15th of Dauroj, L.E.Y. 3252

Pertuli.

I leaned against worn Dorondian marble, luxuriating in soft currents of near-scalding water as they caressed and soothed tired muscles. Eyes closed, I soaked in the heat, breathed out my worries in long slow breaths, smiled at the pleasant sounds of frivolity echoing down the halls from nearby grottos, and mentally readied myself for the day.

It was a big one.

Only two days into the Flowering Festival, I had to pace myself. There were nine more days of flirtatious revelry, song and dance, and, of course, feasting on the Spring's bounty to anticipate. In the Ill'Enniniess Hall, it was a raucous time of intimate camaraderie for Tilwen of all ages, but especially for the young who were just learning to experience what it meant to be the sensate spirits of Mother Terrok.

"Come back to me," purred Cafilenniel's musical voice. She was my current pupil, although her raw talent was hardly undeveloped. "Your thoughts have taken you far away, but I'm not done with you yet."

I opened one eye and peeked at her, the corner of my mouth lifting.

Cafi, at 14 hands tall, was practically an imp. Her warm coloration was breathtaking, and recent exertions amplified the glow suffusing her rosy skin. Like a tawny doe newly grown, she was sleek and beautiful. Her slight frame was perky, and trembling with enthusiasm though she was only old enough to have participated in Flowering perhaps ten times before.

"There you are," she smiled, interspersing her words with pouty kisses placed artfully along my left collarbone. "Aren't you rested yet?"

"You know," I smiled, "we are meant to be washing before the day's revels begin."

"We can be late," she ruled prettily, tucking a wet lock of dark gold over one delicately pointed ear so she could reach my throat properly. "Everyone else will be."

She began flicking her tongue up my throat and, all thoughts of washing driven away, my eyelids fluttered closed. Cafi had learned a lot in the last ten years.

"For once my dear," I sighed with a shudder of pleasure, "I find myself disinclined to argue."

The satisfied murmur that escaped her throat was nearly feline, and she trailed her left hand down my chest and into the dark water.

"There you are!" A familiar male voice angrily declared.

"Ah," I groaned. "Faultless timing as always," I complained. Cafi's hand paused in its journey as she looked up to see who our visitor was. I refrained from giving it a nudge of encouragement, but only just.

"Lord Riposte!" she observed in surprise, a sentiment quickly replaced by breathless hope. "Oh! Are you joining us?"

"Blessed Flowering—I beg your pardon fair Cafilenniel," he said, rushing through the barest function of etiquette, although regret didn't reach his eyes or even permeate his voice to any notable extent. "But I must borrow a few minutes of your friend's time, by your leave."

"I guess," she pouted, disappointment plain on her face. She pulled away from me, and even in the magically heated water the sudden absence of her body's warmth was regrettable. Hot blooded little minx.

She gave me a final coy glance, and pushed away from our submerged seating to glide across the pool, wiggling her exquisite backside playfully as she kicked in long smooth strokes. Rippling under the dark water, the silhouette of her fair skin in the dim chamber resembled nothing so much as a seductive water spirit floating just beneath the surface.

"Just don't wear him out!" She called playfully from the shadows as I bit my fist in frustration. Rip rolled his eyes.

"Can you not see I am busy?" I fairly whined. "I was about to be re-Cafi-nated."

"You're always busy," Rip glowered, ignoring my jest. "You, who do nothing with your life and have no cares in the world, have managed to be preoccupied outside my reach every day for nearly two weeks."

"Well," I reasoned, "It is Festival." I chose not to meet his gaze.

"And before that?" He demanded. Standing over me on the mossy green shore of the pool, fully dressed with hands on his hips, he struck a commanding figure of authority. One I disliked immensely for reasons not least of which was that it violated the grottos' dress code. My head level with his shins, it also made conversation awkward.

"I can hardly remember. I suspect Festival has addled my wits." A glance over at my young companion—she was flashing me playful glances and bits of flesh from where she lingered on the far bank of the pool—left me speechless, and illustrated my point admirably.

"But I can!" Rip roared, stomping his foot, unsuccessfully, to draw my attention. "First it was your duel with Demis Faranado—"

"Which I won, by the way," I commented, "thank you for asking. You didn't even come watch."

"Then it was healing appointments at the cathedral—"

"Necessary," I cut in. "You need to go too Rip, you're at terrible risk."

"Three day-long visits weren't necessary," Rip said, grinding his teeth. "You spent half of last week touring the Eastern Marches."

"I've got to work some time, my friend," I chuckled. "Even though I 'haven't a care' as you say, I was called on to lend my expert opinion regarding the new construction near Ogrim's Well, and—"

"I want that letter, Pertuli." Rip said, cutting my fiction short. "No more stalling. No more excuses. I've won our 'little' wager, and I demand my prize."

"I haven't got it," I frowned, unmoved.

From the moment, a century before, that Rip set his mind to the task I gave him, I resigned myself to knowing that this terrible day would inevitably arrive, but that didn't mean I had to like it. If my friend was bent on his own self-destruction, the least I could do was bring all my powers of stubbornness and procrastination to bear on the matter. For his benefit, of course.

"What do you mean, 'you haven't got it?' " He asked, grinding the words out between clenched teeth.

"It's in my room," I said with a casual wave of my hand toward the ceiling, before smoothing dark, wet hair out of my eyes. "And knowing our sisters' appetites during Festival, I might not make it there this week..."

"Then let's—" he roared, "—go get it!"

Without warning, fingers were in my hair, pulling me scalp-first from the hot water. Thankfully, his other hand hooked around my chin, else my body might not have gone with the hair. Shocked by pain and the sudden icy touch of the outside air, it took me a moment to realize what was happening.

"Oh!" I heard Cafi's inarticulate cry of alarm (or was that admiration?) as I was hauled out of the pool.

His hands trembled notably as he threw me upon the mossy ground. I rolled to my feet, bruised from the tumble across the stones, soaking wet and nude, the cooler air causing goose flesh to crawl up my arms and legs.

"Now that was uncalled for," I frowned, anger pulling my brows downward.

In response I was struck in the face by a white bathing robe.

"Put that on so you don't scare the children," He growled without apology, and stalked toward the dark, arched tunnel.

His progress was arrested by the arrival of a tall, white-robed woman with flowing dark brown hair and startling green eyes. She smiled at Rip, running sensitive fingers down the velvet of his burgundy tunic, tracing the vine motifs embroidered on his chest. Tilwenna'i are so wonderfully touchy during Festival.

"I am delighted to see that for once you have opted for suitable attire, Koray Clasicant." She said, her voice minutely deeper but as melodious as Cafi's. "Although I know you are aware that only robes are allowed beyond the dry room."

"Of course, Imvanroni'eyro Alesfenna—my apologies." Rip muttered, this time sounding authentically contrite. He glanced sheepishly at the scuffs his boots had left in the spongy moss around the edges of the artificial cavern. "I am only here to fetch Pertuli."

Deep, ageless green eyes turned on me. I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me—not because I was standing undressed, with naught but a bundle of white cloth in my hands (being honest, nudity often improved the impressions I made on tilwenna'i)—but because I had just been considering the merits of tackling Rip and making him regret pulling my hair. Had I acted sooner, it would have led to more disruption to the grotto's living decor and I would have been the one fidgeting under the elder's gaze.

"Pertuli?" She asked, and my heart fluttered. On her lips, my name sounded like a song. "Can Cafilenniel have finished with you so soon?"

"Riposte stole him!" Cafi's unhelpful voice sulked from the darkness.

"I sense," Alesfenna answered without raising her voice, studying us with uncanny insight, "that these boys have unfinished business to complete."

"As ever, you see all, Lady Steward of Baths," Rip said, giving me a meaningful look.

"Nothing that can't wait," I chirped, ignoring Rip's glare and moving to lay my robe down. He wouldn't dare repeat his hair-pulling stunt in front of Alesfenna. To my surprise the elder's graceful hand stopped me, resting gently on my wrist.

"Throughout the Hall, birds sing of the bitter flame that has kindled between you two these many years," she said. "If a walk with a friend will extinguish such smoldering, then I suggest you walk quickly, then return to your festival duties. I promise, Cafilenniel Oakflower and I can soak for a little while, at least."

The elder let her robe slide to the floor, revealing her long, sleek body and perfectly feminine curves. Alesfenna was proof that tilwenna were only perfected by age. My breath shuddered from me as I watched her slink to the water's edge, bend forward at the waist and disappear into the pool with almost no splash.

Cafi squealed with laughter and delight as the tall tilwenna joined her.

"I- I ..."

I couldn't get the words out, clearly. Instead, I pointed feebly at the water, imploring Rip with desperate eyes, silently begging him to stay my sentence. The vitality of a 10 year novice coupled with the skill of someone who had seen hundreds of festivals—at once! Elders! What that would do to a tilwenor...

"You heard her," Rip barked without sympathy, and stormed from the grotto. "Let's go."

We walked quickly down the meandering tunnel connecting a dozen private grottos to the communal bath area that filled the majority of the Ill'Enniniess hall's sub-basement. We do value our hygiene and good company, I admitted to myself, admiring the founders' handiwork. Like a little piece of the Forest of Light, right here in Dollif.

The walls and floor were smooth, carved by dwarves from dark marble to imitate natural caverns, an illusion augmented by the strategic cultivation of a variety of mosses, ferns and lichens that grew throughout the humid chambers, and the dripping of condensed water from the ceiling that had actually formed small stalactites in a few places.

No sooner had I thrown the robe around myself than Rip started using it to drag me mercilessly toward the dry room. We passed a number of brothers and sisters who would gladly have welcomed us for a time if we chose to tarry, and young Ivienna, who had called succession after Cafi was done, nearly caused a scene when I wouldn't join her and her friends.

Rip paid them no mind. He was fully intent on his mission, but as I stumbled through the dry room, leaving Ivienna with hasty excuses, my regrets were stacking high.