by S D Simper
Ayla caught her stare and quirked an eyebrow. Blushing, Flowridia looked away, back to the meeting.
Ayla’s other hand moved to cover Flowridia’s. Flowridia beamed brighter than Marielle’s ring.
* * *
In the pitch black of night, once passionate moans faded to a lull of soft breathing and gentle kisses. Cold hands stroked Flowridia’s hair. “You’re exhausted, Flowra. Sleep.” Ayla’s bright eyes pierced the dark like a lighthouse through fog. “I promise to guard your bed and stay until morning.”
A blanket separated their naked forms as Ayla tucked Flowridia in. “You don’t sleep,” Flowridia remarked. “I don’t wish to bore-”
“I’ll entertain myself by counting the hairs on your head,” Ayla replied, amusement in her tone. “Vampires don’t sleep as you do, but we do shut our eyes and recharge, as any creature.”
“You said you weren’t a vampire.”
“Not quite a vampire, no.” Ayla cupped Flowridia’s chin, coaxing her to meet her eye. “I don’t believe there’s a word for what I am. If I drained you of blood and buried you in the ground, you’d rise as a true vampire. But that was not my origin. For me, vampirism is a curse in a literal way, but not one I know how to break.”
“You don’t know how to die?”
Ayla shook her head. “Despite countless mortal attempts to end me, I have persevered. Fireborns finally locked me in a shadow-less coffin to subdue me, and my body and mind atrophied from starvation. I screamed until my throat grew raw and torn, scratched until my nails and fingers were in shambles. But though I dried to a brittle husk, I never lost awareness. You know something of blood magic, yes?”
Blood was dark magic, the most evil of necromancies. To slay a living being and use their blood to grant undeath was the highest of crimes, and Mother often bemoaned the vagueness of the principles involved in blood magic rituals:
“‘An infant’s worth of blood?’ What sort of measurement is that? Children come in all shapes and sizes.” Mother stopped her pacing and scoffed at the cauldron. “Remember, Flower Child, it is often the letter of the law and not the spirit.”
Flowridia nodded.
“When Casvir found me, crippled and starved, he offered restoration in exchange for a contract. I’ll never forget the euphoric strength flowing through my veins, the blood dripping from my naked form as I stood for the first time in centuries.” Ayla’s grin twisted into a sneer. “And Casvir, expecting me to bend like a dog to his will. I’m free upon his death, but despite my best efforts, he still walks this plane. Instead, I’ve done all in my power to be a thorn in his side. Perhaps he’ll tire of me. That, or I’ll finally succeed in slitting his throat.” Ayla cupped Flowridia’s cheek and chin in her hand. “Someday,” she cooed wistfully.
“Etolié removed your head,” Flowridia dared to remind her. “Or was that an illusion?”
“Not an illusion, no,” Ayla replied, a knowing grin dominating her pale features. “But I’ve sustained far worse injuries as an undead, and The Endless Night has nothing to fear from Eionei.”
“And-” Flowridia bit back her words, too shy to directly ask what question burned her tongue. “And so why has The Endless Night not slain Casvir?”
Ayla’s smile faded, a grimace on her pointed features. “Per the contract, I cannot, lest my soul be forfeit. Casvir did his research.”
“What demon is The Endless Night, Ayla?” Flowridia finally dared to ask, and the sheets shifted as Ayla sat up. Flowridia followed, the blankets falling away to reveal her bare chest. “You said it was a question for another time-”
“Yes, and I also told you that The Endless Night is a title, my Sweet Flowra. Not a demon.” Ayla’s tone held reserve, and Flowridia leaned forward to embrace her.
“Will you tell me, please?”
Ayla leaned into her touch, her bare back pressing against Flowridia’s breasts. But she turned her neck, their eyes meeting as she said, “It’s a bit of damning truth, though not a secret among my own people. I am and have always been Izthuni’s mortal form. The Endless Night is our legacy on this world.”
It should have been no surprise – that if Ayla were to channel a demon, why not let it be a god – yet still she forgot to breathe. Ayla searched her face, curious eyes awaiting judgement. Flowridia said softly, “You are pledged to The Lurker, then?”
“I am. I told you that as a child Sha’Demoni adopted me. There, I endeared myself to him, and upon my mortal death, years later, I became his first creation. Perhaps it’s why I scoff at sunlight and all things holy – all the other vampires trace back to me, and I am Izthuni’s first and greatest.”
Perhaps it was why Ayla always held her head high – she truly did walk freely among gods, though not the gods Flowridia knew.
“Flowra?”
Flowridia held Ayla’s stare, unsure of what she could say.
Ayla walked among gods and bore a blood-stained legacy Flowridia knew only whispers of, but here, alone in Flowridia’s bed, her eyes watered, vulnerability marring her pride. “Please, say something.”
Flowridia’s arms held Ayla tight, and she pressed her cheek against the undead woman’s shoulder. She spoke gently, knowing Ayla’s hope was as fragile as a flickering candle and that she held the words to blow it out. “I don’t care who you’re pledged to out there, as long as you’re mine in here.”
Ayla turned, her nimble form shifting until their bare chests pressed together, and then tucked her face into the crevice of Flowridia’s neck. The silence became punctuated only by Flowridia’s soft breathing, and she savored the intimacy, the touch of Ayla’s skin against her own.
When her eyelids grew heavy, Flowridia heard, “You should sleep, Flowra. You’re exhausted.”
Ayla moved to pull away, and Flowridia memorized the faded lines of Ayla’s body in the darkness. “You don’t have to stay all night.” Self-conscious, she added, “I don’t wish to bother you. I’m told I talk in my sleep.”
“You do.” So gentle a tone, yet the remark threatened to topple Flowridia’s careful defenses. Ayla pressed their bodies together, leading Flowridia down into bed. “I’m quite confident, if I were cursed with the need for sleep, I would be the same.”
Never had Flowridia heard so vulnerable a phrase from her companion. She opened her eyes, but her words were silenced with a kiss. “Sleep, Flowra. I’ll protect you from your nightmares.”
Flowridia settled into Ayla’s embrace, whispered words leaving her lips. “You’ll let me protect you too, right?”
“Darling, I’m the monster in the dark. There’s nothing to protect me from.”
Humming met Flowridia’s ears. That same song, somber and sad, lilted softly in the night, and within minutes, Flowridia drifted into sleep.
* * *
In the morning, the sun shone through the window, and Flowridia awoke to Ayla Darkleaf positioned on top of her, peering at her head. Blue eyes met her own. “I apologize. I lost track around 147,000. You kept moving.”
Flowridia turned over, quirking an eyebrow as she stared up at the lazily smiling undead elf. “I beg your pardon?”
“I told you I would number the hairs on your head.” Ayla placed a lingering kiss at Flowridia’s temple. “If you would lay still, I might be able to give you an exact count.”
Flowridia giggled at the thought of sitting in a chair while Ayla riffled past each individual strand of hair. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s information I can do without.” She waited for that grin, for Ayla to join her laugh and reveal her jest.
But Ayla, it seemed, was utterly serious. “I’ll try again, the next time I’m able to spend the night.”
“You mean tonight?” Flowridia’s expression fell when Ayla’s didn’t change. “What do you mean, ‘the next time?’ You said you would stay until after the embassy unveiling.”
Regret flashed across Ayla’s face, any semblance of joy fading. “The reception is tonight, and I am to leave at its conclusion. Casvi
r expects me back.”
Truly, the thought hadn’t occurred to her, that Ayla couldn’t stay forever. The euphoria of revealed love had enraptured Flowridia, caused her to forget her duties and Ayla’s. To return to real life seemed so tragic a thing. “You’ll be back someday, right?”
Scarcely had the words left Flowridia’s mouth before Ayla burst out with, “Of course!” A protective embrace gripped Flowridia’s body. Cold hands stroked her hair. “To have you now, only to have you ripped away, is a tragedy. But I’ll be back, Casvir be damned.”
Flowridia saw sorrow in Ayla’s beautiful face, but with it, conviction. Flowridia leaned up to kiss Ayla’s lips. “You know I’ll be waiting.”
“You deserve so much more,” Ayla whispered. Her lithe fingers drew lines across the sides of Flowridia’s face. When her thin, doll lips parted, Flowridia saw the barest hints of fangs.
Flowridia hesitated, shy as she reached up to hold Ayla’s hands, and asked, “Would you ever take me with you to Nox’Kartha?”
Ayla’s humorless chuckle doused the flicker of hope Flowridia had ignited at the statement. “You wouldn’t like it there. It’s a thriving, beautiful city, but it’s full of undeath and all sorts of terrible secrets.” Her hands clenched, Flowridia’s still covering them, and then she stole one away, bringing Flowridia’s hand to her lips to kiss her palm. “You wouldn’t like who I am when I’m there.”
“I could never hate you,” Flowridia said, and again, Ayla laughed.
“I’ve lived a long time, Flowra. There’s much still to learn about me. I pray you never have to.”
To pry seemed inappropriate. Flowridia instead said, “Then we run away. Not today, but someday. You and I. And Demitri.”
Sorrow threatened to drown the sweetness of Ayla’s smile, and Flowridia feared she might tear up. But she remained stoic, released a shuddering sigh as she gripped Flowridia’s hand. “It’s a beautiful dream, Flowra.”
The words held finality, and Flowridia’s heart sank. She gave a slow nod, smiling despite the sting of rejection. “I understand,” she said softly. “All of this still feels so new, so surreal, and I haven’t put much thought into the future. Our future. And I shouldn’t. It’s presumptuous of me to-”
A finger on her lip silenced her rambling. “Not presumptuous,” came Ayla’s reply, and in meticulous, slow gestures, Ayla placed a kiss on each of Flowridia’s fingers. She lingered on her ring finger, lips curling into a smile.
Flowridia leaned up and stole the smile from Ayla’s mouth. Their lips touched, butterfly kisses passing between them. A gentle whisper, reverent as a prayer, met Flowridia’s ears. “Darling, darling . . . I love you so.”
She took the phrase and spun it to gold, each kiss on Flowridia’s form a testament to that statement. Touch wrote a song, one Flowridia sang with Ayla in tandem. A perfect duet, accompanied by soft whispers and sweet moans.
A moment of peace; only for them.
Ayla left to survey the final accommodations for the embassy reception. Flowridia declined to follow, instead running out to her garden to inspect the results of her floral experimentation.
Among the gardenias, her pet project flourished; a perfect blend of tiny blossoms and vibrant color. Moon lilies had provided the palette for her gift, that of a flower to match her undead lover’s gorgeous eyes. Gardenias had offered a workable size, Flowridia’s own flower of choice for her hair.
The blossoms were small and delicate, none of them larger than a coin. She plucked them, one by one, careful not to crush any petals in her palm.
Once a proper pile had formed, she covered them with her skirt and quickly ran back to her room. No sign of Ayla. Flowridia opened the drawer to her bedside table and tucked the dainty flowers inside.
With Demitri content to sleep beside her, she settled in on her bed with a stolen book – Crystalline Charisma: A Study in Anti-Magic – content to wait.
The sunlight through the window had shifted when a touch at her shoulder nearly caused her to squeak. When she turned, Ayla sat by her side, smile wide and toothy. “All goes well at the embassy. The party will be starting soon, and I’m expected to arrive early. A foregone conclusion, I hope, but . . .” Ayla planted a kiss on Flowridia’s forehead. “Will you accompany me?”
“Yes,” Flowridia said, and she leaned in and captured Ayla’s mouth.
She stood when Ayla did, accepting the offered hand. Flowridia stepped toward the mirror, smoothing her hair and adjusting the flowers dotting the waves. “Do you need to borrow a dress, Ayla?”
Ayla surveyed her wardrobe, fingers skimming past Flowridia’s gifted gowns. “Pastels aren’t particularly my taste,” she said, and before Flowridia could comment, Ayla stepped inside and disappeared.
Flowridia watched, fingers still moving in practiced sync, until Ayla finally reappeared, hair woven and half down, dressed to perfection in black – as always – and her plunging neckline reminded Flowridia of the dress she had worn to Marielle’s ball. She held two dresses: one dark blue and one a deep maroon, both embroidered and stitched from an unknown, rich material. “Both of these are the height of Nox’Karthan fashion. Which one do you like best?” Ayla asked, coy as she bared her teeth in a grin.
“For what?”
“For you, of course. I’m inclined toward the red – I think it would add richness to your hair – but I’ll accept whichever you choose.”
Flowridia, her hair woven with tiny, white buds, held out her hands and accepted the dark maroon, noting the deep neckline and long sleeves. Being meant for Ayla, the dress would fit like a glove, if it fit at all. “Ayla, I couldn’t accept-”
“I’ll have some made for you, more suited to your modest taste. But humor me. Try it on?” Ayla’s expression softened, eyes batting cutely, and Flowridia couldn’t help but blush and nod.
With her back to Ayla, Flowridia slipped into the borrowed dress, one that clung to every curve of her slim figure and exposed more skin than she would ever be inclined to outside the bedroom. She turned to face the mirror, slouching demurely, and instinctively brought her hands up to cover the exposed cleavage. Ayla stepped to her side and gently pulled her arms away. “Oh, you look delicious. I could eat you up.” Flowridia’s blush darkened, and Ayla cupped her cheek and met her eyes. “Truly, Flowra, you look beautiful. You’ll be perfection tonight; more than even myself.” She glanced down, a bit of mischief glinting in her eye. “Though you may need to wear shoes. In the future, I’ll be certain all your dresses are long enough to hide your darling feet.”
Flowridia still felt like a child masquerading in stolen clothes, but Ayla’s reassurance brought confidence, and she managed to stand taller. Once shoes were donned, Flowridia said, “Before we go . . .” She couldn’t help the smile pursing her lips. She took Ayla’s hands and led her to sit on the bed. “Do you trust me?”
Ayla stared a moment, uncertainty marring the exquisite, sharp lines of her face. For a moment, Flowridia worried she might have over-stepped her bounds.
Ayla finally nodded. “Yes?” she replied, though confusion laced her tone.
“Close your eyes.”
Ayla’s hand went to rest at her sternum, exposed between the plunging fabric cuts of her dress. But she obeyed, and she shut her eyes, visibly growing stiff.
Flowridia stepped lightly toward the bedside table, withdrawing the flowers, stems and all, and returned, standing before Ayla as she whispered, “Hold out your hands.”
Ayla’s fist clenched at her sternum, but then she brought it down, uncertain, hesitant. Both hands lay open, and Flowridia placed flowers into her waiting palms. At her touch, Ayla opened her eyes, frowning as she stared at the offering.
“I grew them for you,” Flowridia explained, “to match your eyes. Moon lilies are a perfect color, but they’re much too big.” Flowridia separated a lock of Ayla’s fine hair and stole a flower from her hand. Her nimble fingers quickly braided it into the strand of hair. When she began on the second, she said
, “Gardenias are small; I thought breeding them might make a perfect match.” Ayla simply stared, eyes rapidly shooting between Flowridia’s working hands and the flowers resting in her own. Silence welled insecurity. “It’s silly, I know, but-”
“No,” Ayla said softly. “I love them.”
Flowridia smiled unbidden as she finished her work. Ayla stood and pulled her into an embrace. “I mean it. I love them. Thank you.”
* * *
“Tonight, we celebrate not one union, but two.” Ayla’s dangerous smile leered at the audience, charm lacing every word. “In uniting two people in matrimony, we see our own future, that of two kingdoms working in tandem to create a better future.”
The Nox’Karthan sector spread far and wide, populated by shops and dwellings for the richer migrants. Centered in the district was the embassy itself, shining a brilliant white, its marbled stone exterior spiraling up in a single, rounded tower. Backlit by sunset, it cast a shadow upon the city, a reminder of Nox’Kartha’s eternal presence.
The populace watched – citizens of Staelash and the few Nox’Karthans who already populated the sector. Soon, it would thrive. For now, only a few scattered De’Sindai stood among the collection of humans, Celestials, and others.
Ayla continued her speech, Marielle and Zorlaeus standing to her left on the make-shift stage. “Thus, we sign a treaty for trade and prosperity. A brilliant future awaits us all.”
Flowridia stood behind the stage, enraptured by every word.
Thalmus approached, simply stating, “She gives pretty speeches,” as he placed a hand on Flowridia’s shoulder.
“Those are Imperator Casvir’s words,” Flowridia replied. “But she delivers them well.”
Thalmus nodded slowly, expression neutral.
Flowridia dared to continue. “Ayla apologized for her past treatment of me.”
