01-20-2018, 05:10 PM
She looked at it a long time, undecided. Every letter ever sent from home, she had burned without reading.
Pleasantries and banalities, meandering as if circling a point he did not know how to best address. She skimmed the words, mouth dry, jaw rigid, eyes burning. Her father spoke of her sisters. Her mother. No mention of Tashir’s pendant. It took a moment for her to realise that this letter must have been sent before hers could have possibly arrived. So why contact me after all this time? The last of the letter fell into an innocuous code that took her exhausted mind a moment to fall back into. Mishael spoke of, she thought, a scandal. Lord Winther, then. And of a vast, anonymous donation of… of coin.
Money?
Oh. After most of the night reading and speculating and running her mind in tired circles, it suddenly fell into place. The clarity cut. She did remember Matias Winther, not from the scarce memories of noble gatherings she had racked her brain for, but from the fogged weeks following Tashir’s death. The same day her father had withdrawn his support into the inquiry of the murder. The same day it had been declared a tragic accident. Nythadri tried to halt the epiphany in its tracks; tried desperately to beat back the fevered race of thought from its inevitable conclusion. She had never wanted to know who had killed her brother; never wanted a target to pin blame. The Tuatha’an taught forgiveness, and to Farune she had pretended so pure an absolution – a tragic twist of the Wheel, blameless. Easier to hate herself than burn with the bitterness of vengeance.
She never quite let the thought crystalise, but she knew. She knew what Winther had done.
Her eyes had squeezed shut. When she opened them, the letter shook in her hand. Her father was worried about the paper trail. His old debtor falls from grace, and suddenly he finds himself rich; and with more than one motive to see the man fall. Light. She blinked her tired eyes. Lord Winther had talked himself out of Elayne’s grasp; Lythia had told her he walked free to spout lies of an Asha’man uprising. But he must know himself that wasn’t true. He’s covering himself. Her father called it an anonymous donation; that spoke of bribery; none of this must be in the public eye. Jai. A son of one of the most prestigious banks in Tar Valon.
At least it now made sense why Lythia thought Nythadri so invested. And why she was so sure Nythadri had engineered the whole thing. Her family stood to gain in the whole affair. And the bloody pendant. Of course Jai had sent that, thinking she would be grateful – oh, light, now it dawned even clearer –grateful for justice. The bloody idiot, the bloody idiot! He’d gone after Tash’s killers, and had jumped straight into the blazing fires of House politics in the process. Fury burned in her chest. She’d told him about her brother in confidence; a tentative offering of trust, not an incitement to arms. And certainly not an invitation to invade the most fragile pieces of her past.
Her eyes caught on the drawing of the Traitor’s Tree, as the second bell rang for breakfast. Her anger dipped – not caught in her usual net of control – but drained to something uncomfortably like responsibility. Had she been naïve to tell a man like Jai about her brother’s murder? Had any part of her considered that he might act on the information? No, it hadn’t occurred to her; she had not even been thinking about herself when she’d spoken, only about the pain in his expression. She’d meant to offer comfort, but regardless of her intentions, he had acted anyway. For what reason she couldn’t fathom; it still left her at the epicentre. If I hadn’t said anything, none of this would have happened
Just like if she hadn’t been at that inn, Tash would still be alive.
Pleasantries and banalities, meandering as if circling a point he did not know how to best address. She skimmed the words, mouth dry, jaw rigid, eyes burning. Her father spoke of her sisters. Her mother. No mention of Tashir’s pendant. It took a moment for her to realise that this letter must have been sent before hers could have possibly arrived. So why contact me after all this time? The last of the letter fell into an innocuous code that took her exhausted mind a moment to fall back into. Mishael spoke of, she thought, a scandal. Lord Winther, then. And of a vast, anonymous donation of… of coin.
Money?
Oh. After most of the night reading and speculating and running her mind in tired circles, it suddenly fell into place. The clarity cut. She did remember Matias Winther, not from the scarce memories of noble gatherings she had racked her brain for, but from the fogged weeks following Tashir’s death. The same day her father had withdrawn his support into the inquiry of the murder. The same day it had been declared a tragic accident. Nythadri tried to halt the epiphany in its tracks; tried desperately to beat back the fevered race of thought from its inevitable conclusion. She had never wanted to know who had killed her brother; never wanted a target to pin blame. The Tuatha’an taught forgiveness, and to Farune she had pretended so pure an absolution – a tragic twist of the Wheel, blameless. Easier to hate herself than burn with the bitterness of vengeance.
She never quite let the thought crystalise, but she knew. She knew what Winther had done.
Her eyes had squeezed shut. When she opened them, the letter shook in her hand. Her father was worried about the paper trail. His old debtor falls from grace, and suddenly he finds himself rich; and with more than one motive to see the man fall. Light. She blinked her tired eyes. Lord Winther had talked himself out of Elayne’s grasp; Lythia had told her he walked free to spout lies of an Asha’man uprising. But he must know himself that wasn’t true. He’s covering himself. Her father called it an anonymous donation; that spoke of bribery; none of this must be in the public eye. Jai. A son of one of the most prestigious banks in Tar Valon.
At least it now made sense why Lythia thought Nythadri so invested. And why she was so sure Nythadri had engineered the whole thing. Her family stood to gain in the whole affair. And the bloody pendant. Of course Jai had sent that, thinking she would be grateful – oh, light, now it dawned even clearer –grateful for justice. The bloody idiot, the bloody idiot! He’d gone after Tash’s killers, and had jumped straight into the blazing fires of House politics in the process. Fury burned in her chest. She’d told him about her brother in confidence; a tentative offering of trust, not an incitement to arms. And certainly not an invitation to invade the most fragile pieces of her past.
Her eyes caught on the drawing of the Traitor’s Tree, as the second bell rang for breakfast. Her anger dipped – not caught in her usual net of control – but drained to something uncomfortably like responsibility. Had she been naïve to tell a man like Jai about her brother’s murder? Had any part of her considered that he might act on the information? No, it hadn’t occurred to her; she had not even been thinking about herself when she’d spoken, only about the pain in his expression. She’d meant to offer comfort, but regardless of her intentions, he had acted anyway. For what reason she couldn’t fathom; it still left her at the epicentre. If I hadn’t said anything, none of this would have happened
Just like if she hadn’t been at that inn, Tash would still be alive.