Finvarra's Circus

11- Asleep and Awaken

A soft hush resounded as the curtain closed behind her. Leanna fought off a similar sigh. The belonging warmth clung to her body soothingly as if comforting her against the cold she'd brought in on her skin. Her fists dissolved.

Candelabras cast faint glows in the extremities of the chamber, adding to the serenity of it all. And at the core of the room, the light of a blazing fire. Finvarra sat before this flame, though Leanna could not see his face. With the back of the chair toward her, only his arm was visible on the arm rest, and in his hand, a snifter of brandy. One leg was crossed over the other, the gilded hue of the fire reflecting its steady dance on his polished black boots. An air of calm radiated from his quiet frame like a fog, and in its midst, Leanna forgot what she had gone there to say. Truth be told, she could have curled up at the chair beside him and gone straight to sleep.

Leanna twined her fingers tightly at her waist and remained where she stood, hovering by the door. "You wished—" She cleared her throat in hopes to stay the tremble. "You wished to see me?"

Finvarra sighed slowly, and before him the fire hissed. The shadows hovering high in the ceiling waved to the sway of the flames, of his breath. "I believe we said we would free one another," he said finally, his tone gravely calm, the vocal manifestation of the serene air in the room. "I have upheld my end of our bargain, have I not?"

Leanna nodded as if he could see her. She paced forward a few steps, enough to bring her through the sheer curtains, but did not near him. "You have," she said softly.

Finvarra turned his face, though it remained veiled by the chair. "Then, Miss Weston, give me a taste of what is due me, of what awaits me when you fulfill your part of the agreement."

Leanna moistened her lips, her throat dry. "How do you suppose I do that, sir?" she rasped.

A dark chuckle resounded, a drawled sound. "Surely not by speaking to me from across the room," he said, and before she could answer, Finvarra transferred the goblet into the unseen hand and gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit with me..."

One moment, she stood by the sheer drapes. The next she neared his beckoning hand though she didn't remembered her mind ever making the choice to move. But something did, and now her fingers fiddled the soft muslin as tentative steps drew her closer until she reached the chair opposite his. Eyes fixed on the restless flames before them, Leanna sat down slowly, and there was quiet for a moment.

In the stillness, Leanna braved a glance and took in the man beside her. His black attire had been replaced by tanned breeches and a white shirt carelessly open at the collar. Blond strands were tied back, leaving his face unobstructed for Leanna's consideration. And she considered him, watching him as he watched the flames.

"I am here," she said, noting twilight and heaven play upon his features. "Though I hardly see how my sitting with you could possibly free you as you have me."

"Freedom from the clutches of my thoughts, Miss Weston, is taste of plenty." It was then Finvarra who considered her. His direct gaze seized the breath from her lungs and she pressed her lips together, as if to keep it from him.

Trapped in his stare, it felt like roses bloomed in her face, the deep red pricking her cheeks from the inside. Leanna looked away. Still, she felt his gaze linger, travelling along her in quiet scrutiny, first at her coat, then the muslin gown and hose from practice, to the satin slippers...

Leanna bit her lip, hoping he didn't ask.

He did.

"You've been by to see Minerva, I see," he remarked with even tones.

"No, no—I... well," Leanna stammered. Her pulse quickened. "Kioyo and Bertrand— the coat—the coat is Kioyo's, and the rest, well..." Oh, she'd always been such a terrible liar! Leanna hauled in a great breath. "I haven't been to see Minerva, yet."