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Imogen should be sleeping, but her mind won’t let her. Not all that unusual—she’s always been prone to overthinking, ruminating and holding tight to problems she knows she can’t solve. Add in the red storm and everything she knows now about her mother and, well. It’s no surprise she sometimes has trouble falling asleep, even when the Hells run themselves ragged.
Laudna’s still awake next to her, shifting to reach for something from her pack before settling back against the low limb behind them, ankle resting on top of Imogen’s.
Unlike Imogen, she’s awake by intention. She likes to take time to wind down when the rest of the group is quiet, did the same when it was just the two of them.
It was one on a long list of things that Imogen wondered about early into their time together, because she was always awake when Imogen fell asleep and up before her: Might not need sleep? Eats things other than food? Ears covered? Delilah?
Imogen wanted to ask, but in those first days, she was terrified of sounding like one of the awful people Laudna had to deal with so often, wanted so badly to be the safe place that Laudna was for her.
Eventually, though, they became comfortable, eased into each other in big and little ways. Laudna told her, bedroll close enough for whispers to carry, about her ears, silent tears rolling down Imogen’s cheeks. She’d moved closer, opening her blanket in offer, and even in the dark, Imogen could see the shock on Laudna’s face, the sharp lines of her cheekbones and jaw shifting, already wide eyes growing inhumanly wider. She pulled the blanket higher, whispered, “Only if you want. I just thought…”
A cold body pressed to hers and she sighed, settled in, fell asleep to Laudna’s humming and the accompanying music of her mind.
She learned that Laudna’s body processed food and keratin and other things differently, that she herself wasn’t entirely clear on how any of it worked but often let her instincts guide her.
She’d added, absently, as she sat gingerly in a half-broken chair and prestidigitated some dust from the table in the little hut where they had decided to make camp, “And of course spending so much time alone made it easy to do things that I wouldn’t have with company. Pate never minded when I ate a fingernail so it became habit. And now…”
Imogen could almost see her mood turn, the frown and the duck of her head that hid her face behind a dark curtain, shocking white breaking so that her profile was just visible.
“I’m sorry, Imogen. I know I’m already off-putting, even without…”
Her head shook, a tiny motion, and the thoughts of self-loathing and shame and embarrassment came on as a wall, the force of them so strong in Imogen’s mind that she was moving on instinct, on her knees in front of Laudna, hand brushing away black strands to meet her eyes, ichor pooling more than usual and beginning to drip slowly down her cheeks.
“I know what you are, Laud. You’re kind, even when you have every reason not to be. You’re funny. You’re real good at mending and making and taking things no one wants and turning them into something beautiful.”
Imogen pulled her hand back to remove her glove, watched Laudna’s eyes get wider, ichor spilling, as she took in the scars. She’d seen them before, of course, but never for long and never like this.
Imogen offered her hands and Laudna took them, cold fingers feather-light against her skin until she nodded at Laudna, answered the unasked question. She explored in earnest then, taking one of Imogen’s hands between her own and tracing scars.
“Y’know, I’ve always been ashamed of them.”
Laudna’s neck snapped up with too much speed, the crack of bone familiar enough now that Imogen barely reacted, just pressed out a sound of concern between her teeth and let her unoccupied hand land briefly on the space below Laudna’s ear.
“Imogen, they’re beautiful. You're beautiful.”
And that thought hit her just as hard as the shame had earlier—earnest and fervent and tinged with an affection Imogen couldn’t quite believe.
“They made a lot of people at home scared. They make other people stare.”
Laudna’s face softened as she realized what Imogen was doing, thoughts drifting back into a familiar music, though the affection remained.
“I like you , Laud. As you are, okay?” She thumbed away a bit of ichor, wiped it on the back of her wrist just between where Laudna’s fingers wrapped around her hand, black on purple. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re my favorite person.”
The words were true, even if they were scary. They hadn’t been together that long, in the scheme of things, but Imogen could’ve said those words, and meant them, after maybe two weeks. Granted, she wasn’t the best at making or keeping friends, but Laudna was the first person in a long, long time she wanted to spend more time around, and she counted herself lucky, for once, that Laudna seemed to want to be around her.
“Imogen.” Her cheeks were dark, and Imogen felt a dangerous sort of pride at having done that. “You’re mine, too.”
Finally, one morning when she woke before the sunrise to find Laudna already bustling, she rasped, concern and affection mingling, “Laud, do you ever sleep? Do you need to?”
Laudna startled and offered, amused, “Well, good morning, dearest.”
“Good morning.”
Her voice was a little clearer now, but her tongue was still heavy, words slow. Laudna came back to the bed, a surprise in their hut-of-the-week that they had prestidigitated to within an inch of its life, and sat next to Imogen, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Is that a serious question?”
She didn’t lie to Laudna, and she was in it now, so, “Yes.”
“I see.” Her lips turned up at the corners, one canine sneaking out to press into the fragile skin, careful enough to avoid breaking it. That wasn’t always the case, but even when it turned Laudna’s lips black with ichor, this was a smile Imogen loved particularly because she was almost sure it meant Laudna thought she was doing something endearing. “And how long have you been wondering this, exactly?”
Fondness in her words and her thoughts, growing as Imogen admitted sheepishly, “You remember when we stayed in that farmhouse with the daffodils out front?”
Laudna’s eyebrows rose. “That was our second week together.”
“Yeah. I, uh, I noticed you were always up when I fell asleep and when I woke up and I wondered…well…” A shrug.
“So, months.”
“I guess. Yeah.”
Laudna laughed then, loud and unselfconscious. “Darling. Why did you wait so long? And why do you…I know you’ve seen me sleep. I was asleep last week in the back of that wagon.”
Imogen’s chest warmed at the term of endearment, something relatively new that she couldn’t let herself spend too much time thinking about, and her brow furrowed as she thought about their time in the wagon. Laudna had been quiet sure, but her eyes had been wide open, staring into the fields and forest.
“Your eyes were wide open.”
Laudna’s lips pursed. “Were they? That’s odd.” She closed her eyes, as if testing that she could, and then opened them again and shrugged. “You know my body. It does as it pleases sometimes.” Her hand squeezed at Imogen’s knee where it lay under the covers. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s quite disturbing. You’re free to close them, of course, or maybe I could wear a blindfold at night…but then if we’re outside I don’t want…”
She drifted off into conversation with herself, gaze lost in the middle distance, and Imogen wasn’t sure how they’d gotten here, to Laudna apologizing for something entirely out of her control and pondering increasingly bizarre ways (she was certain she’d heard “clothespin”) to solve a problem Imogen didn’t actually think was a problem unless it hurt Laudna somehow.
She needed to take the reins back in this conversation, so she covered Laudna’s hand with her own and squeezed, which brought Laudna back to her.
“Laud, you’re not puttin’ a clothespin on your eyelids. It doesn’t bother me unless it hurts you. Like if your eyes get dry or whatever. I don’t know, point is, don’t worry about it. I was just curious because it seems like you’re always up later and earlier than I am and I…” Her cheeks heated as she admitted what now sounded a little ridiculous. “I thought maybe you didn’t need to sleep.”
Laudna’s head tilted as her lips pulled up again, a small drip of black starting where the point of her tooth hadn’t been so effectively managed this time.
Imogen wanted to wipe it away herself but knew it would make Laudna self-conscious, so she didn’t, folded her hands in her lap to keep them busy.
She was determined to work her way into that kind of closeness, to make Laudna feel as comfortable as she could. She had already made great progress and they hadn’t even been together half a year yet, even if it felt sometimes like they’d been together for much longer than that.
It made sense—they spent all their time together and were both a little desperate for the other after so many years without a real friend. But it was more than proximity and some rare kindness. That crooked head and crooked smile made Imogen feel like she was home, and she wanted Laudna to feel the same. She was willing to work for it.
As she kept her hands to herself, Laudna licked away at the ichor, a habit so ingrained she didn’t even think to be self-conscious, and then she took a deep breath (“is it habit or does she need to breathe? how often?” also featured on her list of eventual questions) and began to talk.
“I don’t know how much sleep I need, but I do need it, yes. When I was alone, it wasn’t always safe, you know, to leave myself vulnerable that way. Now that I know my eyelids don’t always stay closed…that would’ve been handy, I think.”
She smoothed the cover over Imogen’s knee and let her eyes settle there as she said, “In any case, it wasn’t smart to sleep for long periods, then. I experimented and found that I could do with very little if I was willing to suffer some unpleasant but manageable consequences. In the balance of things, a few headaches and a few more joints out of place were small prices to pay for my life.”
A familiar fury crackled through Imogen, power sparking in her hands and building behind her eyes. She tried to keep it to herself, because this was about Laudna and she wanted to keep it about Laudna, but of course she’d already noticed, black eyes tracking and reflecting the flashes of light moving from her wrists to her fingertips.
She was smiling, though, really smiling, as she looked up to meet Imogen’s eyes.
“It’s different now.” She squeezed at Imogen’s knee again, emotions so loud Laudna must have been sending them on purpose. Gratitude and affection and admiration, and that heat was back in Imogen’s cheeks. Laudna’s expression was delighted as she moved her hand to Imogen’s face, cooling her blush. “I’m not alone anymore and,” her gaze turned pointedly to Imogen’s hands, “you’re quite capable.”
Imogen brought her thumb and pointer finger together and pulled a little bolt between them, fiddled with it for a moment before closing her fist.
“You know I’ll do everythin’ I can to protect you, right? I want you to be safe. I want you to feel safe.”
“I do.”
“If there’s anythin’ I can be doin’ to make it easier for you to sleep, I want to. Seriously, Laudna. Lemme help if I can.”
“You do. More than you know. I sleep more now than I have in a long time. It’s just that…well. Part of it is habit, the staying up, and part of it is…I was always odd, even before.” A hand moved to her neck, fingers tracing what Imogen knew now to be a phantom noose. “I often played alone as a child, and I enjoyed my own company, even if I sometimes wished for others to play with me.
“But after I came back, I learned very quickly that being alone was dangerous, a reminder that nobody…I had to be careful everywhere—in the markets and on the road, near fishing spots and around any group, no matter how small. Because one might run from me, but there was always a chance that three wouldn’t. And so my solitude wasn’t a choice or a brief interlude. It was my whole life.”
“Laudna.” It was the kind of honesty that Laudna usually saved for the darkness, and it made Imogen ache for her, stomach tight as she thought of the first time she’d seen a cleric come at Laudna, the look of resignation on her face as he began to chant at her.
Imogen wanted to touch, to soothe, and she let herself this time, running a hand down Laudna’s arm, stopping to wrap fingers around her wrist before tangling their fingers together and pulling them into her own lap. The look Laudna gave her was full of affection, and Imogen squeezed her fingers as gently as she could, just enough pressure that Laudna could feel it.
“That’s how Pate was born, as you know.” Her free hand hovered at her belt and Imogen worried for a moment that she was going to bring him out, but she dropped it to her lap instead, gathering and smoothing a stretch of fabric in her skirt. “And I suppose, I wasn’t totally alone when…” Her hand moved to her temple, two fingers tapping. And this Imogen didn’t quite understand still, but based on what she did know, she hated the woman in Laudna’s head something fierce.
“Anyway, I set up homes and sewed and saw beautiful things in the forests and on the road. But it was sometimes difficult not to think about how alone I was. And why. What exactly I had become, on waking up in Whitestone after…”
The currents of shame and disgust rose to the surface and drifted into Imogen’s mind, and she squeezed at Laudna’s hand again. She hesitated a moment before saying, careful, “You don’t have to talk to me about it, y’know. I wanna hear everything you wanna tell me, but I never wanna make you feel like you have to.”
She took a moment to consider, something Imogen appreciated as she was almost certain Laudna often made choices based on what she thought Imogen might want. With a tilt of her head, she continued, “Thank you. It feels good to tell you about it. As long as you don’t mind, that is. I know it’s…”
“I want to hear.” I want to hear.
The mental echo was instinct and emphasis, and it was becoming such an easy thing, to talk to Laudna over their mental connection. For the first time in her life, Imogen wasn’t scared or ashamed to use her powers that way.
“Sorry for interruptin’, I just…I really like knowin’ about you. You’re not too much for me. Okay?”
Imogen heard it, though she wasn’t trying to, Laudna’s reassurance to herself. I am not too much for her. She hasn’t left yet. She’s telling the truth. She wants to know.
She knew that if she pressed deeper, she’d find the thoughts Laudna was pushing back against, Laudna’s own and whatever that spiteful woman who shared her head fed to her.
I am tellin’ the truth. I promise, Laud.
A pause.
Sorry. I heard on accident and I just…
Laudna interrupted this time. Don’t apologize. It’s helpful, to have someone reassuring me here, too.
She heard then a chorus of needy, disgusting, too much, she’ll leave but felt Laudna press it down. It’s not always the kindest place, my mind.
I think it might be, for everyone but you. You deserve what you give to everyone else, you know.
Black eyes blinked at her, almost an evaluation, and Imogen held steady. I mean it. All of it. I don’t lie to you.
She answered aloud, a move back to their earlier conversation that Imogen followed, and her voice was warm, her face opening as she smiled again.
“We’ve reached the best part of the story anyway. The part where I meet you.
“And I wasn’t alone any longer. It took me some time, nothing to do with you, of course, dearest, you’re very wonderful and trustworthy but you see…”
“I get it, Laud. Promise.”
“Of course you do.”
There was pride in her tone. Imogen wasn’t quite sure what to do with Laudna’s ability to turn nearly anything into an opportunity to give Imogen a compliment. It was such a foreign experience to her, to be praised at all, much less with such frequency, that she was sometimes shocked into silence. She shook her head just a little but thankfully Laudna moved on quickly.
“Once I realized that I wasn’t…that you weren’t…that I was safe, I found it suddenly easier to sleep. Still not as often as I once did, but more than I had been. And the times when I couldn’t sleep, after you’d drifted off, and when I’d wake up in the morning, I realized I didn’t mind being with myself in those moments.
“I even enjoyed it, quiet time to focus on my crafts or…again, darling, nothing to do with you, you’re excellent company…”
Laud.
Right.
“Right. Yes. Well. Now I find that I even look forward to taking those moments with myself. It’s something I’m…taking back, I suppose. The peace of solitude.
“And it’s nice to remember that I’m still who I used to be, mostly, where it counts. I’ve grown in some quite positive ways, actually. I’ve been changed by what happened to me, of course,” she waved her free hand in the air and then up and down, gesturing at herself, her nails growing longer, “but it’s not all that I am. And not all of those changes are bad.
“I suppose that’s a very long way of saying yes, I do sleep, but I like being alone in the dark sometimes as well.”
She dropped her hand and raised her shoulders, a sort of what can you do that Imogen found painfully endearing.
“Can I give you a hug?”
It was the first thing she thought so it was first thing she said, because her filter didn’t always function correctly around Laudna, but she couldn’t regret it, especially in the face of the pleased surprise in Laudna’s eyes as she nodded, separating their hands and leaning forward and into Imogen. She was cold and small, the press of her shoulder blades against Imogen’s forearms disconcertingly sharp.
She pulled back and said, hands coming to rest on Laudna’s biceps, or what remained of them, “You’re very brave, you know? Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. And kinder, too. I’m real lucky to know you.”
“I don’t know about that, dearest.”
“Well. I do. And if I recall correctly, you were just tellin’ me about how capable I am, so I think you should trust me on this.”
“That’s very clever and very unfair.”
“Capable, I think you mean.”
“Oh, hush. Look, I found some blackberry bushes not far into the forest. There are brambles but I thought you might be able to get around them with a little telekinesis.”
She sometimes closed Laudna’s eyes after that, if she was sure she was asleep and the weather was too much one way or another or their fire was burning particularly hot. They often popped right back open again, but it was always worth trying.
Anything was worth trying to protect Laudna.
Over their two years together, she grew used to falling asleep to Laudna’s quiet rituals—stitching or crafting or making tea, cleaning Pate, reading—usually accompanied by humming and occasional quiet words to herself.
In those days where she lay still and quiet, colder than normal and eyelids frustratingly cooperative, Imogen hardly slept. She pressed her warmth into the chill of Laudna’s body and tried to recreate her rituals, hoping it would comfort them both until she was able to bring her back. She hummed to herself, cleaned Pate, read some of Laudna’s favorites aloud, murmuring into the darkness.
And after they got her back, it seemed like Laudna had forgotten, too, how to comfort herself in those ways. So Imogen had done it for her in that short time before they were separated, making tea and cleaning Pate and pulling a book while Laudna lay quietly in bed.
That night back in the Windowed Wall, after their reunion and the market, she came up from helping clean the kitchen to find Laudna bustling, pulling sewing materials from her bag and humming to herself. Not healed, but healing. Caring for herself. Imogen had nearly cried. She kissed her instead–somehow, impossibly, able to do that now–and Laudna had blushed and kissed her right back.
Now, Laudna’s working on a cross stitch of bright little mushrooms and forest creatures, a gift for Fearne that she uses to help herself wind down. The colors are always a bit of a surprise, because she uses her darkvision as often as not. The threads are drawn randomly from a small bag at night, sometimes gathered on a theme and other times an assortment of what she had leftover from other projects. For this, she’d chosen flashy purples and bright blues and greens, shocks of orange and yellow that she was planning to enchant to glow. Things right at home in the fey wild and in this realm, on particular kinds of dangerous creatures and plants. It’s perfect for Fearne and perfectly Laudna.
The needle moves rhythmically back and forth through the fabric, the soft swish swish pleasant and familiar. Laudna’s elbow occasionally brushes Imogen’s arm and their legs are pressed tightly together now, Laudna's ankle having shifted, a little mismatched with the height difference and Laudna’s position. She always appreciates this kind of closeness, a reminder that she’s here.
She hums lowly under her breath, something she’d always done but that Imogen appreciates especially now that she wears the circlet. Tonight it’s upbeat, Laudna’s finger tapping her small hoop where the song calls for percussion.
The tempo is disarmingly cheery but she knows the lyrics Laudna’s not singing; they’d learned it together in traveling with a group of artists who let them hitch a ride for a few days in the back of their wagon, largely unbothered by Laudna’s presence and kind and upfront enough not to activate Imogen’s headaches too terribly. At night they sat around a fire, Imogen and Laudna prestidigitating paint-splattered clothes as the small crew sang and taught them songs, fed them roasted vegetables and begged Laudna to bring out Pate.
This was a favorite of theirs, the lament of a man whose spouse was lost at sea. Verses of mourning and missed chances, a list of all the things they’d left behind.
As Laudna taps twice agains the hoop, her mind turns to Iffodola and the Raito charm. Their convictions and their fate in that cave.
She wonders if their family knows what happened or if they’re still waiting, trapped in the hope that Iffodola will come home. It will be good, to get the charm back to them if they can, to give them closure and something from the person they loved, something that shows how close Iffodola kept them to their heart.
Hopefully it’s less complicated than her own locket, for those Iffodola left behind. At least it seems more honest.
My love of my children. My guilt over my father.
There were so many pieces of a life, etched into that stone. Beautiful and difficult things sharing space. It’s not something she’s used to, seeing the hard things admitted openly, given space next to the bright, expected emotions that strangers can understand. It makes it easier for Imogen to believe they meant all of it, seeing guilt and love and commitment and fear there together. A whole person, not a set of platitudes.
And anyway, from what she’d seen, trying to ignore those more complicated feelings only wore away at the others.
The better halves make a better whole.
Maybe her mother and father had believed what they engraved on that locket, once. But her mama left, stayed gone and didn’t have any interest in coming back. Gave her life to something that seemed more and more like it wanted to suck the life from Imogen for its own power. To someone who was trying to make that happen.
And Imogen certainly didn’t grow up thinking her daddy thought she was anything other than broken—not whole, not good, and definitely not better . She’d never felt like enough for him, and when her powers first started flaring and she would hear his deeper thoughts on accident, couldn’t control anything yet, what she heard about herself nearly broke her.
She wonders what would have been different, if they’d talked about what was going on—her mama feeling trapped, her daddy feeling overwhelmed, Imogen being the reminder of all the ways they were failing. If they’d stopped pretending long enough to be honest with each other, things might’ve…
Well. People don’t often tell the truth, even, maybe especially, when it matters. She knows that more intimately than she wants to and has for a long time. The locket is the rule, the stone a beautiful exception.
Her thoughts move to Laudna, as they often do.
A beautiful exception.
She’s suddenly overcome with the strength of one of her own convictions, has to be sure Laudna knows, so she brings herself up slightly, just enough to press the rest of their bodies together as they lean against the same sturdy branch.
She casts dancing lights, close and dim with an eye to the others. When she’s sure they’re asleep, she turns back to find Laudna smiling at her even as she tilts her head in confusion, raising an eyebrow as Imogen catches the purple of the lights dancing back at her from black mirrors.
Hello, darling. Am I keeping you up with the humming? The hoop?
The smile turns to a frown, and she begins to tuck away her hoop before Imogen catches her wrist, running a thumb along the fragile bone.
No, not at all. It’s nice.
The frown remains, so Imogen carefully places the hoop in Laudna’s lap and brings the wrist to her mouth, pressing a kiss against the spot where her sluggish pulse raises her skin a few times a minute.
Promise. I just wanted to…to talk real quick. I’m sorry to interrupt.
Laudna leans closer at that, tucking a strand of Imogen’s hair behind her ear and squeezing her bicep before tangling their fingers between them.
Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than talking to you. A beat. Well… She stops short and there’s darkening of her cheeks in the low light. Imogen can’t help but raise her eyebrow and smirk. It’s still new, this part of them, and they haven’t had much opportunity to explore, really, what with everything happening, but they’ve been able to have some fun. She’s eager for more and she’s a little proud and a little smug that Laudna feels the same.
Laudna rolls her eyes fondly. Yes, yes. I find you to be unbearably attractive.
Imogen kisses her quickly, Laudna humming against her lips, and as she pulls back, she’s even more determined to have this conversation. She isn’t sure of much, anymore, but she’s sure of this. Of her.
Two years of learning each other on the road and now their months with the Hells and all she wants is more time with her.
She thinks of the ring, of the blood pendant, of the shell in her pack. Of the gaping chasm in her heart after Otohan brought that sword down, the fear and panic after the solstice.
It comes out in a rush, less eloquent than she’d hoped, but Laudna won’t mind. She’s better at untangling Imogen’s thoughts than anyone.
I was just thinking about, well about you, first. About travelin’ before we met the Hells. You remember how I thought maybe you didn’t sleep? Anyway, I was thinkin’ about how much I cared about you, right from the start, and how you always felt like home and how I want you to feel safe with me and home with me, too.
And then the song, it made me think about Iffodola. About whether their family knew what had happened and the children and the promises and how nice it was, how powerful and…and rare it was that they wrote down more than just the easy things, how much it mattered that they were honest. How my parents weren’t but you always are and I want to be, too. With the world maybe but always with you. How I want you.
She takes a breath, closes her eyes, is grateful that Laudna seems to know she isn’t quite done. When she opens them again, she reaches forward to trace her thumb over glass-sharp cheekbones and wades into the black pools of her eyes.
Laud, you know you’d be on my stone, right? Front and center. She takes another deep breath, steady, and dips her head under the water, happily lost in the black. My love for Laudna.
Imogen. Something lights up in her at the breathlessness of it. Can I kiss you?
Always. Please.
It’s hungry, when Laudna leans into her, kisses her as fiercely as she can while they’re trying to keep quiet. A hand buries itself in her hair and tugs with enough force to make Imogen gasp into the mouth pressed to hers. It’s muffled but Imogen has no faith in her ability to stay quiet if Laudna does that again, if she keeps touching her and kissing her like this.
Sure enough, another tug, this time with the sharp points of Laudna’s shifted nails against her scalp, and a whimper breaks free as Laudna’s lips move to her neck, teeth just grazing skin before a cool tongue soothes.
Baby. The others.
Can you be quiet for me, darling?
I’m not… Laudna reaches her collarbone, sucks and then sinks her teeth in enough to bruise, but when Imogen opens her mouth to cry out, she feels the cold, smooth skin of Laudna’s palm come to rest against her lips, pressing intently. Then, and Imogen genuinely might die, the hand folds in offering, two fingers resting gently against Imogen's bottom lip.
What if I help?
Laudna looks up at her then, a brow raised in question, and Imogen nods and then takes them into her mouth and sucks, tastes bitter, perfect ichor and Laudna’s skin, fallen leaves and home.
Turns out, though, the fingers do not have the intended effect, because as soon as Laudna presses down, her lips busy at her pulse point, Imogen moans so loudly that she’s certain she’s alerted not just the Hells but every creature within a mile as to what they’re doing.
Laudna pulls away and looks at her with heat that makes Imogen’s stomach tight and then, rudely, with amusement.
Well, then. She sounds not unlike Imogen’s grade school teacher, chiding them for getting too muddy or failing to complete their work. She chooses not to engage with why that feels the way it does. I guess that’s a no on being quiet.
Imogen blushes furiously and, eyes squinting and intent on revenge, bites gently and licks at Laudna’s fingers as she takes them back. Laudna’s face moves from smug to pleading in a moment, and she whimpers.
See? Not so easy, is it?
Laudna rolls her eyes but kisses her again—gentle and perfect. When she pulls back, they both take a look around the room, and miraculously, it looks like everyone is still sleeping, or in the case of Orym, might just be polite enough to be pretending. They can deal with it later, if they need to.
Their eyes meet again, and Laudna presses her lips to Imogen’s forehead, to her cheeks, her chin. Her palm cups Imogen’s cheek as she puts some space between them.
Imogen.
She takes Laudna’s hand, kisses her finger over the ring she put there back before she understood exactly what the depth of her feelings for Laudna meant.
Sorry I couldn’t keep quiet.
Don’t be. I’m frankly quite proud.
Imogen huffs a laugh, already-warm face getting hotter. You should be.
Laudna looks for a moment like she might press Imogen back against the bedroll, and Imogen has already decided she won’t object when Laudna clears her throat and shakes her head lightly. I’m sorry, darling. You were saying such lovely things and I turned us in, well, another direction.
She lets her eyes drift down Laudna’s body shamelessly. Hopin’ to go that direction again real soon.
Imogen.
Right. Yeah. Sorry, darlin.’
Laudna raises a brow at her, tiny smirk escaping to lessen the force of what Imogen is sure is meant to be a stern expression. She thinks yet again of Ms. Billing and fuck, guess that’s something she’ll be thinking more. But for now: You’re right. I’m not sorry. But I will stop.
They settle back against each other, tucking Laudna’s hoop back into her pack, not too disturbed by their shuffling. Laudna is tucked into Imogen’s body as she leans against the branch, and Imogen’s fingers run across Laudna’s shoulder, her other hand clasped in Laudna’s against her stomach.
I know I was ramblin’, before. I just wanted to…I was thinking about the charm. Laudna nods against her chest. It’s been real hard to keep any convictions, these last few months. But this one’s easy. A deep breath. Laudna knows, of course, but Imogen’s stomach still flips, her heart still beats faster, to say it like this. I love you.
Darling. She breaks away to press up and into another kiss, over too quickly. At Imogen’s pout, Laudna’s thumb comes to rest on her bottom lip, and Imogen, because she has no self-control, kisses it, tastes ichor and fights a moan. Laudna pulls it back, replaces it with her lips once more. I love you, too.
She scoots them both back down into the bed rolls, and they shift, turning so that Imogen holds Laudna tight against her, their hands together over her stomach, Imogen’s head pressed to the cool skin of her neck. Her lips graze the skin left uncovered by her sleep shirt, aimless and wandering for a moment before she settles, squeezing gently at the fingers between her own.
Laudna’s voice echoes in her head as she closes her eyes. Sleep well, darling.
She drifts off without any trouble this time.
-
The Chetney figurine is beautifully crafted and absolutely horrifying, which feels right. The curve of his nose presses into the pad of her finger as she traces it absently, thinking about her own convictions, which she tries to scribble quickly on a piece of paper Laudna hands her from her journal.
She starts with what’s easy.
My love for Laudna.
But she thinks of Iffodola and doesn’t stop there. She has so many complicated feelings–about trust and commitment and guilt and power. She writes some fraught and some inspiring words about herself and her friends and her family. Convictions and priorities. Goals and regrets. As many weights as buoys. But she’s confident. It’s real. It’s honest.
She looks up to find black eyes already on her, one side of her mouth tilted up, pen poised above a familiar journal. She moves closer to bump her shoulder into Laudna’s.
Nervous, darlin’?
The expression expands into a real smile, full and beautiful and hauntingly wide, her teeth gone a little sharp the way they do sometimes when she expects trouble or is feeling particularly protective. Imogen wants to kiss her, so she does, presses her lips to Laudna’s shoulder. Surprise quickly melts into affection, and she smiles that smile she saves for Imogen. Her tooth pierces the skin of her lip and draws black fluid to the surface.
Imogen tucks the lead into her pocket and then wipes it away. She does not suck her thumb clean, though she wants to. Instead, she presses it to the paper, examines the whorls of her fingerprint. Laudna tucks her hair, fallen around her face as she looks down, behind her ear.
Never nervous with you, my love. You’re very capable.
Imogen lifts her head with a smile and folds the paper into her pocket, holds Laudna’s hand as she gets ready to jump.