"Do you think he would fit? He-he keeps my nightmares away, most nights." She admitted softly, playing with his fingers. Her hair seemed to permanently be stuck in her face, but her eyes still sparkled softly in the campfire lighting, dark like a starless night sky right up until the shocking rings of color around her pupils. "You wouldn't bother me. I don't get much sleep anyway, Zar. Just an hour here and there, every few days."
“I do think he would. Maybe not through the front but we can always lift the tent’s side a little for him.” He fell silent in thought, already having a plan in mind. With a grin he reached out to try and brush her hair from her face, tilting his head.
“You should try and sleep some more. It’s healthy to sleep. And while you’re under my protection in this camp you will not be touched, woken, or harmed.”
She leaned into his fingers just slightly, an unconscious movement paired with the dusting of warm color along her cheeks. Every time he did that, she was unsure just how to deal with the butterfly wing feelings in her gut, but liked them all the same. Even if they scared her somewhat. "I hope it works. I really wouldn't feel right be separated from him like that. And it's…you really don't have to do that, Zar. Make that promise."
Nordali flashed her his stunning grin and slowly moved to stand, bringing her up with him. “Oh, my lady, I must. I promise that to all of my guests.” He smiled politely at her and gently tugged her along. “Follow me and I’ll show you the place. It’s really quite comfortable.” He chuckled lightly, hoping she’d be alright with it.
"Whether you promise that to all your guests is beside the point. And besides, wouldn't I be less than a guest? You did insist that I join your guild, thus making me more a soon-to-be regular here than a guest." Amira pointed out, letting him drag her along anyway. She kept a hold on the field mouse, lifting it and setting it on her shoulders, where it happily scampered about. "Are you really sure letting me sleep there is alright?"
“Of course not! No one here is less than a guest!” He cried out, faking a hurt expression. “We’re not barbarians, Amira. We’re only friendly thieves, murders, outcasts, and traitors.” A grin settled onto his face, one of the more true expressions he showed to those he cared for. “Of course it would be alright. I only ask you be careful where you snoop. Do not open the chest under the cot and do not touch the books wrapped in animal hide.” He warned, his expression suddenly darkening and his eyes flashing dangerously.
Nordali once again seemed to relax, leaning her past the tent folds of his tent, glancing at the desk as they passed and traveled deeper, beyond the makeshift curtain. The space was rather large, containing nothing but a cot, the chest under the cot, a crate or two and a small bookshelf that held many books.
“Do not touch the books, and do not touch the chest.” Amira repeated, a re affirmation and a showing that she understood. She was plenty used to limitations on what she was and wasn’t allowed to do. But in this case, she didn’t want to break the rules. This wasn’t about defiance, or pushing limits, this was about staying in a place that made her happy, with a man who made her feel warm and safe. Save the looks, Zar, for someone else.
He seemed to relax when she reaffirmed, looking around at his space. It was rather tidy for someone like him, except for the many bottles of alcohol lying about, some half finished. He blushed lightly and went about cleaning them up.
“I apologize for the mess… I have a problem.” He admitted, throwing the empty bottles in one of the crates and ducking under the walls of the tent to dump the rest of the alcohol from the half filled bottles. “It’s a safe space… if you ever need more blankets we have plenty. And I think you’d enjoy a change of clothes. Would you like to pick out something else?” He asked, diverting the attention away from his bottles.
Weirdly enough, the sight of the bottles didn’t draw up the same panic it normally did. She trusted him. Trusted him not to harm her, while drunk or sober.
“I have been wearing these clothes for a while..” Amira admitted, chewing on her bottom lip as her fingers plucked imaginary strings. Her eyes continued to flicker around the tent, taking in the space. It was nice, much nicer than some of the places she’d stayed before. “If it’s no trouble, clean clothes would be much appreciated. Who should I go to for that?”
Nordali looked her up and down for a moment, his face scrunched up in thought. “If you wouldn’t mind it, I have a few things you could wear. I think they’d fit a little big but the offer still stands. That way you wouldn’t have to wander camp looking for something to wear.”
Amira blinked, dark eyes focusing in on him curiously. “You-alright. That might be best, that way I’m not bugging people who are getting ready for bed.” She said softly, nodding. Her cheeks were dusted with red, the thought of wearing his clothes slightly flustering. He was, in most ways, a stranger.
The male didn’t seem to mind that he was giving away his clothes so freely to a woman he had just met. Either that or he was ignorant to the entire thing.
Nordali ducked past the curtain and returned moments later with a small crate. Inside we’re various articles of clothing that obviously belonged to him. The smell of sage was heavy on the clothing, and they were each folded nicely. “Pick whatever you’d like.”
Amira looked through the clothing with a grateful smile, blowing her hair back out of her face. The mouse was curled up in the crook of her neck, sandy white against her bronze skin. “Thanks.” She said, picking out a shirt and pants that would definitely be big on her.
Nordali’s fashion taste was rather… expensive so to say. Years of growing up privileged and dressed by maids had stuck with him in little ways he couldn’t quite shake. Some of the shirts were made from high quality fabric and moved like silk. They were clean and well kept, quite like the man who wore them. The sage scent seemed to vary by article of clothing, some smelling more of his cedar and mint than the sage.
He smiled when she picked out what she wanted and blushed lightly. “Ah! I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything else with the clothes let me know and I can send someone to grab you it.” He said, ducking behind the curtain. The sound of a book closing from his desk told that he was far from the curtain.
Amira watched him go, the room suddenly feeling a tad colder without him there. Shaking her head, she carefully set the clothes down on the cot, letting the mouse join them before she began to change. First her pants, prolonging taking off her shirt. After rolling up the legs of the pants to keep them from trailing and tripping her, she hesitantly removed her shirt, ignoring the darkly stained bandages on her side to instead look at the other side, fingers tracing over the shimmery golden ink along her side. It was script, an unfinished story in her home’s ancient language, accompanied by small drawings of sorts. It was tradition for princesses in her kingdom. The princes got the ink on their chest, whereas the princesses primarily had the ink on their sides and back. And Amira had only gotten the beginning of her story and fate tattooed, leaving her with an open ending full of possibilities.
Nordali busied himself with the plans for their next raid, biting his lip at the size of the manor they had chosen. It was heavily guarded but placed away from any main towns. The servants weren’t treated kindly by their masters and lords and that was what lead Nordali to picking the place. He couldn’t stand to hear the tales of servant bodies heaved from the basement and thrown into a large ditch to be burned. It infuriated him that someone could be so cruel as to hire servants and kill them off if they disobeyed.
His hands shook as he traced a room in red, marking the master bedroom. There, Nordali would decide what he wanted to do.
He brushed a strand of his long hair from his face, blinking his silver eyes slowly. Something wasn’t quite right about the way the manor was set up, with empty spaces where rooms should be and servant passages that made no sense.
Amira finished changing rather quickly after her pause, using the hair tie she usually used for her hair to instead knot the shirt up somewhat to make it less baggy. Slipping out with the mouse once again on her shoulders, her steps were silent as she came around Zar’s side, looking curiously down at the map.
And then she frowned. “This is…the place you’re planning on raiding?” She asked, brows furrowing in thought as she moved around the table, eyes never leaving the map.
He jumped lightly when she spoke, his hand moving immediately to the hilt of a sword at his hip. He relaxed when he realized it was only her and nodded gently.
“Yes… this is the place.” He replied with a tired sigh, his whole body tense as he stared at the paper below his hands. He was standing over it, not quite feeling the urge to sit down yet.
“I don’t like how it’s designed… we have quite a few of the servants on our side and they provided a fairly detailed map of their routes but… some of it doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ve seen something similar to this a few times.” Amira mused, setting the mouse down on the table. It skittered about curiously, pausing in certain spots. “Once, I planned to rob the house of a man I’d heard had a history of laying off employees. It turned out-he was taking in immigrants and then selling them and their families. The police refused to believe me until I got them to the manor by blowing up the sheds. Another time, it was a man who just had a thing for escape rooms. And-“ She paused, something flickering across her face. “The palace was built with empty rooms and hidden passages. Some of the other servant girls and I used to explore them. Why do you think this place is like that?”
Nordali held out his hand for the mouse, smiling at the small thing. When Amira spoke he listened intently, a slight frown upon his face. “There are places where rooms are supposed to be, and the passages don’t make sense.” He murmured, a little distressed.
“This man kills off the servants who don’t listen.”
The mouse nosed his palm, climbing up his arm to sit on his shoulder and look down.
“Then there’s a bunch of things that could be.” Amira murmured, fingers tapping a restless and almost anxious beat on the table. “Think I can tag along on this raid? I’m curious now, and any man who kills his servants deserves to watch his life fall apart. I want to watch that.”
Nordali let a small smile grace his features when the mouse climbed his shoulder. He looked over at Amira for the first time since she had changed and faltered. He stared at her for a moment, eyes traveling across the way the clothes fell from her shoulders, blinking for a moment.
“Oh! Yes! Of course! You may come. We have it planned for next week,” Nordali flushed and shifted his gaze back to the map. “You look good, by the way.”
“I…do?” Amira tilted her head in slight confusion, both at his words and the way his eyes had swept over her. The look didn’t leave bad feelings. Weird, for sure, but not…bad. She tugged the hem of the shirt down a bit, attempting to keep the dirtied bandages hidden, the bandages on her arms just seeming to point them out a bit more. “Thank you, I think. And definitely thank you for letting me borrow them.”
The male turned away slightly to hide the red in his face, nodding. “You do. It looks really good…” he murmured, stealing another glance at her. Nordali’s eyes found the bandages. He sighed deeply and stood up straight, the map completely abandoned.
“I’ll work out the building later. Right now I want to know about what happened here,” he gently took her arm and studied the bandages he could see. “Are you hurt? You should have told me. We could have visited the medical tent…” his thumb gently ran across the edge of the bandages, silver eyes soft and concerned.
For a moment, Amira was worried he had seen the bandages on her side. But then he was taking her arm, thumb running along the bandages so lightly it made her shiver, and she shook her head. “These? No, they’re not for an injury. They, um, cover scars?” Sort of. Not quite the kind of scars he would think she was referring to, done by a blade or flames or something else painful, but these were done by something else entirely.