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Marz was two glasses into her first bottle of whiskey when she heard the heavy pound of a mailed fist against the door of the inn room she normally shared with Kaede.
The other woman was out, likely at Fortemps manor or the Temple Knight infirmary, she wasn’t sure which. Marz had chosen to hole herself up at the Forgotten Knight instead, with alcohol to soothe her grief and her guilt over what had happened in the Vault.
Another knock, more insistent this time, pulled her mind out of the downward spiral it had begun to sink into, and she called out a disgruntled “Fuck off!” in its direction.
Instead of retreating footsteps, the door creaked open, admitting the bright crimson armored form of Estinien Wyrmblood, entirely unwanted and unasked for, into her chambers.
Her fellow Azure Dragoon shoved the door closed behind him and then leaned back against it, as if to forestall any effort to throw him out of the room. “There you are. I thought I might find you here, rather than at Fortemps Manor.”
“When the hell did I say you could come in, asshole?” The comment was sharp but lacked any real bite to it – Marz’s disgruntlement at being interrupted against her will was already sinking back down under the surface of melancholy.
“You didn’t.” Estinien’s simple statement of fact dropped like a lead weight onto the floor in the space between them, and he did not seem inclined to follow it up, instead settling for staring at her from behind his helm.
Marz rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. If you’re going to make yourself comfortable, you might as well make yourself godsdamned comfortable.” Her left foot caught the leg of the chair across from her and yanked it out, kicking it towards Estinien. After a moment, he pushed himself off the door and stalked across the room to settle in it, crossing both legs and arms as he continued to look at her. Pouring herself a fresh glass of whiskey, she glared back at him. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I’ve only got the one glass, so you’re out of luck.”
A small smirk tugged the corner of his narrow lips upwards, and one scarlet gauntlet reached out and snatched the whiskey, taking a long pull from the bottle itself, before setting it back down with a thunk.
Irritation building again, Marz restrained the urge to kick him under the table – with him in greaves and her in sandals, it would hurt her far more than him. “Why the hell are you here, Estinien?”
The lingering smirk faded immediately, and Estinien looked away. “No one should be alone after losing a friend.”
A memory flared to life in her mind, as vivid as any echo vision: of Haurchefant, smiling through bloodied lips, and Kaede frantically pouring out every last drop of aether she had into a healing spell – something Marz was certain she’d never seen the raen do before – as his blood soaked through her armor and pooled on the flagstones, a giant gaping maw in his chest where the spear of light had shattered his shield.
Marz physically flinched away from the mental image, and slammed back her glass of whiskey, draining it in hopes that the fire racing through her blood would dull the memory. It never worked, not really, but it was better than sinking into despair, and there was no fucking time for that. Not when they had a bunch of traitorous primal knights to track down in the morning.
She reached for the bottle to refill her glass, and found it missing – Estinien had claimed it again, and when he pulled it from his mouth this time, it was empty.
With a grumble, she shoved herself away from the table and walked to the cabinet, fetching another bottle that she had brought up the hour before, along with an extra glass, and then dropped back into her chair, slamming them onto the table with more anger than she really felt. “Fine. You can have a damn glass, if the alternative is you drinking all my liquor.”
“My thanks.” The words were sardonic, the softness in them gone like they had never been, and Marz almost sighed in relief.
This, she could handle tonight.
“If you’re going to stay, you may as well make yourself useful and distract me. Let’s play a game.”
Estinien tipped his head in curiosity. “I don’t have my Triple Triad cards on me, I’m afraid.”
“Not that kind of game, idiot. The kind where we both get so shitfaced drunk that we forget why we wanted to get shitfaced drunk. I ask you a question, you answer or you drink. You ask me, I answer or I drink. Got it?” She poured both of them a glass, not waiting for his answer. Neither of them were particularly forthcoming people, really more of an excuse to finish her alcohol more quickly than anything, but… well. Perhaps not being alone was nice.
“Fine. Ask, then.” An armored hand reached for the glass, hesitated, then pulled back. After a moment, the gauntlets joined the bottle on the table, and long, bare, scarred fingers encircled the glass instead.
The absolutely ridiculous image of a man still wearing his Nhaama-damned helm but taking his gauntlets off for a drinking game made her shake her head. “First question: do you ever take the fucking helmet off?”
His mouth curled into that annoying smirk again, and he said, merely, “Aye,” before lapsing back into silence.
She simultaneously wanted to laugh and punch him, but settled for an exaggerated scowl and eyeroll. “Smartass. From now on, one word answers don’t fucking count. Your turn.”
“Mayhap next time you will word your question more thoughtfully then. As for mine… Why do you not wear your own drachen mail?” He nodded at her, lightly clad in leather as she was – a different set than she’d worn to the Vault, which she intended to burn, but still barely counting as armor.
“What, the armor that exposes the entirety of my stomach? Like that’s any more protective than what I normally wear. And mine is lighter. Makes jumping easier.” She shrugged, taking a sip of whiskey even though she’d chosen to answer. Perhaps because the real reason was the one she didn’t say – wearing the mail made her feel as if she was playing dress-up as a dragoon, instead of being what she was: an angry Othardian girl with a spear that a wyrm had taken a liking to on a whim.
Marz swirled her drink in contemplation as she stared into it, trying to think of a better question that the recalcitrant dragoon could not answer in a single word. After a moment, her mind settled on the matter of the great wyrm – here was someone who had lost everything, just as she had, and actually acheived his vengeance, when hers seemed as out of reach as ever.
“How do you feel, now that we’ve finally killed Nidhogg?”
Estinien stilled, his entire body freezing, and then he slowly brought the glass to his mouth for a long swallow. After he pulled it away, he shook his head. “’Twould be unfair of me not to drink, for I fear I do not have an answer for you. I do not know how I feel, and I do not care to think on it when there are still enemies left to fight.”
She thought that he might steer the conversation back to safer, more light-hearted waters, but instead, he set course for the heart of the storm.
“Why did you come back? Kaede said you left to go to your brother, but here you are. Why?” A certain roughness on the edge of his voice caught Marz’s attention even as the question squeezed her heart with pain.
Daava was in imperial hands in Terncliff, deep into the Empire’s territory, on the other side of Ala Mhigo. When she had heard word that he’d been found, she thought nothing could deter her from going to him, not Kaede’s sharp words about the madness of venturing malms across occupied territory, nor even her best friend’s obvious hurt over being left behind. But then her linkpearl had crackled to life as she’d stood in the East Shroud, staring at Baelsar’s Wall, and Kaede had begged her to come back, voice underpinned by desperate worry – always had she had a weakness for a certain Lord Commander, and his imprisonment had clearly terrified her in ways Marz expected she was not yet ready to deal with.
Faced with an impossible task looming ahead, and the pleas of a woman not given to asking for anything tugging her back the way she came – she did the impossible, the most unlikely thing. She changed her course. She turned away from certain death, and towards Ishgard once again.
She chose her sister-in-arms over her brother-in-blood, even though the choice broke her heart to make.
And then she’d arrived at the Vault so damned late, and perhaps if she’d been there from the start they would have been faster, been able to catch Thordan before he escaped, and Haurchefant –
Marz drank her entire glass of whiskey in a single pull, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What’s the matter, you miss me or something?”
The fact that he immediately took a drink instead of making some sarcastic comment told her more than his words ever could, and the realization hit her like a brick, even through the ever-thickening haze that shrouded her emotions.
He had missed her.
And suddenly, the reason for his presence in her room seemed so damned clear – no one should be alone after losing a friend.
Estinien had known Haurchefant longer than she had, spoken highly of the man whenever he had cause to come up in conversation. He had dragged his dearest friend from a dungeon, tortured in heart and body both. He had watched his fellow Azure Dragoon walk away the moment their mission was concluded, as if she didn’t care about him at all.
In the span of a day, he had lost one friend, and nearly two others.
Her own grief over leaving Daava behind, her guilt about leaving Kaede to fight alone, her blame of herself for Haurchefant’s death – all had clouded her mind enough that she hadn’t seen his barging into her room as a desperate need for companionship for himself, as well as concern for her.
Before she knew it, she was standing, hand resting on the table beside her as the world tilted a bit at the sudden movement, then steadied.
Her fingertips grazed the rough wooden surface as she took the three steps around to stand in front of Estinien, as he lifted his head to look at her, his face blocked as always by the damnable visor of his helm. Without thought, Marz reached for him, and when he did not flinch away, easily finding the cleverly hidden fastenings of the armet.
With little difficulty, she pulled it free and set it to the side, finally looking fully on the face of the man who had stood at her side throughout her journeys in Ishgard.
Her hands rose up to gently touch his face, thumbs brushing over the blade-sharp cheekbones, her eyes skimming from narrow lips – the only thing about him that was familiar – to his long, tapered ears and steel grey eyes, nearly hidden under a fringe of white hair, worn far longer than she expected.
He wasn’t beautiful, not in the way that Aymeric was. Nor were his features made charming by the soul that rested within, like Haurchefant’s. But there was a strange, magnetic pull to him, something undeniably but inexplicably attractive, and Marz allowed herself to be drawn by it.
His eyes found hers and held them as he murmured in a voice so much softer than his normal growl, “Marz, what are you doing?”
“Shut up.”
With her rational mind and bitter memories held in chains by the bottle of whiskey in her veins, Marz pressed her lips to Estinien’s and kissed him with reckless abandon.
She felt him stiffen in shock at her audacity, and she thought for a moment he might push her away, but then one long-fingered, calloused hand slid up the outside of her thigh and yanked her more firmly into his lap, the other hand wrapping tightly around the back of her neck as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.
He tasted like whiskey, blood, and pure desperation, and the combination sent her head swimming even more than it already was. Adrenaline slammed into her veins, heady and intoxicating, like the height of battle, and her fingers were working at his armor as soon as she came up for air.
She fumbled on the buckles, alcohol and the fact that they were on another person making them more difficult to undo than she was used to, until Estinien roughly grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. He attended to the fastenings himself, breastplate falling away quickly, followed by the thin shirt he wore beneath.
Left to her own devices, Marz shucked her own armor and unwound the bandages that bound her small breasts. Nearly naked, she launched herself back into his lap, her hands roaming over his broad shoulders and slender torso, smaller than an auri man’s but still dwarfing hers in comparison.
The rough rasp of scale mail against her thighs made her pause, and glare down at him in frustration. “Take off your Nhaama-damned pants, Varlineau.”
One of Estinien’s hands covered her chest, thumb roughly teasing her nipple, the other hand palming her backside through her smallclothes. “You first, Kimbatuul.”
The touch of his hand and the growl in his voice went straight to her core, liquid heat pooling between her legs as he glared back at her, not backing down an inch as she narrowed her eyes.
“Ask me nicely, and maybe I will.” A teasing note crept into her voice, and she flashed him a sharp-toothed smile.
He rolled his eyes at that, and smirked, shaking his head. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re too godsdamned bossy for your own good?”
“Oh, pretty much everyone, really.” Looping her arms around his neck, Marz leaned in and let her teeth scrape lightly down the side of his neck, pleased by the soft, shuddering moan that wrenched itself from his throat.
So pleased with herself, in fact, that she didn’t notice that one of Estinien’s hands had fallen away from its wanderings until it curled into the hair at the base of her skull, pulling her head back as his other hand gripped the back of her thigh hard enough to bruise, and he lifted her onto the table, glasses and whiskey bottle skittering off the surface and shattering on the stone floor.
The room spun, briefly, and Marz let it settle before she pushed herself up, her elbows digging into the rough wood. “What are you –”
Long fingers curled into her smallclothes on either side of her hips and yanked down, tangling her legs in cloth before he gave up and leaned over to kiss her, slower than before, but no less needy.
Frustrated by the inability to get closer to him, with her arms bearing her weight and her legs caught in her smallclothes, she wriggled and kicked her legs until they were free and wrapped her thighs around him, snarling against his mouth at the reminder that he was still wearing half his fucking armor.
When he broke away from her, both of them gasping for air, she kicked the back of one thigh with her heel. “Estinien. Pants. Now.“
Even though the effect was weakened by the ragged edge of his breathing and the way his eyes damn near devoured her as he stood and towered over her, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he shook his head. “Ask me nicely.”
Marz tossed her hair out of her eyes and met his smirk with a grin of her own. “Make me.”
His eyes narrowed and his focus sharpened at the challenge, and he shrugged. “Very well.”
She barely had time to process his reaction before he had shoved her roughly back down, rocking the entire table, one hand braced against the wood as the other covered her left breast, pinching its peak hard enough to make her gasp, while his tongue dragged over the right, the sudden onslaught of pleasure-pain so intense she saw stars for a moment.
Once the rush subsided enough for her to think again, Marz sank one hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled his mouth back up to hers, the kiss rough and with too much teeth, but both of them far past caring.
An ominous creak vibrated through the table below them as their only warning before the top detached itself from the center support and toppled towards the floor. For a moment, Marz was weightless as they fell, but Estinien’s arms wrapped around her and rolled, managing to get underneath her to take the brunt of the impact.
Panic was the first thought in her mind as she pushed herself to her knees over him, staring down in concern. “Nhaama – Estinien, are you alright?”
One steel grey eye cracked open and regarded her somewhat blearily. “Not my finest hour, but ‘tis only my pride that is wounded, I think.”
Relief rushed in after the panic subsided, and then the sheer absurdity of the situation penetrated the haze of drunken lust that had shrouded her mind, and a giggle bubbled its way out of her throat. Another followed, and another, until she was shaking with laughter, face buried in Estinien’s neck.
The man beneath her groaned, and the arms that were still wrapped tightly around her back relaxed, one hand sliding up her back as the other rose to shove the hair from his eyes. “Aye, full glad am I to know that my misfortune is amusing to you, Marzanna.”
Her full name, spoken like an endearment, full of warmth and barely contained laughter, wrapped around her heart and squeezed, but the alcohol did its job of keeping the painful memories at bay, letting her enjoy the feeling for the moment.
So instead she merely planted her hands on either side of his head and grinned down at him. “Not your finest hour, huh? We could change that, you know.”
“And how would you do that, pray tell?”
“Well, a good start would be taking your damned pants off –”
As her voice rose to a teasing lilt, the hand stroking her back slid down and wrapped around the base of her thick tail, tugging lightly. A sharp ache lanced its way up her spine, accompanied by a tingling shiver straight between her legs as his fingers brushed over the sensitive scales on the underside.
A moan ripped its way out of her before she could stop it, and her arms quivered with the sudden unwillingness to bear her weight.
Estinien went very still beneath her, and she bit her lip and looked away, a rosy flush warming her cheeks as he stared up at her in surprise.
The moment hung in the air, each waiting for the other to make a move, and finally Marz summoned a shaky grin to her features.
“Um. Tails are sensitive. Just so you know.”
Estinien’s face relaxed, going from alert to smug as he turned this information over in his mind. “So I see.”
Long fingers slid over the underside of her tail, dragging a shudder from her, but no sound. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to his collarbone, relishing the feeling, trying to keep herself from mindlessly grinding down against him.
The next time he tugged, it was harder, and she bit down on the side of his neck out of pure instinct. But there were no scales to deflect the sharp points of her teeth, and blood trickled into her mouth. Alarm flashed through her mind for one brief second until she heard a long, strangled groan from Estinien, followed by the larger man surging upwards into a sitting position, trapping her flush against his body so she could feel the desperate pulse of his cock as it strained towards her warmth. He pulled her mouth from his throat with a rough yank to her hair, and then his mouth was on hers, blood mingled in the kiss as Estinien’s hands roamed their ungentle way over her, pinching and squeezing hard enough to leave marks.
The pain drove every spike of pleasure higher, and caused her to answer in kind – her nails scraping over his skin, teeth and tongue rasping over whatever flesh was in reach. Frustration finally drove her to drop her hands to his lap and work fruitlessly at the laces of his breeches, until his hands yanked hers away with a frustrated growl. “Fury take you, Marz, slow down – ”
“Fuck the Fury, I’d rather you take me, instead.” Her bright green eyes met his darkened ones in the gloom of the room, and then the world tipped sideways as he flipped and pinned her to the rough wooden floor, the boards rasping against her bare shoulderblades. Silvery hair fell in a curtain around them as he leaned over her, the whole world seeming to slosh unsteadily from side to side like wine in a bottle.
She reached up to grab for him, but between the dizziness and the fact that he sat up out of reach, her fingertips only grazed the ends of his hair.
Estinien knelt between her legs, staring down at her with a hunger so intense she thought, surely, surely –
But instead of moving his hands to his waistband, he slid them up the backsides of her thighs as he leaned down and pressed his mouth against the soft flesh where they joined, lips brushing over her in an unexpectedly gentle kiss.
Marz’s entire sensorium narrowed to the sight and feel of his mouth between her legs, a feeling she’d only heard described by other women, but – thanks to the quirk of biology that had made her previous lover’s horns grow in the shape they had – she had never experienced firsthand for herself.
The heat of his breath made every single nerve in her body spark to life, and as his tongue dragged over her, purposeful and insistent, Marz was dimly aware of her hands clutching desperately at his hair as her back arched upwards, but she had not a single thought to spare against the sheer torrent of exhilaration that was surging through her, overwhelming everything else.
One tug of his hair, harder than the rest, pulled a groan from his mouth to reverberate against her, and the vibration made her mewl and whimper in a way that, were she less intoxicated, she would have been wholly embarrassed by. He fought to hold her hips still, thumbs pressing bruises into soft, freckled skin, as she twisted and bucked against his mouth, seeking ever more friction.
And then his lips found one particular spot and seized it, the sudden attention sending lightning lancing through her nerves as her muscles spasmed and clenched, and her thighs wrapped tightly around his head to keep him there, right there, Nhaama don’t you dare fucking move –
Her hands released his hair, and one hand caught one of his, his long fingers squeezing tightly around her wrist, as the other shot up to cover her mouth and stifle the primal sound that ripped its way out of her as she came undone.
Slowly, slowly, her awareness of her other senses filtered back in, as her entire body went slack and boneless with the aftermath of pleasure. After a long moment, Estinien sat back on his haunches, stretching his neck as he did so, and Marz realized rather abruptly that between a dragoon’s thighs was perhaps a somewhat dangerous place for a person’s head to be. A giggle escaped from between her lips, and the man raised an eyebrow at her, the corners of his lips tugging upward into a smile far softer than she’d ever seen on him.
“What, pray tell, is so amusing, hm? To be frank, I didn’t think my skills at that anything to be particularly proud of, but you seem pleased enough.”
She grinned, a bit lop-sided and drunk off more than just whiskey. “I could have broken your neck, you idiot.”
“A fine enough way for a man to die, don’t you think?” The husky growl of his voice made her shiver as he leaned over her. Between them, one calloused thumb grazed over heated, oversensitive flesh, and Marz shivered and bit back a whine as the touch reminded her of the aching, frustrated throbbing deep within her, still empty and begging to be filled.
“Estinien – for the love of the Dusk Mother, Halone, and Hydaelyn, take off your godsdamned pants already. And no, I’m not fucking asking.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he might intend to continue the stupid game, but then he grinned down at her. “I don’t believe I’d know how to react if you did ask me for something, you absolute demon of a woman.”
Marz shoved the hair from her eyes and smirked. “Good. Next time, I make you beg.”
A sudden flush reddened the tips of his ears, and Estinien caught his bottom lip between his teeth as his fingers fumbled on the laces of his breeches for a moment.
She opened her mouth to speak again, intending to tease him about his reaction, but as she did, he wrapped a hand around his cock and finally drew it out, allowing it to arch towards his stomach, hard as stone and long – whole ilms longer than any other she had taken before. Auri men were not particularly blessed in that department, after all, being built for their much smaller women. But she had heard stories about other races and – gods. She didn’t know if it would even all fit, but she desperately wanted to find out.
Not that she had to wait long. Estinien didn’t bother to take his pants all the way off, just shoving them far enough down to be out of the way, before he roughly grabbed one of her legs and hooked it over his shoulder, leaning in and pressing his cock against her entrance, sinking in deep as she parted easily for him.
Marz’s breath caught in her throat at the feeling, the delicious ache of being filled, nearly to the point of pain as he sheathed himself to the hilt. A shiver ran through her whole body Estinien turned and pressed a kiss to the side of her calf, surprisingly tender given the rough grip of his hands.
Emotion squeezed her heart, briefly, before Estinien began to move over her, too godsdamned slow for all the teasing they’d been doing.
Need seized her more strongly than anything else, driving away all thought besides the desire to be relentlessly, thoroughly fucked.
Marz kicked him in the back of the thigh with her free heel in frustration. “Harder, damn you.”
His pace stuttered a bit, and then he leaned farther over, bracing one hand on the floor beside her head as he redoubled his efforts, hips slamming down against hers over and over hard enough to make her whimper and drag bloody furrows up his back, breath gasping out in pants of encouragement, each murmured word from her lips drawing a moan from his.
And this time, when he drove her over the edge, she stifled herself with her teeth in his shoulder, and the second she broke skin he let out a strangled cry and spilled himself within her, breaking apart in her arms as he came, not bothering to even try to quiet himself.
They lay tangled together on the floor, Estinien smudged with blood and Marz dappled in finger-shaped bruises, aching and sticky and satisfied. Marz ran a hand over tangled silvery strands and murmured a quiet, “Good boy,” in one delicately pointed ear, and she could swear she felt him stiffen again inside her.
A pounding on the door interrupted the haze that surrounded them, as a deep, masculine voice boomed out, “Hey! Keep it down in there, would ye? It’s a bell past midnight, people are tryin’ to swivin’ sleep around here!”
Both of them looked at the other in sudden alarm, and then burst into tired, drunken laughter.
Estinien scrubbed a hand over his face and smiled a bit lop-sidedly. “Suppose we ought to quiet down, then.”
With a roll of her hips, Marz just grinned back up at him, enjoying the answering throb from the cock still buried inside of her. “Sure, we could do that. Or we could give him something to really complain about.”
A flush crept up the sides of Estinien’s neck, darkening the tips of his ears. “Oh, aye? And how’s that?”
Marz shoved him to the side and rolled until she swayed a touch unsteadily above him, already beginning to move in ways that had him groaning into the night air.
“Shut up before I put your mouth to use elsewhere.”
–
A slam and the answering pain in her skull wrenched Marz to wakefulness, and through the haze of body aches and hungover misery, she was barely able to make out a few things:
One, she and Estinien had never made it off the godsdamned floor, but at least he’d had the good grace to let her sleep on top of him.
Two, she probably had splinters in her back.
Three, Kaede was in the middle of a Lominsan-accented tirade the likes of which would normally be equal parts concerning and hilarious, but, well. She’d find some fucks to give once she’d drank some water and taken some herbs for her head.
“By the swiving Dawn Father, Marz, could your timing be any worse? We have the shite-eating whoresons of the Knights bloody Twelve to track down, and you’re up here drunk and in bed – well, not even in bed – with some man who is apparently so loud that he’d wake the dead in the seventh hell, and so now they’re charging us double in rent this month, and the gods only know how much Tataru will be up my arse about that – when, as I said, we have more important things to do –”
A long groan tore its way out of Estinien’s throat, and stopped Kaede cold in the middle of her rant as she turned to take a closer look at the man laying naked on the floor, only covered by her best friend’s similarly naked form.
“…Azeyma’s eyes, Marzanna Kimbatuul, is that Estinien?”
Estinien grunted in response. “Hells, woman. Anyone ever tell you that you’re too godsdamned loud?”
“Quite the opposite, typically.” The shock of finding both Azure Dragoons together had apparently snapped her from angry La Noscean brogue back into her own normal faintly-Sharlayan lilt, as she crossed her arms and took in the scene – broken table, broken glasses, and scattered armor, with Marz and Estinien at the center of the carnage.
As she ran a clinical eye over the two of them, one eyebrow shot up. “Is that blood? Did the two of you fuck or just try to tear each other apart like rabid beasts? Should I send for a chirurgeon?”
Marz blearily glanced down as they both sat up, grimacing at the mottling of bruises and lattice of scratches that covered them both, and Estinien with several bite marks on his neck and chest.
Perhaps they had gotten a bit carried away, but, well. It had been damn well worth it. It had been years since she’d been as thoroughly satisfied as she’d been last night, not since –
Her mind shivered to a stop as her muscles locked up, unwilling to even think the name.
Fortunately, a woolen blanket being wrapped around her shoulders was enough to wrench her thoughts from that particular spiral – for now – and Marz looked up to see Kaede leaning over, concern plain in blue eyes that were more sunken and dark-ringed than usual. “I’ll come back and see to your wounds in a few minutes. Okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Marz grumbled as she pulled her half of the blanket a little tighter around herself, intentionally not looking at the man who held the other side, whose lap she was still in.
Sighing, all the fight drained out and leaving her clearly exhausted, Kaede frowned down at Estinien. “You might want to leave through some exit besides the front door, lest you be identified as the mystery moaner.”
A groan rumbled through the chest pressed against her back, and Marz felt Estinien raise a hand to rub his face. “Aye, fair point.”
With a final glance over the two of them, Kaede shook her head and left, the silence left in her wake growing more awkward by the second, to the point that Marz was relieved when Estinien cleared his throat and shifted in a way that clearly was a request for her to get up. With some difficulty, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over to the wardrobe, pulling out fresh traveling clothes, her back stubbornly turned as she listened to Estinien gather up his discarded drachen mail. By the time she was dressed, so was he, his eyes once again hidden from view by his scarlet helm.
She flicked a glance over to him, feeling the need to say something, though she wasn’t sure what, but for once, no words fell unbidden from her mouth. Instead, after a moment, Estinien’s mouth opened, paused, and then shut again, his jaw clenching, before he simply nodded and turned away, opening the window and leaping from it in one smooth motion.
A cold breeze blew in as he left, and the sudden absence of warmth and companionship left an empty, gaping wound that allowed all the grief and sadness that she’d been holding at bay to come rushing back to the surface.
Marz braced herself against the wardrobe as memories came back in a disjointed torrent – Haurchefant in Aymeric’s arms, Veha with the sand stained red around him, the broken bodies strewn across the floor of the Waking Sands – and she barely registered she was shaking until a cool hand settled between her shoulderblades.
Kaede’s voice was soft, neutral, calming as she swept a hand down Marz’s exposed back, deftly plucking a few splintered pieces of wood from her shoulders and lower back, icy cold healing magic following in its wake. “Are you alright?”
Marz snorted, shaking her head. “You’re one to ask.”
“But I am asking.”
She let her head fall forward against the wood of the wardrobe, eyes prickling. “No. Not really.”
“Was he the first since…” Kaede trailed off, letting Marz’s mind fill in the blanks. Memories of Estinien’s steel grey eyes’s shifted, the same color shining in the smiling face of a xaela man, and Marz swallowed, hard, against the comparisons her mind was drawing against her will.
“Yeah. He was.” And Nhaama only knew how she felt about that, her emotions snarled like a fishing net caught in a storm.
The hand on her back stilled, and after a moment, Kaede let out a sound that was part laugh, part sigh. “Darling, isn’t making bad choices with emotionally unavailable men more my style than yours?”
The sadness of the moment, and the black humor of Kaede’s words, forced a laugh to bubble to the surface. More followed, until tears streamed down her face, and Marz wasn’t entirely if it was from amusement or despair. Wiping her eyes, she turned and met her partner’s steady gaze, shaking her head. “Thought I’d give it a try, I guess. I learned from the best, after all.”
Kaede smiled in dark amusement. “Well, sometimes it’s easier to face the bad shit after a couple orgasms. And sometimes it makes it worse. Didn’t feel like rolling those dice last night, myself, but I hoped they landed right for you.”
Quiet reigned for a moment as Marz tried to figure out how to reply to that, and ultimately just opted to ignore it entirely. Instead she raked a hand though her messy black curls, fighting to wrangle them into a high ponytail as she watched Kaede out of the corner of her eye. “Now that we’ve talked about how shitty I feel, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” The answer was fast, too fast to be anything but a defensive reaction. The exhaustion on her face made it more than clear that she very much was not, but Haurchefant’s final words clearly still rang in her ears as loudly as Marz’s own. And Kaede may not have been smiling, but she was damned sure trying her best to put a brave face on, in a moment when anyone else would have been sobbing on the floor.
The xaela folded her arms, gaze flicking from Kaede’s averted face to the large hilt rising up over her shoulder. “Uh-huh. Sure. What’s that then?”
At the nod towards the claymore on her back, Kaede shrugged and turned away, her mouth twisting in bitter distaste. “What good is a shield that breaks?”
Marz winced as the words called to mind Haurchefant’s shield, a jagged hole rent through the unicorn emblem as he’d used his own body to shield Kaede from Zephirin’s attack.
With a few sharp steps toward the door, she yanked it open with more force than was necessary, calling over her shoulder without turning, “Come on. We have shit to do, and we’ve wasted enough time this morning. Meet me at the Congregation before the next bell or I leave you here.”
Mother Nhaama, give me the strength to deal with Azim’s annoying ass daughter and her refusal to talk about her feelings.
Plenty of time to try and work on that after they’d hunted down and murdered Thordan and his knights, though. Because she was right – they did have a job to do, and crying wouldn’t make it any easier. Marz picked up her lance, and with one last glance out the open window, followed Kaede out the door.