by S D Simper
Climax came quickly. Every nerve of Flowridia’s body lit in stimulation, bursting first beneath Ayla’s tongue and then spreading through her limbs.
Pleasure soon waned. The slight trickling of bathwater and Flowridia’s own heaving breaths became the only sounds.
Ayla rose from the depths with a vicious grin. Flowridia was reminded of some great monster from below the sea, but she pulled Ayla into her arms, fearless in the presence of the tamed beast.
Her lips brushed Ayla’s before she settled her head between the woman’s small breasts. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Ayla said nothing, simply indulged Flowridia’s need for affection, as her own hands settled onto Flowridia’s waist and hips.
Flowridia’s thumb drew light circles against Ayla’s skin. “The embassy won’t be opening for a few more days,” she whispered. “Does that mean you’re staying?”
“Yes, I’ll be staying. I suppose I ought to announce my presence for the sake of propriety.”
Flowridia leaned up and placed a languid kiss on her companion’s lips. “Let me keep you for myself a little longer,” she whispered. She batted her eyelashes, nervous as she met Ayla’s gaze. “Please? Once they know you’re here, I don’t know when we’ll get a moment alone.”
“If I want you alone, I’ll get you alone,” Ayla replied, venom in her voice. “But I’ll indulge. Do with me as you will.”
Flowridia felt herself cringe at the harsh words, but spoke nonetheless. “I can’t hold my breath as long as you can,” she said, a slight smile pulling at her lips. “Come to bed with me?”
Ayla lifted her up and carried her from the tub. “Dry yourself. I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”
Ayla vanished in the shadow of the doorframe.
* * *
“Flowra, where do you keep your knives?”
In the kitchen, Ayla moved like a whirlwind, procuring ingredients Flowridia knew they didn’t have from the cupboards. Whatever trick was involved, Flowridia didn’t ask, content to watch the graceful woman as she danced between the shelves and assembled supplies.
Perched on the countertop, Flowridia pointed to a drawer nearest the iron stove. Even with the windows open, the kitchen quickly heated to an uncomfortable degree, but Ayla seemed immune. She withdrew an enormous carving knife and inspected it in the light. “Do you ever sharpen your knives?”
Flowridia didn’t know the answer, but she shrunk at the patronizing tone. “I-”
“Forget it. Dull is still workable,” Ayla said, and she immediately began stealing from the pile of precariously stacked vegetables. Pepper, onions, and other assorted edible plants awaited, and Flowridia found herself impressed at Ayla’s finesse with a knife.
Demitri paced at her dangling feet, her toes tickled each time his fur brushed against her. When Ayla grabbed a fistful of small mushrooms, Flowridia felt herself pale. “Ayla?”
Ayla continued chopping the fungal growths and said, “Yes?”
“Mushrooms make me ill.”
Ayla stopped, tense, but then wordlessly took the wooden board of half-chopped mushrooms and dumped them out the window.
She said nothing else. Flowridia withdrew further into herself, anxious at Ayla’s erratic mood.
Within minutes, unique, warm smells began to emanate from the kitchen. Ayla darted tirelessly between chopping, stirring the boiling pot at the stove, and heating whatever decadent array of vegetables awaited them. Flowridia smiled faintly at the sight, content when the mood grew less tense. “Would you like me to help you?” she offered shyly.
Ayla paused, stirring the pot and flipping the roasting vegetables in tandem. “No, Flowra. Tonight, I’m spoiling you. You need only stay sitting like the pretty picture you are.”
Flowridia blushed, yet still her nerves wouldn’t settle. From another cupboard, Ayla withdrew a small wooden box and set it on the counter. She flipped open the lid and grinned, withdrawing a tiny, black pod. Over the pot, it crumbled to dust, scattering into whatever concoction she brewed.
“What’s that?” Flowridia asked, and she obeyed when Ayla beckoned her over.
Ayla withdrew another small pod and popped it into her own mouth. “A delicacy of my homeland.” Then, without warning, she planted a kiss on Flowridia’s mouth.
Heat sank through her lips, burning her mouth at the contact. Flowridia pulled back, squeaking as Ayla laughed uproariously. “That’s hot!”
“Not nearly so hot as what awaits you tonight,” Ayla replied with a wink.
“That’s not-” Flowridia closed her mouth, realizing she was being toyed with. “I don’t think I can kiss you until you wash your mouth out.”
“You’ll kiss me if I tell you to kiss me.”
Ayla wasn’t wrong.
Ignoring the heat flaring across her cheeks, Flowridia sat back down on the counter. “Do you cook often?”
“Hardly,” Ayla replied, still chuckling to herself. How she managed to jump so smoothly between the oil-filled pan, the boiling pot, and the cupboards, Flowridia couldn’t guess. “I only eat for appearances.”
“Who only does what for which-” Etolié’s entrance pulled no reaction from Ayla, who continued her frenzy in the kitchen. The Celestial, however, raised an eyebrow. “Lady Ayla, nice to see your headache has gone away.”
Flowridia flinched at the remark, but Ayla turned with a charming smile. “I’m feeling much better, thank you.”
“I mean, it’s not all the way . . .” Etolié gestured, palm wide, across her face, mimicking where the burn marred Ayla’s otherwise flawless features, but let it drop. She turned to Flowridia with a wide smile and panicked eyes. “Does Queen Marielle know the Nox’Karthan diplomat has arrived?”
Flowridia shook her head, but Ayla said, “My arrival party was small but more than satisfying. Flowra has made pleasurable accommodations for me.” The wink she gave Flowridia was nothing less than obscene.
“With that innuendo, I’ll be cracking out the alcohol a little ahead of schedule,” Etolié said. “I’ll tell Marielle you’re here.”
“Tell her dinner will be ready soon,” Ayla chimed, her tone dripping with sincerity. “It’s the least I can do for my friends in Staelash.”
When Etolié left, Flowridia went to shut the door. “It’s kind of you to prepare everyone dinner,” she said, coming to stand behind the elven woman.
“As I said, the least I can do,” Ayla replied, still smiling, but Flowridia swore she saw it crack.
Small paws patted her leg, and Flowridia stooped down to lift Demitri, his young voice mingling silently in her head. Lady Ayla is being so friendly.
“Ayla is very friendly, yes.”
Make sure she doesn’t poison Etolié. I like her.
Flowridia nearly dropped the pup, shocked at his rudeness. Instead of responding, she said to Ayla, “How long will you be staying in Staelash?”
“Casvir expects me to return after the embassy’s official unveiling. I’m early, I know, but I have little to do at home, so I thought I might spend some time with you.” Ayla turned from her cooking, the smile on her lips the first bit of true sincerity Flowridia had seen all evening. “You’re a puzzle I have yet to solve, Sweet Flowra.”
A bit of fluttering joy filled Flowridia’s stomach. Unable to help herself, she set Demitri down and carefully placed her hands at Ayla’s waist. When the woman didn’t stiffen, Flowridia let her hands slide around Ayla’s body as she set her head against her bony shoulder.
“I’m happy you’re here,” Flowridia whispered amidst sounds of sizzling vegetables. She placed a kiss at the top of Ayla’s head.
The door creaked open, and Flowridia released Ayla when Thalmus entered the room. He stared oddly at the pair, but Ayla beamed at his entrance. “Thalmus, a pleasure to see you again-”
Thalmus turned around and left.
Something crackled, and Ayla nearly jumped as she removed the pan from the stove. “I swear on Te’Feurte’s Tomb if I’ve burned this
. . .” Ayla’s angry muttering switched into elven curses as she resumed her whirlwind, speaking in a dialect Flowridia couldn’t hope to understand.
Thalmus reentered, and Flowridia quickly stood up, noticing the iron set of his jaw. Ayla smiled at his entrance. “I may not be the best cook, but there’s something blissfully pleasant about cooking for those you appreciate-”
“Lady Ayla, may we speak in private?” Thalmus glowered, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
Ayla quirked a coy eyebrow. “I’m at a pivotal juncture in my cooking. I wouldn’t want to burn anything. Can it wait until after dinner?”
Thalmus turned to Flowridia. “Flowra, would you mind if I spoke to Lady Ayla alone in the kitchen so I don’t interrupt her cooking?”
Flowridia, nervous at being roped into their standoff, gave a quiet nod. But Ayla’s claws on her waist stopped her. “Flowra-” The use of the affectionate title caused Thalmus’ frown to deepen. “My sweet summer blossom, there’s no need to leave.” Ayla looked again at Thalmus. “Whatever you say, she’ll find out anyway.”
“Then I’ll speak as though she isn’t here.” Thalmus crossed his arms, his imposing height comparable to his scowl. Yet, Ayla stood tall enough to match him in demeanor, her half-smile victorious. “I will be brief: hurt her again, and you’ll be ripped in two before you can slink into the shadows like the snake you are.”
Ayla’s smile only grew. “Are you threatening a foreign dignitary, Sir Thalmus?”
“I am threatening you. If I have to stand before Imperator Casvir and explain why I tore the head off his favorite diplomat, I’ll tell him she hurt my little flower girl.”
A dark chuckle left Ayla’s pursed lips, but Flowridia saw that Thalmus’ eyes glistened behind his pointed glare. “You’re willing to die for this cause?” Ayla’s nails suddenly dug into her side. “Noble of you. Is it love?”
“Not a love you could ever understand,” Thalmus replied, and Flowridia withheld a gasp when Ayla’s fingers threatened to draw blood. But Thalmus stood firm, even as Ayla’s stare grew venomous. “She’s worth fighting for.”
Thalmus stepped back, his gaze falling to Flowridia before he turned aside and left the room.
The food sizzled, but Ayla’s focus remained on the door. Flowridia tried to remove the burning food from heat, but when she moved, Ayla’s grip grew painfully tight. “Ayla, you’re hurting-”
Ayla’s hands left her side so suddenly that Flowridia nearly toppled. She might have, had Ayla not immediately steadied her. With gentleness, she held Flowridia up, mouth severe but eyes wide. One hand stayed clutching Flowridia’s arm as she removed all the pans from heat, silent as she worked.
When Flowridia moved to step away, the grip grew tight again. Not painful – protective. Ayla held on until Flowridia finally spoke, gently, so as not to startle the mercurial predator. “Can I help you? I’ll set the table.”
Ayla’s arm dropped, staring incredulously. “Do you even have servants?”
“We do, but it’s early for dinner.” Flowridia moved toward the cupboard where the dishes were held. The small woman held a spiteful glare. “Truly, I don’t mind. It’ll only take a moment,” Flowridia said, and when Ayla didn’t immediately pounce on her, she took action.
Separated by only half a wall, the private, casual dining room waited, and Flowridia quickly set eight places. Would Zorlaeus be joining them? She would relinquish her own seat if needed.
Would Ayla be eating?
“Ayla?” Flowridia peeked her head around, shyly watching her companion. “Will you be eating too?”
Ayla tilted her head back, smiling coolly. “I’ll at least give the appearance of it, for the comfort of your friends.”
“I don’t think they’d-” Flowridia stopped herself. They would mind. “I’ll remember that,” she said instead, and she moved to grab a tray.
Flowridia froze when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist. Ayla glared, and Flowridia was surprised she didn’t growl with how she raised her hackles. “Sit,” Ayla commanded, pointing to the dining table.
Flowridia obeyed. Ayla fluttered in and out, setting trays and pots and dishes Flowridia didn’t remember her cooking. She watched in silence from her seat at the table, the only correspondence being an occasional wink from Ayla.
Soon, the table was set. Delicious smells wafted from the unique dishes, including the one laden with whatever potent spice Ayla had inflicted upon her.
Ayla sat beside her, at the head of the table, and began to spoon various foods onto Flowridia’s plate. “Flowra, eat. You’re terribly thin.”
Flowridia frowned, though not with any true anger. “Your remarks cut as sharp as your cheekbones.”
Ayla merely blinked, visibly confused.
Nervous, Flowridia continued, praying her backtracking didn’t land her into trouble. “You’re much smaller than me. The irony of you scolding me for being thin . . .” Flowridia shoved a fork-full of food into her mouth, shutting up her embarrassed words.
Whatever touched her tongue held an intricate array of flavors, nothing Flowridia had ever tasted before. She smiled as she chewed, even as Ayla’s confusion settled into annoyance. “Forgive me for being so pointed, but need I remind you that I’m dead.” No question laced the statement.
“This is delicious,” Flowridia offered shyly. Blinking prettily, she felt her stiff form relax when Ayla’s expression softened.
“You are welcome, Flowra.”
Etolié peeked her head around the door, but Khastra pushed past and moved to join Ayla and Flowridia at the table. “Etolié said you made everyone dinner,” the half-demon said, and she sat at a chair at the opposite end of the table, one of two that were noticeably larger than the rest.
“It’s a delicacy from Falar’Sol, the Sun Elven homeland,” Ayla said, and she began to place food onto her own plate, gesturing for Khastra to do the same. “I haven’t been there in ages, but I do recall a few recipes.”
“I know where Falar’Sol is,” Khastra said, accepting the serving utensils. Etolié sat beside her, a slight wall between she and Ayla Darkleaf.
Ayla raised an eyebrow, as though a challenge had been issued. “I spent much of my life in Star Tree, though it’s been a few centuries.”
“I have been to Star Tree, but not in your lifetime,” Khastra said.
Ayla grinned, amusement in the gesture. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m quite old.”
“I am older.”
Again, there was that competitive glint in Ayla’s eye. “I was born before the Sun Elven Purge.”
Khastra sat up straight, swallowing her bite of food before saying, “When I was born, Sun Elves were still pledged to the Goddess of Chaos.”
Ayla leaned back in her chair, looking somewhat impressed. “I concede.”
Khastra said nothing else and instead began piling food onto Etolié’s empty plate.
“General Khastra,” Ayla added, her smile slowly twisting with intrigue. “I do believe I’ve heard your name. But what business would the Bringer of War have in this charming little kingdom?”
Khastra stole a glance in Ayla’s direction before placing the serving utensils back in their respective places. “Perhaps for the same reasons as you, Izthuni Spawn. But I would never be so forward as to ask.”
Awkward silence began to brew. Some power play had ensued, and Flowridia might have said something had she not been acutely aware of Ayla’s foot tracing lines along her leg.
Etolié nervously glanced between the pair. “I couldn’t find Marielle or Zorlaeus anywhere,” she finally said, and Flowridia noticed the open flask in her hand. It seemed the Celestial’s fast had ended. “Thalmus said he wasn’t hungry.”
“More for us, then,” Ayla said, casting a coy glance to Flowridia.
“Star Tree is nowhere near the sea,” Etolié said, and behind her, Khastra watched the exchange with a full mouth. “How did you end up here?”
Ayla smiled, her cheekbones threatening
to split her cheeks. “Opportunity. Casvir offered a business arrangement I couldn’t refuse.”
Flowridia suspected the statement was literal.
“He seems like a strict employer.” Etolié said it with every ounce of politeness she possessed, Flowridia was sure, but Ayla’s smile twitched nonetheless.
“Employment is stifling.”
“Agreed. My days of personally obliterating slave camps are over, but at least I have more time for research.” Etolié’s wistful tone suggested this may have been a paltry substitute.
“I have a bit of a set-up myself in Nox’Kartha. Respectable employment doesn’t have to mean the end of pet projects.” Ayla gestured from Etolié’s empty plate to the plethora of food. “Eat, please.”
Etolié put up a polite hand. “I don’t actually need to eat food.”
“Neither do I,” Ayla said, taking a small bite.
“You make a compelling argument,” Etolié replied, and she began sampling the array of food Khastra had placed on her plate. “Everyone knows I founded a kingdom. Has Flowers ever told you the story of how she ended up here?”
Flowridia blushed lightly, setting her fork down onto her mostly empty plate. “Oh, Etolié-”
“It’s a great story.” Etolié brought her flask to her lips, then with a dramatic flourish, offered it to Ayla. The undead woman accepted it with a conspiring smirk. “Found her in the woods. I had been visiting the late emperor when I received word of Clarence Vors’ death, and on my way to Staelash, I found her swaddling what I thought was a baby.”
Demitri’s head popped up from underneath the table, revealing his spot on Etolié’s lap. “Turns out, I wasn’t quite wrong,” Etolié continued, cradling the wolf pup. “I couldn’t leave a baby alone in the woods, or the adorable little witch who owned him. Marielle immediately fell in love and said they could stay.”
“And why was a delectable little thing like you alone in the woods?” Ayla cooed, leaning close to Flowridia’s ear.
Ayla held no ire in her tone, but the question made Flowridia’s head buzz. She brought her hands together, fidgeting underneath the table. “I lived there,” she said, and it was not a lie.
