After their encounter at the inn, Vitalis is either wise enough or kind enough to take things slow. Or both.
She handles Droullin as if she were something precious, but not fragile. She reads the vestal's body language remarkably fluently for someone who is illiterate, and when she cannot parse the meanings herself, she asks. The two learn about each other carefully and gradually. Droullin admits that the patience is unexpected from someone as intense and forward as Vitalis. She would have thought it more likely for them to dally briefly and break apart, but Vitalis has not even tried to press for anything beyond a kiss. She seems more interested in Droullin's company than her body. It's at once thrilling and terrifying, but Droullin is thoroughly intrigued.
The vestal has never considered participating in a relationship before. In her youth, it seemed far too restrictive. In the convent, it was deemed far too free. At the hamlet, it is ill-advised, because any of them could meet a gruesome end at any moment. But the more time Droullin spends with this tall, hard-edged woman who is soft only with her, she recognizes the appeal.
Vitalis glances at her from the seat adjacent as if she knows what she is thinking. Droullin smiles at her, and the hellion's night-dark eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. Their knees touch beneath the tavern table.
Fitzroy, the man-at-arms who sits on Droullin's other side, harrumphs loudly from behind his hand of cards. "Are we here to play or not?" he demands in his voice like rocks grinding together. His one eye glares at Vitalis, and Droullin thinks that he is being unfair. They have played for nearly an hour uninterrupted while she peruses her versebook in their proximity.
Perhaps thinking similarly, Vitalis gives him an icy look. Then she lays down her cards and reveals her winning hand.
While Fitzroy splutters in fury, the hellion stands and scrapes his coins off the table into her own purse. Then she extends her hand to Droullin, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Droullin takes it.
They leave the tavern together and start across the grounds toward the inn. The sky is clear and starry except over the bones of the manor, which always seems shrouded in darkness. Droullin tips her head back and breathes the night air.
"He seemed unpleasant," she remarks on the exhale.
Vitalis lets out a grunt that is as close to a chuckle as she ever gets. "Now he's unpleasant and poor," she replies.
Droullin can't help it; she laughs, loud and free and genuine. It's the first time she's done so since arriving at the hamlet. Since longer, probably. It feels good.
Vitalis makes her feel good.
…