Theira froze. Her eyes darted up to his.
Varius’ gaze was steady. “Your art. The house. All of it.”
Did she want that? Yes and no.
She wanted to show someone, and him in particular, so desperately she was terrified to.
And that, ultimately, was what decided her.
Not that she could trust him, though she thought she could. But the Sorceress Transcendent didn’t cower for anyone, and certainly not herself.
Varius knew what she would answer. He stood and held out a hand.
Not because she needed it. But because he could offer.
She clasped onto him, and let him help her to her feet.
Varius was very careful as Theira gave him a tour of her home. Too effusive, and she’d think he was mocking her; too silent, and she’d shrivel inside and never let on except for a slow withdrawal from their relationship, whatever it was. That was the last thing he wanted.
He wanted her to feel free, and even though she’d escaped physically, she clearly didn’t. The pasthadn’tfollowed her here, but for Theira, that was a problem. She’d never rest easy until she had resolution, too.
Varius couldn’t help with that, though in a way, perhaps his arrival was a kind of boon in that regard—she’d have to deal with it now. Whether there was a way to move on, he didn’t know.
But he could look with unfeigned interest as Theira showed him the space she’d made for herself, and ask intelligent questions, and let her experience, for the first time, finally, what it might be like to share her home with another person.
His chest ached at the thought. Unconscionable, that she’d never had this before. Poignant, that he was her first.
Andthatwas a thought to rein in, because interested she might be but accepting of his possessive urges was something beyond.
Theira had grown more relaxed as they proceeded through the house—the many guest rooms, a sitting room with haphazard books and a view of her garden, a peek into a precisely ordered laboratory that apparently had better protections against sorcerous surprises than the kitchen—but there was one room she hesitated at.
“You don’t have to show me your bedroom,” Varius said.
Theira shook her head, which didn’t surprise him—that would probably be the door at the end of the hall. “It’s not that.”
Then she opened it, and here was where he felt her presence like the kitchen.
Which was to say, it was a disaster.
Color everywhere in various textures, made with different tools and mixes, sheets discarded, mounted across walls, fabrics in baskets, a shelf of pottery.
Varius smiled. “Your art room. I love it.”
Theira looked at him and seemed to decide he was serious. She shrugged. “It’s a bit of a mess.”
“I’m shocked.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Varius lifted his chin in the direction of most of the canvases. “You decided on painting in a freeform style, didn’t you? Your sorcery is always so precise—so that would be a departure. Something new.”
Theira’s lips curved. “I should have asked you to recommend me an artform. My sorcerous skills still come in handy for the composition of the paints.”
He shook his head. “Better to explore. May I look?”
She gestured forward without a word, and he carefully stepped inside.
“You won’t track paint outside the room,” she told him.
