July 1990

It was a slow, quiet night.

The hotel suite Cassie had arranged was rather more much than truly necessary — there were some benefits to nobility when it came to making reservations, and it wasn't as though the cost were any concern whatsoever. It was on the top floor of a sprawling complex in the hills over Samarkand, near the site the mages of the city had fled to during...some kind of violence in the region, Cassie honestly didn't remember. (She hadn't studied the history of Bactria and Sogdia in a long time.) There were still magical enclaves in the city proper, but most of the magical population was scattered across the hills framing the river valley, looking down on the ancient city from above.

An ancient city which was a lot larger than Cassie remembered. She had visited Samarkand before, back in the...30s? It might have been the 30s. It'd been a relatively modest but lovely town at the time, some of the old Muslim architecture dating to Timurid Sogdia or even earlier still intact, rather lively, still a centre of travel and trade in the region. Now the city was several times the size, sprawling out from the old city centre on the south side of the river, a patchwork quilt of electric lights in the night.

The magical side of the city was little changed, hugged along the rugged mountain clefts. The most obvious difference to Cassie, walking the streets earlier, was that the veela had returned at some point between the 30s and now — so near their homeland, these hills had been host to a large enclave of veela (and lilin), but the ancient settlement had been sacked during the war to force the People of the Song to comply with Secrecy, every single one of the residents either fled or murdered. Cassie had checked the map, and it seemed the new enclave was still quite small, but at least it existed.

The main room of the suite was wide and open, a kitchen/dining area toward the back, the ceiling peeling away to let in the sun for a sort of quasi-indoor garden, ending in a balcony overlooking the city below. Kept in low planters seamlessly set into the tile, the plants were mostly local shrubs, low and tangled and thorny. Some had flowers, and others had berries. The orange ones were hafthyrnir — in the island dialect, she didn't actually know the English name off the top of her head — and those were safe, but she didn't recognise most of the others, told Violet not to touch them. (The little red berries might or might not be poisonous, hard to say.) There were a couple little seating areas throughout the space, an enchanted firepit in the middle. The place was rather more than they needed, with the overlarge main room and four separate bedrooms, but it was nice and quiet and private, and Cassie had suspected Violet would appreciate the gardening.

They'd arrived in Samarkand somewhat later in the day than they'd left, thanks to the time difference — they were four, five hours or so ahead here — by the time they'd gotten situated it'd been time for dinner. After a bit walking around the magical settlement (the arena she'd be fighting at right in the heart of what had once been the veela town), the sky had already begun to darken, the town turning quieter and lazier, so they'd headed back to the hotel. But it was still early in the evening for them, so they hadn't gone straight to bed. Cassie had ordered a platter of sweets from the kitchen (little pastries and candies and the like), along with some of the local tea for Violet (mostly Chinese green tea, grown not so much further along the old road to the east), Síomha had cracked open a bottle of wine, and the two of them settled into the Persian-style divan out on the balcony, watched the stars come in, while Violet quietly scritched away at her sketchbook.

The night was heavy and warm and quiet, the magical town mostly turned in already and the noise of the muggle city muffled in the distance, a low burble of a stream passing near the hotel, the twitter and buzz of night birds and insects. The divan smooth and enchanted for softness, Síomha close against her side, wine and almonds on her tongue, her breath thick with spices and tannins and the rosehip oil from Síomha's hair. It was terribly comfortable, Cassie could just melt into the divan.

Síomha was rather less well-travelled than Cassie — and less well-educated, at least in the particular subject at hand — so she'd spent a significant portion of the night babbling off about the history of the place, the Silk Road coming through to connect China and the Mediterranean, Alexander the Great's whirlwind campaign through the region, the rise and fall of countless little kingdoms over the centuries, swept away once and again by steppe tribes coming in from the east. Samarkand had been the heart of a great empire once, not even so long ago, a centre of literature and science and the arts, but then its time in the sun had passed and its wealth and stature had crumbled away, like so many other great cities throughout history...

But she'd gone quiet some minute ago, save for an occasional muttered exchange with Síomha, watching the stars come in and sipping at her wine. Violet had been silent for a long while now, save for the steady scritching of pencil against paper, her location given away by the nudging of her bare shoulder against Cassie's leg. (When they'd come back from dinner, Violet had run off to get her sketchbook, and come back without her dress, complaining it was too hot — it was private enough up here, so Cassie had just shrugged it off.) She couldn't see the page from here, but last she'd checked Violet had been working on a sketch of their view of the river valley, the muggle city sprawled out on the south side of the river. Seemed like a difficult thing to draw, and doubly so at night, but Cassie wasn't an expert, she'd just have to wait for Violet to finish it.

Though she wouldn't be finishing it tonight — the scritching paused for a moment, Violet letting out a long, high yawn. "I think it's getting close to time for someone to get to bed."

"Nnnoooo," Violet moaned. "Almost done."

A bit of a drawl on her voice, Síomha said, "I think she was talking about me. The heat really takes it out of you, you know."

"Yes, well, not everywhere can be so pleasant and inviting as Ireland."

Síomha nudged her side with an elbow. "I know you're being sarcastic, but yes, exactly. I think the sun may be trying to murder me personally."

Violet giggled a little, Cassie couldn't quite help the smile twitching at her lips. "Regardless. I'm going to be busy with prep work until mid-afternoon at least. You two have any idea what you're doing tomorrow?"

"Somewhere with pretty stuff? I was g-g-gon-geh– draw stuff, you know."

"Mm." To show her friends when she got back, or maybe an assignment from Walter...or both, who could say. "The square in the veela quarter might be worth checking out. There's some old architecture in the muggle side of the city that you might like, a lot of Islamic mosaic art — remember to wear your amulet if you leave the magical enclaves. I'm told the old city is interesting, at the hill down there by the river. You can't see it from here, hidden under wards, but I'm told they've done some reconstruction, they even have reenactors who put on shows now and then. I'm not sure what the schedule is like, but."

"I don't suppose these shows are going to be indoors," Síomha said, in a dry tone that made it very clear she had no doubt that they weren't.

"Why would they be? You'll need the hat. Don't worry, I packed a salve for sunburns, just in case."

While Síomha grumbled good naturedly, poking at Cassie's side (making her twitch a little, tickled), Violet let out a sharp, "Oh!" jumped up to her feet. Vibrating with excitement, all but bouncing on her toes, "The thing! You know? Do it now?"

"Sure, go get it." Grinning, Violet started skipping around the divan to— "Hey, bring back your art stuff." A little sheepishly, the silly girl slid back into view, gathered up her sketchbook and her pencils before leaving again. Cassie nudged Síomha's shoulder, muttered, "Come on, sit up. Violet has something for you."

Síomha tilted her head to pout at Cassie, whined, "But you're so comfortable." She didn't actually resist, though, leaned her weight off of Cassie and moved to sit up properly.

"We can get comfortable after we—" Cassie cut herself off, covering her lips with the back of her wrist as she failed to suppress a yawn.

"Sure you're good to be making promises? You look pretty tired yourself."

"Oh, don't worry, I can pretty much always find the energy."

Smirking, Síomha drawled, "Mm, I've noticed."

Before Síomha could finish the innuendo Violet came running back into the main room, bare feet slapping against the tile. She circled around the divan, held a linen bag out to Síomha with both hands. Some of the excitement had drained as the actual moment of handing it over neared, an edge of nervousness stealing over Violet's face, but she managed not to shrink away, forcing a smile. "Here! I m-m-mmade it."

Síomha had started reaching for the bag, but at that she paused, blinking over at Violet. "You made it?"

"Mhmm!"

Visibly taken aback, it took a moment for Síomha to lurch back into motion, accepting the bag from the silly girl. She pulled open the knot, and soon had a square of smooth colourful cloth in her lap. "What is...?" She unfolded the square, seam by seam, progressively revealing a hand-embroidered shawl.

"Ih– It er– It er– Ah—" Violet let out a frustrated huff, biting her lip and bouncing in place. So tense and vibrating with nerves and excitement that she couldn't get words out at all, as happened sometimes — she'd mentioned before that it could be hardest to get words out when she most wanted to say something, sounded terribly frustrating.

"It's all right, darling, I've got it. Violet has been thinking of making you something for a while now. When I told her where we were going...over a month ago, I think, and that it was going to be hot and sunny, she got the idea for this."

This was a modest silk shawl, the dominant colour a light sky blue. Violet had added curling knotwork along the hem in a bright green — she'd chosen the colour to match with Síomha's eyes, because Violet could be adorable sometimes — most of the body of the fabric taken up with a tapestry of images Cassie couldn't make sense of. There was a river cutting through it, the shape more suggested by a few swirls in black to indicate the flow of the water, the bank marked with occasional bunches of grass. There were little brown blobs of what Violet said were supposed to be hazelnuts speckled here and there through the course of the river...for some reason. There was a prominent image of the sun, surrounded with a ring of little spiralling designs, a couple of cows with conspicuously lunar-shaped horns, a couple foxes and birds, one clearly a crow gripping the spiral ring around the sun, roses liberally scattered throughout what was supposed to be the ground...

Cassie suspected some of these must be references to Gaelic stories Síomha had told Violet at some point, but it was largely meaningless to her.

Anyway, the designs weren't especially detailed, or particularly regular and professional-looking — amateur work, but done with care, it didn't look obviously sloppy anywhere. And no wonder, Violet had spent a somewhat absurd number of hours on it over the last month. Compared to the embroidery, the beadwork — a few integrated into the pattern of the knotwork, but most of it in the tassels all along each of the shorter sides of the fabric, Violet transforming them into strings of colourful glittering glass beads — had been far quicker, practically an afterthought. Altogether, Cassie could tell at a glance that it wasn't professional work, but it really did seem very good for a not-quite-ten-year-old.

More than once over the life of the project, Cassie had wondered if it weren't...too much, for Violet to do for Síomha. It was possible this was some of the class sensibilities of Cassie's upbringing leaking in, but, putting this much work into something for someone would be seen as significant, to the people she'd come up around. If Síomha were family, that would be one thing (if a bit much even then), but since they didn't really have any formal relationship at all it was very peculiar. But, the two of them did spend a lot of time together, and Síomha obviously wasn't from the same noble set as Cassie — it was very possible the sensibilities of Cassie's time were decades out of date in any case — and Violet had wanted to thank Síomha in a way that felt appropriately meaningful to her, so, Cassie had just kept the thought to herself.

(It still seemed like too much to Cassie, felt unbalanced somehow, but she was trying to just put it out of mind. Her generation had been far more formal about this sort of thing, it probably wasn't worth worrying about.)

Once again trying to ignore all that, Cassie explained the whole process. Violet hadn't woven the fabric itself, obviously, Cassie had simply purchased that — relatively cheap silk, since they'd be embroidering and treating it themselves, and the less delicate fabric would stand up to it better anyway. Violet had done her embroidery, and Cassie had acquired a treatment from an alchemist to imbue it with sun-shading properties, so it would properly do its job of keeping Síomha comfortable while they were walking about whatever exotic locale they were visiting this time. She was aware that Síomha was a big damn alchemy nerd, she still had the papers that had come with the treatment if she wanted to look over it later.

Honestly, Cassie wasn't even sure if Síomha heard what she was saying at all — all of her attention was seemingly on the shawl, her fingers tracing over the lines of the embroidery. Cassie's explanation ran out, falling into silence again, after a moment Síomha asked, "You did all this?"

Practically shivering in place with nervous anticipation, Cassie would guess Violet's voice wouldn't be working properly at the moment. She did mange to get out an affirmative hum. "You l-l-lll-l– You—"

"Oh, I love it, it's— Come here." Síomha hung the shawl over an arm, tipped down off the divan onto her knees, and in a blink had Violet wrapped up tight in her arms — one hand buried deep in fluffy blonde curls, Violet's hands fisting in her dress.

Watching, Cassie smiled — Violet had been worried Síomha wouldn't like it, had never quite believed Cassie's insistence that there was zero chance of that happening. She was glad to have been proven right. And Violet and Síomha together were always vaguely adorable, though Cassie couldn't quite put her finger on why. Just one of those things.

(As long as she succeeded in not reminding herself that Síomha was actually much closer to Violet's age than Cassie's, anyway.)

It was getting quite late, if they wanted Violet to get going earlier than noon she should probably be getting to sleep. Once the rather extended hug was over, Cassie insisted that she really should go to bed — Violet pouted at her, but she wasn't fooling anyone. After a minimal amount of whining (there was no way she was finishing that drawing tonight anyway), a last good night hug for both Síomha and Cassie, and then Violet was padding away again. Cassie would check later to make sure she was actually in bed, but she didn't expect it to be a problem, Violet was hardly the rebellious little shite Cassie had been at that age.

Síomha had the shawl unfolded across her lap, fingers tracing over the lines with a queer little smile on her face. Obviously touched by the gesture, and rather more than Cassie had expected, to the point that there'd been a second there that she'd thought Síomha might actually tear up over it. She had the feeling that she was missing something, that there was something going on here on an emotional level that she just didn't have the context to interpret — she didn't think it was anything bad, of course, just somewhat baffling. She honestly hadn't expected Síomha to...take it this personally, she guessed.

She kind of wanted to ask what that was about, what Síomha was thinking, but didn't expect she'd got a full, straight answer if she did. "Would you two like a moment alone?"

"Hmm?" Síomha glanced up at Cassie, eyes almost seeming reluctant to pull away from the embroidery. "Oh, yes, sorry. It's only... That's such a sweet girl you have over there, you know."

"She is that."

Lips tilting toward a smirk, Síomha drawled, "Wondering how that happened?"

Not really — she'd grown up accustomed to feeling unwanted and unappreciated, so she was conscious of including other children who were being left out and ensuring people in her life were somehow repaid for showing her even the slightest bit of affection. It wasn't difficult to figure out. But that was a depressing thought, so Cassie was going to keep that to herself. With a languid, careless shrug, she just said, "Good genes. On her mother's side, of course."

Síomha scoffed in amusement, shaking her head to herself. (She still didn't know Violet's legal name, but she did know they were related through Violet's father.) Quickly folding the shawl back up, Síoma set it to the side, turned back to Cassie with a cocked eyebrow. "Not taking any credit for that at all, then."

"Hey, I just paid for the supplies, that whole project was Violet's."

"You know that's not what I meant." Cassie was temporarily confused, but she didn't really have time to contemplate it — Síomha's fingertips touched Cassie's cheek, soft and warm, and suddenly the ghostly feel of her lips a millimetre away from Cassie's seemed much more important than whatever she'd been referring to a second ago.

Síomha was clearly in a sweet, affectionate mood tonight, the first kiss slow and gentle and warm, the second just as light and soft but lingering longer, Síomha's fingertips wandering up to Cassie's hairline just a little ticklish. Her hand found its way up to the side of Síomha's neck without really thinking about it, skin almost hot to the touch, her thumb slowly tracing along the edge of her jaw, Cassie's breath thick with the taste of the wine and the rosehip oil Síomha used in her hair...

After a long moment Síomha pulled back just a couple inches, her breath still playing over Cassie's face and neck. "You're lovely," she whispered, "but I need to use the toilet."

She snorted. "Go, then. I'll close up for the night and meet you there."

Síomha took the shawl with her, carefully folded over an arm, and walked off — more of a sashay, frankly, aware that Cassie was watching her. (Tease.) She accumulated their wine glasses and Violet's tea cup onto the tray, and— Oh, Violet dropped one of her pencils, oops. Back at the kitchen area, the leftover sweets went into one of the cold cabinets, the remaining wine in their glasses poured back into the bottle, resealed with a quick charm. The tea stuff cleaned out with more charms, Cassie yawned — mm, she'd just leave Violet's pencil here on the counter, she'd see it later.

She set a few palings over the front door and the main room — the hotel had their own security, of course, but Cassie could be paranoid sometimes — before casting a quick silencing charm on Violet's door and cracking it open to peek in on her. Hard to say if she was asleep yet, but she was definitely in bed, and not trying to sneak in some more drawing time. Violet could be terribly distractible, several times Cassie had looked in on her in the middle of the night to find her reading or working on a puzzle or some artsy thing — not a big deal, usually, she was hardly a disobedient child, just needed to remind her to sleep now and then. But that evidently wasn't a problem this time, Cassie just cast a quick paling over the windows (paranoid), closed the door again before dispelling the silencing.

She had no idea if Síomha would still be in the toilet or not by now, so she dipped by the one off the common area instead. By the time Cassie got to their bedroom, Síomha was already (unnecessarily) dressed for bed — simple linen vest and drawstring shorts, apparently made by hand by one of her great-aunts (not unusual for the less comfortable commoners) — standing in front of the vanity rubbing conditioner into her hands. Cassie was rather less familiar with cosmetics and the like than the average person, thanks to not needing them, though it was rather less common for people in Ireland to need to worry about keeping their skin moisturised, at least relatively speaking. She'd asked before, apparently Síomha had gotten into the habit studying intermediate potions and early alchemy, when cumulative damage to her skin had started to be done by occasional exposure to reagents and frequent handwashing. Cassie wasn't certain what was in it, presumably a mixture of oils both natural and alchemised, but it smelled great, vanilla and lavender and clove.

(Of course, Cassie wasn't so oblivious to not realise that at least part of her appreciation of the scent was contextual — Síomha put it on every night before bed, it was just familiar by now.)

Síomha had already turned the lights out, the only illumination from a paper-shuttered lamp hanging over the low, eastern-style bed, the light tinted yellowish-orangish. Shining on her from behind at an angle from Cassie's perspective, short red hair hair seeming to glow in a yellow halo around her head, light casting colour on her back and one side of her arms and legs to leave the rest in shadow, the features of her face mostly obscured, a dim half-visible profile. Though the angle shifted her face into a more dramatic profile as she glanced up at Cassie's reflection in the mirror, half of her reflection in the light, freckles dotted here and there over her cheeks.

She smiled, light glimmering off of her teeth on one side, the other half-invisible in her own shadow. "Did Willow make it to bed this time?"

Cassie blinked at the Gaelic for a second before her brain caught up. "Yes." She wasn't sure what else there was to say, the words just not coming to her.

Síomha seemed particularly lovely in this light. It was difficult to look away.

Pulling at the straps of her wand holster, Cassie started toward the vanity, coming up behind her. The leather settled on the wood all but silently, and Cassie's hands lightly traced down Síomha's arms, her face leaning into her neck. Gently pressing her lips to her skin, soft and hot, smelling of sweat and rosehip oil and spices and smoke from dinner...

"Mmm, hello," Síomha muttered, thick with amusement. Cassie didn't bother responding verbally, continued placing slow kisses down Síomha's neck, fingers lightly following her ribs through the vest — she felt Síomha tense, shifting, leaning into her. A subtle wavering edge on her voice, she hissed, "Someone's in a mood."

Mumbled against her skin, "You're beautiful, I can't help..." Temporarily distracted by a thought, she trailed off, Síomha using the pause to turn around to face her. She tugged Cassie against her by the straps of her dress, lips hovering a breath away from Cassie's, the lamplight bringing out the amber hidden in her eyes. "Your eyes change colour in the light. Did you know?"

Síomha made a negative-sounding noise, a long, slow kiss, her hands slipping around her sides, tingly echoes running along Cassie's spine. "Surprise you notice."

"I pay attention."

"I know." Her weight shifting foot to foot, pressing against Cassie, tipping her back a step, another. Was the bed back there somewhere, she thought it might be... "I can feel you watching me."

"Mm?" She wasn't really sure what Síomha meant by that.

"Yep." Her fingers started tugging at the laces of Cassie's dress — going straight to them by feel, amusingly, must have noted their placement during the day. "Don't you notice? I do."

It took a couple seconds for Cassie to find the attention to answer, distracted by her dress loosening around her, Síomha's hands fluttering light over her back, her own hands slipping under Síomha's vest, a thrill running through her, kisses long and firm and... "Er. Not really."

"Well. I enjoy it even more, then." The laces undone, Síomha dragging the straps of her dress down off her shoulders, Cassie pulled her arms in to help, the fabric sliding down her body, Síomha giving it an extra tug to get it past her hips. Síomha pushed forward a little, unexpectedly, Cassie tried to stumble back but her ankles were caught in her dress, she overbalanced, her heart jumping into her throat—

—but she fell right onto the bed, letting out a puff of breath. Before she could quite get her bearings Síomha was over her, straddling her waist. Síomha pulled her vest over her head, tossing it aside, and in a blink she was kissing her, heavy and needful, tasting of wine and honey, each breath thick with cloves and lavender and roses...

(Cassie had a vague niggling feeling, like she was forgetting something, but it didn't seem particularly important just now.)

D'aww.

Super short one this time. The outline was originally established with a bunch of little vignettes includes, which would have been slapped together into larger chapters — but the Discord voted to post by scene, and I am merely a vessel for the popular will.

Eight more scenes — maybe only seven, I'm considering deleting one. See you nerds next time.