Chapter 13 Jysarra 🌙

I kissed her.

No, she kissed me.

We kissed each other.

“Was that okay?”

Jysarra could only give a small nod of approval. Kyra’s fingers were combing gently through her hair while the other held tightly at her waist. Jysarra had her arms wrapped tightly around the girl as if she was afraid Kyra would disappear if she let go.

“What are you thinking about now?”

Jysarra’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“The taste of ripe summer strawberries.”

That… was not subtle.

Kyra giggled.

“That might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I apologize.” Jysarra said, her voice cracking. “That was crude.”

The hand threading through her hair came to trace her jawline and lift her chin.

“Don’t apologize. It didn’t bother me.”

Kyra’s hands came down and unlatched Jysarra’s from around her waist. Kyra took a step back, just enough to give the two of them room to breathe. The sunflower Jysarra had picked was still clutched in her hand.

“Is that for me?”

Kyra beamed at her.

“...you said they were your favorite.”

Jysarra took Kyra’s hand and placed the sunflower into it. A full body tremor worked through her and her eyes went glassy.

"Kyra, I'm terrified of how much I care about you."

Kyra’s hand came up and cupped Jysarra’s face.

“That’s okay. I’m scared too, but I want to see what this can be.”

Her hand moved to cup the back of Jysarra’s neck and pulled her down. Not into another kiss, but to gently rest her forehead against Kyra’s.

“With you.”

Jysarra nodded gently.

“Can we get a drink?”

Kyra took her by the arm and led her back inside the hall to one of the refreshment tables. Jysarra immediately grabbed a chilled glass of white wine and held it to her neck just beneath the ear.

With you. She said that.

Jysarra felt like she could spontaneously combust and melt. This was all happening too fast. She just met the girl yesterday morning. And hated her yesterday morning. Well, hated might be a strong word. But now? Now she liked her. A lot. That wasn’t the right word either. This can’t be happening. Kyra clutched Jysarra’s free hand in her own.

“Please, tell me what you’re thinking about.”

She brought Jysarra’s hand up and laid a soft kiss on it.

“You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me.”

Jysarra brought the wine glass up to her lips and took a generous swallow.

“I’m not just afraid of how much I care about you.” She drank the rest. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Saying it aloud made her feel sick.

Kyra took the glass from her and set it down. When Jysarra reached for another, Kyra grabbed her hand.

“This cannot be your only coping method. I’m a big girl. I can handle this–” she gestured between them. “”–not going smoothly. I just want to try. One step at a time, just like the stairs.”

Jysarra snapped her eyes shut tight. She hoped that would be enough to quell the feeling rising in her. To stop the tears that were forming. She was wrong.

“What if you don’t like me? The… the real me?”

Kyra’s hand came up and tucked Jysarra’s hair behind her ear.

“I have seen the real you. You treat people like people no matter their lot in life. You run headfirst into danger to protect others.”

Kyra’s hand slid down to her cheek.

“You saved me in the House of Earthly Delights. You fought a werewolf for me.”

“Kyra–”

“Don’t interrupt.”

A soft, tearful giggle escaped Jysarra.

Stubborn.

“You are not this terrible monster that you have made yourself out to be.”

Jysarra's face crumpled. The words hit her like a physical blow. A single tear escaped her.

“You’re not.”

Jysarra was on the verge of completely falling apart.

“Lady Kyra. Lady Jysarra. Care if I join in the drowning of sorrows?”

The new voice cut straight through the moment.

Through unshed tears Jysarra saw Lady Helene Brightwood. The king's aunt by marriage was a woman for whom subtlety appeared to be a foreign concept. Clad in an extravagant blend of crimson, gold, and violet silk and enough jewelry to outfit a minor treasury, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had long since stopped caring what others thought. Her quick smile suggested she was either about to share a scandalous secret or become the cause of one.

She didn’t wait for either of them to answer, grabbing a glass and draining it in one long swallow followed by a loud, satisfied smack of her lips.

“Lady Helene,” Kyra said. “So nice to see you again.”

Even Kyra couldn’t hide the hint of exasperation in her voice. Jysarra turned away from them. She steadied herself on the table and dabbed at the tears welling in the corner of her eyes. What was happening to her? She’d never felt this way before. Least of all about another woman. A thought was clawing at the back of her mind. It was threatening to answer her. To give a name to what she was feeling. A breath rattled out of her.

She couldn't do this.

Not now.

Not with that realization pressing against the edges of her mind. Demanding a name. Jysarra had spent over a century learning how to survive impossible situations, but she had no idea what to do with whatever was happening between herself and Kyra.

The band began a new piece, quick and upbeat. A cheer went up from the crowd with a few taking it as their cue to break off from the dance floor including… Lady Helene? Jysarra shut her eyes a moment and opened them again. Surely that wasn’t what she saw. But there she was walking away from the dance floor.

A mystery, however? A mystery she understood.

She turned back to see Kyra in conversation with Lady Helene. Kyra shot Jysarra a look that definitively screamed for assistance, but she would need to fend for herself a moment. Jysarra turned back to look out over the terrace again. Other Helene had grabbed a city guard’s jacket from the back of a chair and was heading toward a side entrance to the north wing of the estate.

“Ladies.”

Another voice. Jysarra cast a glance backward. Katarina and Vanja had joined in now. This crowd was growing too large for her even on a good day, much less during her current emotional breakdown. Kat took up a glass of champagne herself and sipped at it.

“I don’t suppose any of you have seen Captain Dallmann?”

Her answer was silence and blank stares.

“Wonderful.”

Jysarra’s head snapped back toward the exit to the north wing from the hall. Other Helene was walking down the hallway. That wasn’t a guard’s jacket. It was a captain’s. Without a word Jysarra walked away from the group and out of the hall to the north wing. Helene, other Helene, had disappeared. Gods, she was starting to confuse herself. Her training as a spy and assassin activated almost on instinct. Every footfall was soft as falling snow. She hugged close to the wall and tried each door she came across with a slow, subtle turn of the handle. Everyone was locked.

She came upon the last room before the end of the hall and the stairs to the second floor. The handle gave as she applied the barest amount of pressure. Jysarra leaned in, her ear listening for any sign of life inside, when the door jerked open suddenly. She stepped back, being uncharacteristically startled, and beheld Captain Dallmann shrugging his jacket back on. His face was an inscrutable mask. He stepped into the hallway proper, pulling the door closed behind him. Jysarra caught a glimpse of crimson and gold fabric draped across a dark blue settee.

“Lady Jysarra,” he said, voice dripping with false courtesy. “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?”

“We have not.”

He took her hand and brought it up to his lips. The display made Jysarra want to throw up in her mouth a little. Or, far more simply, to punch him.

“ Captain Jarrett Dallmann.”

Jysarra slid her hand from his as soon as she deemed appropriate. She glanced over his shoulder through the crack in the doorway again, hoping to spy Lady Helene or whoever that was. Dallmann shut the door completely, ensuring it latched, and smoothed down his jacket.

“By chance, you haven’t seen anyone else down this way?” Jysarra asked.

“Afraid not.”

He cleared his throat.

“Your entrance with Lady Kyra certainly garnered attention. Who would have thought it would be the likes of you to tame the kitten’s heart.”

That sealed it. She hated him. Kyra would certainly forgive her for bloodying his nose just a little, wouldn’t she? After all, she’d be defending her honor. Jysarra was so not cut out for this level of political maneuvering and conversations where nobody seemed willing to simply say what they meant. A sharply worded retort was at the tip of her tongue when his focus drifted down the hall.

“Ah, speak of the devil.”

Jysarra followed his gaze to find Kyra walking up to the pair.

“There you are.” Kyra gave a small tip of her head to Captain Dallmann. “Captain.”

“Kyra. I was just telling Lady Jysarra what a sight to behold the two of you were as you descended the steps this evening. Truly, a beautiful pairing.”

He fixed Jysarra with a look that dared her to contradict him. Jysarra flashed a false smile back at him.

“Yes,” she began, hooking an arm around Kyra. “We do make quite the beautiful pair, do we not?”

Kyra leaned back slightly, a clearly confused look forming on her face.

“Yes, we are.” She turned her focus to Jarrett. “The Archduchess is looking for you, Captain.”

He flashed a thin smile and proceeded back down the hall without another word. As soon as Jysarra deemed him out of earshot she immediately reached for the door handle. Kyra stepped in front of her before she could open it.

“This is Kat’s private study.”

“Fascinating. Dallmann came out of there.”

Kyra’s head tilted slightly.

“That’s not possible. Kat keeps her study locked unless she’s in it.”

Kyra reached over, placing her hand over Jysarra’s on the handle, and gave a gentle push. It didn’t give.

“See? Locked.”

Jysarra tried the handle again for good measure.

“So unless you have a lockpick hidden in your cleavage…”

A smirk pulled onto Jysarra’s lips. “Would you like to check, sunshine?”

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Jysarra bit her lip and shrank back against the wall.

“Well, that is tempting, but–” Kyra leaned in and dragged a finger slowly down the line of Jysarra’s throat. “Why don't we join everyone for dinner and then I could show you my – our – room for this evening?”

Jysarra found herself caught between two impossible situations. Kyra’s lingering touch on her skin was a brand, but she couldn’t stop the nagging feeling over Dallmann and the woman she had seen. Her focus drifted to the door briefly before Kyra turned her gaze gently back to her.

“I believe you. I am certainly not a fan of Captain Dallmann, but let’s tell Kat what you saw and let her handle it.”

Kyra’s hand drifted across Jysarra’s shoulder and down the length of her arm. Jysarra turned her hand and took Kyra’s in it. Kyra took a step back toward the hall and gave Jysarra a gentle pull to follow. The thought still bothered her.

“We imported pineapples from Samareia and the chef made pineapple tarts that are truly to die for.”

Kyra beamed like a child on Winter’s Crest morn unwrapping gifts. That smile could crumble kingdoms.

“I’ll go wherever you go, sunshine.”

***

After dinner and a rather concerning amount of pineapple tarts for Kyra, she had led Jysarra up to the second floor of the north wing to her bedroom. It was ridiculously large, enough to host a party in, with sage green walls trimmed with dark oak. A carved oak four-poster bed draped with pale blue curtains embroidered with silver stars sat along the far wall. The bay window opposite the door overlooked the gardens and beyond that the reflecting pool and orchards.

Jysarra padded around the space slowly, drinking in every detail. Books seemed to occupy every available surface, their subjects ranging from history and music to poetry and archery. She let her fingers drag along the spines, noting the wear from long years of use. A violin rested on a stand in one corner. Nearby sat a finely upholstered chair and a stack of sheet music. Atop the stack was an Avolonian love ballad that drew the corner of Jysarra's mouth into a smirk.

“Mother used to make me practice for hours. I would dread the day of my lessons, but now I would give anything to have that time back with her.”

Kyra had changed into a simple cream-colored sleeping shirt paired with dark drawstring sleep trousers. The linen shirt was loose and practical with sleeves pushed up slightly from wear. She had taken a seat on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked up beneath her, and watched Jysarra with rapt attention.

Jysarra, on the other hand, had slipped into a flowing silver nightgown of fine satin. The gown was sleeveless with delicate lace trim along the neckline and straps, cut modestly enough for propriety while still being elegant. The fabric draped loosely over her frame and felt cool against her skin as she closed the distance and settled onto the bed. She took Kyra’s hand and brought it up to lay a soft kiss upon it.

“My mother would sing to me in the evening when I was a child. My favorite was Yello Lóquetië, the Call of Silence.”

Jysarra’s hand came up and cupped her face. Kyra leaned into her touch and smiled warmly.

“Whenever I recall the lyrics I can see her face as clearly as I see you now.”

“Is that your way of subtly suggesting I play something?”

“I’d love to hear you play, but no. I’m merely suggesting that you recall those good memories when you want to see her again.”

Kyra slid off the bed and took the few steps to the stand her violin was perched against. She took it up and the bow, shrugged her hair over her shoulder, and nestled the instrument beneath her chin. She guided the bow across the strings, drawing out a long note that reverberated through the room.

Her fingers danced along the fingerboard while the bow glided across the strings. Soft candlelight caught in her copper hair as she swayed gently with the music. She wasn't performing for an audience. She had forgotten anyone else existed. Jysarra found herself watching Kyra far more than listening to the song.

The piece was beautiful. The sweet melody that floated off the strings as Kyra drew the bow across them hit Jysarra like cascading waves of pure joy. She saw Midsommar banners dancing in the summer breeze. Kyra's hand in hers. Almond honey cakes from the Slice of Life Bakery. Laughter drifting across Green Market Square as musicians played beneath the setting sun.

It all seemed so perfect in her mind. So easy. The nagging fear that she’d ruin that image began worming its way into her thoughts just as Kyra drew the bow one final time. She stood there a moment, rooted in place, taking a few deep breaths. Her eyes fluttered open and found Jysarra. She looked utterly vulnerable at that moment.

"That was beautiful."

Jysarra smiled.

"You were beautiful."

A flush worked its way up Kyra’s throat. She laughed once, softly, and her gaze fell to the floor for just a moment. She placed the violin back onto the stand gently, then took a few steps to the bed and sat beside Jysarra.

“I saw her. My mother, that is. Thank you.”

Kyra took Jysarra’s hand and cast a look her way that was undeniably affection.

“The advice, paltry as it was, was the least I could do.”

She gave Jysarra’s hand a firm squeeze.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Talk down about yourself.”

Jysarra’s brow furrowed. She did not have a good answer to that question. And that did not elicit a good feeling in her heart. This was just how she was. What was so wrong with that?

“How many times must I tell you that you’re a good person?”

Jysarra turned her focus away from Kyra. If she looked at her right now her resolve would crumble. She snapped her eyes shut for good measure.

“At least once more.”

Kyra sighed. Whether it was frustration or resignation, Jysarra could not tell. She was being unfair. She knew it. Jysarra took in a deep breath and turned back to find Kyra watching her. Her gaze was gentle, patient. Kyra reached over to the nightstand and took up a framed family portrait. She let her thumb brush over the image of her mother before carefully setting the portrait back on the table.

“I’ve been going on and on about myself and my family since before we arrived. You must be tired of hearing me ramble on.”

“I don’t mind. I like listening to the sound of your voice.”

That elicited a smile from Kyra.

“As cute as that is,” Kyra leaned in and kissed her. “I want to hear all about you.”

Jysarra’s chest tightened. About her. She tried, and failed, to steady the tremor growing in her hands. Then the noise, the static, at the back of her mind began. Kyra’s fingers drifted along her arm and threaded into her hand.

“You don’t have to. I’ve gathered that it’s difficult for you to talk about yourself.”

Kyra’s hand came up and brushed a stray lock of hair from Jysarra’s face, then traced down her ear.

“But I want to know. About you.”

She leaned in and kissed Jysarra again. The tremor in her hands stopped. The noise died. It was as if she had been kissed by a swift summer sunrise. The kind that banishes shadows from the world and restores its beauty.

“Even if it’s not pretty.”

“I–” she began, her voice trembling. “I was born in Ostiliantë, the largest Drow city in the Underdark. My parents were Vorondil and Nairalindë. Ours was a minor house. Commoners, really.”

Kyra sat back against the headboard and patted the spot in front of her. Jysarra felt a pang of anxiety, but moved anyway. She leaned back into Kyra, resting her head gently against her shoulder. Kyra wrapped an arm around her, the other gliding slowly through her hair. Jysarra brought her hands to rest on Kyra's arm. Warmth bloomed deep inside her chest.

“Your parents, are they…”

Jysarra swallowed hard.

“My mother was executed for her treachery. And my father was turned into a Drider.”

“A Drider?”

“Think Centaur, but with the body of a giant spider instead of a horse.”

Kyra’s eyes went wide at that visual.

“Gods, why would anyone do that to them?”

“For keeping me a secret. They had already given up my brother to another noble house, they didn’t want to surrender me.”

A shudder ran through Jysarra followed by a tightening of her chest. She could never forget her mother’s final moments. She didn’t beg. Didn’t apologize for her actions. She just looked at Jysarra, a smile upon her face. And just before the swing of the blade, she uttered her parting words to Jysarra.

You have a good heart. Never let them take that away, my little moonfire.

Her eyes snapped shut, though tears came all the same. She turned ever so slightly and buried her face into the crook of Kyra’s neck. She choked back audible sobs, though her body trembled all the same. Kyra wrapped her arms around her tight, though one hand remained combing gently through Jysarra’s hair. She liked that more than words could express.

“I’ve got you.”

The tremors subsided as quickly as they had come on. Jysarra lay there, nestled into Kyra, with her eyes still closed. She breathed her in deeply, noting hints of cedarwood and honey. And it was at that moment that Jysarra took notice of something particularly odd. She didn't feel the pressure at the base of her skull that usually accompanied these memories. And the noise never came. Her mind was clear. And there was no denying it was because of Kyra.

That realization terrified her far more than the memory ever had.

Fuck.

That unnamed feeling that had been demanding she acknowledge it all night long rose back up in her mind. Jysarra would not be dealing with that. She did, however, know one way to silence the thought. She shifted slightly, then pressed her lips against Kyra’s throat. It was somewhere between a kiss and a nibble. A soft moan escaped Kyra.

“Jessie…”

A bolt of unrestrained want coursed through Jysarra and she pressed her lips to Kyra again. Then she felt hands gently pushing her away.

“Wait. Jessie, wait.”

Jysarra pulled back. She pulled herself up and sat opposite Kyra now. She hung her head, guilt and confusion waging a war inside of her. Did she make a mistake? Had she misread the situation? Kyra’s hand settled over hers.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Jysarra dared a glance up. There Kyra was, gaze patient and understanding as always. Infuriating, really.

“Do what?”

There was a tremble in her voice.

“You don’t need to repay my affection with intimacy.”

Her hand came up and lifted Jysarra’s face fully.

“This is not rejection. Gods know how much I want you.”

A blush worked up Kyra’s neck.

“And I do, but you can just lie with me and be. You don’t have to earn it.”

Jysarra sat with that for a moment. It was an utterly alien concept to her. Affection had always been earned and repaid with everyone in her life. Everyone, that is, except for her parents. And now, Kyra.

“All right.”

There was still a tremble in her words. Jysarra turned again and let Kyra pull her back down against her shoulder. They lay like that for a few quiet moments. The sound of their beating hearts became a lullaby. Kyra worked her fingers through Jysarra’s hair again, slow and gentle.

“When the Battle of Brighthollow was upon us, mother sent me here to Aurenhold for my safety. I understood her decision, even then, but that didn’t make saying goodbye any easier.”

It was subtle, but Jysarra felt Kyra tense.

“I didn’t learn she had died until three days later.”

Jysarra pushed herself upright and let her hand come to rest on Kyra’s cheek. Kyra leaned into her touch.

“I had been walking through the orchards when Kat found me. The words were so foreign when she said them. Then, I just remember screaming, only later realizing it was my own.”

You don’t need to repay my affection with intimacy.

Kyra’s words replayed in her head. Jysarra wrapped an arm around her and pulled Kyra in tight. Kyra didn’t fight it. She melted into Jysarra’s embrace. And Jysarra wished in that moment she could banish every hurt Kyra had ever experienced by holding onto her.

“I feel awful admitting this, but during her funeral rites I grew bitter and angry at the populace. I overheard, more than once, how much better my family had it because we were wealthy.”

A wet laugh burst from her.

“As if that removes the pain of losing a parent at fourteen. I would have given everything away if it had meant one more day with her.”

Jysarra didn’t know what words to say. A pang of shame rose up in her for having those very thoughts multiple times throughout her life. Kyra was right, nothing could dampen the pain of losing someone you love. And, as happened far too often, her mouth spoke before her brain could catch up.

“I’m sorry.”

Stupid. Lúse.

“It’s all right. It is. And I don’t feel that way anymore. I realize it was people lashing out because they were grieving unimaginable losses themselves.”

Kyra sat back from her, though their hands found each other again as they so often did.

“I turned that grief into action. I wanted to see the world. And I wanted to help people.”

Kyra brushed the back of her hand along Jysarra’s cheek.

“It's why I joined the city guard. Both my mother and Kat were insistent that I enter politics, but watching my mother deal with years of maneuvering and manipulation soured me on that career path.”

Kyra yawned deeply, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Pardon me.”

“For what? It was cute.”

Kyra huffed at that and smiled.

“Stop. You’re going to make me blush.”

“And? I like making you blush.”

Kyra leaned forward, taking Jysarra gently by the chin, and kissed her.

“Always the flirt.”

Jysarra smiled wide.

“Well, I’m good at it.”

“That you are. Still, I am tired. You wouldn’t hate me if I suggested we turn in for the evening, would you?”

Jysarra was ready to toss another teasing or flirtatious remark Kyra’s way, but the tone in her voice told her she was genuinely asking. Her head dipped slightly to one side and her face softened.

“Nothing could make me hate you, sunshine.”

Kyra shrank in on herself, though a wide smile splayed across her face. The sight sent warmth blooming through Jysarra's chest. Kyra turned and stood, then walked over to the bay window to open it.

“Do you mind? The summer breeze always helps me sleep, but if it will disturb you–”

“I don’t sleep. At least, not in the same fashion as you.”

Kyra padded back over. She was wagging a finger as she did when a thought was coming to her.

“Reverie, correct? Or trance if I recall correctly?”

“Yes. Both are acceptable translations into Common.”

Kyra crawled onto the bed and positioned herself behind Jysarra.

“Is it different in Elvish?”

“We name it olorlendë.”

“Dream travel? I like that.”

Kyra adjusted the pillows, fluffing one up and flattening another, then lay down. She gave Jysarra’s arm a gentle pull. Jysarra settled down into the bed, pulling her hair out from beneath her.

“What do you dream of?”

“It is more akin to mental exercises, though we do recall memories as well.”

Kyra snuggled in close and draped her arm over Jysarra’s waist. She laid a soft kiss on Jysarra’s shoulder and squeezed her tight.

“I like who I am with you. Everyone else treats me differently because of my name, but you…”

Jysarra’s fingers drifted along Kyra’s forearm.

“You make me feel like I can just… be.”

Jysarra turned her head back just enough to see Kyra.

“You make everything else go quiet. The way you look at me…”

Kyra’s lips pulled into a soft smile.

“How do I look at you?”

“Like... I could be...”

Jysarra nibbled her lip, the confession catching deep in her chest. Kyra brought her hand up and stroked her fingertips along Jysarra’s cheek. She leaned in, nuzzled at Jysarra, and pressed her lips gently against hers.

Good.

The candles burned low and the warm breeze swept in over them like a blanket.

Jysarra fell deep into her reverie, uninterrupted for the first time in well over a century.

As was the way of Elvenkind, her thoughts drifted through memory and reflection.

Yet they did not linger on her long life, nor the pain that had so often haunted it.

They lingered on Kyra.

All of Kyra.