"There" was past Mountainvale, past Blumore, past the Emarian border and into the tribal lands. A land of gray craggy mountains and mysterious caverns. Of lush green valleys and unpredictable weather. A land that Blayre had never seen - or perhaps a land that she couldn't remember.
Because her father had brought her out of that land. A souvenir from one of his trips to treat and trade with the mountain peoples. A souvenir, begot on a previous trip and carefully crafted for his return.
Throughout her life, Lord Darach had scarcely spoken to Blayre of her mother. Blayre didn't know if the woman who birthed her was alive or dead. She didn't know if her parents' relationship had been one of love, or simply one of pure lust. Blayre had not questioned her parentage until she was a child of six or seven years, and Lady Marianna had cruelly kept her out of a luncheon with Marianna's visiting family members, while Lord Darach was away.
"You will stay out of sight and you will not eat with us in the dining room. If you're hungry, you may seek out your meals in the servants' quarters."
As if the servants' quarters had been a punishment. The people in her father's employ had become some of her closest friends, and the ones who she had learned the most from. As a result, Blayre felt she had become far more useful as an adult than more than half of the ladies at court. The fate of usefulness, she feared might fall upon her younger sister, Daria who had been raised mostly while Blayre and Seaver were in the Capital. Five years her junior and seven years younger than Seaver, Darya was the child that no one had expected. It was no secret that there was not much love between Lord Darach and Lady Marianna. Especially not after Blayre's inconvenient appearance. With a small pang, Blayre suddenly missed her younger sibling, since she had been cheated out of seeing the girl on that previous trip to Blumore. Marianna barely let the girl out of her sight, even though Darya should have been brought to court by now.
And so Blayre often wondered about her mother. During the miserable times of her childhood, she wondered what life would have been like if her father had instead left her with her mother's people. She wondered if her mother was still alive, and if she was, why she had let her go. Had she thought this life would be a better one? Growing up beneath the shadow of an angry and jealous wife, instead of in the light of a mother who loved her unconditionally. Raised under a wife who perhaps had every right to be angry - but not at Blayre, who had not had any control over how she had come to be.
But she had always reasoned that were it not for her father bringing her to the life as his daughter in Blumore, she would not have had Seaver or Darya. She would not have had all her friends in the capital or such an excellent education. A job she was passionate about. Her life would have been different perhaps, but not better.
"My triad will be headed in that direction." She wasn't sure what Caval had meant by "we".
"I will continue to research this. If you are willing to explore this area of interest, I will provide you with as much information as I can. I would like to go myself, but I'm not sure if I will be granted the opportunity."
Blayre nodded, "You can trust us." She glanced toward the dance floor to the remaining members of her triad and saw Ainslee eyeing her with curiosity. "Perhaps we should move back to the dancing?" She gestured to the floor and shifted off of the stool on which she perched.
Caval placed a hand on her arm, "Don't discuss this with anyone yet." He murmured, barely audible above the din of the tavern's merriment.
Blayre nodded, and they moved back to the floor. Though she no longer felt like dancing.
****
Tired and giddy from alcohol and laughter, Blayre shut the door to her chamber and moved as steadily as she could to the small dressing table where she sat, unwinding her hair from its braid. The soft glow of the mage-lights in her room reflected in her mirror. Her hair, now released from its constraints, fell around her shoulders, smelling of sweat and woodsmoke - among other things. Blayre grimaced, massaging her temples. She needed a bath, but that would have to wait until after her morning workout session - if she made it to that. Perhaps it would be good to take a day off.
She moved to her nightstand, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher, wishing instead for a hot cup of tea. Why couldn't she have been born a mage? She almost laughed. Would her father have allowed her to be marked? Her brother had been, but he had barely enough magic to constitute being called a mage.
Seaver wasn't a threat. But he did have enough magic to boil a cup of tea. And right now, that would have been a useful skill to have. Rather than a gods-damned Sense of magic that made her sneeze, and was often more trouble than it was worth.
Blayre removed her Blumore sigil ring from her finger, and set it on her night stand. She abruptly remembered her conversation with Caval and pulled open the small drawer on the stand. She unwrapped folds of soft cloth to reveal the iridescent crystals. Once back in the capital she had taken to keeping them safe in her room rather than carting them around everywhere in her pockets like a child with its favorite candy.
A dragon burial ground, Caval had said. She wondered, did the mountain people bury the dragons, or had they been buried by something more sinister and uncontrollable? She had heard stories told by the staff at Blumore, of a time when a mountain had fallen.
A knock sounded. Hesitant and soft. As if the knocker was reluctant to disturb her. Blayre quickly tucked the crystals into their cloth nest and shut the drawer with a small click.
She strode to the door in stockinged feet and peeked through the peephole. The top of Ainslee's head could be seen on the other side. Blayre unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hello." She said awkwardly.
"Hi." Ainslee pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "Listen. Can I come in?"
"I... suppose." Blayre said slowly. She felt the sudden urge to shut the door in her friend's face, but instead, took a step back.
Ainslee came in and, instead of her customary flop on the bed, pulled out Blayre's dressing table chair and sat down. Blayre stood at the edge of the room, arms folded across her chest, though she felt as though she was swaying more than usual.
Damn whiskey.
She glanced longingly at her bed. "So, what is it." she asked impatiently.
"I wanted to apologize. For not being a very good friend these past weeks."
"Mmhmm." Was Blayre's immediate response. But wasn't this what she had wanted all along? An apology? Why did she still feel like being angry.
"I don't want being in a relationship with your brother to come between us..."
"Your relationship with my brother is not the problem, Ains. The problem is your assumption that I have any control over what my brother does, and that I should put you before him, or vice versa."
Ainslee looked down at her lap, "I know." She looked up again. "I am sorry. And just want things to go back to the way they were. I've missed you."
"I've missed you too." Said Blayre, and Ainslee crossed the room to hug her. Blayre stiffened and then relaxed in her friend's grip. She had never been one for hugs, and apologetic hugs felt cheapened to her somehow. She preferred to save embraces for other occasions.
But she tolerated it and then pulled away, "Alright, I'm exhausted, Ains. Not making it to the morning workout at this rate." She yawned widely.
Ainslee laughed, "I'll leave you to it," and just about skipped out of the room.
Clearly Ainslee had spent more time dancing than drinking.
With a sigh through her nose, Blayre winked out the mage light in her room and slipped into her bed, feeling as though her mattress and blankets were a pile of clouds. Which was silly, she thought as she began to drift off, since clouds were no different than the damp fog that frequented the Emarian capital.
She didn't know how long she had dozed off for when another knock came at her door. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes as she muzzily switched from sound asleep to half awareness. She almost didn't ignored the knock, it sounded like Ainslee and she didn't know why the woman would be back again.
Blearily, she stumbled from her bed and without checking the peephole, opened the door, half leaning on it.
A man stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders dwarfing the frame of the door and blocking out the silver moonlight from the window at the end of the hall. Because of this she couldn't make out his features. But she knew it was him all the same. The way he smelled of pine and leather, and something unique only to him.
"Rory." She breathed, her eyes still struggling to stay open as she leaned into him.
"I had to see you." He murmured, his words muffled into her hair.
"It's not...safe." She sighed as he pushed into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Blayre of Blumore, you have saved my life on numerous occasions, I am quite certain that I am safest when I am with you."
Not when I'm hungover. She thought sleepily. Her head felt like a lead weight and she wasn't so sure that she'd be much help if someone did try to attack the duke.
But, unless he had been followed, her room in the dormitory was likely safer than his own room - no one would expect him to be here. Well, most wouldn't, she amended.
He kissed her thoroughly and she savored the taste of his lips on hers. It felt as though she were melting into a molten liquid at his touch, and in that moment her aches and pains were forgotten.
He pulled away and said, "You taste of cheap alcohol." Blayre wanted to reach up and touch the side of his mouth that had upturned in a smirk.
She hadn't bothered to clean her teeth, or wash her face, she'd been so intent on getting into bed once Ainslee had left her. "I had...quite a bit to drink...at the Divine Sword." She yawned, too tired for self consciousness.
He led her to the bed, and it was she who kissed him this time, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt in her hands as she pulled him closer, willing him onto the bed with her. He obliged her in that moment, slowly sinking on top of her, but bracing himself on the bed so as not to crush her. "I thought you had more refined taste for alcohol." He said, and she reveled the way his smile felt against her lips and the pressure of his hips against hers as he loomed over her.
"Usually," she sighed deeply, running her hands under his shirt, feeling the muscles tense and his skin come alight with the rippled texture of goose bumps.
He pressed himself more firmly against her and kissed her even more fiercely.
Moon and Sun, she wanted him. Damn the rules. Damn the odds against them. No one had made her feel this way before. If she closed her eyes, it was as though nothing else existed but the two of them.
He pulled away slightly and exposed her neck to featherlight kisses that sent a pleasant shiver through her from head to each curling toe. He worked his way down to her collarbone and and she couldn't help it as her back arched with pleasure. She grabbed at his hips, trying to drag him down to her again, but he resisted.
"No, no." Rory said, voice a gentle rumble, that she felt in her core. A fragment of silver light from between her curtains set his eyes alight like glittering moonlight on ocean. "Just relax." He murmured.
Relax? How could she relax when he was... She let out a surprised yelp of delight as his hands pulled the low v of her shirt down lower, and his lips found the valley between her breasts. Then he was tugging at her shirt, and she was wriggling to help him lift it over her head. The sooner it was off the sooner...
"Moon and Sun," He gasped as his eyes roamed over her upper half, "What are you doing to me, lass?"
"What am I doing to you? What are you doing to me?" She breathed. "Is this some new form of torture?"
He paused and propped himself higher above her. No no no. She'd said the wrong thing. But, he was grinning ferally.
His face turned more serious and he cupped her cheek with one large hand. The warmth seeped into her skin, and his hands varied from rough to smooth where they were calloused.
"Is this what you want? In secrecy like this?"
Blayre didn't take pause to think on it. She had thought about it plenty. "If it's all I can have of you right now, then yes."
"Right now? And what of the future?"
She wanted to scream at him. Why was he choosing this moment to have such an in depth conversation? She was trembling with unsatisfied desire, her core on fire.
He was waiting for an answer. She propped herself up on her elbows, and suddenly felt overly exposed, but resisted the urge to reach for her shirt. "Someday...someday I think I would like more." The truth was she didn't want to think that far ahead. She had never been like other young noble girls who dreamed of a luxurious life, taking advantage of all the palaces amenities as the wife of a high noble. And that was very possibly the life that becoming the duke's wife would bring. But she did want Rorrick de Vihrea... or at least, she wanted Rory. The man she had met in Mountainvale. The man she had camped in the forest with.
"Someday, perhaps we can have more." He traced a finger down the side of her face, entwining it in a coil of dark hair. "And you don't know how much it pains me, how much I want you, but Blayre, dear lass," His lips pressed into a straight line. "I cannot take advantage of you so permanently, if I cannot yet promise you more than this."
She felt frozen. Her limbs heavy and numb, her headache seeping back as a small and steady pulsing twinge.
"I should go," He said, pulling himself away from her and standing from the bed. He straightened his clothing.
"But I don't want you to." Her voice was almost a whine. In desperation, she reached for him, grasping his wrist.
"Lass, I wish that we could do whatever we wanted." He leaned in and kissed her deeply. "Perhaps someday, we can go to the Jeweled Isles. And I can show you my home there. I can take you somewhere where no one and nothing can bother us."
His home there. She wondered, did he feel such an outsider here?
"I'd like that," She said, recalling the night months ago when they had paused by the dragon fountain in the square. He'd mentioned it then too. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.
"I'm sorry, Blayre I didn't come here intending to hurt you in any way. I just... Sometimes I wish I could live on impulse. But I can't." He looked toward the door.
"I'm not sorry. I'm glad you came, Rory." She felt calmer now, though still disappointed. But she could see the reason in it, and why he felt the need to hold back. "Come back, another night. We don't have to do anything," She assured him. "We can just talk."
He gave her a close mouthed smile. "I'd like that."
Blayre rested a hand on her shirt, then stood, "I'll walk you to the door. Not that it's far." She stood and slowly drew on her shirt, and when she'd pulled it over her head, she found he was still watching, eyes full of tenderness, and hunger, and perhaps something else.
As she shut the door clicked shut, she pressed her forehead against it and took a shaky breath.
Damn Rorrick de Vihrea and his gods damned honor.
A/N: This week's Wattpad author shoutout goes to MiloMaia If you like beautiful imagery, perfectly executed multiple POV, and incredibly well developed characters set in a mythical ancient Greece, A Song in Olympus (updated title A Storm in Olympus) is for you. It reminds me a bit of an ancient Greek Game of Thrones.