by R. Cooper
Delf was being taunted by the Wise. “That’s different,” she answered with what she felt was an impressive amount of calm. “That is looking without intent.” She could have bitten her tongue. She had been so focused on sounding unaffected that she had spoken carelessly. “That is to say… one can look with time and leisure, but it’s more personal and requires permission.”
“I see.” Silence fell between them except for gentle ripples Prityal created in the water. Delf thought of dangers beneath the surface of that silence, as if Prityal was thinking, or more of this mysterious ‘practicing’ was about to occur. But Prityal’s words were innocent. “I would like to come back to this place during the summer, if I ever could.”
Then she stood up, and Delf closed her eyes at the sound of water rushing down Prityal’s body. Despite the weather and her current tension, she had rather hoped Prityal would linger in the water and enjoy herself. But the weather had made it too cold for that. Prityal would need a swim some other day.
Prityal climbed up the bank and then ran, teeth chattering the whole way, to Frire to dig something out of her packs. Then she dashed toward the fire and took the bolt of linen Delf held out for her.
When Delf risked a glance, Prityal was wrapped in white cloth, on her knees before the fire, combing out her wet curls, which she must have barely dried in the linen before bundling up in it. Even with all that, and the goosebumps down her arms and on her knees, she seemed happy.
“It feels good to be clean again,” she told Delf through her trembling, which Delf took for the prompt it was.
The tight sensation in her stomach was not quite fear, though there was nothing to make Delf nervous except the Hope politely keeping her gaze averted while Delf methodically stripped off her clothes. Prityal had said this was no different from the barracks, and if she had a thought for Delf’s body, it would be about the strength of her arms, or the dozens of slashing scars, large and small, that all knights earned over the years. That’s what Delf was; a knight, not a potential lover.
Delf removed her boots first, shivering at her cold toes. Then she removed her hose and breeches and surcoat. The clasps for her doublet stuck in her clumsy fingers, but her tunic shirt was easier. When riding, and sometimes in the barracks when she wanted to, she kept her chest bound. She unwound that strip of cloth as well.
Naked, she walked to the water, and though forewarned, she nonetheless stepped right in before she could reconsider.
She nearly fell. The spot closest to the bank was fairly shallow, only reaching her upper arms. The next step took her in much deeper. She clenched her jaw to keep in her little scream.
“It feels good, but it’s a shock,” Prityal commented, sounding far away.
Delf took a deep breath then dunked her head, getting the adjustment to the cold over as quickly as possible. She came up for air, then dunked again, scratching her scalp with just her nails. She scrubbed her skin with her hands, because neither of them would have used soap in this pond even if they’d thought to bring any. She did her best to clean her armpits and between her legs, and had the passing, then lingering, thought that Prityal might have done that while talking to her. Prityal was not one for useless modesty.
Delf peeked out from behind her dripping curtain of hair to where Prityal was practically sitting atop the fire, and had twisted to free a portion of the linen to gently squeeze more water from her hair. She was ordinary, anyone drying their hair after a hurried bath. She was also watched by the spirits, and beautiful. And, for whatever reason, it bothered her that Delf had not engaged with her.
“Prityal,” Delf called out, keeping her chin above water and letting her hair float around her. Prityal turned to her without hesitation, eyes bright, and Delf’s planned words left her head. She muttered the first thing that came to mind. “It would be nice to return here in the summer. But let’s not go through those woods again.”
Prityal beamed a smile at Delf that brought that future summer to her though Delf was in a chilled pond in a darkening forest in autumn.
They wouldn’t have time to return here, even if a chevetein were found. But neither of them said so. Delf sank down until her smile was hidden by the water.
Warmer than she should be, she gave herself one final scrub down, and only realized she had stopped shivering when she considered floating over to the boulders to explore beneath them. As that clearly meant she should end her bath, she kicked her way to the bank and climbed up.
The moment she was exposed to the air, she was gasping at the renewed cold. She stumbled to the fire and her bolt of linen, and wiped herself down quickly with her mind on getting warm again and nothing else. With her back to the fire, she squeezed out her hair, then wrapped herself one-handed in the linen before wringing more water from her hair, shuddering the whole time.
She turned around to reach for her comb and the linen slipped from her frozen fingers.
Prityal was gone.
That, in itself, was not cause for alarm. She might have needed privacy among the trees, and Frire was still next to Kee, both of them guarding the goat as if they had been told to.
Delf only spared the icors a glance to make sure they were still calm. At the edge of the clearing, head and shoulders above a mass of bracken, half-hidden in shifting shadows, was a large stag, with a coat so red it was almost gold.
He was beautiful; the lord of this part of this wood, certainly, with a broad chest, and deep, liquid amber eyes, and a magnificent helm of antlers hung with greenery.
Delf slowly kneeled to reached for her belt and her knife, but though she moved, the stag did not startle, or charge forward as it might have done—as it should have done. He ought to be furious and stupid with rut. Instead, he was watchful.
Delf stood back up with her hands empty. “Did you come for the water?” she asked quietly. “Are the woodskeepers of this village so merciful that you know no hunters?” Shivers ran through her continuously, trails of water slipping down her back and over her chest where her hair clung to her skin. “Look at your beauty,” she told him admiringly. “It is a gift simply to be near you. But what are you doing here?” She took one wary step forward, but though it exhaled a great breath from its nostrils, the stag did not move. “We are on a quest,” Delf explained, venturing no closer despite the stag’s apparent calm. “You, however, should be fighting for your place in this forest and searching out a partner. Your own quest, of a sort.” She pulled a wet strand of hair from her face. “I don’t envy you there. That is no simple business. But I’m certain you will prove yourself a devoted lover.”
“At least for the season,” Prityal remarked.
Delf spun around to see Prityal in a damp, unbelted surcoat, her sword and scabbard down by her side, her focus on the spot in the woods in front of Delf. When Delf turned back to look at that same spot, the stag was gone. Two humans was one too many, it seemed.
“I thought I saw movement in the trees, so I dressed and went to have a closer look,” Prityal explained. Delf looked away from the bracken, to Prityal’s sword, and then to the damp, thin fabric of the surcoat and where it clung. She dropped her gaze, only to realize she was naked. She nearly crossed her arms to hide herself, but Prityal did not sound affected, so it likely did not matter except for how cold she was.
All the same, Delf picked up the linen and draped herself in it. “You might have stayed still, rather than risk getting close to a stag in rut.”
“I didn’t know it was a stag at first,” Prityal answered impatiently, but then grew thoughtful. “It did not act much like it was in rut. Not what I would have expected.”
Delf spent some time adjusting the linen as if that would warm her. “If the ancient tales are right, you have been chosen for an important task. Or perhaps you just missed your chance for dinner.”
It drew an actual laugh from Prityal that made Frire’s ears go back. “You would have been upset if I had hurt it,” she explained after Delf feigned outrage at her for the la
ughter. “You were already befriending it.”
“We both know who of the two of us is the one who hides among the animals to avoid the people,” Delf returned. It would have been lofty, but her shivers made it hard for her to speak.
“You’re still wet, and freezing.” Prityal put down her sword and came over to firmly shove Delf until Delf sat in front of the fire. “Fanciful, aren’t you? To approach a wild stag wearing nothing but water.” Her breath felt hot on Delf’s icy skin. Her hands as well. She chided Delf softly despite her own shivers, and startled her by sitting down directly behind her. “It will help if we deal with your hair first.”
Delf held as still as her shuddering body would allow while Prityal delicately brushed each wet lock of hair from her skin to hold in one thick handful. Then she began to comb it gently, holding the ends away from Delf’s back so that any drops of water hit the ground.
“And now to our own quest,” Prityal commented in a whisper, as though that made any sense. Not that Delf was capable of complaining. Of all things she had imagined happening on this journey, this was not one of them.
“I’ve wondered about your hair.” Prityal spoke those words after the tangles had been worked from the strands, although she continued to gently comb them to help them dry, and Delf said nothing to protest it. “Why you wear it long, I mean,” Prityal added, as if realizing how confused Delf was. “You rarely secure it tightly. Even under a helmet, I sometimes see where it has come unbound.”
“That...” Delf forced her tongue from the roof of her mouth and idly shivered for each gentle pass of the comb. “There’s no reason. It turns out I didn’t like the feel of having no hair. So I grew it out, and then kept growing it because I don’t know what else to do with it. But elaborate hairstyles are something I never had much time to learn.”
“Ah! Finally, a small thing I know that Delflenor does not!” Prityal crowed. “I learned because of Ran. His hair has reached the length where he can’t style it himself and be as pretty as he sometimes feels.”
Delf wrinkled her nose. “They are fine for him, but I don’t want or need ribbons in my hair.”
“Then something to keep your hair from your eyes?” Prityal suggested. “I don’t mind.”
The quiet admission should not have stopped Delf’s tongue once again, or made her clutch at damp linen. It must have been the rising awareness that Prityal was sharing this with her, because people had done much more intimate things with Delf, to Delf, naked or not.
“All right,” she answered without even a trace of teasing in her voice, and was not certain she could bear Prityal scooting closer and dropping the comb to part Delf’s hair with just her hands.
“One solid braid, low, at the back of your neck, would serve you well in a helmet. If you will not cut it.” Prityal hummed between each of her musings on Delf’s hair. “But it would not look as fine as you should look. It doesn’t do you credit, and you won’t do that for yourself, so, it seems I must.”
Delf opened, then shut, her mouth.
“I should allow it more time to dry, but I just want to see….” Prityal did something to the hair on either side of Delf’s face, rolling it back and then clasping it at her nape. “Then braid or band the remaining length so that it falls down your back without flying loose.”
She was so serious. Delf twisted around to catch of glimpse of the pout and instead received a startled stare and then a soft tug on the hair Prityal was still clutching. It was probably a reprimand for moving, but Delf shivered and not from cold.
It made Delf’s voice husky. “How do I look?” she asked, a fool.
Prityal looked into Delf’s eyes. “Handsome.”
She would not lie. Delf had a mad impulse to crawl back to the water to stare down at her wavy reflection. She wondered what her brown eyes would show, what Prityal was seeing in that moment.
She faced forward. “I think you scored another hit.”
Her croak must have pleased her lady. Prityal stroked the length of Delf’s hair. “No one else will do this for you?” she wondered, no longer humming. “Not one of your friends, or your closer friends?”
“Closer friends?” Delf could barely whisper at the feel of Prityal’s callused fingertips at the back of her neck, sweeping across the sensitive skin though surely she must have captured all of Delf’s hair by now.
“The ones you take to bed.” Prityal’s breath passed over Delf’s ear.
“Ah,” Delf exhaled warmly, then tensed. “Ah.” Prityal had noticed that as well, as she seemed to notice everything. She might even be able to name Delf’s bedpartners, a thought to make Delf restless and too-still. Prityal had mentioned it before, mentioned the others teasing her for lack of knowledge. Delf tipped her head back into Prityal’s hands. “I never thought to ask them.”
“Hmm.” The sound held judgment, but more than that, too. “If I am there, in what time we have left as we are, I would, if you asked.”
“You already have much to do. I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Delf answered without turning.
Prityal’s hands fell away, leaving Delf’s hair to cascade down her back. “If you do not wish it, you could simply say so. I know I am lacking and not what you are used to.”
Certain she had not heard correctly, Delf frowned at the small fire, and then twisted to stare at Prityal with her eyebrows raised. That this made Prityal the Just, the Hope of Ainle, burst into more speech, only made Delf’s eyebrows climb higher.
“My experience is limited compared to yours. I thought…” Prityal fluttered her hands. She was shivering, goosebumps all down her arms, but she had not complained. Delf clucked her tongue and shifted to reach for Prityal’s discarded linen, damp though it was, and drape it over her. Prityal barely seemed to notice. Regardless, Delf tucked it over her lap, all the while glancing up to monitor Prityal’s worried, earnest expressions. “I thought you were tired of always looking and then looking away, as I was. You pulled back. You didn’t return.”
Delf slowly stopped moving.
“I was drunk,” she blurted, then looked up again only to be caught by Prityal’s gaze. “We both were. I meant to… I don’t know what I meant to do. You smiled at me. And then I was in front of you. Then… then I came to my senses enough to realize I should not have been bothering you.”
Prityal’s softly parted lips turned down. “I kissed you back.”
Delf stared at her. “You did. I think of it, sometimes.”
“Delflenor,” Prityal began, in the quiet, controlled voice of a disappointed war leader, “I thought I was not good enough. But you continued to watch me. With those eyes, you would watch me.”
Delf bit her lip. “I’ve tried not to stare at you. I didn’t want to be a pest.”
Prityal threw up her hands. “But you do not hesitate to approach any others.”
“Friends I sometimes sleep with.” Delf could not take her eyes from Prityal. “That is not at all the same thing as what I would have done with…. I’ve never seen you with anyone, even if I assume you and Jareth must have done some things before she and Ran became obnoxiously wonderful together.” She had no idea what to make of Prityal’s startled blink. “I didn’t think you’d seen me, except for the occasional frown I’d catch across the hall.”
Prityal lifted her chin. “I have already made it clear that I noticed you.”
Stunned, Delf sat back and let her hands fall onto her knees. “You did,” she acknowledged. “You do. Oh, oh—practicing.” She studied Prityal’s stiff, uncomfortable posture and searched her strong, pretty face until she was reasonably sure Prityal blushed. This was more than Delf had ever thought to have. She spoke quietly because this was not for the spirits in the trees. “I could be of service. I would be honored.”
Prityal widened her eyes, then turned her head. “I’m not asking for a squire.”
That was not what Delf had meant by service, but she let it go unchallenged. “What are you asking for, then?” she pressed gently,
anything to get Prityal looking at her again.
A debate was visible in Prityal’s shifting expressions, her brows drawing together and her mouth going flat. Then everything dropped from her face. It was her hand that gave her away, faintly trembling as she put it against Delf’s neck.
Her fingers were cold. She brushed them tentatively over Delf’s hammermarks, then curled just her fingertips at the back of Delf’s neck. She didn’t tug or draw Delf closer. She did only that. “Please.”
Delf took Prityal’s wrist in both hands. Prityal’s skin was still so cold. So was Delf’s, but beneath Delf’s hands, in the time Delf took to imagine kissing Prityal, Prityal began to grow warmer.
Delf finally swayed forward.
Prityal’s lips were chilled, but open and soft. She inhaled, a tiny, surprised sound, and then pushed forward. Delf put her hands to Prityal’s shoulders to hold her still or pull her closer, just wanting to touch her. Prityal’s shoulders were bare. She kissed Delf without pausing to breathe, without stopping, until she inched back to pant against Delf’s jaw.
“I’m sorry,” she said, which made no sense unless she was embarrassed, and that would not do.
Delf slid a touch to the back of her neck and then to her cheek to tip up her face.
She was so beautiful. Delf gave her another kiss, teasing and soft, and then one more, encouraging, until Prityal was unashamedly hungry again. She clutched Delf with both hands, one almost shy at her hip. She was still shaking, little tremors that made Delf ease back so she could lay kisses over her cheeks and her nose and the tiny scar beneath her cheekbone.
“I’m not leaving,” Delf whispered against her lips, and was almost faint with what she was doing. “I’ll not leave this time. You have me.” Her pulse roared in her ears in a moment of naked fear at what she had given away, but then Prityal turned her face to ask for more kisses, and Delf granted them.
This was no dream or wine-fueled fantasy. They were shivering with cold and sitting in dirt near a too-small fire. Prityal was worried Delf would run, as though Delf would have been able to a second time.
