"Elespeth is a friend of yours?” The incredulity in the Dawn warrior’s voice and face could not be mistaken or missed. Was he serious, or was this some sort of ruse? Her contact and conversation with Elespeth Tameris thus far had been few and far-between, but she hadn't heard a kind word toward the shape-shifter’s character from her lips. Quite the opposite, in fact. “I do worry at what your definition of ‘friend’ entails, wolf-man. But if you truly are here in support of a worthy person and the ceremony in her favor, then I will naively take your word for it. Against my better judgement of course. However,”
She furrowed her brow slightly and pressed her lips together, leaning forward to put more emphasis on her words. “I might not know Elespeth well as a person, but she is important to Alster, whom I do value as a friend. So if you do stir up trouble for my friend, then do not think I will stand back and refrain from intervening. And… this is hardly the time to be pairing me off with women,” She added, a flush creeping into her cheeks. “I don’t have a ‘type’. Though… I am not sure that I could approach another dancer, at this point. But don't waste your time and energy on finding someone to fit my interests; now is hardly the time and place for that.”
If he had a rebuttal, then he was cut short by the beginning of a long procession led by Chara Rigas. She was dressed smartly in violet, with a headpiece that indicated her as a tried and true leader. Behind her came a man on crutches, followed by the stern and unfeeling faces of what Sigrid presumed was a council. At the end of the procession walked Elespeth, on Alster’s arm. Both of them were dressed elaborately, but Elespeth in particular stood on, dressed in ethereal blue and silver, with a glittering tiara atop her head. She looked like royalty; funny, how she’d witnessed a real royal wedding, which had been far less formal than this ceremony. From what she had gathered and witnessed, the Rigases certainly fancied themselves royalty, of sorts.
Chara stepped forward then, raising her hands to silence the crowd. Addressing her audience, she spoke to the character of the woman in question, putting the woman in question front and centre for everyone to see. Elespeth appeared nervous (and understandably so; anyone would be nervous to have the eyes of an entire city on them), but she held her poise and spoke her words with conviction.
“I swear to adhere to the responsibilities of the Rigas name,” She said, without missing a beat, “and to uphold my loyalty, dedication, and honour toward this family, indefinitely.” The former knight of Atvany paused, and took a breath. Thought of the home she had left behind, and to which she could never return. Of the name into which she had been born, that she had fought for, and which she was about to rescind. Her heart ached for the life she was officially about to leave behind; but it swelled with love and pride for the life she was officially beginning as part of Alster’s family. “I hereby rescind the name of Tameris, and accept my new identity as a Rigas.”
As Alster stepped forward as a witness to speak to her honour and as to how and why she was an asset to the family, the former knight felt her eyes begin to we'll with tears, which she desperately struggled to quell before they ruined Clara’s formidable work on her eye makeup. And then, when he mentioned their engagement, and the conviction in his promise to marry her, she very nearly felt as though she might fall apart. The cheering that resounded from the crowd, from people who didn't even know her, only served to further secure her certainty that she was making the right decision. Her future lay with Alster--as a Rigas, not as a Tameris, a legacy that had long since discarded her.
Wordlessly, she took Alster’s hand, as Haraldur stepped up to pay her character compliments. Prince Haraldur Sorde, she thought with a grin. It suited him; and he wore his new title with pride. Just as she planned to wear her name with pride. As he finished his short, albeit genuine and heartfelt words to her honour, she felt the need to congratulate the former mercenary on his marriage, new title, and soon-to-be children, but before she had a chance to utter a word, someone else took it upon themselves to stand and speak to her right to the name as a Rigas. Someone she had not anticipated speaking for her, and someone who she did not particularly want to speak for her. Eyes wide, she exchanged a glance with Chara, who was helpless to do anything about it, without completely disrupting the ceremony.
“No…” She breathed in tandem with Chara, lips pursed and brows furrowed as Hadwin Kavanaugh took a stand next to her and hauled her next to him, an unwanted arm around her waist. The former knight went stiff. “What do you think you are doing,” She hissed, but the shape-shifter ignored her, and said his piece about having no intent to crash the party or slander her name. That did not to assuage her concerns. “Walk away now,” She warned him, her voice low and menacing, “and I won't leave you with bruises, shape-shifter…”
He ignored her, and instead launched into the story of the single anecdote that they both shared. One she’d have been happy to keep from Alster (and all of Stella D’Mare, for that matter). To his credit, despite the mild embarrassment that coloured her cheeks, his tale did make its point, in the end. Being pegged as a ‘brawler’ was certainly not an ideal identity tag, but in his own, twisted, roundabout way, the wolf man was speaking to her courage and her fierceness; of her refusal to turn away in the face of adversity. When he finished his rather long-winded speech, Elespeth let out a breath she’d been holding for the duration of his storytelling. She had to admit… he’d managed to rile up the crowd in her favor. Maybe this is what they wanted in one of their champions; not an honourable knight, but a fighter willing to get her hands dirty for the right cause. Hadwin wasn't wrong in his appraisal of her. Much though she held firm to her morals and ethics as a knight, her life outside of Atvany had taught her there were times when deviations from the rules were necessary.
Significantly relieved that the wolf-man had chosen not to completely humiliate her and tease the ire of the Rigas Head as a result, the former knight turned to utter a reluctant ‘Thanks’ to Hadwin, only to find that the shape-shifter had taken his leave and disappeared into the crowd. It left her wondering what, exactly, he had to gain by singing her praises as he did, but ultimately, trying to figure out how the man’s mind worked was a futile feat that would only leave one more confused than before. After all, he lived his life primarily on impulse; he didn't need a reason to justify his actions.
Turning to Alster, who had a genuinely confused and concerned look plastered on his face, Elespeth murmured, “It… is a long story.” She sighed again and shook her head. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Back in the crowd, Sigrid raised her eyebrows, astonished at Hadwin’s act of goodwill on the woman, Elespeth’s, behalf. When he returned to her side, she said to him, “I have to say, I am impressed, shape-shifter. That was noble, speaking to the goodness of her character… even though you chose to word it in such ‘unique’ terms.” A smile curled the corner of her mouth. “You might just earn my respect, yet. We’ll see how you behave for the remainder of the evening.”
“Hadwin…!” Another voice, excited and relieved, cut through their conversation. A young girl with neck-length black hair and equally dark eyes pushed through the crowd until she reached the Dawn warrior and her unlikely shape-shifter companion. “I heard you’d escaped the dungeons… I thought you’d left the city. I’m so glad you’re still here. And safe.”
“Well, wolf man. Seems you have more friends here than I gave you credit for.” Sigrid chuckled, and shook her head. Smiling at Teselin, she said, “Keep his conscience in check tonight, if you can. For Alster’s sake, and his fiancee’s.”
Chara seemed sufficiently satisfied with the three witnesses who had spoken on Elespeth’s behalf, and promptly urged them to descend into the tomb--likely before anyone else in the crowd decided to take. A stand and deliver a half-baked account of the Atvanian warrior’s character. Breathing a sigh of relief that they were moving on with the ceremony, Elespeth once again linked her arm through Alster’s, and followed Chara as she descended into Rigel’s tomb, Haraldur and council members following closely behind.
It was an odd feeling, that of descending into the all-too-familiar tomb, one that brought with it dregs of fear and trepidation. The last time she had seen this place, they had been acting under the threat of the Serpent destroying the city. It was here that they had spoken with the restless spirit of Rigel Rigas, who had admitted that his feat in summoning the Serpent had been naught but a parlour trick gone terribly wrong, and that he hadn't an inkling as to how to send it back. It had been here that Alster had found a way to do what Rigel could not, at risk of sacrificing his own life. It had been here that Elespeth, her body ill-equipped at absorbing and processing magic, but all the same taking in what Alster could not handle--ultimately, saving both of their lives. Those moments were simultaneously so vivid and yet so vague in her mind, and she’d awoken several days late, receiving intensive care at Stella D’Mare’s infirmary.
All that said, being here again stirred unease in the pit of the former knight’s gut. She felt on edge, like she was anticipating that something terrible might come to pass, and as a result, she rested a heavy hand on Alster’s arm. When he looked her way, she could not hide the dredges of concern glinting in her green eyes, reflecting off of the glowing balls of etherea that lit the way. “It isn't easy, being here again…” She murmured to him, trying to feel as though the walls weren't closing in on her. “The last time we were here, I don't remember either of us leaving this place.”
Of course, Alster understood, and his sentiments were much the same as her own. But regardless of what had happened before, this was still considered a sacred and revered place to both the Rigases and Stella D’Mare, alike. Not a place of danger and uncertainty, however uncertain Elespeth might have felt, setting foot in it again.
With Chara in the lead, Elespeth followed the Rigas head’s instructions without question. Reluctant to let go of Alster’s hand, she murmured quietly, so that only he could hear, “Have you spoke with her about… the addition to this ceremony?” She likely needn’t explain what she meant, but just in case, she drew a finger over the scratch that Alster had carved into his prosthesis. The symbolic remnant of the scar that used to be there; a symbol of their sacred bond, a magic that sang in the mixing of their blood. “I want to be able to reach you. To know when you need me, anywhere, anytime…” She said to him, sparing a glance at her own scarred palm. “If we can make it stronger… then maybe, I can bring you back, no matter how far you are from me, when you feel as though you are losing yourself.”
When Hadwin returned to his spot beside the Dawn warrior, it took him a good amount of restraint not to laugh out loud at her expression, which could only be described as 'constipated.' "You don't have to look so shocked," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like I said, I'm her friend--even if she doesn't feel the same. Besides--not a good idea to antagonize the very people offering me sanctuary. Not this late in the arrangement, anyhow. I had my fun, and she's dealt with a lot from me already. I see it as a 'no hard feelings' gesture. But," he held a finger in warning, "I've likely exhausted all the 'good' in me on that speech alone. So you," he winked, "are gonna have to contend with all the wickedness that I've got left. And the wicked side isn't up for any guff about 'time and place.' It's a celebration. If that's not the right 'time and place' to find yourself a lady love, then I'll eat my foot."
A familiar voice shouted his name through the crowd. When he turned, there she was; Teselin. He knew he'd see her sooner than later, especially after his very public appearance before the hundreds gathered on the lawn. Avoiding her was no longer an option. The genuine worry for him was palatable on her face, and in her words. Her presence was so infectious, he couldn't help but grin at the small girl and give an affectionate ruffle of her hair. "Tes!" He answered, with the same amount of aplomb and enthusiasm. "Nah, you know I can't leave this shit-pile alone. I'm committed to the clean-up. Told you not to worry about my safety, either. I navigate these dire straits on the regular. Nothing to it. How're you holding up, kid? Any luck with your big splash?" He made a face at Sigrid's comment and shook his head, chuckling. "I may be a lone wolf, Siggy, but that doesn't mean I'm alone. And I'm not that morally depleted. Calling me a sociopath? Harsh language for someone who's going to get you a companion." He sidled up to Teselin and whispered in her ear conspiratorially, though the 'whisper' was all for show, and Sigrid could hear him as clear as though he spoke aloud. "I'm setting her up with a lass tonight, and the thought is making her blonde hair frizz up. She's in such a tizzy. It's kind of cute, in a pitiable sort of way."
Once the mongrel had retreated, and there was no mess left behind to clean, Chara would have rubbed her eyes in disbelief, if not for the kohl and pigment she'd applied so meticulously earlier. The ceremony was in tact and not only in tact, but thriving with activity. The crowd cheered, whooped, applauded, and raised their fists, delighted by a "real" and not mythologized account of the woman they were asked to celebrate. And after allowing them an uninterrupted minute or so, Chara lifted her hands and shushed them into silence.
"I do believe the motion for Elespeth's ascent into a Rigas is unanimous?" The crowd erupted into roars, and Chara was glad that Alster had spelled the area into a sound-dampening circle, prior to the gathering. Otherwise, she was certain Mollengard would hear their every word. She silenced the crowd a second time. "We descend now into Rigel's tomb. When we emerge, prepare yourselves accordingly, as we shall welcome Elespeth into our family, officially." Turning from the wild crowd, Chara, raising an etherea ball to her fingers, climbed down the tunnel stairs, followed by Elespeth and Alster, Haraldur, and the six members of the council.
"So," Alster spoke as they disappeared into the etherea-glowing corridors of the tunnel's mouth, "the man who spoke to the crowd was Hadwin, the one who's giving you so much trouble? He knows how to address a crowd, at least. Better to have him on our side than dead." With a nod, he acknowledged Haraldur from behind them, who finally let his hand slip from the hilt of his sword. "Haraldur was ready to slaughter him. And I," he pressed his prosthesis against Elespeth's arm, which was warm from the activation of a spell, "to silence him. But--unless the man is an imbecile, and from all prior accounts, I doubt that, he was not going to start a flyting with us all. I think he...genuinely wanted to wish you well."
"Or get on our good side," muttered Haraldur. "And no, I wouldn't kill him. He has what we need to fight against Solveig. But maim him? Well, nothing says a 'celebration' like a public flogging."
"I am glad you did no such thing, warrior," Chara called out from up front. "We are not savages. Torture remains hidden, not on full display. It would have ruined the aesthetic of our ceremony. Not to mention, Teselin was in the crowd. She likes the bastard."
"She likes everyone," Haraldur retorted, "including the man who almost killed her brother."
"Well, now it's all over with," Alster said, opting for a change in subject. "We'll deal with him later, but right now, we're in a sacred space." He pulled Elespeth closer into his side-embrace. "I know it's not easy," he cooed into her ear, and rubbed his good hand up and down her back. "We were almost entombed, here. It could have ended before it even began, but we made it out, and survived. We'll rewrite that memory, right now, and make this place a fond one. A place where we renew our union, and bind ourselves stronger with blood, love, and sacrifice." He wanted to kiss her then and there, but Chara bid them to keep moving, so they hustled past the bottom stair and entered the vast cavern, filled to the vaulted ceiling with etherea balls so numerous, they acted like constellations in the night sky. "Chara knows, and she's in agreement. Don't worry; we'll guide you through the whole process."
After a few more minutes of walking, they reached the massive stone doors, so integrated with the natural cave walls that it looked more a natural fixture than a later addition. As Alster had done several months ago, Chara ran a slice down her hand with a blade and pressed her palm to the door. With a click, they grated together and slowly swung wide enough to allow two people to walk abreast. Inside, the gold sepulchre on its raised dais and sapphire-encrusted surface awaited them, but Chara bypassed the tomb (but not without genuflecting in respect) to stand before a wall where hung a tapestry depicting ancient Stella D'Mare--which looked much the same, pre-destruction. At her approach, the tapestry furled itself neatly into a roll, as if a giant, invisible archivist were packing away a scripture for the evening. Behind the tapestry yielded nothing; only a plain stone wall. But when Chara pressed her bloody palm to a particular spot, an intricate spell-form appeared, as tall and wide as the tapestry that covered it. Glowing red, the circle was rimmed with runes, whorling patterns, geometric shapes, overlapping angles, and an S-shaped sigil at its center, which looked like a sword dashed through a sinuously posed Serpent.
"This," she turned to Elespeth and pointed to the glowing circle, "is the Rigas blood-seal. As you can see, it is well-protected from the public purview. Only a Rigas may enter and activate the seal. Even then, a Rigas without foreknowledge of the seal's location could not find its whereabouts. This is the culmination of all our magic. It gifts us with our celestial inheritance at birth and refills its exhaustive supply at death, as well as the unused years of those whose time was cruelly cut short. As of now, we have a glut of unspent years. Come," she waved to Elespeth. "Step forward, next to me." At Alster's encouraging yet gentle shove, the she-warrior aligned beside Chara. "Give me your hand. The one you are not intending to use for Alster." With the ceremonial blade she used on herself, Chara positioned it on Elespeth's palm and sliced through the flesh, leaving a bloody welt in its wake. Holding the hand by the wrist, she positioned it over the S-shaped sigil.
"Oh Rigel, hear our request. An outsider enters our circle. Allow her entrance, allow her protection, allow her your gift of extended age, as you have done us, your children." Closing her eyes, she pressed the bleeding palm to the sigil. Absorbing the blood until gone, the glowing spell form blinked several times in response as it let flow its energies into Elespeth, manifesting as bramble pricks up her arms and through to her heart. It was an uncomfortable sensation, akin to probing, but it was not painful, and ended with a quick jolt. As Chara released the captive hand, the spell-form blinked out and faded. When they marched a few steps backwards, out of its vicinity, the tapestry cascaded from the ceiling and reprised its space over the wall.
"That...was a quick take," Alster remarked from his vantage point, a half dozen steps behind Chara and Elespeth. "From my readings on previous ceremonies, it usually lasts minutes, sometimes an hour. See it as a blessing from Rigel, Elespeth. He's met you, after all. Also," he gave a shy smile, "it helps to have my blood in you, already."
"Speaking of," Chara led Elespeth by the wrist and guided her toward Alster, "the two of you, go and stand before the sepulchre. And take this," she cleaned off the blade with a rag before handing it to Alster. "Stand on opposite sides of the dais. When you join hands, it will be over the sarcophagus."
"We've done this before," Alster said, ascending the steps to Rigel's eternal resting place. "This is how we contacted Rigel, before. I doubt he'll want to be disturbed over a triviality." With a flinch, he looked across to Elespeth, in apology. "I'm not calling you a triviality, of course, but a blood bond ritual isn't what I'd consider worth his time."
"You wanted a bond strong enough to tackle your grievances with the Serpent," Chara said, crossing her arms. "What better method of strengthening than to call upon our founder for additional guidance? He answered your call when you needed him; it is possible he shall do so again."
With a resigned nod, Alster gripped the blade with his good hand. "I suppose you're right. El...your hand." When she presented him with her palm of the oath scar, he cradled it in his prosthetic hand. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the pink demarcation, feeling it electrify and pulse against his lips. "To reestablish our bond, I'll open the wound anew. When I do so, I'll need you to remember how you felt when we first linked our hearts and minds, all those months ago. Close your eyes, and allow me to trace our history into the present." Once she was relaxed, Alster poised the tip of the blade on one end of her palm, and tore the seams of her skin into an open diagonal line in a slow, precise stroke. Taking the blade, he offered it to Elespeth, hilt first. "The hand that originally held my scar is gone, now, so you'll have to use this one." He uncurled the fingers of his left hand and presented it to her. "But it will do just fine. It bleeds for you, all the same."
Bowing his head and shutting his eyes, he listened to his heartbeat, hurried but elated, and followed its pathway to the veins in his hand. He felt the pliant, heated touch of his lover against the fleshy mount of his palm, already sticky with her blood. Next came the sharp slash that tore him asunder, in all ways but in where it mattered. The mutilation of his body welcomed the stitching together of his soul. Through Elespeth's expert stroke, no pain contorted his body. Conversely, the sensation was like a caress, a gentle tickle through every sense he could experience, at that moment. It rippled and galloped through him like snowmelt through a spring, and when he opened his eyes and they joined hands, the spring gushed into a mighty river, and the snowmelt transformed into a broken dam. No effort on his part was required to guide his magic; it ran to Elespeth, enveloped her, whispered its welcome, and reserved for her a place of honor. Throughout the experience, he felt nothing of the Serpent, heard not Its voice, or his voice, 'their' voice. Only the surge of love emanating from his twin star. It shone with a light that washed night into blinding day, and brought him home. Brought him to her, where he always belonged.
But the light flickered back to darkness, and the two of them found themselves in a familiar scene. A void, stretching endlessly in all directions, with the exception of himself, Elespeth, and the figure that presented as a middle-aged man, attired in regal blue, blond hair tied in a matching ribbon, and who leaned against a blackwood cane.
"Ahah," the man said, in a remarking upswing of his voice. "I remember you two. Do not tell me--Alster Rigas, and Elespeth...Rigas." He smiled on the last bit, knowingly. "Congratulations , my child. Not that I could deny you entrance into my family, after all you've done. The Serpent no longer lingers on this plane. Undoubtedly, I have the two of you to thank. However," his dark azure eyes flicked on Alster, "It has found residence in you. Rather, you cultivated Its presence, fed and cared for It. But it is mutual, for the Serpent cares for you. If you fear that Its influence is too strong, your influence on It has quite the impact, as well. The piece of yourself that you traded is lodged like a splinter in the Serpent's mind. Two matching splinters; that is what you are, together."
Alster's eyes widened. "But how will this affect--"
"No interruptions, please. I say only what I am called to say. The rest is up to you to discover, on your own. This woman will guide you," he gestured to Elespeth. "Do not shirk the aid of your twin star. Though I suspect you already know so, lest you would not be enacting a blood bond over my grave."
"My apologies, Lord Rigel--"
"That used to be done in the past. Young couples forging promises in my name. Making the short pilgrimage to my tomb and speaking their grace. But lately, it has been you, Alster, and some necromancer who thought it the ultimate prank to exhume my body and parade me around the estate like a marionette. Nevermind how he managed such a feat. Anyway, I am grateful for company, young man. Do pass more Rigas brethren to my tomb, I implore."
"If only I could," Alster said, lowering his eyes to the nonexistent ground. "But--"
"Oh, I am well aware, Alster. The lot of you are evacuating the city. You will have to return then, am I correct? Until then, I shall be waiting. But one more item of business, before I release you from my thrall, and I assure you, it is related." His eyes narrowed into a dangerous, desperate glimmer. "Protect the seal. Without it, the Rigases have no future..."
Alster and Elespeth opened their eyes in tandem, each taking a gasping breath, as though they'd been holding it underwater for minutes. Chara barked her relief from behind them.
"Oh thank the stars! You remained stone-still for about a quarter of an hour, I'd wager. At first, I'd feared Rigel was lambasting Elespeth, underlining the innumerable reasons against her new Rigas status." Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked to Alster. "I assume all went well?"
"We made contact with Rigel, yes," Alster said, a little shaken and wobbly on his feet. Chara dashed to his side and dressed his wound with a fresh bandage, then traveled over to Elespeth and did the same, for both hands. "He congratulated us. Encouraged more Rigas descendants to celebrate over his grave. Most important," he cast a glance at the tapestry where beneath, the seal was concealed, "he told us to protect the seal. Our future depends on it."
"We shall discus that later," Chara said, with a breath intermixed with a sigh. "We must return to the surface. We've kept them too long. At least an hour. Come."
By the time they returned to the surface, an hour had elapsed, and the crowd was treated to a few illusion acts by performance-based casters to pass the time. As the current act had come to its end, Chara stepped forward with Elespeth in hand. Raising the she-warrior's arm heavenward, she announced, "may I present, for the first time, Elespeth Rigas!"
The crowd extended their congratulations with rapturous noise.
"I invite you all to attend our reception, which will occur on the lawn in front of Main House. There, we shall have refreshments, music, dancing, and more of our lovely performers for your viewing pleasure. We also have erected a memorial tree. Visit and pay your respects, or write a wish on a slip of parchment, and attach it to a branch with colored thread. We shan't remember the reason why we are celebrating. Enjoy!" However, the underlying message in her dialogue, the unspoken words, were of a more hopeless bent: While you still can.
It took all of Elespeth’s willpower and grace not to roll her eyes as Alster gave his benign account of his first impression of the wolf-shifter, Hadwin. He might have had a point; the mongrel had riled up the crowd in her favour, and as an outsider of Stella D’Mare and the Rigases, she needed every bit of positive energy that she could find. But none of that excused his flippant allegiances, and his untoward behaviour. “You might well wish to do more than silence him, were I to tell you he kissed me.” She ventured; not with the intent to upset her fiance, but to prove her point that the shape shifter really wasn’t one to be trusted. “Just to get a rise out of me, mind you, and it worked--that is the part of his heart-warming little anecdote that he skillfully chose to withhold, in your presence. But I am willing to believe that there is little he wouldn’t do to find a means to an end.”
A word from Chara up at the front, however, forbid any such revenge on the shape-shifter; well, public revenge or reprimand, that is. What happened out of sight appeared to be fair game. However, not everyone was in favor of punishing Hadwin Kavanaugh for his misdeeds, as the Rigas head was also apt to point out. “Oddly enough, the mutt also seems to have an affinity for the young summoner, as well,” Elespeth pointed out, though she hated to credit Hadwin with anything remotely genuine, since there always appeared to be strings attached with the man. “I am guessing that it has to do with the fact he himself is missing a younger sister who may well be in danger; or, at worst, dead. And Teselin is missing an older brother. Surrogate or not, I am not entirely sure which is worse: that she harbours kindness towards the wolf man, or her own wretched brother. Regardless… it is not advisable to confront the mongrel in the summoner’s presence. Who knows what those powers of her might incite, should she become truly upset.”
It made it easier to speak on another topic entirely (however unsavoury), while descending into the tomb that could well have been her and Alster’s very own resting place as well, had their attempt to quell the Serpent’s destruction gone awry. So much easier to speak ill of someone who was held in no one’s high regard, save for Teselin’s. It took her mind off of the memories, the feelings that Rigel Rigas’s tomb stirred in the pit of her gut, taking her back to a time and place where she had been so terrified of losing everything--of losing Alster, in particular. “I don’t know if I can every look fondly upon this place,” the former knight murmured to Alster, her voice and shoulders tight with trepidation. “I almost lost you, here. We almost lost each other… but I will give it this second chance. I’ll try, if it means finding a way closer to you… to reach you, when you need me the most.”
The small party followed Chara to the heart of Rigel’s tomb, where she used her blood to activate the Rigas seal--a gesture that was not lost on Elespeth. She bled for me, she thought. The one person who she’d never considered might shed a tear for her, let alone lifeblood, was making this all possible for her and Alster. Perhaps Chara hadn’t even realized it, but somehow, between Alster’s departure and his arrival, something had changed in the Rigas head. She was more a leader than she had been before, though Elespeth wasn’t certain that she even realized it. Perhaps later, when she had a moment alone with the haughty blonde, she would find a moment to thank her. Even if her gratitude didn’t mean anything to Chara, it was something that needed to be spoken.
The Atvanian warrior listened to the Rigas head’s words, of her explanation, though hesitated to take a place next to Chara until Alster gave her a gentle and reassuring nudge. At once, she had no idea, and every idea as to what she was getting into. Shedding her identity as a Tameris; forsaking Atvany as her home, once and for all. A flood of emotion threatened to spill from her eyes in the form of tears, but she was quick to keep those feelings in check, until she could unleash them in private. After all, she did not want Chara, Alster, or the council to think that she might be having second thoughts about the ceremony, or that she was not ready to take on the Rigas name. I am ready, she told herself, over and over as she complied with Chara’s request and held out her unmarred palm. I’ve been ready since I agreed to marry Alster. I am ready…
She expected the sharp bite of pain from the ceremonial blade as it opened a wound on the callused flesh of her palm, but Elespeth’s blood was already buzzing with so much adrenaline that she hardly felt anything, until Chara pressed her wounded palm to the sigil. The rune sucked up her blood like a sponge, and sent what felt like a current through her arm, through her veins, and straight into her rapidly beating heart. It was a shocking sensation, one of letting something foreign and unidentifiable into your body, and with her intolerance to harbouring and withstanding magic, she briefly wondered if all of this could possibly go terribly wrong. There was quick jolt, like electricity had reanimated her heart, but it had already been beating rapidly, and now… now it held something more. But whatever it was, unlike the dredges of magic she had absorbed from Alster during their last fateful visit to this tomb, it did not harm her. The sensation of tingling pinpricks lingered for a moment longer, after she dropped her hand from the sigil, and it left her feeling entirely the same as before, as though nothing had happened at all. Of course, by Chara and Alster’s confirmations, she knew that a significant change had indeed taken place.
“I suppose that is a good sign, then?” The former knight ventured, a half-smile playing upon her coral-tinted lips. “Especially considering I am a foreigner… but you’re right. He already knows what we mean to one another, and what we are willing to sacrifice.”
Alongside Alster, Elespeth approached Rigel’s sarcophagus, her heart beating anew with hope. “She is right,” she said to her fiance, not even mildly perturbed that he had used the word ‘trivial’ to describe the situation. “Rigel helped us before. He knows us… perhaps his guidance is what we need to ascertain that the Serpent does not exert its will onto you, Alster. He may know something that we do not.”
As far as the former knight was concerned, the hard part of the ceremony was over. She hadn’t known what to expect, stepping up to the sigil and letting it drink of her lifeblood; she hadn’t even known if it would work, with her being an outsider, and not innately of Rigas blood. But this part, she had done before, and did not hesitate to hold her other palm out to Alster. “I can remember.” Elespeth assured him, her lips curved in a soft smile. “How could I forget the day I dedicated myself to you, wholly and eternally? I will never forget that moment or that feeling, Alster.” Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and returned herself to that moment with the man who then hadn’t yet been her fiance, and yet their bond had meant more than a ring ever could. She remembered the electricity, that sensation of wholeness, as they had bound themselves to one another like two sides of a coin. The former Tameris daughter felt next to nothing, however, as her fiance drew the tip of the ceremonial blade over the raised, pink scar on her palm. They had already endured the pain once; it was as though this time around, this reaffirmation of something to which they were already wholeheartedly committed, spared them the bite of the blade as it tore their flesh. When Elespeth’s hand bled anew, she took the dagger from Alster in one hand, and with the fingertips of her other hand (both now sporting open wounds), she took his flesh and blood palm. Just as carefully as he had done, she opened a wound on that palm, just deep enough for it to well and bleed like her own, at which point she laid her own bleeding palm directly over Alster’s.
Opening up their bond and pouring more of their immortal souls into it was like replenishing an already thriving flower with enriched water. She could feel Alster, in every beat of her own heart, for he was already part of her. Could feel the gentle current of electricity between them, that reassuring hum upon which both of their lives vibrated, and the warmth of the light that, together, they made…
The former knight only looked up, startled, when that light faded and gave way to a dark void. She and Alster were alone, save for a familiar figure that she immediately recognized. “Rigel Rigas…” She breathed, having not expected to ever witness the image of the man again, save for in the portrait depictions of him. It struck her as even more surprising that he recognized them, although after what they had done for Stella D’Mare and the Rigases, perhaps their faces were not one he would readily forget.
She listened, as he turned to Alster, already fully aware of the pact that he had made with the Serpent and how it affected him. Though she had not expected to hear his insight on the matter. “What… do you mean?” The former Atvanian ventured, her brows furrowed in curiosity. “To say that Alster’s will is affecting the Serpent’s, just as strongly as the Serpent has influence over his?”
But the ancient Rigas spirit offered no more of what he knew of Alster and his attachment to the Serpent, opting instead to focus on the reason that they had extended this ceremony, in the first place: to strengthen their bond with one another. They were not the first to forge promises in blood over Rigel Rigas’s tomb, it seemed, just as Elespeth was likely not the first foreigner to earn the Rigas name, and the extended lifespan along with it. Though he was not of this world, Rigel Rigas was not as disconnected from the world of the living as one would have thought. He was aware of the evacuation, and as such, she had a feeling he also knew of the constant threat of Mollengard that hsi precious city was facing. And then he mentioned the blood seal--the seal for which she had likely watched Chara slice her hand to allow the small party entry into the tomb. Of course, she understood its significance insofar as it led to Rigel’s tomb, a place that was sacred to the Rigas family… but what other significance did it hold for the city and its people?
The former knight directed her inquisitive look to Alster, but her questions went unanswered. As if the room had suddenly gone alight with candles, the two of them found themselves once again surrounded by Alster’s family and their mutual friends. Chara broke the silence and startled the warrior back into awareness. She shook her head a few times and blinked into the light cast from etherea, finding her hand still firmly linked with Alster’s. They parted from one another’s touch, so that Chara could wrap Alster’s bleeding palm in white bandages, and then wrap both of Elespeth’s hands, in turn. Other than a dull ache at the site of the wounds that pulsed with her heartbeat, it did not much bother the former knight. “It isn’t the first time that Alster and I had made contact with Rigel; the last we saw of him was just before Alster sent the Serpent away. Even if the man did oppose this unorthodox rite, I daresay he felt hard pressed to speak a word to it.” She flashed Chara a half smile, but it faded. “As Alster said… he expressed concern about the seal. Though I realize that that is your territory, Chara.”
The Rigas head acknowledged the dire warning that Rigel meant to pass on, but dismissed it for the time being to return to the task at hand: the festivities. As Alster had mentioned, this night was not just about Elespeth; it was to give the Rigases and D’Marian’s one last chance to celebrate, to be happy, until they were forced to leave their beloved city for an indeterminate amount of time.
After they exited Rigel’s tomb and returned to the surface, Elespeth was greeted with cheering as Chara presented her anew as a Rigas, herself. The Rigas Head invited the crowd to the main house to celebrate the remainder of the evening, but the warrior’s ears were already ringing, her head spinning with everything she had just experienced, and it wasn’t until Alster put a gentle hand on her arm that she realized she was one again surrounded by friends.
“Congratulations, Elespeth!” Teselin was the first to run up to the newly minted Rigas, beaming with genuine well-wishes. “I know this is something you’ve wanted for some time, now. To be part of the family you intend to marry into. You deserve it--all of this, especially the celebration.”
“Thank you, Teselin.” The former Tameris daughter smiled. For once, she could buy into Teselin’s incessant optimism and happiness, since it was appropriate for the occasion. Not far behind the young summoner, her eyes widened in surprise to see that the Dawn Warrior had also come to celebrate the occasion. “Sigrid? I did not expect to see you here, but it is certainly a pleasant surprise!”
The Dawn warrior grinned and bowed her head respectfully. “I cannot say that I fully understand the significance of this occasion, Elespeth, but I do understand that it is nonetheless important, to you and to these people. So, for whatever it means to you, to Alster, and to everyone here,” she offered a shallow bow. “You have my congratulations.”
“How did you manage to shake off Hadwin?” Teselin asked innocently, noting that the shape-shifter wasn’t tailing her, and was in fact nowhere in sight. “He seemed fairly insistent on finding you a… well, a significant other this evening?”
A hint of a flush touched the Dawn warrior’s cheeks, but she otherwise curbed her reaction to a disinterested shrug. “I told him to have at it, and wished him luck. I didn’t agree to partake in any of his shenanigans, and it was the single most efficient way to get him to leave me alone. That said,” she rested a hand on Elespeth’s shoulder and nodded in the direction where everyone was departing. “Let’s follow the crowd before he spots me in the open. Your party awaits you, Elespeth.”
The climb to the surface was quiet and wordless. Though elated for Elespeth and for the revival of their bond, a spate of thoughts occupied Alster’s attention. Mainly, they pertained to Rigel’s words, in the void. According to his assessment, the Serpent was afflicted with a similar malady of personality? Analogous to Alster’s struggles with identity and sense of self, the otherworldly beast was suffering the same fate? How was a human strong enough to affect the mind of an immortal, invulnerable creature of ancient proportions? How was his consciousness more than a blip in the Serpent’s omniscience and omnipotence? It didn’t seem possible. Alster Rigas, the weak-hearted and meek. Compassionate to a fault. More likely to bond with a creature than to slay one. Awkward, hyper-apologetic, and lacking in confidence. His persona was a splinter lodged in the Serpent’s mindscape?
Sigrid shifted uncomfortably in her boots as Chara brought up the topic of Hadwin; something she had honestly been planning to discuss with the Rigas head, but simply hadn’t found the appropriate moment. Everything had been an utter whirlwind since her arrival in Stella D’Mare. “My apologies, Lady Chara; I’d been meaning to discuss the matter of the shape-shifter with you,” she admitted, bowing her head humbly. “It was merely a matter of finding a moment to do so, and you have understandably been very busy. But… I did manage to negotiate with the prisoner--well… former prisoner, I suppose, if you wish to have his cooperation.”
The Dawn Warrior went on to explain that Hadwin has requested full pardon, along with Sigrid’s ‘protection’ in exchange for his cooperation in Chara’s plan. She made a point of leaving out the addendum to their deal, which involved the shape-shifter playing matchmaker, but Teselin was somehow already fully in the know, so it was not a secret well kept.
“To be very honest with you, Lady Chara, celebrations and festivities are not an area where I tend to thrive, however joyous the occasion.” Sigrid went on with a sigh, knowing that Alster and Haraldur would, at the very least, understand what she meant. “And I have a dire feeling that the shape-shifter would only make it more uncomfortable for me… you will have to forgive that I plan to do everything within my power to avoid him, tonight.”
Fortunately, Haraldur had her back, and offered to keep an eye out for Hadwin in her stead. Sigrid could not contain her relief, and heaved a heavy sigh. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” she told him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Haraldur. I owe you one, after tonight.”
As the Eyraillian prince took his leave, Elespeth couldn’t help but grin at Chara’s comment regarding the source of their liquid livelihood that evening. It made her wonder how long it would take for Mollengard to realize they’d bled them dry of alcohol. A small slight, considering the grand scheme of things, but no less satisfying. “I daresay you have earned a drink or two tonight, Chara.” She offered, with a genuine smile. “After all of the last minute planning you put in today, in order to make tonight possible. I hope you will find the means to celebrate, along with your kin.”
And they hadn’t even yet seen the true extent of Chara’s efforts. As they approached the main house, along with their companions, Elespeth could hardly believe what she was seeing. The vast expanse of the lawn before the Main House had been transformed into an al fresco ballroom, smooth surface for dancing and all. There was music, light flying through the air at the hands of illusionists, sweet pastries and hors d’oeuvres circulating to taste. And to give it that extra luxurious touch that made it all the more ‘Rigas’, a gossamer, curtained area offered privacy for those who wished not to trip over their own two feet on the dance floor. To think, that just this morning, none of this had been here…
“Like you said, she wanted this celebration to touch everyone in the city--well, all native D’Marians, at least.” Elespeth remarked, watching the witchlights twinkle among the flowers, bathing the evening in a soft, romantic hue. “And… it probably gave her an excuse to focus her mind and efforts on something other than the imminent evacuation. She is taking it hard, Alster; it won’t be easy for anyone to leave, but especially not Chara. I think she feels as though she is letting everybody down by resorting to the evacuation, with no promise of returning anytime soon… I know how she feels. I felt the same way when I was forced to flee Atvany. Except… I don’t really miss it anymore. Because I have nothing to return to.”
Her bandaged hand found the cool fingers of Alster’s prosthetic hand, and clasped it gently, ignoring the ache that had dulled to a barely perceptible throb. “My home is wherever you are. Maybe Chara will come to realize that, as well; that home is not about the place, but about the people. That she is trusting you to lead the evacuation… I think it is as close to an honour as you will get from her.”
As he led her onto the dance floor, she smiled nervously, watching as far more practiced couples had already begun to sway to the rhythm of the music. “I’ll warn you, it has been quite some time since my last lesson in ballroom dancing…” She cautioned her fiance, suddenly unsure of the coordination of her own two feet. “I can’t say I remember all of the steps. I am rather a disgrace in etiquette, for someone who was raised within a noble family.”
From prior experience with dances that she truly did not wish to attend, Sigrid knew well to keep to the sidelines, and out of sight of lingering or curious eyes. Since leaving the site of Rigel Rigas’s tomb, the Dawn warrior had spent the majority of the evening either at Elespeth and Alster’s side, or otherwise near Haraldur, who was her only other real acquaintance in this unfamiliar city. However, as the night went on, Alster and his fiancee decided they wanted relative privacy, and chose to envelope themselves in one another’s presence only, and Haraldur suddenly found himself preoccupied with a young girl who had hurt herself and required accompaniment to the infirmary. Of course, she didn’t mind being left to her own devices, but as she watched the former Forbanne soldier speak with the young girl in soft tones as he walked her to the infirmary, it suddenly occurred to her: who, then, was watching for the wolf-shifter? Her cousin had so kindly offered to relieve her of that duty, thereby shielding her from the shadow of Hadwin’s insistent ‘promise’ to find her a suitable romantic interest.
But, with no one to keep an eye on the shifter… then where was he, and what was he up to?
Sigrid regretted the thought as soon as it crossed her mind. She knew exactly who was behind her when she felt that hearty clap on her shoulder, and couldn’t help but flinch: despite her efforts, he had still found her. And he was not about to turn a blind eye to their agreement anytime soon. “Hadwin. I hope you are staying out of trouble,” she said to him, turning slowly. “Otherwise, I cannot extend protection to you, should you decide to participate in misconduct…”
The remainder of her words died in her throat when she turned to find that the wolf man was not alone. No, he really hadn’t forgotten their deal, and had in fact been so dedicated to coming through for her that he’d literally brought her a potential interest. The worst part was… he really had taken into consideration her past experiences and current preferences whilst searching for someone to suit her taste. The woman before her had dark hair, expertly styled up and away from her blue-lined eyes, and a dress a shade deeper and chrysocolla, shoulders elegantly bared. Even with her hair in simple curls, and her indigo tunic clean and freshly pressed, Sigrid was all too aware that she paled in comparison to this woman’s grace.
And she was so far from prepared for this that it wasn’t even laughable.
“I-I…” Panic immediately clutched Sigrid’s heart, and she looked to where she’d expect Haraldur to be standing, hoping for an out. But he was nowhere to be seen; only then did she remember the newly crowned Eyraillian prince was accompanying a distraught young girl to the infirmary. And she was entirely on her own. Struggling to maintain her composure, took a steadying breath. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said to the woman, Naimah, as she bent toward a shallow bow. Why must this be so difficult? She thought in dismay. It had been so easy to teasingly flirt with Vega, because she had known all along that the Eyraillian princess would not (and certainly did not) take her seriously. But as soon as something was potentially serious… that was when fear gripped it. Because it meant that she had something to lose.
Fortunately, Naimah did not in any way resemble the woman who had broken her heart. She was not lithe, but built with a healthy muscularity that suggested she trained with weaponry, further supported by the fact that her forearms were wrapped tightly in gauze. Not brunette, but darker in hair and skin tone, and taller than the lovely dancer who had seen fit to humiliate her in front of her beloved city. All of that did well enough to prevent unwanted flashbacks from her less than stellar past romance, but it did nothing to curb her nervousness. Even if she’d suspected Hadwin might have been able to come through for her, she had not expected him to come through so quickly!
“I’m… I am not sure I would call myself renowned,” Sigrid said humbly, taking a single unsteady step backwards, only to bump into Hadwin, who must have anticipated her desire to take the easy way out and flee. She might have slipped away from Alster, in his drunken lack of observance when he had tried to get her to dance with an acquaintance, but the shape-shifter was arguably better a holding his liquor--and in no way willing to let her out of this.
Straightening her posture, she decided to focus on something she could discuss with a modicum of insight: swords and swordplay. At least they had that in common to buffer what might otherwise be an entirely uncomfortable and awkward introduction. “But… I do favour the sword, yes. I am skilled with the bow only insofar as hunting goes, but I haven’t been trained to use it in battle. Though I have only ever wielded one sword at a time--shortswords, longswords, occasionally a broad sword, but the weight of those hurts my shoulders. I daresay twin scimitars is feat that is above and beyond me. I am not convinced I’d have the careful coordination required to do what you do.”
A hint of a smile curled at the corner of her nervous lips, and she turned her attention to her Naimah’s wrapped arms. “Have you found yourself injured or sprained from your practice? Or do you wrap your arms to brace your wrists while wielding your blades?” Without really thinking, the Dawn warrior almost reached out to touch her wrapped forearms, but caught herself; what was she thinking?! It wasn’t as though this woman was a sister of the Dawn Guard. She could not be so cavalier about assuming that sort of contact was acceptable, or appropriate… And, maybe she is merely interested in advice, and nothing more. The thought that crossed her mind made her heart sink a little, even though she had not had any expectations going into this. It was not safe, or even reasonable, to assume that this was anything more than the shape-shifter’s ruse to try and foster false hope.
At least she had talk of swords to fall back upon. Even if talk was all it would be. “If you are finding your wrists frequently sprain from the practice, then it is because your blades are too heavy or unbalanced. Heavier does not necessarily mean better, and often lighter blades are often swifter and easier to wield.” She offered, backpedaling on her almost faux pas. Naimah was dressed so smartly that she was frankly afraid laying a callused hand upon her would only serve to sully her. “But if you rely on the wrappings as a brace, then I would encourage you to gradually wean off of them. As women, our wrists are more slender and fragile, but nonetheless need to build strength and flexibility on their own, without the constant support of a brace, otherwise the muscles will never find the need to grow gain purchase. Of course, this is all from the perspective of someone who is not adept in your fighting style, and who has not even seen your weapons…” Sigrid nervously scratched the back of her neck. “But, if there is any way I might be of help… I am more than happy to oblige.”
“Well, that’s Chara for you,” Alster said, nodding along to Elespeth’s assessment. “Even while facing evacuation, she insists on juicing every drop of Stella D’Mare’s fruits, however withered and dry they’ve become. She doesn’t want its denizens to remember the husk we see now, but rather, the beauty of its heyday. Perhaps she’s casting her own spell over us all. Immortalizing old Stella D’Mare, at least in terms of aesthetic, will assure that it still exists, if not in reality, than in the memory of those who are here tonight, celebrating. As long as our homeland still binds us, we’re not homeless. You’re right; we’ll have each other. And I think Chara has already realized that people make the city, not the other way around. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be calling an evacuation. Still...it’s not easy, leaving one’s physical place of origin. I’d feel more strongly about leaving, too, but the truth is I’ve always been displaced and unwelcome, here. It won’t hurt me to depart--not as much as it will Chara, who has had nothing but Stella D’Mare to keep her company these last few months.” En route to the ballroom floor, they passed a potted alder tree, its bare branches decorated with will o’ the wisps of a sort, only they led travelers, not to their doom, but to their identity. The remembrance tree, in its naked winter coat, gained leafage in the form of small, parchment slips tied to limbs, branches, and small shoots. They fluttered in the night air, already bloated with foliage fullness. Wishes and memories and bittersweet farewells, all individually personalized.
“In her stewardship of this land, Rigas Head ceased being a role to her. She transformed into Stella D’Mare, and absorbed all its pain, rage, and wounded pride. Through all her tribulations, she grew roots, and wove herself deep in the soil. She is this tree. And like a tree, if uprooted, it can’t survive. Even if it’s replanted...it won’t always take to the soil of its new home.” He stopped before the illuminated, hibernating flora, and picked up a slip of parchment from the wicker basket and an ink pen from the small tabled station where the pots were arranged in a row. Resting the stalk of the pen against his left thumb and forefinger, he hunched over the table, and scrawled a message--as best as he could with his non-dominant hand. When he finished, he slid the quill back into its inkwell, blew on the shaky lettering of his questionable penmanship to dry, and read to Elespeth what he wrote. “‘The tree may die, but the soil remains fertile.’ I extend the sentiment to Chara, especially. Abandoning Stella D’Mare will kill a part of her, maybe the whole of her. But we’ve cultivated this land over three thousand years. Rigas blood has enriched the earth on which we stand...and it will never die.”
Picking up a blue piece of string, he threaded it through the circular hole in the parchment and tied it on the highest branch he could reach. Considering his diminutive height, it dangled just shy above his head like long-hanging mistletoe during yuletide. And, like mistletoe, he pulled Elespeth into his embrace, and kissed her beneath the color-changing lights of the remembrance tree. When he pulled from her lips, he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, and found a coral-pink lip imprint on the skin. “How much paint did Chara slather on you?” It was a delighted laugh that fluttered out of him, all wingbeats and soft, tickling down. “No matter. We must splurge while we can. Now--I won’t delay a moment longer. Without further ado--” he turned from the tree and, hand in hand, guided Elespeth to the slate-covered ballroom floor. Luckily, they’d arrived at the conclusion of an aria, and the beginning of a popular waltz. He brought the she-warrior in close, his prosthesis gentle on the small of her back. “Not to brag, but I taught Haraldur how to dance in a week. I’ll lead you. This will be a far cry from the last time we danced, I assure you. Remember our drunken jig at Messino’s camp?” He made a face in recollection. “It won’t be that. Do you know how I know you’ll do just fine?” His lips touched the rim of her ear as he whispered. “Because we’ve strengthened our bond. We’re coordinated. Synchronized with each other. Relax...and you’ll notice our oneness, El.”
Sure enough, Alster had no trouble leading Elespeth through the steps. They collectively moved to the music, like twin pendulums that always met in the middle. Their movements were mirror images, their rhythm, a manifestation of concentric circles as they whirled about the floor. Even with the strain of his prosthesis bolstering her lower back, especially when easing her into a dip, the pain was incidental. In her embrace, it meant nothing. They melded together as mind, body, and spirit. And when the music reached its caesura, Alster ceased his metronomic sway with the same finality. In its place, his mouth quested, and hungered after the pink stain of her lips, sucking and suckling with barely-restrained desire. “You danced beautifully, El,” he said, between kisses, “look what it’s done...to my body. I’m all aflush. You know,” a mischievous smile took over his features, “we can go to the privacy area...if the festivities thus far have not yet tired you.”
Whilst the Dawn Warrior frantically looked around her vicinity for an exit strategy, Hadwin did not roam far. He’d be damned if he took off and allowed Sigrid a change to wriggle out of her commitment; not after all the work he put forth to find her a match! When she backed into him, he curled a hand over her shoulder and chuckled into her ear. “Whoa, now, Siggy. Don’t be getting all unsteady on me, now. You haven’t even had anything to drink; I can tell. Get back in there. This ain’t the same scenario; she has absolutely no fuel to publicly humiliate you. No means to, either. Nobody knows you, here...and nobody fucking cares.”
Perhaps out of futility, Sigrid surrendered to the scenario manufactured expressly for her. Regaining her footing, she slid forward, towards Naimah, and attempted to converse with the woman of interest. It was clunky, awkward, and rant-driven, but it was something, at least. And something was better than nothing; better than running away.
“Oh, yes. Twin scimitars relies on intense coordination,” Naimah mused. If she sensed her new companion was staggering in her speech, she didn’t react negatively. “It’s speed-oriented. Flashy in its complexity. Intended to daze the enemy, and catch him off-guard. As such, there are plenty of frenzied wrist movements. Both arms must move in tandem with each other, always. They are twins, and cannot act independently, lest the form is compromised. Unfortunately,” she shrugged, “I am unable to afford better quality blades. I am Kariji, you see, and hail from St. Thorne. Stella D’Mare has granted asylum for those looking to escape the years’ long siege there. And while I am grateful to the city, they do not hide their discrimination towards the Kariji people.” When Sigrid touched her bandaged wrists, she did not wince or draw back. She invited the contact, and even leaned into Sigrid’s careful stroke.
“Through it all, I haven’t given up on reviving this traditional weapon-fighting style, as it has been passed through my family. And I, the only surviving member, find that it’s my due...to continue. Or, I would,” she sighed, and looked beyond, at the darkened mountains that loomed behind Main House, “but I find myself under the throes of yet another siege, yet another mass exodus. Survival is more important than tradition. As is practicality. I left my scimitars behind, in the rubble. Otherwise, I’d give you a demonstration. I must say though,” she threw the Dawn warrior a coy smile as her fingers curled over the woman’s wrist, “they’re very firm. Your wrists. Not liable to snap in a simple breeze like mine. More than capable of handling the heavier weapons to which you gravitate. You’re a hardy individual, Sigrid Sorenson. I do not mean to say that you are husky,” she gave an apologetic laugh, “but...resilient. We have a chance of reaching safe haven, with you and your warriors providing aid. So, on behalf of D’Marians, and those who have made this place a secondary home,” she curtsied again; this time, it was low to the ground, such that her dress fanned out around her like a blooming flower, “thank you. Your presence alone is a great help.”
When she stood up, she slowly rested her hands on the warrior’s forearms and made full on eye contact, warm brown eyes searching her clear blue pools. “Would you like to continue our conversation somewhere more private?” She jerked her head to the curtained area. “I’d love to get to know you better.”
Before Sigrid had the opportunity to answer, Naimah slid an arm over the inside crook of her elbow and escorted her to the closest pod of available cushions. Holding aside the curtains to allow Sigrid entrance, she withdrew her touch and settled on the ground opposite the Dawn Warrior. “Your friend out there...he’s something else,” she said, with a soft giggle. “He was insistent that I meet you, and his glowing review of your character rather piqued my curiosity. It is rare to find a woman who is exclusive in her attraction to other women.” Bridging the distance between herself and Sigrid, she scooched forward on her pillow, and rested a hand atop the warrior’s much larger hand. “It is scary, to be who you are, when others are so determined to besmirch you. But there is no judgment or shame to be had, here, Sigrid. None at all.”
Meanwhile, outside the curtained area, Hadwin was smoking a victory pipe that he’d fished out of the pockets of his jerkin. It was the nicest outfit he owned for the occasion, and admittedly, the only one not stained with mud. As he blew smoke into the night air, he half-turned when the Forbanne prince emerged from the infirmary, and marched straight to him, expression stony and uncompromising.
“Where is Sigrid?” he demanded, resting his hand not-so-casually over the hilt of his sword.
Hadwin shrugged and pointed to the curtained area. “I found her a woman, as promised. Sorry you weren’t around to see the magic happen, but that girl needed you, didn’t she?”
Haraldur’s brow drew into a hostile glare. “You took advantage of a little girl’s broken thumb to get me out of your face.”
Hadwin grinned, pleased with himself. “And it worked, didn’t it? See, it’s foolproof, because even when you know you’re being duped, you can’t say no to a child in need.”
The warrior pestled his jaw so hard, the muscles popped, distorting the bottom half of his face. “...And what of this ‘woman’ you found? A whore, I take it?”
“Please.” Hadwin placed the stem of the pipe into his mouth. “She prefers the term ‘companion.’ And we all gotta make a living. Besides, she’s not on duty. It’s not whoring if you do it for free. Or whatever they end up doing.”
“Does Sigrid know?”
“No, but it's not hard to figure out. But hey,” he took a puff and released a steady stream, “Siggy needed to be eased in. Good practice and all. And who knows? Something ‘more’ might come of it.”
“I fear she has taken on more than anyone readily should…” Elespeth agreed with everything Alster was saying, and the more she heard, the guiltier she felt. All this time, she had spent feeling sorry for herself, alone in Stella D’Mare, thinking she was the only one without a friend. But the city, the people… without Lilica, it was all Chara had.
“I realize it is too late, at this point, but I feel I should have been there for her.” She sighed, as she and Alster sidled up to the remembrance tree, already full of wishes and longings and farewells. As much as everyone was making merry, dancing and getting drunk off of an excessive supply of alcohol, it was impossible to ignore the somber undertones of this celebration. Just a mere distraction from the heartache to come… “I tried to be, at first. But then I just spiraled into my own sadness, and Chara’s response to her own loneliness was to become more controlling, which only further alienated me… I’m sorry, Alster. I should have taken better care of your kin, in your absence.”
She watched as Alster scrawled a thought onto a small piece of paper, and then read her the bittersweet words. “I hope it doesn’t kill the whole of her.” She sighed, as he tied the small parting words to a branch. “Perhaps reuniting with Lilica will provide her some stability and comfort; so that she doesn’t need to feel so alone.” Glancing upward at her fiance’s final wish for his home, she leaned into his kiss, unsurprised to find his lips coming away the same color as her own. “What, were you under the illusion that my lips are naturally the color of sea coral?” She snorted, and wiped the remainder of the lip paint away with her fingers. The pigment had stained her lips, all the same. “I don’t know if she made me look better, but she certainly made me look… different. Less like a Tameris; more like a Rigas.”
The dance floor was not far, and she realized it was likely irrational to think that she could get away without owing Alster a dance, that evening. It did come as a small relief to hear that he had somehow managed to teach Haraldur, of all people, to properly ballroom dance; perhaps not all was lost on her years lacking practice, after all. “I’d prefer a less drunken jig, this time around, if only for the fact these sandals are not designed for comfort,” she chuckled, a shiver traveling down her spine as his lips brushed her ear. “All right. But I’m trusting you not to let me step on your toes.”
It hadn’t been a metaphor, that synchronicity that he spoke of. Something had happened in strengthening the bond between them; like a tightening of a rope that had gone slack. It was almost as though she could intuit his movements before he made them. She knew how he turned before he turned, felt his smile without seeing it, almost thought she could feel his heartbeat within her own. It was exhilarating, riding the wave of their synchronized energies, leaving her excited and flushed and so desperate to be near him. Any remaining color painted on her lips was gone with their passionate kissing, which wasn’t an uncommon sight, among many other couples who had already imbibed in alcohol.
“What--behind the curtain?” She asked breathlessly for clarification, to his mischievous suggestion that they disappear to somewhere more ‘private’. Her heart was already pounding, and had they been in the privacy of their own chamber, she’d have likely shed all of her clothes already. But the idea of taking it out in the open… it was a thrilling as it was terrifying. “But what if… couldn’t someone stumble upon us, out here in the open? What if Chara sees us?” She breathed, her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes half-lidded. The rebellious part of her felt eager to take the risk, but it was antagonized by the nuances of straight-laced upbringing that she couldn’t seem to shake. “Unless… your powers of concealment can hold out.”
“I’ve witnessed the use of scimitars; and it is most certainly impressive, as are the people who can use them. I understand why you feel the need to bind your wrists.” It was no ruse or desperate means to make conversations that she did find the art impressive. Capable a fighter as Sigrid was, she had her limitations, and swordplay was a topic that could entertain her for hours. But that was not the only window into this strange woman’s life that intrigued her. Kariji… of course. The woman’s caramelized complexion, her dark hair, and the intelligence of her deep brown eyes suddenly made sense, as did her fighting style. The Dawn warrior was not thoroughly versed in the history of the Kariji, but during her training, their traditional fighting styles had been touched upon for reference. What she hadn’t realized was the extent of siege that had plagued the Kariji peoples, forcing this woman to seek refuge in Stella D’Mare.
It would be a lie to declare she could relate, entirely… but her own story was not quite so different. “I am sorry that you have faced discrimination, here,” she told Naimah, not out of pity, but an understanding, based on her current familiarity with the city. “Although I have only been here for a few days, Stella D’Mare has a reputation for favoring their own and turning a cold shoulder to anyone who is ‘other’, even if they agree to provide them with refuge. I, too, am not native to the city that raised me. As far as I know, I am from the north, as is my cousin, Haraldur. You saw him tonight when he spoke in Elespeth’s favor; now an Eyraillian prince, through marriage to Eyraille’s Skyknight princess, but he and I grew up in a fishing village near Mollengard. I always thought my family abandoned me in Braighdath, but recently I learned that they, too, sought to escape a threat… and to save me.” The weight of that plausibility still felt heavy on Sigrid’s shoulders, but the more she talked about it, the easier it was to bear. “Of the two of us, I suppose I was the lucky one. Mollengard did not take me. Instead, the Dawn Guard were assigned to treat my ‘behaviour issues’ with discipline. It just so happened that they saw enough potential in me to eventually train me and swear me in as a Dawn warrior.”
Regardless of whatever status Naimah thought she had, as part of a renowned and honourable warrior clan, Sigrid was no less taken aback when the woman curtsied so deep that her gown brushed the ground. Still reeling internally from her unsolicited attention to her wrists (which, as far as she was concerned, were quite unremarkable), she struggled to find her tongue again. Damnit… just when she’d begun to ease off of tripping over her own words. “That… really isn’t necessary, Naimah. To thank me, I mean. The Dawn Guard might be acting out of altruism, but do not kid yourself; my intentions aren’t entirely noble. Some of them are quite selfish.” She pressed her lips into a thin line as she thought about her part in the plan; what she was to do, alongside Haraldur. “Mollengard has hurt my family in too many ways. I do care about seeing that the D’Marians reach a safe haven, and I will do what I can to help, but you must understand that I am not immune to a need for vengeance. I want to see Mollengard go down, and I want to be part of taking them down… for everything they have done to cause me and my family to suffer.”
The corners of her lips curled into a humorless smile, and she shook her head. “I’m not like Elespeth, you know. Not a knight, upholding some honour. Just another warrior with a debt to be paid…”
None of that seemed to deter the Kariji woman, however. Sigrid felt blood creep into her face and neck as Naimah put her hands on her, and urged her back towards the private, curtained area, behind which the Dawn warrior could only guess what others were up to. All of this seemed to be moving so fast, but she couldn’t even find the appropriate words for the situation, which only left her to go along with it, and let the dark-haired woman lead her to the plush cushions. She couldn’t deny that she wasn’t to know Naimah, better, as well. Beyond mutual interests, she most definitely had captured Sigrid’s interests. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken so easily and openly to another woman who was not a sister in arms.
As Naimah took a seat across from her, however, a few things began to come to light, particularly when she brought up Hadwin. “‘Friend’ is not quite the term I would use,” the Dawn warrior muttered, but that was not what triggered her realization. Her heart began to race as the Kariji woman closed the distance between them, resting a hand atop her own, murmuring reassurances that she needn’t be ashamed of what her heart desired…
Just as soon as it began to race, her heart dropped. Of course… of course, this is all too good to be true. Blue eyes settled on the lovely woman before her, so elegant in the way she moved and dressed. Someone who had come from hard times, and who more than likely was not earning her keep with her fancy and elaborate swordplay, but who nonetheless had to make ends meet, somehow. However, it wasn’t repulsion or judgement of any form that shifted Sigrid’s expectations; making it alone in the world as a woman was no easy task, and ways of making an honest living were limited. Rather, it was embarrassment at her own folly, her own naivete. To think that the shape-shifter could have worked so quickly to come through on his promise… no one was that good.
“...of course. I think I understand, now.” A nauseating mixture of sadness, humiliation, and anger weighed in the pit of her stomach like a brick as she sat upright and pulled her hand away, folding it into her lap. You bastard, she thought bitterly of the wolf man, and hated herself for trusting him. I told you I only wanted something real… The worst part was, she couldn’t determine who was more to blame: Hadwin, for setting her up in such an impossible situation, or herself, for thinking that a beautiful woman would gravitate toward her so easily, with no strings attached.
Clearing her throat to ease the tightness in it, she exhaled a long sigh that relaxed her shoulders. “Naimah… whatever Hadwin has promised you, for being here with me tonight…” She struggled to find the right words; were there any right words for this situation? “You aren’t indentured to go through with any of it. I will play it up to him and tell him you more than fulfilled any promises you might have made, but… this is a special night. A final celebration and reason to be happy, before things become dire and bleak. And you should not have to waste it on the likes of me.”
She peered past the curtains, watching people sway on the dance floor, Alster and Elespeth among them, moving in perfect synchronicity. Who knew when they would have the chance to celebrate, again? This was not a night for promises and contracts, but a free pass for everyone to be happy. And the Kariji woman should not be an exception. “He has fearsight, you know. Can see what people fear, what bothers them the most, just by looking at them. As soon as we met, he saw that I’d had my heart broken--badly, which inspired me to turn a shoulder to any future romance. For whatever damned reason, he decided to take it upon himself to change that, in exchange for my protection… which, I haven’t much of an option but to offer anyway, as it is the only way he agreed to cooperate in helping Stella D’Mare evacuate.”
Sigrid picked at the cuff of her sleeve and sighed through her nose. “But… thank you, for your words, for whatever it’s worth.” She smiled sadly, and shook her head. “I don’t hear words like that often. Maybe if I did, it would be easier to believe them. The truth is, Naimah, I am not courageous at all. I am a coward, and like so many other problems in life… I suppose it is just easier not to acknowledge the part of me that demands the impossible.”
Feeling a little guilty for uncovering the situation and depleting its magic, she reached out and rested her fingertips on one of the Kariji woman’s wrists. “I still mean what I said, though. I want to see you and everyone else in this city to safety. Even without your scimitars, you’ve already proven yourself a survivor; and I daresay that of the two of us, you have endured worse than myself. Relatively, I’ve been pretty damn sheltered.” She offered a smile, a genuine one, and added, “You are not as breakable or liable to snap in the wind as you may think. I can say this with honesty, because… well, frankly, I do not find myself drawn to fragile women.”
While everyone else was occupied with their own matters, Teselin saw fit not to adhere to anyone’s side in particular. Alster and Elespeth deserved some space, to be with one another and bask in their mutual joy. Chara was off overseeing the festivities, Hadwin was all over the place, with Sigrid actively avoiding him, and Haraldur actively tracking him. As a result, the young summoner saw fit to keep to the sidelines, taking in the cumulative joy of celebration, all the while avoiding the curtained area for fear of what she might find behind it. It was entirely on accident that she happened to stumble upon the shape-shifter, just as the Eyraillian prince made a beeline for him, with a menacing look in his green eyes. Fearing the wolf man had done something to anger him, she didn’t think twice about inserting herself into the situation, if only to prevent one or the other from acquiring bodily harm.
Fearing the worst, Teselin prepared to impose, but paused, coming upon the conversation just as the word ‘whore’ came into play… She hadn’t been near enough to hear the whole thing, but she knew enough to glean the logistics. “And here I was thinking I’d need to intervene because you made Haraldur angry; but it seems he has a right to be.” The young summoner sighed and shook her head. “Did you really, Hadwin? Send a… an escort to the Dawn warrior? You could’ve made a terrible mistake. What if Sigrid thinks it is something more than it really is?” Teselin folded her arms, though it was likely difficult to take her angry, albeit youthful face seriously. “You should not toy with peoples’ hearts, that way. Especially people with a history of having their hearts broken.”
Although Alster was the one leading the dance, he was pleased to feel no slack or resistance from Elespeth. For one unused to waltzing, she followed along with an expertise that paled to the nuanced motions of a skilled noblewoman. And while he might have chalked up her earlier comments to modesty, he knew she was speaking truth. Elespeth didn’t dance. But in his arms, a transformation took form. It was as though she borrowed from his skill set, and made it her own. He hadn’t instructed her in anything, and would be deluding himself to think that one dance with a novice would unlock their hidden talents as a prima-donna ballerina, or waltzer extraordinaire. Besides, it wasn’t only the mechanical steps that stymied him, but the synchronization of their hearts. The beats pattered the same, a tempo that outpaced the stately waltz, in exhilaration of each other, and their proximity. It was not only a dance they experienced, but an emotional outpouring. His palm throbbed, the wound tingling with the culmination of a love so powerful, it rewrote his entire existence. Surroundings appeared different. Brighter, somehow. But not as bright as the aura which prickled off Elespeth’s skin. Electric blue, it popped and sparked and made his everything stand on end.
“What? I didn’t say I was afraid of Chara!” Elespeth protested, turning a little red in the face, but it wasn’t clear as to whether it resulted from his comment or if Alster already had her blood flowing a little hotter. “I just… isn’t it a matter of respect? That my first night as a Rigas isn’t a scandalous one…” He had a point, though; that even if Chara did have the misfortune of happening upon them, she would likely be too proud to call attention to it. “I may have earned her acceptance, but respect is a whole other thing. This is a big deal, what she did for me tonight. I don’t want to come across as ungrateful…”
True though it was, the more she felt his lips on her, the less she cared about propriety and respectful conduct. They raised those curtains for a reason, she realized, and knew well that they would not be the only ones taking advantage of that privacy…
She didn’t resist as Alster urged her toward the curtained area, their bodies never quite parting from one another, up to when they found an unoccupied spot and she fell into his lap in a sitting position. “But what will they think of us? If someone happens to see?” She asked, unable to repress the nervous giggles that made her feel like some newly-of-age, lovestruck girl. A phase that she really hadn’t ever experienced, in her life. “Is this what you imagined, making love to a Rigas?” She asked teasingly, between fervent, hungry kisses. “After all, you laid with a Tameris for the last time, last night… does this new namesake mean I am required to take more ‘devious’ risks?”
Elespeth pressed close to him, her arms on his shoulders as he snaked his around her waist. “I’m not used to acting out of conduct… you may have to wean me into this new identity.”
There was a shift in Naimah’s demeanor that Sigrid couldn’t miss, when she drew her hand away and broke the spell they’d both been under. Disappointment--of course, that was a given, if she had called an end to shenanigans before they ever began. Guilt, as well, something else she expected to find in a person who made a profession of selling her body for profit. But what she did not expect to witness was sadness; the deep-seated sort that told her this was not the first time or situation in which she’d experienced this. That it was something painfully familiar… And it was enough to make the Dawn warrior regret breaking this spell, at all.
“So you fell victim to his uncanny ability to see into the things that we don’t wish to talk about,” Sigrid reasoned, understanding all too well how off-putting Hadwin’s third eye for fear could be. She had even been prepared for it, though in the end, it had still taken her off guard. At least he didn’t start to undress in front of you, she almost said, to inject a bit of humour into a situation that had otherwise grown somber, but it seemed wholly inappropriate when Naimah explained the nature of that very loneliness that Hadwin had spotted.
The Dawn warrior had always known she was not the only one to have lost family; even as a petulant child, she had recognized that others had it much worse, though in her early years she had been too overcome with self-pity to acknowledge that. Yet compared to what the Kariji woman had endured… Sigrid had practically lived in privilege. Families had taken her under her wing, given her a bed to sleep in, and food on her plate. She had never gone hungry, never had to sleep while enduring the elements (except for those times when she and her temper had run away from her foster homes), never wanted for life’s necessities. Moreover, she had never found herself responsible for a sibling, or any other person, save for her communal dedication to her brethren of the Dawn Guard. She had never been forced to make ends meet in whatever way was possible; never been forced to use her body as a means to earn income… Could I even have done that, if it were necessary? She couldn’t help but wonder. Much though she wanted to think herself a survivor, and to do whatever it took to live another day… she was not sure that she could have endured the path of life that Naimah chose to lead, out of necessity.
“I am sorry, Naimah. For your family… you brother, and what you had to endure.” The words felt trite upon her tongue; they were words that anyone could utter, the perfect response to what the Kariji woman had divulged: a tragedy. But the Dawn warrior was at a loss for words, and otherwise did not know what to say. She fell silent a moment, but it was uncomfortable, and feared it made her come across as callous. So, in turn, she divulged a secret. “Those who judge people of your profession are privileged. They do not understand what it means to survive as a woman, alone in the world. They don’t understand that in those cities and kingdoms that do not take us seriously for who we are, it is often the only option.” In a way, she had been one of those privileged few… except that she had never seen fit to judge vendors of pleasure. She had no right. “I’ve never told anyone this, for fear of being frowned upon, but… both before and after I had my heart broken by a woman I’d fallen for, I had considered seeking… paid companionship. Just to know what it would be like; maybe to get to know myself a little bit better. But I never had the courage to go through with it. Not because I think woman of your trade are repulsive or reprehensible--that isn’t it at all. I was simply too afraid that… well, to be honest, that I would like it, too much. And that I would become too attached, when it was merely meant to be an exchange of services for money. I admire you for doing something about it; about feeling lonely, even if in the end it is all hollow. I simply decided to endure my solitary position and pretend like it did not make me sad.”
Sigrid glanced down at the wine in her hand, which she hadn’t yet touched. The Dawn Guard only ever really indulged in alcohol for special occasions, and even then, it was merely a drink or two, not enough to become inebriated. But… this was supposed to be a special occasion, wasn’t it? Without a second thought, she downed the deep burgundy liquid, grimacing a little at how it burned her throat. “She outed me… the woman I loved, who I thought loved me back. Exposed me and my desires to all of Braighdath. The Dawn Guard did not turn their back on me for it; they have too much honour for that. But neither did they defend me; and we never spoke of it. I’ve never talked to any of my brothers and sisters in arms… I think it is easier for them to pretend that it didn’t happen. That they don’t know. So…” Looking up from her empty glass, she settled her gaze on Naimah’s crestfallen face. “As questionable as Hadwin’s antics are… I think I understand why he found you, and why he wanted me to meet you. I’ve never been able to discuss any of this… well, comfortably. Not without inciting pity, which I don’t want.”
When the Kariji woman lapsed into a moment of self-blame, the Dawn warrior’s already tenuous heart sank a little bit more. No, this was not what she had intended by suggesting Naimah spend her evening pursuing other activities--she did not blame her, not for a moment. At this point… she wasn’t even sure she could blame Hadwin. “What? No, you have it wrong, Naimah. Nothing is ‘ruined’--how could it be, when I had no expectations going into this evening?” She tried to offer a small smile, but feared it would come across as disingenuine. “You are not at fault for a single thing. If anything, I only have myself to blame in assuming that Hadwin paid you to keep me company. It just struck me as so improbable that a beautiful woman would want to spend time with me… but it gave me no right to assume your intentions were not genuine. That blame of that bias lies entirely on me. I should be asking your forgiveness, for it…”
As Naimah began to unravel the bandages around her wrists, exposing whatever ‘lie’ she claimed to have told the Dawn warrior, Sigrid’s breath caught in her throat and her heart felt as though it stalled in horror. The delicate underside of her wrists were marred with dozens of thick, raised scars, some ancient and white against the darker pigment of her skin, but others were clearly new: pink and angry and clotted with scabs. And not a single one of them, she knew, was a result of battle. “Did you…” Her thoughts raced faster than words could form, as she looked from the painful sight of the Kariji woman’s wrists, to the desperate lines of her face. “But… why? Why do this to yourself?” You already know why, an accusing voice rang in her ears. You’ve never suffered like she has. What makes you think you’d be any different, in her shoes?
Putting down her empty wine glass, Sigrid gently laid her hands upon the woman’s maimed risks and sought her eyes. “Listen to me, Naimah. No one is just a body. Everyone is worthy in their own right. And everyone is allowed to feel lonely, and sad, and afraid, and you needn’t punish yourself for it. Look at yourself, really look: you have survived. You are still surviving, and your story, your path, needn’t continue the way it is going.” Pressing her lips together, she paused to take a steadying breath through her nose. “I want you to do something; promise me something. When you leave Stella D’Mare, the evacuees will be bound for Braighdath, before accessing another kingdom which prefers to remain clandestine at this time. You can choose to follow them, there, but my suggestion is that you remain in Braighdath. Drop my name--tell them who sent you. I have recently taken on a great burden on behalf of the Dawn Guard, and my brothers and sisters there will not hesitate to offer you a safe haven if they know we are acquainted. And maybe, once you are settled and the other kingdom has grounded itself in some stability… you can visit it, too. There is a place in that kingdom that is said to heal. I do not know the means, exactly, but…” She ran gentle thumbs over the woman’s raised scars. “It may be a step in a better direction, for you. And if your path in live is leaving you hollow… you needn’t continue with it. The Dawn Guard will take care of you. They can help you. Braighdath, fortunately, holds women in high regard. And asking for help… it does not make you weak. It is merely a survival skill.”
It was beyond her, not only why she was choosing to say all of this, but why she felt the need to extend a hand to a near stranger. Obviously, this woman was in a dark place, and in need of help, but why did she feel so personally inclined to offer it? Was she drawn to her through attraction, or did she just feel sorry for her? Perhaps it was a bit of both; but no one deserved to experience despair to such a dire extent. If she kept it up, one day, it might claim her life. “You don’t have to be alone, if you don’t want to be.” She told her softly. “Find the Dawn Guard, and you will find friends among them. And if you don’t want to spend tonight alone…” Sigrid smiled, drawing her fingers away from Naimah’s wrists to gently clasp her hands, instead, “I have nothing better planned for this evening… and I would appreciate some genuine company.”
As Hadwin unpacked the grey area of his intentions, Teselin, ever understanding and open-minded, felt inclined to listen. And… as absurd as it all sounded, he had a point. Regardless of the profession of the woman who he had sent in Sigrid’s direction, someone who was able to sniff out fear was also liable to sniff out loneliness, if that was what lay within the darkest reaches of someone’s soul. His ways were mysterious, and not always particularly ethical or moral, but somehow, what he did was… genuine. At least, as genuine as someone like Hadwin could be. However questionable his means, it was clear to the young summoner that he’d merely wanted to help the Dawn warrior. And that intention, she found, was particularly noble.
“Hadwin… wait,” she called as he walked away and hurried to catch up with him, catching him by the wrist. “I… I think I’m beginning to understand. I’m sorry I reprimanded you.” Teselin sighed, knowing she had jumped to conclusions, despite her belief that deep down, he meant well. “I see what you are trying to do for Sigrid. You used your fearsight, didn’t you? To see her loneliness, and to find someone with the same needs, who would accommodate that. Two lonely people aren’t always the best solution for one another, but… well, you never know. Maybe it will be good for both of them. I’m not sure you’ll be able to convince Haraldur of that, but… I think he is merely concerned for his cousin. Blood ties can run deep.”
Sigrid was not the reason she had run after him, however. Something about what he had said, about trying to make sense of life or else succumb to loneliness… it drew lines of concern on her face. “Tell me something, honestly--are you all right? I don’t know how someone like you lives with your abilities, but I imagine it must be haunting. Personally… I can’t fault you for wanting distractions. I realize I sound foolish, asking this, but… is there anything I can do to help?” Her--how could the likes of her be of help to anyone? Her powers were more likely to destroy than to heal. Nonetheless, she could see that loneliness in him, now. Perhaps one that spawned from his concern for his own younger sister; missing her, not knowing if she was all right. “I know--I’m rather useless, in a lot of ways. But sometimes, just having someone to listen can help. I could be that person, if you need it.”
After giving voice to her long and varied confessions, Naimah was rendered near-paralyzed by her own boldness. Why did she rip at her vulnerabilities like the top layer of her skin? The better question was why she revealed the pieces of her skin that were ravaged by her own hand. Why she unraveled her bandages, and unloaded her insecurities before a kindly stranger. Usually, she was the one to provide succor for the men (and some women) who paid for her companionship. Sometimes, clients hadn’t wanted sex at all. They wanted a physical presence, a soothing voice, a healing touch. A someone who wouldn’t abandon them--for as long as they paid, at least. What occurred within the partitions of free-flowing curtains, muted and unseen by the thick of the evening and its festivities, had been akin to a reversal, and the Dawn Warrior, the balm. How easily Naimah had relinquished the stresses of holding court, of hosting and listening and comforting, at the slightest indication of reciprocity. It was as if she’d been peering into the cracks of strangers, in search of the one person to whom she could crack upon. It was impossible to tell if her desperate need for emotional intimacy was the cause, or if she’d found her desired fit, but Sigrid Sorenson responded to her summons. And for the minutes since they had met, she was not disappointed.
“How shameful of me,” she said, crumbling the discarded bandages in her clawed hands. “I do apologize, Sigrid Sorenson. That was a garish display, unbefitting of my character, and you should not have been privy to such a sight, so early on in our acquaintance. I am Kariji. We were born into this world, knowing loss. We do not speak it, or share it, or show it. We do not allow the world to chisel us into its own design. If my family were alive, they would vastly disapprove of the ritualistic markings I’ve carved into my body.” She drew her arm from Sigrid, feeling suddenly exposed. Not naked, but...watched. “They would be ashamed that I chose to live a disreputable life, instead of ending my years, with purity and honor. I never told my brother, while he was alive, how I managed to secure us the money to afford his medicine, and a private shelter for the two of us. The knowledge would have enraged him. The truth is, my family would rather have me dead than to persist as a disgraceful parody of their teachings. I internalized their disapproval. Absorbed it into myself. Agreed to my sin. But all I could manage...were these.” She unspooled the bandages and placed one end on a rather jagged scar, which began its course on a straight path down her arm, only to swerve dramatically to the side as a last-minute effort to escape. “Here, I have catalogued the extent of my failures. As a daughter, a sister, a woman, and Kariji. I should have died with my family; that is the truth.” She wound the bandage, tight and unforgiving, around and around her narrow wrist and up the shaft of her forearm, where flesh and muscle expanded to accommodate the construction of her lithe but well-toned body.
“This is what I mean about honor. It cannot exist in an irreverent world. It is a means of subjugation, of upholding societal expectations, and never straying or deviating. I have learned to shield my dishonor, to paint over it with colorful excuses, as I have just done...but in actuality, it is cowardice. It is cowardice, because I am afraid of death...when others far more strong-willed than myself would have plunged the dagger into their chests without a flicker of doubt. As much as I would love to believe in the honor of your Dawn Guard, if they also had difficulty in accepting your truth, how would they accept mine, especially when your name is attached?” Tucking the last tuft of the bandage beneath the gauzy, crisscrossed casings, she sat straighter in her seat, as though concealing the scars reconstructed the layers of her personhood, and returned to her the little self-esteem she hadn’t yet squandered. “Nonetheless, I will go to Braighdath. All I can do is walk forward in a straight line, since I cannot end my existence here. Whatever that may mean, for me, I have yet to know. Nevertheless,” she scooted her pillow closer to the Dawn warrior, and rested both hands over her cheeks, “thank you, for your understanding, and kindness. You embody an honor that institutions or society do not dictate for you. It is your own code of ethics and morals, that you follow. Perhaps that is what I saw in you, when we first met, and why I chose to trust you. To strip myself down, in a state far more revealing than nakedness. Besides,” a painted smirk stretched out her plump lips, “I find you very beautiful, and that is not mere flattery. Your blonde hair catches the light like sheafs of gold, and you have stunning, glacier-crisp blue eyes. These two features struck me most, aside from your towering height, and your sturdiness. You look as though no one will knock you over. No man can trammel you. But,” her brown eyes lit up with mischief, “can a woman, I wonder?”
She slid her manicured hands from Sigrid’s cheeks to her shoulders, as she guided them into a solid embrace. “I would love your company,” she whispered, fingers probing, massaging at the knotted areas of her back, in gentle, practiced ministrations. “But only if you want it. I realize I may have guilted you into staying.” Her lips brushed, tickled Sigrid’s earlobe by accident. “If you do want the company...certain habits of mine are quite persistent. I am handsy, and enjoy a closeness that others may deem uncomfortable. Please inform me of your boundaries, and I shall respect them. ...After this.” Traveling from ear to mouth, her lips pressed against the cupid’s bow of her recipient. It was quick, and chaste, but it was not sterile, or lacking in enthusiasm. There was an obvious intent behind the kiss, a stamp that marked Sigrid as a wanted woman--if she chose to accept. “For I am genuinely aroused.”
He should have expected Teselin to follow. She, a puppy in human skin, exemplified the traits of loyalty that her more wild brethren shared, but which he was lacking. His supreme failure to cooperate with his clan was, after all, the reason he was ousted, and left to wander as a lone wolf. For those of his type...it was the ultimate punishment, and also...the ultimate liberation. Proof that he was too much of a deviating, dissipated misfit, too askew to ascribe to a preestablished mold. Never would he be destined for mediocrity, but never would the strictures of society accept him. It was a necessary sacrifice, and he valued his freedom more than the respect of his peers. So why try to endear to his allies, at all? Yes, he was playing the long game, establishing trust and making himself indispensable, but deeper than politics and power-play, his unshakeable animal nature was showing. He was a wolf, without a pack. And faoladh who were abandoned and left to wander alone were guaranteed to die.
Hadwin paused in his long, pumping strides, when the young summoner wrapped her fingers around his wrist. He spun to face her, an animated, rhythmic movement which kept tempo with the persistent orchestral decadence of staid, hoity-toity waltzes. When would they play real music? One with a pulse, and a soul, which drummed the feet into frenetic tapping, bypassing the policing caution of the mind? “Don’t sweat it, kid. There’s nothing I blame you for,” he said, a cheery dismissal, full of teeth. “I can’t expect anyone to understand. Besides, explaining everything all the time would ruin my mystique, and I’d like to keep a few things close to my chest. But for the sake of clarity, because I know you’re so eager to be helpful and involved, I’ll tease a few aspects of my hole-bored soul. First, I didn’t ‘use’ my fearsight,” he ran a finger along the edges of his teeth, picking at the spaces between. “It’s not something I can shunt away or ignore. It’s part of my vision. Even when I was down in the Rigas dungeons, I saw wisps. Faint, but ever present. Fear doesn’t vanish; neither will my Sight. Not until I’m dead. Other faoladh, they employ preventative tactics. Limited to no eye contact has its benefits. Sight grows in strength the more you interact with it. And like looking into the sun for so long, it’s going to scar your eyes. Or blind you. Oversaturate you with your ruling emotion.” Throughout his discourse, his own eyes did not leave her face. He locked her attention with his gaze, unwavering and reliably trained.
“It’s a curse. A literal curse. That’s what legend says, anyhow. A saint by the name of Natalis thought we were an unnatural construction. No being should represent both human and animal, or straddle two worlds. To bar us from integrating and breeding with human society, he used his powers of sorcery to invoke the curse of the moon. She is a mirror into our darkest and truest selves. True or dark--that’s what we’d see, for the rest of our lives. And we’d see it in others, too. Especially in outsiders. A warning and a promise; if we stepped out of the safety of our clans, our Sight would run amuck...and eventually destroy us. And yeah, that’s the position I’m currently enjoying, Tes. My good for nothing father exiled me from the Kavanagh clan, full in knowing he wrote my death sentence. So, to answer your question--I’m not all right. But I’ve also learned, in my years dealing with people, that no one’s all right. So I’m no different. It’s been seven years. Seven years since I’ve seen my family. And I’m handling it just fine. As fine as ‘not all right’ can be. I’m not dead. I’m a cockroach. Nothing can break me. I can’t say the same for her, though.” Of course, he meant Rowen, the sister whom he hadn’t contacted in years. He was able to take comfort in knowing she was safe among the clan, but now...his assurance had died. Though it was imperceptible at first, his eyes drifted away from Teselin, a subtle redirection to behind her head.
“Not all faoladh get such shitty ‘moonsight.’ My eldest sister sees virtue. Hidden potential. Good deeds, and honorable feats. But it was like fate tried to equalize, and rewarded the youngest with the exact opposite ‘gift.’ And so, light fades to dark. As for me,” he shrugged, “not part of this story. You know what they say about the middle child. Out of sight, out of mind,” he chuckled, and briefly ran a hand over his eyes, to rub. “Anyway...I’m getting by. Thriving, even. But Rowen…”
He didn’t finish his thought before an attendant came by with a tray of wine glasses, and he immediately gravitated to the man, taking as many of them as he could hold in his hands. When the attendant fixed him with a suspicious glare, he laughed and said, “hold up; this won’t take long,” and proceeded to drain each glass in a matter of moments. “Good man.” After stacking the empty glasses on the tray, he clapped the attendant’s back and sent him on his way. “That gent is a miracle to catch,” he explained to Teselin. “Had to take advantage, while there’s still some left.”
Speaking of opportunities…
A hornpipe quacked into the air, which had been silent for a time he ceased tracking. When he craned his head towards the pavilion which housed the orchestra, they had been replaced by a different set of musicians. One was the hornpipe player, jovial in his upbeat reel. Following him, a fiddle player picked up the tune. A barrel drum maintained the beat, and a man holding animal bones clanked along to the speeding melody. Hadwin’s face brightened. “Finally; some decent music!” Without a thought, he grabbed Teselin’s arms, and pulled her toward the ballroom floor. “C’mon! I’ll teach you how to jig. There’s not much to it; when in doubt, just kick all over the damn place and try not to trip.”
Sigrid shook her head, amazed at how a woman who knew so much loss could possibly feel ashamed for expressing it. Why did she feel the need to apologize, when she obviously hadn’t divulged this to any other individual? She could not claim to be well informed of Kariji culture and their beliefs, what they were brought up to honor and to turn their shoulder to. It was not her place to question a people to which she did not belong… yet it broke her heart all the same, how it had left this solitary woman. “I do not know your family, or their values,” she offered gently, eyes still locked upon the scars that marred her slim wrists. “But I would like to believe that they take comfort in knowing their daughter survived. What you sacrificed to take care of your brother… there is more nobility and honour in that, than you think. You gave away a part of yourself to try to help someone for whom you cared. No one has the right to fault you for that decision…”
She watched as Naimah wound the bandages around her ravaged wrists again, wishing she could erase those marks that the woman felt she so deserved. When you are alone in the world, your body is all that you have, and often life dictated how you used it to survive. She did not deserve such self-inflicted punishments; nor did she deserve such deep-seated self-loathing. “I understand that honour can be interpreted in a variety of different ways,” she went on, not taking her eyes off the Kariji woman for even a second. Almost as if she were afraid that she would take off and disappear, now that she had revealed more than she desired. “But one aspect is a constant--and I want you to listen and take in these words, Naimah. Are you listening to me?” Sigrid leaned forward and rested a hand on the woman’s knee, her intense, blue eyes searching her gaze for understanding. “Under no circumstances is your life worth less than your honour. Anyone who ever suggests as much is wrong. I apologize, if this comes across as an insult to your family… but that is not my intent. Merely, I want you to understand that all life is sacred, and all life has its worth. You were born to survive, and that is just what you did. And, frankly… I admire you for your strength. Even if you cannot see it.”
Sitting back, she withdrew her hand, thinking briefly of her family of the Dawn Guard. Of what had happened that handful of years ago, when they, along with everyone else in Braighdath, had learned of her romantic preferences. Perhaps they had not stood up for her or defended her; but neither had they condemned her, or treated her any differently for it. And, unlike Naimah, she had no excuse for seeking the company of other women (or anyone, for that matter), because she wanted it, and that was the only reason. Part of her wondered if the Kariji woman ever would have looked at another lady and considered her a romantic interest; or if she even considered Sigrid as such, deep down, or merely sought a kind word from anyone she could get it from. But the Dawn warrior didn’t think to much on that, for fear of feeling the need to turn tail and withdraw at a time when Naimah was so open and vulnerable. And now, knowing what she did of the reason for her bandages… Sigrid, admittedly, feared what she might do, should she turn away now.
Regardless, Naimah was someone in need of help. And if she could make even the slightest difference for someone who had been dealt such an unfair hand in life… then that was enough.
“The Dawn Guard is like my family, in a lot of ways,” she ventured to explain, absently picking at a loose thread at the hem of her indigo tunic. “Perhaps because I do not remember my real family, and I was so desperate to feel a part of something. I’ll admit, when my sexuality was outed to my city, I wish they had said something; stepped up to defend me, to show that they truly cared. But the truth is, we are expected to defend ourselves, as well as those who do not have that agency. It was not their place to defend my honour in that right. But… they did not shun me. Did not treat me any differently when they found out. I was still their sister; and that is all that matters. Which is why I cannot imagine that they would turn a cold shoulder to you, even if they do not approve of your method of survival. You would be surprised, though.” A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Not everyone is born into the Dawn Guard. I certainly wasn’t; others have pursued membership among us to escape lives that they otherwise wished to leave. They will not judge you if you ask for refuge, regardless of whether or not you mention my name. Besides…”
That smile faded as she remembered the sword, wrapped tightly and stored carefully beneath the bed in her chamber that she shared with Haraldur. “Like I said… I’ve taken a burden on their behalf, recently. A terrible one. They will not think to refuse you; especially if you ask after Roan. He leads the Dawn Guard… and I think you’ll find him fair and understanding. He will help you. And once you have yourself settled… well, then you will have the headspace and the resources to take the next step. Whatever it is that means for you.”
The Dawn warrior felt a spike of heat surge through her body, as the woman placed her hands on either side of her face, and then to her shoulders. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, but a curious one… and not at all unwelcome, despite it foreignness. Naimah’s proximity was not lost on her, so close that she could feel the heat emanating from the Kariji woman’s body, that she could feel her breath tickle the hairs on the back of her neck. It made her heart begin to race. “There is nothing to thank me for, Naimah… kindness and understanding are merely what everyone deserves. You simply aren’t used to it because you’ve been dealt a poor hand in life. You’ve been deprived of a bare human necessity… but I only want you to realize that it is out there. There are good people who will show you what you deserve, not just me. I know you will find it in Braighdath. Not only among the Dawn Guard, but the other citizens. The city is accommodating to those in need…”
Except, it wasn’t just her genuine display of kindness and concern that had drawn the Kariji woman in. Beautiful was not a word she often (if ever) heard, with regard to herself. Intriguing, perhaps, especially in Braighdath, where pale hair and azure eyes were fairly uncommon among a general sea of brunettes. She didn’t look as though she belonged, so she stood out, but she had always assumed that was the reason she turned heads. Naimah did not have to flatter her; she already had her kindness and concern, without striving to appeal to some sense of vanity, which made Sigrid believe that her words were genuine.
“If you think I am beautiful, then I wonder if you’ve had too much to drink.” The Dawn warrior joked. “But I appreciate the compliment.” Her voice faltered in pitch as Naimah’s hands slid to her shoulders, as she felt her lips brush her ear, and an involuntary shiver traveled down her spine. Guilted? No, Sigrid could not be guilted into keeping another company, however sad their tale. Not when she was equally as reluctant to pass the evening alone. How many celebrations had she forfeited over the years, hiding away for fear of being hurt? You could be hurt again, that familiar voice cautioned her. A night of intimacy might be all she wants. Tomorrow, you could very well cease to matter… It was most definitely a risk, knowing all too well how easily she could become attached to a beautiful woman who showed interest. However, the last woman to break her heart had not faced the same circumstances as this woman: had not known loss and pain, and took everything for granted. And she did not believe that Naimah could--or would--take her for granted.
Her heart had been racing before she pressed a kiss to her lips, one that suggested a hunger for something more, and put Sigrid on the spot to make a decision. She had already offered her company to this woman in need of it; what would it make of her to pull away now, out of fear? Sigrid knew the sting of rejection all too well, knew how it could affect a person, especially one in a fragile state of mind. And, the truth was… she did not want to reject this. Even if it hurt in the morning, and this too-good-to-be-true vixen vanished from her life altogether, forever. No one here in Stella D’Mare would remember her, and, frankly, Hadwin was right: nobody gave a fuck. So then, why should she?
Because I can get hurt again. Her past reminded her, a voice that would not fade… but that voice did not have to decide her future. “On two conditions.” The Dawn Warrior finally agreed, her voice breathy with a hint of excitement. She did not draw away from the Kariji woman’s intoxicating proximity, but she did straighten her shoulders a little, a meager attempt to maintain composure. “First… I need to take this slow. It’s… new for me.” That was probably already more than obvious, given her mannerisms and her awkward approach to this situation which was so natural to Naimah. “And…” She brought her hands to the woman’s tanned face, slid them down her neck, and to her shoulders, her blue eyes shining with barely contained intensity. “Only if... this is not the last time that I will see you.”
Teselin listened to what he had to say, just as she promised she would, and frankly, felt ashamed that she hadn’t taken this angle before. Why had she ever assumed that Hadwin’s abilities were ones he enacted, like a spell, and not another, unwanted tertiary sense that imposed itself on his life? Why had she thought for a moment that she was the only one in Stella D’Mare, suffering under the weight of magic that was beyond her control? Perhaps it was that he was so good at pretending that he was in control; that he never seemed to be perturbed by any turn of events. Not so unlike her own brother.
“I’m sorry, Hadwin. That sounds… well, it does not sound as though it is something I could bear.” She said softly, her gaze softening to one that suggested he had already earned her sympathy, whether or not he wanted it. “And to think that it really is a curse… and there is no way that it can be lifted? Have you ever tried?” A ridiculous question, she knew, especially considering it was something so engrained into his very being. Not even magic--no, it was a literal sense, another way of seeing the world and its people. He was probably right; nothing less severe than death would remedy it. “I’m sorry. That… was stupid of me to ask.” She backpedaled, shaking her head. “Why did your father throw you out, if you don’t mind me asking? If I’m prying too much, please let me know. I just… I am trying to understand. Which is more than I feel anyone else has given you.”
He was just like anyone else: trying to survive, doing what he could to maintain sanity in the face of whatever utter chaos he must be privy to, in seeing what everyone surrounding him feared the most. And while he was not always ethical about how he navigated the world, she knew well enough that there were times when he made the effort to put his curse to use, to make good of the hell he’d been dealt. After all, he had tried to do so with her: had tried to help her… and she had run away, hardly giving him the chance. And, now, he had done the same with Sigrid. Whatever fears and doubts plagued the Dawn Warrior were ones that she obviously could not navigate alone, and without Hadwin’s help… would she have found companionship, tonight?
“Your sister… I can only imagine what she must suffer.” She did not miss the way his face change, the way his gaze shifted when he mentioned Rowen. Does Vitali look the same way, when he speaks of me? She briefly wondered, but did not dwell on the thought. “Mollengard will go down, Hadwin. I’m sure of this. You may have to live with your curse, but you and your sister don’t have to suffer alone. We… I believe we can find her, after all is said and done. I would like to help you do that, once I find my own brother, if you’d like me.”
Hadwin did not dwell in that state of contemplation for long. Such an emotional train of thought obviously called for a distraction, so she said nothing as he downed alcohol to calm his nerves. In many ways, he reminded her so much of Vitali: someone who learned to get through life in whatever way he could, even if it sometimes cost him his moral framework. Perhaps this was why she felt so drawn to him, and so unable to despise him, as everyone else seemed to.
“Oh--!” The young summoner was taken off guard as he took her by the arms, at the cue of a change in music. It was unexpected, but… not unwelcome. Not when she feared her questions had urged him into an uncomfortable headspace and dampened his evening. “I… all right, I guess!”
And why not try to make merry, despite of all of the sadness to come? That was what everyone else was doing. Tomorrow was the time to contemplate and re-contemplate the city’s situation, among their own personal ones. Tonight… tonight was not the time for that.
Naimah had never encountered a woman of Sigrid’s like, before. Better yet, she hadn’t encountered anyone who emulated the level of dedication and compassion as her words were demonstrating. Outside her family and the more kind-hearted of her clients, Naimah’s experiences with the world invited strife as tiered and elaborate as Stella D’Mare, in both its construction and its ruin. People did not extend a supporting hand in either St. Thorne or in her new home. As Kariji, she belonged to the small population that lived inside the fortress city on the lake, a faction that “betrayed” the revolutionists outside the walls who toiled to reclaim their ancestral land. Seen as traitorous, the Kariji “Reclaimers” of St. Thorne spared no mercy for them. They died alongside other Thornians who hated the Kariji. All Kariji. Even the cooperative citizens who renounced their ties to the land in order to integrate with Thornian society. Both sides viewed them as skittering rats, and the sentiment extended to Stella D’Mare, who had only wanted to help “true” Thornians, and not Kariji aggressors. They did not understand the nuances of the situation, and so treated all Kariji as a burden on their taxes and resources. While Stella D’Mare possessed little knowledge on the siege of St. Thorne, they were aware enough to take a side and lend support to the refugees. But how did the rest of the world view the conflict? What of Braighdath? Upon learning of her origins, would they shun her, not only as a whore, but as Kariji scum?
She wanted to believe in Sigrid’s idealism. That the world was as capable of healing as it was in hurting. Perhaps she was a pessimist at heart, but she presented the Dawn Warrior with a tight smile, nonetheless, and nodded along to the fanciful future of acceptance that the woman painted. No, not fanciful; it was true for Sigrid, and could be true for Naimah, should she follow her advice. If she was determined to live through the latest of her trials, then she needed a reason to proceed through the nebulous future ahead. Her reason could be Braighdath, the Dawn Guard, or Sigrid Sorenson.
No, her thoughts protested. Do not rush along. One woman alone cannot save you, and you’ve only met her! You cannot entrust your life simply because she’s shown you kindness! This was true. Only Naimah could save Naimah. But if the aid of another eased the healing process, it was idiotic of her not to accept the proffered hand. Governments had failed her. St. Thorne and Stella D’Mare saw her not as a person, but a statistic. But if even one person mattered...surviving would be well worth it.
“I will take your counsel, Sigrid, and believe in the mercy of your city, and of your Dawn Guard,” she said, with a finalizing nod. “We are heading in that direction, anyway. It is no great sacrifice. And should I see the woman who humiliated you, I’ll kiss her before witnesses. And if she protests, I’ll state that it is a Kariji custom to kiss horrible women in the street.” Her sharp eyebrows pointed ever sharper after giving voice to her barb-tipped statement. While she knew so little about Sigrid, she felt obliged to defend her honor, both out of gratitude, and because no one else had dared to, yet.
“Aah, deflecting via modesty.” She caught the discarded crystal wine glass, its empty contents dumped on its side on the far end of the curtained partition. “I assure you, that was my first drink of the evening. I am not drunk. I simply have a ‘type,’ when it comes to women." She purred into Sigrid’s ear. “You are my type.”
After kissing the blonde warrior, a brief teasing nip, she drew away to afford her some space, as she was likely overwhelmed by the physical attention. As she listened to Sigrid’s caveats, she nodded, retreating her hands from the sensual massage which was developing along the dips and divots of her back. “I understand. I have handled many first-timers. We’ll let this evening develop naturally, whether it’ll lead to companionship, or more. And,” a smile blossomed on her face, a flower unfurling its petals to the sun, “of course I would love to see you again. We do not have long before the evacuation, but in the days remaining, I will have plenty of time reserved for you. Aside from clients, I am not too occupied. I live a rather dull lifestyle when I am not whoring,” she said, with a light, offhanded laugh. “Since you seem acquainted with Alster Rigas, I actually ‘reside’ in his villa, which he offered to as many of us who could fit inside comfortably. Though, I conduct my business in a separate tent behind the villa. You can find me in or around the premises.” She tilted her head, and the abalone shell earrings hanging from her lobes clinked like the susurrus of the sea. “Perhaps we can take a walk tomorrow. In the garden.”
The young summoner was a sensitive person, conscientious of others, their needs, and their tragedies. Although Hadwin did not consider his life as tragic, for that painted a portrait of a tousled ship breaking in twain during a storm, helpless to the vagaries of life, he understood why Teselin would respond in a pity-giving tone of voice. If she were any other person, he would scoff at her words and dismiss her concerns as condescension. But if she were any other person, would he’d have revealed so much about his life and struggles, with the ease of an open book? ...No. Undoubtedly, she cared, like Rowen had, once. The only someone who worried for his well-being, and who he allowed to worry for his well-being. Until he ruined it all.
“Lifting the curse? Oh yeah, it’s possible. Good ol’ da had a spot of luck, shed it all completely. Said it was a fucking miracle, and that he doesn’t remember how he did it. Motivated by love; makes you stupid for the details. Y’see, he was plagued with the worst Sight of all: Love. His quest to kill his Sight was a chivalric fever-dream, because he did it to win the heart of a lady, who wanted assurance that he’d love her after he cleared his head of his heart-sick world-view. Well,” he cracked his neck side to side, “he succeeded. He’s a cold-hearted bastard, now. Don’t think he has the capacity to feel a prick on his hand, let alone complex human emotion. But it worked. Says the ‘cure’ has something to do with gold. Called it ‘fossilized sun,’ the antithesis to silver, which is moon-touched. Sounds like a load of bull, but if Mollengard can trap magic in crystals, and the Rigases have a magic-dampening dungeon, anything’s possible. That’s why I went down there in the first place, but I couldn’t hack it for long. Oh well.” He pursed his lips and let out a buzzing, vibrational sound, an ostensible dismissal of the subject. However, when Teselin asked the reason for his exile, a sensible question after all he’d revealed, he couldn’t blame her for reaching this next, logical place in the conversation. It was an expected curiosity. Yet, he hesitated in reply. Even though she gave him an out, he wanted to dispense the truth. If he laid it out in the open, it would command less power over him. It was how he coped with other fears that seized him in life. By belittling them, he shrank their near-paralyzing influences, until they were ants to crush beneath his boot.
With as glib a response he could muster, he answered the question. “So my mam,” he sighed; he heard a voice shout, Don’t call me that! and he remedied, “Fiona, was hungry for lamb. Ran off as a wolf to purloin some woolen rumps for herself. Farmers were incensed, and shot her dead. Yeah, they were well within their rights and all, but so was I. When I killed them. A little doling of justice...but it rankled the clan, and my da, the Chief. It was the inciting incident, but not the reason for his eventual ruling. No.” He paused. Sawed his teeth over his bottom lip. “It was Rowen who convinced him to let me go. Said I was too unpredictable. That I’d do it again. I was unhinged, and a menace, and I’d endanger the clan if I stayed. He took her counsel, and told me to never return. But I bear no ill will toward her. She was telling him the truth. I can’t play well with others. I’d be the death of them. My place was always outside. And she was afraid. Afraid of me. Probably still is. Not an unusual response; I bring that out in people.” He broke into a roguish grin. “I’m well-despised, and for good reason! That’s when I learned to accept my darkness, and not fight it. So,” he perked his shoulders, which were beginning to fold downward, “a cheerful story, with a moral attached.” But only if Rowen was found…
That was when the music started and he galloped into action, jerking Teselin and himself onto the slate floor, where a flood of people were gathering for the same purpose. By the time he found and cleared a space for them (which took some brusque shoving of shoulders), the music was in full swing and legs flew and splayed, in a jumbled, uncoordinated mess.
“As you can see,” he shouted over the din of the music, “people don’t know the fuck they’re doing, so let the music inspire you into whatever jerky expression of music your heart desires. But if you actually want to learn, follow my steps.”
The painful, bone-breaking transition from human to beast, and vice versa, had gifted him with limber muscles, lean and flexible as a willow tree lashing in the wind. This made many of his limbs double-jointed, which he demonstrated by pressing both wrists backwards until the fingertips grazed his mid-forearm, and let forth a satisfying pop. He arched his back into a distinct C-shape, gave a few experimental kicks--and began his dance.
First, he started slow, instructing as he lifted one leg, skewed it to the side, waggled it, threw it behind his grounded first leg, bunny-hopped that one into activation, and repeated the process in several revolutions, until Teselin replicated the movements to his satisfaction. Progressively, he introduced more complex and swifter motions, skipping in place from the frenzied bounce of his legs. The wine hadn’t yet numbed his coordination or churned his brain into gruel, so his balance remained in tact. Whilst dancing, he reared back his head and howled, a long, rounded O of delight scrunching his face. As he bounded and leaped, he yelled encouragements at Teselin and held her upright if it appeared she’d topple over, or crash into a reveler behind her. They maintained the grueling pace until the song flourished to its end. Hadwin, heart pumping into his ears and breath streaming out of his mouth, clasped Teselin’s hand into an enthusiastic shake of approval. “You wiry fox, you. Trotting all over creation. You’ve got it! The next stage...won’t be so easy. But I think you’re up for the challenge.”
Something about Naimah’s agreement to her counsel, however much she said it to placate the Dawn Warrior, eased a bit of tension in Sigrid’s shoulders. She did not know this woman any better than anyone else she’d met in this crumbling city; and yet, if all that the Kariji woman told her was true, and she was not playing her a fool with heart-rending lies… then it was possible that she knew Naimah better than anyone here, in the mere hour or so since they had met. Just the thought that something bright and hopeful might befall someone who had suffered so greatly was entirely the reason why the Dawn Guard fought for others; why they fought for Galeyn. And why, if need be, she would fight for Naimah. Even if nothing comes of this, that cautious voice in the back of her mind drawled, there is a chance that you have helped someone. That means something.
Perhaps it meant more than she wanted to admit. Because the thought of this deep-skinned woman continuing on alone and in need… it made her heart ache to consider. Even for someone who was little more than a stranger. “If I am wrong, and the Dawn Guard turns you away, then you have every right to smite me however you will.” Sigrid tried to joke, if only to lighten the gravity of the mood. “If it is any reassurance, I will be returning to Braighdath and the Dawn Guard, myself, once everything has settled with the evacuation. And if I find that Roan and the Dawn Guard have refused you aid in a time of need, despite being associated with my name… then I will personally take them all to task on contracting everything that they are supposed to stand for. That is my promise to you. And… you needn’t worry about encountering the maiden who broke my heart.” She grinned, touched all the same that Naimah would stand for her honour, when it was not at all necessary. “She left Braighdath for ‘greater things’ a few years ago, if I am not mistaken. I believe she was bound for Ilandria. I haven’t heard from her since… and I do not care to.”
The compliment did bring a shade of blush to Sigrid’s cheeks, especially when Naimah called her on her modesty. “No one has told me I am beautiful before.” She said to her, shrugging her shoulders in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “Or if they have, then I probably wasn’t listening… because it likely came from men.” She couldn’t help but laugh, an intriguingly light and feminine sound coming from someone who otherwise appeared so solid and unshakable, for a woman. “I can’t say for sure that I know I have a ‘type’. But… I find myself very inclined to be fond of you, Naimah. And not only because you are astoundingly beautiful. You are strong… more than I think you realize.”
Her words were not entirely true--but only insomuch that Sigrid was not simply inclined to be fond of the Kariji woman; she was fond of her, already. From her striking beauty, to her honourable trust and strength, to the bells of her laughter and the feeling of her plush lips… It was enough that the Dawn Warrior feared she felt herself coming undone by just being in this woman’s presence. Naimah’s voice, her hands on her shoulders and back, almost made her want to forget about her insecurities and allow her to experience the sensual touch of another woman. In the end, it wasn’t her insecurities than won out: rather, it was the need for mental and emotional preparedness. Intimacy frightened Sigrid, and she was ready to stop being afraid. Just… she needed a little bit of patience before she could get there.
“Your understanding is a blessing, Naimah.” The Dawn Warrior sighed, looking relieved that the Kariji woman had not taken her words the wrong way. “I wish I could say I am as bold as your clients whom you take to bed, but I am, as I’ve already confessed, a terrible coward. Although… I think I may be able to overcome that, should I get to know you better. And not just your secrets or confessions. I want to know what makes you happy. What you enjoy doing when you have a moment to yourself. I fear I as well am not a particularly interesting person, so… at least the two of us have that in common. About the most interesting thing that has happened to me only occurred recently, when the princess of Eyraille temporarily decided I was an adversary. Before she knew of my relation to Haraldur, she thought I was vying for his affections.” She snorted. At least something grand had come of her visit to Eyraille: a highly amusing tale. “And believe me, Eyraillian women are to be feared, as I came to learn. I’d love to tell you about it, if you’d like to hear it. And…”
Sigrid matched her smile and offered her arm. “I would love to walk with you tomorrow, in the garden. And now, if you’d like. Part of my tale from Eyraille entails that I actually learned to ballroom dance--Alster Rigas himself was kind enough to teach me. Should you feel so inclined, I’d be more than happy to lead you on this makeshift dance floor that Lady Chara somehow managed to manifest in an afternoon.”
As someone who had never experienced a glimpse into parts of the world that she did not wish to see--fear and love and everything all too exaggerated--Teselin could only imagine what Hadwin and his kin suffered at the hands of such a terrible curse. It would be enough to drive anyone to madness, and though the shape-shifter contained it to the best of his abilities, what was worse was that he traversed this world alone, bearing that curse without anyone to lighten the burden. “But there is a way to lift the curse. If your father did it, then it isn’t impossible,” she reiterated, trying desperately to inject some hope into the atmosphere--as she was always wont to do. Find hope; the one thing she lived for, and that kept her going, day to day. “Hadwin, that is something that can be considered. It isn’t impossible to lift your curse. And it is something that we should pursue.” We--not he. For even if his family turned his back on him, she would not. “My brother--not Vitali, but one younger than him, is a renowned Alchemist who, to my knowledge, resides in the forests bordering the kingdom of Nairit in the northwest. He has worked in gold and metals and enchantment. Someday, when the dust settles and I am no longer afraid of the shadow of my own magic, I could take you to him.”
It was bold of her to try and offer solutions to something that was none of her business. But it what was also evident to the young summoner was the likelihood that no one had ever offered to help him, before. Given that he could come across as rather… well, dramatic at best, and intense, at worst, it did not surprise her. But everyone was deserving of a fair chance at a relatively stable life. Even those who stirred chaos… like Hadwin. Like her brother. “I’m… sorry that you were made to leave your clan. And that your sister was the one to make you do it.” She told him in earnest. To be expelled by your own family… the very people who were supposed to help you. It also made her worry: for what would happen if Vitali turned his back on her…? “But… if she is in fact in trouble, she might change her mind about you. And about seeing you again.”
Hadwin did not want to dwell on his situation, however, and Teselin could not blame him. She did not resist when he pulled her in to teach her the jig, and in fact, she quite enjoyed the lively music and the movements that accompanied it. She followed Hadwin’s lead, enjoying his quick and unbridled pace, and had nothing to lose in following suit. Those who were not too drunk out of their mind to take notice were making merry themselves, losing themselves in the music and rhythm on what was potentially the very last night that they could truly enjoy themselves.
“Have I gotten it right?” She asked Hadwin after some time had passed, breathless from the frenzied movements, and was happy to note his approval. “I’ve never danced before--I didn’t really have much of an interest, but I think I can see the appeal.” A laugh escaped her, and as she turned her head, she caught sight of a familiar shock of blonde hair, and her jaw dropped. “Is that… it’s Sigrid. She’s dancing with someone… wait, is that the… woman you introduced her to?” Certainly, the Dawn warrior did not look as though she was suffering the dance. She was smiling… and looking as though she were genuinely enjoying herself. And, Teselin had to admit, she wasn’t half-bad at the steps.
Grinning at Hadwin, she nudged the shapeshifter with her elbow. “You really used your curse to its best potential, tonight. Sigrid looks as though she… well, she looks happy. So does the woman she is dancing with. Say what you want about being despised. I would say you did a good thing, tonight.”
The Dawn warrior and her maiden companion, the shape-shifter, and the young summoner were not the only ones seizing the opportunity to enjoy themselves, that evening. Behind the privacy of the curtains, in a tangle of half-discarded clothes, limbs, and fervent kisses, Alster and Elespeth took pleasure in (and from) one another. With their bond newly renewed, and emotions and sensations heightened temporarily to a fever pitch, the former Atvanian knight had been quick to discard her nervousness about getting caught. They had not been the only couple to seize the opportunity to steal a few private moments surrounded by the privacy of the gauzy curtains, and fortunately, Chara (or anyone else of importance, for that matter) had not stumbled upon the most noteworthy pair of the evening.
After they had had their fleeting moment of fancy, and there was not longer any trace of rouge on Elespeth’s lips anymore, she and Alster re-emerged as stealthily as possible. “Is it noticeable?” She whispered to her fiance, tucking loose strands of chestnut hair behind her ear. Fortunately, her eye make-up had remained in place, as for the majority of her woven locks, but there was no mistaking her flushed appearance and the swollen state of her lips, which had been preoccupied with kisses for the past half hour. “Alster, your tunic is rumpled… am I just as bad?” A sly grin quirked at the corner of her mouth. Because as much as she did not want to draw attention to the fact that they had been making fervent love in a place with dangerously fragile privacy, she could not say that she regret it. “If anyone asks… we were dancing. And drunk--or both. Whatever you think will be more believable.”
To their relief, it just so happened that the first person they happened to bump into after emerging from the curtains was the newly-crowned Eyraillian prince, who looked particularly displeased, as if he had recently emerged from an unsavoury conversation. “Haraldur. Don’t tell me you cannot find a reason to enjoy yourself, this evening.” The former knight teased, giving him a playful nudge. “Believe it or not… I haven’t had a drink yet. Care to join me, like old times?”
Following his gaze to the dance floor, where his green eyes kept straying, she was quick to understand the uncharacteristic sourness of his mood. There upon the dance floor, she spotted the young summoner, accompanied by the despicable shape-shifter, both dancing with wild abandon. “Chara did not put you on duty to keep an eye on Hadwin, did she? You deserve to celebrate as much as anyone else. Go, have yourself a drink. I’ll keep an eye on the scoundrel in the meantime.”
“My understanding comes from years of bedding men--and women,” Naimah said, pointedly. “Everyone has different preferences, and it is my job to accommodate each one. There have been several clients, like you, who wanted conversation, first. And if they did not feel comfortable with physical exploration, they would return at a later date, and continue their conversation with me. Sometimes, it would take a client up to five or more sessions before we grew intimate with each other. Frankly...they were my more rewarding clients. Sensitive, discerning, nervous--once they felt ready, I knew how deeply the experience meant to them. Because they had taken the time to bond with me, beforehand. They wanted something special. A connection. I can’t fault you for the care you take in choosing a mate, or a friend. You are like them--sensitive. And there is nothing wrong with you or your gradual methods.”
When she discussed her run-in with the princess of Eyraille, herself, a woman she heard-tell exhibited the fierce-set eyes of the kingdom’s rocs, and the temper to match, she laughed, a delighted giggle that shook her entire body. “You’re lucky to have survived with your head still attached to your shoulders. I suppose you have your cousin to thank for your continued survival. “Please tell me more of your exploits in Eyraille. You seem to have a knack for knowing influential people. The princess and princess of Eyraille, and--Alster Rigas, the savior of Stella D’Mare...he taught you how to dance? He...not to be rude, but he has one arm. Now I must see your steps in action. Because I am both curious and skeptical. Please.” She gladly took Sigrid’s arm and pulled herself upright, brushing past the curtains and sweeping into the breezy night air. “Only,” her face soured comically at the twangy notes of the fiddle, accompanied by the flowery runs of the honking hornpipe, “this is no longer a simple waltz, but music for a fast-paced jig. Has he taught you how to follow this arduous tempo? I’m afraid I can help little. I know how to waltz, yes, and I know a traditional Kariji belly-dance, but a jig is,” she moved the words around in her head by using the twist of her hand to punctuate, “unflattering.” Once positioned on the makeshift dance floor, she side-stepped to Sigrid, hooked her arm tightly through the crook of her elbow, and tossed her legs into a kick. “Well, then; let us look unflattering and ridiculous, together!”
With each progressive dance, Hadwin’s jaunty steps performed more sluggish and imprecise, as a result of the wine that pumped fervently through his bloodstream. He kept with the jig’s demands with ease, but presented a slovenly rendition when before, he hopped around in a prideful canter. Gifted with not only a tolerance, but a quick healing ability, which not only affected the knitting of wounds and broken bones, but the recovery of his liver, his appetite for alcohol and mind-altering substances was near-bottomless. Fortunate in that he would never reach a limit, and could party as long as his stamina held, but unfortunate in that he did not “truly” become drunk, or high. If he did, it was teasingly short. Funding his expensive habits, then, was a full-time occupation, involving schmoozing with the wealthy (his current tack), befriending a healer who possessed drugs (his former strategy, until his source had died), gambling (unsustainable but often more rewarding than the pay-out), general trickery, blackmail, prize fighting, or thieving. Despite his admittance to murder (and he shouldn’t have been surprised that Teselin did not bat an eye to it), he was not a murderer. While accidents happened, he did not intend to kill. Not necessarily out of principle, but because it was messy, unimaginative in execution, and a mood-destroyer.
As his drunken state waxed, then dramatically waned, he remembered Teselin and her promised “we,” for a solution to the curse of Sight. Really, the kid was unreal. The lengths to which she insisted on helping, and hoping, took him aback with disbelief. Yes, the combination of her fears, similar to another magic adept by the name of Alster Rigas, was compatible with an idealistic mindset, and possessing unfathomable power made such idealistic concepts a reality, but he was in awe, nonetheless. Her preoccupations were wasted on him, but it was tickling to accept her...loyalty. Even if she’d dole out her loyalty to anyone who said a kind word, or extended a hand of friendship, or reminded her of her brother, he’d take the boon offered him. An opportunist, if a lucky situation headed his way, he’d first engineer it to his benefit, and then snatch it in his greedy, grubby hands. Morality had no place in a world built on survival. And while he was primarily a “taker,” he was receptive to paying his dues to others. Survival, after all, was made easier when people collected together, and helped to solve a common goal. For now, that goal...was Mollengard.
“For a greenhorn like yourself--you’re keeping afloat!” he said, his breaths having been reduced to short pants of exhilaration. “You’ve got some real energy in there, Tes. I run around and roll in dirt all day, and here you are, blazing the dance floor with your fiery leaps, without a care! That’s where all your magic’s going; into your feet and burning holes into the rock.” Before launching into the start of the next song, the summoner pointed out two people across the floor, a blonde-haired warrior and her companion springing their legs into the air and laughing. At the sight, he broke into a wide grin. “Well, would you look at that; my gamble paid off. You never know how it’s going to go, but I’m glad it went well. Now, her bear of a cousin won’t rip off all my limbs and feed them to his pregnant wife. Eyraillians get some weird cravings, so I’ve heard. I’m sure wolf is on the bill of fare.”
Meanwhile, behind the unsecured wall of curtains, which rippled and threatened to expose the undersides like an ocean wave toppling into shore, Elespeth and Alster toppled into each other, a flurry of hands and kisses and shed clothes. A storm brewed in their partition, one with electricity, which streamed out of him in thin arcs of lightning. The etherea ball above their heads pulsed, elongated, and heated with such intensity, he needed to dispel the object before it exploded. In darkness, strobing flashes passed along them. Rumbles of thunder moaned in their voices, and rain dribbled down their skin. When they finished, Alster was lip-swollen, but magic-swollen, as well, his skin so sensitive, it shocked Elespeth whenever she touched him. He shivered from the after-effects, his teeth chattering, eyes twitching, prosthesis glowing furnace red beneath his tunic. It took a few more minutes before he could direct both hands without trembling, and he did so to help Elespeth reattach her dress, which required extensive lacing at the bodice. Having assisted Chara, and his mother, with the complexities of evening-wear for balls and various galas, he succeeded in restoring the newly-minted Rigas into a passable rendition of her earlier splendor. After wiping away the residual rouge and lip paint that transferred to his face, he stood, assisting Elespeth to her feet all while apologizing for the constant shocking of his galvanized fingers--which by default had transformed his prosthesis into a mildly-annoying weapon.
“I...that’s never happened before.” He sniffed the air. Apart from the salt and sugar of their love-making, it smelled lightning sharp coupled with a snuffed candle. “You’ve always been able to stimulate my body, and my magic to an extent, but this...is unprecedented. I feel like...I’ve been struck by lightning.” To make sure, he ran a hand to his hair. While it wasn’t standing on end, it was disheveled to such an extent, the grease used to slick it back had lost all effectiveness, and strands hung limp and uncooperative over his forehead. “Even if we wanted to be clandestine about it, my magic had other plans for us. Everyone in the vicinity knows we were here, I’m sure, and I don’t think we’ll placate them with the lies you’ve proposed. There’s no use hiding now,” he said with a helpless shrug. “And there’s no reason to hide, anymore. You’re a Rigas, El, and we’re engaged.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her cheek. It shocked them both, and he backed away, contrite. “We don’t need to be proprietary. In the past, perhaps, but these are the end-days for Stella D’Mare. Everyone is looking for a reason to celebrate their farewells. But if you insist,” he drew into a sly smile, “I’ll keep our secret...for as long as it will hold.”
When they emerged from the space in the curtain, Alster covertly dewrinkling his tunic with a staticy hand (which improved the process, a tad,) they didn’t travel long before bumping into Haraldur, who was standing statue still with the precision of a palace guard standing before the vaulted doors of the kingdom’s treasury. His eyes were trained on the dance floor, and on two particular people: the young summoner, Teselin, and the wolf-shifter who he had seen for the first time that evening, after much fanfare about his exploits, (followed by witnessed fanfare, in the form of his speech).
“Haraldur,” he greeted the mercenary. “Too tired to make merry? I don’t blame you; not after the endless festivities at Eyraille. But Elespeth’s right. You don’t have to stay here, keeping watch. Go and help yourself to a drink, or retire for the evening. We’ll look after your ward.” An edge crept into his otherwise pleasant candor. “I’d like to make his acquaintance, anyway.”
The Eyraillian prince thumbed to another couple on the floor: the blonde-haired woman was unmistakably Sigrid, but Alster wasn’t certain of the dark-skinned woman who accompanied her, but indisputable was the fact that the Dawn Warrior was dancing, voluntarily, with another woman. “He got her a whore. I can’t deny that she’s enjoying herself, but it was a lucky call on his part. It could have gone disastrously.”
“That’s true for any risk. I’m glad it ended well for her, but you can cease worrying about it, for now. I’m going over there,” he nodded to Teselin and Hadwin’s location. “Enjoy your night, Haraldur. Go with him if you’d like, El. I’ll catch up to you; join you for a drink.”
Dismissing himself from their company, Alster ambled forward, unsurprised when both Elespeth and Haraldur followed suit. As they neared the summoner and the spy, the latter ceased his movements and jerked his head to the approaching entourage. Tapping Teselin’s shoulder to get her attention, he pointed a finger to the trio, swerved out of the sweating sea of bodies, and realigned himself on the grass at the edge of the slate-floor. “Prince Sorde, our rising star--and the snake charmer, himself. My, what an honor.” He folded into a bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His eyes focused on the affianced couple, and a knowing smile cut into his face. “Have you been enjoying your party, Elespeth? You smell like you have. I do like the tousled look you’re sporting. I’ve been seeing many new sides of you, tonight. Can’t say I’m disappointed.”
Alster, schooling his expression into slate, like the floor, met the wolfish man’s mirthful, liquid gold eyes; the man smiled all the wider. “Hadwin Kavanagh, is it? I haven’t even met you and already you’re spreading a good deal of trouble--for everyone.” He glanced beside the wolf-man, to Teselin. “Is he bothering you?”
The wolf-shifter barked a laugh. “Trouble? Aside from springing out of your lovely dungeons, I crafted a heartfelt speech for your fiancee, brought together two lonely and love-starved people, and taught this pipsqueak here how to dance.” He winked at Teselin. “Hardly the kind of trouble any of you would mind. Or,” he tutted audibly, “is this about the contents of my speech, Alster Rigas? I’ll bet Elespeth here filled you in on the details, mentioned a little nonsense kiss I smacked on her lips.” At Alster’s narrowing eyes, he slapped his fist into his hand; it cracked into the air. “Ahah! That’s it. Did she tell you I did it because I wanted her to punch me in the jaw? It was all part of an act I cooked up so I could slide her a winning hand. Rest assured, Al; I’m not pining over your girl or anything. She’s too much like my self-righteous older sister. In fact,” he tilted his head at Elespeth, “the two of you would get along. I hope you never meet; one of you is enough!”
“First, ‘beautiful’, and now, sensitive?” Sigrid wrinkled her nose at the word and arched an eyebrow. “Now that is yet another never a word I’ve heard to describe me. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but… from your perspective, I suppose I can see your point. I always thought I was more akin to being, well, cautious. But… I guess I am cautious for a reason. Seems as though I am seeing myself in a whole different light, through your eyes.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Thank you, all the same. As someone who isn’t one of your clients, I do appreciate your patience and understanding. Especially since you are not obligated to spend time with me.”
She smiled when Naimah took her arm without hesitation, feeling strangely at ease in a situation that should have made her panic and want to run and hide. Beyond the Kariji woman’s beauty, she could see why she was so successful at what she did. She was able to give people what they wanted, to put them at ease without fear of judgement. She could be anyone’s type, perform however they desired, within reason of her own boundaries. But… what did she want? You are my type, she’d told her, without any reason to lie or appeal to her ego. Sigrid couldn’t deny… it felt good to be wanted.
Naimah even seemed genuinely amused as she recounted her joking flirtations with Princess Vega Sorde. Not a fake chuckle, like the kind you make a glaringly bad jokes, either. “Believe me, I’m also surprised I got out alive. I don’t think I deserved to, really.” Sigrid laughed. “Haraldur defended me at first, but I think he became a little jealous when my dance lessons were progressing better than his. Of course, I did not actually plan to dance with her Highness. In the end, I did, but I think it was her way of getting revenge when I chose not to attend the final event of her Equinox festival… she actually sent guards to retrieve me. Eyraille has certainly come far from where it was decades ago, but… I will never underestimate the temper and spite of a Sorde, ever again. That goes for my cousin, too, since he took the name for himself.
“But I digress: Alster Rigas is, in actuality, a fine dancer. And he has grown comfortable in using his prosthetic arm like an extension of himself.” She explained, as she lead Naimah onto the dance floor, where people had broken away from their intimate slow dancing to let loose and have a little more fun, however ridiculous it made them look. “And he is a very good teacher. If he can teach the likes of me to dance in a week, then I’d say he has done the impossible. I may be good moving with a sword in my hand, but I daresay I have little to no grace, otherwise. Not until he helped make a bit of a difference.”
The music most definitely did not warrant a ‘flattering’ dance, but she grinned all the same. “Fortunately, I don’t need grace for this kind of dancing. Let’s let loose while we can. I’m sure the music will slow to something more waltz or ballroom appropriate, eventually. Maybe then you can even show me the other dances you do.” It wasn’t until the words were out and spoken that Sigrid realized it could be taken as innuendo, turning her face red all the way down to her neck and chest. “I… don’t usually put my foot in my mouth so often,” she amended, and shook her head. “Whatever. Let’s dance!”
It truly was wishful thinking on Elespeth’s part that no one would have noticed the spike in electricity that filled the air. She had certainly felt it throughout their antics; sharp and powerful and altogether blissful currents that ran through her body, heightening at the points where their skin met contact. At times, it felt so good that she could have sworn it almost hurt; at times, she feared that the raw presence of magic between them would destroy her, just as she had come so close to death when absorbing Alster’s excess magic during their attempt to expel the Serpent from their world. But that fear was allayed by the raw pleasure and excitement that accompanied it, and at the back of her mind, a voice suggested that if this was how she was to die, then it was most definitely the best possible way to die.
Except, this magic did not poison her body like a toxic, foreign substance. Rather, it energized her, took her senses to different heights, and she couldn’t get enough of it--or of him, Alster, who was the reason she felt any of it at all. And he was absolutely right; there was no possible way not to notice the localized storm of magic and electric energy that they had created, together. No one really seemed to care; though… perhaps he was right. Lies weren’t necessary because she didn’t have a reason or need to defend herself, anymore. She was a Rigas. And times were changing, rapidly.
“Pfft. You don’t even want to keep it a secret.” Elespeth wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes, knowing well that Alster wasn’t even trying to fool anyone. She reached out to straighten the hem of his mildly wrinkled tunic, and bit back a hiss when electricity singed her fingertips. “How long until you are no longer a walking lightning storm, I wonder? It’s kind of unreal… Be careful who you bump into.”
Fortunately, neither of them physically collided with the former mercenary when they found him, standing alone looking suspiciously guarded for a time when he should have been making merry and celebrating, along with everyone else. His uncharacteristic sullenness was explained soon after, when he nodded to a couple dancing energetically on the dance floor. At first, she thought he was keeping watch on Teselin, who was (unsurprisingly) in the questionable company of Hadwin, but when she recognized Sigrid’s shock of pale blonde hair, realization struck. “Is that… wait, that is Sigrid dancing, out there. And do you mean… Hadwin? He hired a lady of the night for Sigrid?” The former knight scratched the back of her neck, confused. “I feel as though I am missing something, here… I did not realize she fancied women. But as long as she is enjoying herself… that is what matters, right?”
Before she knew what was happening, Alster had determined to go and personally introduce himself to the spy, and Elespeth was certain that there was no way that could end well. Particularly not after she had filled him in on some of the details of Hadwin’s little ‘anecdote’ that he had chosen to omit…
“Hadwin neglected to point out, in his heartfelt little story, that he pulled a fast one and kissed me so that I would punch him and get everyone riled up,” she explained to Haraldur, gnawing on her lower lip. “I said as much to Alster, and he clearly is not pleased. As much as I dislike the shapeshifter, we need his cooperation for our plan to be effective… we can’t risk the possibility that is might just kill him.” Sighing, she quietly indicated that Haraldur should follow, and the two of them trailed Alster as he approached the wolf man and the young summoner, both who genuinely looked to be having a good time. That seemed to come to a halt as the trio approached, and while Teselin looked concerned, Hadwin was--predictably--hardly fazed, and already equipped with enough comebacks to put a shield between himself and the three individuals who looked terribly unhappy with him.
While Alster and Haraldur maintained stony expressions, Elespeth felt the colour in her face deepen, the way Hadwin looked at her and could tell exactly what she had been up to. Maybe it was obvious; her hair and dress might have been slightly askew, but of all of the people there that evening, he was the last person she wanted to point it out. “You might have the summoner fooled, but you aren’t going to win over any more hearts by being despicable.” She muttered, wishing it were possible for her to come across as unbothered, but it was already too late.
“No--no, he isn’t bothering me at all.” Teselin stammered in defense of the shapeshifter, afraid that this might become ugly very quickly. “He was actually just teaching me a dance. With all due respect to all of you, Hadwin hasn’t done anything wrong… this evening. He is merely enjoying the night like everyone else.”
“So you don’t consider meddling in someone’s personal life and hiring a… whore to entertain them, to be wrong?” Elespeth challenged, pressing her lips together. “Really, Hadwin, that is an entirely new low. People’s personal lives and matters of the heart are sacred. You would do well to respect that, regardless of what your eye for fear might show you.” Of course, she was also referring to his off-handed comment that suggested he knew exactly how she had been spending her evening.
Teselin shook her head, and before Hadwin could get a word in, she said, “He did not hire the… the other woman. He introduced the two of them. Everything else has happened organically, and with no transaction involved. Please,” she sighed, wringing her hands. “Can’t we all just try to enjoy this evening instead of coming to blows?”
But Elespeth, for one, wasn’t listening, and it did not appear as though Haraldur or Alster were, either. Pursing her lips at Hadwin’s weak ‘defense’ to his reason for kissing her, she pointed out, “You didn’t tell me what you planned to do, or why. It would have been good insight to let me know ahead of time, even if you wanted a ‘natural’ reaction. I could still punch you in the jaw and make it look like I meant it.” The Atvanian knight scowled. “It’s called communication, and you would do well not to spring surprises like that on people who are trying to work alongside you without wanting the urge to kill you.”
Feeling rather helpless but to make a difference in this convoluted situation, Teselin sighed and decided that perhaps pointing out the obvious was all she had in her power to calm down the surge of negative emotions stirring in the air. She could feel it, like electric crackles buzzing and hovering in the air, and frankly it gave her pause to fear her magic might latch onto it and make into something more: something dangerous. “I understand that you might all have reasons to dislike Hadwin. And I am not saying that your reasons are valid in their own right. But he has agreed to play an integral part of our plan to trample Mollengard and steal ownership of the Forbanne. I am not asking you to like him, or trust him, but if we do not work together cohesively, then we are all as good as dead. So… can you all please save your grudges for after we are all safe?”
Teselin looked up, at the floating balls of etherea that lit the night, of the amalgamation of power centered around a group of magically adept individuals, still feeling that electric psynergy crackle aggressively in the air… There is no possible way this will end well if I stay. “It has been a long day… I’m going to retire for the evening. Please,” she sighed one last time, “do not kill each other before we have had the chance to escape.” Bowing her head respectfully, the young summoner took her leave on quick feet, heading directly back to her assigned bedchambers. Somewhere far from the unbridled power in the air that might tempt her own magic to tap into.
“You’ve nothing to fear from the word ‘sensitive,’ Sigrid, I assure you,” Naimah teased, securing her slender yet muscular arm around the stronger and more stolid woman. “It will not eliminate association with your big, tough warrior status. I only meant that you are deeply self-observant; you are aware of your needs and the subtle changes of your emotional and physical world. It is a valuable trait to have in battle, for you will be the first to notice when a situation goes awry. And, Sigrid,” she pressed her body closer to the Dawn Warrior as they kicked their legs in unison; not quite a jig but rather, a two-person line of lofty kickers, sans the wild jumping and their breath-eliminating regimen, “there is no reason to shun any term or designation that reminds you of femininity. Sensitive and beautiful--they do not dismiss your fierceness as a warrior. I’m certain you don’t think any less of me as a fighter for embracing my womanly nature. On the contrary,” her heavily lashed lids dipped, “everything about you screams that you like what you see.”
During the break in the song, she removed her arm from Sigrid and spun so they faced each other. Despite the call to jiggle and bolt about like jackrabbits fleeing from a fire, she rested her hands around her waist, as if they were engaging in a waltz. Listening to the remainder of the warrior’s escapades in Eyraille, she leaned close to absorb the details, eyes trained on the face of her affections. “You caused quite a stir among the Sorde family,” she said with a pleased laugh. “Having the audacity to approach the Sorde princess and persist in your flirtations with her. And here, you don’t give yourself enough credit for your courage. For that is a courageous feat, indeed. The way you tell it, had it not been for your cousin, you might have been spending the remainder of the Equinox festival in the dungeons. Consider me grateful,” she shifted her hands around the warrior’s middle, “that you decided to attend Stella D’Mare’s impromptu celebration. It would have been a far duller affair without having you in my purview.”
Though the music persisted in its high-octane trilling, Naimah swayed her hips to her own beat, a sensual motion that pulsed with tremors and rocked her body in its entirety. She drew in close, a teasing sample of dangerous proximity without the connection of their middles, or breasts. Then, she drifted from Sigrid, severing the link of their arms as she floated one step, two step, three steps backwards. Her arms unfurled like swan’s wings; they flapped, and curled, and arced in a V-shape on either side of her head. Fluidity guided them in slicing precision. Fingertips stabbed through the air, spiraled and encircled her. All that was missing were the scimitars, which would have completed the weapon form-turned dance.
“You should put your foot in your mouth more often,” she called over, in midst of her pendulum-swinging ministrations. “A shame I am not wearing the appropriate outfit for a dance of this caliber--nor am I wielding my scimitars. But I’m sure you’re able to use your imagination.”
During their interactions with Haraldur and later, their interception of Hadwin (which unfortunately included Teselin), Alster tried to breathe himself into relative normalcy. On top of coating the top layer of his skin into a static hazard, his magic, and its accompanying fever, spread red flushes all across his face, neck, and arm, leaving him uncomfortably hot. “I’m trying to get it under control,” he whispered to Elespeth, his body twitching on occasion as he walked, “but it’s gone wild after we went wild. It is too enamored of you to cause you any lasting harm. But we may have to cease any other physical activities for the rest of the evening so I can...temper my excitement levels.”
So then why was he seeking the company of a man guaranteed to peak the very excitement levels he wanted to temper? Because you want more, the voice answered in a spitting hiss. You love the lack of control. The electricity in your veins. How it swells and energizes you into blissful color and verve. You are alive, and the power makes it so. There is so much flowing inside of you that it is discharging. What a lovely creation you’ve become.
He shuddered from the voice, but not out of the shivering effects of his magic. There was time for him to change his mind and wait to speak with the wolf-shifter the following day, when the excess magic receded from its flooding banks, and flowed within its natural current. No. Not anymore. Already, he was standing before the unperturbed Hadwin with his infuriating smile and glib, silver tongue, while Teselin jumped to his defense, as Chara warned she would, earlier. They really were acting as surrogates to the siblings they’d lost to distance, injury, and imprisonment. Together, they presented as brother and sister, aside from the physiognomic differences, which dashed any resemblances.
“I’m being despicable? By turning the crowd in your favor, and expressing delight in the good time you’re having?” Hadwin furrowed his brow at the new Rigas, emulating a perplexed, twisted mien. “Are you that afraid of judgment? So much so that you wear your disheveled dress as shame rather than victory? What an insult to your doting fiance.”
“I’m not insulted,” Alster protested, “and we wouldn’t have been bothered had you not made any mention. Aren’t you judging her discomfort?”
“So I am,” he said, matter-of-fact. “But aren’t you judging me, as well? So there is no high-road taking in this argument. And for the record--Tes has it right. I didn’t pay for the companion, and I didn’t ask her to entertain Sigrid. If you don’t believe me, then that’s your prerogative. I can’t please everyone.”
Alster, who was attempting to maintain a level head, sensed a tension so strong, it manifested as heat-popping crackles on his skin--though it felt foreign. It was not his own magic. He glanced at Teselin with concern.
“Ah, yes, Bronwyn,” he jeered, calling her by the name of his eldest sister. “Communication. I see your communication and raise you ‘improvisation.’ Did you seriously believe I planned ahead when we went traipsing inside that gambling den? Have you played at a table before? It’s impossible to know the outcome of a game, even when you’re cheating. And honey, don’t flatter yourself,” he laughed, a hearty chuckle with barbs, “even if we did arrange something beforehand, you’re no actor.”
“I’m...inclined to agree with Teselin,” Alster inputted, making eye contact with neither Hadwin or Elespeth. “Whatever bad blood you all have with each other, it won’t solve what’s to come.”
At mention of the young summoner, Hadwin shifted his attention to her, and the wisps of fear darting across his vision alerted him to her current state of mind. In seconds, his stance changed from pugilistic word-lobber to mellow, considerate older brother. “No; you don’t want to be here any longer. Good night, Tes.” He gripped her shoulder in a playful gesture and released, just as her feet bounded into a retreating, hurried leap. “Well, we’ve done and scared her off,” he said as he turned his attention to the three of his ambushers. A new attitude crossed his features; a simmering, well-focused anger.
“This is too hostile a situation for her to bear, especially with human lightning bolt over here,” he waved a hand to Alster, “carrying a charge and amplifying the tension. And don’t look at me all surprised; my skin’s been prickling the second you stepped in my space. Teselin--her magic’s emotionally volatile, and what did we do? Orchestrate the perfect environment to tease her power just enough to freak her the fuck out. Look,” his expression hardened, “whether you like it or not, I’m your bridge into Mollengard. I have the devil’s draught, which you need, my Sight, which you also need, knowledge of Solveig’s whereabouts, and information on the soldier patrols. So, allow me to enunciate these few simple words, in case you’re not paying attention: I. Am. Helping. You. Sorry I’m not what you want, but I’m what you’ve got. Who else is going to do the dirty work? Now,” he dug his heels into the ground, “unless you stop me, I’m going to make sure our resident wave-whisperer is all right.” Twisting his feet through the grass, which disrupted the blades and left a dirty imprint of his boots, the wolf-shifter turned, and tramped through the celebration, in the direction Teselin exited.
After Hadwin vanished within the crowd, Alster, dazed by what transpired, rubbed two knuckles into his closed eyes, a similar gesture of frustration shared by Haraldur not an hour ago. “...He’s right,” he said, expecting to hear protests to the contrary. Snapping open his eyes, he removed his hand, which was alight with visible blue sparks. “Teselin’s magic was reacting to the atmosphere. I felt it. We need to be careful about how we approach delicate situations which particularly involve the summoner. And we can’t have in-fighting among our allies. Alienate them and we lose. If the concern is that he’ll betray us, then that’s more the reason to keep him close at hand, and to antagonize him as little as possible. At the rate we’re going, we’re making him into a martyr. We can’t give him that power. Haraldur,” he jerked his head to the two women approaching him from the dance floor, “here’s your opportunity to uncover the truth.”
Sigrid and the whore in question closed their distance on the trio, reaching them in moments. “Sigrid,” Haraldur said, reserving a smile for his cousin. “I was wondering where you wandered off to. How’s your evening been?”
“You must be Prince Haraldur Sorde.” The whore curtsied low to the ground in a genuflect of respect. “Your Highness, it’s a pleasure.”
“That’s...not entirely necessary.” Haraldur cupped the back of his neck, rubbing it self-consciously. “Haraldur is fine. I’m not used to the title, yet.”
“Haraldur, then.” She smiled, and turned her attention to Alster and Elespeth, who she also reserved a curtsy, individually. “Elespeth Rigas. Congratulations on the naming. And Alster Rigas--your villa is quite comfortable. I thank you for offering it to the houseless people of the slums.”
Alster smiled, flattered by the woman’s grace and politesse. “I’m not using it, any, so I’m glad it’s been so accommodating to you and the others. What’s your name?”
“I am known as Naimah.” She stood upright, and, giving a sly side-smile to Sigrid, added, “I heard you taught Sigrid how to dance, and I am waiting with bated breath for a waltz, so that I can appreciate the technique of your instructions through your pupil. If it is not too much trouble, are you able to request a change in style? For one song, at least?”
While he wasn’t sure he possessed the power of delegation, as the celebration was Chara’s brainchild and she orchestrated all its delicate inner-workings, he nodded, and headed towards the pavilion near the front of the stage. “Certainly. I’ll see what I can do for you two.”
On the quiet end of the festivities, Hadwin followed Teselin’s general direction into Main House, where her guest quarters were located. He’d been inside once before, when, arrested and blindfolded, the guards marched him straight through the door where Chara was visiting the recovering summoner’s bedside--after they’d found her trying to dampen her power in the dungeons. ...After he’d used his Fearsight to shake her so profoundly that she ensconced behind bars in desperation to end it all, even if it killed her. Why did he think he was the appropriate person to seek her out on matters involving her magic?
I’m not, he thought. But I can’t leave the twerp out on her own.
An outside voice cooed. “Why so concerned, Hadwin? You know that concern leads to fear, and fear paralyzes. You don’t want to undo yourself, do you? Like I undid myself?”
“Goddammit, Fiona,” he growled, which echoed off the corridors of Main House. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now.”
He walked through her wispy apparition and knocked on the door belonging to Teselin. “Kid...you in there? You don’t have to let me in or anything; I just want to know if you’re holding up. It’s only me out here.” And a ghost. “I left the drama on the dance floor, and I didn’t bring any magic to exacerbate you with. My curse and shifting don’t count; they’re attributes. Speaking of,” he leaned his shoulders against the door-frame, “maybe you’d like the company of a wolf, tonight?”
“Fear? No, no, I don’t… fear femininity, Naimah. And I’m not afraid of it.” Sigrid found herself backpedaling, if only to save face. She hadn’t been wrong about putting her foot in her mouth one time too many. “It’s just that I’ve never thought it applied to me. It isn’t the first thing you’d think of someone who has spent their life training to fight… although, you are clearly proof that I stand corrected.” She flashed a grin. It was impossible not to smile around the beautiful Kariji woman, who looked graceful even with her feet kicking into the air. Her proximity stirred heat in the Dawn warrior’s veins, and she felt warmth in her cheeks every time she pressed close enough that Sigrid could smell fragrance on her skin. “I’ve never seen you fight, but I have no doubt that you can most certainly hold your own. Like I said before--you are not a weak or fragile woman, in my eyes. And…” The flush on her face deepened. “I do like what I see.”
Taking a break from the wild flailing of limbs and swift, jerky movements, it was a welcome change to step into an innocent embrace and slow their pace, even if it made them stand out from the crowd that was wildly making merry around them. Sigrid rested her hands on Naimah’s slender shoulders, marveling at the softness of her dark skin. She smelled like a garden, and felt like rose petals. “There is quite the distinct line between courageous and… just plain stupid.” Sigrid chuckled, happy that in hindsight, her faux-pas in Eyraille served as good storytelling after the fact. “I believe only a combination of luck, and my cousin putting in a good word for me, is the reason I was not taken prisoner. Believe me, for the first time in Eyraille’s history, its king is not the one to be feared. Be damn cautious of its Skyknight commander, though, should you ever find yourself traveling in that direction. There is fire in her veins, and I believe it knows no mercy.”
And neither did Naimah, for that matter. As the Kariji woman shifted her movements to accommodate her own, seductive tempo, Sigrid could practically hear her heartbeat jump into her ears. One moment, she was so tantalizingly close that she could feel the heat emanate from Naimah’s body, and the next, she was spinning away from her, in a solo performance like the Dawn warrior had never seen before. Naimah moved with surreal fluidity and grace, such that her blonde companion shamefully couldn’t keep her eyes off of the sway of her hips. The dance was well-practiced and hypnotic, suitable for someone with as much flexibility and grace as the Kariji woman.
“I am not sure what it is I am supposed to be imagining. Maybe you can fill me in.” Sigrid teased, with a light-hearted laugh. “I don’t think it is possible for you to move without making it look flawless. We’ll have to find your scimitars before we leave this city; for numerous reasons, of course, but I’d love to see this dance performed as it was intended. I fancy the idea of combining weapons and art form. It shows the fierce side of beauty.”
She could have watched Naimah dance all night, hypnotized by the languid and perfectly balanced movement of her lithe and athletic form, though something caught her attention out of the corner of her eyes. Alster and Elespeth were not far off, along with her cousin, to whom she owed a huge thank-you for keeping an eye on Hadwin in her stead. Reluctant to interrupt the Kaiji woman’s graceful routine, she waited for her to finish, at which point she smiled, genuinely amazed and entertained--and, admittedly, a little bit aroused. “And here I thought I might be able to impress you with my week’s worth of ballroom dancing lessons. Now I fear you may be sorely disappointed. And here I thought I would never find myself with another dancer, again… ” Sigrid chuckled, closing the distance between them and taking Naimah’s hands in her own. “Come--I want you to meet Alster, personally, and my cousin.” She insisted. “He tried to set me up to dance with another woman in Eyraille… of course, I was too cowardly and ran. He can’t think me a coward, now.” Her mouth curled into a grin. “Well… I still am, I suppose. Just less so. They’re very agreeable people; I think you’ll like them.”
“I am not afraid of judgment; and this has nothing to do with being ‘ashamed’ of my intimacy with Alster.” Elespeth snapped, heat creeping into her cheeks. Hadwin was taking it too far. “I only mean that it frankly isn’t anyone’s business--especially not yours. You think a few, smart words on a podium is enough to make me, or anyone else, trust you? You fled from Chara’s dungeons--where you had obediently agreed to stay, for your own damned safety--and only re-emerged this evening. How are any of us to believe that you haven’t met with Mollengard, in the interim? Or that you aren’t playing her, just as Chara had been?” she indicated to Teselin, of course, who looked like she wanted to shrink into her tunic. Turning to the young summoner, she added, “How can you continue to trust him, after what he did to you? After we found you in the dungeons, putting your own life at risk because of a vision he showed you?”
Teselin clenched her jaw, but didn’t meet Elespeth’s eyes. “It isn’t his fault. I asked him to help me… I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’ve no one to blame for that but myself…”
Since she was not acquainted with the shapeshifter’s older sister, the insults ran off of Elespeth like water on oil. Though her temper at Hadwin’s audacity had nowhere to go, so it continued to burn in her veins. “I told you, I’m familiar with cards. I grew up with an older brother, and neither of us particularly liked to lose. But if you had so little faith in me to begin with, then why even take me on that little gambling stint? And how did forcing my hand to display my strength even help us, in the long run? It’d have been safer and a better foil to act the part of someone weak and defeated. Don’t even try to tell me that any of that wasn’t in part for your own amusement.”
Of course, it was petty and useless to argue over what had already occurred and who had intended what. Perhaps she hadn’t a right to accuse him, when he had been (relatively) behaved that evening. At least, insofar as Teselin would vouch for him, but she was inclined to believe that he could get away with murder and still reside within her good graces. After all--wasn’t that the case with her monster of a brother? Elespeth didn’t realize just how much the tension was getting to Teselin until the young summoner finally excused herself, looking suddenly smaller as she parted from the small group. And only then did the former knight begin to regret the bone she had to pick with Hadwin.
It came as no surprise when the wolf man laid out the folly of their argument as plain as day. Elespeth looked to Alster, who was, in fact, carrying a charge powerful enough to set all of Stella D’Mare alight, should his magic escape him. Their bickering had exacerbated it, and in turn, Teselin, whose magic grabbed for anything and everything within its reach and made it into so much more, recognized the potential threat, retreating before she would be the reason for yet another disaster. What she hadn’t been expecting was the look that registered on Hadwin’s face at the young summoner’s departure. He was angry, but not self-righteously; in a way that seemed distinctly protective. That of an alpha wolf defending its pack.
The former knight blew air from between her lips and pressed a palm to her forehead. “You’re right. I… shouldn’t have attacked him in such a way. I just made it worse.” She sighed. “And the bastard is right. We do need him, and we also need Teselin to keep her magic under wraps. None of this helped. Did… you see the look on his face, though?” Elespeth dropped her hand and wrinkled her nose. “I really was under the impression he was playing the girl, because she wears her naivete on her sleeve as plain as she does her heart. But he seemed… genuinely concerned for her. This is my fault. I’ve been reading into it all wrong… scum though he might be, it feels as though he was telling the truth, just now. He is on our side…”
Before she could dwell on it for too long, Sigrid and her companion wandered up to the trio, and the Dawn warrior positively couldn’t have looked… brighter. “Good evening, Haraldur.” Sigrid smiled, with a respectful nod. “I’ve been enjoying the festivities, like everyone else. I wanted you to meet someone.”
Elespeth was just as astounded as Alster at this woman, Naimah’s, polite and respectful disposition. When Haraldur had told her that Hadwin, of all people, had set the Dawn warrior up with a whore… this extent of finesse hadn’t at all been what she’d expected. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Naimah.” Elespeth offered a genuine smile.
“I didn’t want all of your instruction to entirely go to waste,” Sigrid said to Alster. “Though this current rhythm really isn’t befitting of a waltz. The tempo is entirely off.”
As Alster agreed to request a chance in tune for the Dawn warrior and her companion, Elespeth pressed her lips together and said quickly to Haraldur, “I’ll be back. If Alster asks, tell him I shall return momentarily.” Without another word, she took off, suspiciously in the same direction as Hadwin and Teselin had departed.
Teselin had lied. She wasn’t tired; frankly, she felt alight with the energy coursing through the air during Elespeth’s celebration, but she didn’t dare linger around the magically adept. Not right now; not until the air had cleared, which resulted in the necessity to sit the rest of the evening out. The young summoner sat on her bed, her forehead resting in one of her hands as she took a private moment to feel sad, for once. “You’d better be well when I find you, Vitali,” she murmured to herself, playing her brother’s face over and over again in her mind. “I can’t live like this… I need your help.”
Her thoughts were interrupted by rapping on her door, followed by a familiar voice that made her sit upright. “Hadwin…?” What was he doing here, when there were hours more of joy to be had at the celebration? Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she padded, barefoot now, to the door, and opened it. “Why… did you come find me?” It perplexed her. As if she were someone that mattered… or maybe he only meant to make certain that her magic hadn’t already gone awry in some other, less obvious way. If that were the case, she didn’t blame him.
“I understand, now. Why lightning struck that village. The one I inhabited before seeking refuge in Stella D’Mare.” The young summoner explained, not looking at Hadwin, but looking past him at nothing in particular. At something that wasn’t there at all. “It was the same situation. Heated emotions, contradicting intentions, a handful of people who were magically adept. Before, I had no idea how or why the lightning struck, but now I do. My magic sought out the electricity in the air. It amplified it… made it deadly. So many people were hurt, Hadwin. I don’t know if any died… and I don’t want to know. And I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want to be responsible for another tragedy. So I left.”
A sad smile touched her lips, as she looked away from the vast darkness spanning the corridor beyond, and refocused on Hadwin. “Thank you, though. For coming to see me. I’m… I’ll be all right. If you want, you can come and get me when the air has cleared. I don’t think I will be able to sleep, for a while.”
No sooner did Teselin bid Hadwin good evening and close the door that Elespeth rounded the corner. She hadn’t heard the conversation taking place between them, but there was no lie in the way the shapeshifter stood, concern etched in his features. She had been wrong about him; just like she’d been wrong about Chara. When he turned and saw her, she didn’t say a word at first. This was more difficult than she’d thought it would be. “I’m only going to say this once, so I suggest you listen.” Drawing in a breath through her nose, she exhaled slowly. “You were right. What happened back there was uncalled for, and could have put us in danger. And I didn’t mean to upset the girl.” The former knight pressed her lips together. “Like you said, you aren’t the person we want, despite being the one we need. And I am more inclined to suspect people than I am to trust them. Just like I suspected Chara when I thought she would put Teselin in danger. So… tell me one thing, and tell me honestly.” At last, she took a step forward, so she could better fix in on his face and all of its microexpressions. “Do you care about her? The summoner? Because if you do… and if it isn’t a lie, then that is all the reason I need to trust you will play your part sooner than you’ll fuck us all over. Because that would mean Teselin getting caught in the crossfire.”
“Of course I know the difference; I was purposeful in omitting where you stand on the spectrum. Mmm--perhaps a bit of both?” Naimah raised a manicured finger to brush aside a dark curl that escaped her restrained mass of hair. “However, I doubt I will have the opportunity to heckle the Skyknight commander, myself, considering I am not on a first name basis with influential people--though I have certainly shared my bed with several, who choose to remain undisclosed. Along with their secrets.” A secretive smile accompanied her statement, and she said nothing more on the subject.
When she began her self-paced dance, hands moving as though they belonged to a series of hands, arms moving out of tandem like a spider with a catch in her web, she slowly circled Sigrid, weaving her silken web. But it was not to snag, to spin, or to suck, fangs injecting the victim to liquefy their insides. She was an orb-weaver in a garden, building her den among roses and honeysuckle. “Imagine me, but with fewer clothes,” she whispered, her voice carrying through the booming bass of the drums and the wail of the fiddle. “That is what they pay to see. Shed snake skin; the snake emerging from a shimmering tangle of the discarded. They want to see her fangs; her venom. ‘They’ are my scimitars. A key component. The last mainstay of my life, before.” If her family were still alive, how would they react to the bastardization and corruption of their weapon teachings? For, she took an ancient and sacred tradition, and cheapened it for a crowd in a desperate attempt to stand out as unique. It was her original plan, when she left the pensioner’s place every morning to secure money for her brother. No one would pay to watch the act...unless it were erotic. Unless bystanders were given the option of taking her into their arms and making her an object of their unbridled passions. Art was conditional; how much was one willing to sacrifice, to secure their name? Fame? The money to live?
For Naimah, it was her soul. Even then, it was not enough. All that remained was the defamation of her culture, facilitated by her hand. And she had long ago lost her shame in its desecration.
“It did not start out as a dance, but audiences demanded more ‘spice’ to the act. To stay relevant--yes, I made the necessary adjustments. I do not mean to upstage you in the least.” She ceased her hip waggle and rejoined Sigrid at her side. “My technique is strictly singular. You will reign as champion of the waltz, between us; you have my word.” At mention of meeting her royal-by-marriage cousin and noble-by-birth friend--and her landlord, of sorts--her stance pulled inward, and she was holding herself, with hands protecting her bandaged wrists. “Much as I would fain befriend your influential friends without needing to sleep with them, first, how will they regard my appearance? I may have been able to fool you for a time, but your cousin, at least, appears quite worldly. He will know what I am.” It took minimal convincing on Sigrid’s part, however, and at once they were traveling across the dance floor to regroup with Alster Rigas and Prince Haraldur Sorde.
Alster did not stop the wolf-shifter when he excused himself from the gallows they’d erected expressly for him. There was no trial, no lawyer for his defense. They were ready to hang him for slights, both implied and speculative--and he knew why. Despite his untrustworthy candor, (or perhaps in spite of it) he reminded them all of Vitali, a man whose only platform (back then) was self-interest and personal gain. But that wasn’t fair to Hadwin Kavanagh, who was fighting for more than self-preservation. If his story was to be believed, he was searching for his sister, who was allegedly under Mollengardian custody. And now--the fierceness he displayed on behalf of Teselin was unmistakable. There was no doubt the man was manipulative, abrasive, and belligerent for love of arguing and for overturning individual comfort zones. While Elespeth and Chara had mentioned the strange relationship he shared with the summoner, who collaborated on its truth when he’d first met her the other day, he needed to see it manifest on its own. It had, and there was nothing false or specious about the level of concern that raged behind his animalistic eyes. Primal. Loyal. He was a growling dog before them, baring his teeth and ready to bite.
“I saw it,” Alster said in agreement, closing a fist around a cobalt blue spark that blazed like a roman candle in his his palm. The aftereffects of Teselin’s departure, and the argument surrounding it, had reduced him to nothing more than a lightning rod, for all the energy his body stored. Is this going to happen every time I make love to you, El? It may not matter much, behind closed doors, but in public, surrounded by impressionable and opportunistic magic…
Can I guide Teselin before our time is up? Or if not me, can…
The thought went unfinished.
“Those are not the actions of a deceitful man. He may hurt others or betray others in his quest, but I doubt he means to harm her--intentionally, that is. As long as he remains loyal to her, I think he can be trusted...insofar as this plan goes.”
Haraldur, who’d been quiet throughout the exchange, appeared dubious in the Rigas caster’s assessment. Not that he could deny the level of care which intensified in the wolf-shifter’s raptor gaze, but just because he meant no harm to her didn’t mean he’d cause no harm. The man was reckless and morally unhinged. Cooperation from Hadwin was a vastly different creature; a contorted, bloated version of it, with many strings attached.
Before he could voice his opinions on the man of the hour, Sigrid arrived to greet him, along with the whore who Hadwin “found.” Whatever had transpired between them in the curtained area had seemed favorable, as evidenced by the crinkle lines forming on the edges of his cousin’s serene blue eyes and her easy smile. Did she know the woman was a whore? Was she aware that the wolf-shifter was playing her for a fool? According to him, he did not pay for the services of an escort, but it could all be a ploy. A devious lie. Any minute, the cordial woman on her arm could turn around and emotionally gut her. He had nothing against whores, and in fact, was a frequenter of their company, in the past. Naimah seemed a lovely woman, as she curtsied and referred to him by his nascent title. She was not the problem. He was merely suspicious of the situation, and what, if anything, Hadwin had to gain by involving the strange woman.
As Alster went about the task of wrangling the proper musicians for a waltz, Haraldur raised an eyebrow when Elespeth also excused herself--and headed in the same direction as Teselin and Hadwin. By her slow-loping, yet purposeful gait, he sensed an apology to the wolf-man was on her lips. And he was conflicted.
Figuring now was the best time to squeeze the truth, at least from Sigrid’s perspective, he returned his attention to the couple. “If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t know it to be true,” he said, with a teasing smile. “Vega had to wrangle you out of our chambers to attend the Equinox ball, and yet here you are, mingling like a socialite. I’m curious about how you managed to pull this one off, Sigrid. It had to be when I was off helping that girl with the broken thumb. And if that’s the case--you work fast!” Of course, the unspoken message was obvious. Do you trust this arrangement?
Hadwin didn’t wait long in the hallway before Teselin opened the door for him, and her ragged face spoke the ongoing truth of her flight. Perhaps she wasn’t tired from lack of sleep, but she was exhausted. When one spent their entire lives running from fear, it tended to get in your eyes, lodging a permanent splinter into the irises. A stigma of its dominance. Those dark, haunted eyes were definitely stratchy; the splinter never stopped itching.
“Why did I find you?” he repeated, and reached a hand to tug playfully on her ear. “Aw, c’mon, squirt. You listened to me shoot the shit before; you think I wouldn’t return the favor? Or are you just spouting pretty words in my ear, saying I’m a good person and all, when really you and I both know I’m utter scum? Either way,” he shrugged, “your charms worked on me. So here I am.”
He stood aside, and this time, he listened to her fears spoken out loud. People seldom confided in him unless he wrenched the truth out of them. And even then, it wasn’t ‘confiding’ if under duress. “It’s a tough break,” he sighed, running a hand through his messy head of hair. “Tolling destruction wherever you go. I embrace it, because I don’t know, maybe I’m dead inside, and that essential part that people like you have in spades died, too. Because I had to partition the pain or actually die. And it’s happened to me, Tes. My own manufactured lightning bolt.” He, too, looked at a spot behind her, like scrying a distant memory. “Only, I was in a tavern, and it was when my fear projection ability manifested for the first time. I couldn’t turn it off. It surged out of me; a wave of terror, that hit every unfortunate soul in that place. And they all...lost their minds. In the panic, people were trampled, and the tavern burned to the ground. Not sure how many people died or were injured, because I also fled, and never looked back.” Though his eyes returned from its far-reaching, he chose not to meet her gaze. “I’ve said it once, and I’ve said it again; you’re made of bigger stuff than me, because you’re hell-bent on maintaining your humanity. I don’t know what it’ll mean for your magic, or your long-term relationship with it. But hey,” he stretched into a toothy smile, “since you’re going to break my curse and all, how about a trade? If you want to rid yourself of your magical burden, I know some of Mollengard’s secrets. How they extract magic out of a person. Don’t know how it works entirely, but I can find out more information. Something to consider.”
Before she bid him good night, he added, “Sleeping’s never been my thing, either. I’ve got insomnia something fierce. So if you’re still awake and I’m still awake, we can dance ourselves into mental exhaustion. The celebration is going all night, I can promise you that.”
At the soft clicking of her door, he twisted his heels to face the way he’d come, and wasn’t surprised to see Elespeth standing in the corridor, blocking his path. “Here to make sure I haven’t gobbled the kid like some fairytale monster?” Gone was his jocular demeanor, his good-natured (and ill-humored) candor, which he usually flooded in Elespeth’s presence. In its place, he greeted her with a cold stare--until he saw the uncomfortable shifting of her muscles, followed by...an apology? An incredulous eyebrow shot with such speed, it almost detached from his face.
“Well,” an unexpected guffaw flumed out of him, “that...was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Glad you see it my way, for once. But I won’t trample on your reluctant gift, and since a gift demands a gift, here’s yours.” His periphery grazed the latch of Teselin’s closed door. “...Yes. Way more than I should. That kid’s the only one who sees me as a person. She’s pure, and wholesome, and--here’s a double gift for you--I’m afraid of fucking it up. Because she deserves better. And I’d stay away, if I could. If I weren’t so selfish, I would. She doesn’t need me, anyway. Your fiance’s a far better fit in assisting with her magic and providing moral support. But I,” he slipped past Elespeth on his way out the door, his last words nearly inaudible, “may need her.”
Sigrid anticipated Naimah’s hesitation to meet the people in her life; the people who mattered to her, beyond the Dawn Guard, when she ventured to Braighdath. For someone so beautiful and so obviously talented in a variety of ways, her circumstances that led her to her current path in life had all but completely obliterated whatever self-worth she had left. But all of that only made the Dawn warrior more inclined to include her in her small circle of trusted individuals, and to get to know her. Not as a whore or a Kariji or even a dancer, but as a person whose life mattered just as much as anyone else’s.
There was still the raw and looming possibility that Naimah was deceiving her; that not everything she had spoken was a truth. Did she ever truly experience loss? Had she actually had a sick brother in need of medicine? Was she really the last remaining of her family? All that aside, even if it wasn’t true, those deep scars on her wrist could not be disputed, nor could the negative emotion that inspired them. At best, this woman was a victim of life’s cruel circumstances, doing whatever she could to survive in this world. At worst… she was still someone who needed help. And who could use a friend.
Seeing the way she withdrew, Sigrid gently reached for her hands, pulling them away from their enclosed position at her chest. “Lucky for you, neither Alster nor Haraldur would have any interest in you bedding them; they are far too devoted to their significant others.” She teased, flashing an easy smile. “You’re right; they might be able to discern what you do. But not you who are. Your profession and existence are not one and the same, Naimah. If that were true--well, what am I doing here? The world and its people would otherwise have no use for me, beyond the battlefield. I would be meaningless. Of course, I value and respect my family in the Dawn Guard, and I am proud to be a part of them, but I am not what I do, and neither are you. Besides, Haraldur and Alster are reasonable people. I don’t think you’ll find more understanding men.”
Offering the crook of her elbow again, Sigrid began to lead her through the crowd, toward the two men in question. “For someone of noble birth, Alster is about as understanding as they get. Even toward those he detests; I’ve seen it for myself.” She chuckled, remembering how he had reluctantly helped the necromancer with his arm, prior to departing for Eyraille. “And Haraldur… I think he could relate to you, for a number of reasons. His past… it has been particularly dark. And even in his brighter years, he earned his keep as a mercenary. And he still married into royalty. He understands what it means to struggle and to suffer, and I guarantee he will see you as you deserve to be seen: as a person.”
It was just as she had predicted. When they reached the pair, along with Elespeth, both Alster and Haraldur had nothing but kind words for the woman on Sigrid’s arm. If they suspected anything about her professional dealings, then at least they had the courtesy not to speak to it. As someone who had a knack for reading people fairly well, Naimah knew just what to say, not holding back any possibly courtesy as she introduced herself with confidence and finesse. It made Sigrid feel all the more proud to introduce her--not a trace of worry on her face for this woman’s social standing, or the way in which she earned money. And… well, it didn’t hurt that having her at her side made the Dawn warrior look just a little more socially competent, and a little less like someone who was afraid to be caught up in a crowd.
Haraldur certainly noticed it, and she couldn’t help but grin at his comment. “To be honest, I do regret not being more enthused about the occasion. Especially since it happened to also be the night of your wedding.” She confessed sheepishly. “I really wasn’t sure what this was all about, tonight, but I knew it was important to Alster and his fiance. I didn’t want Stella D’Mare’s first impression of me to be standoffish and sullen. And… I am happy that I did.”
There was something behind his words, though. Another message that he was trying to convey, one that she almost missed, had it not been for a curious look in his green eyes; a look of concern. Sigrid’s smile faded ever so slightly. And not because he had put two and two together and must have realized that Naimah was in the business of selling her body, but because he was worried for her investment in this sudden onset of companionship. She couldn’t blame him: he had a right to be wary, just as she did, but those suspicions had dissipated with Naimah’s unbridled honesty. Regardless of how they’d met, and that a less-than-trustworthy shapeshifter had been involved, the rest had been up to the two of them. And that was not fabricated.
“I didn’t pull it off.” At last she told him outright, not playing into any pretense or half-truths, because frankly, she hadn’t any regrets. “The shape-shifter--Hadwin--introduced us. For all of his questionable behaviour… I think he made a good call, for once. I don’t think I’d have had the courage to speak to Naimah, otherwise. Though I did ask her to dance, all on my own. Why waste all of the time and effort Alster put into teaching me?”
She grinned, as the music changed, mid-song, to something slower and more waltz-appropriate. “If you’ll excuse us; I owe this lovely woman a waltz.”
Offering her hand to the Kariji woman, Sigrid led Naimah back onto the dance floor, which had cleared of its rowdier patrons with the abrupt change in music style and tempo. With one hand on her slim waist, she took Naimah’s fingers with her free hand, and led her perfectly to the movement of the song. “See? What did I tell you?” The dawn warrior grinned reassuringly, rather impressed that she could keep up with the tempo without really needing to concentrate. Her attention was on Naimah, alone, so painfully aware of the proximity of their two bodies. “You won’t find any judgment from those two. Haraldur already knows how cowardly I am; I think he was merely surprised to find me with someone on my arm, this evening. Especially considering I spent most of the final evening of Eyraille’s equinox festival hiding from his wife.”
The waltz wasn’t too speedy, but moved at a rather comfortable pace, enough that it allowed for conversation without feeling too breathless. It gave room for words to flow, and there were yet words sitting at the back of her mind that she’d yearned to put out in the open since meeting Naimah. Or, at least, since learning of her profession. “May I ask you a rather personal question?” She inquired, and waited for the Kariji woman to give her the go-ahead before she went on. “You don’t need to answer if you don’t feel comfortable--I merely ask for curiosity’s sake. But, I was wondering… I realize that due to your profession, you cannot choose to discriminate between the genders of your clients. Not if women and men are both likely to pay you for your services. But… if things had gone differently, for you, and if you hadn’t pursued this path… would women still interest you, at all? In… that way? Or is it that your tastes have simply changed to accommodate your lifestyle?” It was not that she was questioning the authenticity of the time they were spending together. Naimah had already said she was not on duty, and Sigrid was most definitely not a client. But had they met in a different place, and under different circumstances… the Dawn warrior couldn’t help but mull over whether or not her Kariji companion would bother turning her head to glance at her.
“It doesn’t matter, either way, I just haven’t had the opportunity to compare my circumstances to someone else’s,” she went on to explain, in case Naimah were to take it the wrong way. “For me… I just always knew I hadn’t any interest in men. Since I was old enough to begin to develop romantic feelings. But, we are all unique… and I cannot assume the same for everyone. I just wondered what it was like, for you.”
“What? No--I wouldn’t lie to someone in saying they were a good person if I did not think it true,” Teselin stammered, still perplexed and astounded that Hadwin had taken a moment of his time just to come check on her. And not because he feared what she might do, evidently; but because he feared how she might feel. It moved her, to think she was important enough to warrant someone’s time and concern, and so she listened to his tale that related to her own. And she realized then that she and Hadwin were not so different; except that he had found a means to deal with what haunted him, and she had not--or, at least, she’d chosen not to. Not in the way that he had.
Closing her eyes, she exhaled slowly, and leaned forward from where she stood in the doorway. “I am not glad that it happened to you, Hadwin, but… it is reassuring to hear that you can relate. Maybe there is no hope for people like me who don’t want to turn their back on their conscience; my suffering could well be my own doing.”
That was when he said something that caught her attention and forced her gaze upright. “...so it is possible? To extract magic from someone entirely?” Those dark eyes lit up, overbright with hope. “Haraldur, the mercenary, had suggested something along those lines was possible… had cautioned me about it, should I be captured by Mollengard. Honestly, I do not know if the process would help me or if it would kill me, but… but I am interested to learn more. If you can help me. And… Hadwin?”
Teselin’s eyes softened a bit, and she said, with a smile, “Thank you. I don’t know what brought you over here, tonight, but… I am glad we could talk. I feel a little better, now.”
Had Elespeth been privy to their conversation, then she might not have had to ask the question at all. Hadwin had already exhibited protective, even mildly affectionate tendencies toward young Teselin, and those words, the way he confided it her, might have been enough to convince her she needn’t put herself through a humiliating apology, after all. But she hadn’t heard their words, and as aggravating as it was to have to level herself by admitting that Hadwin had been right--and that her attack on his character had been rather unwarranted--it did feel like a burden off of her chest when she uttered the words. There: now they were even, and she didn’t owe him anything. It didn’t make her like him to any greater degree, but it was enough to clear her conscience.
“You’re damn right, it’s a gift.” The former knight muttered, adjusting the sleeve of her gown, which had hung slightly askew since she had rapidly dressed following her all too passionate lovemaking with Alster. “And you won’t hear it from me again. I was in the wrong--which is no uncharted territory for you, so the way I see it, we are even. So then, tell me.” She fixed her slate green eyes on the shapeshifter. “Where do you really stand, with the summoner?”
Elespeth had prepared herself to feel undecided as to what Hadwin might tell her. She was no great detector of deceit, after all, so who was to say he wouldn’t merely tell her what she wanted to hear? Yet when he spoke, there was no doubt in her mind that he was telling the truth, because the words seemed about as difficult for him to say as they were for her to hear. Because this meant that he wasn’t the true monster she’d made him out to be; he had the capacity to care, and damnit all, the necromancer’s sister had brought it out in him. Before he was out of earshot, she called, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… maybe you are good for her, to an extent.” She blew a sigh from between her lips. “You are the only person, here, who does not hold a grudge against her brother. Even Alster cannot stand the necromancer; but you haven’t been acquainted, so she can trust that you won’t be going for his throat when we evacuate the city. I am not saying she does not deserve better, but she needs someone--for all of our sakes, not just her own. And if you are currently her best option…”
Shaking her head, she threw a glance over her shoulder at the closed door to Teselin’s bedchamber. “Then you’d better do well not to fuck it up.”
“I’m glad you could use my wedding as a training ground, in preparation for this moment.” Though Haraldur’s comment was biting, it was spoken without malice, and the same amused smirk massaged his posture from tight and taut, to relaxed and loose. Having alienated himself from the festivities, as proximity to Mollengard and distance from Eyraille had strung him into a frazzled, fuzzy curl of lint, it was his first open smile of the evening. He was quick to note how he swapped places with his cousin, and now it was he who was antisocial and overeager to abscond from the scene of merriment, in favor of a quiet night in his chambers. Perhaps he would have, if not for Elespeth’s ceremony, or for the public image that he, as prince of Eyraille, needed to uphold. While Vega might dismiss his obsession with impressions as unimportant, or at least not as vital to the kingdom’s survival, he was not about to slacken in his responsibilities, whether fabricated or not. He needed to be present for this important social function, however frivolous, just as he needed to be present in the evacuation arrangements, and present in overseeing and leading...the Forbanne.
Knowing what was imminent, he found it difficult to smile or view his surroundings as a multitude of threats waiting to happen. “And I have you to thank,” his eyes trained on the whore--Naimah-- “for wringing away her celebration-induced standoffishness. By the time Elespeth and Alster marry, Sigrid, you’ll be a guest of honor, I’m sure, so practice while you can.”
“I will be sure to attend their nuptials, if that will ensure Sigrid remains on her best behavior,” Naimah said, sharing in the joke. “That is, if I would be invited.”
“It’s Alster.” It was a dismissive statement, which required no further elaboration among those who knew him, but Naimah did not know him, so he added, “he’d invite the whole world, if he could. Consider yourself an attendee.”
As the subject shifted to Sigrid’s initial encounter with her polished companion, Haraldur nodded along to her words. So she did know. He could tell by her faltering smile, and the skip of a heartbeat which manifested as a flicker in her eyes. She knew, and yet, she was content. Whatever happened between them, he was allayed; Sigrid would navigate the waters just fine, whether tepid or turbulent. Naimah, by his assessment, was pleasant and agreeable. She did not seem the type to wound, client or not.
So then why did Hadwin introduce Naimah to Sigrid? What was his angle? A favor, that he would later collect? Or was Teselin right to defend the wolf-shifter?
“Well, I must say the man’s matchmaking skills are uncanny, because the two of you make a suitable pair,” he admitted, though he conjured the image of the wolf shifter shuffling a deck of cards and drawing out two Queens. Spades and hearts. A pair, to place in his hand. Immediately, he regretted his word choice.
It was for the thrill, he concluded. Gambling, with people as cards. And he won this bet.
The jarring change of music returned him to crunch of grass beneath his boots, the sea-brine whistling past his nostrils, the undulating crowd, which bustled like carp, and the two people who started at the strident tones of a melody, which at once brought to mind the bubbling playfulness and forceful power of the sea into a combined dance.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he said, stepping aside to allow Naimah and Sigrid on the slabbed dance floor.
Shortly after their departure, Alster returned to the spot where they’d gathered, except now, Haraldur was the only one remaining. He pointed to where Sigrid and her companion had settled, on the fringes of the dance floor, unpeopled and protected from the heft of the crowd. Their arms coated the other with tender precision. Sigrid’s form was enviable; she’d always understood the concept better than he, and finally, she had someone with whom to share the dance. Loathe as he was to admit, the shifter’s gamble...was worth it. If only to see Sigrid share her evening with someone she deemed special.
Alster appraised the two women, eyes lowering to count Sigrid’s steps and positioning. Up, they scanned, to the clasp of her arms, the rhythm of her sway, the wide lope of her leading legs as they spiraled, and widened into circles. Her companion followed her lead without trouble. Her stance indicated trust, and safety. An elated smile electrified his face--unless it was the residual sparks of his magic, which popped around his aura in pinpricks of light.
“She’s better at this than you,” he told Haraldur, matter-of-fact.
“As a teacher, are you allowed to pick favorites?” he said, snorting.
“Nothing like a little competition as motivation to improve.”
Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Naimah looped her arms around Sigrid’s waist and moved with her partner’s subtle shifts, never challenging her steps because she never needed to; the Dawn Warrior possessed natural rhythm and an innate understanding of how to interpret the music into dance.
“A week of lessons?” she said, incredulous. “A week. You are either a quick study or you are bluffing, Sigrid Sorenson.”
The warrior’s lower back pulsed. She listened with her palms. A gentle, humming cadence. “You were right. They were receptive to my presence. I didn’t think Alster Rigas was going to shift the entire evening’s mood just for us. Prince Sorde wasn’t being facetious. He might well invite the world to his wedding--and answer each of their requests. Speaking of,” she whispered into Sigrid’s ear, “he’s returned, and is watching your steps. Carefully. Are you being graded for this performance?”
So as not to worry Sigrid, she lifted a hand to her cheek and guided it from where her neck craned in its nervous search for Alster. “Look to me,” she cooed, and slipped closer. “Your cousin, too, is a caring man. It’s comforting to hear how he has scraped out of his own darkness, to sit upon a throne in lofty Eyraille. One cannot ascend higher--and I mean that, literally.”
At Sigrid’s honest inquiry, Naimah shook her head, her curls bobbing as she did so. “I am not offended by your question. The truth is, I have always been more interested in souls than in appearance. I’ve never had a preference. Granted, I hadn’t the opportunity to pursue a relationship on my own, to know which gender I would target. In conservative Kariji society, I would choose a man. And in following my family’s path for me, a man is who I’d marry. But I cannot say if the arrangement would bring me happiness. It is unknowable. When I started my business, I began looking forward to my female clients, and wished to attract more by the day. In that sense, my preferences began to skew. To answer your question...a little of both. My business has certainly helped my appreciation for women, though people of all types have caught my eye, in the past. Like you.” Her plush lips parted into a smile. “You are particularly eye-catching. Hard not to notice, in this crowd. Though, of course, that might be attributed to your height.”
When Sigrid and Naimah regrouped with Alster and Haraldur, after the music returned to its fast-paced jig, the former cocked his head, expression unreadable. “I...suppose that will have to do,” he said, with an aloof, discerning air. “An adequate rendition of a waltz. Nothing dazzling, but technically, your form was approaching correctness.” Through his affected speech, he broke into a smile, which betrayed him. “Haraldur insisted I adopt a harsher teaching style for you. He says you won’t learn, otherwise, but I think he’s envious of your technique.”
“As Prince of Eyraille, I’ll have far more opportunities to improve,” Haraldur said, crossing his arms. “Balls and royalty go hand-in-hand.”
“Not to change the subject, but,” Alster scanned the crowd, “where did Elespeth go? ...She went after Hadwin, didn’t she?”
Haraldur nodded. “She was heading in that direction, though she didn’t outright say so.”
“If so, I don’t think she means to antagonize him further. She looked chastened, after he left, and said as much. Oh,” he turned to Sigrid, as if to answer an unspoken question. “Hadwin was here minutes before the two of you approached us. An argument broke out and it startled the young summoner, Teselin. He was protective of her, and went off to ensure her well-being, apparently.”
“Well, if Elespeth followed Hadwin, I should head over there, to resume my duty in watching him--lest he returns here and decides to incite the crowd into a mass orgy session, just to see if he can.”
“Take a break, Haraldur; she’s capable of handling him. She’s done so in our absence, for months.” He gestured to Sigrid and Naimah. “Enjoy the company, and the celebration, while it lasts. Sigrid. Naimah.” He bowed to the Kariji escort. “I’ll have to take my leave, as well. If Elespeth returns looking for me, tell her I needed to run an errand.”
Haraldur frowned at the Rigas caster. “Where are you off to, so suddenly?”
“Like I said--an errand,” came his terse reply. “Evacuation related. I don’t think it can wait.” And he didn’t wait for further questions, as he retreated from the festivities--and headed for Rigel’s tomb.
Protect the Blood-Seal. The Rigas founder’s tone was urgent. It was a time-sensitive request. It was addressed to him. No one else.
He knew what to do. But Chara and Elespeth wouldn’t approve. Now was his sole opportunity, while they weren’t watching him.
They don’t need to know. I won’t tell them.
How will you keep it a secret from Elespeth? The voice said.
By hiding it in the unfamiliar. She’s bonded to me, but not to you. I will make myself forget what I did, and only you will know.
You trust me? The voice was a dubious hiss.
I don’t have to. We both benefit from this arrangement. ...We both want power.
Buoyed by the summoner’s words of hope, Hadwin was more receptive to Elespeth’s bombardment, though he shouldn’t have been surprised by her arrival. If not the ex-mercenary breathing down his neck, then surely, it was the judgmental warrior, who, really, could equal Bronwyn in a competition of most self-righteous twat. Most ‘correct,’ by the dictates of society. But what was right, and what was wrong? Morality was a doctrine followed by those who had a choice. They could afford to follow codes of honor and decency, because their lives had structure. Or they valued structure, above all else. He, on the other hand, never had a chance. Structure was an illusion. It was a false-fronted facade, behind which nothing else stood. No walls. No restrictions.
Don’t fuck it up, he warned himself. Cling to your one wall.
“So now you are leashing yourself to a wall, like a common dog?” Fiona’s smug tone filled his head. “You are becoming that girl’s pet. Willingly. How adorable. You’ll never climb free, that way.”
He ignored her.
“Huh. Is that why your group of friends despise me?” Hadwin said, stopping in mid-stride to tilt his head toward Elespeth. “The kid tells me I remind her of her brother. That explains the Forbanne Prince’s hostility towards me. He has some fears pertaining to good ol’ Vitali. Afraid the necromancer will influence his wife’s resurrected body. As long as he remains alive, he’s a danger to her. That’s what he believes. At my worst, I just make people feel really uncomfortable, or, yes, I’ll admit,” he moaned an exaggerated sigh, “make them lose their minds. Still, the comparison is unjustified. Your fiance’s a good man, though. Haven’t even known him more than a minute and he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt, despite his apparent dislike of this necromancer. Remind me to befriend Vitali; poor sod needs more companions. But I digress.” He tapped the inside pocket of his jerkin for his pipe and placed the stem in his mouth, despite its empty bowl and lack of fire and smoke.
“Glad you have one ounce of confidence for me. I’ll take whatever I can get; it adds up, over time. Anyway, I’ll leave you with this.” He pushed the stem of the pipe into the far corner of his mouth. “Keep an eye on your man. You may think you have a grip, but he’s slipping. Now he’s a good actor. Lies even to himself. But the most concerning thing about him, from my perspective, is his fearscape. It’s a truly a thing of otherworldly nightmares. And I’ve seen plenty, believe me. He’s haunted by more than he’ll ever let you see,” he nodded at her bandaged hand. “Even with your bond.”
