Page 37 of Homeward for a Spell

“More. Harder.” Sage arches against Araphi’s hand. “Show me how you play your instruments.”

That, Araphi can do. She finds a rhythm, slipping one, then two fingers into Sage as the ranger shows her what she likes.

Sage rides Araphi’s hand, moving under her touch, her voice reduced to small moans and plaintive begging.

“Please. I’m so close. Harder. Now…”

“As you command,” Araphi whispers, her other hand steadying Sage as she works her even harder.

Sage whimpers, arching more, the water around them a flurry of moonlit ripples.

“Oh gods,” she manages.

Araphi grins, persistently chasing Sage’s pleasure. It’s the best song she’s played all evening, and she could go on for much longer. She is a prize-winning bard, after all.

But there’s no need. With a long, broken gasp, Sage shatters under Araphi’s touch.

“Ollie!” she cries out, her eyes closed, her head tilted backward.

It’s just a name, but Araphi’s fingers still. She pulls away, gently but quickly. “Who’s Ollie?” She tries to make the question sound as normal as possible.

Sage’s eyes fly open, filled with confusion, then alarm. “Did I say that? Oh gods,” she mutters.

Araphi backs away farther, but Sage is already scampering out of the pool, back turned, gathering her clothes.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling her pants and shirt on while she’s still dripping wet. “I didn’t mean to, I just…I’m sorry.”

Then without another word, she flees into the night, leaving Araphi alone in the hot spring with her boiling share of desire, wondering what just happened, and who in the hells Ollie is.

Araphi wakes up early the next morning, groggy from a long night of tossing and turning. She stretches out on the lump of straw she’s slept on, trying to get her bearings. A knotty, wooden wall stares back at her, and the air smells of dust and horses.

Horses?

Right. They’re in Hexham. The adventure party has been on the road for three days, and Briarwall is still a few days’ ride away. Araphi plucks a piece of straw out of her hair and rolls over. There’s a lump next to her, wrapped in a blanket.

“Sage?” she whispers hopefully.

She almost reaches out. But no, it’s Nura, and beyond her is Tea, both still asleep. Sage isn’t here. That was just the lovely dream she was having. The reality of last night comes back to her in a rush. The warmth of the hot spring. Sage’s hands on her skin. Their kisses. The way Sage sounded as Araphi touched her. The haste with which Sage fled the pool after calling out another’s name…

“Gods, what a mess,” Araphi whispers. She wraps her hand around the acorn and lemon pendants she’s wearing and exhales sharply as sadness overcomes her.

It’s not sobbing, break-your-heart grief, but rather the vague, indefinable kind of pain that sometimes haunts her when she walks through her family’s mansion, or when she smiles but doesn’t mean it. It’s the ache of lost potential, of what could be versus what actually is. It’ll pass, she knows it, though it still hurts in its own way. She and Sage could’ve stayed in the hot spring much longer, enjoying each other. It could’ve been easy and lovely between them. It could’ve been exactly as delicious as Araphi had imagined more times than she liked to admit. It could’ve been hands and mouths, hot breaths and hungry fingers, and at the end they could’ve shuddered in each other’s arms, content and sated. Then, they could’ve come back to the horse stalls and slept curled together for warmth. This could’ve been the start of something remarkable. But no. Sage slept much farther down the stable, leaving Araphi with nothing but questions and regrets.

Perhaps someday, after years of marriage, when she has children and a drawing room of her own, she’ll look back on this entire adventure and the same sadness will overcome her. She’ll stand in front of a mirror, no longer recognizing herself. Perhaps someday she’ll feel like she imagines her mother must.

Once I kissed a swordswoman in a moonlit pool and slept in a horse stall. Once I played music for whole villages, and charmed them into selling us items we needed for a journey to a wild northern forest. Once I dreamed of more than just these walls and endless social engagements.

Who would even believe her? Who’d listen to such tales?

No one.

Araphi exhales sharply, pushing her feelings away. If that is to be her future, fine. It isn’t now. She still can have something with Sage; they still can figure it out.

But who is Ollie?

Araphi stands up, quietly gathers her things, and tiptoes out of the stall.

Within the hour, the party is back on new horses and riding out of Hexham. Unlike their begrudging welcome the day before, the villagers seem regretful to see them go. Araphi is sad to see their cozy lodge and warm stables fade into the distance too, as it’s grown colder overnight. Each mile the party rides north brings a deeper chill, and the wind whips through the layers of Araphi’s cloak, riding dress, and pants. Which isn’t the only chilly thing. Sage rides at the front of the party, not looking at Araphi. By midday, Araphi’s legs ache from being in the saddle, and that coiling grief fills her every time Sage darts a glance away from hers. At least her blisters are healing, and riding north is decidedly better than walking.