02-14-2019, 11:39 AM
It was easier to think than to feel. A tentative hold though it might be, it felt safe. She felt in control. Her heart was beating hard, and its echo throbbed in the crescent shaped hollows she pushed into her palms. A rhythm to clear her thoughts, and to hold her back from stupidity. She had to untangle herself from the swell of emotion; distinguish the collision of past pains from the reality of the situation. She’d survived crueller than this. Crumbling now would yield nothing but regret when the clouds cleared and life continued on. She knew that, but when she looked at Jai stooped bleakly in her blanket the world beyond faded just a little in colour. She had to try and fix this, and do it without breaking herself in the process. An Aes Sedai could do that, and without surrendering to the passions of a mere mortal. So she cast a distance, focused on the facts instead; let it carry her up like she looked down on this sorry mess from above, anchored by a dragging sorrow, but propelled by the fierce desire to atone. Her gaze tore away, blocked Jai out. Think.
Why had he mentioned the money? Why tell her to get it out? Ellis’ money was dirty and Zakar was the puppeteer; he would protect the coin because in doing so he would protect himself, she had no doubts about that. Even without that assurance she had the Tower, for it would be a poor decision on Zakar’s part to turn against one of their daughters – and there was no discernible gain from doing so that she could see. There was no threat. She was safe. Unless. Unless Zakar already crossed the Tower. If true it implicated her. Badly. But only if Zakar’s machinations were exposed, and he would fight tooth and nail to keep the secret that would ruin his empire. Light. Light. It would explain why a man who ran business in the heart of the Shining City had been so insistent upon her promise not to involve the Aes Sedai; why he might have been concerned to find Ellis’ money in the hands of an Accepted in the first place. But it still gave her no motivation to move the coin; nor any useful insight.
Her gaze dropped to Jai’s bruised hands, remembering the urgency with which he’d pulled her into her own room. Who’ve you been fighting, Jai? Zakar and the money were almost the first words out of his mouth. At the time she’d been so enraged by the threat she’d barely paused to consider it, but now the mystery was like a touchstone. Something to focus on. His injuries were angry and fresh, unlikely to be remnants of Lennox's ruthlessness.
Her gaze flicked back up.
What if someone knew? What is someone suspected?
But then Jai spoke, and it ripped Nythadri’s attention away from inner deliberations. The atmosphere was palpable, like a rising storm vibrated against the protective shell keeping her so very still - and, for the moment, very quiet. She never looked away from the yawning abyss, even when her own insides tightened against the images his words conjured. Transposed as it was against the violence she had witnessed slaughter her brother, and all the more potent for it, the guilt burned deep. With it came a sick realisation: that the desolate comfort she had offered on the beach had only ended up digging Jai a deeper grave. The horror of it branded an impression on her face and, reserves burned low and so utterly focused in the moment, she didn’t hide the shame of it. Just stared into the darkness. Light, how do I fix this? The wound fractured deep to his core; deeper than she had the wisdom or skill to nurse. She didn’t know how to soothe that pain; at least not without surpassing her limits, or making things worse. She had already done such a good job of making things worse.
Strangely, it was Jai who offered solace. The single word that should have crushed her instead brought a faint relief. A complication. A chance. A hope. If she cut her hands picking up the pieces, so be it. If she became the thorn in his side he resented, the mistake he regretted; so be it. She was used to the aspersion, to casting herself a dark role. Resolution settled, and she felt calmer. Her hands unclenched and she ran the palms together lightly once, the gouges left by her fingernails stinging, and though her eyes were cast down she was listening. Nythadri knew more of Jai's first plan than he realised or she was willing to admit. When she did not look up it was not out of empathy for the Dedicated, nor revulsion at Jai’s grim humourlessness. Talk of mutilation did not alarm her. The implication of Jai having exploited a kid in order to drown his sorrows did not sicken her. He was drunk. Lythia had not told her that, and it cast a nauseating shadow on that second beating, but even that did not move her. She would thank him for his stark honesty if it were not so heartbreaking, and she was reminded of the dark honesty that had drawn her to him in the front hall in the first place.
Worse plans, indeed. She did not speak straight away, as though waiting for the scuffle of his boots to mark an end. “Winther used what you did to accuse the Asha’man of vying for power in Andor, and he had a witness to back him up. The Queen couldn’t ignore that, and the Black Tower has no vindication against those sorts of lies. They made an example of you, Jai, but it doesn’t mean you deserved it.” She didn’t expect the words pierce the darkness, though they were sincere. “You’re convinced it’s pride? Because I don’t see it. I see good intentions and tragic consequences. So why won’t you let me help?” If he was going to make the killing blow, now was the time to do it; she freely offered up her neck. When she looked up now her gaze was utterly earnest; maskless. She didn’t offer hollow sympathy. She didn’t offer reckless comfort. As much as she wanted to soothe the pain out of him, to coax him from the dark place he dwelt like sunlight on skin, she didn’t know how. So she offered the most honest aid she could, and steeled herself to watch him walk out the door.
Why had he mentioned the money? Why tell her to get it out? Ellis’ money was dirty and Zakar was the puppeteer; he would protect the coin because in doing so he would protect himself, she had no doubts about that. Even without that assurance she had the Tower, for it would be a poor decision on Zakar’s part to turn against one of their daughters – and there was no discernible gain from doing so that she could see. There was no threat. She was safe. Unless. Unless Zakar already crossed the Tower. If true it implicated her. Badly. But only if Zakar’s machinations were exposed, and he would fight tooth and nail to keep the secret that would ruin his empire. Light. Light. It would explain why a man who ran business in the heart of the Shining City had been so insistent upon her promise not to involve the Aes Sedai; why he might have been concerned to find Ellis’ money in the hands of an Accepted in the first place. But it still gave her no motivation to move the coin; nor any useful insight.
Her gaze dropped to Jai’s bruised hands, remembering the urgency with which he’d pulled her into her own room. Who’ve you been fighting, Jai? Zakar and the money were almost the first words out of his mouth. At the time she’d been so enraged by the threat she’d barely paused to consider it, but now the mystery was like a touchstone. Something to focus on. His injuries were angry and fresh, unlikely to be remnants of Lennox's ruthlessness.
Her gaze flicked back up.
What if someone knew? What is someone suspected?
But then Jai spoke, and it ripped Nythadri’s attention away from inner deliberations. The atmosphere was palpable, like a rising storm vibrated against the protective shell keeping her so very still - and, for the moment, very quiet. She never looked away from the yawning abyss, even when her own insides tightened against the images his words conjured. Transposed as it was against the violence she had witnessed slaughter her brother, and all the more potent for it, the guilt burned deep. With it came a sick realisation: that the desolate comfort she had offered on the beach had only ended up digging Jai a deeper grave. The horror of it branded an impression on her face and, reserves burned low and so utterly focused in the moment, she didn’t hide the shame of it. Just stared into the darkness. Light, how do I fix this? The wound fractured deep to his core; deeper than she had the wisdom or skill to nurse. She didn’t know how to soothe that pain; at least not without surpassing her limits, or making things worse. She had already done such a good job of making things worse.
Strangely, it was Jai who offered solace. The single word that should have crushed her instead brought a faint relief. A complication. A chance. A hope. If she cut her hands picking up the pieces, so be it. If she became the thorn in his side he resented, the mistake he regretted; so be it. She was used to the aspersion, to casting herself a dark role. Resolution settled, and she felt calmer. Her hands unclenched and she ran the palms together lightly once, the gouges left by her fingernails stinging, and though her eyes were cast down she was listening. Nythadri knew more of Jai's first plan than he realised or she was willing to admit. When she did not look up it was not out of empathy for the Dedicated, nor revulsion at Jai’s grim humourlessness. Talk of mutilation did not alarm her. The implication of Jai having exploited a kid in order to drown his sorrows did not sicken her. He was drunk. Lythia had not told her that, and it cast a nauseating shadow on that second beating, but even that did not move her. She would thank him for his stark honesty if it were not so heartbreaking, and she was reminded of the dark honesty that had drawn her to him in the front hall in the first place.
Worse plans, indeed. She did not speak straight away, as though waiting for the scuffle of his boots to mark an end. “Winther used what you did to accuse the Asha’man of vying for power in Andor, and he had a witness to back him up. The Queen couldn’t ignore that, and the Black Tower has no vindication against those sorts of lies. They made an example of you, Jai, but it doesn’t mean you deserved it.” She didn’t expect the words pierce the darkness, though they were sincere. “You’re convinced it’s pride? Because I don’t see it. I see good intentions and tragic consequences. So why won’t you let me help?” If he was going to make the killing blow, now was the time to do it; she freely offered up her neck. When she looked up now her gaze was utterly earnest; maskless. She didn’t offer hollow sympathy. She didn’t offer reckless comfort. As much as she wanted to soothe the pain out of him, to coax him from the dark place he dwelt like sunlight on skin, she didn’t know how. So she offered the most honest aid she could, and steeled herself to watch him walk out the door.