Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

Enyo was gentle as a kitten, her skin blood-stained, and her clothes disarrayed. At first, Etienne thought she must have gone hunting, but she didn’t seem to be experiencing the sickness that usually accompanied the consumption of raw animal. Besides, that didn’t explain her sudden attention to Delyth. He could see her now, leaning against Delyth’s arm as they walked. His thoughts turned to the meadow, where Enyo had stood naked and tried to convince him to have sex with her.

Had Delyth given in to a similar offer? Etienne subconsciously touched the burned handprint on his chest, hidden by his clothes.

But that didn’t explain the blood.

And whatever it was had certainly pissed Tristan off, though Etienne supposed that could have just been due to Enyo fawning over Delyth. The Goddess even seemed more generous towards him, though he had long been a favorite target.

“I find your breathing less offensive today, mage,” she purred from where she clung to Delyth, her voice almost Alphonse-sweet though with none of the healer’s sincerity. He had no doubt that this unprecedented goodwill would evaporate if he pressed Delyth about whatever had made the Goddess so pleased, so he resolved to wait. He would have to catch the priestess alone.

By the time dinner had been served, Enyo had crawled into Delyth’s lap and napped on and off as the others cooked and ate. She looked like a wolf, sprawled out after a long hunt, legs tangled in her skirts and hair untamed and flying every which way. She even twitched in her sleep from time to time, much like a dog chasing rabbits in its dreams.

༄

Delyth ate stiffly, careful not to touch Enyo. She blatantly refused to treat Enyo the way Tristan did when she fawned over him. The sudden approval of the fickle Goddess wasn’t an excuse to put her hands on Alphonse.

She wasn’t like him in the least.

Across the fire, Etienne watched her, his eyes dark. She wanted to shake him, to get him to spit out whatever he wanted to say so badly, but in the end, she didn’t have to. “What did you do?” he asked. There was no need to clarify.

Tristan snorted, his mouth full of stew. “Yeah, why don’t you tell him, Priestess.”

She ignored Tristan completely. “I gave her my blood.”

She could see the horror in Etienne’s face. She knew what he was thinking, that she had let it happen again.

“What?” he gasped. “Why? What would possibly have been worth that? You do realize that Alphonse is starting to remember what Enyo experiences?”

Delyth just looked at him. “You weren’t there,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

Tristan snickered. “She didn’t have to do it, though. Enyo wasn’t putting Alphonse in any danger.”

The warrior rounded on him, teeth bared. “There is more than one type of danger, and I will slit your throat if it’s necessary to protect her again.” Delyth stood up angrily, waking Enyo as she did. “Taouk, wouldn’t you like to sleep in your furs?”

Enyo looked like a child roused suddenly. She blinked around in confusion and peered up at Delyth with half comprehension. Finally, she nodded and lifted her hands, allowing herself to be hauled to her feet.

“Will you ward the tent?” she asked, not looking at either of the men as she sauntered to their shared space.

Delyth closed her eyes and sighed before turning back to Enyo.

Gods, she missed Alphonse.

“I always do,” she said simply and held open the tent flap for the Goddess. It had become such a ritual to ward the tent each night that she did it almost without thinking, her mind filled with the image of a new, pale scar across her palm. She didn’t bother wiping off her bloody finger before stepping inside.

Greedily Enyo licked the finger, though less desperately than she might have before. She smirked and patted Delyth’s cheek in affection before flopping back on her pallet. Enyo didn’t care about things like nightdresses or taking her boots off.

In less than a minute, she was asleep again, mouth partially opened and breathing deeply.

Delyth settled in for the evening, stretched out on her pallet. She covered Enyo with a wing like she usually would Alphonse. The nights were getting colder each day, and Alphonse might wake up as herself if she slept well.

For a long time, Delyth didn’t sleep, but eventually, her thoughts stilled, and her eyes sagged shut against the weight of the day.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Soft touches drew invisible lines over the hearty bones of Delyth’s wing, down the fold, along the spine…

Alphonse shifted in the darkness. From what little moonlight she could make out from the tent flap, it was late into the night, perhaps three or four hours from dawn. Her memory of the day before was faltering, gaps missing, but other pieces crystal clear.

She knew Delyth had been beside her most of the day.

The thought that the priestess was there with her, even when Alphonse was gone, made the healer happy. Stupidly so. Of course, Delyth had stayed beside Enyo. Not Alphonse. But while her mind argued this was the truth, her heart bleated that it was some mixture of duty and friendship that kept the warrior nearby.

Shifting on her pallet, she turned to look at Delyth, smiling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could see Delyth’s stark features, those sharp cheekbones, the pointed nose, well-sculpted lips, relaxed in sleep.

“Delyth,” she whispered, reaching to run her fingers over that ebony hair gently.

“Alphonse?” the priestess asked, her voice rough from slumber.  She was blinking rapidly, reaching out to the smaller woman, her face twisting in concern.

“Yes, I’m sorry I woke you up, but I didn’t get to see you today.” As herself, she meant. Tentatively Alphonse scooted across the distance between them, coming to lie face to face with Delyth.

“Did you have a nice day?” she asked, careful to keep her voice soft and unassuming, so as not to jar Delyth into