Ascendance Hell

“So, you haven’t,” Amarinda said with a quirked grin pulling at her lips. She went to haul Tobias up to his feet while he struggled to keep his drink from spilling, his knees creaking beneath him. 

Tobias blinked to himself, shaking out his foot that had fallen asleep as he leaned against Amarinda. She stole a sip from his cup, puckering her lips suddenly. “It’s only cider–”

“Was it supposed to be hot?”

“Well, it–”

Roden took a sip of his. He pursed his lips, nodding to himself slowly. “I’d say it’s still hot.”

“Hot enough,” Tobias finished, tipping his hand from side to side. 

Amarinda looked between the two of them and then at Jaron who didn’t bother with the argument; he sat his cup on the table, pushing himself up to join Imogen. His eyes never left her. “Is this a new dress?” he asked.

Amarinda clapped her hands together, smiling at him and then at Imogen. “I told you he’d notice!”

Imogen ducked her head down, chuckling into her hand before she pulled her braid over her shoulder. She twirled with the end of it. “It–is. Amarinda said that maybe I should splurge given… who I’m with now.” She smiled gently at Jaron who took her hand in his. 

He looked her over appreciatively, grinning back at her. “Gotta say, Drylliad looks good on you. You should do it more often,” Jaron said, nudging her side playfully. “I’ll put it in as a necessary expense.”

And she could only laugh, hitting his arm lightly. “Oh, don’t do that, you already fight with the regents enough–and after everything…”

Jaron put his hand to her cheek, tilting his head. “Imogen, the kingdom will heal itself in time, a few fancy dresses here and there won’t hurt Carthya, no matter how silly it may seem. It gives the tailor something to do! That’s one person helped!” He grinned at her, running the fabric on her sleeve between his fingers. “Besides, the regents wouldn’t be caught dead in last week’s fashion, even if the dust is still settling–and I think if they have a problem with it, we can enact a silk tax. I think they’ll love it. I have been getting bored.” Jaron caught Roden’s eye as his general grimaced, pushing himself up from the floor.

“If I find another assassin in the castle, I’ll kill you myself and they can take notes on how it’s properly done,” Roden grunted out at him.

Jaron laughed. “Great! Professional on the job training! We’ll save the job market one assassin at a time, won’t we?”

Roden hit him with his shoulder as he passed. “If that’s what we’re calling it these days.”

Imogen grinned, stepping back with Amarinda as Jaron continued to poke at Roden. “Thank you, really,” she said, looking up at her.

“What for?” Amarinda asked after blinking out of her thoughts.

“For one, you’re not like…” Imogen trailed off, gesturing broadly as she watched the two boys rough house while Tobias tried in vain to pull them apart, claiming outrageous things like don’t put pressure on a broken leg and if you don’t rest, you can’t heal. Right, like that meant anything. Imogen snorted, biting her smile back.

Amarinda cocked her hip, crossing her arms with a chuckle. “I mean, I can certainly make an effort…” 

Imogen laughed, leaning into her. “I think it’s nice to have someone reasonable around here that’s our age.”

“You don’t want to gossip with Mott?”

Imogen raised an eyebrow. “Amarinda, you have not gossiped till you’ve gossiped with Mott–overhearing even a little bit of what he knows would have the saints in a tizzy.” 

“Is that so?”

“Trust me. At Farthenwood…” Imogen trailed off, shaking her head–letting nostalgia mask over the uglier parts of her time there. “Let’s just say you wanted to keep your name out of his mouth.”

Amarinda laughed. “Him? I’d never guess!”

“He had to know everything going on there, it only made sense.” Imogen chuckled, taking in a breath as Tobias finally got Roden and Jaron to sit down once more. “But… it really is–nice to have a friend here–someone who likes these…” she paused, pulling at the dress with a snort, ”girly things. I can’t exactly go to one of them.”

“I don’t know… Tobias has taken pretty well to the finer things,” Amarinda said cheekily.

Imogen laughed. “Okay, let me rephrase, someone who already knows what they’re talking about.”

Amarinda smiled at her, sighing. She nodded slowly. “Then I should thank you too–because it’s been nice to talk about petticoats, blouses, and even shoes again rather than… war strategies and the memories of those we’ve lost.” She took in a breath, her expression evening out as her thoughts drifted for a second time.

Imogen put her hand on her arm, smiling at her. “Then let’s indulge. Jaron’s right. We can’t live in mourning forever or be scared to enjoy the life we fought for.” She chuckled. “You live so long conserving and protecting what you have, too scared to ask for more, but it… it is necessary, isn’t it?”