Work Text:
Candace arrives on a bright, sunny morning—which is unfortunate, because Nefer feels anything but.
She’d slept horribly: tossing, turning, waking every other hour to kick at the blankets or drag them back over her. Her throat had a faint, traitorous scratch to it—the warning before a storm—her skull weighing just a touch too heavy for her neck. Lauma had slipped out before sunrise for some Moonchanter obligation or another, kissing Nefer’s temple and whispering apologies she’d been too drowsy to absorb.
In retrospect, Nefer really, really should have gone back to sleep.
She found herself in her kitchen with company instead.
“Your air here is terrible,” Candace announces, leaning one hip against the counter with a brow raised in a perfect arc, full judgment. “And you look like you’ve been trampled by an angry sumpter beast.”
Nefer snorts, stirring honey into her imported tea from Liyue. “Thank you Candace, you’re very kind.”
“I’m observant,” Candace corrects lightly. She crosses her arms. “Besides, you always did get sick when you’d stay up through the night. Some things never change.”
Nefer hums at that, far too tired to argue. “Doesn’t help that I woke up at dawn, I guess. But Lauma had early duties—it couldn't really be avoided.”
“Ah, yes.” Candace grins, all bright amusement as she sashays over, bumps her shoulder against Nefer's. “The mysterious Moonchanter. I haven’t been able to meet your lover yet.”
There’s no heat behind it, but Nefer rolls her eyes nevertheless.
“She’s not mysterious,” she says, gaze drifting to the nearby window. “Just busy.”
“Mmhm.” Candace taps the rim of Nefer’s mug with one knuckle. “Still—who would’ve thought that you, of all people, would ever settle down?” Her amber eye gleams. “I remember back when you couldn’t even commit to either side of the Wall of Samiel.”
Wordlessly, Nefer winces.
“Turns out,” Candace continues, chuckling, “the answer was neither.”
“Neither side was very kind to me,” Nefer merely mutters, offering only a weak shrug in response.
“Right.” Candace smiles, warm and easy—familiar. And then without a moment to spare, she’s waving it off, steering their conversation towards lighter topics. “So, tell me all about your time away. Did you ever learn to cook anything other than flatbread?”
Nefer laughs, low and tired. “No.”
“Of course not.” Candace hums under her breath. “See? Some things never change at all.”
///
Nasha Town is already awake by the time they step outside, the streets abuzz with early chatter, too sharp in Nefer’s ears today. Every sound—vendors calling out morning specials, the thunk of crates being stacked, the cheer of children leaving their homes to play—lands a little too loud against her skull.
The noise rings and resounds. And yet still, routine is routine, and Nefer keeps to it. She’s been tracing morning rounds through the streets of Nasha Town since the earliest days of her arrival, and there is no reason to stop now. Not when she can reliably still place one foot in front of the other.
And throughout it all, Candace walks beside her with an ease that should feel comforting, matching Nefer’s stride like they’d never been apart.
Back in Aaru Village, their patrols used to play out just like this—Nefer, keeping time with Candace’s quiet confidence, young and determined to do good for the village. For all the children who called Aaru Village home. They'd fought off monsters side-by-side, confronting every challenge with a ferocity Nefer now keeps on a careful leash—sometimes, a controlled temper is the deciding factor between life and death, after all.
Nefer's not taking any chances, at least not now.
They turn the corner just in time to see a cluster of Frostmoon Scions handing out parcels of food, steam curling into the chilly Nod-Krai air. As their leader, Lauma usually helps on mornings like this, slipping effortlessly into the Scions’ rhythm. Today, though—
“She’s not here,” Nefer murmurs before she can help herself.
Candace glances over. “Your Moonchanter?”
Nefer nods. “She’s usually here.”
“You must miss her.”
“Hm. I guess I do.”
“Oh?” Candace chuckles. “I didn’t expect you to admit it so easily.”
“It's not the easiest thing to say, but it gets easier the more I say it.” A slight shiver rolling down her arm, Nefer lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe some things do change.”
Candace makes a noise of acknowledgement, watching a Scion kneel to hand a parcel to a child.
“They’re generous here,” she says appreciatively. “We could’ve used something like that back in Aaru Village. Might’ve saved everyone some trouble.”
Nefer gives a faint smile. “Yeah.”
“But I suppose you’ve made up for lost time,” Candace adds lightly. “Having someone dote on you now, right?” She tips her head, casts Nefer a sidelong look. “Must be nice.”
The words hit harder than they should, and Nefer’s step falters—barely, but enough to notice.
“Candace—”
Candace raises her hands, palms out as if pacifying a startled animal.
“A joke,” she says. “I’m teasing.”
Nefer simply stares at her, startlingly unsure of how to respond. She’s unsure what to make of it—Candace’s placating smile, her words that strike some sort of dissonant chord, and the persistent, feverish coil of something she just can’t quite put her finger on.
And so she forces a breath, keeps walking.
Candace falls into step without missing a beat, the moment smoothed over as though it never happened.
They finish the loop around Nasha Town, footsteps ringing over patchwork, steel streets, before heading up to the Curatorium of Secrets. Her morning ritual remains intact for another day, for in a place like Nod-Krai, you fight stasis by carving out rhythm.
Even though today, all Nefer wants is to crawl back into bed.
///
Jahoda is already stationed at the front desk by the time they arrive, greeting a pair of early customers with her usual crisp cheer. Nefer raises her hand in greeting as she walks past, and Jahoda—silly, hardworking Jahoda—gives her a look. A pointed, assessing glance that lasts half a heartbeat too long.
It’s concern, probably. Nefer doesn’t have the strength to return a reassuring smile before she strides into her office, Candace casually at her heels.
The Curatorium of Secrets runs warmer at midday—lamplight pooling over shelves stacked with records, scrolls, and bound fragments. Nefer prefers the afternoons here; her office is usually quiet, save for the soft scratch of quill against paper and the occasional whispering draft.
Today, though, her head feels like it’s been struck by a hammer, and Candace is pacing.
Not idly, either—she examines everything, fingers trailing over the spines of categorized ledgers, hovering over various knick knacks, tapping lightly against sealed documents. Neither intrusive nor familiar. Merely present, as if she’s always occupied this room.
“You keep strange treasures,” Candace comments, stopping to peer at a lacquered box from Inazuma. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve developed hoarding tendencies.”
“Well, that’s just how it goes with us desertfolk, right?” Nefer sinks into her chair—she’s been at work for less than an hour, and she’s already close to giving up. She’s tried to read the document before her at least five times yet nothing has stuck, her gaze constantly traveling to Candace’s wandering form. “When you know what it’s like to have nothing, it’s harder to let go—even when you obtain everything.”
Candace makes an absentminded noise of agreement as she drifts on. Meanwhile, Nefer rubs at her temple. She’s too tired for this conversation, too tired for anything except pretending she isn’t moments away from falling asleep on the nearest stack of parchment.
Then Candace stops.
Nefer doesn’t see what’s caught her attention until Candace nudges a small pile of correspondence with the back of her knuckle—letters tied with string, some opened, some still sealed.
“These aren’t work,” Candace says lightly. “Are they?”
Nefer stiffens.
They’re not. Not really.
Friends scattered across Teyvat—Yelan’s sharp, elegant hand; Diluc’s formal, almost stiff script; Lumine’s bright, informal ink. All casual exchanges, innocent letters without a hint of intel hidden between the lines, because at some point, they’d started doing that. And one more envelope at the bottom, tucked away, addressed but never sent—an Eremite seal stamped into the corner.
Candace tilts her head. “You write a lot of people, it seems.”
Nefer exhales. “Sometimes.”
“And me?” Candace asks, smiling like it’s a harmless question. “Did you ever write to me?”
The room goes very still.
Jahoda’s voice carries faintly through the open doorway, speaking to a new visitor. Paper rustles. A lamplight flickers. Nefer feels her heart thud once—hard, bruising against her ribs.
“I did write to you,” she says at last.
“Back when you were at the Akademiya,” Candace replies pointedly. “But never anything after that.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh? Then, how come I never received anything?”
“...I didn't send them.” Nefer’s head pounds, pulses and throbs as if the very memory carries a migraine along with it. She brings a hand to her temple—she remembers those nights of writing, and then crumpling. All the letters unsent, all the sentiment unsaid. “They were a mess of words, more like rough drafts if anything. And I was always too busy to rewrite them, let alone send them.”
“Too busy even for me?”
The question comes out sharper, barbed. It latches to Nefer’s skin, clings there incessantly.
“Candace—”
“But that can't be true, right?” Candace muses, tipping her head. “You told me you missed me.”
Nefer feels her mouth open and close, no words falling free.
Candace leans in—too far, too quickly, shadows gathering beneath her golden, ornamental eye.
“Nefer,” she presses, “you can’t tell me you cared and then never prove it. That’s not how it works.”
And Nefer flinches as if struck. The air feels wrong, thin, as if someone has opened a door to a storm she can’t see. The words on her tongue scatter, startled away, frightened animals dashing for the treeline; she reaches for one, any one, and grasps nothing.
The room tilts.
And then—nausea.
The queasiness catches in her throat, and Nefer groans. Sways in her seat, grunting as her pen clatters to the floor.
This won't do.
“Jahoda!” she calls weakly, something dark and tumultuous churning in her stomach—she sounds pathetic, even to her own ears. “Jahoda!”
Her employee manifests in the office in a flash, Jahoda’s typically animated features now pinched with distress as she kneels by Nefer’s desk chair.
“Boss!” Jahoda’s eyes flicker with worry as her hands seem to fuss, not knowing where to rest. “Oh, I knew you were sick! What—What do you need?”
“A djinn and three wishes,” Candace chimes in from where she leans on the doorframe. “Or, maybe just a stronger constitution.”
Nefer glares at her over Jahoda's shoulder. “Just just help me lie down, would you? The couch is fine.”
Jahoda shakes her head. “We need to get you to bed, Boss. Your back’s gonna hurt if you rest on—”
“How did you end up so queasy?” Completely ignoring the ramblings of the Curatorium employee, Candace curiously tips her head, her amber eye seeming to glimmer in the midday light. “After all, your stomach seemed to be made of iron way back then, remember? When you manipulated those two Eremite tribes to—”
“Shut up,” Nefer barks.
Jahoda immediately clams up, her hands growing still.
Meanwhile, Candace’s smile widens.
“That's not very nice of you, Nefer.”
It's not.
“I—” Nefer shakes her head, though the regret settles in immediately—the motion only seems to worsen the nausea. “I apologize, Jahoda, I overreacted. I'm just not in a state to be hosting company right now.”
“No, no, Boss,” Jahoda’s hands return to her shoulders, “I shouldn't be talking too loud, I don’t wanna make your headache worse.” Then the younger girl’s face sets in determination. “But I do stand by what I said—Miss Lauma will want to know that you're feeling under the weather.”
“Just, help me to the spare room, then,” Nefer musters out, stifling another groan of pain. “Then you can go find Lauma. But don’t bother her if she’s busy.”
“Spare room, then Lauma,” Jahoda repeats, diligently forgetting the last instruction. “Right away, Boss!”
Nefer doesn’t know whether she loves her best employee, or loathes her.
Candace doesn’t seem to care either way, striding out the office threshold to lead the charge.
///
Nefer isn’t sure when the world tilted or when the spare room swallowed her whole. One moment, Jahoda was helping her to her feet; the next she’s half-sunk into cool sheets, breath rasping too loudly in her own ears. The air tastes different here—thicker, wetter, clinging to her fever-flushed skin.
The ceiling wavers like a mirage. Footsteps stir the quiet—deliberate, unhurried.
Candace, pacing yet again.
Nefer tries to lift her head; the fever drags her back down again.
“You never came back for me,” Candace says casually, stepping around the spare bedroom in a leisurely gait. Nefer follows her through a bleary gaze, the movement all blurring together. “You’d wax poetic about missing the desert, about missing me. And yet, you never did set foot back in Aaru Village. In the end, I was just another victim of your lying tongue.”
Nefer inhales slowly, closes her eyes. Beneath the covers of her bed, she feels unbearably hot—a different kind of heat from the desert. Stickier. More humid. Suffocating, and Nefer hates it.
“And you never visited,” Nefer shoots back, exhaling. She is tired, so very tired. “Not once. Not a single step from you. I was alone out there—that school was a lion’s den. But did I ever hold it against you? No. I would never wish that place upon any desertfolk, not ever.”
“Hm.” Candace sounds amused. “How kind of you.”
“Nefer.”
Nefer pries her eyes open.
“Lauma.” She doesn't even realize she's reaching for her. When did Lauma get here? She can't recall hearing the door swing open. “What are you doing—”
“Jahoda came to get me in a hurry.” The bed dips, Lauma’s comforting weight pressing at Nefer’s hip as the Moonchanter leans over to press a lingering kiss to Nefer’s forehead. “She told me that your fever spiked overnight.”
And from the corner of the room, Candace’s amber eye gleams as she crosses her arms, clicking her tongue. “Can't even take care of yourself, hm? Maybe the future I saw for you all those years ago was wrong.”
Nefer laughs, then promptly breaks into a cough.
“Wouldn't be the first time someone was wrong about me,” she tells the blue-haired woman, staring at the gold eye that adorns her head. “I'm used to it—being looked at like I'm nothing.”
Candace’s resulting smile is far too kind, a sickening kind of sweet. “So why? Why did you ever leave the desert?”
Nefer opens her mouth but closes it soon after. Stubbornly, despite the stuffiness that clouds her mind, she does not want to dignify that with a response.
“Nefer—” Meanwhile, Lauma looks unbearably sad, even as she cups a sweltering face, traces a thumb over a sweat-ridden brow. “Oh, darling, I've been worried. Who… Who are you speaking to?”
“I'm hallucinating, Lauma,” Nefer says impatiently, ignoring the way the Moonchanter’s eyes widen. “Please keep up.”*
And at that, the illusory Candace’s mouth curls up into a knowing smirk. “This is your lover? By all the grains of sand in the desert and stars in the sky, what on earth could you have possibly done to deserve this one?”
Nothing. Nefer closes her eyes, letting the voices blur—Lauma’s soft concern threading gently through Candace’s biting tone. For a moment, she cannot tell which one is nearer. Heat throbs beneath her skin, the room tilting on a skewed angle. I’ve done nothing. But she’s chosen me, inexplicably.
Someone—Lauma, most definitely—brushes damp hair from her forehead.
Someone else laughs. Candace, of course. This Candace always laughs when Nefer stumbles.
The world swims, and suddenly—nauseatingly—Nefer feels very, very small.
Then—
“When did you know?” Lauma and Candace ask in unison, their voices folding over each other, drifting through the haze.
But it is Lauma alone who Nefer answers.
“From the beginning,” she says, smiling ruefully despite herself. “Candace would never visit me here. Candace would never leave the desert.”
And I walked far, far away.
And then the fake Candace tips her head back—laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
“Amazing!” she crows, grinning broadly at Nefer. “So self-aware! And yet, I’m still here.”
The noise swells, too loud, too bright. Ricochets through her skull until it breaks apart—splintering, fading. Nefer squeezes her eyes shut, the world rippling and reshaping until she is hollow in its wake. Her breath stutters, and the weight of exhaustion pitches her forward, collapsing gently into Lauma’s waiting arms.
A cool hand presses against her cheek, steady and unbearably kind.
“Lauma…”
“What do you hear, Nefer?”
Nefer exhales, leans into Lauma’s touch.
“Unkind things.”
“Yet, you've told me about Candace before,” Lauma says softly, chidingly. Her hands cup at Nefer's face, thumb smoothing over distressed creases, and her lips kiss away the helplessness in her eyes, as light as crystalflies. “Your Candace is kinder, and warmer. What do you think you're doing, conjuring up a version who is needlessly cruel?”
“I—” Nefer clamps her mouth shut.
“Is it self-punishment?” Lauma ponders, tipping her head. “Do you feel it's what you deserve?”
“I never visited,” Nefer says helplessly, and her head feels like it's burning. Nevertheless, she lets Lauma guide her back against the pillows, the Moonchanter’s palm steady at her shoulder, gentle as moonlight pressing her into rest.
“And will your hallucinations solve that?” Lauma asks patiently. Once more, she has led Nefer to an oasis in a dry, barren land.
Still.
“I don't need your gentle-parenting,” Nefer says petulantly, tugging the blanket up to her chin in annoyance.
Lauma giggles at the same time the illusory Candace barks out another laugh of her own. The sounds overlap, yet it is Lauma's bell-like chiming that lingers in Nefer's ears. She grabs onto those reverberations—this is real, this is real, this is real.
It takes a heartbeat—just one—for the mirage to shiver. The false Candace’s elation fractures, scattering like sand in the wind, and Nefer feels the moment loosen its hold on her. Her grip tightens on her bedsheets, on Lauma’s closeness, the truth settling into her chest.
Nefer shakes her head. “No.”
“No?” Lauma prods.
“No,” Nefer repeats, sighing theatrically; a modicum back to her normal self. “My delirium won’t solve anything.”
“Then, I think it's rather mean of you,” the Moonchanter says pointedly, smiling ever-so-slightly. “You haven't seen her in years. Perhaps I didn't know her, but the Nefer on the bed in front of me has grown and changed since her last days in Sumeru. Who are you to assume that Candace has not done the same?”
“She's smart,” Not-Truly-Candace chimes in, grinning. “Unlike a certain someone here who's slow on the uptake.”
“And you're not helpful,” Nefer snaps at the illusion, much to an increasingly amused Lauma.
“What's Candace saying now?”
“That you're smart, and that I'm ‘slow on the uptake.’ Whatever that means.”
“My. Those are some smart words.”
“Laumaaaa…” She draws out the second syllable, wrinkles her nose. Then she sighs again, deeply. “How do I get her to leave?”
“Nefer.” Lauma laughs softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind the sickly woman's ear. “You don't have to ask me questions you already know the answer to.”
Nefer rolls her eyes, because isn't it obvious? “Well, how else are you going to feel included? It's not like you can see her.”
“You're so silly.” The Moonchanter's eyes are bright, affection pouring from even the lightest of touches. “So, so silly. I don't have to be included, darling, but I'm touched that you thought of me.”
“That's how I get her to leave.” Nefer can't take her eyes away. “She's not real, but you are.”
“I am.”
“I’m real somewhere,” Not-Candace calls from the other side of the room.
“Not here,” Nefer snaps at her, though her gaze remains fixated on Lauma. “You're far from real here.”
“We'll go to Sumeru sometime,” Lauma promises, smiling as if she can hear the faux Candace’s side of the conversation. “We'll see the real Candace, and she'll berate you for painting such a horrible portrait of her.”
“We will,” Nefer breathes. “And you'll come with me. To the desert.”
“To the village that raised you.”
“I… I want to visit my dad, too.”
Because it's been too long since she last visited his grave. She hasn't returned to Sumeru in a long, long time.
“Do you even remember where he's buried?” The fake Candace wonders.
Of course she does.
I'm sick, not stupid.
But Nefer doesn't even dignify her with a verbal answer. Instead, she watches the way Lauma's mouth moves, the way her lips curl prettily around a smile. Promises like to balance there, at the tip of Lauma's tongue, ready to spill out whenever Nefer needs to hear them.
She loves that about Lauma. Hopelessly devoted, Lauma.
Nefer would probably raze the earth for her, if she needed to. It's an abrupt thought, but they're dealing in realities now, so—
“We’ll visit him, then,” Lauma tells her tenderly. “I'd love to meet him.”
Nefer nods, because she knows now what is true. “He’ll adore you. Candace, too—she’ll think you're too good for this world.”
“The real one?”
“The real one. The Candace at Aaru Village who's still waiting for me to visit.” Nefer swallows. “She's not here right now.”
“She is not,” Lauma agrees.
Nefer's arms loop around Lauma's neck, pulling her closer.
“But you are.”
Hovering above her, balanced carefully on her forearms, Lauma nods, eyes softening. “I am.”
“And so I'll think of you.” Nefer nudges their noses together. “You, and only you.”
“Because I am real,” Lauma says.
“You are,” Nefer agrees. “You're too good for this world, but you're real. Against all logic.”
She gives up easily on trying to rationalize it out—she’s far too sickly for her usual degree of roundabout thinking.
Catching on quickly, Lauma laughs again. “Don't hurt your head, darling.”
“I won’t, I won’t.” A pause. “But if I did, you’d still help me?”
“Of course.” Lauma hums. “I’ll always be here to help you. Even if you don’t want it.”
Nefer yawns, sleep pawing insistently at her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. You’re too stubborn.”
“You love how stubborn I am,” Lauma shoots back.
“I really do.”
“And what does your illusory friend think about that?”
“Candace?”
She receives no response, and Nefer smiles.
Sleep follows swiftly after that.
///
(It had been Ashru, actually, who delivered the first red flag.
Lauma had been tidying up the library on Hisii Island, smoothening the pages of a book one of the children had accidentally splashed water on, when a sharp, insistent mreowww sounded from nearby. Ashru rarely announced himself; he would often appear silently these days, happy to quietly keep Lauma company whenever Nefer was too busy.
Today, though, his fur was puffed, tail flicking with unmistakable agitation.
Lauma knelt, hands outreached for him instinctively. “What’s wrong, little one?”
Ashru had circled her once—tight, restless—before butting his head against her knee. The sound he’d made was more frustrated than wounded.
Lauma touched two fingers beneath his chin.
“Use your words, Ashru,” she’d murmured. “You know I can hear you.”
He huffed—an almost human exhale—and the meaning unfurled sharply through the space between them.
She’s been talking all morning, he complained. Talking and talking. To no one I can smell. No one I can see. His tail lashed once. She keeps turning her head like someone’s there. And she’s hot. Wrong-hot. Too tired to move, but pretending she isn’t.
Lauma paused, breath caught in her throat.
“...Nefer?” she asked, though she already knew.
Ashru had flicked an ear. She won’t listen to me. Too distracted in whoever it is she’s talking to.
Lauma rose to her feet in a single, fluid motion.
“Show me,” she began—
—but she hadn’t been able to finish. Footsteps thundered across the Frostmoon Enclave, Jahoda stumbling into view, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Miss Lauma!” she gasped. “Oh, thank the archons—please, Boss Nef needs you! She’s burning up, and she nearly fainted, and she’s acting strange, and she—just—please hurry!”
They’d made it back to Nasha Town in a record time.)
///
Nefer wakes to the sound of quiet breathing—not her own.
For a moment, disorientation blurs everything. The ceiling is not her usual one; the sheets smell faintly of frostlamp flowers and rainfall; her skull feels less like collapsing stone and more like a dull, stubborn throb. Shifting, Nefer blinks away the remnants of hazy, dreamless sleep.
Surfaces just as someone squeezes her hand—
“Good morning,” Lauma murmurs from the bedside, though she tips her head soon after, smiling. “Or, well—maybe not quite.”
Grunting, Nefer attempts to face her. “How long was I out?”
“You fell asleep around midday, and it’s nightfall now.” The Moonchanter hums, reconsidering. “So, perhaps ‘good evening’ is more appropriate.”
Nefer groans. “Is it, though?”
Lauma laughs quietly, brushing the back of her hand along Nefer’s cheek, giggling as the bedridden woman chases after the wisp of a touch in earnest. “Better than earlier, at least. Your fever’s down.”
Curled at Nefer’s hip like a self-appointed guard, Ashru flicks his fail with a smug sort of satisfaction at her return to consciousness. When she tries to sit up, he mrrrreows in disapproval and presses a paw to her stomach.
“He says to stop being so reckless,” Lauma interprets diligently.
Nefer rolls her eyes dramatically, sinking back against her pillow. “I gathered.”
A beat of silence passes—comfortable, finally—and then she takes a deep breath, braces herself for what’s to come.
“How much do you remember?” she asks, massaging her temples with a heavy sigh.
The corner of Lauma’s mouth ticks up. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Despite how it all felt like a fever dream, I remember far too much, unfortunately.” Nefer grumbles, feeling annoyingly peevish—she’d rather crawl under the sheets and never emerge. “What I really need to know is how much I embarrassed myself in front of you.”
“Embarrassed?” Lauma draws back, scandalized. “Nefer, you were adorable!”
“I was babbling like a child!”
“And you were very sweet!” Lauma insists.
Narrowing her eyes, Nefer regards her suspiciously. “...What exactly did I say?”
“Oh, nothing too compromising.” Lauma leans her chin on the back of her hand, eyes alight with mischief. “You told me I was real.”
Nefer flushes. “I was delirious.”
“So you say.”
Ashru lets out a chuffing sound that might as well be agreement.
But then Lauma’s expression softens, sincerity slipping beneath the teasing. “You… also said some other things. About what you want to do once we go to Sumeru—the people and places you want to visit.”
“Ah.” Nefer tips her head back, stares up at the ceiling as if she can see the stars that lie beyond them. The very same stars, she realizes, that Candace must be observing right now. “I do remember saying that.”
“You meant it all, didn’t you?” Lauma squeezes her hand once more, and really, it should be criminal—the way Lauma treads so delicately yet still knows how to get to the crux with efficiency. “Everything that you’ve had bottled up this whole time.”
“All of my sins?” Nefer closes her eyes.
“All of your guilt,” Lauma corrects.
“I wonder if Candace would even be happy to see me.” Or my father. What would he think, if I finally show up at his final resting place?
“I don’t know, I’ve never met her before,” Lauma admits, because they’ve both had enough of lying, of beating around the bush. And yet, and yet, and yet—she raises Nefer’s hand, presses her lips to the soft skin, embeds her promise and a smile where it matters. “But what I do know is that I will be with you every single step of the way. We’ll go to Sumeru together, and everything you face, I will face with you.”
Nefer looks down at their joined hands. “Just like this?”
She presses a kiss of her own to Lauma’s hand.
“Just like this.” Lauma blushes prettily, and she is devastatingly beautiful. “It might not mean much, but—”
“It’s everything,” Nefer interrupts. Because it is. Lauma has always been everything. “It’s more than enough. Thank you, Lauma.”
And the Moonchanter beams.
“Anytime, Nefer.”
“So…” Nefer trails off. “Will you be staying the night?”
“Do you want me to?” Lauma shoots back.
“I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed.”
Mrreeoww!
Lauma laughs, the chiming of bells. “Ashru says you should be more honest with yourself, Nefer!”
“You’re both the worst.” But Nefer’s smiling now, small and soft. She tugs at Lauma’s hand, drawing the other woman onto the bed. “Come here already, you.”
End.
Bonus:
The desert is quiet at this hour, the sun slanting low across the dunes, gilding every grain of sand in familiar amber light. From her perch on the cliffside overlooking Aaru Village, Candace watches the wind carve new ripples into the earth—slow, steady, familiar. Everything she’s ever known.
Her spear rests against her shoulder; shield braced on her arm. She breathes in the arid calm.
Then a voice calls out, bright and unmistakable.
“Candace! You’ve got mail!”
She turns just in time to see Dehya jogging up the slope, kicking up a trail of sand behind her, waving something in her hand like a prize she’s just won at a festival. Her smile is cheeky as she parades the letter around, a glimmer in her cat-like eyes.
“And trust me,” the Eremite woman continues, grinning as she comes to a halt in front of Aaru Village’s guardian, “you’ll want to read this one.”
“Oh?” Shifting on one hip, Candace dismisses her shield and polearm, turning to face her beloved. Upon catching the excited twitch of Dehya’s mouth, she laughs. “And since when were you a mail courier?”
“I’m a courier of all things important to you,” Dehya declares easily, then all but pushes the correspondence into Candace’s hands. “And this is definitely important—I was paid a tidy pile of mora to get it safely to you, even though I said I’d do it for free.”
Brow furrowing, Candace runs her thumb over the wax seal—she’s never seen this symbol before.
“What could be so—” She turns the folded paper over, eyes drifting over the name written plainly on the back. “Oh.”
“See?” Dehya chuckles, reaching over to loop an arm around Candace’s waist as the other woman tears open the envelope. “I knew you’d react that way.”
She falls quiet as Candace reads, prior playfulness softening into something gentler. She shifts closer—not crowding, just close enough that Candace can lean on her if she wants to.
Candace doesn’t. But she does reach out, fingers brushing Dehya’s wrist, grounding herself as she absorbs every written word.
By the time she reaches the end, her shoulders have relaxed, her grip gentler, and as she lowers the page, her eyes glisten.
“Dehya?”
“Hm?” Dehya bumps her head against the blue-haired woman’s.
Candace laughs, wiping a stray tear that escapes from her amber eye.
“I think we’ll have some visitors soon.”