09-27-2016, 11:57 AM
The presence of the Aes Sedai should have tempered her coquettish banter; it would only come back to bite her, she imagined, but her fatalistic attitude left no room to worry over something so arbitrary. Name the rule I’ve broken, Liridia, and I’ll birch myself. She laughed quietly at Jai’s attempt at a placating smile, turning her attention to patting the side of the red’s neck and brushing at the faint spatters of pink caught in his gleaming scarlet coat. Liridia did not appear in the mood for rakishly innocent smirks, just as she did not appear in the mood for the inane questions of men drenched in bird gore. Keren translated his Aes Sedai’s impatience, though she had already embraced in lieu of the man’s permission. The weaves were simple enough and hardly worth watching, though the man’s expression was something of a picture as he experienced the unseen, unfelt but certainly anticipated supernatural forces curled about his form.
The razor’s unhappy shifting brought her gaze up; such an unusual movement from such a stoic beast, and it was soon apparent why. Her attention flickered between the two severe Asha’man, stiffly locked gaze in gaze, and it did not take awareness of saidin to realise the nature of silent war that waged between them. The trigger this time? Exasperation forced a frown, especially when logic answered her own question for her. Saidar. It was a strangely protective edge that deepened her frown, possessiveness over the nature of her own gift railing against the paranoid panic of an Asha’man that came dangerously close to insult. Succumb to mistrust and break impasse with Daryen, and he really would have cause to suspect saidar; she would not fall meekly to an attack against her kin.
Perhaps the only other soul aware was the warder, who did not stop his precise and practical work, but did stiffen as though simply ready. Forcing the tension out of herself, reluctant to draw battle with a channeler, she turned physically away and listened to what the huntsman had to say, trusting blind to Daryen’s control and Jai’s ability to claw himself back together. The news came with something of a lightening relief, and she was glad to retreat.
The group split. Among those to the hunt: Nisele, Imaad, Tamal; questionable company to surround Jai, given the threads of the game in motion. But he had Daryen, and he had Sadiq. Favourable enough odds when one of those allies was a channeler and a king. And there was little that could incite enough enthusiasm in her to follow anyway. She had not lied; dirt, grass, splatters of bird; it was more than enough to convince her she’d never been wrong to shirk this particular noble pastime. Her only disappointment was that Yui and the Aes Sedai seemed also to lack the taste for blood. It meant she had questionable company of her own.
*
Her legs ached, Light how they ached, as she slipped from the back of the red. The soft touch of ground beneath toe then heel did little to appease her given the knowledge that she would be back in the saddle soon enough, but she reminded herself dutifully that she should be grateful for these usual freedoms while they lasted. She patted the red mindlessly, secured him with the other horses, and left him to find his own brief comforts from the rather tumultuous events of the day. This seemed to include a stout amount of intimidation towards the other mounts in order to procure the choicest grazing.
Those who had declined the hunt drifted to familiar social groups, the hum of laughter, gossip and sunshine frivolity as potent and uninteresting as it had been in Daryen’s manor. Under the shade of a tree, smoothing the edges of various knives, Keren looked like he might have done better to leave with the hunting party. But he would not leave Liridia, who, denied the opportunity to observe the slaughter, seemed just as satisfied with her book, the thin volume flattened out on her skirts, its ochre pages blotched by dappled light.
Nythadri was content to enjoy her own company. She sank to the dry grass in a pool of floating white fabric, the blades like hot little stings against her legs. Her feet were blistering, but it seemed too much effort to unlace her riding boots, so she settled for lying back to soak in the last vestiges of day, head cushion by coiling black hair. Idly, she wiped her hand off in the grass, but by now any remnants of blood and innards had dried fast to her skin, like red rust around her nails and caked in the grooves of her fingers. She could still smell traces of the blood, marring the exquisite late summer afternoon with thoughts of death. Do you have ghosts, Nythadri?
She stared at the sky, the harsh glare of slowly fading sunlight blurring her eyes, that spearing pain the only thing separating the blooming haze of memories from slipping to daydreams she couldn’t afford. It was the kind of afternoon she would have once spent with Farune, although Andoran summers were an entirely different sort of heat. She missed the indolent lack of responsibility, the solitude of like-minded souls, and the caress of sun-baked skin. Youthful carelessness had its consequences, though not the ones she’d always been cautious of. And yet she still yearned for shadows of that untroubled existence, the pieces of herself that no longer seemed to fit to make a whole.
Her eyes were watering, but she fought blinking, like she deserved the pain.
“An Accepted should emulate the Aes Sedai she wishes to become.”
“And how do you know all Aes Sedai don’t lie in grass when they get the chance?”
“Indecisive and petulant. We’re not doing very well here, are we.”
“I would suppose that it depends entirely on what ‘we’re’ trying to do well at.”
She frowned at the sky but relinquished her relaxed posture to sit up. “Indecisive is a matter of perspective. Petulant is utterly unfair. Acerbic, maybe. I like witty, but that’s probably self-indulgent.”
Yui was a statuesque woman, long-limbed and willowy. Time had been kind to all but the stark grey of her hair, and that tied in a severe bun at the back of her head. It belied the soft lines about her eyes, speaking of a woman more inclined to smiles than harshness. Lit from behind, she looked little short of majestic, arms folded, expression an eloquent mix of serene and commanding, a single sculpted brow arched. Not a hair floated out of place, nor a mote of dirt besmirched her copper skin or clothes. Let alone bird entrails.
“You could probably add rude to that list, child.”
Feeling rather dishevelled, raven waves of hair fallen from the pins keeping it from her face and neck, blood under her fingernails and pale skin sheened with sweat, she ceded before she tangled herself in thorns. Yui might not be Aes Sedai, but she had the weight of Fate Sedai behind her. Chose wisely the battles you fight. “I’m sure we could add a lot of words to that list.”
Yui’s expression suggested she could think of the entire list, but the velvet dark of her eyes secreted a brief twinkle of shrewd amusement. The lack of admonishment melted Nythadri’s hostilities to a conspirator’s smirk. “So I’m enjoying the slack leash, as it were. I don’t mean to offend.”
She almost added ‘is this the part where you tell me why I’m here?’ but mindfully curbed her errant tongue; she had made enough enemies for one day without alienating the woman who held reason and purpose like a diamond in her hand. A moment of silence, and she wondered if she had already done too much damage, but presently Yui’s arms unfolded. She crooked a finger.
“Walk with me, child.”
The razor’s unhappy shifting brought her gaze up; such an unusual movement from such a stoic beast, and it was soon apparent why. Her attention flickered between the two severe Asha’man, stiffly locked gaze in gaze, and it did not take awareness of saidin to realise the nature of silent war that waged between them. The trigger this time? Exasperation forced a frown, especially when logic answered her own question for her. Saidar. It was a strangely protective edge that deepened her frown, possessiveness over the nature of her own gift railing against the paranoid panic of an Asha’man that came dangerously close to insult. Succumb to mistrust and break impasse with Daryen, and he really would have cause to suspect saidar; she would not fall meekly to an attack against her kin.
Perhaps the only other soul aware was the warder, who did not stop his precise and practical work, but did stiffen as though simply ready. Forcing the tension out of herself, reluctant to draw battle with a channeler, she turned physically away and listened to what the huntsman had to say, trusting blind to Daryen’s control and Jai’s ability to claw himself back together. The news came with something of a lightening relief, and she was glad to retreat.
The group split. Among those to the hunt: Nisele, Imaad, Tamal; questionable company to surround Jai, given the threads of the game in motion. But he had Daryen, and he had Sadiq. Favourable enough odds when one of those allies was a channeler and a king. And there was little that could incite enough enthusiasm in her to follow anyway. She had not lied; dirt, grass, splatters of bird; it was more than enough to convince her she’d never been wrong to shirk this particular noble pastime. Her only disappointment was that Yui and the Aes Sedai seemed also to lack the taste for blood. It meant she had questionable company of her own.
*
Her legs ached, Light how they ached, as she slipped from the back of the red. The soft touch of ground beneath toe then heel did little to appease her given the knowledge that she would be back in the saddle soon enough, but she reminded herself dutifully that she should be grateful for these usual freedoms while they lasted. She patted the red mindlessly, secured him with the other horses, and left him to find his own brief comforts from the rather tumultuous events of the day. This seemed to include a stout amount of intimidation towards the other mounts in order to procure the choicest grazing.
Those who had declined the hunt drifted to familiar social groups, the hum of laughter, gossip and sunshine frivolity as potent and uninteresting as it had been in Daryen’s manor. Under the shade of a tree, smoothing the edges of various knives, Keren looked like he might have done better to leave with the hunting party. But he would not leave Liridia, who, denied the opportunity to observe the slaughter, seemed just as satisfied with her book, the thin volume flattened out on her skirts, its ochre pages blotched by dappled light.
Nythadri was content to enjoy her own company. She sank to the dry grass in a pool of floating white fabric, the blades like hot little stings against her legs. Her feet were blistering, but it seemed too much effort to unlace her riding boots, so she settled for lying back to soak in the last vestiges of day, head cushion by coiling black hair. Idly, she wiped her hand off in the grass, but by now any remnants of blood and innards had dried fast to her skin, like red rust around her nails and caked in the grooves of her fingers. She could still smell traces of the blood, marring the exquisite late summer afternoon with thoughts of death. Do you have ghosts, Nythadri?
She stared at the sky, the harsh glare of slowly fading sunlight blurring her eyes, that spearing pain the only thing separating the blooming haze of memories from slipping to daydreams she couldn’t afford. It was the kind of afternoon she would have once spent with Farune, although Andoran summers were an entirely different sort of heat. She missed the indolent lack of responsibility, the solitude of like-minded souls, and the caress of sun-baked skin. Youthful carelessness had its consequences, though not the ones she’d always been cautious of. And yet she still yearned for shadows of that untroubled existence, the pieces of herself that no longer seemed to fit to make a whole.
Her eyes were watering, but she fought blinking, like she deserved the pain.
“An Accepted should emulate the Aes Sedai she wishes to become.”
“And how do you know all Aes Sedai don’t lie in grass when they get the chance?”
“Indecisive and petulant. We’re not doing very well here, are we.”
“I would suppose that it depends entirely on what ‘we’re’ trying to do well at.”
She frowned at the sky but relinquished her relaxed posture to sit up. “Indecisive is a matter of perspective. Petulant is utterly unfair. Acerbic, maybe. I like witty, but that’s probably self-indulgent.”
Yui was a statuesque woman, long-limbed and willowy. Time had been kind to all but the stark grey of her hair, and that tied in a severe bun at the back of her head. It belied the soft lines about her eyes, speaking of a woman more inclined to smiles than harshness. Lit from behind, she looked little short of majestic, arms folded, expression an eloquent mix of serene and commanding, a single sculpted brow arched. Not a hair floated out of place, nor a mote of dirt besmirched her copper skin or clothes. Let alone bird entrails.
“You could probably add rude to that list, child.”
Feeling rather dishevelled, raven waves of hair fallen from the pins keeping it from her face and neck, blood under her fingernails and pale skin sheened with sweat, she ceded before she tangled herself in thorns. Yui might not be Aes Sedai, but she had the weight of Fate Sedai behind her. Chose wisely the battles you fight. “I’m sure we could add a lot of words to that list.”
Yui’s expression suggested she could think of the entire list, but the velvet dark of her eyes secreted a brief twinkle of shrewd amusement. The lack of admonishment melted Nythadri’s hostilities to a conspirator’s smirk. “So I’m enjoying the slack leash, as it were. I don’t mean to offend.”
She almost added ‘is this the part where you tell me why I’m here?’ but mindfully curbed her errant tongue; she had made enough enemies for one day without alienating the woman who held reason and purpose like a diamond in her hand. A moment of silence, and she wondered if she had already done too much damage, but presently Yui’s arms unfolded. She crooked a finger.
“Walk with me, child.”