[While on a rescue mission gone crazed, a holy warrior and a rogue fight bandits, demons, and the urge to rip each other's clothes off.]
The mission, rescuing a princess, could be going better.
Séa is an earnest paladin, honest and gullible. Tash is...
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Resembling glorified paintings rather than actual people, the female and male knights reined in their horses in front of the apothecary. They dismounted to cries of "milord!" and "milady!" from a smattering of nearby villagers. Embroidered in gold thread, the stylized eagle of House Pharing (for the King) and an antlered hart (for the duke) blazed on the chests of their green-trimmed tabards. They existed within bubbles of smug grace.
A shudder shook Tash, unbidden. The years of her separation from pageantry and courtly airs fell away, and she recalled similar empty figures from her youth. Gifted from birth with an unearned family name, these, too, had cultivated airs of superiority. In all fairness, they had not themselves created the zone of idolization that followed their every movement. Others generated the buzz of voices and the suffocating swarm of admiring glances. But the chosen ones had fallen without friction into the trap of believing that fame was a real thing. Accordingly, they did their part to complete the circle of illusion. They waved like royalty. They received their applause as if always receiving and never giving was the balanced, correct order of things.
A snarl of a smile twisted Tash's face. The day was warm, yet they wrapped themselves in full armor and surcoats. A light frock would be infinitely more comfortable, but appearances, to folk like these, must be maintained. The village peasants that had hailed them had not lingered.
Séa drew in a breath, then whispered, rapid-fire, "Torugg Endurer, grant me patience."
Tash's eyes zipped to the paladin. She's as prejudiced against them as I am. Amazing.
Séa clapped a fist to her chest and bent slightly at the waist. She called, "Dame Sunstar. Sir Fawk. Well met."
Dame Sunstar favored the paladin with a dimpled, rehearsed smile. "Ah, Séa."
Sir Fawk's toothy grin never faltered. "Ladies."
Séa opened her mouth to speak, but the Dame spoke quicker. "Did you practice your archery before you left your cloister today?"
A wave of dark pink rose from below Séa's collar, up her corded neck, and over her resolute face. With the slightest quiver in her steady voice, she replied, "Yes, Frullan. And yourself?"
Tash lifted an eyebrow and separated herself from the doorframe. The conversation had undercurrents. The two armored women had history. Séa's on a first-name basis with Dame Frullan Sunstar. That's far more interesting than me wallowing in an attack of envy. What will happen next?
The Dame's facial expression oozed satisfaction. "I practice when the mood strikes, and when more important duties do not interfere."
The two armored women stared at each other with blistering intensity. Fawk's grin faded a notch as his eyes roved between Séa and Frullan. He cleared his throat and announced, too loudly, "We're here to see the potionmaster."
