Vassal by Sterling D'Este (reading books for 7 year olds .txt) 📗

He reached out his cut hand towards her, squeezing it shut so that more blood flowed. It squelched from his fist in a wet spurt, droplets of the stuff sprinkling the ground around him. When he unclenched his fist again, his fingers were coated, a grisly glove.

“For you, Enyo.”

Well, that settled it. She kissed Tristan one last time, whispering something intimately in his ear before slithering off his body and prowling over to Etienne.

Her eyes were like saucers in her face, and she barely bothered to treat the blood sacrifice with the reverence it deserved before she was greedily scooping up his palm and pressing it to her mouth.

✶

Etienne watched Enyo in horror. Just a few moons ago, those same hands had left tea and pastry on his work table. That mouth had chided him gently to attend his exams. Those were Alphonse’s cheeks, made to smile sweetly. Alphonse’s eyes, so often turned down in modesty before.

And now she smeared her face with blood. Gorged herself with it.

The image of Alphonse folding her veil neatly upon his desk was another glaring contrast. Her hair was free and wild from passion. She gave no indication that she even noticed the ichor dripping down her chin and onto Alphonse’s dove grey dress, the white shift underneath blooming with each red splotch.

His oldest friend had been corrupted, her humanity dispensed in pieces until all that was left was this wild, hungry thing, dripping blood—bathing in it.

Killing.

Etienne felt himself dry heave. She would have eaten that villager’s heart with just as much relish.

When she was finally finished, Enyo licked the length of the cut, and Alphonse’s green healing magic mended it, leaving a scar. “To remember, mage, who your Goddess really is.”

He was only dimly aware of Delyth storming into the clearing, eyes wide and gripping the great black sword. Tristan snickered at her as he reclasped his belt. “The boy’s gone and done your job, halfbreed.”

Etienne was looking down at his hand, heedless of Delyth’s reply. Blood still filled the creases between his fingers.

What had they come to?

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Delyth flinched, torn suddenly from more pleasant thoughts. Enyo was at her side, reaching around a wing to stroke Calamity as they trudged up towards Thlonandras. The Goddess’s face was rapturous, but there were dark circles beneath those eyes, the once smooth cheeks shrunken.

So much malicious glee leaking out of Alphonse’s gentle body.

The halfbreed turned away, and Enyo was gone again, flitting over to Etienne to walk alongside him in pleasant silence, occasionally looking down at his healed hand then up at his face. She smiled slowly and licked her lips before frolicking off to other delights.

A beautiful formation of clouds, the way the wind sung to them, the “absolutely breathtaking’” views from the mountains. Enyo’s good mood was unflagging.

For the noontime meal, she lounged in Tristan’s lap and fed him little bits of cooked rabbit from her eating knife. She preened his hair back and whispered things that neither the priestess nor the mage could hear, but made the rogue smile fiendishly.

Somehow, no amount of knowing that Alphonse loved Delyth made it any easier to see Enyo draped across Tristan in her little bird’s body. If anything, it just made her angrier.

She watched Enyo closely throughout the day, hoping for any sign of the healer. Enyo stopped for a nap, but not even sleep seemed able to free Alphone from the Goddess. She was too pleased, likely from the attention of the two men that morning.

Delyth closed her eyes. She still felt the echoes of the panic of waking up to find Alphonse gone, not only from their pallet but from the camp, of waking up alone again. Calamity had been a crippling weight, a fever. She thought that if she had gotten there before Etienne, she would have killed Tristan.

Neither had explained exactly what had happened, but it’d been easy to discern from Tristan’s rumpled clothes and Etienne’s desperate act of giving his blood to Enyo. Thank the Gods he had gotten there in time, had been willing to give his blood.

She hadn’t expected him to do it, but she was grateful for it.

Now, as the afternoon gdeepened, Enyo looked like the healer, with her hair neatly braided and flowers crowning her head, all the delicacy of Alphonse’s features and the crown of petals above. Some of the buds Enyo plucked were white and yellow like those Alphonse had brought her the day before. The memory made Delyth ache.

Like clockwork, as soon as the time came for actual chores to be done, Enyo vanished. One minute she was glaring at Delyth holding the shovel to dig the latrine, the next Alphonse was looking around in confusion.

Incredulously, she reached up to touch her crown of flowers and laughed, the sound leeching all the tension from the warrior’s shoulders. It melted her hard edges, like the mountains in spring. Ice to summer stream.

Alphonse walked over to Delyth and smiled up at the warrior shyly. “Good morning,” she murmured, handing a daisy to her paramour. It was evening, but Delyth understood. They hadn’t said it that morning.

She reached out and took the little white flower and tucked it behind her ear, just above the feather still entwined in one of her braids. “Good morning, bykhan. I’ve missed you.”

She wanted to sweep Alphonse close just then, but held back with Tristan and Etienne bustling by to set up camp. Instead, she just smiled warmly.

❀

“I missed you too…” Alphonse stepped closer, nearly going on her tiptoes to kiss Delyth before remembering they weren’t alone.

Sheepishly, she looked around and instead stole a brief touch, her fingers curling around one of Delyth’s locks and slipping across her shoulder in unmistakable tenderness. Her expression was open and loving as she carefully placed that lock of blue-black hair behind Delyth’s shoulder. Preening her lover.

Alphonse sighed. “Shall I prepare dinner?”

Delyth was blushing slightly, her eyes soft and fixed on