Chapter 6: Chestnut Rice

Tomoe slid the storeroom door open.

Shiori stood in the cold passage with a quilt held in front of her.

Her hair was flat on one side, and her bare feet were blue.

"You'll lose your toes," Tomoe said.

"I know."

"Come in."

Shiori came in and shut the door behind her.

She stood in the dark between the sacks and did not seem to know what to do with her arms.

"I am not here to break the oath," she said stiffly. "I came because it is cold."

"All right."

"I came to be warm. Nothing else."

"All right," Tomoe said again, and held up the corner of her quilt.

Shiori looked at it.

Then she got down on her knees on the mouse-smelling futon and lay down on her side.

And Tomoe tucked the quilt around the pair of them.

For a while they lay with nothing touching but their knees.

Then Shiori's hand came across the space between them and rested on Tomoe's hip.

"I lied," she said quietly. "I came for more than warmth."

"I know you did."

"I do not know how to say what I want."

"Then I'll go first." Tomoe rolled over to face her. "I want you to stop apologizing."

"For what?"

"For wanting things. You say sorry every time you touch me."

"I do not."

"You said it yesterday in the kitchen, with salt all over the floor."

A startled breath of laughter broke from Shiori, warm against Tomoe's face.

"You are impossible," she said, and it sounded like thanks.

"I've been told."

"I have been the Sword Saint for six years. Nobody has spoken to me like that since I was a girl."

"I'm sure they were all afraid of you."

"They were."

"I'm not," Tomoe said, and she kissed her.

Shiori's mouth opened under hers.

It was less careful than before, and slower, and so deep that the little room spun.

Tomoe pushed the quilt away from both of them.

She undid the knot of Shiori's sash and put her palm flat on the saint's stomach, over the muscle that twitched under her hand.

"Tell me what you want," she said.

"I want you to feed me."

"I just did."

"No." Shiori caught her wrist and turned her face away, flushing to the roots of her hair.

"I mean I want to be touched, and fed, and held, and not have to decide. I have decided everything for six years."

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Exiled Sword Saint Hired Me to Cook, Not to Fight from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.