The corridors had gone dim, the lamps along the stone walls burning low. The air outside the dining hall was cool enough to raise the hair along her scales.
She meant to go straight to her quarters. Instead, she found Rhalir standing by one of the tall windows, half in shadow, tamping leaf into a pipe.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, not looking up.
Lain startled. “You scared me.”
“Didn’t mean to.” He struck a flint and lit the bowl, the brief flare of light catching on his horns. He drew in the smoke, exhaling slow. “The wine’s too sweet here,” he said. “Keeps the blood restless.”
“That’s not what’s keeping me awake.”
Rhalir looked her over, eyes narrowing slightly. “I can see that,” he said.
“See what?”
He tilted his head, studying her the way a woodsman studies weather. “The antlers give you away, child. But it’s not your season that calls to me.” He stepped a little closer, and his nostrils flared, a small frown tugging at his mouth. “You smell… hollowed.”
“Hollowed?”
“The bond,” he said quietly. “It’s been severed.”
She turned her face toward the window, where frost traced the panes. “I thought if I didn’t think about it, it would stop hurting.”
Rhalir packed the tobacco down again with the end of his thumb, thoughtful. “That only works with small things. And that’s no small thing. When the thread breaks, the world goes strange for a while. Like walking in a wind that doesn’t touch you.”
Lain gave a small, unsteady laugh. “That’s exactly what it feels like. I thought maybe I was losing my mind.”
He shook his head, the smoke curling from his lips. “No. Just your balance. Happens to all of us when the song cuts out. You were made to share the weight. The Heat was never meant to be carried by one heart alone.”
She never considered that idea before. That her Heat was meant for sharing, not for hiding or suppressing or relieving. Her eyes watered. Her tail twitched, betraying her unease.
For time, neither spoke. The night air hissed softly through the window cracks.
“Will it fade?” she asked.
“It does. Eventually. But while it lasts, you’ll feel every ache twice. Yours, and the ghost of his.”
Lain leaned against the wall beside him, craving nearness. “What am I meant to do with the ache?”
He offered her the pipe. She shook her head, and he gave a small nod. “You wait it out. You work. You sing. You find comfort with another. There’s no faster way.”
“I don’t think I know how to do any of those things now.”
“Then start small,” Rhalir said, tapping the ash from his pipe against the sill. “Start by sleeping.”
She smiled in spite of her aching throat. “You sound like an Elder.”
“Good advice doesn’t age.” He gave her a sidelong glance. The lines around his eyes softened. “You should go back, before the night turns on you.”
Something in his voice made her hesitate. Her pulse quickened, the air between them shifting with that unspoken current her Heat always carried. He noticed too. Then, as if yielding to an instinct older than reason, he reached out, one rough, calloused hand rising toward her face. She didn’t pull back. The tips of his fingers brushed the base of her antlers, a touch feather-light, reverent and grounding.
The contact lit a shiver through her, the Heat stirring toward him, hungry for the echo of what it had lost. He felt it, too. She saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the faint flare of his nostrils.
Their tails found each other, coiling together.
For a moment the space between them glowed with life. The comfort he offered came in the ancient language of their kind, a comfort that said you are not alone.
“Rhalir…” she began.
He drew his hand away, closing it in a fist at his side, and likewise his tail unwound from hers. “You were raised among humans,” he said. “They taught you to be afraid of what comes naturally.”
She blinked at the sudden loss of contact. “You think I’m afraid of you?”
“I think you’re afraid of needing anyone.” His voice was calm, but she could feel the grief in it. The grief for her.
His voice was firm, fatherly now. “Your body is calling for comfort, not desire. Wait until you can tell the difference.”
He drew once more on his pipe, exhaled, and the smoke curled between them like a benediction. “Go on,” he said. “Rest while the gods still let you. If the silence gets too loud…” he hesitated, then reached to touch her shoulder. “Come find me.”
The touch lingered just long enough to steady her pulse. Then he stepped back, the light sliding over his horns as he drew again from his pipe.
She left before she could change her mind, the scent of smoke clinging to her as she walked down the corridor. Behind her, Rhalir stayed by the window, watching her go, the ember of his pipe burning like a small, patient star in the dark.
When her room’s door closed, she was alone with the firelight and the fading echo of Rhalir’s voice. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, her Heat a restless ache, though waning now that only a few days remained.
She pressed her palms together until they stopped trembling.
Saint, Morgan had called her. She’d never felt further from saintliness with the sorts of thoughts in her head now.
She found a set of nightclothes in the small cabinet by the bed and slipped into them. A soft knock came. Her heart leapt to her throat, sure it was Rhalir, having changed his mind. She opened the door.
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Sena stood there, holding a small porcelain plate. “Hello, Sister,” she said. Sena was several inches shorter than Lain, and Lain was so unused to looking down at others that the experience would’ve been jarring if it weren’t so instantly endearing. “May I speak with you? Just for a moment.”
“Of course,” Lain said, taking a deep breath and pivoting internally. She stepped aside so Sena could enter, her hooves tapping lightly on the floor. The sound of another Kelthi moving in shared space was so lovely as to be nostalgic. As Sena passed, a scent wafted from her hair, sweet as rosewater. Lain’s senses spiraled into a shudder that scaled her spine.
“I thought you might like to sample this,” Sena said. On the plate was a small piece of cake, the top glistening with raspberry syrup, and two silver spoons. “You may be taking a suppressant, and if so I understand you may not want any of this, but…” To Lain’s surprise, Sena blushed. “Well. I know it’s late, and you’d enjoy your rest, I’m sure. I could take this back to the kitchen and eat, if you –” she swallowed. “Or I could leave it here, with you. There’s no need for us to share.”
The sweetness of Sena, her words, her scent – it was all too overwhelming. She couldn’t help but want to feed the Heat’s desire now that she knew how fulfilling it was to do so.
But a small part of her logical mind rose to remind her that she’d left Lord Balthir only minutes ago, and he’d obviously noted her ongoing Heat. Sena arriving quickly after might not be coincidental. If this was somehow a part of Sena’s duties, she didn’t want it. Not after Mallow had made it clear she was just a job. She didn’t want to be work for anyone; she’d sooner seek out Rhalir.
“You didn’t have to bring this,” Lain said. “Do you have other… duties to attend to this evening?”
“No, Sister. My shift ended for the day. Lord Balthir pays us generously, you see, and we have ample time at home.”
“Would you like to sit?” Lain gestured at the bed.
Sena grinned. “I would love to, Sister.”
They sat side by side. The scent of rosewater and raspberry syrup was dizzying. Sena passed her the plate, her smile trembling between nervousness and delight. Her hooves rested neatly together.
“You’ve been through so much,” Sena said at last. “Anyone could see it in your eyes.”
Lain looked down at her hands. If Rhalir had been able to sense the space where her bond with Mallow once lay, perhaps Sena could sense it, too. It was both embarrassing and comforting to be so visible to those like her. “I must look a mess.”
Sena laughed quietly. “You look like a survivor.” She lifted a small spoon from the plate and glanced at her, uncertain. “I don’t want to presume anything, Sister. I just thought… maybe you shouldn’t have to sit alone tonight.”
Lain’s throat tightened. “You’re kind.”
“It’s not only kindness.” Sena’s voice lowered, gentle but deliberate. “I like you. Not because of what they say you are – Bellborn, Glinnel, whatever names men give us. It’s just… the realness of you. I’ve been thinking of you all day.” She blushed furiously, turning her head aside for a moment, and the action was so endearing Lain nearly threw an arm around her to kiss the warmth rising on Sena’s cheeks. “I wanted you to know that, in case you thought this was charity.”
Lain met Sena’s eyes, startled by the directness. “You don’t owe me comfort.”
“I know.” Sena smiled, small and honest. “But I still want to give it.”
Silence stretched between them, candlelight gilding the oaken waves of Sena’s hair, and finally she couldn’t bear the quiet a moment longer. Lain scooped a small piece of cake, rich and glistening with syrup. The faint scent of raspberries bloomed between them. Lain brought it to Sena’s mouth.
Sena let out a sound, surprised, soft. She leaned forward, lips parting to take the bite, her eyes lifting to meet Lains as she did so.
The room went still. Even the fire seemed to hush.
Sena swallowed, laughter fluttering at the edge of her voice. “It’s good,” she said softly. “I’ll have to let the baker know.”
Lain felt the warmth of it as it spread through her, fragile and bright. Sena took the spoon from her and fed Lain, who opened her mouth, the sweetness startling after so many bitter days. She closed her eyes to take in the flavor, which hit her tongue like sunlight after a storm.
When she opened her eyes, Sena was watching her, open and kind and without demand.
“Good?” Sena asked.
“Better than good,” Lain whispered.
The moment felt impossibly gentle – the faint touch of shared warmth, the simple rhythm of giving and receiving. For all of a moment she almost forgot the ache of her Heat and the weight of everything that had broken her. All that remained was this gentle presence beside her, the pulse of life she had almost forgotten she could feel.
“Chime for your thoughts,” Sena said softly.
Lain sighed. She couldn’t bear the weight of her secrets alone. “I had someone. Very recently. I…” She shook her head. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, I…”
“I don’t mind,” Sena said. Then, delicately: “You were bonded.”
Lain’s ears fell back. “The bond was lost.”
Sena nodded sadly. “I could sense it. You must be in terrible pain.”
“Do you know what it feels like?”
“Yes.” Some memory moved behind Sena’s eyes. She turned her attention back to Lain after a moment. “You don’t have to feel guilty for wanting something soft. Grief doesn’t vanish just because you let someone hold you.”
Lain blinked, the truth of it breaking something loose inside her, a tension she hadn’t known she was carrying. Her breath caught. She reached out before she could think better of it, fingers brushing a strand of hair from Sena’s cheek. Sena’s eyes widened – then softened.
The distance between them vanished. The kiss that followed was soft, cautious, tasting faintly of sugar and fruit, a brush as shy as a butterfly’s wing. It lasted all of a sigh, but it left Lain trembling, her lonely heart testing the space between hurt and healing.
“Will you rest?” Sena asked, her warm breath caressing Lain’s mouth.
“Later,” Lain said. She set the cake aside, bringing her hands to Sena’s face, rubbing her thumbs from jawbone to ear and back again. The crushing tide of wanting rushed through the Tuning and Lain’s Heat flared with expectation.
Sena reached for the plate, plucking a raspberry between her fingers and bringing it to Lain’s mouth. Lain took in the bite, clenched a raspberry between her teeth, then brought her mouth to Sena’s.
Sena took the raspberry and returned her tongue as a gift in exchange, the fruit erupting with flavor between them.
Lain tumbled her back onto the bed, the plate and spoon clattering to the rug. Sena’s hands slipped into Lain’s night robes to meet the bare skin of her chest, her small breasts under Sena’s palms, both girls gasping with delight at the feel of it.
Not once in all her life had Lain kissed another girl, let alone a Kelthi, but she was ecstatic with the chance, delighting in the things that made them the same. Sena’s tail coiled tightly with Lain’s, the two flexing against each other as Lain stroked Sena’s soft ears. Sena reached up for her antlers, her fingers gliding down the bone, and a fresh shudder found all Lain’s scales alight with the pleasure of it.
She leaned into her Tuning to discover what made Sena buck her wooly hips, to feel the touches that caused this gorgeous new companion to gasp or coo or moan sweetly. In a rush they tugged each other’s clothes off, desperate to take in the full sight of one another, and with the most delightful laughter they complimented each other –
“Your scales, they’re like pearls –”
“Yours are sapphires, Sena, they’re so blue –”
“How could anyone’s skin be this soft? Do you know how nice it is to touch you?”
“You’ll have to teach me how you treat your wool, I’ve never buried my hands in anything that felt so good –”
And it went on as they explored until finally Lain moved between Sena’s golden thighs, and brought her mouth down to taste her. All the words fled Sena and none could escape Lain’s working mouth as she pressed, stumbling at first until she felt in her Tuning exactly what Sena liked, what made her flex her hooves and grasp desperately at the blankets. She worked Sena up into a fury of enjoyment, entirely too pleased with herself as her new friend bit down on her own palm to stifle a cry.
When that white fire of Sena’s climax fluttered open-winged in the Tuning, Lain felt it so keenly that she was almost there already. Lain reached down to herself, and pressed the way she’d learned, and in moments was peaking in that same brilliant flash of goodness.
Lain collapsed between Sena’s legs as both women panted. Lain let out a soft laugh, and Sena’s own laugh followed; she coiled her hands in the hair at the back of Lain’s neck, then ran her palm up the tines of her antlers, which were cushioned now against Sena’s wool.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Sena asked, her soft belly rising and falling.
“A boy,” Lain said.
“A boy?” Sena let out a fresh chuckle. “Color me surprised. I’ve never met a boy who knew how to do anything with that level of… precision.”
“Perhaps you’re meeting the wrong boys, then,” Lain suggested.
“Just the right girls, I think.”
They both laughed.
Lain eased up the bed to kiss Sena sweetly on the mouth. “I think we’ve lost the rest of our cake,” she mumbled against Sena’s lips.
“There’s always more where that came from,” Sena said, cheeky. “If you’re still hungry by morning.”
They curled about each other in the bed, Lain behind Sena, their tails coiled sweetly as they whispered to each other about raspberries and wool until they drifted off in the warmth and comfort of something shared with such simple grace.