10-03-2016, 05:38 AM
His answer was blissful simple, and the raw truth of it made her smile. Another woman might have blushed under the suggestion of his gaze, but Nythadri enjoyed the tingle of warmth it sent across her skin. There were no other eyes to watch the show this time, and no listening ears to make the performance of intimacy necessary. She watched him as he watched her, unabashed, curious. Each step back into soft sand was blind, but it didn’t seem to faze her. Her attention was on him. She fell into the moment the same way she fell into saidar.
“You think I should be afraid?”
She said it somewhere between a question and a statement, but it was clearly free from the expectation of an answer. The lap of waves filled the silence before she spoke again, as he kept his distance and she kept hers; though her own restraint did not have much to do with fear. She was not without caution; his words re-sparked the image of a man enthralled to madness, and the memory tightened in her chest. Eyes consumed by desperate accusation; the expression that had sent her stumbling back into the flesh of her horse. A sword clutched in the hands that had held hers so gently. The blood that would have spilled if not for Daryen’s intervention.
But there had been a plea amidst that insanity, like the last gulp of air afforded a drowning man. It did not make him stable. It did not make him any less dangerous. And it certainly did not make her trust him. Perhaps that was a part of his appeal, though. She had been wandering Caemlyn’s lamp lit streets at night since she was fifteen, revelling in the thrill. The cold hand of fear had never stopped her from anything, even after Tashir’s murder. But these were feelings too intricate to express, and her initial reaction was impassive – not coldly so, as might have been her usual characteristic, but like she was searching him for truth as surely as he was searching her.
“You want to know why I followed you through the Gate? You can call it foolish whim if you want. I’ve been locked in a Tower the past five years.”
The curve of her smile marked the sarcasm laced with her words, and she might have left it at that. He had all the pieces to make the picture; her opinion on sins, her opinion on living. But he had offered her honesty, and she valued that. His gaze searched her reaction like he cared to see beyond the icy front of cynicism, only she was hesitant to abandon the wry derision that blanketed her as thoroughly as his black uniform shrouded him. It was not so simple as fear or no fear. He had not even asked a question, but he looked for an answer - for a reaction beyond her customary nonchalance. She was more content not to overly examine the reasons. And now he made her wonder.
“I lied.”
She used the word purposefully, aware of how it might incite a reaction. Perhaps she was testing him, playing with fire for the sake of it; else making a point of her indifference to the danger he presented, even if it ended badly for her; an ironic sort of honesty. The piercing paleness of her eyes never left his, and her backward footsteps ceased. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, and that was the only indication she had of his stability. The serious expression did not last more than a few heartbeats before the coy smile replaced it, a reckless sense of humour black as his Asha'man uniform. She could not help but jab lightly at his sensitivities, even as she suspected they were tied to a deep inner conflict – even knowing it might push him further than she intended. “About your hands. People have myriad facets. You think I just see a soldier?”
Killer was one facet, but they lived in a world where it was necessary; and in any Age it was inevitable. He might even enjoy it, for all she cared. But he was also a man of precision, minute detail. Logic, reason - even if that reason twisted in knots. Beneath the jaded smirks there were boyish smiles; and beneath the wry quips there was raw honesty. Did his volatility mean she couldn’t enjoy his company? “He goaded you into that, anyway. Imaad, I mean. It was his intention to watch you fall in front of everyone.”
She didn’t elaborate on how she had pieced that together, just spoke it as fact. Jai had been unconscious when she had defended him against the merchant. Her face softened, lightly shrugging away her own words. So she couldn't quite explain, but she was here of her own will; was that a good enough answer in itself? Others had been warning her away from Jai all day; she didn't need him to join in too.
Subconscious steps had brought her forward; or maybe he had moved; introspection had made her ignorant to the whims of her body. His face was cast by silver moonlight, but she lingered no more than an arm’s length away when she realised how close he was. “Five years,”
she repeated, “And countless more to come, probably. Arad-bloody-Doman. How long until I’m this close to the Aryth again?”
If he remembered anything of what she had said about living, he might translate the sudden mischievousness to her aspect; coquettish smile, sparkling eyes. He had teased her in a roomful of people, and used her presence to frustrate Nisele. With Aes Sedai breathing down her neck and Yui’s watchful eye, he’d had the advantage for most of their playful banter. But shadows and moonlight made her bold, Daryen’s feast and the authority it contained only distant lights on the horizon. And she was only going for a swim. Footsteps took her backwards once again, this time towards the lapping waves, and she unlaced the fastenings on her dress.
“Be a gentleman, yes?”
Absorbing his initial reaction with a wicked grin, she didn’t pause to see if he would watch. Accepted shifts weren’t designed to be alluring, and she was only teasing. The sea rushed passed her knees, her waist; the currents beneath the surface colder than she might have anticipated, but she was laughing anyway as she submerged to the shoulder, spray tickling her face, black hair spread out on the foamy surface like ink. She felt more refreshed than she had in a long time.
“You think I should be afraid?”
She said it somewhere between a question and a statement, but it was clearly free from the expectation of an answer. The lap of waves filled the silence before she spoke again, as he kept his distance and she kept hers; though her own restraint did not have much to do with fear. She was not without caution; his words re-sparked the image of a man enthralled to madness, and the memory tightened in her chest. Eyes consumed by desperate accusation; the expression that had sent her stumbling back into the flesh of her horse. A sword clutched in the hands that had held hers so gently. The blood that would have spilled if not for Daryen’s intervention.
But there had been a plea amidst that insanity, like the last gulp of air afforded a drowning man. It did not make him stable. It did not make him any less dangerous. And it certainly did not make her trust him. Perhaps that was a part of his appeal, though. She had been wandering Caemlyn’s lamp lit streets at night since she was fifteen, revelling in the thrill. The cold hand of fear had never stopped her from anything, even after Tashir’s murder. But these were feelings too intricate to express, and her initial reaction was impassive – not coldly so, as might have been her usual characteristic, but like she was searching him for truth as surely as he was searching her.
“You want to know why I followed you through the Gate? You can call it foolish whim if you want. I’ve been locked in a Tower the past five years.”
The curve of her smile marked the sarcasm laced with her words, and she might have left it at that. He had all the pieces to make the picture; her opinion on sins, her opinion on living. But he had offered her honesty, and she valued that. His gaze searched her reaction like he cared to see beyond the icy front of cynicism, only she was hesitant to abandon the wry derision that blanketed her as thoroughly as his black uniform shrouded him. It was not so simple as fear or no fear. He had not even asked a question, but he looked for an answer - for a reaction beyond her customary nonchalance. She was more content not to overly examine the reasons. And now he made her wonder.
“I lied.”
She used the word purposefully, aware of how it might incite a reaction. Perhaps she was testing him, playing with fire for the sake of it; else making a point of her indifference to the danger he presented, even if it ended badly for her; an ironic sort of honesty. The piercing paleness of her eyes never left his, and her backward footsteps ceased. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, and that was the only indication she had of his stability. The serious expression did not last more than a few heartbeats before the coy smile replaced it, a reckless sense of humour black as his Asha'man uniform. She could not help but jab lightly at his sensitivities, even as she suspected they were tied to a deep inner conflict – even knowing it might push him further than she intended. “About your hands. People have myriad facets. You think I just see a soldier?”
Killer was one facet, but they lived in a world where it was necessary; and in any Age it was inevitable. He might even enjoy it, for all she cared. But he was also a man of precision, minute detail. Logic, reason - even if that reason twisted in knots. Beneath the jaded smirks there were boyish smiles; and beneath the wry quips there was raw honesty. Did his volatility mean she couldn’t enjoy his company? “He goaded you into that, anyway. Imaad, I mean. It was his intention to watch you fall in front of everyone.”
She didn’t elaborate on how she had pieced that together, just spoke it as fact. Jai had been unconscious when she had defended him against the merchant. Her face softened, lightly shrugging away her own words. So she couldn't quite explain, but she was here of her own will; was that a good enough answer in itself? Others had been warning her away from Jai all day; she didn't need him to join in too.
Subconscious steps had brought her forward; or maybe he had moved; introspection had made her ignorant to the whims of her body. His face was cast by silver moonlight, but she lingered no more than an arm’s length away when she realised how close he was. “Five years,”
she repeated, “And countless more to come, probably. Arad-bloody-Doman. How long until I’m this close to the Aryth again?”
If he remembered anything of what she had said about living, he might translate the sudden mischievousness to her aspect; coquettish smile, sparkling eyes. He had teased her in a roomful of people, and used her presence to frustrate Nisele. With Aes Sedai breathing down her neck and Yui’s watchful eye, he’d had the advantage for most of their playful banter. But shadows and moonlight made her bold, Daryen’s feast and the authority it contained only distant lights on the horizon. And she was only going for a swim. Footsteps took her backwards once again, this time towards the lapping waves, and she unlaced the fastenings on her dress.
“Be a gentleman, yes?”
Absorbing his initial reaction with a wicked grin, she didn’t pause to see if he would watch. Accepted shifts weren’t designed to be alluring, and she was only teasing. The sea rushed passed her knees, her waist; the currents beneath the surface colder than she might have anticipated, but she was laughing anyway as she submerged to the shoulder, spray tickling her face, black hair spread out on the foamy surface like ink. She felt more refreshed than she had in a long time.