most fleeting of moments to realize that she’d rudely bumped into a woman, not a man, before tapered ears cast eskew and an unimpressed, if faintly amused brow lifted with a haughtiness that only an elf could possess. “You seriously expect me to believe that you don’t know who I am?”

Jaina nearly scoffed at the nerve. Who on earth did this woman think she was? She was no one of note. Certainly no one that had any business speaking to Jaina in such a way but Jaina fought the frustration down, fought to keep her own brow from furrowing because as her mother had told her many times: it was unbecoming to show her annoyance so plainly and she took a step back, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress as she did. “I’m afraid that I don’t– know who you are, that is.” She cleared her throat and steadily met eyes that gleamed a steel-like grey. “I would apologize properly to you if I did. I would do so now, If you would do me the honor of an introduction.”

The other woman deigned to scoff. Muttering something below her breath as she shook her head. The lilting syllables didn’t form any kind of words that Jaina knew.

“I didn’t catch that?” Jaina pressed, and she was quickly running out of feigned patience, now. The thread of it only stretched so far which honestly wasn’t much of a length at all, especially if one asked any of her old tutors.

A short, almost disbelieving laugh was what she got in response before a gloved, long-fingered hand pushed pale blond back from the other woman’s face. The fine strands tucked behind her long ears and Jaina did not care much for the thin smile she offered. “What I was saying,” she began, “is that I cannot believe the ladies of the court would stoop so low as to stage a run in with me just to capture my attention.” She looked Jaina up and down before she added, “Though I do suppose if any lady were to pull such a stunt, I should count myself lucky that she was as pretty as you.”

Heat rising to her cheeks, Jaina distantly wondered if this pompous woman was trying to rile her up for sport. If that was what she wanted she’d soon regret it, Jaina wasn’t above weaponizing the politeness she’d been trained to wield so keenly, all too ready for the apologies to come forth when she spoke her family name.

“I assure you that I was acting on no such scheme but if you insist upon the fact that you’re so important, I’ll burden myself to begin introductions instead, I’m–”

“Miss Proudmoore!” A gruff voice called out from the far end of the room. Its owner pushed past lords and ladies to approach without much care, earning more than a dirty glance or two.

Shit.

Jaina failed to hold back a wince.

“Is that yours?” the other woman asked, clearly amused.

“Yes,” Jaina answered. “Well, no. The name, not the man.”

He certainly wanted to be though. Especially considering the way that he was all but jogging around dancers on the polished wooden dance floor, nearly tripping couples that he passed.

Some men just couldn’t take no for an answer. And this man was as determined as a dog.

He panted like one too, breathing so hard and loud that Jaina could swear that he was already right behind them all too ready to slick back his over-oiled hair and offer his arm out to claim his prize.

She gripped the sleeve of the elven woman’s tailcoat, bunching the thick, blue velvet in her silk-covered fist. “Lean in like you’re telling a joke.”

To the other woman’s credit, she caught on quite fast.

“Like this?”

The words were breathed close– too close to Jaina’s cheek and it nearly had the desired effect. She laughed, the surprised look on her face not feigned at all, and dared spare a glance to find the Gilnean man still in pursuit.

He seemed less confident now. Thick brows furrowing in rising confusion. But he hadn’t quite been dissuaded from trying to make his way to her.

“It seems your little problem isn’t so easily solved,” the other woman observed. She captured Jaina’s other hand in her own, curling gloved fingers to twine them together. Her skin was warm beneath the layers of silk, so hot that it was almost a shock of sensation and as soon as Jaina could even think as much she was being guided to the dance floor just as the band struck up a new song.

She could almost believe that it had all been timed and planned.

“It’s truly a shame that you insist this is no scheme.” Grey eyes bore into Jaina’s own and it was almost unnerving, how sharp they were. Metal shards like arrow points threatened to pin her as cleanly as a target pierced upon a board, but that voice kept on, instead. “If you knew who I was you would understand that many a lady would be so envious of your success in getting me on the dancefloor alone.”

Politeness didn’t keep Jaina from rolling her eyes. Not with how quickly their feet moved or how smoothly her dance partner guided her into a spin, more than assured that anyone who would take issue would not see.

“Is that so?” she asked, voice dripping with disbelief.

“I am determined to convince you that it is,” the other woman told her and her fingers flexed against Jaina’s own. That was the only warning that Jaina received before they danced much closer now, bodies so near that it could barely be considered appropriate and when a laugh was breathed against her ear it was so close, so warm that it sent a shiver down her spine.

Jaina blamed it on a draft in the room. These large old manors had a tendency to let in such a chill.

And that was the root of it, she supposed. For the flush on her face. For the sparks in her nerves as she was guided forward and back, side to side, as if she’d been dancing with this woman for years instead of merely minutes. It was the newness of the wedding season– her first season, and it was the newness of this place, to her– too many wall sconces to count that cast pale blonde in a warm glow, heavy, luxurious drapery made of rich fabric so like the velvet she’d just clutched tight between her fingers. It was all so extravagant. So wonderful and beyond imagining. And that was why, perhaps, she found herself less and less bothered by this confounding woman the longer that they danced.

“It would appear that we’ve convinced that pest of yours to find an easier mark,” her dance partner murmured and Jaina caught a glance of the Gilnean man over the broad line of her shoulder, his expression cast down as he milled about the crowd looking for a different young woman to trap and corner into talk of engagement.

“Then I’d say you’ve earned at least my thanks,” Jaina replied lightly, “but I remain unconvinced that you’re as big a prize as you claim.” The music slowed and she allowed herself to be guided off to the side, she could use some refreshment and some actual answers, for a start. “You still have yet to introduce yourself.”

A wry laugh was her reward for holding her ground and those grey eyes glittered with something like approval. “Well met, then, Miss Proudmoore. My name is–”

“Sylvanas,” a familiar, if slightly shrill voice accused behind Jaina and a possessive hand curling over the curve of her shoulder almost convinced her that the Gilnean man had not, in fact, given up his chase. She was proven soundly wrong when the owner of that hand stepped forward standing pointedly and protectively in front of her. “I told you to mind yourself around my friends.”

“Vereesa,” Jaina and Sylvanas both greeted her at once, equally surprised at this mutual connection.

“I was minding my manners,” Sylvanas defended, raising her hands palms up in surrender while Vereesa glared daggers at her, unconvinced. “Your friend here, was not. She nearly bowled me over and then insisted that she didn’t know who I was. I was still gallant enough to save her from the attentions of an unwanted suitor regardless, of course.”

Before Jaina could sputter an indignant response, Vereesa was already rising to her defense. “A likely story,” she eyed Sylvanas, then looked over Jaina, as if checking her over for evidence of anything untoward. “Knowing you, you tried to spin the situation to your advantage.”

Sylvanas merely shrugged. “It was simply a dance, Little Moon. Nothing more.”

The casual use of the nickname confused Jaina but then... of course. Looking between them now, Jaina could easily see the resemblance between the two sisters. It should have been obvious to her before– Sylvanas’ features were much like Vereesa’s, only sharper and more refined, but the way that she held herself was wholly different. She took up more space, somehow, despite Vereesa being an inch or so taller and there was a certainty to her that her sister lacked. A set to her shoulders or her jaw, perhaps, that Vereesa couldn’t quite match.

No wonder she hadn’t reacted to her name. The head of the Windrunner family ranked rather high, after all.

“Oh,” Jaina murmured, “I see it now. Vereesa had mentioned that her sister would be here for her first season out but had never given me a description to match the name.”

Sylvanas looked all too pleased. “So you have heard of me.”

“Yes, the elder Windrunner. You’re–”

“The court’s most sought after bachelor,” Sylvanas supplied. “Eagerly pursued after my long absence.”

“– a rake,” Jaina finished flatly.

Vereesa coughed.

“I didn’t use that exact word when I'd talked about you,” Vereesa said but Sylvanas did not appear to be all that convinced.

Or offended, which was a rather curious thing.

“I could be both, you know,” she told Jaina. “One does not necessarily exclude the other.”

Jaina did a poor job of hiding her disbelief. “That’s truly the defense that you’re choosing?” She didn't know what to make of it– that Sylvanas was such an obvious womaniser, or that she seemed so proud of that fact. The smile that Sylvanas offered her was something that could be described as effortlessly charming, but Jaina was not such an easy catch.

No, certainly not. Not even when Sylvanas took her hand once more in hers and raised gloved knuckles to perfect lips before lowly murmuring, “I’m afraid I have no other defense to give.” The kiss she pressed to the silk was featherlight, the barest brush of contact that would have been missed, were it not seen.

Vereesa made a strained noise beside Jaina and all but yanked her hand back for her. “We must take our leave to procure some refreshments,” she sniffed. “I’m sure that Jaina is parched after all that dancing.”

She said it as if dancing was some sort of particularly strenuous activity. As if she and Jaina had not spent a great deal of the autumn in what had felt like endless classes practicing to be sure that it was as natural and easy as breathing.

Sylvanas’ eyes glittered but she let Jaina go with that same smile. “But of course,” she replied with no contest. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Proudmoore.”

“Hm,” Jaina hummed. Begrudgingly curious, despite the fact that Sylvanas was obviously someone that she’d do best to avoid. “And you, Miss Windrunner.”

Vereesa scoffed.

The second time that Jaina met Sylvanas Windrunner, she wasn't so sure that she hadn’t encountered a different person entirely.

She hadn’t heard her approach. Not over the drone of rain pounding on old, wind weathered stone. The weather had been like this for the entirety of the day and well into the evening, as if in solemn agreement with the denizens of Boralus the sky had chosen to express its disdain for the presence of mainlanders with an unending downpour.

Jaina took solace in that sound. In the familiar scent of the air– the sea and its salty brine that clung to even the earliest of her memories and she breathed it in deep, holding space for it in her lungs.

At least she did until an unexpected voice made that breath burst from her in surprise.

“Is your country always so dreadfully dreary?”

So much for some time alone.

“Do you make it a habit of wandering other people’s homes?” Jaina asked instead of answering, already knowing that Sylvanas was the owner of the voice without turning, recognizing that lilting accent and the high, almost nasal sound of it anywhere.

She had, after all, made quite the impression at another ball only a short while ago.

“Wandering implies roaming without purpose,” Sylvanas replied evenly. The sound of her wooden boot heels clicked without pause as she approached, crossing once polished stone floor that had long been laid bare– rugs rolled away and tucked neatly into one of the room’s far corners. What little furniture inside was tucked away just as neatly, covered by dusty sheets that spoke to the fact that this room had remained unused for many years.

Unused by anyone other than Jaina, who had found it an ideal place to enjoy a moment or two of solitude when needed. She’d never been discovered before, and wasn’t pleased about it now.

“And what is that purpose, then?” Jaina turned to face Sylvanas when she got close, leaning against one of the decorative pillars that she’d always found to be a tad much. This room was old, from back when the keep was first constructed, and that was reflected in the dramatism of its design– wave motifs inlaid into stone walls, a kraken serving as the mantle of an ancient fireplace, its limbs outstretched towards the ceiling and floor. These pillars, which had served as the main barrier to keep the outside from encroaching in before the room was later updated with windowed doors that Jaina always threw open as soon as she arrived.

She should probably close those doors now, since the rain had started to blow in sideways but she was not inclined to do so. Not when the moisture of that rain started to curl the loose hairs gathered at her temples. Not even when the angle of it left little spatters on Sylvanas’ shoes. “I’d thought that a woman like you eschewed purpose at every opportunity.”

Sylvanas stopped before her, leaning against her own pillar and Jaina still did not know what to make of the fact that every time the other woman decided to turn her gaze towards her, she had to look up to meet it. Sylvanas didn't seem to take any pleasure in it, nothing smug or otherwise satisfied, and she seemed almost pensive when she took Jaina in. Tired, as though the faint circles under her eyes were from lack of sleep rather than poor lighting upon her face.

That couldn’t be possible, though. Sylvanas never looked anything less than perfect.

“Then I suppose my purpose is to surprise you,” Sylvanas told her, “because I had been searching for a place where I could enjoy some portion of the evening unbothered and alone. Imagine my surprise to find you here when I distinctly remember you making your rounds in the ballroom when I’d left.”

Mind turning, Jaina worked to find an excuse that was reasonable. Something that Sylvanas would take at face value, even if it was paper thin. She had no idea how long Sylvanas had spent roaming the halls of Proudmoore Keep, and that was a serious problem to contend with if she’d seen the spell she’d left.

“I’ve never much cared for mages or their magic,” Sylvanas told her, ruining any excuse Jaina could have made before she had so much as the chance to open her mouth.

Jaina skipped right over shock. She quickly found her footing on anger.

“If you think that you can barge in here and accuse me–”

“I meant no accusation.” Sylvanas crossed her arms and pressed into the pillar behind her, long ears following its curve. “A mirror image is quite clever. I would conjure one myself, if I could.” She shrugged, and it was an entirely self deprecating gesture when a wry smile turned the corner of her lips. “Maybe then there wouldn’t be quite so many rumors about what I get up to when I head off. Or who I get up to those things with.”

Jaina’s brow remained knotted into a furrow. And the anger that had surged through her cooled little despite Sylvanas’ admittance or the chill rain that was misting her face.

She didn’t much care what Sylvanas got up to when she disappeared at these balls. She had enough of her own concerns to keep track of, like not getting caught performing magic that she wasn’t supposed to know.

“I’d meant it more as a compliment,” Sylvanas explained, “the clumsy beginning of one that certainly could have been presented better.” She reached into her tailcoat’s inner pocket and procured a thin, gold-edged box. Its lid was one of the most elaborate works of art that Jaina had ever seen on something so small– a sun engraved on gold plate with delicate, strippling rays set above a painterly depiction of an elven woman radiant in the sun’s light with a bow in one hand and an animal ready to be skinned in the other. Jaina had only so much time to think that it was beautiful before the box was snapped open and shut then tucked back away once Sylvanas had accessed what she’d wanted from within. A cigarette, from the looks of it. Jaina had seen them hanging from the mouths of sailors by the docks.

She might have even smoked one or two herself, on more than one occasion.

“I had only meant…” Sylvanas trailed off, patting her pockets down. “Damn.” She held the cigarette between her teeth and made as if she was going to go so far as to take off her jacket, maybe twist it inside and out. “Those damnable matches,” she gritted out.

Jaina could have demanded that Sylvanas put the cigarette away, well within her rights to do so since this was her home but she was curious, more than anything else, and lit an arcane spark on her gloved fingertip, offering Sylvanas the small flame. “Here,” she said. “Just, don’t expect to make a habit of it.”

For a moment she thought the cigarette might fall out of Sylvanas’ mouth when her jaw dipped slightly in surprise but Sylvanas recovered quickly, angling her head down to meet the cigarette’s end with the flame, tucking her long hair behind a tapered ear as she did.

Jaina tried not to think too hard about how intimate a gesture it was. Or how close her hand was to Sylvanas’ mouth.

Sylvanas leaned back just as Jaina began to wonder at the difference between the heat from the flame and the warmth of her breath, puffing away to ensure that the ember remained lit. “As I was saying,” Sylvanas started again only to be interrupted once more by Jaina holding out her hand expectantly. She cocked a long brow but handed the cigarette over without comment.

It would make an acceptable peace offering, for now.

“As you were saying,” Jaina encouraged her on, lifting the cigarette to her lips.

If Sylvanas had expected her to cough and sputter on the inhale, she would have counted herself sorely disappointed but she continued on as if it wasn’t unusual at all to watch a young woman who had only just come out smoke with such proficiency.

“As I was saying… I’ve never much cared for mages or their magic.” Sylvanas gave the cigarette a glance. Without magic it would be back in that pretty case in her pocket, useless and unlit. “What I had meant is that in my country, the vast majority of mages are all style, no substance using magic for the sake of appearance or even social status, and nothing more. It’s quite rare for me to encounter someone like you– clever, with her magic.”

Jaina turned her head away and exhaled. Watching as the smoke crept out into the rain and ascended cloudward before dissipating. She’d worked hard to learn any kind of proficiency beyond simple masking and control– had plied books and scrolls from the private tutor her mother had hired from Dalaran, always with the promise that she would do nothing more than study the theory.

Of course, she’d done far more than just study the theory. She’d spent hours, countless sums of them, in forgotten rooms just like this scattered throughout the keep– her little sanctuaries where she could practice her spellwork to the brink of exhaustion because Jaina could content herself with nothing less than the limit of her ability. It brought her no small amount of satisfaction to be called clever in her use of magic and by an elf no less, someone from a country that didn’t just accept the arcane but was steeped in it.

Meeting Sylvanas’ glowing gaze, Jaina considered her with her temper cooled, deciding to hand back the cigarette before the ember cooled just the same.

“While I appreciate your attempt to flatter me…” their fingers brushed in the exchange and Sylvanas’ still held so much heat despite the chill in the air, “I find that one must learn to be clever when living in a country that does not celebrate magic the way that yours does. For that reason, I’d appreciate it if you kept your knowledge of my cleverness between us.”

“But of course,” Sylvanas replied easily. “You’ve been a good friend to Vereesa over the years. She told me as much in the letters sent in my absence, and I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

Jaina sized Sylvanas up, deciding if that was true. A great deal more than her friendship with Vereesa would be in jeopardy if the news of her magic ever came to light. Children in Kul Tiras that displayed arcane talent were typically sent to live and study with the Tidesages, gone off to Stormsong Valley within a year. So the fact that Katherine Proudmoore had hired a mage from the mainland to not only teach her only daughter but help her hide her ability? Well, it would be nothing short of a complete and utter scandal.

The thought of trusting Sylvanas was a daunting leap of faith. One that Jaina had little choice but to take, since she could hardly knock the other woman out and toss her off the balcony to bury what she knew and even then, Jaina wasn’t all that inclined to be rid of the only person that had ever appreciated what she could do.

“That’s an awful lot of faith to place in you,” she said after a while, mulling the thought over. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Sylvanas took a long drag of the cigarette, the paper of it crackling as it burned. “Yes, well, I’m rather good at keeping secrets.” She looked over the edge of the balcony and rasped a dry laugh. “Besides, as deadly as that fall looks, I don’t think you’re quite strong enough to turn me into a handsome corpse.”

Eyes widening, breath in her throat catching, Jaina couldn’t help but let out a laugh of her own. Tides, was she really so obvious, or was Sylvanas’ train of thought just as dark as hers? It mattered little in the end when Sylvanas smiled at her, ears cast pleasantly askew. “No question of my stomach for it?” Jaina managed to ask her, “Only my strength?”

Sylvanas scoffed. “Considering the way that you dismissed that suitor when we first met? I’d be a fool to doubt your resolve.”

It was a surprise even to herself, when Jaina smiled back. Her cheeks felt odd stretching to accommodate a genuine expression, so well accustomed to curving her lips and baring her teeth only the amount that was considered polite.

It felt nice.

Too nice, maybe, considering that she didn’t know Sylvanas all that well. Mostly just the stories that Vereesa had told her. Wild stories of a childhood much different from Jaina’s own– stringing bows and climbing trees. Trekking forests lush with golden leaves and enjoying a sense of freedom that Jaina had only ever dreamed. She knew that Sylvanas was bold, that oftentimes she was brash. She knew that according to Vereesa, she was impossibly vain and proud of that fact. She didn’t know before now that her smile carried an edge. Something unrelated to the point of a fang or arch of a brow. It was the crinkling at the corner of her eyes, Jaina thought, that read a little like a grimace. Like she was baring her teeth through some sort of ache.

Before Jaina could question it Sylvanas was questioning her, reaching smoothly into her coat pocket to procure that little golden case and take a new cigarette from it, lighting it with the first by chaining the ends. “I must admit that your resolve is why I was so surprised to find you here. Were the suitors not to your standards?”

Yes, Jaina almost said, but no. She’d hardly given any of the suitors that had flocked to her parents’ hall a fair chance, and that was likely because she had been set up to fail at the start. Her fingers drifted to the pearls strung around her neck, touching at the heat they’d leached from her skin. ’Remember that you must not only marry but marry well,’ Katherine had told her earlier that evening, instructing her even as she closed the clasp. The words had made the fine jewelry feel less like an accessory and more like a collar, a pretty bird in an equally pretty cage.

Every time a suitor had tried to start up conversation she’d felt too keenly the pearls’ weight and Jaina remembered the weight of her mother’s gaze just the same, how that blue that matched her own had captured hers in the glass, the way that its pressure threatened to crush her down to size.

It had been too much, all of those eyes on her. All of the plastered smiles and pointed questions. Maneuvering and machinations that no tutor had ever prepared her for. Her mirror image could buy her hours of time, but still she felt like she was only now catching her breath.

“Why does it matter to you?” she asked Sylvanas rather than answer. She was back on her guard now, just as she’d been for the majority of the night. At least, until Sylvanas had made her laugh.

Sylvanas at first only shrugged.

She flicked the end of the cigarette out towards the rain. Watched the ash wash away fast from the grey balcony stone while she considered a while. “I’m a curious person, I suppose, and you strike me as a woman often ruled by her curiosity,” She looked back at her, steel that pierced smoke and air alike. “Won’t you sate mine?”

Well, no one at the ball had asked her any question like that.

Jaina was sure of it, even as she was unsure of her reaction, not providing the answer but not entirely rejecting the question either. “It’s foolish,” she found herself saying. “And not worth the time.”

Sylvanas hummed. “I seem to have some time,” she puffed lightly at the cigarette, just enough to keep it lit. “It would be rude to leave before I finish this.”

Jaina blinked. Had this been her plan from the start?

She found she didn’t mind. Not the casual way that Sylvanas asked or the way she awaited the answer without expectation. Only the delicate thread of curiosity that unfurled between them, teasing the answer out.

Jaina sighed. The fingers of one hand drifted to the clasp of her necklace and the other rose to join it. When she had it off she felt like she could breathe a little easier, and the answer came just as easy.

“I’d always eagerly anticipated my first season because I had dreamed for so long of marrying for love,” she said. “I’d thought it would be different. That because it was such a big step it would be special.” The pearls she held rubbed worriedly between her fingers, silk sliding smoothly over the flawless surface and her brow furrowed. “But it's not special. It’s a transaction like a merchant’s deal and with my brothers gone my family’s position falls to me. I know I need to forget about love but tonight, it was just so much… too much, and I have to do better the next time.” She hadn’t noticed that she’d clenched her free fist as she’d spoken but Sylvanas did, eyes tracking the stray motion.

The rain was pouring now. They were both bound to get noticeably wet and it was a wonder that the cigarette’s ember remained lit but Sylvanas didn’t move away, she didn’t put the ember out or usher them back inside. She paid no mind to the damp cold, the color in her cheeks and faint trembling of her ears the only evidence that she felt it at all.

Jaina made a small gesture, murmuring a minor spell, and Sylvanas’ visible gratitude at the warmth it granted made Jaina not even consider the risk. This was the most magic she’d ever done in front of anyone other than her tutor and it was tempting to do more. She could dry Sylvanas’ suit jacket if she wanted. Remove the frizz from her fair hair if she tried. She could do any number of useful things but what she chose to do was listen when Sylvanas spoke, paying close attention to every word.

“You don’t owe your family a miserable life,” Sylvanas told her honestly, “Perhaps someone told you that you do, or you went along and decided that on your own but you don’t. Love isn’t a foolish thing to want. Nearly everyone here comes looking for it, even if they’re after something else as well.”

“Nearly everyone,” Jaina couldn’t help but notice. “But not you?”

Sylvanas smiled, thin and wan. “I think my reputation speaks for itself.”

Right. But Sylvanas wasn’t acting right now the way that her reputation would make one expect her to. The woman who braved the cold wasn’t the one who goaded on the dancefloor but before Jaina could tug on that thread, Sylvanas was already finding a way out, reeling away beyond her reach.

“Besides,” Sylvanas said, “there’s not nearly enough of this left to dig through that.” She let the ember burn down, letting the whole thing turn to ash after never taking another puff off it. “You have my thanks, for your warmth and for your company. It isn’t often that I get to just talk.”

Jaina’s brow furrowed. “Yet every time we’ve met we’ve done an awful lot of talking.”

Sylvanas breathed a chuckle. “Maybe so, but have you considered that perhaps you’re an exception in that matter? It’s rare that I prefer any company other than my own.”

She pushed off the pillar. Made her way back to the door, the ball, and everything that Jaina must return to as well but she paused in her farewell, hand hovering over the brass handle and Jaina found that she was holding her breath, expectant for what she had to say.

“Miss Proudmoore?”

“Yes?”

Jaina could hear the genuine, if muted hint of fondness in Sylvanas’ voice.

“Don’t give up on that dream of yours. You're a good woman, and you deserve it.”

Chapter Text

Balls came and went. Sylvanas was a sight commonly seen.

She became a fixture at these events. A refuge that Jaina could seek when the attention of the suitors became too much. An ally that she could rely on.

These balls were like battles, after all. And Sylvanas commanded the floor with the poise of a general.

So it came as a surprise, really, when Sylvanas approached her at the hors d'oeuvres with a quiet, almost urgent murmur of “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Jaina’s brows climbed as she grabbed a canape. “Assigning a label to our relationship? I didn’t think that was your style.”

Sylvanas scowled, but she still laughed. “Oh, peddling jokes tonight, I see.” She grabbed the canape that had been next to Jaina’s, popping it into her mouth. “We’ve chatted, shared a smoke, and you’re never afraid to tell me exactly what’s on your mind so yes, that makes us friends and more importantly, this is quite urgent.”

She leaned in close, hunching down and murmuring surreptitiously, “That man, the one dancing with Vereesa right now, do you know him?”

Jaina’s eyes scanned the dance floor. Yes, there was Vereesa, and she was spinning in the arms of a tall, red-headed man. He was one of the ones from Dalaran, if she remembered correctly.

“I told you I’m not familiar with the Dalaran mages.”

She’d told Sylvanas much, in the recent weeks. Mostly things about her magic and how much, yet how little she actually knew, studying in isolation from other magi.

Still, Sylvanas was not so easily deterred. “Yes, but even so. Some men come with reputations and this one is quite–” the man guided Vereesa into a dip and he was much stronger than he looked, because he didn’t seem to struggle at all, despite Vereesa’s greater height. They both could hear Vereesa’s delighted laughter from here.

“Flashy,” Jaina finished for her. “But not with his magic, shouldn’t you like that?”

She was still learning things about Sylvanas, piecing together a tapestry from all these little chats. She was amused to learn that Sylvanas’ voice pitched an octave higher when indignant, and didn’t even bother to stifle her laugh politely behind her hand when Sylvanas asked, “What would possibly make you think that?”

Looking her up and down, Jaina asked back, “Do you really want my answer?”

Honestly, her outfit said it all.

Sylvanas couldn’t be considered anything but flashy in fine elven tailoring. The deep blue of her tailcoat was richer than any other hue, and the gold embroidery that adorned her collar and sleeves shimmered as though it were made of metal rather than thread. Jaina suspected that it was the work of subtle enchantments that made it that way. She was sorely tempted to pluck at it like string, unraveling the magic to discover exactly how it worked.

Sylvanas only laughed, “See, this is why I value your opinion so highly.” She placed a hand on the table, palm flat as she leaned in. To anyone else, it would have looked flirtatious, but Jaina thought she knew better. It had to be no more than an act, but one part of Sylvanas’ armor because Sylvanas was sure, every evening, to flit around whatever ball she had been invited to. She kept a close eye on Vereesa while chatting up one eligible lady or another, collecting bashful smiles and breathless laughs that she stockpiled like currency.

She never seemed to spend it, as far as Jaina could tell. Any time that Sylvanas was absent every lady that she had spoken to was on the dancefloor and accounted for yet rumors swirled around her all the same. She seemed to be interested in Jaina’s coinage most, though, and Jaina could not discern why. Perhaps there was a certain ease to her. An intrigue that lay in her refusal to be charmed.

She decided to test that.

“Because I don’t hang on to your every word?” Jaina asked and she wrapped the barb with a smile, careful not to tread towards words taken unkindly.

“Precisely,” Sylvanas answered, offering a smile of her own. It was the smile of someone used to admiration. Dazzling, because Sylvanas knew it was. She knew just how much fang to flash, exactly how to lean in, and when grey eyes glanced down at Jaina’s mouth, Jaina knew that it was all carefully calculated, as practiced as any play or scene. “You have no idea how exhausting it is to be blindly adored.”

“That I don’t,” Jaina replied and she couldn’t help the bitter note of it. Every conversation she’d had tonight had been more or less the same– a polite introduction, a surface level inquiry of her and her hobbies. Sometimes, a suitor might care to hear the answer but their interest quickly waned with talk of anything that wasn’t musical talent or proficiency in needlepoint. Learning, it seemed, was not a particularly desirable pursuit for a woman to have.

And that wasn’t even taking into account the problem of her magic.

Honestly, this entire evening had been a disappointment, and not one that Jaina had thought she’d have to contend with. The Karazhan Ball was supposed to be a momentous night for her. The prince of Lordaeron was supposed to be here. She was supposed to get his attention in the hopes that he’d take interest and even if there was no connection, even if he didn’t sweep her off her feet, she’d still have been able to enjoy the ambiance. Karazhan was an old mage’s tower, after all, so at the very least she should have had that to fall back on– a night steeped in magic and history, but the reality was nowhere near as grand.

No, the reality was that Karazhan was a tower barely a step above disrepair, its owner nowhere near the caliber of steward the original had been. All of its gilded edges were dulled. What magic was present merely flickered when it should have been a roaring blaze and it was a blessing to the owner, really, that Arthas Menethil had never shown. It seemed that the prince of Lordaeron had little interest in pursuing marriage this season, preferring to focus on his paladin studies instead and Jaina burned with jealousy for the privilege. The things that she could be, all that she could do, if only her mother would deign to let her– well, it wasn’t something that she allowed herself to dwell on. Bitterness was unbecoming of a lady, or so she was told.

It still warred across her face, though.

Sylvanas watched it with interest. Catalogued it, like she was watching one side of a battle bloody the other. And she didn’t deign to comment on it, the gap exposed in Jaina’s armor, she didn’t prod it like most others here would have. Instead, Sylvanas kept up her pretense of flirting, even though Jaina knew it was anything but. She took Jaina’s hand in her own, silk sliding softly against silk, and she asked her curiously, quietly, “Would you like to tell me about it?” Grey eyes cut to the dancefloor and as if on cue, the band transitioned to a slower tune. “A dance would offer me the chance to keep a closer eye on Vereesa, should you be willing to assist.”

Right, well Jaina could hardly argue with that.

And if she was honest, she’d been waiting the greater part of this evening for a good dance.

The first suitor she’d gone with hadn’t been able to stop himself from stepping on her feet. The second had fumbled on where to put her hands, turning profusely red and apologizing the entire time and the third, well, by that point they’d started blending together in a spectrum from disappointing to awful and Jaina had accepted dances with the same level of enthusiasm that she engaged in conversation with which was to say, only polite.

Sylvanas was notably different, occupying a league all of her own.

She gave Jaina the space to actually breathe, guiding them along with what appeared to be no effort but Jaina was close enough to note the muscle that flexed subtly beneath dark velvet that said otherwise. She might have even noticed a little too long. Long enough that when Sylvanas prompted her to speak again the way that she quietly cleared her throat sounded pleased, in a way.

“The suitor that I was meant to spend most of my time with isn’t in attendance,” Jaina admitted, letting Sylvanas guide her into a gentle spin. “So all of this just feels like effort wasted, in the end.”

“And no one has proved worthy in the interim?” Sylvanas asked, returning Jaina to the orbit of her frame. She was careful to never let them collide, applying only the amount of strength necessary to keep them close. “You’re allowed to have a bit of fun even if you have no intent to marry, you know.”

Jaina huffed a sound awfully close to a laugh. “And you would know so much about that.”

Still, she considered. She caught sight of one of the suitors that had been more promising than most– a night elf whose name escaped her but whose smile had been genuine, if a bit strained. She offered Jaina a little wave as she grabbed a drink from a nearby server’s tray and Jaina offered her own acknowledgement back, only a polite amount because she was dancing with someone else. The night elf had been fun, but she wasn’t what Jaina was looking for. Not of standing significant enough to appease her parents and the energy that Jaina needed to be present had been decidedly absent. No warmth. No spark.

Nothing like what was passing between her and Sylvanas now, which was distinctly odd, once she’d noticed. She saw through Sylvanas’ facade, and Sylvanas was certainly under no false impression that she was a target of her affections. So why…

“I know plenty,” Sylvanas told her and the words came out like a purr. She strategically closed the distance between them and Vereesa. All of the dancers were separated into groups, concentric circles that converged on a runed center, and the tower’s massive chandelier hung over that point, the only thing of grandeur that Karazhan had to offer.

The closer they approached, the more that energy made itself known. Goosebumps on her skin. A buzzing that set in her teeth. Vereesa and the man that she danced with were closest to the center, having made their way there over the course of several songs and with each couple that they passed, Jaina cast about her gaze, wondering if they felt the energy as well.

But she never got any indication that they could.

Every step towards the center was like the movement of the second hand on a clock, slowly but surely approaching the twelfth hour. Tick, they’d left the outer circles. Tick, they were making their way through the middle. Tick, Sylvanas was squeezing her hand and looking at her curiously. She’d never responded to her and when Jaina opened her mouth to speak the air felt thin and she could have sworn that just over Sylvanas’ shoulder, it had shimmered.

“Do you feel that?” she managed to ask.

Long brows furrowed and Sylvanas slowed. They’d left the middle-most circles, nearly at the center. “Feel what?” Sylvanas asked back. “This tower is rather hot, probably due to not being well kept. We can stop if–”

“No,” Jaina interrupted her, giving a small shake of her head. “You wanted an eye on Vereesa, and I can stand one dance. We can get refreshments as a group after.”

Yes, after. She would feel better after. This odd feeling must be nothing more than an unusual manifestation of the heat.

But it wasn’t.

And deep down, Jaina knew that. This was power, and a lot of it. It was pulling her ever closer to its originating point and she wasn’t sure if it was her own curiosity or the gravity of that power that she was most helpless to resist.

She chanced a glance at the chandelier. Had it always been so bright? The cracks from age in the ceiling looked different. Not deeper but… illuminated? Surely, other people were seeing this. Surely, once she and Sylvanas got close enough to Vereesa, she could ask the mage that she danced with.

She heard Vereesa’s surprised intake of breath. Knew, from the side of her vision that she’d reached away from her partner, placing a hand on Sylvanas’ shoulder. “Dancing with my friends and using them to spy on me?” Vereesa accused lightly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut in.”

Maybe it had always been meant to happen. Perhaps Vereesa’s interruption had pushed Jaina just enough inwards. Either way, when Jaina made to speak and finally ask what the hell was going on she’d accidentally stepped onto the center rune, too late.

Tick.

The rune flared to life.

The light was blinding and it was instant. The entire tower seemed to shake and the power, the power rent through Jaina like it was lightning and she was the rod, grounded only enough to withstand it. That quickly changed when those cracks on the ceiling didn’t just brighten, but also deepen. The chandelier fell.

Jaina had never cast a barrier before. She’d never had to. Never, in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that she’d use her magic for offense or defense but the spellwork was at her fingertips in the space of a breath. She could hardly hear anything past the roar of the magic and cacophony of screams.

She didn’t realize that one of those screams was hers.

“She’s standing on the leyline!” she heard faintly. The voice sounded tinny, almost far away. She was aware of hands on her as the barrier sprung to life, shielding the crowd from the massive chandelier that slammed against it, double tiers of golden metal splintering against the purple dome as if made of glass. But the power didn’t relent.

It burned her. Searing from the inside out, and she struggled beneath the weight of the chandelier’s broken pieces, tears long sprung and streaming from her eyes. This was going to kill her. And then, through the pain, one coherent thought.

She didn’t want it to kill her.

“You have to let go–” a new voice, tinny, but recognizable. A voice that matched the hands that gripped her, fingers curled so tight they’d begun to tear the seams of her dress. “The mage says you have to let go. The others, from Dalaran, they’ll take over the barrier. They’ll keep everyone safe.”

A desperate breath. A grunt of effort. “Jaina,” Sylvanas, she sounded strained. “Please let go.”

It wasn’t as simple as that.

But it was enough for Jaina to fight it, giving up control of the spell, peeling each individual finger from the ledge she clung to. With only the last one remaining she closed her eyes. She let Sylvanas take her.

The last thing she felt before she lost consciousness was the strength of Sylvanas’ arms, holding her close as she collapsed.

“Do you know why I called you here?”

Jaina said nothing as she approached her mother, not yet daring to disturb the air. Since Karazhan, something in her had felt explosive. A keg waiting for the right match to be lit. She wanted at least a moment before whatever her mother had to say put that keg to the torch because if Katherine had anything to tell her after more than a week of silence, it was nothing good.

She settled into the leather chair that sat across from her mother’s desk and the left arm of it creaked as it always did. Not even the best carpenter in Boralus had been able to get it right after it had met the wrong end of Tandred’s toy sword and her mother’s face had been priceless, then. She’d told Daelin a hundred times that an iron sword was no gift for a boy, lack of a live edge or no and she’d been proven right in spectacular fashion, loose stuffing and wood splinters bursting from the upholstery.

Jaina herself had preferred less destructive methods of play, but they didn’t necessarily spare the furniture. She was sure that if she were to examine the legs of this same chair, she’d find stains of green ink from the time she’d decided that wave designs would brighten her mother’s office. Katherine had been quite forgiving, then.

She was not so forgiving now.

She hadn’t been, for a long time. For what felt like a lifetime, and so when Jaina settled she was entirely on her guard as she replied, “I would assume to discuss what is to be done about the rest of the wedding season, and to talk about…” she wasn’t sure how her mother wanted her to address the source of tension that spanned the gap between them, it’s presence was plain on her face– the glow of her eyes, the white of her brows, “the Karazhan incident.”

‘The Karazhan incident’, what a clinical way to refer to the time she’d unwittingly activated a dormant leyline. The mages of Dalaran had shared with them a thorough report, but none of its contents had done anything to tell Jaina why it had happened and judging from Katherine's expression, it had done little to prove to her mother that it was not her fault.

Though if she was honest, these days Jaina thought that Katherine believed everything to be her fault.

“You have no idea the magnitude of what you’ve done,” Katherine told her, “even now your father is meeting with the other great houses, swearing up and down that we had no knowledge of your ability.”

She said the last word like it was an affliction. Something unsightly to be hidden away. And it wasn’t the first time, Jaina was more than familiar with how her mother felt about her magic.

She remembered all too clearly how it had originally manifested, that first, faint shimmer of arcane. It had been such an innocent thing. Nothing more than a light trick. And it had been snuffed out so fast. She remembered Katherine’s grip, firm and unrelenting around her wrist, and she remembered her mother’s face most, the first time she’d ever seen her eyes widen with fear. Before that day, Jaina had never known that Katherine could even show fear.

“Which could have been avoided if we’d been honest with the other families from the start,” Jaina pointed out. “It was your choice to hide, not mine or father’s, if I’d been better trained–”

“They would have taken you away.”

“And would that have been so bad?”

There, was the sore spot that lingered long between them. It was like the arm of this chair, the stains on the wood. Old, and never quite fixable. Not that either of them had ever made an honest attempt.

Katherine’s eyes were hard and her posture was rigid but nothing betrayed her, not even something so small as hands pressed flat against the desk. “You know that has never been the life for you.”

Jaina so desperately wanted to argue that fact. Couldn’t it have been, if Derek had never been lost at sea? Couldn’t it have been, if Tandred had never fallen ill with fever? Surely, at some point in her life there had been a future for her where she was celebrated rather than locked away or at the very least accepted, allowed to live among those who possessed magic like her own.

And yet, Jaina knew that to not be quite true.

Because from the moment she’d met her tutor from Dalaran, she’d dreamt of practicing her magic freely not on docks or seasides but on purple bricked streets, gazing up at violet topped towers rather than ship’s masts. She’d wanted to do more than to control the tides, more than to simply guide sailors home. She’d wanted it all, a life that she was never supposed to covet and yet as soon as she’d lain eyes on the conjuration of the magic city, she had.

Magic and love. Jaina could never seem to stop finding things to want.

“And what life do I have now?” she asked and she was tired, so tired of playing this game. She was exhausted of coming into this office time and time and time again, never enough, though it had not always been this way. “From my perspective, regardless of what damage control father does, my reputation this season cannot be recovered with words alone. What do you intend to have me do to fix it?”

Katherine said nothing. She let the question sit.

She reclined in her tall, leather-backed chair. Her fingers drummed against the wooden arm of that chair, perfectly in time with the ticking of a grandfather clock and Jaina knew, without a doubt, that her mother was trying to get under her skin.

This was an old tactic. And one that Katherine had taught Jaina herself.

‘Sometimes, silence is the better answer,’ Katherine had told her in this same room. Instructing her, as she often did. ‘Let them sit in the quiet, simmering in words left unsaid.’

Jaina refused to simmer. She did not glance at the shelves that lined her mother’s walls, knowing that no titles there would offer any comfort. She did not eye the painting that hung above her mother’s desk, roiling waves of a stormy sea that she’d often stared at and gotten lost in, as a child. She leaned back in her chair, just as Katherine did, and she sat herself just so, angling so that the dimming light coming in from a side window cast her face in shadow.

Katherine had always hated how Jaina’s eyes glowed when she wielded her power. Jaina hadn’t been able to rid herself of that glow since Karazhan.

Let her mother be the one unnerved, for once.

Katherine made a quiet noise. Something small, and displeased, faint in the back of her throat. Jaina didn’t get the chance to appreciate that little victory for what it was before her mother said, “There will be no need for you to concern yourself with your reputation this season, for you will not be present for the remainder of it. You will remain here, in Proudmoore Keep, out of the public eye until the final ball we are still obliged to host.”

Jaina forgot herself. Any tactic she could have hoped to wield against her mother lost. “But that’s–”

“Only a half measure,” Katherine told her. “I agree.” She moved, finally, shuffling papers across her desk. She procured the report from Dalaran, the one that Jaina herself had read, but Jaina had never known that the report contained an extra page.

“You will not stay here in the Summer. The mages of Dalaran have deemed you too high a risk to remain untrained so while you study you will stay in lodging there– or somewhere else, I do not care. You need a season to right yourself and I need time to forget that my daughter is such a terrible disappointment.”

“You can’t do this,” Jaina protested and in any other moment, she’d have thought herself mad, having wanted for so long exactly what she was being given. “The Tidesages won’t let you.”

“The Tidesages won’t have you,” Katherine countered, “you’ve made sure of that.”

Sick. Jaina felt dangerously close to being sick. This room no longer had enough air in it and she cared not for keeping up with her mother anymore. This was banishment, there was no pretty way to dress it up. She was being cast out of her home, sent out onto the street, and–

Katherine hummed a low, disapproving sound. “And here I’d thought you’d be happy. I saw it often in your eyes, how badly you wanted to go whenever that wizard was around. Nothing that I gave you was ever enough.”

That did it.

The keg lit.

“Enough?” Jaina asked her, “You think to lecture me on giving enough?” She shifted forward in her chair and the arm of it creaked. She could only think that she was so thankful Tan had never grown old enough to see her and their mother like this. Cruel, and so sharply cutting. “I have done nothing all of these years but what you have asked. I have hidden every part of me that you do not like and begged and pleaded for some shred of your approval and you have never given it because from the moment your sons ceased to draw breath, I have never been enough. How much happier you would be, if it was one of them sitting here before you instead of me.”

Jaina knew that Katherine could show hurt. But she hadn’t seen it, not in all the years since they’d sent the body of her second brother to the sea. She saw it now. Not the same, but the tightening at the corners of her eyes, the pursing of the line of her mouth. Jaina had never considered that she could be capable of hurting her mother, and the realization sent her reeling, out of balance as if struck.

It wasn’t easy, most times, to remember who Katherine Proudmoore once was. A mother who had let her children roam the keep. Who was delighted to see them wander into her study and would forgive mishaps that would make another woman scream. Jaina remembered, distantly, what it was to be doted on, the sparkle in her mother’s eye. That woman was long gone, out to sea along with her sons, but Jaina, it seemed, was more than capable of hurting her still.

“I must go–” Jaina stood up quick. She didn’t know what to do about that hurt, and she didn’t know what to do with the pain of her own, the stake her mother had driven so deeply into her chest. “I– I think we’re done here and I really…” Fuck. Her eyes were hot. She could feel the tears’ telltale sting and she would not let them fall here, in this office that she’d wanted to cry in too many times to count.

“Go,” Katherine told her and her voice was thin and no longer steady. Jaina almost wished that she would yell at her. That she would scream. That would be so much better than this. The quiet, resigned way that Katherine sighed, “You should start packing your things.”

Jaina couldn’t look at Katherine long enough to make her departure anything but a retreat. She only turned on her heel, and left.

“I thought this is where I’d find you.”

It wasn’t raining. Not this night, not for this ball but still, when Jaina leaned to look over the balcony railing at the sea and cliffs below, her cheeks were wet.

“Was the mirror I left not enough of a spectacle?” Jaina asked, casting a quick glamor on her eyes so that they would appear clear. She dried her cheeks carefully, blotting with the backs of her gloves but she did not turn around. “You had to come and see for yourself?”

Sylvanas’ steps were quiet as she approached, as if Jaina were some sort of animal, capable of startling at any moment. “I came to see if you were well,” Sylvanas answered and she paused, only a few feet away. “I see now that perhaps that inquiry was unwise. I had hoped that you were well, little word reached as far as Quel'thalas regarding your condition.”

Jaina let out a breath, not quite believing that. “You never heard the rumors?” They’d spread far and wide, claims that what happened in Karazhan was entirely planned and that Jaina was a witch, a renegade mage who had seized the power of the leyline for her own.

“No, and even if I had, I wouldn't have dreamed of entertaining them.”

Yet everyone else was certainly entertaining them. Jaina hadn’t lasted long in her parents’ hall, unable to withstand the whispers. Hushed accusations and glances hardly disguised. ’The proof is in the glow of her eyes,’ they’d murmured, ’she stole so much power she bleached the gold from her hair,’ and she’d been just as strange as they had thought, otherworldly and apart.

“Then you are singular in that sense,” Jaina muttered and it was a bitter thing. She pushed her hair back, tired of seeing the white.

A small click was the sound of Sylvanas’ little golden box snapping open and shut and Jaina almost couldn’t believe it when she heard the distinct sound of silk patting at velvet. “Are you really–”

“You told me not to make it a habit,” Sylvanas told her, “but I’m afraid that I have.”

She joined her at the balcony. Close enough that their elbows could brush on the bannister should one of them stray. Blinking, deciding that some company was better than none, Jaina ignited a spark of arcane at her fingertip. She offered Sylvanas the flame.

“Compared to everything else that has happened,” Jaina said, “this is not so bad.”

Her life was a ruin, after all. It could use a little ash.

So she took the cigarette from Sylvanas when it was offered, careful to keep the fresh ember lit. On the inhale she closed her eyes and let the heat of it build in her lungs, pressure rising in her throat like a silent scream.

She didn’t let it out. After what had happened with her mother, Jaina never let it out.

“Why are you really here?” she asked on the exhale.

“To check in on a friend,” Sylvanas answered easily and that made Jaina turn. She saw her, really, for the first time.

At first glance, Sylvanas looked perfect. She always did. But beyond that, something else. Past the immaculate ponytail and the french braid that started at her temple, pulled back with the rest of her hair. Past her pristine tailcoat of velvet, always velvet that would have been the centerpiece of any tailor’s shop she was honest. Worried. Grey, glowing eyes sweeping over Jaina and taking her in without an ounce of judgement, only care.

Jaina’s mouth went dry.

“I… didn’t think you still considered us so,” she admitted, “I didn’t think that Vereesa did, either. Usually, we’d write, and I have not received a single letter in all of these weeks.”

Sylvanas made an odd noise. “She wrote you. Once a week, every week, since Karazhan. She meant to approach you at this ball but I imagine that she actually won’t since you’re here and back there–”

“Is my mirror,” Jaina finished for her, feeling a surprising amount of guilt. She’d heard some word of the outside world even while sequestered in the keep, mainly bits of gossip that she didn’t particularly care for since it typically involved her. But she had heard word of Vereesa. Proposals were gossiped about most, so when Jaina had learned that her friend had secured a promise of marriage when she’d ruined her own chances it had only added to the sting. The empty space where letters should have sat on her desk took on another meaning, and Jaina could not help but feel she had been left behind.

“I will write her,” Jaina said. “I don’t know why I didn’t receive any of her letters, but I have reasons to suspect. I imagine that there will be little interference with my mail in Dalaran, regardless of the fact that I am expected to stay in the dorms there.”

“Dorms?” Sylvanas questioned, “In Dalaran?”

Jaina breathed a humorless laugh. “You really didn’t hear anything, did you?”

She leaned against the cold stone of the bannister, looking down at the cigarette she held. Her eyes tracked the ember as it burned its way towards her fingers and she didn’t hand it back to Sylvanas, suspecting that she could watch it burn down to nothing and receive no complaint. It wasn’t why Sylvanas was here and the thought was refreshing. Comforting, when she’d had precious little to cling to as of late.

“The Council of Six all but ordered my parents to allow me to train there,” Jaina said, “though calling it ‘training’ is a stretch of the word. They don’t trust me, that much is clear, and I wouldn’t trust me either. Not after such a display.”

She looked up at Sylvanas. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Heat bloomed at her elbow. A grip that was gentle, but present. “I know you didn’t.”

Relief was something that Jaina had not felt in a while. It tangled in her throat and set her mouth atremble. How many days had she waited to hear that? Desperate for someone, anyone, to believe that she was not at fault.

At the worst of times, she’d even wondered if it was her fault.

“I wish so badly that it had happened to someone else," she said, "and isn’t that so pathetic? I’ve yearned to go to Dalaran and it was just one more want to add to the pile. Now that I have it, I can hardly stand it because it came at the cost of everything else.”

The grip on her elbow squeezed. “You don’t know that.”

Jaina shook her head. “Don’t I? Tell me, how it’s really going to go then. Tell me that I will not forever be ostracized because of this. No one is ever going to forget what I did, Sylvanas, not when it is plain upon my face.”

For once, Sylvanas had nothing to say. She simply turned toward Jaina, opening up her frame and Jaina fell back into that familiar gravity. This time, Sylvanas let them both collide.

Jaina wasn’t sure which of them had truly initiated this. She was only sure that she had no business holding Sylvanas like she was, hands clutching at the back of her jacket. Surely, her grip was leaving folds in the fabric that would be seen even if smoothed away.

But Sylvanas didn’t stop her. She didn’t say anything about the wasted cigarette and she let Jaina turn her face into the crook of her neck, closing her eyes to breathe in deep.

Peaty soil and smoky incense, that was what she smelled like. It was strange, as if earlier this evening Sylvanas had been stalking across a forest rather than navigating a ballroom and an unexpected curl of contentment unfurled in Jaina at the thought. That was a sight she’d very much like to see.

Sylvanas pressed her cheek to her temple. Her arms were wrapped around Jaina just the same but her grip was far more relaxed, though not loose. She sighed, and it was warm where it swept over Jaina’s hair. “I can’t tell you how it’s going to go,” she murmured. “No one can. And no one can tell you why, either. Sometimes… these things happen. Sometimes these things happen and there’s nothing that can be done to make it fair.”

“It would be easier if I could make it fair.” Jaina’s lips were dangerously close to Sylvanas’ skin so she spoke the words into her shirt collar instead. Her pulse still jumped with the exhale, but she did nothing to remove her.

“If you ever figure out how, I insist that I’m the first that you let know,” Sylvanas said dryly.

The laugh that Jaina let out was on the edge of wet, but she kept the tears that wanted to come at bay. “I’ve never spent so long away from home before and I’m sure that the dorms in Dalaran are pleasant, but I don’t think they’ll be that way for me. I haven’t earned my place there like the other students, so I can’t imagine that I’d be any welcome. I'm not even welcome here.”

“You'd be welcome in my home,” Sylvanas said and Jaina pulled away, sure that Sylvanas’ voice had been muffled in a way that caused her to hear wrong.

“You can’t mean to offer that.”

“Why not?” Sylvanas asked and she hadn’t let Jaina retreat completely. She found purchase on her hand and Jaina could have slipped away but allowed herself to be captured. “It wouldn’t be hard at all to request a local mage to set up a portal so that you could commute back and forth. And I’m sure that Vereesa would be happy to have you.”

“Is she not meant to be married?”

Sylvanas huffed. “To that flashy man? Yes, but I insisted on a long engagement. She won’t be married until the Summer’s end and if he loves her like he says he does, he will wait and not abandon her like some passing fashion. She deserves that, at the very least.”

Sylvanas squeezed her hand. “Say that you’ll come.”

Too many thoughts flitted through Jaina’s head. Too many possibilities. Before she could talk herself out of it she allowed herself to grasp at one of them, a want upon her pile, one that she hadn’t known had been there until she had reason to look.

She gripped Sylvanas’ hand back. Squeezed it, perhaps a little too tight and that tangle was in her throat again when she said, “I will.”

Chapter Text

None of the descriptions in Vereesa’s letters had prepared Jaina for the reality of Windrunner Spire.

She’d known that her friend’s ancestral home was grand. Perhaps even grander than her own, since elves were renowned architects, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual sight of it rising above the village that bore its name, casting its shadow down onto the ocean and salt-worn rocks below.

“I knew that you’d like it,” Vereesa told her from across the carriage that had brought them here. “Though I must admit, I didn’t think you’d like it so much that you’d stare from the village outskirts."

“It’s just so much larger than I’d imagined,” Jaina said and she was still very much staring. All but leaning in a way that would require she open the carriage window to get a better view. She hadn’t known that the one spire was actually three– one impressive tower that stood over two others, connected by staircases that defied every law of physics she could care to name.

They passed through the stone arch of the estate’s gate and Jaina did open the window to appraise the view up close, then. Though ‘up close’ was perhaps not the correct statement. Even though the spire was certainly shorter than the monument that had been Karazhan, it still stretched to the heavens, piercing the sky as if to grasp at the sun.

The sun was quite low now, certainly within the spire's reach. Even with the help of portals, the journey from Kul Tiras still had them arriving in the early evening.

“Do you really stay up there?” Jaina asked. The height must have been dizzying. It was dizzying to her, imagining what it must be like to wake up in the morning all but able to touch low-hanging clouds. If she thought about it too hard now, it might make her ill.

That didn’t escape Vereesa’s notice. She placed her hand at Jaina’s elbow. So very similar to her sister, yet so different. “I do, but you needn’t worry about having to do the same yourself. The guest quarters are in the lower parts and they’re quite comfortable, not so drastic in height.”

Jaina took a relieved breath. “That is good to hear. I’d hate to repay the kindness of your hospitality with constant sickness.”

Vereesa laughed. “Perish the thought. And I wouldn’t hold it against you if you were, I’m much too excited to have you here.”

Vereesa offered a pleased smile and Jaina tried to offer the same back. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that her being here was an imposition. Vereesa had been quick to reinforce Sylvanas’ offer to invite Jaina into their home, but risk still remained to her reputation for even offering such a thing.

A soon to be husband might not take kindly to what others would view as harboring a witch, after all.

Before Jaina could delve any further into that, getting lost in sour thoughts and ways things could go wrong, the carriage came to a stop and the door was promptly opened. Though the person that greeted her was not the footman she’d been expecting.

No, rather than the footman dressed in his Windrunner silvers and blues, Jaina was greeted by the head of the house herself dressed in similar colors that were much more resplendent.

“I take it that the journey was a pleasant one?” Sylvanas asked as if she had not ridden just behind them, forgoing a carriage in favor of her horse.

The footman certainly wouldn’t have gotten the same reaction from Jaina that Sylvanas did, her mouth splitting into a grin. Jaina took her hand gratefully, all too happy for the assistance.

“It was,” Jaina told her, not letting go of Sylvanas quite as quickly as she should have. It took Vereesa clearing her throat behind her for Sylvanas to turn her attention away as well.

“And do I get help from the carriage?” Vereesa asked. “Or has your sister become a second class citizen?”

Sylvanas laughed, “Perish the thought, Little Moon.”

Jaina watched them, remembering what it was like to give her own older sibling such a hard time, once. But that time was long gone. So far that usually, it was dug too deep in her memory to recall. With salt in the air and sea breeze on the wind, it was easy. Distantly, she could hear the sound of the waves lapping at the shore far below.

“You never told me that you lived close to the ocean,” she said to Vereesa.

“That’s because I hate it,” Vereesa told her, making a show of straightening her dress as if departing the carriage had been a most arduous affair indeed. “I care little for the feel of saltwater on my skin,” she made a face, “or for the smell of it in my nose.”

Jaina let the memory drift out. She laughed rather than let it linger, “And yet your closest friend is Kul Tiran.”

Vereesa smiled. “And yet I don’t hold it against you.”

“Well there’s no accounting for Vereesa’s taste,” Sylvanas said and she made no move to wait for her footman, already going for the door, “Fortunately, the Windrunners who built this place did not share the same affliction.”

The footman made a disgruntled noise behind them, clearly unprepared for his lady to open the door herself, but Sylvanas paid him no mind. She cast the door open, welcoming Jaina and Vereesa inside.

“Galdanis will handle your bags,” Sylvanas told Jaina, referring to the footman, “you’ll find everything waiting for you up in your room when he is done, neat and orderly.”

“Though not too far up,” Vereesa reminded her, but Jaina wasn’t listening. She was too busy taking in the sight of the Windrunners’ home, somehow even grander on the inside than on the out, imbued with so much magic that she could almost taste it in the air and it was all just so casual, effortlessly on display.

“Oh,” Jaina said, eyes tracking the mage lights that lit when they crossed the threshold, sparking to life as if chasing each other across the curve of the spire’s walls. “Your home is lovely.” But truly, the decor was what held Jaina’s attention least. She was focused on the magic instead. Some of it was active, like the mage lights, but most of it was dormant. Sleeping, as if waiting to be woken with the right touch.

She tucked strands of white behind her ear. She was familiar with the feeling.

“I hope that you’ll find the introductory fare that our chef prepared just as lovely,” Sylvanas said, guiding them to a pair of settees. She settled down next to Vereesa, leaving the other seat free for Jaina, and lifted the cover of a silver tray laid on the table between them with a slight flourish to reveal a selection of tiny pies. Jaina had never seen any pies like these before.

“They’re quiches,” Vereesa explained, spearing one on the tines of a miniature fork. “I always crave them so fiercely when I’m away from home. I’m sure that you’ll like them too since they’re savory custard pies, filled with cheese.”

Jaina didn’t need to hear any more than that. As soon as Vereesa said ‘cheese’ Jaina was taking up her own golden fork, wielding it like she’d seen fishermen do with their spears and she surveyed the tray just the same, keen eyes searching for the one that would suit her best. It took her nearly no time to find the one she wanted and when she tried a bite it was really only politeness that kept her from groaning and closing her eyes because fuck, yes, the quiche was exactly how Vereesa had described. And her friend had been so right to brag long ago and often, about how only Silvermoon made the best cheese.

Across from her, Sylvanas smiled. Her ears pressed back and up in a way that told Jaina she was particularly pleased and she reclined against the settee, rather than indulging herself. She reached back to touch at the base of a piece of decor that Jaina did not recognize, until it magically began to function. A feathered fan on a stand that encouraged a gentle breeze to flow throughout the room.

Jaina was grateful for the air. She hadn’t realized how hot she was, or that Kul Tiran summerwear was an admittedly poor pick for Quel’thalas. If they were still outside, she would have been sweltering.

“The quiches are delightful,” Jaina said, reaching to spear another. “I can see them quickly becoming my favorite.”

“Then I will see to it that our chef always keeps you in supply,” Sylvanas said, reaching forward to spear one of her own. Jaina spied Galdanis making his way up the stairs with one of her trunks when Sylvanas offhandedly added, “We want to provide you with nothing but our best.”

Jaina smiled easily, charmed, but Vereesa shot her sister an odd look. Or perhaps she too was tracking Galdanis’ movements, making some assessment of her own.

It didn’t end up amounting to anything. Not while they cleared the rest of the quiches and contented themselves to idly chat. When Galdanis had finished his task, they were all long since full. Those quiches were more filling than they looked.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Vereesa said, standing quickly, as if she’d been waiting for this moment since they’d arrived. She moved with surprising speed, taking Jaina’s hand and moving briskly, guiding her up the stairs to a bedroom door that was not very high, as promised.

“I hope that you like the view,” Vereesa told her, hand on the silver feather handle of the door, “Sylvanas picked it out for you and if I’m honest, it’s not what I would have chosen.”

Jaina quirked a brow, wondering what Sylvanas would say about that if she were not still on the first floor exchanging quiet words with Galdanis. “I’m sure that it will be just fine.”

The view was more than fine. The room was more than fine– generously spacious and not small at all, considering the spire’s curved structure. It had everything that Jaina could want inside. Most notably a writing desk and shelves that followed the sweeping angle of the walls. This was a place of study, though Jaina noted the elegant bed by the windowed balcony, too.

“It’s perfect,” Jaina said, looking out at the view. And it seemed that she could not stop showering this place in compliments but she couldn’t have asked for better if she’d tried. This room faced out to the sea and she could almost pretend she was back home, if she wanted, or she could squint out at the horizon and just make out the shape of more spires in the distance.

“Hm,” Vereesa hummed. “She’d thought as much. I found the decor that she’d picked out to be a bit…”

“Academic?” Jaina asked.

“Nerdy,” Vereesa finished.

Jaina huffed out a laugh, not able to begrudge Vereesa that. And just as she did, Sylvanas appeared in the doorway behind her, looking just as amused.

“You could have gone for being a bit nerdy,” she told Vereesa. “Maybe then you’d have been less of a hellion.”

“I was merely following in the footsteps you’d left behind, sister.”

Jaina could have winced. She’d have thought only she and her mother exchanged words so casually cutting. Though they’d have never done so in front of guests.

The sound of Sylvanas’ hum was an exact copy of Vereesa's, or perhaps it was the opposite that was true. Either way that hum yielded to a sigh and Sylvanas said, “Perhaps we should give Jaina some time to settle in before she decides if she would like to join us for dinner. My footsteps will follow soon behind yours, I’m sure.”

For a moment, Vereesa looked like she might argue but she decided against it. She cast her eyes about the room, satisfied that all of Jaina’s things were here, and nodded. “It has been a long day and I am sure that she is weary of travel and so much company.” She paused in the doorway, her shoulder brushing against Sylvanas’ when she said to Jaina, “Should you need me, I am a few flights up. My bedroom is quite high, so you may need to send a servant to call.”

And with that she left, leaving the two of them alone.

Alone, Jaina thought, in the room that Sylvanas had picked for her.

She walked to the windowed balcony, as if that would put space between her and what minor altercation had just happened. Sylvanas joined her, and she breathed a weary sigh.

“She’s been concerned about how well you’d settle here since I’d extended the invitation,” Sylvanas said. “I think she would have felt this way even if I’d invited you under normal circumstances, but she feels strongly about it now since she blames herself for your predicament.”

“She shouldn't,” Jaina shook her head. “It’s like you said. These things just happen. That’s what I am trying to believe, at least.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Sylvanas murmured. She stood a little closer to Jaina, as if it would help her better discern the truth. “And are you as pleased to be here as you seem? You do not have to put up a front for me.”

Jaina blinked, not expecting that. Not expecting the earnest, open way that Sylvanas was looking at her either. Sylvanas looked as if Jaina could say the word and arrangements would be made for her to stay in Dalaran without question. As if she would rearrange this room herself if Jaina so wished. And instead of giving the polite answer that had been drilled into her so thoroughly that it would take nothing to bring it to the surface, Jaina looked back out at that ocean view, and she took a breath.

It really was a lovely view.

And a clear one. Jaina took note of this, realizing that she could see the ocean as if she wasn’t looking through a window. In a traditional sense, she wasn’t. She realized that it wasn’t glass that made up the window’s pane, but magic. Of course magic would be used for something so mundane here. Magic belonged in a place like this, just as she did.

Or as she might, she thought looking back at Sylvanas. At least for a little while.

“I am as pleased as I seem.”

Sylvanas’ relief was a surprise. It flitted fast across her face, here and then gone again. Jaina was sure that she’d seen it even if shoulders that were less tense were the only evidence it had existed.

“And we are pleased to have you,” Sylvanas said quietly.

There was something about the way she said it. How she came forward slightly, grey, glowing eyes a little hooded as they drank Jaina in. Maybe it was the sun’s dying light in her hair, that ember turning silver edges crimson or maybe Jaina was getting too caught up in elven elegance– so dazzled by the spire and its magic that she was finding magic in other places, too.

“Ah,” Sylvanas said, as if just realizing something. “I hadn’t considered the heat in here when I’d spoken to Galdanis about the decor. I’ll have him bring some fans up, so that it does not bother you.”

“The heat?” Jaina asked.

“Of course,” Sylvanas said, “The reason why you are so flushed? Summers in Quel’thalas are particularly hot to those who did not grow up here.” She eyed Jaina’s dress, gaze sweeping over Kul Tiran green that was a tad too thick to be comfortable, if Jaina was honest about it. “If the rest of your wear is like this I’ll need to speak with Vereesa to see if she has anything to spare that you can borrow. I’m sure that we can find something to suit you from before she sprung up like a weed.”

Despite herself, Jaina laughed. Caught up in the whiplash that was Sylvanas but yes, it was the heat, surely, that was making the blood rise in her cheeks. Nothing more.

Certainly nothing more.

“That would be appreciated. I will admit, I didn’t think the temperature difference would be so great.”

“It surprises many,” Sylvanas nodded. “I will go to see Galdanis now, so that you do not have to endure the heat into the night.” She made as if to leave but paused, turning toward Jaina one last time. “Should you need anything, I am just down the hall or up the stairs, as it were. The first door on the left.”

Jaina smiled and she let Sylvanas go, despite how tempted she was to ask her to stay. What Vereesa had said was true. She was tired of all of the travel and company, but Sylvanas was hardly company. She was easy. Comforting, in this place that was still unfamiliar no matter how impressive and grand it was. But she let her go.

She set to unpacking her trunks. Occupying herself and not thinking of just how easy it would be to ascend those few steps later or what she might find if she knocked on that first door to the left.

Dalaran was as Jaina expected.

The projection her tutor had shown her all those years ago had been accurate, and the blanks her mind filled in of details missing were close enough. Everywhere that she looked, purple-topped towers ascended towards the sky but from where she stood, they looked spindly compared to the spire.

The mage that the Council of Six had assigned to her was not as she’d expected, though. Jaina had imagined someone severe. Perhaps someone who was annoyed at the prospect of Jaina being granted access to the magic city at all.

She had not imagined Rhonin Redhair.

“Vereesa has told me much about you,” Rhonin said, guiding them towards a private courtyard where they could study alone. “I am glad to meet you a second time, though I wish the first had ended in better circumstances.”

Jaina had never gotten a good look at Vereesa’s fiancé, having only seen him from afar. He was a little different up close. More rugged, with a beard and broken nose that didn’t seem to have ever been fixed quite right. He was boyish, still, with green eyes that sparkled with his enthusiasm, never looking for long at Jaina’s eyes or hair.

Jaina smiled and despite her best efforts, it was still a bit stiff. “I wish the same.”

She could feel eyes on her. The reason for the stiffness of that smile. A group of apprentices weren’t as quiet as they thought they were, muttering amongst themselves behind a pillar.

Rhonin saw what she saw. She knew he heard what she heard, too.

“Pay them no mind,” he told her. “They’re simply curious and curiosity is not always kind.”

It hardly ever was, in Jaina’s experience. Once she’d dreamed of being these students’ peer, wanting to share in that curiosity to discover and master new things. Now, she was the new and fashionable thing to talk about. She would never be their peer, she’d gone and assured herself of that.

“And are you curious?” she asked Rhonin. “Surely, you came up with your own theory about what happened, after they assigned you to me.”

If he was offended by the question, he did not show it. Rhonin simply hummed and said, “Truthfully? I did not know that I was picked to train you until this morning. As for a theory… I’m not that kind of mage. I prefer action over academia, and that’s why I think they picked me.” He paused at the courtyard gate, muttering some words under his breath and Jaina watched with rapt attention as runes glowed on his fingertips, mirrored on the gate’s lock that clicked open on his command.

“That seems like an odd choice to me,” she found herself saying. Quite rudely, but it only made Rhonin laugh.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, locking the gate behind him. The sounds of the city locked away with it and Jaina was glad that for all that she could still see their surroundings, she had a measure of peace. No harsh words or poorly disguised whispers now, only her new teacher and the quiet of her mind.

Or as quiet as her mind could be, of course.

“Do you want to know a secret that isn’t that secret?” Rhonin asked, claiming one of the two wrought iron chairs positioned around a small table in the center of this courtyard.

“I would,” Jaina said, carefully taking her own seat.

“I had an incident of my own, years back, and I think this is the final test to see if I’ve really learned from it. Nothing so flashy and public as yours but still…” he trailed off and looked quite serious. “The consequences weren’t nothing. They were something indeed.”

Jaina looked him over, taking in the change in his demeanor. He wouldn’t meet her eye, fingers fiddling with the lovely bound book on the table between them.

“So they assigned one problem child to teach another?” she asked.

That brought him back. He looked toward her with a smile. “Exactly.”

“So let’s waste no time and get started,” he said, “we’ll see what this problem child can teach another.” He turned the book to face her and when he opened it to the introductory page, Jaina realized that she knew this book, despite not recognizing the cover. Her copy was much shabbier.

“Oh, I’ve read this.”

Rhonin looked up at her, surprised. “You’ve read this? Antondas’ Arcane Primer?”

“Cover to cover,” Jaina told him. “Twice. I… managed to procure an old copy from a merchant on the Boralus docks.”

It wasn’t the best lie, but it was an easy one. No one needed to know that she wasn’t entirely untaught, or who had given her the tools to teach herself.

“Certainly,” Rhonin said, but he didn’t sound so certain. “But reading and putting things into practice are two different things.”

Jaina hummed. “I can show you. What do you prefer as an example?” She summoned a mage light, a spell that cost next to nothing. In her other hand, she summoned a frost bolt, and kept it suspended in the air. It took a little more effort to create a mirror image that did the same but it did not cost much.

Nothing did, after what had happened in Karazhan.

Rhonin’s jaw dropped. “I’ve heard of prodigies but this is ridiculous.”

Both Jainas shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

She dismissed the mirror as well as the other spells and she leaned back, feeling much more relaxed. “I didn’t master everything in there though. Blinking and portals didn’t seem like smart things to dabble in on my own.”

“That’s… very true,” Rhonin said and he still sounded a bit breathless, as if Jaina had revealed that she could turn into a dragon in front of him. “We can start with a blink. The wards in this courtyard are for safety as well as privacy, so you’re at no risk of finding yourself part way through an object, or stuck in a wall or underground.”

Jaina stood when he did, all too eager to try. “That’s what I had been worried about. Magical methods of travel sounded fascinating, but I’ve never gotten the chance to try.”

Rhonin walked her to the far edge of the courtyard and provided an example, explaining what he was doing as he casted. Jaina only needed to see it once, having read that section of the text many times. When it was her turn, she did not blink only a few feet forward in the courtyard as he did. She went so far forward that the wards activated, forcibly pushing her back. She hadn’t expected them to knock the breath out of her.

“What–?” she asked.

A fizzle of magic indicated that he’d blinked to stand alongside her. “The wards shouldn’t have done that if you only overshot by a little,” he said.

“I think I overshot by a lot,” Jaina turned to him, the glow of her eyes blazing.

To his credit, he did not panic. Where others would have certainly backed away, perhaps deciding that they did not want to be saddled with the responsibility of training an overpowered mage, Rhonin stood his ground. He was reassuring, when he put his hand on her shoulder. “I think it has something to do with that new power of yours.”

He stopped and Jaina watched him think.

“It seems that while your control of spells you know is more than commendable, new ones are going to cause some trouble.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “At least, until you learn how to keep that magic of yours within limits.”

“Like fine tuning control of a strong muscle,” Jaina said, having caught her breath now.

“Exactly,” Rhonin smiled, and he looked back at the place that they had blinked from. “Do not worry, Jaina, I already have some ideas for training forming. I’m a mage of action, remember?”

Jaina assured him, “I remember.”

“Good,” he said. “I think that you will master this in no time. And who knows? Maybe with access to all that power of yours, you’ll eventually develop some new spells of your own.”

This time, when he smiled at her, Jaina smiled back.

Jaina awoke to the sound of music.

She awoke to more than that. To the sound of rain pattering against her balcony windows. The noise of it was different when the water struck against magic rather than glass and it came with an odd sort of heat. Rain was supposed to be calming, refreshing. It always had been, back in Boralus, but in Quel’thalas it was different. It brought a balminess that crept into the room, sinking into the spire’s stone.

The fans could do little to protect her from such heat.

But still, the music.

She left behind warm satin sheets, hoping that when she returned, the absence of her body would have done something to cool them. She tugged on a robe that used to be Vereesa’s and it matched the slip she wore, silk that was water-soft, a silvery blue edging on metallic. She grabbed a candle holder before she left but of course, because this was a home inhabited by elves, it held no candle. She pressed her thumb to a rune emblazoned on the handle and a mage light sparked to life, lending a gentle glow.

She was decent and well equipped, more than prepared to find the source of that music. Eager for the distraction from that heat.

But what she found was a different sort of heat.

When she stepped out into the stairwell she realized that the music was coming from below her, rather than above and when she found the door that it was muffled behind, she was surprised by what she discovered.

Sylvanas.

Sylvanas at a harp, actually. In a small room with walls that were made up of a grandly curved window and several bookshelves. These were different from the shelves in Jaina's quarters, containing books that were less academic in text. Or at least Jaina thought they were, she hadn’t yet gotten the grasp of Thalassian but the velvet bindings and gold-trimmed edges spoke to leisure and luxury.

“Oh,” Sylvanas said, fingers stilling on the harp’s strings. The rain beat behind her where she sat on the window bench. “Did I wake you?”

Jaina became aware of multiple things at once. It all came at her in a blur.

Sylvanas was dressed casually, as she’d never seen her before, with no suit nor tailcoat in sight. The ruffed collar of her shirt was partially undone and the suspenders that Jaina imagined usually rested on her shoulders hung loose. A pipe made of briar rested next to her and it was clear from the smell in the air that she had recently smoked but what stood out to Jaina most was her hands, still on the harp and bare.

They shined in a way they shouldn’t. Catching the light with an arcane shimmer.

Jaina crossed the room faster than she thought she could have.

“Your hands–” Jaina said, knowing that she had not answered Sylvanas’ question.

Sylvanas stared up at her, long ears sloping back. Her eyes were unusually wide, looking from Jaina to her robe when she asked, “My hands?”

Right. She’d never seen Jaina in her nightclothes before. At least, not the ones borrowed from Vereesa. They probably looked odd on a human but Jaina pushed that aside saying, “Yes, your hands,” barely resisting the urge to take them from the harp’s strings and examine them herself.

Hands didn’t look like that. Not even elf hands, Jaina knew that.

“I…” Sylvanas made to move as if she were going to reach for the gloves peeking out of her pants pocket. “Ah, I would have preferred that you not find out this way.”

“Find out what?” Jaina pressed, already knowing. “In what way?” The rain pounded against the window now, creating little ripples in the magic pane. Lightning flashed outside and not far behind it came a peal of thunder, cresting with increasing volume.

Jaina’s anger crested just the same.

She didn’t appreciate being lied to, or being kept in the dark. Both were just as insulting and Jaina wasn’t stupid. She knew where those marks had come from. She knew that they were her fault, and it didn’t really matter what Sylvanas had to say to dissuade her from that fact.

Her hand clenched at her side and it trembled. She needed to see the damage. To witness what she had wrought.

Sylvanas noticed. She was always noticing. And she made room on the bench for Jaina before she gently asked her, “Sit with me?”

Maybe it was the way Sylvanas was looking at her. Maybe it was her own desperation for answers. Regardless of the reason, Jaina sat.

But she was still angry. So angry. Angry at herself. At Sylvanas. At that leyline back in Karazhan and how it had remained dormant for every other mage. Now, more than ever, what had happened was unacceptably unfair.

“It will fade,” was what Sylvanas decided to begin with. “They’re burns, not permanent scars, and they will fade.”

Jaina’s relief overwhelmed her anger. It smothered the weaker emotion inside her. Rising in her chest, pressing at her throat, and it escaped her lips in a sound that was startlingly close to one of grief.

Not permanent. At least something was.

“May I see them?” she asked after a while.

Sylvanas acquiesced, she turned her shoulders offering her hands to Jaina, palms up. It looked like a gesture of surrender.

Jaina wasn’t sure that she was worthy of accepting that surrender.

But still, what Sylvanas offered, she took and she reached out with her own fingers, touching carefully at the shine that was almost waxy on Sylvanas’ palms, curling behind her knuckles and fingers. Jaina wasn’t sure if it was latent magic or the first contact of skin against skin that shocked her most. Sylvanas showed no sign of discomfort but the power burned into her palms thrummed.

“They were brighter, at first,” Sylvanas told her. “After the ball. But they’ve already begun to fade away, the priests assure me that eventually they will soon be gone completely, as if they were never there.”

“I am sorry–” Jaina started, remembering those hands clutching at her dress. Those hands that had caught her from her fall.

“It was worth it,” Sylvanas finished for her.

Heat pricked at Jaina’s eyes. She blinked it away and resisted the urge to scrub at them, unwilling to let Sylvanas go. She wanted another hug, really, or some other way to be close. Right, now even side by side on the bench, they felt too far apart.

But it didn’t feel right to ask, so Jaina asked instead, “And has it affected your playing? I heard the harp from my room. It woke me, I think, with the rain.”

Sylvanas offered a wry smile and the grey of her eyes was so soft and gentle. “Then it is I who owes you the apology.”

Yet Jaina would not accept it. “Nonsense. It was lovely.” The rain had settled back down. No more thunder rolled in the distance. No sounds that would disturb the music of harp’s strings. “Will you play for me?”

“Of course,” Sylvanas said, and her hands returned to the strings catching the light in a way that was quite beautiful, once Jaina had gotten used to the sight of it. Still it didn’t take long for her to change her mind.

She’d wanted to be closer, after all.

“Will you teach me?” she asked when Sylvanas paused her plucking of a simple melody and she almost thought to take it back, to snatch the words from the air and just enjoy this measure of closeness before this time Sylvanas said a little differently, “Of course.”

It had more of an accent, Jaina thought, more of a Thalassian edge. Not so different from the lilting words Sylvanas had spoken when they had first met but these were far kinder. And so was Sylvanas, when she moved back on the bench to make room.

Jaina blinked. She had not thought that her request would require her to sit between Sylvanas’ thighs.

Or perhaps she had. Perhaps all along from when she’d first asked for the harp to be played she’d wanted for this. ‘This’ being Sylvanas’ chest pressed to her back. The softness of her breasts. Her breath warm on the side of her neck and the strength of those arms that came around her now, encircling her own to place her fingers on the strings just so.

The breath that shook out of her proved that to be more than likely.

“Nervous?” Sylvanas asked, lips close to her ear.

“Only of not being instantly good at it,” Jaina answered back.

She was neither particularly good nor particularly bad. She simply played, following along with Sylvanas’ movements and she found it calming, even if each note demanded more dexterity from her than she’d thought. Even a few chords required careful, efficient pressure as she worked to mimic each finger’s arch, figuring out that curve from knuckle to tip.

She tired out quickly. But she was fine with that. When she could stand to play no more she stopped Sylvanas’ hands with her own and made no move to remove them, taking in a quiet breath.

It was Sylvanas who laced their fingers together. Sylvanas who perched her chin on her shoulder, and Sylvanas who said, “I think you were plenty good at it.”

The breath that escaped Jaina was hushed. The magic that escaped her was not.

It sought out the nearest thing to them that could make use of it, skipping right over the candle holder she had set aside to settle into metal embedded on the edge of the windowsill that curved away from them, making an arcane projection come to life.

The next breath caught in Jaina’s throat.

She’d known the story of the Windrunners. All of the Windrunners, who had once inhabited this spire. Vereesa had told her years ago of her mother and father, her sister and her brother, who had all been lost at sea. It had been a simple voyage that had taken the parents and brother, simply the wrong place at the wrong time, but it had been obsession that drove Alleria to follow after them.

Vereesa had only told her that story once. And she’d never made another mention of them. She’d never shown Jaina any image of them. And Jaina had not seen a single image of the missing Windrunners here, not in all of the rooms she had inhabited or all of the paintings she’d looked upon. And she’d never asked. Not why there were no paintings of family at all. And not why so many rooms that she walked into looked as if they’d only recently been uncovered from dusted sheets.

She didn’t need to.

She knew why.

But now, she knew what those Windrunners looked like. Tiny arcane projections on the windowsill, enchanted to move as if going through the motions of everyday life. No small part of her wanted to apologize. She hadn’t meant to activate the projection. She had no idea what Sylvanas would think.

She was entirely unready for Sylvanas to turn her head against her shoulder, pressing into the bone of it with her cheek. Her chest pressed into Jaina’s back with a deep, tired breath.

“I used to come down here to practice to play for them,” she murmured, “and now I just come here to wait. Isn't it silly? Spending so much time waiting for someone who will never return?”

Jaina’s heart squeezed in her chest. She squeezed Sylvanas’ hands. She swallowed and her mouth was dry, her tongue tied with unexpected emotion. “It isn’t silly,” she managed to say, having done the same for her brother for so many, long, years.

Sylvanas’ ear twitched against her cheek and the weight of her was heavy, yet steady against her. Jaina had nowhere to go. No place she could imagine to be.

“I’ll wait with you.”

Chapter Text

Jaina does not think Vereesa will tire of her presence in the spire.

And yet when Vereesa takes her seat across from her, tired is what she is. There’s a pinch to her brows that they usually lack and she wears a seriousness that does not suit her.

Her smile is thin when she aims it at Jaina, practiced and put upon. Jaina is used to smiles like this. She is not used to them belonging to her closest friend.

“I appreciate you taking the time to have brunch with me,” Vereesa tells her, settling on her settee. The spire’s first floor feels less welcoming now, despite the warm midmorning light. Everything that Jaina could ask for is here– the fans are turning and a food board with drinks sits between them. No, almost everything that Jaina could ask for is here. Her friend’s open honesty is decidedly absent.

Or her openness, at least. Vereesa has honesty in spades.

“I wanted to talk to you about what is going on between you and my sister,” Vereesa starts, sounding like a teacher preparing to scold a pupil. Despite herself, Jaina feels her jaw clench.

She’s done nothing wrong. Sylvanas has done nothing wrong. And still, this inquiry puts her on the defensive.

It isn’t somewhere Jaina likes to be.

“I wasn't aware of anything going on between your sister and I,” is what she chooses to say.

She eyes the board in front of them. Watches Vereesa pick over fruits and cheeses. She does not appreciate being picked at just the same. What she chooses to do during her nights and who she does those things with is no business of Vereesa’s.

But Vereesa decides it is.

“I can hear you, you know.” Vereesa spears her next bit of cheese with a particular ferocity and she lifts it into the air, pointing with distinct accusation. “That harp isn’t as quiet as the two of you think and I know that the one playing is you, Sylvanas has a certain way with the strings.”

She does have a certain way with the strings. Jaina thinks often of Sylvanas’ skill, the dextrous way that she plays. She observes even more often her fingers and their placement, how Sylvanas knows exactly how to curl each one to get the right shape.

Jaina thinks of Sylvanas and her fingers often. But not for the reason Vereesa thinks.

“There’s nothing wrong with playing the harp,” she mutters.

“There isn’t,” Vereesa agrees, “but I do not think that the harp is the only thing being played.”

Jaina has never known Vereesa to be like this. Sharp, with an edge defined. Vereesa is the type to offer a quick laugh and an even quicker smile. She is not the type to play these sorts of games, slinging accusations and displeasure like blades.

It is unnerving that she wields them so well.

Galdanis reappears at the table presumably from the kitchen and even the way Vereesa treats him is out of place. He sets a second, smaller board down on the table between them, this one offering more culinary accompaniments with flowers arranged around its edges.

Vereesa mutters some words to him in Thalassian. Jaina thinks she hears the Thalassian word for ‘late’ in those lilting syllables but she isn’t certain. She is far from mastering the elves’ language but she is more than versed in the language of flowers. She looks down at the board, eyeing the irises delicately laid around its edges, and Vereesa’s intent is clear. I send a message.

Usually, Jaina is receptive to such messages, meaning written in fronds and petals. White acacia came at the bloom of their friendship, red coral bells followed their first farewell and Vereesa pressed flowers often, sending them along with her letters.

Jaina has always taken great care to hear her friend out in her arrangements.

She is less inclined to hear her now.

“I just want to avoid seeing you hurt,” Vereesa explains over the rim of her glass that is arguably overfull with wine. She has poured generously for them both, and it is doing her no favors with how it seems to embolden her tongue. “You all but ruined yourself last season and this summer is an opportunity for you to set things right. I hate to see you waste it on her. Or hear you waste it, that is. I notice that she is decidedly absent when I am present.”

“I don’t keep diligent track of what Sylvanas is doing and where,” Jaina says, yet that is a lie. Jaina knows exactly what time of morning Sylvanas gets up to prepare for her hunt. She is familiar with the quiet sounds of her steps, careful on the stairs. She sees her sometimes, when she decides to greet the dawn on the edge of her room’s balcony and if Sylvanas catches sight of her, she’ll even wave.

She does not feel the need to tell Vereesa any of that. Especially not the fact that Sylvanas always waves back.

Vereesa thinks. She is no longer so quick to accuse. Jaina can see the thoughts playing across her face, the shifting in her tactics and it is not so dissimilar from Sylvanas, that same almost military look yet Vereesa wears it differently. She seems to struggle where Sylvanas is always so sure. As if she will jump on an opening as soon as she sees it, rather than patiently wait for the movement of the field to unfold.

“Hm,” Vereesa hums, taking a large sip of wine and Jaina wonders how quickly it will all go to her head. Jaina has only taken a few sips herself. It is early, after all.

And she does not need Vereesa to hear what will come out of her mouth should her own tongue become emboldened. She walks a fine line, bold enough.

“You’re diligent with your studies,” Vereesa tells her. “Rhonin has told me as much. He talks of you often, so often that I wonder if you’d rather spend time with him than me.”

“Studying takes up the majority of my time–”

“Does it?” Vereesa’s eyes shine in a way that Jaina does not like. Wet, as if threatening at any moment to shed tears. “I understand you must spend time in Dalaran. It is clear to me that your studies are important but I thought that I’d at least see you here,” she sniffs and Jaina can see through the performance, even if Vereesa’s feelings are true. She remembers what younger siblings are like even if it feels like a lifetime since she’s had one.

Galdanis approaches with a second supplementary tray. This one is adorned with jasmine. Jaina finds it almost funny, in an off color sort of way. For all of Vereesa’s talk of Rhonin, her tears contrast sharply with the message of these flowers. Happiness in marriage.

So this is a setup. Vereesa really should compare methods with Katherine sometime, they could exchange notes.

The humor leaves Jaina as soon as it comes. Vereesa knows how stressful the prospect of marriage is and still she plays this game. It is easy for Vereesa to play. She is the one with a diamond on her finger, the faceted cut of it glints, catching the sun’s light when Vereesa reaches forward for another slice of cheese and Jaina wonders if it, like everything else, is intentional.

“You do see me here,” Jaina points out. “You’re seeing me now.”

But was she? Jaina was not so sure.

Vereesa has always been able to see her. From the time they’d met in Stormwind’s Embassy, Vereesa had been an unstrange friend in a too strange land. They’d shared tutors, secrets, milestones, and it seems that all that sharing was coming to an end with this– a ring on Vereesa’s finger, and Jaina’s finger bare.

That is the gulf between them, Jaina decides. Not Sylvanas. She has done nothing wrong with Sylvanas, even if Vereesa cannot be convinced of that fact.

And still it remains her sticking point.

“From my perspective, you’re seeing more of her,” Vereesa says and the jealousy is apparent. Jaina doesn’t know how she didn’t see it in all of the days that came before. Stifled interactions. An avoidance, perhaps, on both their parts. Guilt twines with her irritation, yet it does not win out, not when Vereesa says, “After everything that I told you she’s done, I’d never imagined that you’d choose her over me.”

That isn’t fair.

It may be childish to think, but it simply isn’t fair.

Jaina does not know the Sylvanas that left Vereesa behind. She does not know the Sylvanas that fled to the world rather than stay and grapple with their loss. Jaina knows, of course, what Sylvanas did. But she knows it like she knows facts from a text. Knowledge in the theoretical, not the practical and as she knows her, Sylvanas is a whole different kind of practical.

But Vereesa does not understand that. She certainly has no sympathy for that. Not when she tells Jaina in a too quiet voice, “She’ll never marry you, you know. No matter what she says, no matter what she does she’s just not that kind of person. She’s too selfish and that’s why I don’t want to see you waste your time,” Vereesa is gaining momentum, finding her footing, as if this is what she’s wanted to say from the moment she sat down, “That’s why I am trying to help steer you in the right direction. Sylvanas will not make you happy but marriage will, you have to stay focused on what’s important.”

She tries to take Jaina’s hand. “Let me help you stay focused on what’s important. Rhonin has friends. Surely, someone–”

Jaina pulls her hand away.

She pulls her hand away and the expression on Vereesa’s face is not one that she’s ever thought she’d be the cause of. Hurt. Confusion. She opens her mouth to say something to fix it. She does not want this gulf between her and her friend. She needs to keep this rift from becoming any larger but outside, she can hear the hoofbeats of Sylvanas returning from her hunt on her horse.

“I don’t think this is a good time,” is what comes out of her mouth. Some part of her wants to be angry, that part of her thinks it would be easy to turn on Vereesa and ask her where she gets off with all of these accusations, accusing Vereesa of looking down on her now that she’s attained a promise of marriage and a so-called perfect life. Yet Jaina can’t. She isn't.

Jaina gets up from the sitting area just as Sylvanas opens the spire’s door. She turns just as she sees Galdanis approaching with a third, and presumably final tray.

She leaves before any of them can get a word in. There are no words but the ones meant by the flowers. Daisies. And their message is simple.

Think on it.

“We have a guest today,” is what Rhonin tells her when she emerges from the portal anchored at Windrunner Spire.

“A guest,” Jaina repeats as she trails after him, more than familiar with the route to their training courtyard. “A higher ranked mage or a member of the Council of Six?”

It feels a bit early to be checking in on her progress, but Jaina can't count herself as surprised, some sort of test is exactly the kind of thing she should expect.

“No one like that,” Rhonin glances at her over his shoulder and he looks a bit nervous. “A non-mage actually. Or… a civilian…” he cannot seem to settle on the title for their guest until he says, “A prince.”

Jaina raises a brow. There are a finite number of princes on Azeroth, she could probably name them all if she tried. Her mother had quizzed her back in Kul Tiras, matching names to portraits as if that made any difference in the outcome of the wedding season.

“What is a prince doing in Dalaran?” she asks.

“He put in a request with the Council of Six.” Rhonin hesitates and Jaina knows that’s not all of it. “And I did what I could to see it through. Vereesa thought it would be good for you. Something to better your chances next season.”

Jaina does not know what to say to that. She knows that she does not wish to discuss Vereesa with Rhonin. She does not particularly want to discuss Vereesa with anyone, but especially not her husband to be. The rift between her and Jaina is not so large that it has caused more hasty brunches but it is still there, its presence is felt every time Vereesa looks her way, barely holding herself back from throwing a lifeline. Jaina is reminded of it every time she spots a daisy in the spire’s garden.

Think on it.

Jaina has done a lot of thinking on it. She’s thought so much that she’s decided quite soundly that she’d like nothing more than to never think of it again.

But that isn’t a real solution, it’s proven when Rhonin tries to offer a reassuring glance. He does not undo the lock on the courtyard gate because it is already open and set aside. “He’s waiting for us,” is all he says.

Jaina expects the elven prince. It makes the most sense, considering Vereesa’s interest. Jaina does not expect Arthas Menethil, the prince of Lordaeron flipping idly through Antonidas’ primer when she steps into the courtyard.

“Ah, the Lady of Karazhan,” he smiles when he greets her. His gaze sweeps over the glow of her eyes, the white of her hair. Rhonin stiffens beside her.

Jaina is familiar with the moniker. She’s heard it enough times that she has become used to it, though she is unused to it being said to her face rather than behind her back.

“I wasn’t aware that my family acquired new land,” she tilts her head and she is mocking, in a way, as mocking as she allows herself to be to the prince of Azeroth’s largest human kingdom. “Though I suppose if an estate were to become available, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that my mother put in a bid. I hear the lighting fixtures are lovely.”

She thinks she hears Rhonin make a choking sound. He dismisses himself quickly with some newly thought excuse about other business to attend to. He leaves with assurances they will not be disturbed.

That is fine, Jaina is more than capable of causing a disturbance on her own.

With an unannounced visit and only a few words, Arthas has stoked a fire in her. It is not the fire he is expecting and that is evident when he says, “I’ve already made a fool of myself, haven’t I?”

He is not too proud to shake his head and laugh.

Jaina draws near but not close. A respectable distance, standing beside him at the little wrought iron table. “That depends on why you’re here,” Jaina says. “Despite the enclosure around this courtyard, we are not in an exhibit. I am not here for you to gawk at, so I hope that is not your aim.”

Arthas closes Antonidas’ primer gently, far gentler than Jaina would have thought him capable of. His hands are gauntleted, all of him armored, but to Jaina it is like a costume. There is no reason to arrive armored in a place like this. She wonders if it makes him feel bigger, if that’s what all of this is.

“I’d thought to come here to admire,” he tells her and there is a prettiness to him that none of his portraits can capture. It is the sun in his hair, the glow to his skin, it is the Light that he commands lending him its shine. He's like a bauble, in that way, pleasing and easy on the eye.

Jaina has never been easily impressed by baubles.

She’s not one to quickly cast them out, either.

“I’d have dressed for the occasion then, if I’d had notice.” She is not wearing the sort of dress one would expect from a lady greeting a prince. She is dressed in what she wears for training, a leather wrap coat fastened neatly over loose clothes. The leather is enchanted, dyed purple and cut in an elven style. Her shirt and pants are simple, tucked neatly into bracers and boots that match the coat. A belt ties it all together, cinched around a sash.

She imagines she appears an oddity. She does not think that Arthas has had much reason to see women in leathers and shoulderpads.

Arthas looks her up and down and his gaze is not leering in a way that she is used to from the eyes of men. He is assessing. Inspecting. He must look at the ranks of his father’s army this way, checking that each soldier passes muster even if not a single one of them sees action on any field.

Arthas’ fascination with all things military is well known. It appears that his fascination extends to more than that.

“I value beauty when it accompanies strength,” he says, “and I have heard that you have an abundance of strength.” He smiles and the Light must favor him, because no other smile can be so blindingly bright. “I hear that you have power that rivals the guardian.”

“You hear tales,” Jaina tells him, not about to be caught up in his praise. “Few alive remember how strong the guardian is, or even was supposed to be.”

“Still,” Arthas insists, “I came all this way, won’t you honor me with a demonstration?”

Jaina supposes she cannot begrudge him that.

She decides to show off because she has been practicing, after all, and she conjures multiple mirror images for him to see. Not enough to fill the courtyard, but enough to create what could be considered a crowd. Each performs a different spell of varying complexity and it takes at least a little effort on Jaina’s end. Arthas notes the lack of strain on her face. He does not hesitate to meet the glow of her eyes when he says, “Marvelous.”

Few have ever called Jaina a marvel. Two, really.

Rhonin, often in excited praise. Sylvanas, in her quiet sort of way.

This isn’t like that. This appreciation is layered with an air of something else. Expectation, as if this is a trick one would see from a street magician, a performance that can be requested on command.

Jaina releases the spell. Here is a suitor with no problems with her magic, yet she is not as pleased as she should be.

Arthas is still smiling at her. A prince is delighted at her. And here she is, unhappy with it all. Or not unhappy. Dissatisfied. Wanting when the person paying such dedicated attention to her is someone so many others have wanted. There is a sort of shame in it, a festering kind of frustration because this should be good enough. He should be good enough and yet, as always, nothing ever is.

She must get it from her mother, this inability to ever be pleased. That thought is the reminder she needs to not waste this. Happy or not, a prince is here to see her, that is no small thing.

“You honor me with your praise.” The words sound stiff, yet their stiffness falls beneath Arthas’ notice.

He is too pleased with what he has seen. Not about to be perturbed by something like a lack of chemistry. “I would do more than honor you,” he tells her, “I think we’d make an excellent match, don’t you agree?”

Jaina must have misheard. Yes, she must have, because not even a prince would be so forward.

But Arthas is.

He is standing there, shining and gallant like something out of a tale. He smiles his perfect smile that reveals his perfect teeth and Jaina is scouring him to find any sort of imperfection because this is too easy to be happening. There is no way that what he is saying is something real.

Yet it is all too real.

He stands closer to her. In her desire to understand, she does not step back. “Think on it. Your prowess with the arcane, my mighty control of the Light. We could accomplish much together, you and I,” he summons the Light into his gauntleted palm as if to prove his point and guides it into one of Jaina’s open hands. “We could create many great things.”

The light floats in her grasp. So many things float in her grasp.

Think on it.

Jaina can almost wonder if Vereesa, in all her meddling interference, has put him up to the task but that is an impossibility, Jaina knows it is an impossibility, even if what Arthas is saying is impossible right now.

She needs time to consider. Distance to think clearly. She needs to decide if she likes him, if it’s even important that she likes him. Yesterday, she was more or less ruined. Today, a prince is practically proposing to her without a ring. This is supposed to be her space to be free of such considerations but here Arthas is, ruining all of that.

She decides that she will not do her own ruining.

“I will consider it,” Jaina says and she does not move away when he shifts to take her hand. “But I would like time to do so. There is a way of doing these things and I prefer to honor them, so can I expect to see you next season? I should like to get to know you better before I think of making such a promise.”

“Of course,” Arthas murmurs and he is still so shining and bright. Any other woman would swoon, were she in the same position, but Jaina only watches him. She watches as he bends, lifting her knuckles chastely to his lips.

“You will see much of me next season.”

Jaina seeks Sylvanas that night.

She seeks her every night, whether she chooses to join her or not, waking often with the harp’s music in her ears. Some nights, she chooses to simply lie in her bed and listen. Others, she cannot seem to go quick enough down the stairs.

Tonight, she tugs her borrowed robe on with haste. She has not been sleeping. She hardly needs any light to guide her way. The path down in the dark is one she knows well.

Sylvanas is waiting for her when she arrives.

Her long ears are cast askew when Jaina opens the door, shifting in a pleased sort of way. She makes room for Jaina to sit before Jaina does any asking. She hardly seems to need any asking, not when it comes to what Jaina needs.

“A hard night?” Sylvanas murmurs and the breath that accompanies it is warm against the back of Jaina’s neck. She is slow. Sedate, as she often is in Jaina’s presence. As if Jaina is a bath she waits to slip into at the day’s end.

It is a familiar feeling, Jaina waits to slip into her just the same.

This is their solace. These four walls or three, Jaina doesn’t really know what the window counts as. She finds it hard to care when she’s seated between Sylvanas’ thighs. Such a position makes it easy to not care about many things.

If only her mind will let it remain easy.

“A hard day,” is what she settles on and really, Jaina has had several hard days, a princely visit is just the bow that ties it all together.

She wishes that she could unravel it, wanting for the ability to make things simple again, or as simple as they ever were. It was easier in her first days here to be nothing more than a guest. Or maybe something more than a guest, because Jaina does not imagine that Sylvanas does this for just anyone who visits the spire. She cannot imagine that her fingers would guide someone else’s to the right placement on the harp’s strings or that Sylvanas would linger like she does, the pads of her fingers light on the backs of her hands.

“Do you wish to play or talk about it?” Sylvanas asks. Her touch drifts down to Jaina’s knuckles, her chin finds its perch on her shoulder.

Jaina resists the urge to let go of the harp, sorely tempted to let go of everything and lean back into her. If Sylvanas is a bath that she can sink into, sometimes Jaina wishes that she would allow herself to drown.

But that isn’t an option. Talking doesn’t feel like an option either, so Jaina plucks a starting note and lets it reverberate like a hum before she says, “I’d prefer to play.”

And Sylvanas lets her. She makes no comment other than the gentle instruction required when Jaina needs it. Jaina doesn’t need it often, she is getting better at this, her endurance allowing her to stay longer on the strings.

She’s developed an appreciation for her own skill, but she does not look forward to the day that Sylvanas no longer sits behind her. She suspects, in the back of her mind, that she’ll always have a need for that– the heat that Sylvanas brings, the vibration of her hums against her back and the way that it mimics the buzz of the strings. If Jaina closes her eyes, she can almost blur the difference. It is not hard to imagine that her fingers are on the center of Sylvanas’ chest, not the strings. If she feels enough, lets go of enough, it is almost real.

So of course, she’s the one to ruin it.

It’s a discordant note that does it. One, then two. On the third, Sylvanas knows that it’s no simple mistake and she stills the strings with her fingers. She stills Jaina’s hands just the same, lacing their fingers together, palms pressed to the backs of her hands.

Jaina realizes the burns are fading like Sylvanas promised. The waxy texture on her palms is muted, giving way to calluses and creases of heat. She opens her mouth. She doesn’t dare speak.

All of the things she can think to say aren’t ones worth saying. What should she tell her, that her sister orchestrated a meal with a message to stay away, that the answer to all of her problems barged its way into her life as if handed on a silver tray? Jaina says none of those things. She can say none of those things, they would ruin this for her and that is not something that she can abide.

“Do you want to try something else?” Sylvanas asks, careful and quiet. Her breath is hot where it fans across Jaina’s cheek.

Jaina’s own breath is something she can barely seem to keep for all of the words that tangle in her chest. She is willing to try anything else.

“Please,” is what comes out of her mouth and with anyone else she might feel a fool for it but Sylvanas does not let her, she squeezes her fingers, does not let them go. Sylvanas tilts her head into her, so close that if Jaina were to turn her head they would press cheek to cheek and she says, “Let’s try talking. You can ask anything of me. Anything but…” she hesitates. Jaina does not let her falter.

“I wouldn’t,” Jaina tells her, “I wouldn’t ask you that.”

Jaina does not need to ask the sordid details of Sylvanas’ past. She does not need to hear where Sylvanas went or what she did in those places. She has the broad strokes from Vereesa, as Vereesa so recently went out of her way to remind– Jaina knows that Sylvanas left when Vereesa was quite young and that until now, she rarely ever came back. She knows that more than just family and estate were abandoned, that even Sylvanas’ station as Ranger General is being maintained by someone else and she knows that at the core of everything, Vereesa’s love for her sister does not wash out her hurt. As a friend, Jaina should stand in solidarity of that hurt, but she doesn’t.

She can’t.

“I don’t need you to tell me where you went or why you left,” Jaina says and it comes out like a confession. It is one but she does not allow herself to recognize it as that, just another thing for the bow of her problems to knot around and snare. “If you want to, if you need someone to hear you, I will but that’s not what I’m asking of you. It’s not something that I’ll ever ask of you.”

They’re sitting in the reason, Jaina knows. They are surrounded by it. Swallowed by it. Sylvanas can delegate every duty, run away to the edge of the world and the reason will always remain. Unchanged, always the same.

And those duties will always follow her. Sylvanas can appoint someone else to run her house. She can declare anyone eligible to handle the mantle of Ranger General but she cannot remove the crest pinned to her collar. She cannot abandon the mark of her station, feathers and arrows embossed on the ring adorning her finger. Sylvanas can try to outrun many things, but she cannot outrun herself.

Jaina does not want her to.

She realizes that Sylvanas is holding her breath. She counts to tens. Tens turn to twenties. Before they can become thirties Sylvanas sinks into her. That breath uncoils from her mouth and it reels Jaina in. “What do you wish to hear?”

You, Jaina thinks, I want to hear you. Who you really are beneath all of the duty and sorrow and failed attempts to do things right.

Jaina wants more of what she found the first time she came here. More of something real. She wants to find out for herself if she can hold it in the cup of her hands if she tries.

Will it trickle out like water? Is Sylvanas so transient that all she knows how to do is slip away?

Jaina untangles their fingers.

She has learned, over the course of many nights, that Sylvanas is incredibly tactile. Perhaps all elves are. She remembers back in Stormwind, Vereesa hinting as much, but she pushes Vereesa from her mind. She focuses on Sylvanas behind her. The arms alongside her. And her fingers touch delicately at those arms, following along the faint scars that crisscross her skin.

Occupational hazards from years of being Ranger General, Sylvanas had once told her. Jaina knows that’s not all there is.

This is not the first time she has dared touch her.

But it is the first time she has done so with this intent.

“Tell me about one of these,” Jaina says and her voice is steady while her fingers are a mere whisper. “A happy one, please.”

Sylvanas straightens against her. Her chin is back on her shoulder, a perch that seems to be preferred. Her eyes follow along where Jaina touches now, searching for the answer she deems worthy for Jaina to receive.

“This one,” Sylvanas’ hand settles over the back of Jaina’s own. She guides her finger to an indent, one so small that Jaina would have missed it on the tapestry that is Sylvanas’ skin. “This one is a good one, and not one that I have thought of in a while.”

Jaina keeps quiet. She dares not disturb Sylvanas in her storytelling, unused to being trusted with such an honest thing. When Sylvanas shows herself, she does so in pieces. Unfurling one moment and withdrawing on herself the next. Usually, if she shares anything, it is heartbreakingly casual– a murmur into Jaina’s shoulder, a breath that ghosts the shell of her ear.

“Lirath,” is all that Sylvanas says at first, “When he was a baby, I was the one responsible for putting him to bed. He was my favorite and I was his, so much so that one night when I put him down before he was ready he bit me because he didn’t want to leave my arms.”

A sound bursts out of Sylvanas’ mouth. Something like the memory of a laugh.

“The look on his face, it was as if he was surprised he’d even done it.”

Sylvanas rubs over the mark like it's a memento. Jaina is starting to realize that it is.

“It sounds like you couldn’t hold it against him,” Jaina says softly.

“No,” Sylvanas agrees, “I couldn’t. How could I? But I never let him forget. And he never let me forget, either. Any time he was cross with me when he got older, he was always showing me that tooth. It was a little crooked and I’d tell him it was because of what he did.”

Jaina can feel Sylvanas’ smile. She hears it, too. She does not need to see it to know that there is a tightness at the corners of Sylvanas’ eyes, the one that makes her look like she is baring her teeth through pain. Sylvanas takes another breath and she holds it. Tens to twenties. Twenties to thirties. Jaina lets the thirties ascend as high as Sylvanas needs and looks upon the closest shelves. She notices that Sylvanas shares the same affinity for arrangements as her sister.

A vase of flowers has found its way into this room. Yellow tulips. Hopeless love.

Jaina’s heart aches for it, the love she can hear in Sylvanas for her family.

She sees it on Sylvanas’ arms. When Sylvanas speaks again, she guides her hands to show her– here, a burn from the time Vereesa had decided she was old enough to shoot a flaming arrow, there, a cut from a snapped lute string, of all things.

Sylvanas guides her and Jaina follows along until the energy is gone. Until Sylvanas is quiet again, resting on the perch of her shoulder. Her next words come out in a murmur.

“Was that enough to make you forget?”

Her face is right there. Her warmth is right there. The softness of her skin, the inescapable force of her pull.

The honest answer would be yes but Jaina turns. For the first time in this position she looks over her shoulder, pressing them cheek to cheek. She lies and tells Sylvanas, “No.”

Usually, Jaina would find it hard to lie. It is becoming easier and easier now. If it is what it takes to be close to Sylvanas, lying is something she is all too able to do.

Her eyes are cast down and she knows Sylvanas wants to look at her, pale lashes are a kiss against her skin. Slowly, Sylvanas’ fingers come beneath her chin and they encourage her to turn more, until they are breathing each other in.

“Do you want to try something else?” Sylvanas asks, more quiet than before.

“Yes,” Jaina breathes, all open honesty and she is already leaning in.

Jaina has been kissed before. She’s been kissed many times before. Timid kisses, rushed kisses, hot, passionate kisses that stole her breath away.

She has never been kissed like this.

She has never been kissed by Sylvanas, who takes such tender care to draw her in. Sylvanas’ lips are soft against hers. She meets her with a faint little murmur and when Jaina kisses her back she can only think that she has never thought it so gentle to drown.

Because she is drowning, that is a surety. She has spent so long in drawn water that she has finally let her head slip under.

She was warned from this, but no part of Jaina wants to heed any warning. She just wants to keep doing what she is doing, to keep feeling the way she is feeling– content, in a way that she never has been. Sylvanas tilts her head to better the angle and Jaina's hand slides up into her hair.

It’s her fingertips grazing the skin of a long ear that makes Sylvanas stop. She does not pull away abruptly. She is still languid, still gentle even as she keeps Jaina away with fingers under her chin.

“Was that okay?” she asks. Her voice has a small sort of rasp.

Too many thoughts flit through Jaina’s mind– what she’s done, what she’s still doing, all of the things she may still yet do. She does her best to quiet them. She offers Sylvanas a small smile and says, “Yes. Yes it was okay.”

But that is enough tonight for forgetting. If Jaina were to continue, she would surely forget herself.

The heat has gotten to her. Her heart stutters in her chest and her face has a flush. Her head feels light, nearly dizzy and she knows that she has spent too long in this bath, so she gets up.

Sylvanas lets her. She keeps contact with her, a hand on her shoulder that slides to her elbow and lingers at the end of her hand. They are touching still, but only fingertips. That almost burns more than any other touch.

“I…” Jaina starts. She does not know how to stop.

“Should rest,” Sylvanas finishes for her. She shows her how to stop. She smiles, and it is enough to slow all of those thoughts so that Jaina can catch up.

Jaina knows that she should leave. She is getting ready to leave, but she curls the tips of her fingers over Sylvanas’, a nearly not there grip.

“Will you keep playing? I should like to hear it in my room.”

There is a delight to Sylvanas that she has never seen before. Soft. Muted, even as it twinkles in her eyes.

“I can do that,” Sylvanas agrees. “Tonight, I’ll practice for you.”