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The sky is just beginning to cloud over when the wizard suggests they “have a quick peek” inside the third magic shop that afternoon. This one promises ‘Rare scrolls for cheap prices!’ — a bold, and doubtlessly false claim, but Gale has already stuffed his burlap shopping bags with all kinds of inane trinkets and bottles, Lae’zel does not think he’s likely to stop now.
It was one of the druids who told them about the market just north of Waukeen’s Rest. No longer threatened by the goblin camp, the simple street of vendors and stalls is a surprisingly boisterous affair. Despite the recent fire, the mood is high-spirited. Lae’zel has discovered that people of this realm seem to enjoy the act of shopping. It seems to be more than just an act of gathering resources, but a social endeavour. She doesn’t understand it to be more than a waste of time, but the others are happy to tag along — Tav chews on a skewer of indeterminate roasted meat while making big, stupid eyes at Wyll. For his part, Wyll seems oblivious as he and Karlach discuss the merits of a great axe over a halberd. It is a conversation Lae’zel finds infinitely more stimulating than the vampire’s rambling about the lack of fine fabric in this region. Only the Sharran — Shadowheart, Lae’zel thinks her name with a secret pleasure —seems as bored as she does.
In the few weeks since she and the cleric have decided to “bury the axe”, Lae’zel has noticed a strange sort of tension between them; the hyper-awareness that she had previously attributed to distrust now makes her stomach churn and her skin itch. She notices Shadowheart more than she would like, rolls her name — Sha-dow-heart — over and over in her head, watches her from across camp — how she pokes and prods the stolen artefact as if it is hers to touch, her brow furrowed, lips pursed as though staring at the thing will somehow reveal its mysteries. It should disgust Lae’zel, or at the very least dissolve her interest. And yet she finds that she cannot curb this shameful preoccupation.
Shadowheart sighs at Gale’s excitement and says, “As appealing as another magic shop sounds, I think I might head back to camp.”
“Are you sure?” Tav sounds uncertain. There’s a small puddle of brown sauce in the corner of their mouth that they catch with their tongue. “It’s more than an hour back and these roads aren’t the safest.” Lae’zel knows they refer to their recent run-in with her people on the beach. She had shamed herself by lying to Kith’rak Voss in an attempt to conceal the relic. The smear of dishonour still marks her.
“I can handle myself,” Shadowheart replies with a misplaced arrogance that irritates Lae’zel. The cleric is a mediocre warrior and certainly not up to fighting an entire pack of gnolls should she come across another.
“I will accompany you,” Lae’zel speaks before her mind fully comprehends what she is saying. “Tav speaks the truth. The Risen Road has already proven dangerous.”
Shadowheart rolls her eyes — bright and green, ringed with black kohl. “Your concern is touching,” she says with a tone that implies the opposite. “But I am perfectly capable of walking back alone. I’ll cut through the forest if that would make everyone feel better.”
“Take Lae’zel with you,” Tav implores. “Just in case.”
Shadowheart looks like she’s about to argue and Lae’zel says, “Come. We will begin the fire so that the wizard can put those ingredients to good use when he returns.”
“A wonderful idea!” Gale, who is already halfway inside the magic shop, calls out. “With fresh thyme and these beautiful turnips, I’ll make us a feast tonight. In fact,” he shuffles back out and holds out this pack. “Would you mind taking this with you? It’s not heavy — just some tinctures, a few magical items, nothing of note.”
Perhaps sensing that she was outnumbered, Shadowheart scowls and takes the pack from Gale. “Ugh. Fine,” she snaps and turns on her heels. “Let’s go.”
They walk in silence for some time. Shadowheart idly massages the wound on her hand and sighs loudly every few minutes, but neither of them speaks. Lae’zel doesn’t particularly mind this. She’s a big believer in not speaking until you have something of worth to say. Right now, everything she could say to Shadowheart feels treacherous. Things like, “you smell like sweet morning dew and incense smoke,” or “the scar across your face would make a perfect road for my tongue.” At best, these thoughts are embarrassing, at worst, they are dangerous. They seek to distract her from the task of purification, they aim to undermine her entire objective — she cannot forget that Shadowheart is merely a thieving istik who happens to be useful to the mission.
They are at least thirty minutes from camp when it begins to drizzle. Lae’zel turns her face up to the sky that minutes ago was a muted grey. She is still surprised by how delicate the colours of this plane can be. She far prefers the bold purples and pinks of the astral plane to the soft hues that now surround her. Except there is nothing soft about the rumbling sky above them and as if to prove a point, thunder claps in the distance. All at once, the drizzle turns into a downpour.
Shadowheart lets out a small shriek and lifts her hands to her head in a futile attempt to shield herself from the rain. Lae’zel has experienced a rainstorm before. There had been a few days of intermittent rain just after they’d freed that ungrateful kainyank from the swamp hag. It had left them all damp and miserable. Only Karlach had seemed to enjoy the wet, dancing her way through mud puddles. This is nothing like that — this is loud and threatening. Lae’zel can barely make out Shadowheart’s silhouette in front of her as the rain falls in sheets, blurring everything.
“I can’t see through this!” Shadowheart shouts shouting despite their proximity. “The tree cover is useless.”
“We must find shelter!” Lae’zel calls over another boom of thunder. “We are closer to the others than camp.”
But Shadowheart is shaking her head. “If this keeps up, the road leading back to the market will be flooded by the time we reach it.” A rumbling cloud passes overhead, turning the sky even darker. “I have an idea,” Shadowheart yells and bends down to pinch up some muddy dirt between her fingers.
She stands very still, squinting in the downpour as she mutters, “Impero aqua!” Lae’zel watches as the rain around them thins and then stops completely. “I can’t keep this up for long,” Shadowheart turns to look at Lae’zel over her shoulder, her eyes dark with concentration. “Look for someplace for us to shelter!”
Lae’zel’s gaze flicks past Shadowheart, into the thicket of trees that flank them and through the curtain of rain. Her sharp eyes eventually settle on a jagged crack in the cliffside to their right, half-hidden by a copse of scrubby bushes. “There,” she points. “A cavity in the rock!”
As Shadowheart turns to look, the spell dissipates and they’re hit with an almost ungodly downpour. Shadowheart is the first to run, but Lae’zel is faster and she makes it to the cliff face seconds before her companion. She had been correct in her assessment — the crevice is wide enough for two bodies to easily slip through and the overhead ledge protects the entrance from flooding.
“After you,” Lae’zel holds out her hand in what she thinks is an amicable gesture, but Shadowheart only glances at her with mild suspicion. Her fringe is plastered to her forehead and the sides of her cheeks with water dripping off the blunt ends, creating the impression of a drowned animal.
“This isn’t a hungry owlbear’s den, is it?”
Lae’zel, annoyed that she hadn’t thought of that, places her hand on the hilt of her sword and sniffs the air for the scent of rotting meat. It smells only of moss and damp earth “If it is, I will ensure it does not make a meal of you.”
“How gallant.” There is something like amusement in Shadowheart’s voice, as if she does not take the threat of a looming predator seriously.
“Not gallant, but prudent. You have the more tender flesh. It would attack you first and then you would be useless should I require healing.”
“Lady of Sorrows preserve us. Just when I think we might actually be having a normal conversation, you—” Shadowheart stops so suddenly that Lae’zel hits her back.
“Watch yourself!”
“If you weren’t on my heels, you’d be fine. Look !”
Lae’zel glances past her and understands. The dark tunnel opens up into an expansive cave with smooth stone walls and a dry floor despite the gaps in the ceiling which let in some light. In the middle of the room, because it does look oddly like a room, is a fire pit, cold and crumbling, but seemingly functional. A sleeping mat lies beside it and and its foot, a flimsy backpack.
“Step carefully,” Lae’zel hisses, her eyes darting around the room for any signs of life. “Whoever lay here might still be about.”
Shadowheart strides towards the backpack and taps it with the toe of her shoe. The pack falls apart in a puff of dust and moth-eaten fabric. “I doubt it.” She sneezes. “This stuff has been untouched for a few decades at least.”
“K’chaki!” The gith word slips out and Lae’zel charges forward, aware suddenly of how her wet armour squeaks and squelches. “Your recklessness will get us killed and your elven heritage has certainly not gifted you lightness of feet! This place could be filled with traps.” Lae’zel squints in the half-darkness, scouring the shadows for danger.
“My elven heritage means I can see into every dark corner in this place, but don’t let that stop you.” Shadowheart bends down and begins to untie her boots. Her nimble fingers are paler than usual and Lae’zel notices the way her body shivers. “You’re free to go back out there.” She toes off one sodden boot, and then the other. “I’m going to stay here in this nice, dry, warm cave.” She points a finger at the abandoned fire pit, and with a bratty, self-satisfied smile, mouthes, “ Ignis!”
Light and warmth blaze from the ashes and ancient kindling, and Lae’zel takes an unwilling step forward. It does feel nice and for a moment she’s tempted to sit beside it and allow the flames to dry her skin. Shadowheart is pulling at the straps of her breastplate, clearly intending to rid herself of her soaked clothing. Lae’zel has seen her in her undergarments before; it is nothing new. They all bathe together whenever a decent source of water presents itself, everyone more excited to be clean than concerned with modesty — only Wyll makes the valiant attempt to conceal his nudity.
Growing up in the crèche dormitories left no room for modesty, and besides, Lae’zel does not care for the look of an istik body. Shadowheart’s body in particular speaks of weakness — it is soft and round where Lae’zel is hard and taut. Shadowheart has said enough about her beloved Shar for Lae’zel to know that it is a body made for dark purposes — seduction, espionage, thievery. The cleric is no warrior, despite her very occasional deftness with a weapon.
Why then, can Lae’zel not stop thinking of Shadowheart’s weight as she pressed down on Lae’zel, knife blade to her neck, breath hot and angry? It is infuriating .
“I’ll patrol the area,” Lae’zel declares before stomping off towards one of the smaller tunnels leading off from the main cavern. She stops once she knows she’s out of sight, sighs and shakes her head as if to clear it of intrusive thoughts. It must be the parasite infecting her judgement — its goal to destroy her mind before it takes over her body. The thought is both comforting and alarming. The sooner they find the crèche, the better. The sooner Lae’zel can be rid of her istik companions, the sooner she will feel like herself again.
She takes her time exploring. There are three interconnected tunnels leading off from the main cavern. They are all dark and narrow. In one of the tunnels, she inexplicably finds a crate containing a rotten wedge of cheese and two pieces of gold. Lae’zel pockets the coin and leaves the cheese. Beside the crate is a large, empty vase, but no other signs of life. It vexes her that Shadowheart was right. If there were people here, they are long gone.
By the time she circles back, the temperature in the main chamber is warm and inviting. Firelight bounces off the walls and around them, the rain drones on with no sign of letting up. It is… nice, though Lae’zel would fall on her own sword before admitting it aloud.
In Lae’zel’s absence, Shadowheart has shaken out the old bedroll and folded it up to sit upon like a cushion. She has also stripped down to her underwear and laid her armour out to dry. The heavy blanket around her shoulders looks too new to have already been in the cave, so Lae’zel suspects it must have come from Gale’s pack. What strikes Lae’zel most is not Shadowheart’s state of undress, nor how dishevelled she looks with her smudged eye make-up and hair coming undone, but how utterly content she seems.
Shadowheart turns as Lae’zel approaches, her smirk a challenge. “So? Manage to vanquish our hidden foes?”
Lae’zel rolls her eyes. “You jest about our safety, yet sit here half-naked and defenceless.” She gestures to the blanket. “You have made yourself as comfortable as a rabbit in its warren.” Since their acquisition of the dog, Scratch, Lae’zel has taken an interest in Faerûnian fauna — a fact she has shared with no one but Tav, who points out all manner of creatures to her on their treks.
“You sound jealous, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart replies as she works the coils out of her heavy plait. “You know you don’t have to loom over me like a gargoyle. You could relax. The others have probably found lodgings near the settlement and judging by the storm, it seems like we may be here a while.”
“Chk.” Lae’zel scoffs. “You speak as though you are pleased to be in this situation.”
“Perhaps I am.” Shadowheart undoes the top clasp on her braid so that her wet hair unravels down her back in dark waves, like the blackest sky in the Astral dominion. “I might not remember much of my past but I think I must have enjoyed a good measure of solitude. It’s…” She seems to struggle to articulate her thoughts. “It’s something I miss. I think. It’s why I wanted to go back to camp by myself. A little peace and quiet would have done me good, so this works out quite well, actually.” She lifts her chin up to consider Lae’zel. “Not with you here, of course.” She shrugs. “Though I’ll take what I can get.”
“I do not understand this desire for solitude,” Lae’zel admits.
“You’ve never craved alone time?”
“At this moment, perhaps,” she shoots back at Shadowheart. “But we — gith — are raised with a clutch. We grow, train, fight together and as one. There is strength in many. It is the only reason I remain with our…wayward companions.”
“Well,” Shadowheart wiggles her fingers at the fire. “Tell me how you really feel.”
Lae’zel scoffs again. “You cannot tell me you do not feel the same. You, who are so eager to return to your cult of night sisters.”
“It’s not a cult.” Shadowheart purses her lips. “But you’re right. Once this is all over, I will gladly return to Baldur’s Gate and my Lady’s embrace.”
“Then our arrival at the crèche cannot come soon enough.” Lae’zel tugs at the wet collar of her vest. The fabric clings to her skin uncomfortably. She’s endured worse, certainly, but it seems foolish to suffer through discomfort when she could be warming herself by the fire. With a grunt, Lae’zel begins unbuckling her breastplate and shrugging off her shoulder guards. She does not look at Shadowheart, but feels the cleric’s amused eyes on her.
She strips down to her underthings and bites down a sigh of contentment at the loss of the restrictive gear. She lays her clothes out but keeps her sword close. She will not be vulnerable, especially when most of her body is exposed.
She settles across from Shadowheart, who has gone suspiciously quiet since Lae’zel began undressing. She wonders if the Sharran is inventing some particularly nasty insult to launch at her. She’s heard it all since coming to this godforsaken plane, many of them originating from the woman across from her — quips about her nose, her markings, the way she walks and talks, jests about her creed and devotion to her Queen. Lae’zel likes to believe she is thick-skinned — a Faerûnian saying she has come to appreciate. The people of this realm are idiotic and prejudiced; it does not concern her what they make of her. Yet the thought that Shadowheart might be watching her, concocting some new taunt is not a pleasant one.
Lae’zel looks up to meet Shadowheart’s gaze, but instead of derision, Shadowheart looks away, her cheeks colouring pink in the glow of the firelight.
“What?” Lae’zel prods, her stomach churning at the sight of Shadowheart’s flushed face.
“Nothing.” Shadowheart’s eyes are still downcast, fixed on the fire. “I don’t think I’ve seen you without your face paint before.”
Lae’zel swipes a finger across her cheekbone. It comes away clean. “The rain must have washed it away. I will reapply it when we get back to camp.”
Shadowheart finally looks up and Lae’zel shifts, uncomfortable under her sudden scrutiny. “You have more spots than I imagined. Do all gith have the same facial pattern?”
“Do all half-elves have the same eye colour?” Lae’zel snaps, ready for the barb she’s sure Shadowheart is about to launch. “We are not all hatched from the same egg. There is variation among the gith as well.”
“I didn’t mean…” Shadowheart sighs. “Never mind.”
Lae’zel has never wished to understand someone the way she wishes she understood Shadowheart. There is so much the other woman says in her sighs and pauses, her frowns and pursed lips— she speaks a language of expressions that Lae’zel cannot interpret.
They fall into an awkward silence, punctuated only by the groan of Shadowheart’s stomach. “I wish we’d brought provisions,” she mutters, sounding mildly embarrassed. “I’m sure the others are eating well tonight.”
“Would that we could hunt. The storm has likely driven all creatures into their nests.”
Shadowheart’s mouth pulls into a small smile. “If Astarion was here, he might have been able to procure us a bloodless boar.”
“Chk. The vampire would never risk ruining his hair in such weather.”
Shadowheart laughs — a surprisingly rich sound. It makes the knot in Lae’zel’s stomach clench. “You’re not wrong.”
“If this rain persists, we might have to explore further. There might be something to forage. I saw an algal growth on one tunnel wall. It may prove edible.”
Shadowheart makes a face. “Not a particularly enticing thought.”
“Enticing.” Lae’zel scowls. “You istik place too much emphasis on things that taste good, look good, feel good. It is no wonder you are all soft, when all you crave is comfort.”
“So quick to defend your githyanki monolith, yet you paint us all with the same brush. I am no stranger to discontent.” Shadowheart replies, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “As a disciple of Shar, I have learned to find comfort in that which others find intolerable — darkness, solitude, pain. Still,” she aims a pointed look at Lae’zel. “I’m not eating wall slime.”
Lae’zel’s first instinct is to push back, to spit out a retort but she bites her tongue — loathe to disrupt their tentative truce.
Her gaze darts up as Shadowheart sits up on her knees and reaches for Gale’s pack. The blanket falls to her waist, revealing the brassiere that cups her soft breasts. Her slow-curling hair falls over her shoulders and down between those breasts — dark against her pale skin.
Lae’zel scrunches up her face, as though she might scowl away her thoughts. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if Gale has any wine hidden in his bag of endless things.”
“You wish for your senses to be dulled.” She doesn’t even try to keep the judgment from her voice.
“If it will help me get through this night with you, then yes.” Shadowheart starts throwing items out of the pack that seems to hold much more than its outward appearance suggests.
“While you’re looting our companion’s wares, check for some actual sustenance.”
“There’s honestly a lot of junk in here. Why does Gale need a…harmonica?” She pulls out the thin instrument and holds it up to the light.
“Perhaps it is magic,” Lae’zel suggests. “A midnight snack for the wizard.”
Shadowheart actually snorts and Lae’zel feels oddly pleased. She didn’t mean it as a joke, but she has come to realise that she rather enjoys the sound of Shadowheart’s laugh.
“No wine,” Shadowheart eventually says. “But I did find these.” She produces a clear bag filled with what seems to be berries of some kind. They’re bright red and covered in a dusting of white powder.
Shadowheart opens the packet and dips a finger inside. Lae’zel watches as sucks the powder from her fingertip. “Sugar-coated,” she confirms.
“Better than nothing.” Lae’zel’s stomach answers with a gurgle and she holds out her hand. “I will take some.”
Shadowheart deposits half the bag into Lae’zel’s cupped palms and keeps the other half for herself.
The berries are delicious — sweet and tart and surprisingly chewy. Lae’zel eats one, then another, and then tosses them back in one go. She glances over to find Shadowheart watching her. “What were you saying about things that taste good?”
“I am not familiar with this flavour,” Lae’zel manages through a mouthful of berries. “It is…quite appetising.”
Shadowheart raises an eyebrow. “The great Lae’zel of Crèche K’llir conceding to a point? How the gods do favour us.”
Lae’zel leans back, enjoying the warmth of the fire against her skin. “I dream of the day I no longer have to concede to istiks.”
“Do you?” Shadowheart asks with curiosity.
“What?”
“Dream? I mean, do gith dream?”
Lae’zel’s eyes narrow. “Why all of this interest in my people?”
Shadowheart pulls a face. “Must you always be so suspicious and objectionable? I’m asking because I’m curious. Because we’re stuck here with each other and I might as well make conversation. If you’d rather sit in silence, we could — ”
“Fine,” Lae’zel interjects. “If it will make you quiet down, then I will answer. Yes. We dream. At least, I do. I cannot speak for all of my kind.” Lae’zel remembers waking up that morning with the memory of the frost-tipped air of the Astral plane still clinging to her cheeks. She dreams of it less often than when she first landed on this plane, but still enough to make her yearn. “Though I would forego sleep altogether if I could. Your kind has an advantage there.”
“I sleep,” Shadowheart replies. “I don’t need as much as the rest of you, but I do sleep.” It takes everything in Lae’zel to not comment on the indulgence of sleeping when your body doesn’t require it. “I don’t dream, though. Or if I do, I never seem to remember in the morning.” Shadowheart offers up the information with uncharacteristic candour. As if sensing this, she looks away and continues raiding Gale’s belongings.
Lae'zel studies Shadowheart's face from across the fire as if it were a battle map, watching as the half-elf flips through a book procured from the pack. Instead of chewing, Shadowheart sucks each berry, pouting around the tart bud.
Lae’zel closes her eyes for a moment, savouring the treat. When she opens them again, the colours in the room appear brighter, sharper. Lae’zel blinks. There is a faint tingling in her jaw, as though she were still experiencing the taste of the berries.
Shadowheart’s eyes suddenly flick up — her gaze dark green and questioning.
Lae’zel’s cunt throbs in reply. She sucks in a sharp breath of surprise.
“Is something the matter?”
“I —I forgot to investigate the vase,” Lae’zel stands up in a flash of movement, nearly stumbling backwards. “I will be back shortly.”
“What in the nine hells are you on about?” Shadowheart calls out as Lae’zel retreats down a nearby tunnel.
It’s a bad excuse and it’s only once she’s out of sight that she realises that she’s left her sword by the fireplace. It is no matter. She doesn’t plan on going much further. She just needed to get away, needed to find someplace to clear her head. Something happened back there, Lae’zel thinks with blurry, indefinable panic. Something out of her control.
She paces up and down the tunnel, trying to calm her racing heart as she learned to do before battle. Lae’zel lets out a shaky breath when a tickling sensation moves down her throat and to her chest. Her nipples stiffen in response. The throbbing between her legs is getting worse, an insistent bum-bum-bum that echoes in her ears and sounds suspiciously like sha-dow-heart, sha-dow-heart. Lae’zel is content to stay hidden, all night if she has to, until this malady, this weakness of body, passes.
Five minutes go by, then maybe ten. She desperately tries to remember if she had touched or consumed anything suspicious, anything that would have affected her so violently. It takes her hazy mind longer than it should to remember the berries. If she is affected, perhaps Shadowheart is as well.
Trying to keep herself steady, Lae’zel walks back to the main chamber, suddenly very aware of how little she is wearing and how even the thin straps of her underclothes seem too constricting. She comes back to find Shadowheart pressed up against the opposite wall of the cavern, half hidden in shadow.
“Shadowheart?”
“Don’t!” She holds out a hand to stop Lae’zel from approaching. “Don’t come any closer.”
Lae’zel’s breath grows heavy. “You feel it too?”
“ Yes .”
“Tsk’va!” Lae’zel swears even as the knowledge makes her pulse with lust. “I believe we have been poisoned. The wizard’s confections—”
Shadowheart lets out a small manic laugh devoid of any real humour. “It’s not poison,” she says with a trembling voice. “I think they were aphrodisiacs. I assume one or two are sufficient to do the job.” Lae’zel isn’t sure if Shadowheart is going to laugh or cry when she says, “We ate an entire bag.”
Lae’zel is compelled to take another step closer, close enough to properly see Shadowheart, whose eyes are wide, pupils blown out. Her cheeks are pink, lips rounded in a soft ‘o’. She has her hands at her sides, closed fists, nails digging into her palms. Through the haze of lust, Lae’zel is certain of one thing — she’s beautiful.
Lae’zel’s next step puts her right in front of Shadowheart. Close enough to smell her.
“I’m not familiar with the term.” She dips her head, nose brushing the length of Shadowheart’s neck. Smoke and sweat. Her scent is dizzying.
“They’re meant to…” Shadowheart whimpers when Lae’zel presses her mouth to Shadowheart’s pulse point. “…to heighten with arousal.” The sound tugs at something inside Lae’zel and her throbbing cunt weeps with a desire so strong it’s painful.
“That is why we feel this way.” Lae’zel rasps.
“Yes.” Shadowheart’s entire body is trembling now. Her eyes are shut tight.
“The answer is simple.” Lae’zel breathes against her neck. “I will sleep in one of the tunnel chambers. We will keep apart until the effects wear off.” Her fingers twitch with the urge to reach out. She imagines threading them through the tangled length of Shadowheart’s hair, catching the knots to reveal more of her neck. “That way there will be no…temptation. Neither of us will act upon these base urges.” Shadowheart’s hips cant forward.
“Lae’zel.” A whisper of need.
“I advise pleasuring yourself.” Lae’zel knows she must step away, that she must put some distance between them for this to work, but Shadowheart's lips are parted and inviting. She rests her forehead against Shadowheart’s shoulder, trying to block out the sight. Her skin is on fire, her muscles aching with the tension of not taking what she needs. “I will do the same. That may lessen the—”
“Lae’zel.” More insistent now.
“—symptoms somewhat. Once the storm subsides, we will find—”
“Lae’zel!”
“What?” Lae’zel finally pulls away just enough to see Shadowheart say,
“Touch me.”
A command rather than a request. The words set Lae’zel ablaze. She’s delirious with arousal — a fever of want. “You cannot know what you are saying. We are both compromised.”
Shadowheart’s expression tenses in frustration. “Believe me, I wish it could be anyone else, but right now all I have is you and if you don’t fuck me, you’re going to have to kill me. I can’t bear it.”
“Shadowheart.”
Shadowheart’s moan of response is so wanton, that Lae’zel’s knees almost give in. “Aren’t you already wet? You had half a bag of those things.” Shadowheart squirms. “Don’t make me beg, Lae’zel. This is humiliating enough as it—”
“Too much talking,” Lae’zel mutters before leaning in and taking what she so desperately craves.
Lae’zel kisses her hard, kisses her until their teeth clack together and she tastes blood — whose, she can’t be sure. At the first touch of their lips, something in Shadowheart seems to snap. She arches forward and throws her arms around Lae’zel’s neck, bringing her closer. They kiss until they’re both out of breath, panting against each other like animals.
“I’ve never been so grateful for this flimsy scrap you call underwear.” Shadowheart tugs hard at the length of leather that runs down the middle of Lae’zel’s body, jerking Lae’zel even closer to her. Lae’zel leans forward to bite down on Shadowheart’s lower lip, her teeth drawing more blood only to chase it away with her tongue. She slinks out of her straps as they kiss and it falls to the floor silently, leaving her completely naked against Shadowheart’s writhing form.
“You are overdressed,” Lae’zel counters and without preamble, she falls to her knees. She hooks her fingers into the sides of Shadowheart’s panties and pulls them down, causing Shadowheart to gasp.
Lae’zel buries her face flush in the thatch of hair between Shadowheart’s legs, breathing in her scent. She’s already soaked and Lae’zel pulls back to taste the moisture on her lips. Shadowheart is musky salty, tart…not unlike the poisoned berries. She releases a long breath when Lae’zel parts her labia and licks a slow stripe up her dripping cunt. She is wetter, softer, sweeter than any gith Lae’zel has tasted.
“Don’t — don’t you dare stop.” Shadowheart’s voice breaks as she juts her hips out, greedy for Lae’zel’s touch. Lae’zel reaches around to dig her nails into the plump flesh of Shadowheart’s backside, holding her firm as she swirls the tip of her tongue around Shadowheart’s swollen clit before sucking hard. Shadowheart comes almost immediately with a cry and a gush of new wetness.
Lae’zel makes the mistake of looking up in time to watch Shadowheart recover from the throes of climax — burning cheeks, glassy eyes, and her dark fringe plastered to her forehead. The scar across her nose has turned silver against the blush of her face. It was almost too easy to make her come, and Lae'zel feels vaguely cheated.
She stands on embarrassingly shaky legs. For a moment she wonders if Shadowheart will reciprocate in kind but then Shadowheart is reaching for her, kissing her taste off of Lae’zel’s chin and cheeks before her hot tongue finds Lae’zel’s mouth. Maybe it’s their tadpole connection, maybe it’s just the intuition of lovers, but they stumble backwards to the abandoned blanket, kissing, touching, unable to stop.
Shadowheart straddles Lae’zel, who allows it for a brief moment, enjoying the slick trail Shadowheart leaves on her stomach. She flips their positions with ease and Shadowheart hits the ground with a small whump. Her legs wrap around Lae’zel immediately, as if the loss of connection would kill them both.
“Still not sated, I see,” Lae’zel drags her teeth over Shadowheart’s stiff pink nipple, earning a low groan of pleasure. She likes pain, Lae’zel surmises. That much she could have guessed.
“Perhaps you’re—” Shadowheart sucks in a breath as Lae’zel moves her fingers to cup Shadowheart’s mound “—not as good as you think.”
“Kainyank,” Lae’zel sneers. “I will show you how good I am.” She slides two fingers into Shadowheart’s warm, suckling cunt. For a moment, she loses herself in the sound of Shadowheart’s moans and the feel of Shadowheart’s flesh. The more Shadowheart writhes beneath her, the more unbearable the ache between Lae’zel’s legs becomes. She adjusts her position to straddle Shadowheart’s thigh, finding some relief in dragging her clit against the firm muscle. This position allows her to perfectly observe Shadowheart as she succumbs to pleasure. With one arm thrown over her eyes, Shadowheart murmurs a near-silent incantation. Lae’zel makes out the words, “Lady of Loss” and she adds a third finger. Shadowheart gasps, but does not stop her prayer. “Cloak me in your shadow,” she murmurs, each word punctuated by an intake of breath as Lae’zel thrusts inside her.
“Enough,” Lae’zel commands, pushing herself up to hover above Shadowheart. “It is not your goddess who brings you pleasure.” She grips Shadowheart’s wrist and tugs it away from her eyes, leaving her face naked. “You will look at me as I bring you to climax,” Lae’zel continues. “And if you must pray, let it be my name.”
She expects Shadowheart to protest, but she only blinks. She stares up at Lae’zel’s face as if seeing her for the first time. It is more unnerving than Lae’zel had anticipated. With a clear look of defiance, Shadowheart raises her knee, pressing up against Lae’zel’s centre. She narrows her eyes. “Then make me come, Lae’zel.”
Her name is molten on Shadowheart’s tongue and the heat pools in Lae’zel’s belly. She doubles her efforts and curls her fingers, thrusting until the muscles in her forearm burn. Shadowheart is so wet that Lae’zel’s thumb slips gracelessly against her clit, but Shadowheart does not seem to mind. She arches up, as if trying to consume Lae’zel’s entire hand. When she comes, it’s with a strangled cry and the whisper of Lae’zel’s name.
Lae’zel watches as Shadowheart unravels and then comes back to herself. She is the moon born from a dying star — bright and radiant. Why, Lae’zel, wonders, does she hide in such darkness. Unthinking, Lae’zel pulls her come-slick fingers out of Shadowheart and brushes the damp fringe off of her forehead. The act is tender, reverent, that it shocks them both.
As if sensing her advantage, Shadowheart flips them again, her hand going immediately to Lae’zel’s throat, holding her in place. Shadowheart leans down, her hair a curtain of the blackest night, concealing them from the world. “My turn,” she breathes against Lae’zel’s ear before kissing her way down Lae’zel’s jaw, neck, chest.
Lae’zel has never known a desire so strong it makes her weak.
Shadowheart licks a slow trail down the middle between Lae’zel’s breasts before sucking a nipple into her mouth. She scratches her blunt nails across Lae’zel’s stomach as she sucks. Lae’zel cries out in surprise, the sensation of pain brings a new gush of wetness. Perhaps they are not so different after all. She threads her fingers through Shadowheart’s scalp and pushes her down, desperation degrading any self-respect she might possess. Shadowheart doesn’t allow herself to be bullied, but instead drums her fingertips against Lae’zel ’s cunt as if she has all the time in the world. Lae’zel growls in frustration and Shadowheart replies by biting her nipple — hard. When she eventually crawls down Lae’zel’s body, it’s with a hungry look on her face. Lae’zel parts her thighs in anticipation and Shadowheart finally, finally puts her mouth where Lae’zel needs it most.
She gives as greedily as she takes, lapping at Lae’zel’s soaked folds as though she’s starving. Lae’zel bucks up and Shadowheart pulls away to sink her teeth into Lae’zel’s thigh. “Behave,” she scolds before turning her attention back to her feast. She sucks on Lae’zel’s oversensitive clit, humming as she moves down to fuck her with her tongue.
If Shadowheart was not as skilled with her mouth, Lae’zel might have been able to hold on longer. If Shadowheart did not curl her three fingers up in that very specific way, Lae’zel might have been able to keep silent. But Shadowheart is, and Shadowheart does, and Lae’zel comes with a loud, piercing cry that bounces off the cave walls and rings in her own ears. She expects to look up and see Shadowheart’s smug, preening face, but all she gets is an expression of wide-eyed awe. Shadowheart sits back on her heels and keeps her eyes on Lae’zel as she licks her fingers clean.
“You performed admirably. For an istik.” Lae’zel pushes up on her elbows, still out of breath. She should feel a modicum of shame, having succumbed so completely to the touch of an istik, but she can’t find it in her to feel anything but a hum of pleasure.
“I know,” Shadowheart replies as she crawls her way back up Lae’zel’s body. “You’re not terrible at this either. Who knew gith biology was so…familiar.” It’s hard to find any sting in her words when she’s already tracing the line of Lae’zel’s ear with her tongue. “I think it might be some time before the effects of the berries wear off, though.”
Lae’zel would chide her for being insatiable if she was not also still trembling with need.
“You speak as though you have the stamina for more.”
Shadowheart raises an eyebrow. “I do if you do.”
She takes Shadowheart’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, her grip firm as she looks into Shadowheart’s lust-dark eyes.
“Show me.”
______
Lae’zel wakes first to a dead fire and a cold cave. Beside her, Shadowheart has curled into a ball, knees pulled to her stomach, chin tucked into her chest as if she is trying to make herself as small as possible. In her sleep, the half-elf looks young. Younger even than Lae’zel. She’s faced away, her body closed off and uninviting to touch. It matters not. There will be no more touching. In the bright light of morning, all Lae’zel feels is conviction, as sharp as the ache between her legs.
The night comes back to her in a rush— memories as vivid as bloodstains on a sword. There is no shame in partaking in pleasures of the flesh — it is natural to satisfy carnal urges. Lae’zel has had many sexual partners before Shadowheart, yet the act was always about the pleasure, never about the person. Last night felt…different. Her pleasure came not just from the physical acts, but from the knowledge that they were acts done to Shadowheart, by Shadowheart. She does not enjoy this knowledge. Perhaps Vlaakith is testing her — a trial of spirit. Lae’zel does not intend to fail. She will bury all inconvenient feelings brought on by the previous night.
She doesn’t know when they eventually fell into exhausted sleep, but by then, their bodies were bruised, bitten, and sticky with each other’s fluids. She feels as if she had spent days in battle, fighting a foe who proved impossible to defeat. Lae’zel stands and dresses quickly, covering up the teeth marks on her thighs, her breasts, her stomach. There is nothing to be done for the scratches on her neck.
She is sheathing her sword when Shadowheart rouses. The cleric blinks against the pale morning light and Lae’zel watches the slow process of remembering take hold. Shadowheart’s eyes dart to Lae’zel and then back to her nakedness. She stands up, shoulders back and an arrogant tilt of her chin.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to know that the storm has broken,” Lae’zel answers sharply. “You have spent enough time snoring. We should make for camp.”
Shadowheart glances up. Streams of sunlight pierce through the small cracks in the ceiling. “I’ll just get dressed,” she says quietly. “Then we can go.”
Shadowheart retrieves her clothes in silence. She slips on her bracers, laces up her boots, folds up the blanket they slept on. Her armour does nothing to hide the large purple mark on her neck or her swollen lip. Lae’zel wonders if Shadowheart could heal them both with a spell, but thinks better of it before asking. Battle scars should not be hidden.
When she starts on her hair, Lae’zel takes an uncertain step towards her. She stops at the look of wariness on Shadowheart’s face. “I am adept at braiding. It will be faster if I do it. Were we to wait for you to finish, it would be nightfall by the time we caught up with the others.”
Shadowheart considers her for a moment. “Fine.”
She turns, offering up her loose ponytail for Lae’zel. She is most of the way through braiding the long plait when Lae’zel releases a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Her breath flutters against the soft hairs on the nape of Shadowheart’s neck and Shadowheart emits a squeak that she tries to disguise with a cough.
Lae’zel is not so oblivious that she can’t tell how her nearness affects Shadowheart. Still, she takes a step back. “That is good enough.”
Shadowheart runs her fingers over the plait. “Thank you,” she murmurs so softly, that Lae’zel almost misses it. Shadowheart turns back to her, seems to be considering something as sucks her bruised lip into her mouth for a moment before saying, “About last night—”
“Chk.” Lae’zel spits out, harsher than she intended. “A madness brought on by the stimulant. We need not speak of it again.”
“Y-yes,” Shadowheart frowns and then sniffs and straightens up. “Precisely. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Enough time spent talking,” Lae’zel walks impatiently towards the entrance of the cave. “The sooner we return to camp, the sooner we can make our way to the crèche. Once this ghaik infection is removed, we might be finally rid of each other.”
If Shadowheart replies, Lae’zel doesn’t hear it.
They’ve barely walked a mile when they hear Karlach’s voice, carried by the fresh morning breeze. “Oi, you lot! They’re over here!”
Karlach’s blazing head appears at the top of the trail, quickly followed by the others. Wyll’s face breaks into a grin upon seeing them and Tav waves like a fool. They catch up quickly.
“Well, look who it is!” Karlach almost throws her arm around them. But stops herself short. “The road was completely flooded last night. We thought you’d been carried away.”
“We did not,” Astarion says languidly. “We assumed you found shelter and survived the storm. We did take bets over whether you’d survive each other.”
“By the looks of it,” Gale motions to Shadowheart’s lip, “it seems you barely did.”
“Don’t tell me you were at each others’ necks again,” Tav sounds like a scolding varsh.
Lae’zel steps forward. “If you must know—”
“Owlbear!” Shadowheart blurts out. “We fought an owlbear. A—a big one. Monstrous.” She shoots Lae’zel a look that can only be interpreted as “play along, idiot.”
“Then I’d say you’re bloody lucky to be alive,” Karlach replies. “Though don’t tell the little guy at camp.”
“It must have been quite a fight,” Tav adds. “Owlbears are particularly territorial this time of year, what with the mating season closing in.”
They all turn to look at them and Tav shrugs. “I read.”
“It was…” Shadowheart casts a glance Lae’zel’s way. “Spirited.”
“And yet here you stand. Triumphant!” Gale comes towards them. “And you have my pack!”
“Take it.” Lae’zel shoves it roughly at him. “It has caused us nothing but trouble.”
Gale glances into the half-opened pack. “Surely the blanket came in handy.”
“Not the blanket, wizard.” Lae’zel scowls. “Your…” she tries to remember the word Shadowheart had used the night before and fails. “Your arousal berries.”
“Lae’zel.” Shadowheart looks as vexed as Lae’zel feels.
“Arousal?” Astarion’s eyebrows lift in delight.
“Arousal…” Gale’s brow wrinkles in confusion before lighting up. “Ah! You found the thunder berries! A marvellous ingredient. I suppose they do induce a sort of mental arousal.” He pauses and looks between them. “You didn’t eat them all, did you?”
Lae’zel grunts. “We did. There was no other sustenance to be found.”
“Well, that’s 50 gold gone,” Gale grumbles. “But it also explains why you were able to take down the owlbear by yourselves. Your mental connection must have been an incredible asset in battle.” He sighs wistfully. “Honestly, I’m a little jealous. I’ve never experienced tactile telepathy.”
“Ooh! Tactile telepathy,” Karlach echoes. “That sounds neat.”
“Chk.” Lae’zel shakes her head. “I do not understand your rambling. You speak nonsense words.”
“I can’t be any plainer,” Gale says. “Thunder berries are used to make a very rare mind-reading potion. It allows you to experience the emotions and sensations of the other person, rather than just read their thoughts.”
Shadowheart makes a strangled sound. “No. That’s not—” Her face is pale when she glances at Lae’zel and then away quickly.
For her part, Lae’zel feels confused — an emotion she despises. “You are saying that if Shadowheart felt something, I would feel it also?”
“Oh yes,” Gale confirms. “And vice-versa. A sort of ping-pong effect if you will. Since you both ate three times as much as you should have I imagine it was quite an intense experience.”
“It was—”
“Nothing to dwell on.” Shadowheart’s voice is high-pitched, strained. She pushes past Lae’zel towards the others and Lae’zel can’t help but notice the slight limp as she walks. “I’d rather hear about your night,” Shadowheart is saying to Karlach. “I’m sure it was a lot less harrowing..”
“Funny you’d say that. D’you remember Dammon?”
Lae’zel watches them until they’re out of earshot, her heart beating irregularly in her chest. It is an uncomfortable, irritating feeling.
“Well,” Gale claps a hand on Lae’zel’s shoulder, only to take it back quickly when she glares at him. “I’m glad you both made it out the night unscathed.” he smiles at her and walks off to catch up with the others, readjusting the backpack on his shoulder as he goes.
She wonders then, if the zaith’isk will purify all of her weaknesses along with the parasite, if she will be cleansed of her shame, or whether she will have to kneel in front of Vlaakith the Undying and admit that the wizard was wrong — she did not make it out unscathed.
_____
They spend the rest of the day diligently avoiding each other. Lae’zel offers to check the nets they had laid down in a nearby stream the day before. Shadowheart turns her attention to Astarion, attempting to barter for the various eyeliners and face powders he acquired at the market. The day goes on—banal and uninterrupted. Gale makes a stuffed fish for dinner — so delicious that even Lae’zel comments on his achievement. The wizard beams and goes into details none of them asked for. It is only once the cloudless night has turned cool and everyone has retired to their tents that Lae’zel notices Shadowheart’s absence.
She remembers the Sharran’s desire for “alone time” and vacillates over whether to search for her or just leave it be. Before the previous night, Lae’zel would not have cared where Shadowheart had slunk off to, but she finds herself unable to do the judicious thing, finds that there is still too much unsaid and unsettled. She must end this once and for all.
She finds Shadowheart on a ledge overlooking the water. She is half-hidden in shadow, but Lae’zel can make out the furrow of her brow as she fights with the cork on a wine bottle. It is embarrassing to watch.
Shadowheart turns sharply as Lae’zel steps forward. Too many things flash over her face for Lae’zel to decipher.
“Oh, it’s you.” Shadowheart makes another attempt at the cork and it releases with a pop. “If you’re here to talk, I’d rather not.” She brings the bottle up to her lips and takes an impressive sip.
“You are embarrassed by your actions,” Lae’zel surmises, hands on her hips. “You should not be. You are in fine company of the many admirable gith warriors I have taken as lovers.”
Shadowheart’s head snaps up to shoot her a look so venomous, that Lae’zel has to fight to not take a step back. “My actions ? ” She stands, wine forgotten as she stalks towards Lae’zel until she’s right up against her. “You were the one who projected your—your deviant feelings onto me!”
Lae’zel straightens, enjoying her slight height advantage over the half-elf. But she did not come here to fight and she keeps her tone calm in the face of Shadowheart’s fury. “You are mistaken. I experienced the first assault of lust, an obvious reflection of your desires.”
“You think I would ever willingly desire you?” Shadowheart sneers. “I don’t care what Gale says. Last night was a—”
Shadowheart sucks in a breath when Lae’zel grips her hips and roughly pulls her closer.
“I thought I was going mad,” Lae’zel breathes, her mouth just a hair’s breadth from Shadowheart’s. “That I was infected with more than just this ghaik tadpole. But now I see…I was only responding to your lust for me.”
“There is no lust.” But Shadowheart’s objections come from a trembling voice as Lae’zel’s fingers dig into her hips.
“Do not worry yourself, Sharran.” Lae’zel’s tongue flicks against the tip of Shadowheart’s pointed ear. A tactic to throw her off, Lae’zel tells herself — nothing more. “I won’t tell the others how you debased yourself for a disgusting gith.”
Shadowheart braces both palms on Lae’zel’s chest and pushes. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she spits out. “And don’t look at me like that. What happened last night will never, never happen again.”
“Then we are agreed on one thing,” Lae’zel replies, comforted by the familiarity of this dynamic. This is what makes sense; this she understands.
She leaves Shadowheart alone in the dark, under the watchful gaze of a full moon.
Later, when Lae’zel dreams, it is not of the stars that paint the sky off the port of Crèche K’llir or even of the flash of red dragon scales in the heat of battle. These are things she has dreamt of before, and things she will dream of again.
Instead, Lae’zel dreams of soft skin, the smell of incense, and a need so great, it does not have a name.