Page 45 of For the Love of the Quest

At the first touch of the needle, Edith went impossibly tense beneath Thomasin’s hands, which was saying something becauseThomasin had thought Edith had already been holding herself at maximum tension.

She drew the first line, pulling and poking the needle in equal measure down the center of Edith’s inner arm. “Are you okay?” She made sure her voice was calm, steady as a frozen lake.

“It’s—” Edith paused, and then peeked one of her eyes open, looking at Thomasin, but avoiding the sight of the needle dipping into the pot of ink. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Thomasin smoothed her hand down Edith’s wrist and gently pried her fingers open from the tight fist they had curled themselves into.

When she lifted the needle back to her arm, Edith shut her eyes again. Thomasin smiled to herself as she worked, the picture that she had seen in her mind coming to life perfectly against Edith’s pale skin. Only halfway done, and Thomasin could already tell that this would be her proudest work yet.

But no matter how much she liked the tattoo, the strange sensation of nerves still fluttered in her chest. It was odd, because Thomasin was rarely nervous about things. She didn’t understand the point of being nervous, thought it was a waste of time. What was going to happen was going to happen, and there was no use in getting riled about it beforehand.

All that being said, though, her heart picked up speed, and she had to wipe sweat from her palms before finishing the last of the tattoo. She was terrified about what Edith would think. What if Edith regretted trusting Thomasin? What if Edith was stuck having to look at this thing that she hated every single day for the rest of her life, and it was all Thomasin’s fault? She was still marveling at the novelty of being trusted, and it would be just like her to lose Edith’s trust the very same day.

The ink ran out, and the tattoo was finished far too quickly for Thomasin’s liking. She wiped away the excess ink with a cleancloth, then leaned back, her spine bumping into the uncomfortable wood. “I’m done,” she announced, bracing herself for at best a scolding, and at worst a complete and utter verbal thrashing. She’d been too cocky. There was no way Edith would like it.Can I surprise you?What an unforgivably stupid idea.

“Already?” Edith’s eyes opened, but she didn’t turn her head to look just yet.

“Told you, I’m good.” Thomasin mustered a bravado that she couldn’t have felt further from feeling.

Edith turned her head a fraction, just enough to look at Thomasin. Her eager smile dipped into a frown. “Why do you look so grim? Did something go wrong?”

Shaking her head, Thomasin said, “Uh, no, I’m just—” She broke off, weighing whether or not she should admit her feelings. Just after opening her mouth for a clever lie, she’d thought of how much Edith had shared with her, how honest and vulnerable she’d been. Edith had laid some of her deepest worries and insecurities at Thomasin’s feet, and the last thing Thomasin wanted to do was stomp on them or use them against Edith. No, she wanted to hold them close, and prove to Edith that she was worthy of knowing her secrets. If Thomasin wanted to do that for Edith, then maybe—just maybe—Edith would want to do the same for her.

So, Thomasin cleared her throat and said, “I guess I’m just nervous.”

Edith’s eyes softened immediately, and she rolled over, stretching out her un-tattooed arm, her fingers reaching toward Thomasin, who met her halfway. She noticed Edith had deliberately not yet looked at the tattoo, as if she were waiting for Thomasin’s permission to do so, which was vaguely ridiculous considering it was her body. Edith just held Thomasin’s hand and said, “What are you nervous about?”

“That you’ll hate it.”

Tilting her chin down, Edith said, “I promise you, I won’t.”

“You don’t know that. You let me tattoo a design on you that you’ve never even seen! Who does that?” Thomasin rocked forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Edith gave her a mildly reproachful look. “When you thought of it, did you genuinely think I would love it?”

“Of course I did.”

“Well then there you go. I trust you, just like I said.”

“But I could’ve been wrong about what you’d like, and then all that trust was for nothing,” Thomasin said. “If you hate it, then I’ve ruined everything,” she admitted in a small voice.

“Did you tattoo one of those awful spiders on me?”

Thomasin barked a surprised laugh. “No!”

“Good, because that’s the only thing I’d hate.” Edith squeezed Thomasin’s hand, urging her to meet her gaze. “You could have given me the worst, most ugly tattoo in the world, and I would still love it, just because it was done by you.”

To Thomasin’s horror, there was a sudden lump in her throat. She had only ever been accepted because of the skills she brought to the table. There was no room for faltering, for imperfection. If she couldn’t be of use to people, then she wasn’t worth anything. But here was Edith, telling her that even if she was a terrible tattoo artist, her art would still be worth something. With Edith, she didn’t need to be perfect; she just needed to be herself.

No one had ever taken her without conditions, without contingencies before. She meant something to Edith not because of what she could do but because of who she was.

Thomasin closed the space between them, fisted a hand into Edith’s hair, and brought their lips together. Edith froze, and Thomasin was just about to back off when the other woman melted into her. Hands came up to cup her face. She felt Edith’s thumbs tremble as they hesitantly stroked over her cheeks.

Edith’s lips parted slightly, and Thomasin darted her tongue out to trace the broken seam between them. She didn’t want to push her too fast. This was all new to Edith. Thomasin could feel it in every achingly slow, cautious move Edith made with her lips, her hands.

Though Thomasin had done far more than kiss, with more people than she could count, kissing Edith felt new to her as well. It burned in a way nothing else ever had.

When Thomasin dragged a lazy hand down Edith’s side, skimming across her ribs, fingers coming daringly close to her breasts, to the laces of her tunic, Edith pulled away with a gasp.