Heirot

The first task was getting rid of the mutilated corpses of the creatures that had attacked them. They worked together to pile the bodies and burn them. It was too much work to dig holes to bury them in. That night she bathed the grime off in the lake, made soup from the vegetables she found in the garden, and read a book aloud to Havitharon. She fell asleep to the sound of insects singing in the dark.

Over the next few days, Tenara woke to find Havitharon as she had before—a sword. Each morning, she conjured him back and, each morning, she had less and less control over the effects of doing so. It seemed the harder she tried to hold back bleeding her sensations into him, the stronger they got. Until she either stormed away in frustration, or to cool her head before she climbed over him, onto him...

She'd taken to draping a blanket over him and slipping her hand beneath it to access the blade—she had not tried using her magic without it yet—and sometimes this resulted in her awkwardly having her hand resting on... Which was the case this morning. Desire burned its path through her, fierce and bright and unyielding. It took all of her focus to pull herself away and go out to the porch, to give him some space, but mostly to give it to herself. She pressed her back to the porch post, feeling the hard angle dig into her spine, and focused on that sensation.

The craving for release was almost painful, and even the ache in her back was pleasant in comparison to the need between her legs. She clenched her hands in her cotton gown and fought the urge to slip one beneath it and drive away the desire with her own fingers, cursing whatever parent had blessed her with this lust-woven magic.

She took a steadying breath. Closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She thought of the cool lake water, and the rain a few nights before. And just as she thought of the rain, she thought of Havitharon’s warm back pressed to her chest, and imagined him storming out of the cottage and taking her against the porch post, hard edges and all.

She groaned, both irritated and aroused.

A walk... she needed a walk. A dip in the lake. Something. She wondered, and not for the first time, if they just... got it out of there systems somehow, if it would get better. Or, perhaps, she was just not trying hard enough. Did he think she wasn't trying hard enough? Did he hate this?

Tenara stared at the open doorway, wanting to see him, feel him. Was it all in her head? All manufactured by magic? He said it felt like a drug… but to her it felt so real.

When he was sure Tenara had left the room, Havitharon rolled onto his stomach. It was all he could do not to thrust himself against the warm sheets where her body had slept beside him. The defensive anger that had been his dominant response to such helpless arousal for the last few days was slowly losing its bite. The outrage sat dull at the back of his thoughts, not nearly as demanding of his attention. After all, how many times had she passed up the opportunity to use this feeling against him? She had yet to try to control him, seduce him, or humiliate him. At some point, despite all life experience to the contrary, he had stopped seeking some agenda behind her actions. Given how quick she was to flee the room when he woke, he suspected she might actually hate this even more than he did. She actually was literally trying to practice this awkward new routine of theirs. As a result, he was able to resume some form of a life. He bore her no ill will for this.

That was what he told himself, as he strained against the mattress. The lack of release wasn't necessarily painful, but it was still becoming torture after all these days. His breath came in frustrated huffs. He could still feel the phantom touch of her hand resting over him. It felt so good whenever she held him. Should he relieve himself? On this world so overpopulated with males, no one would come barreling in and try to punish him for wasting his precious seed. But she would probably know it if he did.

Was that a problem? Of course it was... right? This sensation had a mind of its own, and he hadn't decided to trust it yet. He shouldn't just give it control.

He twisted free from the sheets and tugged his pants on brutally over his indolent lower half. Then he sat on the bed, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Under control," he called out to her in the next room. It had become standard to give her the "all clear" when his body was sufficiently subdued and/or hidden... even if he was still shirtless and out of breath.

Tenara took a deep breath and shifted off the porch post, smoothing her sweating palms along the cotton slip she was using for a dress. It was warm, sometimes too warm, and Havitharon knew nothing of her world's fashion to make her feel embarrassed about traipsing around in undergarments.

Her skin was still flushed when she stepped inside, trying not to look awkwardly at him. "I will try harder tomorrow," she said. "Perhaps if I... focus on another emotion. Or take my hands off you immediately?"

"We could try that," he assented carefully. Was it her appearance? His body had just shot back to full alert. "Listen... I could be imagining this, but... the reactions..." he swallowed as his gaze lingered a little too long on her flushed, half-parted lips. "Does it not seem like they are actually getting worse?"

Her shoulders slumped a little and she trudged into the room, sitting on the bed. "You're not imagining it," she said, looking defeated. "I can't tell if I'm trying too hard or not hard enough." She rubbed her arm, and even that still felt pleasant enough to send a shiver through her. She lifted her gaze to him, tried to keep it focused on his face. She failed.

"It is so strong... Even now, the spell is over. It's passed and I still want you—" Her cheeks flushed darkly, her eyes going wide.

Something in her wide-eyed expression broke him away from the temptation he'd nearly considered indulging. It was one thing to simply feel the desire, but the moment he started actually contemplating acting on it physically, his mind slipped into a much more familiar gear. His posture straightened and his gold eyes set on her. He was no longer in the flow. He was playing a very familiar and hateful game of chess.

"I believe we are rushing. The pressure needn't be so high. If you are rushing for my sake, perhaps you should... leave me in that form, for a few days. Give yourself room to think."

Tenara frowned. "You'd rather be a sword than..." He'd rather be a literal sword than have her want him? Or feel these feelings? Was it so awful? Yes, she supposed it would be for him. "I will try a different method tomorrow... If that doesn't work, I can leave you as a sword if you prefer it."

He frowned and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. His lithe body was tall enough that he had to duck slightly when he passed between rooms in the small cottage. She seemed unhappy, and he wasn't sure why. "I am grateful," he assured, "for your persistence. The magic seems to come to you at great cost. Unlike mine, your body is real. I don't know what this new method of yours is, but if it's going to be even more dangerous..."

Tenara didn’t have a different method. Not yet. But, he didn’t need to know that. He already knew she was just making it all up as she went along. She thought she could come up with an idea throughout the day—one centered around suppressing her emotions.

“Speaking of great cost… I should try to send a letter again.” The other day, when she’d tried sending a letter to Sinead explaining what had happened, her thoughts had wandered to Rami, and her uncontrolled magic nearly destroying her grandmother’s city, and how disappointed Sinead likely was in her. Tenara had left a nice set of scorched footprints in the floorboards before Havitharon managed to shake her out of it. The letter burned up in her hand.

She went to a small desk tucked into the corner and began rummaging for more parchment, opening a drawer and grabbing a stack of folded papers. Out slipped something shimmering and blinding bright—at least to Tenara. She knew immediately she shouldn’t catch it as it fell, but instinct drove her hand forward before she had registered what the object was. Her palm caught the holy medallion at the same time she shook it off with a painful shriek. It had only touched her palm for a fraction of a second, but it had burned the image of Thar’s church into her skin. She watched with pain-watered eyes, clutching her hand, as the medallion rolled to clonk against Havitharon’s boot.

Havitharon jerked free of the wall and glanced warily at the object that struck his boot. Was this hurting her? He felt strange too, as if the air in the room had just turned stale. He tore the shutters wide on the window next to him, grabbed the object off the floor, and hurled it outside. He expected it to injure him as it had her, but he felt nothing touching it. "Tenara," he went to her side in three long strides. "What happened?"

She turned her palm up into the sunlight. Her hand trembled, and she used her other to wrap around her wrist and still the violent shaking. The symbol of brilliant sun and centered star marred her skin in singed, gruesome flesh.

She breathed through clenched teeth, hating how something so small could hurt so badly. “It’s… an allergy,” she said, voice hitching.

She wondered what he would think of her if she told him all the things that were good and pure of their world, all the glittering silver or water or weapons blessed by a benevolent god, would burn her to ash, or trap her, or weaken her if set upon her. She was a child of monsters. Maybe she was one too.

“It’s blessed by a god, a good one. A kind one. But, He did not get along with my grandfather, and as such, all that is His will harm me.” It was the easiest way to explain, she thought, without making it sound like she was a beast in pretty flesh.

Havitharon stared at the wound, and at her. "That is not an allergy. Why are God's belongings in this cottage? Was he one of the owners you mentioned?"

Tenara chuckled darkly, painfully. He was right, it was definitely not an allergy. She went to the sink and began pumping cold well water over it.

“No. He wasn’t a god,” she said in a breath. “It’s a talisman. It’s something followers of Thar carry with them, or hold when they pray. They were believers, I guess, though it didn’t save them from Verin’s children…”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Would you look for a bandage or a cloth?”

He blinked at her, not understanding half of what she was saying. "Yes. Sit. I'll be back," he said, leaving for the small washroom off the kitchen. His head was blank as he rummaged through the cabinet there. He hadn't seen her in that much pain before.

No, he had. When he'd first met her, and she'd been half-conscious and suffering in the mud. Funny. He didn't remember feeling this way then.

He found what looked like a bandage - a long, rolled cotton strip stored in a bag with some other items like tweezers and scissors. It seemed commensurate with his expectations for a first aid kit, so he took the whole thing and returned to Tenara. "You should sit," he suggested when he noticed how pale she looked.

Tenara nodded and reluctantly pulled her hand from the cool water, sliding into one of the chairs at the dining table in the center of the kitchen. She cradled her hand for a second before offering it out to him. It would be easier if he bandaged it, mostly because she didn’t think she had either the stomach or dexterity to. She would try very hard not to kick him.