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

have. I see how that could be...unattractive or unappealing.” And all she wanted was to clear the air between them. Fix whatever she had ruined.

If such a thing was possible.

Delyth covered Alphonse’s hand with her own. “Nothing about you is unattractive or unappealing.”

She raised the healer’s hand to her lips and kissed it gently before moving it back to her leg. “I don’t think there is a should have or shouldn’t have in this. So long as we’re both open and willing—which I think we are—then whatever we bring to it is valid. However you approach it… well, I’m with you.” She scrunched up her nose. “Does that make sense at all?”

“I suppose so. But… That’s not entirely fair because… Well…” Alphonse winced as she tried to think of the words without sounding too… brash?

“You’ve gotten to study cooking before, and you know what people like to eat and… Alright… Perhaps now you’re not hungry but… What if, at a later time, you are hungry and you grow tired of my burning the pot? And before you know it, every time you think of my cooking, you think of burnt food and feeling unsatisfied, all the while I get to eat your marvelous cooking. You use herbs and flavors I didn’t even know existed, and I look at you and my mouth waters, and every time you cook for me, I’m sated and full and… Well. I don’t even want to think about eating someone else's cooking. It’ll probably taste like ash in my mouth and…”

She was rambling, and she knew it. Was she even making sense?

What Delyth said was the journey mattered, not the destination. Alphonse wondered if she even knew what the destination was or how to get there.

“And then I fall in love with your cooking, and you hate my cooking, and I’m selfishly full, and you’re starving, and then you wake up and realize that you could have been eating wonderful meals all this time instead of burnt rice?!”

Delyth took a deep breath, her brows creased as though she was having a hard time following. “Well, so far, I’ve liked how everything you’ve made has tasted. I don’t think it matters much that I’ve cooked before because everyone likes their um… food a bit different, right? Though I’m glad that you like my cooking…”

Delyth trailed off for a second, the silence long enough to make Alphonse squirm, her mouth opening to speak again only for the priestess to resume.

“Besides, if you ever add any flavors that don’t suit my particular taste, then I’ll just tell you, alright? It's not like we’re taking turns at the cooking fire while the other one eats in a different tent. We’re both standing over the pot. So you can tell me which spices are your favorite, and I can tell you mine, and we’ll get really good at cooking for each other. So that way, no one goes hungry, and the meals are a little different and a little better all the time.”

Alphonse looked up at Delyth moonishly before snickering. She couldn’t help it. They were both so silly! Adults, who couldn’t talk openly about each other’s bodies or making love…

“Fine. But be warned, Enyo sometimes puts very spicy ideas into my mind, and I don’t know if that’s traditional seasoning or if Gods just eat things differently.” Some of those ideas didn’t seem all that bad…

Delyth cocked an eyebrow at Alphonse, her lips twisting into a smile. “Well, the only way to know if you’ll like a particular dish is to try it, right?”

“I suppose, though, I doubt you’d be interested in raw rabbit…” Enyo’s tastes varied. Tristan was typically on the menu, but Enyo seemed to see everything through a more… opportunistic light.

“Perhaps not.” Delyth shrugged. “But if it's something that you would like to try, and it just involves the two of us, then I’ll try it. The worst that can happen is we laugh and decide we don’t like it.”

She leaned over to kiss Alphonse’s cheek again. “I’m glad you told me your worries about— about cooking. I was worried after last night, not because of any of the food itself, but because of how upset you were afterward.”

Alphonse chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking of all the lies and the guilt. It had been upsetting. It still was.

“If I am ever upset, please assume it has something to do with this—” She touched her heart, where Enyo buried herself. “And not with you or us. I do not want you to think there is anything that you have done. It is entirely me. And Enyo. And Etienne. And this… mess we created.”

And while that wasn’t the full truth, it was half of it.

And the weight resting on her soul lifted, just a bit.

Delyth bit her bottom lip, still uncertain. “I— I don’t want to just assume, Alphonse, because then what if one day it is something to do with us or something else that I could help fix and I just assume that it’s this… this mess?”

She cocked her head for a moment, thinking. “How about if I ask you what’s wrong, and it’s something to do with Enyo that you don’t want to talk about you just…”

Delyth touched her own chest like Alphonse had done. “And I’ll know what you mean. Our secret.”

Considering this bargain, Alphonse held out her hand. “Agreed.” They’d shake on it.

As soon as that was settled, Alphonse sighed and flopped sideways onto the pallet, looking up at the roof of the tent. She hadn’t slept all that well last night. She’d been too worked up about her failings, lying, the new experiences Delyth had shown her…

Now she was both tired and not tired in the least. And if Tristan was to be believed, the snow would take at least another day to melt.

They would run out of stories to tell.

Maybe she’d learn to play dice games after all.

“Do you think Etienne and Tristan have killed each other out