#weylan

“He asked me out again,” Nahi murmured as she rolled onto her stomach, indigo silk sheets clinging to her curves like a gown. The fabric carried the faint scent of gun oil, oddly enticing. It was a scent never thought she would find attractive. A low chuckle came from the steam filled bathroom as he dried himself in the shower, “That is his own fault. You have told him no how many times?” Nahi folded her arms under her head and watched the silhouette of his body move, “I can’t even remember at this point.” 

“Persistent,” he said, drying his hair with a towel, “I’ll give him that. I never thought he’d sink his teeth in this long. At least he learned one lesson from me, never let go of the unique.”

Her laugh was soft, a musical sound that warmed the room. “After all this time, shouldn’t you tell him?”

Tossing the towel in his hands into a chair as he walked to his closet, pulling out a long thin wrapped box and moving to the bed to sit next to her. “It is still so amusing to me, I would have said something a while back if he had stopped pursuing you since clearly you are not interested.” A frown wrinkled his brow and he reached down to cup her cheek, “You know I am not ashamed of our dalliance, right?” Dalliance was such a sweet word that felt chivalrous for sleeping together once in a while, “I do not mind if you do not want to say anything, I would just never want to be a cause of friction between you.” That hint of her past was tickling her, that echo of guilt that took hold of her once in a while. 

“A beauty in looks and spirit, I will tell him soon,” he runs his hand through wet silver hair. “Now I have something for you. Yeshione said he accepted you as a student, and that you have already subverted Yvosheinne to your side with those caramel nut cookies of yours, a good move there, my niece can be an imp if she doesn’t like you.” 

Nahi sat up and tucked a leg under her while he spoke, wondering where this was going. “Use every weapon at your disposal, one of the first lessons, right?” Yeshione was Weylan’s brother-in-law and when she was talking about needing to train further in protecting herself Wey had suggested she reach out. Yeshione didn’t teach what some might call honorable fighting, he taught people to fight as dirty as needed to survive, which seemed practical to Nahi when she thought about it. 

Another chuckle followed that, the deep timbre of his voice was something that still sent heat pooling in her belly. “Exactly so, I think you will learn quickly from him, that type of fighting is all about your intelligence and spatial awareness, and you have both of those in abundance.” He handed her the box, they weren’t the kind of lovers to share gifts, “Open it.” Her brow arched as he set the box in her lap, they weren’t the kind of lovers who traded gifts. She popped the ribbon with her nail, tearing the paper to reveal a plain wooden case. Inside lay a pair of daggers: dark handles bound in tape, metal dulled to a practical sheen. She looked from them to his green eyes, surprised.

“I saw them at the night market,” he explained, brushing her hair back. “They made me think of you. Daggers cut straps, food, even open letters, when your admirers get so bold. They hide easily, too. Talk to Yeshione about how best to wear them.” His mouth curved in a faint smile. “I know you hate carrying your gun all the time. These should at least keep you armed.”

Nahi lifted one from the box. Its simple lines caught the light, flashing blue along the edge. Jewelry often was the language of past lovers. These were a gift from a man that understood what was driving her in the moment. She set the box aside, a slow smile forming, and pushed against his chest until he fell back into the pillows. His laughter rumbled beneath her palms.

Nahi had always been an observer of people. Lately, she’d found herself spending hours just watching the small, unnoticed exchanges that played out between strangers in the city. Most of the time, she only tucked these moments away quietly, but what she saw the other day refused to leave her mind.

She’d gone to the shooting range for a lesson, nothing out of the ordinary. But as she was checking in, a man entered the shop with a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The discomfort was written all over her, in the way her shoulders drew in tightly, in the hesitant way she moved. Every time she slowed, the man laid a hand on her lower back, steering her forward, guiding her like she was something fragile or disobedient. 

At the counter, the woman found her voice, it held so little power Nahi was surprised anyone could hear it, and said she didn’t want a gun. It sounded like something she’d said before, something that had already been dismissed. The man sighed, exasperated, and told her she needed to get over it.

He launched into an explanation about getting older, about not being able to protect her if something happened in their home. He called her his young bride, said he didn’t want her vulnerable. It could have sounded noble to anyone not watching closely, but the woman’s eyes told another story, she had heard it all before and had said no those times too. Her hands twisted around each other, and her voice broke as she spoke of her father being shot on the row right in front of her and her mother. 

And still, he brushed it aside and told her to stop being so ridiculous.

Something in Nahi tightened. She wanted to step forward, to say stop, to tell him he was the one being ridiculous and to listen to his wife. Her fists tight at her sides, it wasn’t her place, and flashbacks to her childhood kept her stuck, she understood too well how the woman felt.

By the time the shop owner came to the counter, he must have overheard the interaction. His voice was gentle, his words careful. He spoke of other ways to defend their property and even offered the man a card for a mage who specialized in home protections.

And for a fleeting moment, Nahi saw something shift in the woman. Her shoulders loosened just a little. Someone was listening to her, finally, and that simple act gave her a sliver of hope.

But it also enraged the man. His face darkened. He snatched the card from the counter and threw it back down, fingers gripping the woman’s elbow hard enough to make her flinch. “You just lost yourself a sale,” he snapped, before dragging her from the shop.

When the door closed behind them, silence fell like a weight. Nahi could feel her pulse thudding in her ears, anger and helplessness tangling inside her until she couldn’t breathe and she just slipped quietly from the shop.

But the next morning, she returned, not for practice, carrying a large tray of caramel espresso brownies, still warm from the oven. Reaching out, she caught the front of the owner’s shirt, drawing him in for a quick kiss, “Thank you.”