Chapter 107 – Ladies' Night (1)
(Tamara)
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that the bed felt wrong.
Not bad. Just… unbalanced.
Noelle was still there, at least. Curled into me, arms wrapped around my waist, face pressed against my collarbone like she was trying to fuse us together in her sleep. Her breath warmed my skin, slow and even. One bare leg thrown over my hip, anchoring me in place.
That part was perfect.
The wrongness was on the other side.
The left side of the bed was empty.
No big, steady weight. No familiar scent of metal and soap and mana. No quiet, infuriatingly calm breathing.
Erynd wasn't there.
Again.
The room itself was one of the guest suites in the mansion, though "guest" made it sound far more formal than it was. We'd claimed it the first week we were here and never let it go. Three beds, pushed closer together than they'd been designed for, now essentially one sprawling nest of blankets and pillows.
We hadn't wanted to be separated.
So we didn't separate.
We slept together, ate together, sprawled over each other when we were too tired to move.
Except today, there were only two of us in the bed.
Noelle and me.
Lyra was missing.
Of course she was.
I lay there a moment longer, listening to the house.
The mansion had its own pulse. Not like Yggdrasil headquarters, with its layered wards and constant low-level hum of magic. This place was older. Wooden bones under stone skin. Soft creaks as it stretched into the morning. Distant movement from servants starting their day. The faint clatter of pots from the kitchen downstairs.
Underneath all that, a quieter ache.
Erynd had left early.
I'd felt it even half asleep—the way the air shifted, the way magic in the house seemed to re-balance when the biggest piece moved out of it.
I exhaled.
"Traitor," I muttered at his empty side of the bed.
Noelle made a soft sound and burrowed closer, nose nudging my neck.
I turned my head and kissed her.
Just a small press of lips, morning-soft and lazy.
She half-woke, chasing me instinctively, and made a sleepy little noise that curled heat low in my stomach.
"Mm… Tama?" she mumbled, eyes still closed.
"Still here," I whispered. "Go back to sleep for a bit. I'm going to fetch Lyra before she actually eats his pillow."
Noelle let out a muffled, amused huff against my skin.
"Too late…" she murmured, already drifting off again.
Probably true.
I slipped out of her hold carefully, easing her arms off my waist and tugging the blanket up around her shoulders. She immediately latched onto my pillow instead, hugging it like a stand-in.
I watched her for a heartbeat.
Sometimes I forgot how young we still were.
Then I remembered everything we'd done in this bed and the thought adjusted itself.
I dragged on training clothes: fitted top, bindings at the wrists, pants that wouldn't catch on anything, boots laced tight. I glanced once at the long sword leaning in the corner. Erynd's metal. My gift.
Not yet.
First: retrieve the idiot.
The hallway outside our room was quiet. Down here, on the Mansion's second floor, most of the doors belonged to us. Erynd had claimed one of the corner suites as his temporary room while we were in the capital. "Easier to coordinate," he'd said.
Liar.
He just liked being near enough that we could invade whenever we wanted.
His door was closed now.
I padded over and put my ear against it.
No voices.
No footsteps.
But there was a faint, ridiculous sound, like someone inhaling very deliberately.
I knocked.
"Lyra," I said. "If you've actually started living in there, I'm stealing your bed."
There was a rustle. A thud. An alarmed pause.
Then Lyra's muffled voice, too fast to be casual.
"I'm not in here."
I snorted.
"Open the door," I said. "Or I'll start guessing what you're doing. Out loud. In detail."
The latch clicked.
The door opened a crack.
Lyra's face appeared in the gap, cheeks pink, hair slightly tangled in a way that said she hadn't bothered to braid it again after whatever she'd been doing.
Behind her, Erynd's bed was neatly made.
His pillow wasn't on it.
She was holding it.
I lifted an eyebrow.
She scowled defensively.
"It smells like him," she said.
"I know what he smells like," I replied. "I have my own nose, remember."
She hugged the pillow once, quick and fierce, then tossed it back onto the bed like she hadn't just been stuffing her face into it.
Her eyes flicked over my clothes. "Training?"
"Obviously," I said. "Unless you'd prefer to sit here and wallow in his absence."
Her mouth tightened.
Then she exhaled, the lines around her shoulders easing.
"Courtyard?" she asked.
"The big one," I said. "We'll annoy fewer servants that way."
"Ten minutes," she said. "I need to get dressed. And fetch my sword."
"Bring the whip too," I added. "I want to see if I can break that water wall today."
She smiled, quick and sharp, more alive than she'd looked a moment before.
"Try," she said.
She closed the door in my face.
I grinned at the wood, then headed downstairs.
The Mansion's rear courtyard wasn't designed as a training field. Originally it had been a pleasant noble's garden, all decorative shrubs and stone benches and a big tree that might once have supported pretty lanterns for midnight parties.
Now the shrubs were mostly singed.
The benches had been shoved to the sides to make space.
The big tree had a few blackened scars in its trunk from particularly bad days.
The ground was packed dirt and grass trying bravely to survive us.
I stepped into the center and took a breath.
Air moved differently out here than in an enclosed yard. It came in from the city, carrying scents: baked bread from somewhere nearby, horse and carriage, a hint of smoke, the distant tang of mana from the Magic Tower's direction.
Erynd was heading there now.
Probably already half-way, locked in a carriage with Melody's voice echoing annoyingly in his head.
Good.
He could deal with comas and ward catastrophes and whatever else the Tower had broken this time.
We would deal with not losing our minds in his absence.
Lyra arrived five minutes later.
Hair in a tight braid. Training clothes. Short sword at her hip, whip coiled on the other side.
She took one look at the courtyard and frowned.
"The grass is dying," she said.
"It'll grow back," I replied. "Or we'll replace it with sand and admit what this place is."
"What is it?" she asked.
"A bad idea," I said. "Ready?"
She smiled.
That was answer enough.
We faced each other, a few paces apart.
There was no formal signal.
We'd been doing this long enough that we didn't need one.
I moved first.
Wind wrapped around my ankles, responsive as always. Not a gale, not a dramatic storm, just pressure and intention, ready to shove me in whatever direction I asked.
Lyra's gaze tracked the shift in my posture.
"You're going left," she said.
"Yes," I agreed, and went right.
My body blurred.
Boots bit dirt, then stone, then air as I used the wind to put my weight where it needed to be, not just where gravity wanted it.
Lyra's hand snapped to her hilt.
Her short sword was in her grasp before I closed the distance, steel flashing as she drew. Erynd's work. Guardless hilt curved down, blade curving up, just enough to make the line of its cut want to circle around defenses instead of slamming straight.
We met in the middle.
My long sword came in high, testing.
Her shorter blade parried, angle perfect, turning my force aside instead of trying to stop it dead. The impact rattled my arm, but not in a way I couldn't absorb.
Our boots slid a little in the dirt.
She stepped in, closer, trying to get under my guard with her smaller weapon.
I pivoted back, letting her blade pass in front of my chest instead of into it, then snapped my wrist and brought the flat of my sword toward her exposed ribs.
Water whipped up between us.
Not a full construct.
Just a strip, quick and efficient, enough to take the blow with a liquid smack that sent droplets flying.
We disengaged.
Lyra's eyes had that sharp, focused light I only ever saw when she was fighting or watching Erynd solve a problem.
"Again," she said.
We didn't use spells right away.
That was one of Erynd's rules. Swords first. Foundations first. Magic was an amplifier, not a replacement.
But he wasn't here.
So after the third exchange, I let fire crawl up my arms.
It came easily now.
I could feel the mana channels he'd painstakingly helped me map, the places where pushing too hard made things tear, where pushing gently made it flow.
Flame bloomed in a thin, dancing layer around my skin.
Not enough to burn clothes.
Plenty to burn anyone who got too close without thinking.
The wind at my ankles responded as I shifted my weight, and I redirected it upward, not forward, launching myself just enough into the air that I could twist and spin, dragging the flames into a spiral.
Heat and motion together.
A mini tornado, like we'd practiced.
Small. Fierce. Wild.
I aimed it at Lyra.
She swore under her breath and spun her whip off her hip, water streaming from the focus crystal at its base. She flicked her wrist, and the fluid curled into a wide, layered disc in front of her.
Not one barrier.
Many.
Folded over itself, thickening in the places the vortex would hit hardest.
The flame-wind spiral smashed into the water shield.
For a heartbeat, the courtyard became a steam bath.
Hot mist enveloped us. The world narrowed to heat and sound and the faint crackle of evaporating droplets.
I dropped through it, trusting my feet to find ground.
Lyra was already moving.
Her short sword cut through the thinning fog, lightning dancing along its length.
Erynd had modified that sword on a bored evening, because of course he had. Tiny holes drilled in the blade at specific points, channels etched so finely you could barely see them unless you knew what to look for.
"Vent ports," he'd called them. "Let the energy arc properly. Don't hold it all in. That's how you get blowback."
Now those tiny perforations spat arcs of high-energy mana, little lightning bridges connecting one opening to another, a crackling net along the blade's surface.
She hadn't electrified the water barrier at all.
Too obvious.
She'd saved it for herself.
Our swords met again.
Even through the insulation charm he'd built into my hilt, I felt the jolt. Sharp, bright, painful. It shot up my arm, making my fingers twitch.
I grit my teeth and pushed through, pivoting my stance to bleed the impact out through my hips instead of my elbow.
Lyra's lips curved.
"Feedback," she said. "Still not used to it?"
"I will be," I said. "Eventually. Then you'll cry."
"I never cry," she said.
"Liar," I replied, and lunged.
We moved until time stopped being something I could measure.
Just breath.
Strike. Parry. Duck. Twist.
Flame, water, steel, lightning.
Her whip snapped at my ankles. I vaulted over it on a gust of wind, bringing my sword down in a vertical arc that forced her to raise her weapon—and take her eyes off the flicker of fire I'd left behind as a feint.
It licked at her sleeve.
She hissed and countered with a razor-thin jet of water that sliced past my ear, close enough to make it ring.
We weren't out to maim.
But we weren't being gentle either.
The Mansion walls watched patiently.
A few servants hovered at the windows, long since resigned to the idea that the lord's women used the back garden as a war zone.
Eventually, my lungs started to burn.
I forced my legs into one more sprint, using wind to offset the strain, and Lyra read it, stepped into the gap, caught my blade on hers and twisted just enough that I had to let go or dislocate my shoulder.
The sword flew from my grip, embedding itself point-first in the dirt a few steps away.
She could have followed through.
She didn't.
Instead, she let the momentum carry her into a half-spin, whip snapping out to wrap around my wrist lightly, a symbolic bind instead of a real one.
We froze there, breathing hard, faces close.
Her hair had come half free from its braid. Mine was stuck to my forehead. Sweat ran down my spine.
"Dead," she said.
"Inconvenienced," I corrected.
"If this were live, you'd be bleeding," she said.
"If this were live, you'd already have your arm half off from that last feint," I pointed out.
We both knew we'd pulled it.
We both knew we wouldn't, in a real fight.
Silence stretched between us.
Then—
"Stop!"
The shout came from the edge of the courtyard.
We both turned.
Noelle stood there, clutching a tray balanced precariously in both hands. On it sat a jug of water and three cups, and a folded stack of towels hung over her arm.
Her cheeks were pink.
Her eyes were exasperated.
"You two are impossible," she said, marching toward us. "Are you trying to pass out in the middle of the day?"
Lyra let the whip slip from my wrist.
I walked over to retrieve my sword, then met Noelle halfway.
"You could have called earlier," I said. "Before I lost feeling in my arm."
"You were in your little murder trance," she said. "I'd have had to throw cold water at you."
"That's an option," Lyra said thoughtfully.
"No, it is not," Noelle snapped. "If I'm throwing water at anyone, it's going to be at Erynd when he forgets to sleep again, not at you two when you forget basic self-preservation."
She shoved towels at us in turn.
Up close, her blush deepened.
We were both dripping sweat, clothes clinging, skin flushed and hot from magic and exertion. I caught where her gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long before she yanked it back up to our faces.
I wiped my face with the towel.
Lyra did the same, more precise, as if she could control how much of her exhaustion showed.
Noelle poured water into the cups and handed them over like an annoyed saint.
"Drink," she ordered.
We did.
The water was cool. Not cold, but cool enough to settle something raw inside my chest.
After a few gulps, I handed the cup back.
Noelle set the tray down on the nearest bench, then stepped in and wrapped her arms around both of us at once.
She managed it somehow.
One arm around my waist, the other around Lyra's shoulders, pulling us in until we were a messy tangle.
For a second, my body stayed in combat mode: muscles tense, ready to twist away, to break holds.
Then I smelled her hair—soap and sweat and that faint sweetness that was just Noelle—and everything in me exhaled.
Lyra went rigid, then softened, resting her forehead briefly on Noelle's temple.
"You're both idiots," Noelle muttered into my shoulder.
"Accurate," I said.
"Yes," Lyra agreed.
"Erynd isn't here half a day and you're already trying to train yourselves into the infirmary," she continued. "Couldn't you, I don't know, read a book?"
"That's Julia's idea of coping," I said. "Mine involves hitting things."
"Mine involves structure," Lyra said. "And stabbing."
"I hate all of you," Noelle said fondly. Her face was very red now.
"You're the one hugging us," I pointed out.
She made a small, high, embarrassed noise and pulled back a little, but not all the way.
"A-anyway," she said, flustered. "Since Lord 'I'll just slip out at dawn and not tell anyone properly' isn't here, I thought we could… go out."
"Out where?" I asked.
"Shopping," she said, as if it were obvious. "There's a market square three streets over. And that bakery Zoe keeps talking about. And I heard there's a place that sells enchanted hairpins and it's not run by total crooks."
Lyra tilted her head.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because," Noelle said, folding her arms, "if we stay in this house without Erynd, you two are going to spar until you drop, Zoe's going to start climbing the walls, and Julia is going to sit in a corner and silently implode. I would like at least one of us to do something that feels like a normal person activity."
She paused.
"Or as close as we get," she amended.
I considered it.
The idea of wandering through a crowded square instead of beating my muscles to jelly felt… strange. Wrong. Tempting.
"Do we have money?" I asked.
"We're technically Yggdrasil," she said dryly. "I think we can afford a pastry and many more."
"Fair," I said.
Lyra looked between us.
"We should not… interfere with whatever Erynd is doing," she said. It sounded like she was repeating something he'd told her. "So being away from the Tower is probably strategically sound."
"Exactly," Noelle said quickly. "See? Lyra understands. If we go near the Magic Tower, we'll get dragged into a catastrophe. If we stay here, we'll go crazy. If we go out, we might only get pickpocketed. That's an improvement."
I snorted.
"Where did he go exactly?" I asked. "He slipped out before I woke."
Noelle's expression tightened just a little.
"Magic Tower," she said. "There was some incident. Julia got word last night. Wards. Coma. The usual 'this shouldn't be possible but it happened anyway' mess, so they asked for 'anyone with advanced ward expertise.'"
"Which means him," Lyra said softly.
"Which means him," Noelle confirmed. "He left with Melody at stupid o'clock with that 'this will be fine and definitely not escalate' look on his face."
I could picture it.
Too calm. Too resigned. Like someone heading into surgery they were both performing and undergoing at the same time.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the last of the combat tension bleed out.
"All right," I said. "Fine. Shopping. If he comes back half-dead, I'd prefer to be wearing something nice when I yell at him."
Noelle laughed, the sound bright and a little shaky.
"Exactly," she said.
Lyra nodded slowly.
"On one condition," she said.
"What?" Noelle asked warily.
"When he returns," Lyra said, "we tell him we had a quiet day at the Mansion. That we behaved. That we were calm."
"We lie," I translated.
"Yes," Lyra said. "We lie as a team."
Noelle smiled.
It wasn't her usual soft, shy smile. It had teeth in it.
"Deal," she said.
"Good," I said. "Now let's get changed. If this is 'ladies' day,' I'm not going to the market smelling like I rolled in a bonfire."
"You did roll in a bonfire," Lyra pointed out.
"Details," I said.
Noelle grabbed the empty tray and the towels, shaking her head.
"Meet in the hall in twenty minutes," she said. "And if Zoe isn't awake yet, someone shake her. Gently. Or lure her out with food."
"She'll smell it," I said. "She always does."
We drifted back toward the Mansion in a loose cluster, sweaty and tired and already planning what we'd do with a few hours of freedom.
Erynd was at the Magic Tower, probably neck-deep in someone else's disaster.
For once, that left the day to us.
Ladies' night.
Or… ladies' day, technically.
But night would come.
And we'd be ready.