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Isabella slowly ramps up her working speed, and now it includes researching motion-spells (and an embarrassing amount of falling over, but she's working on that, she managed dagger lessons and she can manage this) and writing letters - conventional mail-oriented letters, she is not sending Path on courier errands again anytime soon - to witches who know about nasty magic. (For all her insistence, Metis isn't a specialist, she just believes in a well-rounded education.)
Isabella's grandmother sends her the clan library's Book of Tattoo Spells. A witch from Brazil sends her a curse that matches the parameters she wrote asking about.
"Hey, Kas," says Isabella, climbing up to the attic after fetching the mail and brandishing the latter. "Guess what Niada Ivakesi sent me."
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truthwright
"You're not," Kas agrees. He tucks his hands behind his head and leans back, unconcerned—flagrantly unconcerned. Taunting her with the absence of fear.
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"So since that's understood we're heading - straight - back," she pronounces sharply, emphasizing her consonants.
Bow is strung. She lets it dangle from her left hand loosely. She reaches up as though to scratch her shoulder - near her arrows.
"Aren't we, dear?"
(Even for crazy witches, killing an occasionally wayward lover is not the first resort. She's got a cousin whose first husband ran away six times before she killed him in a fit of miserable fury. A bad time for all involved.)
Bow is strung. She lets it dangle from her left hand loosely. She reaches up as though to scratch her shoulder - near her arrows.
"Aren't we, dear?"
(Even for crazy witches, killing an occasionally wayward lover is not the first resort. She's got a cousin whose first husband ran away six times before she killed him in a fit of miserable fury. A bad time for all involved.)
truthwright
His eyes drift shut, not quite all the way. He smiles.
"Take a guess," he purrs.
"Take a guess," he purrs.
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Isabella plucks an arrow from the quiver and looks at him with affected dismay.
"I thought we were having fun," she murmurs. (Because crazy witches are sad, too, not only furious, because he hasn't been so openly defiant as for shouting to become appropriate.) "Why would you leave? Why would you do that to me when I love you so much?"
"I thought we were having fun," she murmurs. (Because crazy witches are sad, too, not only furious, because he hasn't been so openly defiant as for shouting to become appropriate.) "Why would you leave? Why would you do that to me when I love you so much?"
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"But you're mine," she hisses, clenching her bow. "Mine."
(Everything about this feels unnatural now. The alethiometer was right, she can't imagine ever actually doing this. Pleading with him, maybe, plotting to shoot him if he won't come back with her emphatically not.)
(Everything about this feels unnatural now. The alethiometer was right, she can't imagine ever actually doing this. Pleading with him, maybe, plotting to shoot him if he won't come back with her emphatically not.)
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"Oh, you'll be nobody's," she snarls, whipping the bow around to nock and aim an arrow. She only half-draws; if she slips and the arrow looses accidentally it might hit him, but not hard enough to kill through the bayleaf protection if she's quick with the healing. "Last chance."
truthwright
"Sweetheart," he sighs rapturously, untucking his hands from behind his head and stretching out his arms. "You say the nicest fucking things."
He opens his eyes, smiles, and beckons.
"C'mere, gimme a kiss. One for the road."
He opens his eyes, smiles, and beckons.
"C'mere, gimme a kiss. One for the road."
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Isabella's not sure whether to drop out of character yet or not. She compromises, relaxing the draw but holding onto both bow and arrow while she leans forward for a hard, bruising, wanting kiss.
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Screw character. The bow clatters to the bottom of the boat. If she wants to drop back in she can pull her dagger. Kisses.
truthwright
"You are fucking magnificent," he breathes in her ear. And then kisses her again.
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"Mine," she keens back. She bites this time. Her hands are bent into near-claws behind his back, clutching him tight.
truthwright
"Love you," he pants into the brief space between kisses. "Love you so much."
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"Good."
That could be in or out of character. She's not clear anymore.
That could be in or out of character. She's not clear anymore.
truthwright
"If I belonged to anybody," he murmurs, "it'd be you." Kisses. "And if I was gonna die, I'd want you to kill me." More kisses. "And instead you're gonna make me immortal," kisses, "and I'm gonna love you forever."
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They are clearly out of character. Isabella abandons musing on the dagger and focuses wholly, utterly on the kisses and on Kas and on how glad she is that her brain works in this way and not in that other awful way that would have him dead now instead of loving her.
truthwright
Kas is glad of that, too. Maybe not the same way, or to the same degree, but he is, he is. He loves her so much. What's taking his sweetie so long? Because they all need to be cuddling right now.
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Path, clinging to Isabella's silks on her back, hoots a soft agreement.
truthwright
A dolphin leaps out of the water with something golden clutched in his beak.
The alethiometer drops into the boat. Petaal shifts to a glittering blue-green dragon and lands on Kas's shoulder, then shifts witch and hugs him from behind.
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"Hey you," mumurs Isabella, grinning. "You missed the show. Pity I didn't take a little longer about chasing you guys."
truthwright
"So, we should fuck now," Kas announces.
"Definitely," says Petaal. She steps around Kas, switching sex as she does, and opens her arms to Isabella. "C'mere, you, I want kisses."
"Definitely," says Petaal. She steps around Kas, switching sex as she does, and opens her arms to Isabella. "C'mere, you, I want kisses."