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

Alphonse. She reached up and plucked a few fallen petals from the smaller woman’s dress.

Tristan snorted, passing by. “The latrines aren’t going to dig themselves.”

The priestess didn’t seem to notice. She gestured a little clumsily to the shovel in her hands. “I’ll help you in just a moment.”

Alphonse smirked. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere,” she said in a lightly teasing tone of voice. Still, she watched as Delyth headed into the trees. Maybe her eyes slipped down the priestess’s backside for a moment too long…

It was hard not to look! Delyth was very well muscled and shapely. And she wore breeches, so everything was on display.

Shaking her head to try and clear it, Alphonse set about getting supper ready. Root vegetable soup.

Again.

She was immersed in her work when Delyth came to stand beside her at the fire, grinning with playfulness. “Do you mind if I cook with you?” she was saying, her voice sly. “I know a bit about spice.”

A blush was rising up Alphonse’s cheeks, nearly painful. Delyth was flirting with her! Surely she should flirt back? But how? Alphonse had never flirted with anyone in her life. Had never wanted to. Alphonse handed over the large wooden spoon to Delyth and turned to gather some herbs from her satchel. “Thyme?” she asked, mortified at how her words fumbled in her mouth. Delyth was suave and confident; the way she looked at Alphonse made the healer feel warm and tense in all the right ways. And all she could say was ‘thyme’?!

Gods.

Delyth snorted playfully and let her shoulder brush against the healer’s as she went to stir the stew. “Why not? You know I like the taste,” she grinned wickedly and let the last word drawl.

The healer gasped and dropped the packet of thyme. She snatched it up off the ground and handed it to Delyth with wide eyes and cheeks so warm the sun might have been rising in them.

“I—I like the taste too,” she mumbled and then remembered they had company. Hastily, Alphonse took the water bucket to the stream so they could have something to drink with their meal. She splashed cold water over her eyes and brow and down her neck.

✶

Etienne watched Alphonse walk away, astounded, having reached the fire in time to hear their banter. Delyth provided no more answers when he turned her way. She was following Alphonse with her eyes as well, lips still coiled upward. He was reminded for a moment of the two women teasing him about his cooking weeks prior, but it seemed to have taken on some new meaning between the two of them—an inside joke between close friends.

Etienne winced as he sat before the fire and dropped his head. When had he and Alphonse stopped joking?

And yet, why should any of them be so light-hearted in a time like this? Just yesterday, Alphonse had torn apart a man’s rib cage. The priestess had killed easily a dozen or more.

And here they were. Teasing.

Alphonse should have known better. Should have known what was at stake. But he alone seemed to keep enough of his sanity to realize just how dire their situation truly was.

Gods, he was so tired.

Tristan sat down at Etienne’s left, and the mage subconsciously made himself smaller. “Quit your moping. Dinner’s almost ready.”

❀

Dinner was well spiced and delicious. Alphonse didn’t try for much conversation, instead enjoying the feeling of Delyth’s leg pressed against her own as they sat side by side, eating in companionable silence.

She had seen Tristan’s sneer a few times but didn’t let it bother her. And Etienne seemed stressed. Alphonse nearly asked him on three different occasions what was wrong but…

It seemed like bad timing to do so in front of the others. She made her mind up to speak to him after dinner, in private. She hoped he could tell that was her plan by the subtle looks she tossed his way.

Despite the chill in the air, the night was nice with the fire crackling merrily at their feet. Homey almost. Alphonse craned her head back to gaze at the stars peeking through the clouds overhead. It startled her to see late summer constellations. She and Etienne had started this journey in spring.

So much time had passed.

“Look, there is the Bear.” She pointed with her spoon up at the gap in the clouds. “And the buck, and the hare. I wonder who named the stars.” Had it been the Gods? Had Enyo named the sky?

Delyth didn’t follow Alphonse’s gaze, instead tracing the planes of the healer’s upturned face until she blushed. “Perhaps they were people like you, who looked up and wondered.”

Across the fire, Tristan snorted, rolling his eyes in habitual disgust. “Of course, it wasn’t. Don’t you have followers of Dyl in Ingola? Supposedly, he named the stars to guide sailors.” He took another spoonful of soup. “Not that knowing the name of something makes it any easier to follow. Bloody dreamer.”

Oh. Of course. They did have followers of Dyl. In fact, Brande had been one. She should have known.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Alphonse looked back down from the constellations and to her nearly empty soup bowl. She finished it in two more bites and then set it aside. She was starting to feel quite tired, her lids heavy. “Even the Gods are dreamers sometimes. I think that’s nice.”

✶

Etienne looked up sharply at that, his shoulders tense.

What was that supposed to mean? There was nothing nice about the Gods! Especially Enyo. Was she changing her mind?

It seemed impossible. Alphonse was living with a parasite slowly sucking away her life force, leaving her weaker and weaker as they struggled up towards the mountains. How could she possibly see the Gods as anything but the vicious, conniving creatures they were?

Unless Delyth had poisoned her mind. It had to be. It wasn’t as though even Alphonse would take to listening to Tristan. The priestess’s displays of friendship would be a far more attractive trap for the too-trusting healer.

Beside him, Tristan just