Volume 2, Part XX: An Honest Woman
Sand watched him leave and then collapsed into the chair. "I'm sorry dear girl, I didn't mean to be presumptuous about...ah...marriages and all but it did keep him away from you. He has more honor than some, for a man naming his ship the Lusty Luskan."
He looked at her again. There was definitely a hand-shaped bruise on her face and he winced in sympathy. "You're hurt, my dear Torio. Do we have any healing potions left?"
Torio nearly sagged with relief when Abelor left; she had to admit, the man was growing on her, but she didn't exactly relish the thought of spending the night with him.
In all actuality, she realized as she stood up from her chair and moved to where her pack had been dropped, she wasn't relishing the thought of spending the night with anyone unless they were a certain sharp-witted moon elf. She knelt by her pack and pulled it open, sifting through the bottles; her mind wandered...she imagined having Sand as an ever constant presence at her side. A steadfast companion, always a full bed...a full heart. She cleared her throat, pulling the last two healing potions from the pack. "I'm not as hurt as you, you stubborn elf," she said quietly, walking back over to where he sat. She stood over his chair, pulling the cork from one of the bottles and handing it to him.
His face softened as he took the potions. "You saved my life, didn't you?"
She smirked down at him, her voice wry. "Only as much as you've saved mine." By the gods, but weren't those words true on multiple levels. Her eyes grew soft as she bent forward and pressed her lips against his forehead; she could smell the traces of powder still in his hair, and underneath it the worn, electric buzzing of magic. "Do you honestly think I would let you die and leave me alone on this ship? Presumptuous or no, Bodaes, I'd have no way to deflect Abelor without you." Her words were light, but her voice broke slightly as it rolled around the word alone. She kissed his face again, before pulling the stopper from the last potion and drinking it herself, feeling the liquid tingle even as it slid down her throat. The incessant throbbing in her face lessened, and she sat down across from him, setting the empty bottle down on one of the map-covered tables with a thunk.
Torio reached out and took his hand after a moment. "Besides, needs must. It worked, didn't it?" She shook her head, chuckling, a bitter edge to her light toned voice. "Can you even imagine me as a bride? I'm not even sure Deneir resides over weddings; he assumes his faithful are beings of intelligent mettle." Her eyes grew distant, her thumb running over the backs of Sand's knuckles, and then she snorted wryly. "Besides, I do not think I...belong in white."
The potion went down easily, burning less than the rum did but not tasting as pleasant as the champagne. Sand watched her thumb stroking his hand. The purple bruising and swelling was finally starting to go down, but the bone of the knuckle was still raised where the heal spell had mended it days ago. Her own hands were still coated in dried blood. He stood, teetered a moment lightheadedly, and then led her to a nearby ceramic wash basin. The water was cold but at least it was clear. Sand began slowly scrubbing her hands of the blood, watching the water turn brown as he rinsed out the cloth.
"First off, dear girl, I'm not stubborn, just correct most of the time." He wrung out the cloth and watched the small eddies and vortices swirl in the water. Some of this blood was his old Master's blood. She had killed Yarreth. She had, with that curved little dagger of hers, severed his past from him and set him free. A weighted fear he never knew he carried was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. There would be no one now, no one from Luskan who would be able to step forward and reveal all those secrets he had fought so long and so hard to keep cloaked.
"Secondly, when I tell you to stay away, you should. Yarreth is as dangerous a Luskanite as they come. He makes Gweynn's antics like amateurish. He would have killed you ...and...done things to you so that all the diamonds and magic in Faerun wouldn't have been able to bring you back." The memory of creeping through the graveyards with a shovel was haunting the back of his mind. The thought of losing her forever (forever had such a definitive sound of finality to it) made him pale. "You are a foolish girl, Torio Claven." He leaned forward and kissed her over the wash basin. "I hate owing my life to a fool."
Sand examined her fingernails, which still had traces of crimson under them and then laughed at the idea of her in a white gown, especially with her hands covered in blood and the dagger hidden under the skirt. Absurdedly and possibly the most lethal bride ever to be seen in all of Faerun. "You could always wear red. By Mystra, we seem to wear enough of it." He could see where his robe was stained, really nearly soaked through with his blood. "And truth be told, I have no idea what Mystra's marriage practices are either." He smirked. "Let us hope they don't require you to wave a wand about because then it would take mortal danger for you to ever succeed."
Torio flexed her fingers as he washed them, her mind's eye going back to how said delicate fingers had plunged the poisoned comb into Asrar's body, and then to the way the blood as spilled over her fingers as the knife had slit Yarreth's throat. Her hands seemed constantly bloodied...
...even when she had clasped them adroitly behind her back, her face pale and cold, Garius beside her; the pale, shimmering, magical image of Ember, summoned before their eyes so that the self-styled Master of the Fifth Tower could watch his plan unfold; the image of Lorne, wading into the countless villagers with his falchion raised high...
She watched Sand's fingers rub the blood from her skin, watched it trail down into the basin of water. "Foolish, mayhaps. But alive." She shook the water from her hands and then grasped his. "What could I have done, Sand, watch him kill you? And thank the stars that I had simply stood there, doing nothing?" There were hard lines in her eyes as she looked at him. "I've stood, and done nothing, enough in my life; I've had my fill of it."
Torio looked down at his hand, tracing the faded bruised marks with her finger. She remembered the fleeting image she had caught when in the safehouse; Sand's fist slamming into a wall. "Nor," she said quietly, meeting his eyes, her own narrowed at him somewhat shrewdly, "do I think you enjoy having to stand to the side either." She bent her head down and pressed her lips against his marked knuckles, then turned his hand over and spread his fingers wide, kissing his palm. "So thank the heavens for small mercies, that we are both still alive, and spare me the talk on how foolhardy and impetuous and human I am."
She straightened, giving him a once over with her eyes, and smirked, her voice light. "Red seems to be our color of choice. I don't suppose we could help it, either; there's not a stitch of clothing we've worn since we've left the Keep that hasn't been stained with blood. Why not wedding accoutrements, as well?"
Sand began slowly pulling off the robe, the damp fabric sticking wetly to his skin. He hung the ruined robe on a hook by the door and then began unwrapping the bandages that held the small day pillow in place. "Well if I had been killed, you could have found ten thousand gold pieces worth of diamonds and a capable cleric - Zhjaeve's quite good if you can get past her 'knows' and 'knows nots' - to bring me back." He was only half joking as he said this; it was information he wanted her to know and to consider in case the inevitable ever did happen.
He glanced in the small mirror hanging nearby and gingerly touched the wound. The skin was reddish purple where the blood was coagulating and he could see the thin straight scar of where the blade had gone through. Any lower and he realized he might not still be standing. "I certainly think the...situation with Asrar is a little different, dear girl. There was no risk to my life and yet I failed to do something. It still bothers me." He watched her through the mirror before continuing, "In any case, yes I am thankful we're still both alive, and as much as I'll lecture you on your foolish impetuous human ways, you know that is what I love about you, my dear Torio." Sand turned back around and picked the cloth, wiping his shoulder and chest down.
Torio shrugged out of her surcoat, watching as Sand peeled off of his robe; her eyes stormed over as she eyed the half-healed wound in his shoulder. "There would have been risk enough had you tried anything, bodaes," she said evenly. "We would have failed, and that would have meant death, or complete and utter disgrace...and then death." She lifted her tunic up for a moment, turning towards the wall, and began untying the binding around her chest, letting out a breath of relief as the tight, webbed fabric loosened its grip on her torso. She could almost hear her ribs creak. "In any case, I wasn't...hurt." She remembered the isolated, yawning loneliness she had felt huddled on Asrar's bed, completely unable to touch Sand's mind with her own, and shuddered slightly.
The webbing fell to the floor at her feet and she pulled her tunic down once again, her mouth curling in a brief, tired smile. She turned around; Sand was rubbing the not-so dried blood off of his chest, and she watched him for a moment, his movements slow and slightly pained, the lean, lissome muscles stretching and contracting beneath his smooth skin as he worked. She felt her blood stir, a faint pang of desire sluice through her, and her mouth quirked in a amusement; come bandits, torturers, pirates, evil mages or life threatening poisons, she would probably still start imagining all sorts of inproprieties the moment Sand began removing clothing.
"Weddings." He snorted, and then chuckled. "Perhaps one day I'll make an honest woman out of you yet. Goodness knows you won't be able to do it yourself."
"Make me an honest woman? How noble of you to sacrifice yourself for such an endeavor." Her mind tumbled over itself; it was dangerous, to joke about such things, and especially so for her, when she knew she would most likely not even see the worst of the results of such a theoretical "union." The real trouble would start once she was cold and sleeping in the ground. And she wasn't one to fool herself into thinking she'd live to be an old woman; people like her found early graves, or early graves found them. She had made too many enemies in her life to think otherwise.
She couldn't...or wouldn't...imagine Sand laying a human wife in the soil of Toril and continuing onward as if nothing had happened. She could barely face the thought of having him returned from high adventure around the countryside in a box, herself. Time and fevers burn away...
But in my arms, til break of day...
Sand sunk down into the high back chair and pulled Torio onto his lap, nuzzling her affectionately. "The challenge of making you an honest woman is one I look forward to, dear girl. Almost as much as moving all of Toril itself."
She sank against his lap, chuckling. "Ha! Gods-speed you, then; mayhaps by the time you've managed to move Toril I'll have been nudged a step closer to honesty." She slid her arms around his neck; his bare chest felt cool against her body, pressing through her tunic, and she tapped her fingers against it lightly.
Her fingers took the cloth from his hands, and began wiping the last of the blood from his skin herself. "We'll have to get you more potions...or maybe the ship has a cleric," she said quietly, keeping her eyes down on her task. "Otherwise you'll be in for a long and uncomfortable journey." Her fingers brushed across the wound in his shoulder gently, her voice unusually rough. "And I don't relish listening to your complaints."
Sand watched her carefully tend to his wounds. Her touch was tender, careful even though her words were not. "Oh let's not bother our good friend Abelor. Who knows what price he'll charge for a potion? Service aboard his ship for a century and a day? As it is, we may already be trapped working for the Shadow Thieves. Which, I may add, is probably no more treacherous than working for Nasher, if the irony amuses you." He caught her hands in his and pulled her in for a kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Underneath the salty sea air, she still smelled like Torio - spy, wizard-killer, elf-lover, wine-drinker and woman. He pulled back, feeling better than he had in a long time.
"But in all seriousness - we should consider Abelor's offer. The shadow thieves may be able to get us places where Nasher can not." He spoke with his mouth still lightly pressed against hers.
"Working for the Shadow Thieves...this will definitely prove a tricky business." She snorted. "Since it's the price he's called for in exchange for our safe passage, I doubt we'd have much room to negotiate. Still..." She walked her fingers up his chest, lightly running them along his collarbone. "...we should at least reserve the right to choose our missions; we can't completely undermine our positions in Neverwinter or else we'll simply be exchanging a watery grave for a hangman's noose."
"I promise I won't complain about any wounds, mortally grievous or otherwise, dear girl. I swear, after everything we've gone through, I'll never complain again. I suppose torture has a way of putting things into perspective.
Sand began stroking the back of her neck as he replied, "Give me a night's rest before we negotiate with Abelor. I'll memorize spells tonight that can save us from the water in a pinch. I'd rather not have to swim or even fly back to Neverwinter but...if worse comes to absolute worse, we have options, dear girl. Which was more than we had before." He felt a surge of a prickly protectiveness and he realized he'd never let her out of his sight if he could help it.
Torio thought of swimming through the Sea of Swords; dodging the countless underwater creatures that undoubtedly thrived in its waters made her skin crawl. "Better than nothing, I suppose; definitely a finale that would be keeping in pace with the rest of this Gods-forsaken mission."
She let out a happy whimper as his lips began brushing along her neck, tilting her head back slightly...and then she laughed. "I must look a mess...and look at you, master wizard, making free with your apprentice." Her fingers tip-toed up the side of his neck under the edge of his jaw line and along the curving shell of his pointed ear. "Although I'm not used to having an audience." She gestured to the shrunken head hanging amiably from the candelabra across the small cabin.
Torio brushed her fingers around the tip of his ear and up through his hair, some of the powder sifting from the strands and falling to the floor behind the chair. Damn these crude disguises. She shook her head, and stood, letting her hand trail across his chest as she maneuvered towards the wash basin; she splashed the water from the pitcher over her face and up through her hair...no wonder seamen have such reputations for being unwashed vagabonds. Feeling slightly more human, she walked towards the small bed, falling back against it with a whoosh of exhaled breath, her arms spread-eagled across the thick mattress. "I never thought I'd say this," she said wryly, "but I find myself intensely eager to be back at Crossroads Keep." She snorted. "There's a slice of ironic 'perspective' for you, Bodaes."
Sand smirked and then stood as well. He went to the shrunken head and turned it around so that it faced the wall. "Not used to having an audience, dear girl? That's surprising, considering your past."
She snorted laughingly. "Not too many 'associates' in my past were interested in simple watching, dear Sand. And none of them looked like shrunken heads." Although a few of them were close.
Sand tumbled onto the bed after her. "Hmm. Yes I suppose back trapped within the walls of the Keep - at least you'd be safe and alive. Though with the addition of the Permanency spell on your bracelet, we can venture further away now. I should clone you. We'll just leave your copy at the Keep, teach it to disagree with everything Kana and Nevalle says and you'll be free." His eyes glittered playfully. He lifted her shirt and kissed her stomach, before resting his head on her skin, his cheeks feeling the slight raises of the white scars.
She stretched out languidly as she felt his lips press against her stomach; one hand slid across his shoulder and rested lightly against the back of his head. Sand continued to kiss her stomach lightly, doing his best to ignore the scars. They didn't actually bother him but he suspected they bothered her. He traveled with fighters, warriors - scars were common place. But Torio wasn't a common woman. He exhaled lightly into her skin, "What will you ask of Nasher as a reward upon our glorious and victorious return?"
Her mind immediately jumped to the bracelet, although all thoughts aside she had nearly forgotten it was there since leaving the Keep; it had remained cool and benign without the spells weighing it down against her body, and she slipped her hand from behind her head, cocking her wrist and eyeing the silver band thoughtfully. Freedom for me, in exchange for what?
Or maybe not freedom for you...would Nasher release Sand from service if she demanded it as her reward? The elf wouldn't be obligated to the Knight Captains any longer, and he could leave, travel somewhere where the Illefarn empire and the Guardian King of Shadows had never been heard of...
And knowing Sand, he'd still stay after it was all said and done.
She exhaled bemusedly, sending the short hairs resting against her forehead puffing into the air briefly before they fell back against her face. "I have an idea of what I might ask," she said absently. "Whether he grants it, we shall have to see. Gend would know, out of anybody; a ruthless former-pirate and a confessed murderer, and yet he worked with his captors with almost a reverential loyalty. I might...speak with the spymaster again."
He slithered up her body until he was resting in the crook of her arm. "Gend? Really? Interested in seeing how Neverwinter treats its reformed prisoners, are you, dear girl? That's an unexpected twist and one I'm certain Nasher and Nevalle will be quite pleased of."
Sand realized he was not quite pleased of this idea but held his tongue. After all he had spent weeks subtly trying to impress upon her the importance of their work at the Keep and defeating the King of Shadows, but he had been careful to leave all mention of allegiances to Neverwinter out of it. Neverwinter was just a city, one of many along the coast, using its own political weight for its own gain. He wanted things to be fair, and quite frankly, after this disastrous mission - well suffice it to say he was feeling thoroughly jaded. But he would see what Nasher would offer them.
He tried a different tactic, sitting up suddenly and pulling her boots off her feet. "I think I owe you something." Sand began slowly, carefully massaging her feet, saying casually, "If you become a spymaster like Gend, we may not be able to run away to Candlekeep and test out their tables..."
Torio moaned appreciatively as Sand's fingers began skillfully massaging her feet. Her stomach tingled warmly from where his lips had traced along her skin; but it cooled rapidly as he pulled away, and she became consciously aware of the air brushing against her exposed scars; she discreetly reached and pulled her tunic back down, covering her stomach. A pointless gesture; but her inherent vanity tugged at her, and she merely stretched out once again, settling against the mattress and shutting her eyes blissfully.
After a moment her mouth twitched in a smile. "So you're set on table-testing, are you?" Her insides gave a little lurch. Talking about gleefully running away together was one thing, but planning for it, intending to actually do it...she opened her eyes, watching him steadily, her foot thrumming pleasantly under the rhythmic ministrations from his fingers. "I don't have my heart set on spying for Neverwinter, bodaes," she said quietly. Her voice became wry. "And I think you're fully aware that my loyalties aren't won as easily as that." She wriggled her toes slightly. "If I even have loyalties to speak of; perhaps it's a trait passed down, like eye color or hair texture? My loyalties are sadly underdeveloped." She watched him, chewing on her lip. "But I'm not sure I could...be successful at any other type of life." She tried to picture herself as some scholar; sifting through books at Candlekeep's library, flicking the pages with deft fingers that still had blood beneath the nails; formerly one of the most powerful women in Luskan and now merely a traveler poking through tomes.
But Sand would be there, too. Gend had a power, of sorts, even though he was a prisoner. He has Lord Nasher's ear; he had his own network of spies. If the stories and rumors told it right, he was also rather poignantly alone.
She sighed. "In the short term I presume I would ask for the removal of the torture enchantment from anything ever being placed on my person again, at least; and possibly the removal of all enchantments, altogether." She waggled her eyebrows at him briefly. "Candlekeep could come a bit sooner, you know."
Sand gave her big toe a playful pinch and then slid his hands up her legs, massaging her calves. "I suppose whatever makes you happy, dear girl. I suppose if a life of intrigue is for you, then I'll have to accept it and cope with it as best as possible. I suppose I'll just get very good at Polymorph spells." She was right and Sand knew in his heart of hearts that you couldn't keep a woman like her caged, safe. She needed exhilaration to feel alive; he needed books. They would have to compromise somewhere, somehow. "Oh very well, my dear Torio. You play spymaster, I'll play happy house-husband/hedgewizard; you'll always have potions, we'll visit Candlekeep a few times a year and you'll slowly kill me with worry."
He suddenly had a tremendous amount of sympathy for her situation, being left behind whilst he gallivanted through the countryside, tangoing with bandits and orcs. Mind you, Sand couldn't imagine bringing her on such missions; they never needed somebody to translate for them since most of the dialogue consisted of "DIE!" and those sentiments were easily understood by gesture alone. He'd likely have to jump in front of her to catch arrows and any day he had to play living shield was a bad day indeed. Besides, he never liked casting with arrows embedded in him anyway.
His hands moved up past her knees and began kneading the flesh there. "If Nasher and Vale do not offer to remove the enchantments, I will be very displeased." He paused, frowning. "I haven't thought about what I want. Well I have but unfortunately they aren't very exciting. Full access to the Academy libraries and the Cloaktower archives; diplomatic papers to Candlekeep. It would be nice if you could move permanently into my chambers; I mean the Keep is filling up with people so quickly, I'm certain they could use the extra space..." Sand realized he was rambling. "And you know, 'Tanith' and 'Nagendra' haven't taken their honeymoon yet - all expense paid trip to a city of our choice?"
Torio felt her eyes half-close as his fingers moved up her leg. "By gods, your hands feel wonderful..." She wriggled contentedly against the bed, her skin alighting as his hands roved up past her knee. "You could promise yourself to monkhood if that's what you wanted, as long as you promised to do this everyday." She glanced at him archly from underneath her lashes. "Well…maybe other things everyday, as well."
She couldn't help but chuckle as Sand began listing off the things he might ask for; Deneir help her, but she could see him bent over a table scattered with books, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, lips moving silently as he read along with the passages. He had quite an ardent passion for raw knowledge that was lacking in anyone she'd ever encountered before; most of the contacts she knew used knowledge and magic as tools, a means to an end, a stepladder to power. Sand practiced magic simply because he wanted to. She was sure he had his aspirations to power; any mage who understood the diplomatic leverage of being able to incinerate your opposition in a heartbeat had aspirations to power. But...he could have had power. Luskan offered him power. He had chosen something else, instead. As well as an odd sort of freedom that involved babysitting twin Knight Captains and mocking Sir Nevalle behind his back...
He was kissing her; she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down against her body, throwing her recently massaged leg around his waist. She knew she'd not be able to settle down into the type of life most women slid into as easy as breathing. She tried to imagine herself heavy with child, running a household, preparing meals and walking the streets fearlessly, with no thought to who might be walking behind her...But her swollen belly still bore the marks of the whip, even as it bore the theoretical child her thoughts conjured up. The image vanished from her mind completely. "I could meet you in the middle, I suppose. Books and intrigue and wine," she said against his mouth, laughing lightly. "And a few Polymorph spells thrown in for good measure, my hedgewizard."
He twisted his body and kissed her mouth. "Whatever you decide, dear girl, I will support you as best I can even if I can't follow you."
His words shot through her with a pang, and she found her arms tightening around him momentarily. "Well, I shall do my best to ensure you can follow eventually, won't I? Leave a trail of books in my wake, to ensure that you'll find me again."
Sand sighed as she pulled him to her. He caught a strange, shimmer of a thought from her - one of her pregnant, rubbing her scarred front and then it was gone, pushed away and vanished. Children. Sand had never considered having children and he found the idea did not abhor him as he thought it would. In his mind, children were still grubby, loud, tending to stick their fingers into his alchemical equipment ... He did have a cat; children couldn't be that much different from a cat. Torio could teach them languages, he could teach them magic... But children meant long-term planning, a domestic existence and a mundane common life. She would never be happy as a simple merchant's lover or even wife, especially one from the Docks.
She would have made a fine politician but Neverwinter and its nobility would never have her now. Her notoriety had spread to all the cities of the Lords' Alliance; Sand knew this - he had seen the news missives written and sent out himself. In fact, he had even proofread some of them. Would she be happy though, if she had to spend the rest of her life polymorphed?
Sand pressed his cheek to hers and joked, "You know me well - leave a trail of books and you know I'll follow. Better make sure they are books I have already read otherwise I will have to stop and read every single one and it will take me years to get to you. But at least books won't get eaten by birds; much better than bread crumbs." His voice took on a serious timbre. "Leave the trail and I will come find you. Preferably in this life though I am not adverse to following you into the next one either."
She turned her face completely, so she could follow his profile with her eyes. "Moving Toril and cheating death?" She saw a serious glint in his eye from where she could see it. Her fingers traced along his temple, pushing a stray strand of dark hair back from his face. She briefly wondered how Sand actually felt about throwing himself in the path of oncoming ancient evil; images of him being wounded, stabbed, his shoulder snapping flashed through her head...her heart gave an agonized lurch. Her hands wandered; down his arm and back again, to his chest, then trailing across his stomach, memorizing the feel of his skin. She had the irresistible urge to say something foolish; I'll wait for you? What was she, some eldritch princess languishing in her tower?
But you would wait, wouldn't you? Forty more years of decent human life and you'd spend them all looking at the horizon if you had to...
"I'll leave a trail," she said quietly, smiling, her eyes troubled. "One you won't be able to resist. And if you don't show up, I'll come and find you."
"You'll come find me? Not an idle threat, I'm sure, dear girl. One would have to be an idiot to resist you and the path of destruction you are quite capable of carving."
She had done precisely that - tore through the countryside and Ember, piercing straight into his heart, doing quite a bit damage to his comfortable yet austere lonely life. She had quite competently rent his soul apart, torn down his ideas of what made a good existence and Sand found himself piecing it all back together, one jagged edge at a time.
Only she was helping him, building him back up.
He had put his life and what little influence he had at risk. He had turned down infinite power from Gweynn and the Arcane Brotherhood which had been surprisingly easy because he knew how ephemeral such a thing was; however his more avaricious side was still trying to cope with letting such prestige (even if temporary) slip through his fingers.
But incredibly enough - he was happy. Power was fleeting and the struggle to maintain it was daunting; money and magic were all well and good but these days he was finding both were easy to come by and you needed something to use both on to make it truly worthwhile. Sand kept his face pressed to hers.
To be utterly and irrevocably sentimental, he loved coming home from whatever task he was being dragged on and running off to her room at first opportunity, knowing that she was waiting for him. He loved the first moment when they embraced after a long separation, the sweat and road dust still clinging to him; the desperation and the relief of being with her again, the quick fumbling lovemaking that followed and then the full night conversations which often consisted of both of them sniping and griping about the Keep and its denizens.
He wouldn't trade it for the world, despite how rapidly shrinking his world seemed to be. Sand realized he was clutching her rather hard and had stopped talking, staring off into space. He shook his head lightly, dispersing the overemotional thoughts, and then smiled, "Are you hungry? Tired? I could try to get us some food."
He fell silent for a long while, and she stroked his hair absently; his arms were clenched with tension, holding on to her, and she felt her eyes begin to close. His body was warm where it had been pressing against hers; part of her tunic had rucked up again amidst their slight, shifting movements, and she could feel his skin against hers; tepidly warm and smoother than silk. She always had a penchant for silk...
She fingered a few strands of his hair, sharply wondering what this mission might have been like had Sand decided not to wander into the Library that night so long ago. Was it very long ago? He had hardly been someone who's presence she could stand, much less someone she considered as a potential lover...would all of this eventually have happened anyway, or did that one night in the Library have that elusive spark that threw them together, the kind came and went only once or twice and then was gone forever?
Listen to yourself, you're starting to think like those maudlin Elven poets...
She stretched out when he spoke, smirking at him. "You're injured, Bodaes...technically you should be resting right now. I have no spells to memorize or..." here she brushed her fingers against the welted mark on his shoulder, "wounds to heal." She pulled her hand back and yawned. "But seeing as how I'd have to wriggle back in to that...disguise in order to leave, I think you're a better bet, anyway." She sat up and pulled her arms from around his body, giving him room to move. She glanced at her reflection in the small mirror swaying gently on the wall with every rock of the ship; her face looked tired, but her eyes looked wholly unfamiliar; glowing and luminous and entirely not her own. "Abelor said you should be safe, using your own identity; but if you'd like to put 'Roslyn' back on, I can help you."
Sand stood from the bed, shaking his head as he replied, "If it's not necessary then I think I'll refrain from playing a cranky old mage. I'd prefer just being a cranky mage." He rummaged through his pack until he found a clean robe and pulled it over him, letting the stiff, wrinkled fabric fall around him. Not quite Elven weave, but it would have to do. "I'll be back soon." He contemplated her, lying on the bed a moment, her drying hair sticking up in all direction, sooty marks still visible here and there on her pale skin, her clothes wrinkled and ill-fitting.
He had turned the world at his footstep down for this. And he was satisfied with his decision.
Once Sand left, Torio slid off the bed, moving quickly and silently to the various maps and ship logs strewn across the largest table. She hurriedly shuffled some of the maps apart; Abelor seemed to have locked up anything remotely interesting, but she found herself sinking into one of the cushioned chairs, studying the map before her; Athkatla stretched across the lower left hand corner, the coast stretching up past Speartop and Nashkel; her eyes followed Trade Way, remembering the numerous time she had tramped up and down that accursed road. Beregost, Durlag's Tower...Candlekeep...
Her fingers brushed the small painted dot on the parchment; her eyes were heavy, weariness tugging at her. I'll just close my eyes for a second...