02-11-2018, 01:12 PM
Zakar stood and she did too, neither expecting nor needing escort from the room. While he stiffly brushed down his sleeves, she only clasped her hands in front of her and took brief stock of the conversation. Mostly, she just felt awash with relief that it was over. Whatever satisfaction she’d gained from safely depositing her family’s inheritance was dampened by the fact that – however many other answers had presented themselves this morning – Jai’s fate was not among them. And the tangled mystery of it all just seemed deeper.
A pleasure? That elicited a tight smile - bare hint of the sarcastic creature beneath, if it hid under a genial nod. “Indeed.”
Then Zakar surprised her; perhaps for the first time since she’d first caught glimpse of him across the bank’s foyer. She did not need to take note of the assistant’s split-second curiosity to realise it was an unusual order for him to take; she’d witnessed first-hand how many clamoured for Zakar’s attention to and from his office. A brief look in his direction spoke silent, curious question – she certainly didn’t deem such thing necessary – but his infallible mask was back in place. Yes, she was definitely glad to leave.
*
The fresh air was nice. Light it was nice. A shame she had no time to linger and enjoy the cold winter sun; not because it contravened a rule, but because there were too many more productive ways she might better spend the time. She paused with smooth patience as a woman crossed her path, her voice tinged with breathlessness like she had rushed to intersect Nythadri’s path. Unusual but not unheard of for people to petition Accepted. The woman had not caught her in a particularly tolerant mood, but she slipped into her expected role - that of serene, detatched Tower-trained - effortlessly. And found her attention quickly won. Her head tilted blatant curiosity; pale eyes alight with it where before they had been dull with polite patience. How do you know my name? And not only that, but spoke with such a sweet familiarity she actually did wonder for a moment if some spark of recognition had failed to ignite. Not Accepted, either. Just Nythadri. Though she’d known a thousand faces in Caemlyn, she knew none in Tar Valon that did not also call the Tower home. None. Jaslene Basinthe. Mikel’s husband. It was rare enough for her to ever forget a name so as to dismiss the possibility, but neither inspired anything to explain the informal ease of those beaming smiles and expectant acknowledgement.
Nythadri did not do the woman the disservice of pretending; Jaslene was too charmingly earnest to deceive, and Nythadri had had a gut full of hostile civility today without joining their elite ranks. She wasn’t stand-offish, either – though a cold stare did follow the man who had jostled into Jaslene’s side. Until a name blinked her attention back. Zak. So close on the heels of his presence, the familiarity with which she shortened his name tightened sickly in her stomach. It explained something, at least. She knew I was in the bank. She was waiting for me. But why? Nythadri was getting weary of these little mysteries springing up like budding flowers, and all of them around a man she barely knew. A weary smile alleviated the desire to frown; an opportunity once presented was not one Nythadri would waste by being dismissive. And it wasn't difficult to respond to the endearing affability.
A friend of Jai’s. By proxy of her husband; at least so she said. She had to have been with Zakar when he’d received the detail of her intended account, to have been able to place her name and face together. Which might have struck her odd, except what struck her first was that it meant some time between Arad Doman and Caemlyn Jai had to have been back, for her name to have apparently passed like wildfire through his family and friends. Which perhaps went some way to explain the conviction of Zakar’s assumptions about her, she realised drily. And if Zakar’s impressions were needlessly cynical, then Jaslene’s were overly rosy.
The warm waters of the Aryth seemed too distant to warrant all this. That burst of passion had lived and died half a world away; just two disenchanted fools seeking brief solace from the conspiring tug of the Pattern. It had been an encounter, not a relationship, no matter how dizzyingly intoxicating at the time. A brief, self-contained moment of rapture. Over. Finished. Ended. Until the pendant had arrived. The anonymous pendant. Which said all it needed to, really. There’s no “when”, Jaslene… Harsh, tired, frustrated words were on the tip of her tongue, but she pulled herself back from the edge. It was hardly this woman’s fault. Instead she gave a small, encouraging gesture that Jaslene continue.
And afterwards almost wished she hadn’t. That’s just great. As if her guilt were not potent enough, now she had the added weight of a mother fretting over the disappearance of her son. Unbidden she recalled her own mother’s grief at Tash’s funeral. How they had all worn black ribbons for a year, how her mother had sewn them silently on their dresses through red swollen eyes. The sadness dipped hollow in her stomach; the opportunity to rekindle familial bonds so freshly discarded. Her mother still wore the black ribbons. Or had, last Nythadri had ever seen her; like she had never truly recovered the death of her son. The feeling hardened in her chest, spilling an empathy into her expression not hard pressed to be genuine. Forget, or find out. She knew the choice she thought she should be making.
“Of course, Jaslene.”
Though it was an empty promise, it seemed to satisfy the other woman. Nythadri watched her a moment undecided before instinct took over; she touched Jaslene on the arm as she turned to leave, holding her a moment more. The foundation was already there, and she had no qualms with taking advantage of it. “But if you happen to see him first, would you let me know? You know what he's like."
Her lips quirked something of a rueful smile as her fingers retracted. Any message to the Tower would do. And then at least I'll know he's not dead.
A pleasure? That elicited a tight smile - bare hint of the sarcastic creature beneath, if it hid under a genial nod. “Indeed.”
Then Zakar surprised her; perhaps for the first time since she’d first caught glimpse of him across the bank’s foyer. She did not need to take note of the assistant’s split-second curiosity to realise it was an unusual order for him to take; she’d witnessed first-hand how many clamoured for Zakar’s attention to and from his office. A brief look in his direction spoke silent, curious question – she certainly didn’t deem such thing necessary – but his infallible mask was back in place. Yes, she was definitely glad to leave.
*
The fresh air was nice. Light it was nice. A shame she had no time to linger and enjoy the cold winter sun; not because it contravened a rule, but because there were too many more productive ways she might better spend the time. She paused with smooth patience as a woman crossed her path, her voice tinged with breathlessness like she had rushed to intersect Nythadri’s path. Unusual but not unheard of for people to petition Accepted. The woman had not caught her in a particularly tolerant mood, but she slipped into her expected role - that of serene, detatched Tower-trained - effortlessly. And found her attention quickly won. Her head tilted blatant curiosity; pale eyes alight with it where before they had been dull with polite patience. How do you know my name? And not only that, but spoke with such a sweet familiarity she actually did wonder for a moment if some spark of recognition had failed to ignite. Not Accepted, either. Just Nythadri. Though she’d known a thousand faces in Caemlyn, she knew none in Tar Valon that did not also call the Tower home. None. Jaslene Basinthe. Mikel’s husband. It was rare enough for her to ever forget a name so as to dismiss the possibility, but neither inspired anything to explain the informal ease of those beaming smiles and expectant acknowledgement.
Nythadri did not do the woman the disservice of pretending; Jaslene was too charmingly earnest to deceive, and Nythadri had had a gut full of hostile civility today without joining their elite ranks. She wasn’t stand-offish, either – though a cold stare did follow the man who had jostled into Jaslene’s side. Until a name blinked her attention back. Zak. So close on the heels of his presence, the familiarity with which she shortened his name tightened sickly in her stomach. It explained something, at least. She knew I was in the bank. She was waiting for me. But why? Nythadri was getting weary of these little mysteries springing up like budding flowers, and all of them around a man she barely knew. A weary smile alleviated the desire to frown; an opportunity once presented was not one Nythadri would waste by being dismissive. And it wasn't difficult to respond to the endearing affability.
A friend of Jai’s. By proxy of her husband; at least so she said. She had to have been with Zakar when he’d received the detail of her intended account, to have been able to place her name and face together. Which might have struck her odd, except what struck her first was that it meant some time between Arad Doman and Caemlyn Jai had to have been back, for her name to have apparently passed like wildfire through his family and friends. Which perhaps went some way to explain the conviction of Zakar’s assumptions about her, she realised drily. And if Zakar’s impressions were needlessly cynical, then Jaslene’s were overly rosy.
The warm waters of the Aryth seemed too distant to warrant all this. That burst of passion had lived and died half a world away; just two disenchanted fools seeking brief solace from the conspiring tug of the Pattern. It had been an encounter, not a relationship, no matter how dizzyingly intoxicating at the time. A brief, self-contained moment of rapture. Over. Finished. Ended. Until the pendant had arrived. The anonymous pendant. Which said all it needed to, really. There’s no “when”, Jaslene… Harsh, tired, frustrated words were on the tip of her tongue, but she pulled herself back from the edge. It was hardly this woman’s fault. Instead she gave a small, encouraging gesture that Jaslene continue.
And afterwards almost wished she hadn’t. That’s just great. As if her guilt were not potent enough, now she had the added weight of a mother fretting over the disappearance of her son. Unbidden she recalled her own mother’s grief at Tash’s funeral. How they had all worn black ribbons for a year, how her mother had sewn them silently on their dresses through red swollen eyes. The sadness dipped hollow in her stomach; the opportunity to rekindle familial bonds so freshly discarded. Her mother still wore the black ribbons. Or had, last Nythadri had ever seen her; like she had never truly recovered the death of her son. The feeling hardened in her chest, spilling an empathy into her expression not hard pressed to be genuine. Forget, or find out. She knew the choice she thought she should be making.
“Of course, Jaslene.”
Though it was an empty promise, it seemed to satisfy the other woman. Nythadri watched her a moment undecided before instinct took over; she touched Jaslene on the arm as she turned to leave, holding her a moment more. The foundation was already there, and she had no qualms with taking advantage of it. “But if you happen to see him first, would you let me know? You know what he's like."
Her lips quirked something of a rueful smile as her fingers retracted. Any message to the Tower would do. And then at least I'll know he's not dead.