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

Alphonse’s gaze flickered to Tristan, who had demanded the competition in the first place. She was grateful Delyth was the one choosing because she couldn’t decide, not in a hundred years.

Tristan’s had been the most exciting, Delyth’s revealing about herself, which Alphonse liked very much…

But Etienne’s story…

It reminded her of the girl she had been.

༄

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t think there’s any reason to wait, now that you’ve heard them all.”

Delyth begrudgingly agreed with him. She was only putting it off because the task of choosing between the stories was so difficult.

She discounted her own story immediately, of course. It wouldn’t be fair to name herself the winner of a competition she judged.

Etienne’s story had been interesting, telling of both himself and Alphonse. Delyth had not known before then that there were those who could see and speak to spirits.

Alphonse’s story was the dearest to her heart, of course. It was full of Alphonse’s compassion and had shown her that there were other halfbreeds in the world, vastly different but likely with shared experiences. The knowledge lent Delyth a sort of hope that she had never expected to find.

Tristan’s story, though doubtful in its verity, was certainly the most exciting. Delyth had grown up dreaming of dragons and the thought that the two great keepers of the sky still guarded their treasures… It was like something from a dream.

Delyth sighed. She supposed she shouldn’t gloss over Tristan’s contribution just because she disliked the storyteller.

“I think Tristan has earned this one,” she said after several moments thought. “Who knew he’d be so good at spinning tales?”

Alphonse was smiling and nodding; she approved of the choice then. Good. Delyth thought perhaps, though, it would be best to shift the conversation before Tristan got started on himself. She reached out to brush Alphonse’s arm, eyes crinkling with affection, “How about tea?”

Adorably, Alphonse blushed and turned to her pack while Delyth struggled to hold back a giggle. “I’ll make it!” the healer said.

Tristan seemed rather uninterested in the prospect. “I’m glad you recognized the artistry in my work, Delyth,” he said and rose to stalk towards the cave entrance, clearly too good for the presence of mere mortals. Delyth rolled her eyes.

⚄

Something had changed in the relationship between Delyth and Alphonse.

Tristan could see it from his spot leaning against the mouth of the cave, pretending to examine the snow beyond. The two drank tea together as usual, but Alphonse’s eyes never left the priestess, her expression rapt, occasionally tilting her head to one side as if listening to someone whisper within her ear. It was almost an Enyo-esque focus, though Tristan was fairly sure it was not Enyo controlling the girl just then. When she stood to stretch, it was Delyth’s turn to watch while the shifting tongues of flame made a skull of her face, gaunt and hungry.

Tristan turned away. This… complicated things.

While exceedingly boring, the priestess had thus far shown no intention of abandoning her quest. She had sworn to see Enyo to the temple, and she still worked to accomplish this. If she changed her mind, tried to find a way to preserve the girl instead…

He had seen mortals attempt more idiotic things for less motivation than an attractive lover. Still, Delyth’s tiresome morality may prove to be useful in this case. She had made a vow. She would strive to keep it.

As for the boy, however…

Tristen placed his palm against the shield covering the cave entrance, though he did not test it so obviously as Enyo had that morning. The boy was no follower of Enyo or the old ways, and his skill in magic might end up causing problems.

His mind returned for a moment to the dance he had shared with Enyo, to the way she had looked at him as if she understood, on some level, who he was to her. Longing was a dull knife in his chest.

There could be no problems, not where she was concerned.

He turned away from the cave entrance just in time to see Etienne slip into his tent across the cave from Delyth, where she inked a rune into the fabric of the one she shared with Alphonse.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Hands tugged Delyth through the tent flap, and then a mischievous smile met the warrior before Alphonse was kissing her with reckless abandon. Her hands traveled up over Delyth’s furs, cupping her neck and face, down her arms to her hands, planting them firmly on Alphonse’s rump.

She giggled and broke away long enough to unfasten the ties on Delyth’s furs, sighing appreciatively as they fell. Smoothly, she brushed Delyth’s black hair away from her neck, kissing the sensitive skin of the throat, across the collarbone, down to the rima between her breasts.

“Yes?” She asked, looping one hand about Delyth’s hips and circling around to Delyth’s back. Kissing her neck and then each wing, Alphonse deftly tugged on the strings of the priestess’s jerkin, much more assuredly this night than the one before. Knowing the mechanics of the jerkin, Alphonse tossed it aside playfully when it was finally loosed and paused where she stood behind Delyth, admiring the curve of her neck, the creaminess of her skin, the way the light reflected on those massive wings…

She traced one fingertip down the length of Delyth’s spine and shivered. Perfect. The warrior was too perfect. Strong, beautiful, sharp lines and just enough curves to entice the healer.

Stepping closer, she let her own breasts, peaked with excitement and anticipation, brush against Delyth’s back. Delicate hands slipped around Delyth’s rib cage, cupping her breasts from behind as her lips paid homage to those mighty wings. She had to stifle a moan as Delyth’s nipple caressed against her palm, burying her face against Delyth’s neck.

At some point during the sleepy lounging around the fireside, Alphonse had become acutely aware of how cruelly Delyth’s mouth curved in small smiles. How devastating it was when Delyth’s gaze lit upon Alphonse. How