08-22-2025, 08:01 PM
In three strides Jai had scooped the hands from her lap and held them firm, presumably disturbed by whatever he must have felt roiling inside of her. The intensity of his reaction surprised her, and the porcelain stillness of her expression softened almost immediately. He made it sound simple, and she knew he was thinking only about her survival – whatever cost it came at. Yet she wondered if he realised what it actually asked of her, to renounce the oaths. How final it made their chosen path. There would be no way back afterwards; they must succeed or die trying, and perhaps they would still face punishment come the end, even if they achieved the impossible. Maybe he did know what it could cost them, but more likely he didn’t care. She understood; it was the very same reason she had gone to Arikan for his help, knowing it would damn them, but also knowing there was no other way.
“I know,” she said evenly. “And I agree.”
In that there was a steadiness, and Nythadri met the intensity of his gaze without flinching. He would find no fight, no need to convince her. She was not sure whether it was what she truly wanted, but wants did not matter: it was what was necessary, and Nythadri would do what had to be done regardless of her own internal conflicts. Her thumbs traced where their hands joined, a solidarity words could never fully express. Her loyalties were with him. In a world crumbling to chaos, it was the only thing she was certain about.
“But I wouldn’t have, not without your agreement first. Not with something so serious as that. I want you to know that.”
She had always scorned promises, and it wasn’t quite the impossible vow of his anything, but neither could she have spoken it had it not been true. He saw the bond of a warder, a duty of protection; but she saw a partnership. In that, she would be indomitably stubborn, even if he chose to brush it off as an unimportant distinction. It was also why she would tell him everything, despite how closely she guarded such secrets. Far easier for her to share her soul than her truest fears though. Nythadri could discuss Black Ajah and Forsaken with clinical impunity, not because she was unafraid, but because it was impersonal. The things that truly stung, though; that pain she hoarded to herself.
“It’s not what I meant, though. About the reason I must return, and why it might be dangerous.”
It would undoubtedly have been easier had she not been aware he could feel everything she felt; all the terrible weaknesses inside that, despite herself, all her instincts were still desperate to hide. But there was nowhere to hide, and the longer she tried to find the right words the tighter the tension would coil in the silence, and the more Jai could misconstrue. He might not understand all of it – the intricacies of Ajah, how dire her suspicions were – but he would understand the cut of betrayal by someone deeply trusted.
The only outward discomfort she showed was the narrowing of her brows then, followed by the soft exhale of breath. It was the only thing she did to steel herself.
“When I found you in the Tower I asked you several questions you would not answer. In fact you told me bluntly that you couldn’t say. That included where in the light you were even going in such a hurry, so I told you I was coming with you. You paused to think about that, and then you asked me a question.
“It was about the money – whether I’d moved it like I promised.
“You weren't even counting steps, Jai. You were focused only on the task ahead. Yet the restrictions of the Compulsion not only allowed you to ask me that, it must have prompted you to consider my safety. What does that tell you?”
The words were calm, controlled. Clearly Nythadri thought she knew who they might lay blame upon. She was utterly still, her features like glass, but by the taut, devastated feeling inside, she was reluctant to voice it outright – was in fact quietly willing herself to be wrong, and light but she hated that he might discern that fragile hope for what it was. But she also wanted to know what Jai thought; if he saw patterns she missed in what he remembered, or explanations that would exonerate her suspicions and place them at another’s feet.
Because what she saw it pointed to was someone who knew too much, not about him, but about them.
The entire Ajah knew of her trip to Arad Doman, of course; it was a point of great amusement, how the wayward Accepted most had presumed would one day be claimed by the Blues unexpectedly had her head turned by a pretty face in an Asha’man’s uniform. Nythadri never defended against the teasing, and at least some of those women must have also known what she’d done to be punished with the Farm several years ago. But whatever Nythadri’s promiscuous reputation, so far as the Tower was concerned she and Jai had never seen each other again. She’d never spoken about him or asked for leave to study at the Black Tower during her Aspirancy, and when they finally gave her the shawl, she never went to Bandar Eban to lay a claim on him.
She supposed the Aes Sedai who oversaw the 100 weave test might know her feelings were more, depending on how much they really saw of a woman’s most personal demons while she was in there. But even that was only the tiniest fraction of the full picture. A hint of something improper, but nothing that could have armed the specificity of the compulsion.
Only one Sister knew both sides. Knew the insane lengths Jai had gone to to avenge her brother in Caemlyn. Knew that Nythadri had chosen her Ajah on the turn of a deal to protect that same man from his own stupidity.
It was too much to explain, or at least too much to share now in the rawness of grief. Shame burrowed alongside the pain, because Nythadri’s trust was a hard won treasure, and yet she’d trusted Lythia fully and implicitly. More than that, she had found faith and future in a woman she discovered herself both respecting and admiring. Nythadri's pledge might have been a purely practical one, but Lythia had been the one to make her believe in it. To let her feel, for the first time since she signed the book and donned the white, that there was actually a place in the Tower she could belong. That she wanted to belong. It didn’t seem possible that Lythia was Black, and yet every gut-felt intuition told her she was the only one who would have thought to give Jai such a directive.
“Do you remember who you saw, Jai? Who told you I was not in the Tower?” She asked the question soft, tired, almost wishing he’d be unable to tell her. It was a cruel and tender hope, and she knew it even as she clung to it. Whether or not he could name the Aes Sedai, Nythadri’s suspicions were too strong to be cast aside entirely. Lythia was Captain-General, and if there was any question as to her allegiances, she could not walk away from the responsibility. Yet neither could they risk tipping her off as to the doubt, not while it remained. That was the danger she spoke of.
“I know,” she said evenly. “And I agree.”
In that there was a steadiness, and Nythadri met the intensity of his gaze without flinching. He would find no fight, no need to convince her. She was not sure whether it was what she truly wanted, but wants did not matter: it was what was necessary, and Nythadri would do what had to be done regardless of her own internal conflicts. Her thumbs traced where their hands joined, a solidarity words could never fully express. Her loyalties were with him. In a world crumbling to chaos, it was the only thing she was certain about.
“But I wouldn’t have, not without your agreement first. Not with something so serious as that. I want you to know that.”
She had always scorned promises, and it wasn’t quite the impossible vow of his anything, but neither could she have spoken it had it not been true. He saw the bond of a warder, a duty of protection; but she saw a partnership. In that, she would be indomitably stubborn, even if he chose to brush it off as an unimportant distinction. It was also why she would tell him everything, despite how closely she guarded such secrets. Far easier for her to share her soul than her truest fears though. Nythadri could discuss Black Ajah and Forsaken with clinical impunity, not because she was unafraid, but because it was impersonal. The things that truly stung, though; that pain she hoarded to herself.
“It’s not what I meant, though. About the reason I must return, and why it might be dangerous.”
It would undoubtedly have been easier had she not been aware he could feel everything she felt; all the terrible weaknesses inside that, despite herself, all her instincts were still desperate to hide. But there was nowhere to hide, and the longer she tried to find the right words the tighter the tension would coil in the silence, and the more Jai could misconstrue. He might not understand all of it – the intricacies of Ajah, how dire her suspicions were – but he would understand the cut of betrayal by someone deeply trusted.
The only outward discomfort she showed was the narrowing of her brows then, followed by the soft exhale of breath. It was the only thing she did to steel herself.
“When I found you in the Tower I asked you several questions you would not answer. In fact you told me bluntly that you couldn’t say. That included where in the light you were even going in such a hurry, so I told you I was coming with you. You paused to think about that, and then you asked me a question.
“It was about the money – whether I’d moved it like I promised.
“You weren't even counting steps, Jai. You were focused only on the task ahead. Yet the restrictions of the Compulsion not only allowed you to ask me that, it must have prompted you to consider my safety. What does that tell you?”
The words were calm, controlled. Clearly Nythadri thought she knew who they might lay blame upon. She was utterly still, her features like glass, but by the taut, devastated feeling inside, she was reluctant to voice it outright – was in fact quietly willing herself to be wrong, and light but she hated that he might discern that fragile hope for what it was. But she also wanted to know what Jai thought; if he saw patterns she missed in what he remembered, or explanations that would exonerate her suspicions and place them at another’s feet.
Because what she saw it pointed to was someone who knew too much, not about him, but about them.
The entire Ajah knew of her trip to Arad Doman, of course; it was a point of great amusement, how the wayward Accepted most had presumed would one day be claimed by the Blues unexpectedly had her head turned by a pretty face in an Asha’man’s uniform. Nythadri never defended against the teasing, and at least some of those women must have also known what she’d done to be punished with the Farm several years ago. But whatever Nythadri’s promiscuous reputation, so far as the Tower was concerned she and Jai had never seen each other again. She’d never spoken about him or asked for leave to study at the Black Tower during her Aspirancy, and when they finally gave her the shawl, she never went to Bandar Eban to lay a claim on him.
She supposed the Aes Sedai who oversaw the 100 weave test might know her feelings were more, depending on how much they really saw of a woman’s most personal demons while she was in there. But even that was only the tiniest fraction of the full picture. A hint of something improper, but nothing that could have armed the specificity of the compulsion.
Only one Sister knew both sides. Knew the insane lengths Jai had gone to to avenge her brother in Caemlyn. Knew that Nythadri had chosen her Ajah on the turn of a deal to protect that same man from his own stupidity.
It was too much to explain, or at least too much to share now in the rawness of grief. Shame burrowed alongside the pain, because Nythadri’s trust was a hard won treasure, and yet she’d trusted Lythia fully and implicitly. More than that, she had found faith and future in a woman she discovered herself both respecting and admiring. Nythadri's pledge might have been a purely practical one, but Lythia had been the one to make her believe in it. To let her feel, for the first time since she signed the book and donned the white, that there was actually a place in the Tower she could belong. That she wanted to belong. It didn’t seem possible that Lythia was Black, and yet every gut-felt intuition told her she was the only one who would have thought to give Jai such a directive.
“Do you remember who you saw, Jai? Who told you I was not in the Tower?” She asked the question soft, tired, almost wishing he’d be unable to tell her. It was a cruel and tender hope, and she knew it even as she clung to it. Whether or not he could name the Aes Sedai, Nythadri’s suspicions were too strong to be cast aside entirely. Lythia was Captain-General, and if there was any question as to her allegiances, she could not walk away from the responsibility. Yet neither could they risk tipping her off as to the doubt, not while it remained. That was the danger she spoke of.