Lucia tensed, her eyes darting over to Talia in sudden fear. The Duke stood and held out a hand to forestall any quick action, before crossing over to the tent flap herself.
“The Marshal will see no visitors,” Talia called out.
There was a pause.
“Who the hell are you?” And a thick pair of fingers drew open the tent flap, revealing a far more richly-decorated man than the Marshal.
Talia moved faster than breathing, burying another of the thin, poison-tipped knives into his shoulder—he had to be a General—but not before he managed to cry out “Alarm! To ar—”
He groaned as he passed out, crumpling on the ground.
“Horses to the right. Run!” Talia said, and Lucia didn’t need to hear her twice. Hoisting her cloak, she dashed out of the tent after Talia, eyes wide as she saw various soldiers move to intercept them.
There was an explosion to the left, and Lucia blessed Cleft’s decision to accompany them. He would have kept his eyes on the tent all through Talia and Lucia’s machinations. A general cry went up through the camp, but for the moment no one seemed to know where to run.
That would soon change. They needed to hurry.
Talia bowled over two young soldiers, green recruits by the look of them, as she swung onto a horse and dug in her heels. She sawed the reins and guided the beast right down on top of Lucia, who ducked and barely caught Talia’s outstretched arm. The crack of musket-fire lanced across the sky as Lucia felt herself hoisted onto the horse’s back.
“Hold on for your life.” Talia’s voice was deadly serious.
Lucia muffled a squeak as she threw her arms around her Duke, pressing her head against the woman’s back and feeling the strain and flex of her muscles. The horse broke into a full gallop, and the demon remembered why she had rarely ridden the things: every moment she gasped and felt at the point of being thrown from the powerful animal’s back, as the world around her began to dissolve into a blur.
The horse jumped, and Lucia’s stomach joined her heart at her throat; she barely managed to keep from retching as the horse slammed its hooves back onto allegedly solid ground and continued its furious gallop.
Lucia buried her face into Talia’s back and screwed her eyes closed, willing herself to focus on the woman in her arms, the curve of her back, the breath of her body, the beat of her heart, the thrum of tight focus that animated her powerful frame.
It was a long time before the animal began to slow. Blinking, Lucia looked around and saw the trees of the forest breezing by. Talia leaned back, bringing the horse to a full stop. “Any longer and the poor beast will die,” she pronounced in a low murmur. “And I believe we’ve outlasted any pursuit.”
Talia dismounted, and then held out a hand for her wife. Lucia took it, far too rattled to attempt a dismount under her own power. Lucia dropped gracelessly to the ground, her legs refusing to work—but the Duke held her steady.
The demon’s eyes found Talia’s.
Talia searched them. “Are you all right?”
Lucia took a deep breath through her nose. “I … in a moment, I think. I will be. Yes.”
It was very hard for her to look directly at Talia, but she managed somehow. Lucky for her, Talia was the one to break the stare.
“Good. I apologize for putting you in needless danger.”
“Oh, that’s fi—I mean, uh, apology accepted. I guess.”
Talia squeezed her shoulder, then in a lower voice said, “I mean it. I … I care for you, and I do not wish any ill upon you; quite the contrary. Though I know you would not truly perish from blade or flame. I suppose it is an entirely silly notion, but—”
Lucia found herself quite unable to control herself. She leaned into Talia and pressed her lips against the Duke’s.
It was a perfect, silent moment.
Lucia felt Talia’s sharp intake of breath, and then a slow release as the Duke relaxed into the kiss. Then, the demon’s head caught up with her heart.
She pulled away sharply, tongue bare of words she could say—should say. She searched Talia’s eyes, dived through her emotions. There was desire there … but also a sharp pin of disgust thrumming at her base. The emotion was unmistakable. Lucia shook herself, the sudden clarity of the moment shattered as she turned away.
It felt like falling, her sight darkened at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” she managed. “I should have asked, I mean …”
Lucia stepped back, arms clasped around herself as shame burned on her cheeks. She would not cry. No. She stifled a choking sob as she forced herself to take a deep breath.
“Lucia,” Talia began, but something caught in the Duke’s throat as well.
Lucia spoke after half a moment. “You don’t have to say it. I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”
She closed her eyes again, and was not surprised to feel hot tears welling behind her eyelids. She was weak, and foolish. This romance could never be. So long as Lucia existed in the world, she was bound by contract; and when that contract stood fulfilled or void, she would be plucked from this place, from the face of Melodia, and would be lucky to return in decades, if not centuries.
It was all impossible.
So why, oh why, did it hurt so much to know Talia did not feel the same desire as her?
Talia cleared her throat. “I suppose you are correct. But, in the future,” and she coughed again before a long pause. The Duke looked over at Lucia, eyes tracing her face. She left the sentence unfinished before she crossed over to the horse, took it by the reins and led it by foot through the forest.
After a long moment, before she disappeared from sight, Lucia followed.