He thought the poisoning had been an effort to protect him, to make sure the patricians couldn’t order him into the field she’d been poised to raze.
But it also could have been to make absolutely sure he, the one Aurelian legatus who’d ever been able to keep up with her, couldn’t interfere with her plan, and she’d taken him off the board the only way she’d been able to; the only way he’d let her.
Was it all a long con, which she had proved she was absolutely capable of, or did they really have a bizarre, twisted friendship?
If Varius was wrong, he’d die today.
And now he was going to, what, just knock on her door? Give her a chance to kill him when he couldn’t put up even a token resistance, in case that had really been her goal all along?
And if it wasn’t, he was going to show up already injured with nothing to offer her but problems she’d managed the impossible to leave behind? Hello, it’s your favorite old enemy, let’s have some tea and catch up before I bleed out on your floor?
This was a mistake.
Varius somehow slowed even further. Maybe all the branches he’d caught on in the forest had been his subconscious trying to convince him to make better choices. Only now, out of the forest with no obstacles before him, did it feel like he was walking into a trap. Those vines up ahead could choke him, he was sure. And probably would.
But he was on apath, of all things, beautiful flat stones leading him on a lightly winding route through—gardens. Carefully cultivated, not a clearing after all. No wonder the trees had stopped so abruptly.
Even in the dark he could see the gardens were flourishing, which meant the sorceress who lived here had plenty of materials at hand to feed her spells and brandish them against him.
Not that she’d need to, in his current condition.
Varius reached the door.
It was huge, looming before him like it belonged to a castle instead of a cottage, with an ornate metal knocker. An appropriate hint of grandeur for any who dared approach a sorceress adept of the first tier.
There was also a mat at his feet, and in the light from the window it looked like it was woven with a floral design, more vines, and very clearly thorns, just like the ones framing the door.
The vines were probably poisonous, too, something she cultivated in her front yard. That would be just like her, to greet any visitors to her home with a cozy threat.
The thought obscurely centered him. This was probably a mistake, but under the circumstances he didn’t have better options.
So Varius did what he always did. He steeled himself, and braced for impact.
Which is to say, he finally picked up the godscursed knocker, winced at his abused ribs, and knocked.
One breathless moment, where he suddenly realized she could simply not open the door to him—
And then she did.
The monstrous door opened partway, and there Theira stood, bathed in light.
Her black, wavy hair cascaded luxuriantly untamed around her, a dark contrast to her pale face. She wore a simple dress with a utility belt, a cozy mauve rather than the showy amethyst he associated with her on the battlefield, and for the first time he saw her without the bold makeup she favored.
Maybe she didn’t bother because, for once, she didn’t look tired.
Had he ever been this physically close to her? Varius couldn’t recall. It seemed impossible, that he—they—could just be here. So close, one more step, and he could touch her, and not just in his dreams. He ached with the effort not to reach out, struck silent by the strange intimacy of the moment, her lips without paint, her beauty as wild as ever without adornment.
The vines around the door twisted, thorns pointing toward him in clear, unstated warning, but he barely noticed, so arrested by the sight of her and the sudden reality that she was really here, andhewas here, that somehow they had both made it to this place together.
Surrounded as ever by barbs.
Into that silence, the Sorceress Transcendent spoke first.
“I was beginning to wonder,” Theira said, cool amusement in her voice, “if you thought that this time for sure you would be able to simply stare me into submission.”
It was the sound of her voice after all this time more than even the vision of her alive and well and free and gorgeous that almost undid him. His knees tried to buckle, and Varius caught himself.
Theira tracked the movement, and the thorny vines withdrew abruptly. She never missed anything, even if she didn’t speak. How long had he stood at the door like a dumbass?
