Chapter 3
Varius met Theira at the door with a grin. "It's more fun on the other side of that. You've been waiting a long time to test those defenses, haven't you? Impressive work as always. I see you've developed a thing for vines."
She hadn't quite realized she'd worried about his reaction, but there was no judgment, just appreciation for her skill. What a novel experience.
Theira's lips quirked. "Thank you. I did experiment with some new vine spells, and it's always nice to see them in action. Would you set these on the table please? I'll figure out what to do with them later."
She opened her hands to reveal the broken shards of the mug.
His grin fell, and his gaze pierced her. "Of course," he said as he opened his hands to her, voice gruff in a way that made her chest tighten.
It was pottery, for Gaia's sake.
Varius accepted the shards, and her hands brushed his. No reason for that slight touch to send a zing of awareness through her.
She glanced up at him again, finding his gaze intent.
"Are you not finished outside?" he rumbled.
Theira sighed, stepping back and removing her cloak. "No. I doubt anyone will be back soon, but I'll need to ready the ground in case. Remove the bodies, make sure I'm not poisoning anything I don't mean to, reinvigorate the exhausted spells. You know."
"Ah." Varius opened his mouth to say something then thought better of it, considering her. "I'll stay out of your way then."
The best she could hope for. It wasn't as though he could assist, even if he wanted to, which he would know. Theira inclined her head in thanks and headed back out to the garden.
This was a different kind of work. Letting loose was fun, but adjusting spells required a distinct mindset. Taking stock of power levels, pruning as needed, clearing the ground. Careful attention to detail and precise applications of sorcery—satisfying but grueling.
It was also more exhausting to expend power this way without the rush of battle, if familiar deep in her bones. She supplemented the spells with her power, draining it little by little.
Theira had other, untouched spells inside the house if either her garden's exhaustion or hers became an issue, but she didn't think Varius had any nefarious intentions toward her—not that he was incapable of deception, but he was, at his heart, an honest man.
If he were planning to attack her, she'd know.
She wouldn't lower her defenses for anything less—possibly anyone else.
The fact that a man of his character didn't believe she was worth killing after everything she'd done might have been humbling, if she were the type for humility. Instead she was... not quite hopeful. Touched, perhaps.
Even with her immediate ministrations, the garden wouldn't recover all at once. She didn't carry enough power for that within her, and she'd avoid draining her jewel reserves unless they did in fact receive more visitors sooner than she expected.
But she did as much as she could to speed the recovery and then looked up at the sun.
Bursts of sorcery could be very impressive, but this kind of long, painstaking work was what separated the flashy from the survivors under Castle Korossia.
The aftermath of the minutes-long battle had taken her hours, and only now that she was done did she allow herself to notice how tired she was.
Theira sighed as she stretched, and then began to trudge back toward the house.
She should have waited a little longer to notice that, until she'd had time to eat something.
Maybe she was out of practice after all, but not so much that she couldn't grit her teeth and muster enough energy to cook.
She'd feel worse if she collapsed without food.
Potions could help in an emergency, but this wasn't one.
She might yet have an actual emergency, after all.
Theira restrained a groan at the effort to haul open her impressive but heavy door, kicking her boots off in the empty entryway. No Varius to greet her this time, and she was annoyed at the prick of disappointment she felt.
What did she expect, he would stand in the entryway and wait for her like a dog? That having welcomed her home after a battle once, he'd be there for her every time? Just because he was rock-solid didn't mean she should depend on him.
Theira scowled at herself as she made her way to the kitchen, trying to summon anger rather than obscure disappointment. She wouldn't be sad about her life—impossibly free, despite every odd!—if she could stop hoping for unreasonable things.
And then she saw Varius standing in her kitchen.
"Oh good, you're back." He turned and smiled at her.
Theira's heart stopped.
The most dangerous general she'd ever faced was standing in her kitchen, stirring a pot, wearing an apron. Her apron.
It was absolutely unfair for him to look so sexy wearing an apron.
She knew it was the incongruity. She did. It still took an effort of will to summon her jaw back up from the floor
"I hope you don't mind, I let myself into your pantry," Varius said casually, turning back away from her like there was nothing remotely remarkable about this situation.
Was this how he'd felt when she made him tea?
"It looked like everything was organized to avoid poisoning by accident, but you may want to make sure.
I'm not experiencing any numbness or trouble breathing though. "
He would know the signs of her usual efforts in that direction, Theira thought with surreal detachment.
As he carried out a tray with a bowl of hot soup and half a loaf of bread.
"You must be starving after all that," Varius said. "Sit down and eat. I'll join you in a minute."
Theira stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he smiled, joy spilling into his eyes, and as her heart jolted back to life Varius set the tray on the table, returned behind her, and took her by the shoulders.
She snapped to attention.
He gently pushed her into a chair.
Theira technically could melt into the floor, and she gave the notion some serious consideration.
But then she'd only have to face him later with more embarrassment and less food.
"No accidental poison?" Varius prompted.
Theira checked, shook her head.
He let out a breath. "Good. Some welcome home that would be, if I spent all morning wasting your defenses on inedible soup. I'll be right back."
He vanished back to the kitchen, and Theira shoved a bite of soup in her mouth in hopes it would prevent her from turning to stare at him.
It didn't.
Varius was cleaning up after himself, and she tracked him as he crossed to the entryway with a towel and one of her cleaning potions. How had he identified it? Had he tested every likely bottle until he found one that suited his need?
Goddess, probably. He was smart and thorough, and after surviving years of her tricks he knew her better than anyone.
Theira heard two soft thumps from the entryway, and belatedly she realized what he was doing.
Moving her muddy boots to the tray. Cleaning up after her.
Not letting the war follow her back into her home.
Theira wrenched her focus back to the table, fighting inexplicable tears.
Varius hadn't met her at the door a second time, but only because he'd been making her lunch.
He could make her lunch, and she could eat it without fear.
He knew her well enough to know what she'd need, even when she hadn't asked for it.
And she'd thought he'd decided he couldn't help her?
She should have known him better than that.
She'd missed the welcome, but the feeling of finding him working in her kitchen on her behalf—she didn't have words for this.
Varius set his tray down across from her. "Can I make you some tea?"
"No, thank you. I'll get some myself in a bit."
Varius narrowed his eyes, and Theira absurdly found herself flushing. The response had been reflexive, but it also would be more expedient for her to brew something herself than to try to explain to him how to make it properly.
She was suddenly getting the sense that he wouldn't accept that answer for long.
If he were here for a long time, anyway.
"The soup is perfect," she said instead, softer than she'd intended. "Thank you."
"You are welcome," Varius rumbled.
Theira suppressed a shiver. At his voice, and at the suspicion that he meant that literally.
She was welcome. With him. What was she supposed to do with that?
Her eyes snagged on his tray, and her breath caught.
Varius had reassembled the shattered mug—mostly.
He followed her gaze. "I thought I'd take stock of what we could do with this. It's missing a big piece, though."
We.
She was a First-Tier Adept Sorceress, the only one alive who'd eluded the best efforts of both Korossia and the Aurelian Empire, she was the Sorceress bloody Transcendent, and she would not cry.
"It's embedded in Kryseia's heart," Theira explained.
"Ah." He nodded, like this was a normal thing to say to someone, and she supposed for them it was. "Well, normal glue probably wouldn't have worked anyway. We'll have to figure out something else. Do you have sorcerous glue?"
"I could make some." Not something she'd ever considered.
Something new, she could use her skill for. Not instead of, but in addition to destruction.
A project she didn't have to do alone.
"There was a pottery book in my room. I'll take a look at that later, unless you have another idea?"
Beyond words, Theira mutely shook her head.
Varius nodded, like they'd decided on a plan of action. Theira's head spun, but it was possible that was just due to dehydration so she ate some more soup in case that would help.
"So," he said, and Theira breathed a sigh of relief—he was ready to talk business, a thing she knew how to do.
But he heard her exhale and paused, trying to work out what it meant.