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Lauma made no secret of her affection for Nefer. It was almost irritating; Nefer was perfectly capable of taking care of herself without any sort of praise from a religious fanatic.
She had had little patience for Lauma's nonsense at first. It was every week that she showed up at the Curatorium with whatever boon the Scions had in plenty. And every week, Nefer turned the Moonchanter away, although not before shooting her down in ways that would have left Jahoda a crying mess.
And it stayed that way for awhile. She didn't know when her cruel jibes at "Lady Moonchanter's" persistence had turned into teasing, kept up for pretense. Neither did she know when she had entirely foregone Lauma's offers of alliance—friendship—and started to admire her in ways far past any semblance of propriety.
Nefer hungered for that look in her eyes, so soft and yet fierce and determined. Worth joking with her to see it surface. And her frame was delicate, yet belied the sort of strength a mountain had; layers upon layers of solid stone. She often wondered if crushing those lips with her own would be as easy and simple as trampling a rose underfoot.
Lauma did not know it, but even now Nefer awaited her presence with a burning intensity that once would have been spiteful and vicious. Now…
Now it was passion, but the sort that delighted in another's light and ran deeper than any well in the desert.
It was all too well that Lauma did not know of this secret desire, lest Nefer frighten her off. This far in, she could not bear to watch her leave for good.