"Dreyla?"
"In here."
Dreyla wiped off the last bottle and set it back on the shelf, then closed and latched the cabinet doors, giving them a swipe with the dust rag as she did so. There, that was the last thing on the list. Red Mountain's dust and ash got everywhere. Cleaning the shop after closing didn't mean she wouldn't have to do it all again before they opened tomorrow. Turning, she found her father standing in the doorway, watching her.
"Can you stay late? I need you to catalogue the latest shipment that came in this afternoon. I'd like to have that merchandise out by tomorrow. If you don't mind?"
"But I…Mirri and I were going to meet for drinks tonight. Can't it wait?"
Fethis squinted.
"You're meeting Mirri Severin? Just the two of you?"
"Yes, Dad. Just us." Dreyla fought hard not to roll her eyes.
"You know I worry when you stay out so late. It isn't safe after dark."
"Dad, the guards patrol all the time. It's right across town. I'll have my dagger and my magic. It's fine."
Her father sighed, the stoop to his shoulders so much more pronounced in these last few years since her mother had been killed.
"Well, alright. But be home before midnight. We can start on the new inventory first thing in the morning."
Finally. Dreyla hugged her father and hurried to put the cleaning supplies away and get changed out of her work clothes.
She and Mirri met up in the road, laughter floating along with them as they headed to the tavern, arm in arm.
"Does he suspect anything?"
"He suspects everything. To hear him tell it, the entire town could have it in for me. I can't take much more of this, Mirri. I thought moving here would be a good step, help him move on, but it's made him worse. I feel like I'm suffocating."
"I know what you mean. But at least you can tell him. Captain of the Guard? That's a real catch. And you'd even still live here. It's not like you'd be running off to join a caravan ad he'd never see you again."
Mirri Severin reached over to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind Dreyla's ear, making the taller woman blush without knowing why.
"Maybe I should run off and join a caravan."
The two women continued laughing and talking together as they crossed the plaza, waving or calling out greetings to folks they knew long the way.
They got a table together and did, in fact, have some drinks. Before….
Before Modyn got off work and the came down for a drink, out of armor and smelling of soap and ash and a hint of cologne.
Before he and Dreyla snuck off to the supply closet for a quick fuck, all sweat damp fingers and breathless panting kisses.
Before she had to apologize to him for breaking their plans to meet for breakfast the next day because she had work to do for her father. Again.
Before Mirri slipped out to meet with her lover, who was also, unfortunately, her stepfather. She swore if her mother, whom she called by her first name, ever found out, she'd be disowned.
The two young women were an unlikely pair. They had started off with little in common beyond their mutual need for a reliable alibi in their affairs. Their friendship had begun as mere convenience and then had grown as shared frustrations, lies, heartbreaks, and hopes had built up common ground between them. Now the two were close, best friends, and often found in each other's company.
Why was love always so complicated?
For few hours they got to smile and mean it. For a few hours they could be free.
They met back up before walking home together along the empty, dusty road, arm in arm. It was well after midnight. They checked each other's hair and makeup, straightened each other's clothes. They whispered together in the pre- dawn hush, all tired sighs, afterglow, and adrenaline letdown. Before they stopped at Dreyla's door and Mirri pressed quick kisses to Dreyla's cheeks, a custom that had startled her at first but now made her smile.
Then Dreyla was alone, hugging her arms around herself as she listened to the soft sigh of waves on the shore and ash hoppers buzzing in the woods above and behind the bulwark. She snuck in, tip-toeing down the hall, holding her breath as she past her father's door, to her room.
Before she could start to feel guilty over all the lies. This double life, lived mostly in darkness.
Before the loneliness settled back in, gnawing into her chest as she scrubbed the smell of sex and the faint hint of male cologne from her skin. She could still feel the aches and tingles against her skin where he had touched her. Bruises in the shape of fingers over her hipbones where's he'd gripped her, mouth open, breath hot against her temple as he'd come.
And the places on her cheeks where Mirri's lips had pressed goodnight. Soft and warm, sujamma scented and slightly damp. After.
She would have to tell him.
Most women her age were married or at least getting engaged. She wanted that. A spouse. Children. A home. A life of her own. She did.
Maybe tomorrow she would tell him.
Why was love always so complicated?
