Chapter 14 Araphi
Araphi
Touching the lemon and acorn charms she wears around her neck—the only thing she’s wearing now—Araphi wades forward. Hot water surges around her. She hopes her words haven’t been too bold. That she hasn’t just destroyed this delicate thing between her and Sage.
Whatever this is, it has no future. Your future waits for you back in Ashaway, in the form of a very large man and a very unfortunate wedding.
Araphi shoves that thought away, swimming even closer to Sage, each stroke reducing the distance between them. The ranger’s eyes flash for a moment, moonlight painting the hazel depths golden, and then she lunges forward to meet Araphi in the middle of the pool.
They collide gently, a tangle of long limbs, slick skin, breathless gasps, and waves of hot water. Sage’s hands are everywhere. Tracing Araphi’s shoulders, cupping her cheek, reaching for one of Araphi’s braids.
It’s magnificent.
Araphi’s belly tightens at the touch, her own hands running over Sage’s moonlit skin.
“You’ve been wondering how I taste, Bard?” Sage breathes the words against Araphi’s lips.
“Desperately.”
“How unladylike of you.” Sage’s tone is wicked, dangerous—all delicious craving and unmet need.
Araphi loves it. She would do anything to keep Sage talking. To have her look at Araphi like she’s doing now.
“I’ve been wondering that for days, Ranger.” Araphi traces Sage’s waist. “Among other things.”
Sage inhales sharply as Araphi pulls her closer.
The planes of their stomachs brush, and the curves of their breasts.
Sage bites her bottom lip, and Araphi shivers.
She’s bedded women before, chased after them, thought of them as she went to sleep, but she’s never ever wanted one as much as she wants Sage.
This ranger is going to be her undoing; she knows it.
And she’s so ready for it.
Her hand flits lower, wedging itself gently in the space between their navels.
“What else have you been wondering?” Sage murmurs, her voice husky. She plants the lightest of kisses on the side of Araphi’s mouth.
Araphi moves her hand lower still, her strong musician’s fingers playing a line down Sage’s hip. Sage’s muscles tighten at the touch.
“Many things,” Araphi whispers. Her fingers dip ever lower. “Including what you sound like when someone takes you apart. What it takes for you to lose control, and—”
Sage groans, her mouth closing over Araphi’s, swallowing the rest of her words in a heated kiss.
As Araphi suspected, Sage tastes wonderful. Her kisses, though, are by turn sweeter and softer than Araphi thought they could be, and she needs more.
She steps forward once, twice, forcing Sage to move backward with her, until she’s got the ranger pressed against the side of the pool.
“You’re very good with your hands, Bard,” Sage manages, as Araphi’s free hand cups her breast. Slowly, Araphi circles Sage’s nipple, while her other hand drifts even lower.
“How do you want to be touched, Ranger?” Araphi whispers, her voice molten.
Steadying herself against the side of the pool, Sage places her own hand over Araphi’s, pushing the heel of her hand against her body.
“Like this?” Araphi asks.
“More. Harder.” Sage arches against Araphi’s hand. “Show me how you play your instruments.”
That, Araphi can do. She finds a rhythm, slipping one, then two fingers into Sage as the ranger shows her what she likes.
Sage rides Araphi’s hand, moving under her touch, her voice reduced to small moans and plaintive begging.
“Please. I’m so close. Harder. Now…”
“As you command,” Araphi whispers, her other hand steadying Sage as she works her even harder.
Sage whimpers, arching more, the water around them a flurry of moonlit ripples.
“Oh gods,” she manages.
Araphi grins, persistently chasing Sage’s pleasure. It’s the best song she’s played all evening, and she could go on for much longer. She is a prize-winning bard, after all.
But there’s no need. With a long, broken gasp, Sage shatters under Araphi’s touch.
“Ollie!” she cries out, her eyes closed, her head tilted backward.
It’s just a name, but Araphi’s fingers still. She pulls away, gently but quickly. “Who’s Ollie?” She tries to make the question sound as normal as possible.
Sage’s eyes fly open, filled with confusion, then alarm. “Did I say that? Oh gods,” she mutters.
Araphi backs away farther, but Sage is already scampering out of the pool, back turned, gathering her clothes.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling her pants and shirt on while she’s still dripping wet. “I didn’t mean to, I just…I’m sorry.”
Then without another word, she flees into the night, leaving Araphi alone in the hot spring with her boiling share of desire, wondering what just happened, and who in the hells Ollie is.
Araphi wakes up early the next morning, groggy from a long night of tossing and turning. She stretches out on the lump of straw she’s slept on, trying to get her bearings. A knotty, wooden wall stares back at her, and the air smells of dust and horses.
Horses?
Right. They’re in Hexham. The adventure party has been on the road for three days, and Briarwall is still a few days’ ride away. Araphi plucks a piece of straw out of her hair and rolls over. There’s a lump next to her, wrapped in a blanket.
“Sage?” she whispers hopefully.
She almost reaches out. But no, it’s Nura, and beyond her is Tea, both still asleep.
Sage isn’t here. That was just the lovely dream she was having.
The reality of last night comes back to her in a rush.
The warmth of the hot spring. Sage’s hands on her skin.
Their kisses. The way Sage sounded as Araphi touched her.
The haste with which Sage fled the pool after calling out another’s name…
“Gods, what a mess,” Araphi whispers. She wraps her hand around the acorn and lemon pendants she’s wearing and exhales sharply as sadness overcomes her.
It’s not sobbing, break-your-heart grief, but rather the vague, indefinable kind of pain that sometimes haunts her when she walks through her family’s mansion, or when she smiles but doesn’t mean it.
It’s the ache of lost potential, of what could be versus what actually is.
It’ll pass, she knows it, though it still hurts in its own way.
She and Sage could’ve stayed in the hot spring much longer, enjoying each other.
It could’ve been easy and lovely between them.
It could’ve been exactly as delicious as Araphi had imagined more times than she liked to admit.
It could’ve been hands and mouths, hot breaths and hungry fingers, and at the end they could’ve shuddered in each other’s arms, content and sated.
Then, they could’ve come back to the horse stalls and slept curled together for warmth.
This could’ve been the start of something remarkable.
But no. Sage slept much farther down the stable, leaving Araphi with nothing but questions and regrets.
Perhaps someday, after years of marriage, when she has children and a drawing room of her own, she’ll look back on this entire adventure and the same sadness will overcome her.
She’ll stand in front of a mirror, no longer recognizing herself.
Perhaps someday she’ll feel like she imagines her mother must.
Once I kissed a swordswoman in a moonlit pool and slept in a horse stall. Once I played music for whole villages, and charmed them into selling us items we needed for a journey to a wild northern forest. Once I dreamed of more than just these walls and endless social engagements.
Who would even believe her? Who’d listen to such tales?
No one.
Araphi exhales sharply, pushing her feelings away. If that is to be her future, fine. It isn’t now. She still can have something with Sage; they still can figure it out.
But who is Ollie?
Araphi stands up, quietly gathers her things, and tiptoes out of the stall.
Within the hour, the party is back on new horses and riding out of Hexham.
Unlike their begrudging welcome the day before, the villagers seem regretful to see them go.
Araphi is sad to see their cozy lodge and warm stables fade into the distance too, as it’s grown colder overnight.
Each mile the party rides north brings a deeper chill, and the wind whips through the layers of Araphi’s cloak, riding dress, and pants.
Which isn’t the only chilly thing. Sage rides at the front of the party, not looking at Araphi.
By midday, Araphi’s legs ache from being in the saddle, and that coiling grief fills her every time Sage darts a glance away from hers.
At least her blisters are healing, and riding north is decidedly better than walking.
It’s cold comfort.
They bed down that night by a small lake. Sage takes the first watch, still not saying anything to Araphi.
It’s miserable, and Araphi can’t get comfortable on the hard ground, no matter how much she tosses and turns. Toward sunrise, she gives up the ghost of sleep and pokes her head out of her tent to stare at the lightening sky, watching each star disappear into the pink and violet dawn.
The second night is much the same. Exhaustion and a dozen aches and pains from another day in the saddle pull her into sleep, sending her into wild, twisting dreams of long miles on the road.
Until a violent, heartrending scream wakes Araphi before dawn. She sits up, wrenching a muscle in her back as she looks around. Outside her tent the fire is down to embers, and Araphi shivers in the freezing morning air. Standing over the smoldering wood, Tea screams again.
Oh gods, what now?
Araphi returns to grab her boots. By the time she’s pulled them on and emerged, Sage is already standing by the firepit, while Nura, Bramble, and Remy stumble out of their own tents.
“It’s gone!” Tea shouts.
Sage holds up a hand. “What’s gone, Tea? Can you calm down, please?”
“Calm down?” Tea shrieks. “How can I calm down when it’s gone?”
“What’s gone, you mad wizard?” a sleepy Nura grumbles. “Your wits?”