Mother of Midnight

Chapter 118 – Forced Rest

Kivvy’s breath hitched, her body tensing instinctively. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Something was wrong. This wasn’t Vivienne. This wasn’t the woman who had fought beside them, who had teased her, who had been their sharp, confident companion. This... this was something else

Vivienne planted another kiss on Kivvy’s forehead and gently placed her down on the ground gently. “Run along now. I need to tend to your father, he hurt himself while he was fixing the wagon, silly man.”

Vivienne stood motionless for a moment, her eyes dark and distant, as if considering something only she could understand. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a smile, but it was different now—cold, sharp, and devoid of warmth. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory gleam, something too sharp for comfort.

“Well, darlings,” she purred, the shift in her tone unmistakable. It was a quiet command, as though she were speaking to a group of subordinates instead of friends. “I say we set up camp for the evening.” She turned to Ivor and Elira, both of whom were still frozen, their confusion palpable. “Do any of you happen to know any first aid?”

They blinked at her, momentarily unsure of how to respond, caught off guard by her sudden change. Elira was the first to speak, her voice tentative, like she was trying to piece together what was happening. “First aid?”

Vivienne’s smile twisted into something more thoughtful, her gaze distant for a moment as she seemed to weigh her words. “Rava needs healing,” she explained, her voice unnervingly calm. “She took some nasty hits, and I can only do so much.”

It wasn’t until Vivienne spoke that Elira seemed to register the need to act. She nodded slowly, though hesitation lingered in her movement. “Right,” she muttered, her voice thick with unease. "I'll see to her."

Vivienne snapped her head toward Elira with a snarl, her lips peeling back to reveal needle-like fangs. “No! I can look after her. You stay away from her.” Her voice was raw, brimming with something more than anger—something protective, possessive.

Elira staggered back, her breath hitching. “B-but I know healing spells—”

Vivienne struck before she could finish, her clawed hand darting forward to seize Elira by the chin. The sharp tips of her fingers pressed just enough to remind her of the power behind them as she pulled the woman down to her level. Her black eyes burned with unspoken warning.

“No one will touch Rava but me.” Her voice was softer now, but all the more dangerous for it.

Kivvy stood rigid, watching with wide eyes. She had never seen Vivienne like this—had never seen her truly angry. It was terrifying. But despite the fear curling in her gut, she forced herself to speak.

“Vivienne,” she said carefully, keeping her voice steady. “Wouldn’t it be best for Rava if Elira has a look at her?”

The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with unspent violence. Vivienne didn’t look away from Elira, didn’t loosen her grip. Her tail twitched, her claws flexed.

For a long, dreadful moment, Kivvy wasn’t sure if her words had reached her at all.

Vivienne’s expression softened, the tension in her posture easing as she released Elira. “I suppose you’re right.” Her voice was smooth, almost casual, as if the outburst had never happened. She tilted her head slightly, eyes gleaming. “Go on, darling. She’s in the back of the wagon—do your work.”

Kivvy blinked. What? Just like that?

But before she could dwell on it, Vivienne turned to the rest of the group. Though her tone remained polite, there was no mistaking the quiet authority beneath it. “The rest of you, let’s get camp set up.”

With her words carrying the weight of finality, no one dared argue. Ivor and Elira exchanged a brief glance, their uncertainty settling between them. Without another word, they moved off to their tasks, though their movements were slower, more cautious than usual.

The others, too, followed Vivienne’s instructions without protest. Kivvy, though, couldn’t shake the tension in her chest, her eyes flickering nervously toward the wagon where Elira had disappeared. Something was wrong—wrong with Vivienne. And the sense of unease deepened as the night fell, the camp taking shape around them in eerie silence.

Vivienne sat perched on the back of the wagon, her legs dangling casually over the edge, eyes drifting across the camp. The soft evening light bathed the scene in a warm glow, the crackling of the fire mingling with the distant rustle of the wind. Behind her, Rava lay sprawled on a bedroll, her breathing steady as she rested, the wounds from earlier healing under the influence of Elira's magic.

Elira had cast her spell and then slipped away, leaving the others to tend to their own needs. Ivor had busied himself with stirring the stew, his low murmurs rising occasionally in soft conversation with Kivvy. The camp had settled into a rhythm, but Kivvy’s eyes kept flicking back toward Vivienne, her uncertainty still palpable.

With a hesitant step, Kivvy approached the wagon, her small hands rubbing nervously against each other. The quiet tension between them was impossible to ignore. She took a breath before speaking, her voice tentative as she asked, “So, uh, are you okay?”

Vivienne’s lips curled into a slow, easy grin at the question, the expression too sharp to be entirely comforting. The sudden movement made Kivvy flinch, and Vivienne leaned back against the wagon with a smooth, languid motion. “Of course, darling,” she purred, her voice low and soft, but somehow brimming with something unspoken. “I didn’t know you cared enough to ask.” She placed a claw to her chest, as if overcome with emotion. “I’m flattered.”

Kivvy hesitated, her expression a mixture of confusion and discomfort. “You were just, like, weird before,” she muttered, her voice trailing off as the words left her feeling hollow.

Vivienne’s eyes glinted with curiosity, and she tilted her head just slightly to the side, the movement eerie in its precision. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice sweet yet edged with something unplaceable. Her gaze was too sharp, too attentive, and Kivvy found herself momentarily lost in it.

Kivvy opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She had no explanation for the feeling that had settled in her chest, that shift in Vivienne’s demeanor that felt almost foreign. She sighed, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. “Never mind.” She paused, letting the silence linger for a moment. “Is Rava okay?”

Vivienne’s expression softened at the mention of the lekine. She nodded, the gesture slow and deliberate. “Yes. She’ll be right as rain by tomorrow if Elira is to be believed.” Her voice was smooth, reassuring, but there was a peculiar edge to her words. “She’ll have to take it easy though.”

Kivvy’s posture relaxed just slightly at Vivienne’s words, her shoulders lowering as relief washed over her. She nodded resolutely, her lips curving into a small smile. “Good,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. She turned to leave, her feet shuffling softly in the dirt as she started toward the fire.

She stopped in her tracks, and turned to Vivienne. “Do you want any stew?”

Vivienne shook her head slowly, the action deliberate, almost languid. “Won’t do much for me, I’m afraid.” Her eyes flicked back to Rava, a trace of something unreadable flitting across her face. “Go, enjoy your meal.” Her words had an undertone of finality, as though there was no room for discussion.

Kivvy hesitated, but there was no argument in Vivienne’s tone. She offered a quick nod before turning away, her footsteps light as she made her way to the fire, the crackling of the flames momentarily distracting her from the strange, lingering tension in the air.

Once Kivvy was out of earshot, Vivienne turned back toward Rava. Her gaze softened, the predatory gleam that had flashed earlier now replaced with a tenderness that seemed almost too genuine. She watched Rava’s chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm of her breathing drawing a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh from Vivienne’s lips. She reached out, her clawed fingers brushing a stray lock of Rava’s hair away from her face, and for a moment, there was nothing else in the world but the sleeping warrior beside her.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, when the sky had shifted from dark to the soft hues of dawn, that Rava finally stirred from her slumber. The first rays of light filtered through the wagon’s canopy, casting long, slanted shadows across the space. A gentle breeze stirred the canvas, and the camp outside was still, save for the soft crackling of the fire.

Vivienne, who had remained beside Rava all through the night, perched silently on the edge of the wagon, her presence as still as the shadows around her. Her eyes glimmered faintly, though she hadn’t moved much, the stillness of her posture betraying nothing of what was beneath the surface.

Rava’s groan broke the silence, her body twitching beneath the blanket, a low murmur escaping her lips as she began to stir. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, squinting against the soft light that filtered through the cracks of the canopy. She grimaced, clearly disoriented, and made an attempt to push herself up, but Vivienne’s clawed hand pressed gently against her arm, guiding her back down with a firm yet tender touch.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Vivienne’s voice came, soft and warm, her tone a stark contrast to the harshness that had flickered through her earlier. She sounded almost too sweet, the words falling from her lips as naturally as if they had always been meant for this moment. Her gaze lingered on Rava for a moment before she placed a claw on Rava’s hand, her grip gentle but insistent.

Rava groaned again, wincing as she tried to shift her weight. “How long was I out?” she muttered with a grunt, her voice hoarse from rest and strain. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her mind.

Vivienne tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as she considered the question. “Since late afternoon yesterday,” she replied, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to hum in the stillness of the morning. “Ivor is on watch with Renzia. The other two should be awake in a bell or two.”

Rava’s brows furrowed slightly, her body aching from the wounds she had sustained. She tried to push herself up again, but Vivienne’s hand remained steady on her arm, urging her back down. There was no room for argument in Vivienne’s tone, no hesitation in her gentle insistence.

“Rest,” Vivienne added softly, her voice almost coaxing. “You are in no shape to be doing anything but that.”

Rava, still groggy and feeling the weight of exhaustion in her limbs, sighed deeply, her body settling back into the blankets. She glanced up at Vivienne, noting the soft, affectionate expression that never seemed to leave her face. It was unsettling in its sweetness, especially given the fierceness of Vivienne’s usual demeanor. But there was something almost maternal in the way she hovered over Rava, the concern in her eyes too genuine to dismiss.

Rava closed her eyes, giving in to the pull of sleep again, but a faint unease lingered in the back of her mind. She had no words for the strange feeling that had taken root in her chest, but for now, it was easier to rest, to let Vivienne’s quiet assurances wash over her like the calm of an unexpected storm.

Vivienne watched her for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on Rava’s sleeping form before she stood with a fluid motion, her gaze never leaving the lekine’s resting figure. She stepped softly into the cool morning air, her bare feet barely making a sound on the ground as she moved toward the campfire. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows across the area, and the warmth from the fire was a welcome contrast to the crispness of the dawn. The camp was quiet—too quiet. The air held a stillness that suggested both the remnants of battle and the calm before another storm.

She took a moment to survey the camp, her sharp eyes glinting as they scanned the surroundings. Ivor and Renzia were still on watch, their forms silhouetted against the rising light. Elira and Kivvy, she noted, were just beginning to stir, the goblin stretching out as she rubbed her eyes and the healer brushing her hands through her hair as she made her way toward the fire.

Vivienne’s lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile as she moved closer, her gaze shifting between them. The others hadn’t fully processed the shift in her behavior, and she reveled in the quiet tension that clung to the air like dew on a morning leaf. She could feel their eyes on her, even if they didn’t yet know how to react. She wasn’t in the mood to push it just yet, though. She would let them wake in their own time.

“Good morning,” she greeted, her voice as smooth as silk, though there was a certain edge to it, something that made her words hang in the air like a promise. “How are we all feeling?”

Ivor grunted, stretching his arms as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Tired,” he said simply. He glanced toward the wagon and then back at Vivienne, eyes narrowing slightly. “Rava all right?”

Vivienne gave a small nod, her eyes twinkling. “She’s resting. Elira’s taken care of the worst of it, but she’ll need time.” Her voice softened when she mentioned Rava’s name, the tenderness in her words stark against the usual sharpness she often carried. But as she glanced over at Elira and Kivvy, her expression shifted back to something more knowing, more controlled.

Kivvy, ever the observant one, seemed to take the cue from Vivienne’s tone and shifted uncomfortably. “Right,” she mumbled, trying to suppress a nervous smile. “And you’re... okay, right? I mean, you seemed a little... off earlier.”

Vivienne’s smile deepened, and she tilted her head just slightly, an almost predatory gleam flashing behind her eyes. “Me?” She placed a claw to her chest, feigning surprise. “I’m perfectly fine, darling. Just a little... distracted.” Her eyes flicked toward the wagon, her expression softening for a brief moment before it was once again veiled in something sharper, colder.

Ivor raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by her answer. “You sure? Because you weren’t exactly acting like yourself last night.” His tone was hesitant, but there was a hint of suspicion beneath it, something that didn’t sit right with him.

Vivienne met his gaze without hesitation, her eyes cold and calculating. “I’m perfectly fine, dear.” Her words were smooth, but the way she spoke them—so assured, so commanding—made it clear she wasn’t inviting argument.

Renzia, having caught the tail end of the conversation, turned to face Vivienne with an unreadable expression. She hadn’t spoken much since the battle, her slate still held in her hands, but the air around her felt charged with something silent, something intense.

Vivienne met Renzia's gaze for a split second, then turned her attention back to the fire. “I think it's time we get moving,” she said, the sudden shift in her tone striking as the silence that followed felt heavy. “We will go slowly, for the sake of Rava, but I doubt she would want to wait around longer than necessary.”

Her eyes scanned the group once more, each of them now fully awake and aware, watching her every move. Vivienne could almost taste the uncertainty in the air, the way they all silently wondered if she was still the same woman who had been with them the night before. And as the morning light bathed them in its first rays, she knew it didn’t matter. They would follow her, they always did. Whether they liked it or not.

“Pack your things,” she added, her voice now carrying a more authoritative weight. “We move within the bell.”

No one questioned her. Not yet.