This will be fun, p.7
This Will Be Fun, page 7
“I will buy them from you,” Vandra called out. “For whatever you want me to pay.”
I want none of your money, Elowen wrote. Speaking aloud to Vandra always managed to get her into trouble. Perhaps writing would be safe. And I’d never sell these precious pieces to a pretend fan. You don’t deserve them.
“I truly love Desires of the Night,” Vandra said.
Elowen whipped around, no longer able to hide her fury. How dare Vandra mock her interests, pretending to enjoy the very shadow play Elowen had loved since she was a young child? She expected to find Vandra with a mean-spirited smirk on her face. Instead, Vandra looked genuine, though Elowen could never know for sure, which only brought more frustration.
“See?” Vandra said. “I mean it. Just like I mean it when I say I don’t want to hurt you.”
It was utter agony, knowing people’s emotions but never knowing their intentions. What was it Vandra really wanted? She’d already succeeded in dragging Elowen toward Queendom so she could attend Thessia’s wedding. Yes, Elowen was currently fleeing, but they both knew it was a fruitless exercise and Vandra would get her back on track. So why was Vandra still flirting with Elowen along the way? Their entire past relationship had been built around stolen moments on opposite sides of the same quest. Under these new circumstances, Elowen could not even imagine how they could mimic such a situation. Or why Vandra would wish to in the first place.
Elowen whirled back around, newly furious. “Too late!”
She heard Vandra pick up her pace. “How have I hurt you? Please tell me. I am quite invested in learning more. Much like my investment in Desires of the Night.”
Elowen hated this. She did not want to lay herself bare. There was nothing she could say other than she did not want to be seen, or known. She wanted to be safe. And Vandra was not safe. Not at all.
“I can’t get into this,” Elowen said.
Vandra fell back, letting the distance grow between them again. “Ah, yes. There’s the Elowen I once knew,” she said. “It’s funny how I’d almost forgotten. My memory can be so forgiving when my heart feels such excitement.”
Elowen ached at those words. She knew she was being difficult. Now she had confirmation from Vandra. But she couldn’t apologize, because that would build a bridge between them, and Elowen could not bear to bring herself closer to Vandra, especially when she’d so swiftly proved that she’d only ever cause Vandra pain.
“This is precisely why I’m single again,” Vandra lamented.
With one sentence, Vandra had managed to pique Elowen’s curiosity in the exact way she could not ignore. She had a whole host of questions. Who have you been with since you knew me? What happened? How do I compare? They were the wrong thoughts, and Elowen scolded herself for having them. They were never anything serious. She had no claim over Vandra. Still, she had to comment, saying, “I’m sure your breakup was more their fault than yours,” because it seemed to be the kindest, truest, and safest statement she could make on the subject.
“For someone so committed to ignoring me, you do paint me in the most generous of lights,” Vandra responded.
Ghosts. Elowen had done the opposite of what she intended. Further proof she shouldn’t be roaming the realm with Vandra this way.
“She was the one who broke up with me, I’ll have you know,” Vandra continued.
“Why?” Elowen asked. She attempted to make the question sound harsh, judgmental even, so Vandra wouldn’t think Elowen was being flattering again.
Vandra came up to her ear again. “It’s sweet you think I’ll tell you all my secrets,” she whispered.
With that, silence fell over the two women again. Good. The less talking, the better. Hopefully it would nurture the small amount of bitterness Vandra had let creep into her cheerful facade. Maybe with every step, she’d resent Elowen more and more, until, finally, she abandoned her altogether.
The pings started up once again. Elowen nearly tossed her tapestry to the hills. “Stop messaging me!”
“I’m not!” Vandra protested.
Confused, Elowen looked to her tapestry. It was a reminder—her heart-healing appointment was about to start.
“Fuck me,” Elowen muttered.
“Really?” Vandra asked. “On what condition?”
Elowen shot her a glare. At that moment, nothing was worse than Elowen being inflicted with horniness. “Please grant me some privacy,” she pleaded. “I’m begging you.”
Vandra smirked. “I do love it when you beg.” Her grin widened, even more dazzling than Elowen remembered. She was so good at bringing things back to playful. She never let a bad moment linger. It was a large part of what made her so dangerous. You never knew her true aim until it was far too late. “See?” she said coyly. “You know me just as well as I know you.”
Vandra did not know everything, but she did know Elowen’s weaknesses. Intimately. And she was, regrettably, playing on every single one. Elowen hadn’t meant to let her guard down around Vandra, but somehow, she had. She could never do it again.
A few paces ahead, right where the curve in the road began to straighten, sat a quaint-looking inn. It was the first sign of civilization they’d seen in a long while.
“How perfect,” Vandra commented. “We need lodging for the night. We’re nowhere near Queendom yet. We can stay here. You and me in our own bed. Doesn’t that sound delightful?”
“We will be getting two rooms,” Elowen snarled.
“Even better,” Vandra said. “I love to have enough space to freely move about. Though we’ve certainly made good use of tight spots when necessary.” She winked.
A conjuration alert appeared in front of Elowen. It was a powerful head magic that had made it possible to communicate with anyone in the realm. In the last ten years, the wisest magicians in Mythria had found a way for the residents to tap into that magic source wherever they wanted instead of needing a specific conjuration device. All anyone had to do was snap their fingers and accept the conjuration to start a connection with someone or something else, and they could pinch and poke the air to change the scale of whatever they’d conjured.
Elowen snapped her fingers to accept the incoming personal conjuration.
At once a soft-voiced woman flickered into place, seated in a chair that did not exist on the wide-open road. “Elowen,” the woman said, alarmed. “Where are you?”
It was Lettice, Elowen’s heart healer. Every seven days, Lettice and Elowen met via live conjuration appointment to discuss Elowen’s feelings.
“Hello!” Vandra responded cheerily. “Elowen and I are traveling through the countryside! I kidnapped her! With her consent, of course!”
Lettice could not hide her widened eyes, nor could she compose herself quickly enough to stop her jaw from dropping. Elowen fought off the urge to laugh. No dark thought or despairing memory ever seemed to shock Lettice. Of course Vandra relaying her successful kidnapping would be what finally did it. It was kind of funny.
Ever since their first meeting, Lettice had been suggesting Elowen make an attempt to return to society, and Elowen had been gently but firmly dodging the request. She claimed she had all she needed in the trees. She grew her own fruits and vegetables out on the porch, and every few days a carrier bird delivered whatever other essentials Elowen required. She had shadow plays to entertain her and the queen’s salary to support her. Now all of that was gone, and here Elowen was, stomping through the hills with the very woman whose name she refused to speak in her appointments, but whose presence she referenced often, calling her a nuisance, or a thorn in Elowen’s side.
“Sorry to intrude,” Vandra continued. “I suspect this is a private matter. I need to check us into our rooms anyway.” Vandra walked right up to the conjuration. She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “Do me a favor and be sure this one doesn’t attempt to run off.” She pointed to Elowen. “She loves to do that. And she used to say I was the theatrical one. She has a wedding she must attend, so leaving now will do her no good, and she knows it.” Vandra blew a kiss. “All my love!” She strutted toward the hitching post beside the inn, her black horse following closely behind.
“Elowen, is everything all right? Do I need to call the royal guard to help you?” Lettice asked once Vandra had gone inside.
This time Elowen did laugh. “I’m quite certain the guard won’t help, seeing as Vandra is now a member. She’s taking me to the queen’s wedding.”
Lettice fought off another gasp. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard the news. I’d hoped we could talk about it.”
Elowen waved her hand. “There is nothing to say.”
This was Elowen’s favorite response to Lettice’s many inquiries. And yet Elowen was the one who’d set up the heart-healing appointments for herself. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d done it, only that she’d grown tired of being the only person subjected to her own thoughts and feelings. Unfortunately, that did nothing to convince her to share most of those thoughts and feelings with Lettice. She’d talked through some—as much as she could manage—but she resisted saying it all. Because when Elowen spoke certain things out loud, it always seemed sillier than it did in her head. Too small to be as big of a deal as it was. And Elowen hated to feel that small.
“Will Beatrice be attending?” Lettice asked. Elowen could not sense emotions through conjurations. Not magically, at least. Still, she could feel Lettice straining to conceal her genuine curiosity. As her heart healer, Lettice wanted Elowen to mend her friendship with Beatrice because it was the healthy thing to do. As a Mythrian, Lettice was clearly dying to know why the famous Beatrice and Elowen no longer spoke.
“What great fortune!” Vandra shouted from inside the inn, loud enough to distract both Elowen and Lettice.
Good. Elowen wasn’t planning on answering Lettice anyway.
Vandra peeked her head outside. “We got the last two rooms!”
Lettice tapped her finger on her cheek. “Is this the woman you’ve told me about? The one whose name you won’t share?”
“No,” Elowen said.
“Maybe this is good,” Lettice said softly, ignoring Elowen’s answer. “Maybe you can have some fun for once.”
“I hate fun,” Elowen responded. “And I won’t be having any.” She snapped her fingers twice, effectively ending the conjuration.
Vandra came back outside with two keys in hand. “Did you have a good appointment? I use a heart healer as well. They are quite transformative. By the way, which room would you like? One is the corner, with windows on either side, and I know you prefer a scenic view.”
“Stop pretending you care about me!” Elowen shouted, unable to withstand another moment of Vandra’s thoughtful attention. “I am here. I am going to the wedding. You have done your job. Can you just leave me alone along the way?”
“Why do you assume that’s all I want?” Vandra asked. She did not bother to conceal her hurt. “I know you’ve been away from society for a while, but surely you have not forgotten that people who care about one another do things like ask each other questions.”
Elowen knew Vandra desired her. That had been clear from the first moment they met, ten long years ago, when Elowen caught Vandra leaving decaying meat around their camping tent in an attempt to get carcass hawks to swarm them on the way to the Grimauld Mines. Elowen had gone into that interaction expecting a confrontation, only to end up with her tongue down Vandra’s throat and her hands grabbing her waist, eager for more. But Vandra caring for her? That couldn’t possibly be true. In ten years, neither one of them had ever attempted to reach out. How could Vandra possibly care for her?
While Elowen stood there stunned, unable to respond, Vandra took the opportunity to dig in deeper. “We have a chance to do what we couldn’t ten years ago. We are no longer adversaries. I am not here to thwart you. Do you really wish not to know me better?”
“I don’t want to know you at all,” Elowen lied, and for once, she considered herself lucky to be the only one with the ability to know how much her head and her heart disagreed.
6
Clare
In fifteen years of valiant deeds, Clare hadn’t often not known what to do. He’d pulled himself out of poverty in the Vast Plains by sharpening his skills in thievery. He’d faced monsters that caused others to soil themselves, isolating the creatures’ weak spots with finesse. Where others failed, he rarely had.
Even more rarely had he found himself rendered speechless.
Now, watching Beatrice walk into the waiting clutches of bandits instead of facing him, was one of those times.
Striding straight into the fray, she looked stunning. Fuck, he loved it when she strode into the fray. It was like every quality of hers he couldn’t help noticing in their recent meetings was gloriously on display. The years had only made her more beautiful, giving her face more freckles, rounding her hips—hips swaying with every step down the grassy incline into certain danger.
Sure, she was a little dirty, a little disheveled from recent events. In Clare’s honest opinion, it only made her hotter.
He’d made messes of their past few conversations, he knew. His emotions had overcome him like superior swordsmen. He should only have felt wounded rage, and yet she left him with infuriating urges to prove himself. When presented with the chance, dread feuded with hope in him until each was exhausted.
In fairness, he consoled himself, how could he have done otherwise? This was Beatrice. The woman for whom his wayward passion had been left to steep for ten years with her uncompromising spite, and they had melded mysteriously—like the dark potionmaking in which the witches of Megophar were rumored to indulge—into feelings Clare Grandhart was embarrassed to give names.
But he knew what they were, slithering in his veins like smiling snakes, ready to stop his heart.
He’d spent the past decade rehearsing what he would say if fate ever reunited them, fighting imaginary fights with imaginary Beatrices during his morning exercises or under Wiglaf’s nonjudgmental gaze.
Considering you only speak to me when the world is ending, what is it this time? The Nightbiter Plague?
How can you hate me for throwing away a few months when you were ready to destroy much more?
You can’t trust me? Beatrice, how could I ever trust you?
I’ve missed you. I think about you so much it’s like your head magic has become mine.
Of course I loved you, damn it.
Then the wedding invitation had dashed his imaginings. Their reunion reshaped into diligent duty, the vain, insecure effort of one Clare Grandhart to uphold his own myth. He’d clung on to the rogue hope of proving himself in Beatrice’s eyes. Instead he’d only managed to fumble everything.
Well, he wouldn’t fumble this rescue!
She was no longer far from the thickets where the cutpurses waited to ensnare the wagon’s passengers. It was what his resourcefulness needed to reengage. Right. Danger.
He leapt from his horse, rushing to her side.
He’d done much rushing to her side in the past couple of days, he recognized. He grudgingly doubted he could ever free himself of the instinct. Despite himself, he supposed she remained his favorite destination to rush to.
When he caught up with her, her stride did not change. “This isn’t happening,” she informed him flatly.
“Walking away won’t make it stop,” he replied.
She glared, right into his face, her fury unflinching. He found it not unlike staring into a sunrise—glorious.
“I was not just rescued,” she insisted. “By you.”
He could not help smiling. Yes, he counseled himself. Yes, this is good. Noblemen’s parties weren’t his home field. Daring rescues were. “It really was quite a dangerous situation,” he observed.
She stopped sharply. He watched her ready some slashing remark—the only manner of reply she had left for him—then seemed to restrain herself from such squabbling. For the record, he would have welcomed the slashing. He preferred squabbling over silence if confronted with the choice. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“What was I doing on Queen’s Road? The same thing you were, I imagine,” he replied. “Going to Queendom.”
His plain logic only infuriated her once more. She strode straight off again—into the foliage ahead. Clare intuited what was coming but was too far away to reach her. Sure enough, from the rustling shrubbery, out sprang the waiting outlaws.
Clare went motionless. Beatrice did, too, evidently deciding she did not really wish to be kidnapped.
“I see,” she whispered out of the corner of her lips, her fucking mesmerizingly kissable lips. “You are as bad at rescue attempts as you are at honesty.”
Her words startled him out of sexualizing her frustration. “Honesty?” he repeated indignantly.
Past the pounding in his heart, he distantly noticed the outlaws’ leader pause, removing his iron mask to reveal grizzled features. Clare did not know whether the men hesitated in recognition of their famous captives or out of politeness, permitting their prey to cease fighting. Or perhaps the outlaws just smelled good gossip.
Whatever their reason, nothing would change Clare’s stubborn need to justify himself. “I never lied to you, not once,” he insisted.
“The first words you ever said to me were lies!”
“Beatrice, the first words I said to you were a pick-up line!” He wrestled with his flash of ire. Heroes out to demonstrate their valor did not, he imagined, snap at even infuriating, infuriatingly lovely women. He glimpsed the outlaws’ leader sheathe his sword now, his men following suit. Clare hadn’t intended to forestall the bandits with relationship drama. He merely did not resent the result.
“Exactly!” Beatrice replied hotly. “Line, lie. What’s the difference?”
The foremost outlaw raised his sword like he was raising his hand in class.
