Queen of Embers

XXXII. Shield

"The world will still be there in another hour," Vipsania murmured against Sorne's ear, fingertips tracing patterns up and down the inside of the warrior's thigh. They were still tangled together under the blankets, though Sorne had shifted in an effort to get up.

Vipsania's touch and tone were persuasive arguments, but it was well past dawn. Sorne knew that they would already be missed, as much as she hated to leave their space together. "At least one of us has to get up," Sorne said with a sigh, gently disentangling herself from the western woman. She sat up reluctantly and shivered. It was cold in the room without a fire. Still, it was for the best that Vipsania had barred the door the night before, so no one would come in to tend the hearth or generally be a nuisance.

Arms wound around her waist from behind. Sorne leaned back into Vipsania slightly, only to be pulled back into laying on the bed. When she tried to sit up again, she found herself caught. "Mine," the soldier purred.

Sorne's shiver now had nothing to do with cold. There were too many wonderful sensations now forever tied to that tone in Vipsania's voice for the warrior to ever object to hearing it. "Yours," Sorne agreed softly. "But we still have to get up."

Vipsania sighed heavily. "I suppose," she said, loosening her grip but not letting go completely. "But under protest."

"I know," Sorne said. She felt it too, the sudden crushing weight of duty. She slipped out of the circle of Vipsania's arms and padded over to her clothes, grateful for the rugs that protected her feet from the chill flagstones beneath.

"You tore my shirt," Vipsania said as she picked her own clothes up from at the edge of the bed, far more amused than anything else.

"And?" the warrior asked with a grin.

"I like this shirt."

"I like you much more out of it," Sorne said with all the innocence she could muster, which wasn't much. She came back to the edge of the bed with her own clothes, ready to be as close to Vipsania as she could for as long as possible.

Vipsania pulled her into a kiss, clearly forgetting about her clothing. "Your passion is always welcome, my fire-soul," the western woman murmured.

Passion was the right word, Sorne acknowledged in her own thoughts. She was better at showing and sharing through her body than she was with words. Those were Vipsania's domain, and the western woman had no qualms about using them in bed.

Within that passion was the same trust they shared. There were always questions before everything. Is this alright? What do you want? It never broke the moment. Sorne followed Vipsania's lead eagerly and learned far more quickly than the soldier had expected. For all of her inexperience, Sorne was a quick study when motivated.

Vipsania was the first dressed, but she stopped to braid her hair. Sorne left her own loose for the most part, rarely spending much time with it. As Vipsania stood in front of the mirror, it was Sorne's turn to hold her from behind. "I wish this would last forever," Sorne said softly, trying not to slip into the melancholy that Losena had burned into her soul. "No armies and conflicts, just this."

"This storm will calm," the western woman said with confidence that sounded unshakable.

Sorne nodded. It was easy to fall into that reassurance, but she had lost enough to know the dangers of war. There was no guarantee that either of them would survive this, let alone both. Think of better things, she told herself as she rested her forehead against Vipsania's shoulder. "When it's all over, will you come with me to Ash Kordh?"

"In a heartbeat," Vipsania said gently, turning to face Sorne. "Though I imagine I will not be a welcome face in the north, given what evils my people inflicted on them."