But Sábria had anticipated the move and lifted her head so her lips were just out of reach. “Shhh.”

  The same tantalizing wisp of breath over nipples grown tight with desire had Isobel panting her need. Her stomach rapidly rose and fell as she pulled air into her lungs, all too conscious of the four fingers driving her steadily into madness. When those fingers curled and found her roughness, all of Isobel’s thoughts focused entirely on that spot. “Oh, my Goddess. I can’t take much mo⁠—”

  It was at that moment that Sábria’s tongue circled her nipple.

  Isobel cried out, thrusting her breasts upward and lifting her hips to the heavens.

  Again, Sábria pulled back, but instead of a delicate breath enveloping her breast, soft lips slid back and forth on the nipple’s tip.

  As grey dots appeared behind Isobel’s closed eyelids, she wondered whether she was losing consciousness. Her lungs were heaving now, in and out, and her stomach rose and fell like the peaks and troughs of the ocean waves caught in a tropical storm. She’d lost all control of her body, and with the realization came an easing of sorts, the thought that she could let go and⁠—

  As though attuned to Isobel’s every thought, the moment the realization hit her, Sábria sucked the hardened nipple into her mouth, wrenching a second scream from Isobel’s throat, this one harsh and sensual and full of desperate need. When Sábria added the gentle caress of her thumb over Isobel’s clit, great pulsing waves crashed through her body. Her mind lost all sense of time as her body writhed beneath Sábria’s expert ministrations.

  She may have passed out, she couldn’t be entirely sure, but when Isobel was finally able to open her eyes, she looked into a pair of otherworldly, impossibly blue eyes. With erotic sensations still coursing through her body, she wrapped her arms and legs around Sábria, rocking her sensitive clit against a solid body that was moving in time with her own. Now and then, a quiet moan escaped Isobel’s lips.

  Sábria whispered, “So beautiful” and “You’re perfect,” and when a second, more gentle orgasm overtook Isobel, Sábria came right along with her. They stayed locked against each other until they breathed out together and fell into another satiated and restful sleep.

  Isobel was alone the third time she awoke, and she rose and used the necessary before returning to the warm cocoon of the feather-filled comforter. She lay in a dreamy stupor, remembering the ecstasy the Arch Priestess of Elyon had so effortlessly evoked deep within her most delicate, secret places known only to a few select, trusted friends and lovers.

  A tantalizing, sweet and spicy odor of cinnamon wafted into the room, closely followed by that same Arch Priestess carrying a bed tray laden with plates of pancakes and smoked ham. With a knowing smile, Sábria caught and held Isobel’s gaze. Her eyes were softer than the previous night, softer even than the ones she’d seen earlier that morning. Setting the tray on the bed, she turned and called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

  She returned carrying a second lap tray holding two cups of fangbrew. Isobel steadied the food tray and lifted the comforter so Sábria could carefully climb in beside her. Once they were settled, Sábria took one of the plates from Isobel’s tray while Isobel retrieved a mug of fangbrew from Sábria’s.

  They ate in silence. Isobel knew that if Sábria had something she needed to say, she would. She also understood that, at times, a silent companion did more to soothe a troubled soul than one trying to purge the other of troubled thoughts through a conversation the person neither needed nor desired.

  When they finished eating, Isobel stacked the plates and trays and set them on the floor beside the bed.

  Lamps burned on bedside tables to either side of the bed, and when Sábria propped herself up on two pillows, picked up a book, and began to read, Isobel scooted further down and laid her head on Sábria’s stomach. Apparently, multitasking was one of the prerequisites of being the Arch Priestess because she absently stroked Isobel’s hair while continuing to read.

  While Isobel didn’t embarrass herself by falling asleep yet again, she closed her eyes and wondered why she never allowed herself this relaxing, companionable start to her days.

  After a candlemark or two, Sábria rose and padded into the kitchen.

  While she was gone, Isobel took the opportunity to peek at the book she’d been reading. A Layman’s Guide to Rudimentary Dreyuthan Speech. Her brows shot up in surprise until she remembered she was dealing with not only the most powerful woman in Cibía but undeniably one of the most insatiable scholars she’d ever met. She rose and pulled on the robe Sábria had thoughtfully left on the chair beside the bed.

  Isobel followed Sábria to the kitchen, realized her friend intended to chop vegetables for a homemade soup, and settled into a comfortable kitchen chair. “So mee la’mee latee ob faraysodoh.”

  Sábria stiffened. The knife stilled in her hands, but after a moment, she asked, “Faraysodoh?”

  “I said, ‘I see you’re learning my language.’ Is this the first time you’ve tried?”

  The chopping resumed, “No. I know enough to politely greet a Dreyuthan ambassador and perhaps a bit more.”

  “Would you like me to teach you?”

  Sábria remained silent, and when she added the last of the celery to the soup, she turned and regarded Isobel.

  Isobel’s brows rose as she held up the book. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”

  Sábria walked to the table, took the book from Isobel’s hands, and shocked her by straddling her legs and sitting on her lap. She rested her forearms on Isobel’s shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “Isobel, there is only one other person in this world I would have felt safe releasing my pain and anguish upon, and she is away sailing her beautiful ship, Polperro. You are a remarkable woman, and because of your strength coupled with your compassion, I was able to release so much of the feverish ache and guilt roiling through my soul. Do you understand how very special you are to me?” She gestured at the book in Isobel’s hands. “Picking up a book I’ve set aside could never rise to the height of overstepping your bounds when it comes to our friendship.”

  Sábria leaned in and covered Isobel’s lips with her own. There was nothing erotic or sensual in that kiss. Nothing but love, friendship, and gratitude flowed between them. There were tears in Sábria’s eyes when she pulled back and whispered, “Thank you isn’t enough, but I do thank you for being who you are, and I thank Elyon for bringing you into my life.”

  When Sábria lowered her lips to a bitemark prominently displayed on Isobel’s neck, the Lady Knight was relieved that no apology was offered as those soft lips kissed away the slight pain that remained. She offered her own tender kiss to Sábria’s forehead. “You’re more than welcome, my friend.” She placed her hand beneath Sábria’s chin and raised her face until she could look into those mesmerizing eyes. “And,” a mischievous look stole across Isobel’s features, “anytime you need to savage me, My Lady, I’m more than happy to volunteer.”

  Sábria laughed at Isobel’s licentious grin. After one more friendly kiss, she climbed off Isobel’s lap and returned to her vegetables. For the next half-candlemark, Isobel recited words in Dreyuthan that Sábria parroted back. After trying to pronounce one ridiculously complicated word that meant, of all things, carrots, Sábria raised her knife and shooed Isobel out of the kitchen.

  That afternoon, Isobel was comfortably ensconced in an overstuffed, high-backed chair in the front sitting room, reading a historical account of the founding of the Cibían Kingdom.

  Sábria, who’d turned to baking sweet rolls as a way to distract herself, left the kitchen, strode past Isobel, and leaned against the window facing the bay. The curtains were still drawn, but she pushed them aside and stared outside.

  Isobel lowered her book and watched, wondering what had drawn Sábria’s attention to the front of the house. Realizing it was none of her business, she returned to the story of the boy Emperor who’d unified an Empire torn apart by civil war and strife.

  Things were quiet the following day, as well. This time, Isobel had pushed aside the furniture in the sitting room and was moving through a series of sword exercises when Sábria came in at the same time as the previous afternoon.

  Once again, Sábria leaned against the window and pulled the curtain aside.

  Isobel finished the sequence and, since she wasn’t wearing her scabbard, laid the sword carefully on the sofa. Sweat was running down her face, so she retrieved her towel and rubbed her hair and cheeks dry. “What’s so interesting out there?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing sure had Sábria on edge if the tense set to her shoulders was any indication. Isobel lowered the towel and considered her friend’s answer. “This is the second time you’ve stood at that window right after the five o’clock bell rings in the clocktower.” She stepped behind Sábria, and since she was half-a-head taller, leaned into her back, put her arms around her waist, and peered over her shoulder.

  Sábria covered Isobel’s forearms with her own but remained silent.

  The lane running in front of the house, the bay, and the beach were all empty, and Isobel wondered what had so fascinated her friend. Movement off to the right caught her eye. Two figures careened down the short hill, racing in a flat-out sprint. As they came closer, Isobel recognized her former flag-bearer, whose run she’d know anywhere at any distance, and her former slave, whose white-blonde hair was unmistakable in the afternoon sun.

  When Ailith pulled up in front of the house, acting as though she needed to catch her breath, Sábria’s fingers dug into Isobel’s arms.

  Ailith leaned on the short fence separating the cobblestone lane from the beach.

  Ty slowed and eventually stopped before walking back to where Ailith was ostensibly trying to pull air into her lungs.

  Isobel knew better, though, because Ailith could run the entire perimeter of the city without having to stop and catch her breath. With her chin resting against the back of Sábria’s head, she gently feathered her lips against her hair and spoke a quiet aside to Ailith, who was oblivious to her words. “Ah, Chele Laghei, sometimes I think you’re too clever by half.”

  The fingers digging into Isobel relaxed, and Sábria leaned her head into the crook of Isobel’s shoulder. “Only by half? It’s a wonder Ty hasn’t realized Ailith stops at the same spot like clockwork. Yesterday, they stopped and stretched, and Ailith said something that had Ty smiling.” A tear ran down Sábria’s cheek, and she swiped it away with a quick flick of her hand. “It wasn’t actually a smile, more like quiet amusement than anything else. I wasn’t sure the blank look I saw in those eyes the first time I met her could ever be erased, but even if it was only amusement, whatever it was reached all the way to her eyes.”

  When Sábria shook her head, Isobel enjoyed the sensation of her soft hair rubbing against her cheek.

  Sábria chuckled, “My impossible, exasperating shiv always makes sure Ty faces the house when they talk, probably hoping I’ll see them and come outside.”

  This time, it was Isobel who shook her head. “No. You’re not giving Ailith enough credit.” She kissed Sábria tenderly on the temple. “Bear with me on the poor excuse of an analogy I’m about to give you concerning your shiv, please.”

  Sábria chuckled, “Nothing you can tell me about Ailith is ever wasted. I’m still trying to stay one step ahead of her, but I always seem to be ten steps behind.”

  The two runners had hopped over the low fence and were walking the short distance to where the water crashed onto the rocky shoreline. Isobel followed their progress as she considered the best way to phrase her thoughts. “When Ailith was with me, I’d always give her a green horse to train as we rode across Dreyutha. When she’d tamed one to saddle, I’d sell it and buy her another. She learned many important lessons that way, but one she became exceptionally good at was conditioning them not to react to frightening stimuli. She taught those green horses not to spook at loose tarps, clanging buckets, or any number of distractions by exposing them to all kinds of banging and clanging and flashing. She’d begin slowly, and when the movement or the sound became less frightening, she’d increase the stimuli until the horse became inured to anything and everything it might run into in the big bad world.”

  Sábria watched both women pick up stones and hurl them across the water. “You’re saying she’s conditioning Ty like she would a spooked horse?”

  Isobel turned her face into Sábria’s hair and whispered in her ear. “I’m saying she’s conditioning you as though you were the frightened one who needs to get used to the idea of seeing your daughter. As I said, too clever by half.”

  The hand that had been absently caressing Isobel’s forearm stilled. Sábria’s shoulders stiffened, and her breathing stopped altogether. They stood silently, watching Ailith and Ty try to outdo each other in their rock-throwing skills.

  When Ty’s last rock outdistanced Ailith’s, Ailith turned toward the house and covered her head with her hands. Ty watched her a moment before closing the distance between them. The sweet, quiet look of triumph on her face shone brighter than if she’d shouted her jubilation to the heavens.

  Sábria covered her mouth and gasped. Her chest, which had been so still a moment before, expanded as she unconsciously drew in a deep lungful of air. It was accompanied by a strangled “Oh” as she watched the woman she’d believed to be nothing more than a hollow, empty shell pat Ailith on the back in a conciliatory gesture. A shy grin quirked the corners of Ty’s mouth at something Ailith said.

  Ailith laughed and hooked her foot behind Ty’s ankle and pushed her so she sprawled onto her back in the sand. With a raised fist and a shout, Sábria’s shiv sprinted up the beach toward the pier with Ty clambering to her feet and grinning as she tried valiantly to catch up. It didn’t take long before the two women were completely out of sight.

  Sábria let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face Isobel. She allowed Isobel to pull her close and once more buried her face in her friend’s long, aristocratic neck. “I’m trying, Isobel.”

  “I know you are. How about tomorrow we help Ailith in her little quest and go outside and wait for them on the second-floor balcony? It will be as though we’re removing one layer of separation between you and Ty.”

  Sábria huffed a quiet rebuke. “Help her? I have a shiv who has the temerity to train her Arch Priestess, and you want to help her?”

  The soft chuckle said it all. “Well, she does have you running to the window at five bells, doesn’t she?” Isobel took Sábria by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length so she could look her in the eyes. “Ailith may only be a shiv, Sábria, and the things that come out of her mouth might drive us to distraction, and yes, she routinely does things that have you tearing your hair out…” Isobel stopped to consider all she’d just said, “…okay, there are times when she’s a total mess…”

  Sábria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Times? I think it would be easier to count the few times she’s not doing something ridiculously inappropriate than try to list everything she does that’s completely against the rules.”

  Isobel’s raised brows and rolled eyes showed she had to concede the point. “Anyway, even when she’s at her most irreverent, out-of-line, over-the-line self, her heart is always in the right place. And this time, that huge heart is trying to help someone she cares deeply about in the only way she knows how. I think you should honor that. Even though it seems like it at times, she’s not always wrong.” The side of Isobel’s mouth quirked up. “So, balcony tomorrow?”

  A rattling started in the kitchen, and Sábria’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no, that’s dinner! I’d forgotten how hard it is to cook on a Catadian stove.” She continued speaking as she hurried from the room. “Too much wood and the lid starts jumping, and the soup boils over, and if you don’t put enough wood in, it takes forever for the vegetables and meat to cook.” Her voice trailed off as she moved toward the kitchen and away from the sitting room.

  Despite all that had happened, Isobel couldn’t help but think this change of pace had to be good for a woman who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. She grinned at the cheek of one of the Temple’s newest shivs and how wonderful it was for Sábria to have Ailith in her life despite how difficult she could be at times. Well, most of the time, if she was honest, but Isobel was sure Ailith added some necessary spice to the sober life Sábria lived at the Temple.

  Three knocks sounded on the front door, followed by a pause and another two knocks. That was the code that one of the Blades had something to give their Arch Priestess. “I’ll get it.” Isobel moved into the hall, stopping to pick up her dagger along the way. The code had been the correct one, but she felt a responsibility toward Sábria and never liked to take safety and security for granted.

  After sliding the dagger into the sheath sewn into the back of her trews, Isobel set her boot about a foot back from the door and opened it enough to look outside. When she recognized the uniform of a senior Blade, she pulled the door open more and raised her brows.

  The Blade, an olive-skinned woman with coal-black hair, bowed low. “Lady Isobel. I’m Blade Sonsa.” She held out a bouquet of multi-colored flowers. “Lady Grosvenor requested I deliver these flowers to Sábria.”

  Isobel cocked her head as she studied the tattoo of a kraken circling the outer part of the woman’s right eye. Tentacles stretched across her forehead and around her upper cheek, giving her an exotic, dangerous kind of beauty no other Blade possessed. “You’re from Tuviste? Clan Derring, if I’m not mistaken. One of the Master’s children judging by your manner of speech.”

  Amusement shone in Sonsa’s eyes. It wasn’t difficult for people to guess her clan, since only people from Clan Derring were given the tattoo on their fifth naming day. But the comment about her speech, though in most cases would be true, was way off the mark. “I’m not one of Master Derring’s children, My Lady. Although I patrol the streets during the Gloaming shift, my secondary duties are as the Temple’s cryptographer. As such, I spend a great deal of time with Emperor Aloric’s people and have had extensive training in proper diction.” She grinned, “Otherwise, I be talkin’ like any other swabbie strollin’ th’ decks of me clan’s sailin’ ships, doncha know.”