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The balcony doors are closed, curtains drawn, when Freja landed neatly on the edge of the railing. The guards hadn’t noticed her, and with anyone else she might have raised the point that better guards were needed, but her target for tonight hardly needed the protection. What was more concerning was the barrier keeping her out. Her visit was expected, she knew better than to enter the Wolf’s den without warning of her arrival, even if her missive had been deliberately vague about when she would appear. Vendetta might walk boldly in the shadowed sun, but Freja still preferred to hide in the light of the moon; and it had kept them both safe so far.
She dropped down onto the balcony and waited for a moment, listening for danger. Standing at the top brought its own dangers, although she doubted that there were any ready to challenge Vendetta just yet. Even the heroes she had grown up in the shadow of paled beside the woman taking the world by storm, and Freja felt her lips curve into a smile, not quite fondness, not yet. Neither of them was soft enough for that, although she felt the threat of it sometimes in the quiet moments, the stolen minutes away from the eyes of the world, their roles on that public stage so different from when they were together.
Shaking her head at her own folly for lingering in the open, she stepped to the doors and knocked softly on the glass, waiting for half a moment, before knocking again. There was no reply, and she frowned, before carefully testing the handle, head tilted as she listened for any sign of a trap. Instead, all she heard was the click of the handle turning, and the faintest creak of wood as the door opened. It wasn’t the welcome she had expected, unable to remember the last time the doors had been closed, but it seemed she wasn’t being shut out. Perhaps, Vendetta was just luring her in. Suspicion was rife in the world these days, and more than one person had pointed fingers at her as Maximillien’s ‘friend’, and while she trusted the wolf to see the truth, life had taught her that allegiance was a fickle beast.
She hesitated for a moment, door cracked open and then gambled and slipped through the door and into the darkened room beyond. If you didn’t gamble, then you won nothing.
No sword flashed through the dark.
And she took a deep breath.
Silence.
Quietly, she closed the door behind her and took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dark. She was in the study, the place where their dealing had first descended into something secret and soft, with the bite of a wolf. For once the multiple screens were dark, the large chair behind the desk unoccupied, the books that filled the walls all neatly in place as though no one walked these halls.
It was wrong, and Freja lifted her crossbow.
“Marzia?!” Now that she was safely inside this place that had become their sanctuary, she let the name that she alone was allowed to use fall into the quiet. If there was an enemy here to hear it, they wouldn’t live long enough to share that secret, and it was a white flag if the wolf sensed a threat. Silence for the longest moment, in which all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, and there was a soft noise from the room off to the left. A whisper of sound that could have been her name, and she followed the thread of sound, weapon still at the ready.
This room she was intimately familiar with, from the large bathroom of to the side, all marble and soft lighting, to the large four poster bed that dominated the centre. Again, the windows were covered in here, the only light coming from a single lamp on the bedside table. A tentative golden glow that seemed loathe to break the darkness, but bright enough to reveal the familiar figure curled on the bed. Freja wanted to go to her, especially as she now clearly heard the soft murmur of her name.
“Freja…”
Still, caution rang in the back of her head. Life a teacher that had more than hammered home its lesson, and she inched into the room, scanning the dark corners, crossbow ready before moving across to check the bathroom. Caution giving way to concern as she spied the cabinet hanging open, medicine bottles open on the side, heated pads scattered and abandoned. Satisfied that if there had been a threat it was long gone, she turned and approached the bed.
“Marzia, what is going on?” It was less demanding than she’d intended, the sharpness dulling as she drew closer and saw more clearly the pain on the other woman’s face. “Min Ulv?” The closest endearment they would allow themselves at this point, in a world where everyone bared teeth at the slightest weakness. As much as anyone could lay claim to someone as wild as Vendetta.
“It is nothing…”
“Do not lie to me, not in this place.” Part entreaty, part admonishment. Their one rule. No lies in this place. In public they were both dressed in lies and half-truths, shadowed by the necessity of appearance, but here, when it was just the two of them, they could be themselves. Two lonely wolves, who had found each other. A sigh from the bed, and Marzia moved, rolling slowly to face her.
“It is an old injury,” she murmured, the admission creeping into the space between them. Challenging Freja to see weakness in that moment. “A minor one…”
“From the arena?” Freja asked, voice deliberately even as she set her crossbow aside, and shed her outer layers. Discarding them against the wall. Here, there was no need to hide herself, to tuck herself into the smallest space where unfriendly eyes couldn’t find her, that Marzia’s eye twitched at the mess, was just an added bonus.
“Yes,” Marzia replied, slowly pushing herself up against the pile of pillows. The bed as opulent as ever. A rare indulgence for someone who spent their life with everything balanced on the edge of their sword. She held Freja’s gaze now, fierce even in pain, as she reached down to knead at her thigh, moving cloth aside enough to reveal a familiar scar. Freja knew that mark intimately, had marked its length with fingers and lips in past encounters, had memorised it the night they had mapped each other out. “It rarely bothers me these days, but when it does…” Her lips drew back in a snarl. Defiance against the pain, against the weakness. A challenge for Freja to dare see her as such.
Freja closed the gap between them, unfazed by the fierce defiance. She had faced that and worse from this woman and survived it all unscathed. She settled on the edge of the bed, on the border of this island that they had made theirs so often, and reached out, fingers gentle as first she brushed the kneading hand, and then slipped past it to ghost over the scar. It was long healed, but she knew better than anyone that meant little. The worst wounds were that feigned being completely healed, and her fingers came to rest, cool against warm skin, gentle on this scar that dared break into the future as she met Marzia’s gaze. “Even a wolf needs rest sometimes.”
“But…”
“Weren’t you the one that told me we all need wounds and scars? That those unblemished by life, don’t know what strength is?” Freja asked. That had been part of their first dance. Two wolves alone for so long, that baring their teeth was all they knew. Marzia cresting on anger and the search for vengeance, to reclaim what was hers. Freja defending against the tendrils of her past life with Overwatch, clinging to what she had made of her life since then.
“You turn my own words against me now?” Marzia asked, but there was no heat in her words.
“I use what weapons I have to hand,” Freja retorted, just as soft. “And you’re never wrong…”
“I am sometimes,” Marzia murmured, and finally she reached for Freja. Tangling their fingers together, leaving their hands lingering over the aching scar. “But, only around you…”
“Dangerous words,” Freja said.
“Perhaps,” Marzia agreed, looking up at the canopy for a moment, before turning to smile at Freja. That smile that held the warmth of a sun that refused to be dimmed, and the teeth of a wolf that knew victory was close. A smile just for Freja. “But you came…” Despite the doors being closed, and the curtains closed. A warning. A barrier against the world, that could have hidden any amount of treachery and danger.
“I did.”
Dangerous words indeed.
Silence reigned for a few moments, comfortable in a way that neither of them were used to, and soft with promise.
“I’m glad,” Marzia broke it, lifting their linked hands so that she could press a kiss to the back of Freja’s hand, before closing her eyes, pain on her face. “It has been a long time since anyone has seen me like this.”
“And lived?”
“And lived, but also…” Dark eyes flicked open and towards Freja. “Seen just me, not the daughter of Antonio Bartalotti, or even La Lupa…but Marzia.”
“I always see you as Marzia, even when I have to bow to the Wolf,” Freja said.
“One day, I would have it that you no longer bow to the Wolf…” The words were so soft, that for a wild moment Freja thought she must have imagined them, but the grip on her hand tightened, and the dark eyes were unflinching as their eyes met. A truth that for now could only be spoken in this place where no one else could see or hear them, but it held the weight of a promise, and Freja took a deep breath and smiled.
“One day,” she echoed. “Until then, we have these moments…” She squeezed back, and then nudged Marzia further onto the bed, following her onto the bed, and curling against her, joined hands moving back down to rest against the aching scar. “…and neither the past nor future can steal those.”