10-12-2016, 01:53 PM
Greatest thing about Nythadri. He had no idea what to expect from her. Gilded, beautiful women walking the high life: easy to predict; Nisele, one case in point. Girls pouring drinks with a pleasantly heavy hand: wonderful diversions. Jaslene, the innocent icon from more care-free days: a gleaming chandelier just waiting to crash into a million shards. Nythadri? A puzzle he could not quite make out. One moment, the lines balanced beautifully and the next, she'd do something make him scrap the work and start over. Like now. Her defenses seemed to drop as had that robe, as though the curse of its weight freed suddenly airy shoulders. Beyond the display of her half-hearted resistance, it was Nythadri's humming the rather ordinary sound of his name that buckled him. He could survive the march north on that memory alone. And the bit of her sliding out of her robes on a moonlit beach.
She was right. About lying. He was terrible at it. A venue rarely attempted. Except now, of course.
"Nonsense. I'm a great liar. No, madam, your new bonnet is very slimming. How clever, my Lord."
He grinned, awaiting her appraisal. If he searched Nythadri's eyes rimmed near to their edges with their blackened centers with enough focus, some of their extraordinary color bled through. Dancing like flames over fingertips. Jai was more than pleased to oblige the wit he sensed building up behind them. Only to stifle their teasing amusement with something dangerously suggestive.
"That's nothing. Wait until I pull out my real talent. No lying this time, I may be the greatest man alive with it."
The dramatic pause, and, "math, of course. Accounting to be more precise. Rather embarrassing, actually. May as well come clean seeming as i'm the only one in Arad Doman who didn't know everyone knew."
Hinting at the ditches Suaya dug earlier. Given Fate's lovely introduction in the Front Hall, it was no great leap for a Tower-educated to summize the son of a banking family slept with his numbers under his pillow.
He leaned around, daring her playful eyes to follow the trail.
"What'd you think I meant?"
He grinned. Like a fool. The sort of fool he'd made sure to point out in others in the past. But there was something gut-piercing to hearing the hum in Nythadri hinting at the things sparking inside her. Flared to the surface by him. Light, what a total fool. But he couldn't stop grinning. Nor could he want to stop the chill pebbling his flesh every time she grazed teasing words across his lips. It threatened to unhinge his hard-fought control. And he bloody soaked it up. It seeped through his grip on into her shoulders strong enough to redden her moon-drenched skin beneath. Heated still from their previously passionate moments cooled now to a temperature after the searing of a day boiling in the sun. Comfortable enough to make a man never want to leave. More so when he knew the rocky chill waiting with the next march forward.
He gathered her closer, if that was possible, in a decidedly conspiratorial manner. Taking a long, tedious time to travel from the whispering promises wetting her mouth toward the ear she'd given him not so long before. Thumbed the line of her jaw. Gripped the back of her neck. Pushed heavy strands behind her ears. Innocently grinned when the advantage of creator-given height fluttered a nice view while straightening the sleeves of her shift back symmetrical. Captured her snugly with both arms. Short of slithering down and out, there was no escaping. He almost hoped she'd try.
And for her promise of retribution: "I'll take that bet."
The words ended with an abrupt memory throwing her backward.
Easy as a puff of wind and with as much warning, she rose none too gently through a swirl of water and silt. Landing in the soft crest of a wave rising to greet her. With quite the splash, he laughed. With completely pure motives. Not at all to see her dunked all the way under. Certainly not to use it as an excuse to back off toward shore with a head start. Definitely not to make her chase him.
Not that he minded buckling to Nythadri when the time came to lose. But methodically drawing out so calculated a game filled the laugh ballooning his smirk.
"You should really be more careful! Those waves will sneak up on you."
Steps later, the flush of free air rivered heavy drips down to the dry sand. Laps of water chased his ankles onto shore. Nythadri close on their foamy heels.
After a bit of a search, including a scan for the sword belt and boots, he grappled into the discarded pants. Not so gracefully as they stuck to the water running down every inch of him. But when he turned around in the middle of lacing them just high enough to obscure the origin of the scar crossing up from one hip, he made sure to throw Nythadri the all too powerful innocent grin. In the next few moments of freedom, he procured the coat from somewhere flung off, and held it open as a cloak to settle on her night cooled shoulders. It was almost as long as she was; but warm enough to cover as much as she desired. The perfect blend of light wool circulated warmth against the skin safe within its folds while simultaneously opened the gates for sweat-slicking cool air without. Jaslene's charms weren't the only reason to go back to Tar Valon. There, tailors were worth their weight in gold.
With her settled, he sat, eventually leaning all the way to elbows; fingers digging fond pits into the powder beneath. Out of the water barely a minute and not so much as a drop evaporated and already sand seemed to stick to everything. Not that he minded. A few swipes and their grains would fall; gored off splatters of hide scoffed at the toughest of brush bristles. The salt was caking across the open flesh in his leg. Annoying shards rubbing reminders under otherwise soft wool. But like with every other scar, its lesson was permanently learned.
He drank it in. The glimpses of white foam, eternity of black water ending only when stars began. The scent of the sea. Wondering if Nythadri would slide away if he kissed her again. Probably not his wisest idea lately. Other images came to mind. Mostly the blockade of faces keeping his stomach from the feast. Daryen's plans to nestle up with the very race that'd see him enslaved if they had the dreaded collar to snap around his neck. The parasite brothers trying, successfully so far, to bore under his skin and chew their way back out. The warder who'd be asking more questions about malkieri heirlooms. Nisele, who's whispers hinted at swallowing him vulnerable, but only enough to slit his throat.
The shadowy pile of his sword, belt and boots waited dormant behind them on the sand. Far from the reach of corrosive waters, and too many strides out of reach to indicate its hilt was the first thing he'd seize in a surprise. He glanced back from studying the darkness blanketing the cliff back there.
"When I was a kid, my father caught me counting my steps as we walked. The next day they put a training lathe in my hands and said to count those steps instead."
He shrugged, not having seemed to mind the failed transference from one obsession to another. "My trainer always said to never trust a swordman with scars. He's either a fool who can't defend himself or likes the look of his own glory."
He looked at Nythadri with a small smile to reassure they toed no uncomfortable cliff with the topic. But he did hope she saw more than a proud fool when she looked at him.
She was right. About lying. He was terrible at it. A venue rarely attempted. Except now, of course.
"Nonsense. I'm a great liar. No, madam, your new bonnet is very slimming. How clever, my Lord."
He grinned, awaiting her appraisal. If he searched Nythadri's eyes rimmed near to their edges with their blackened centers with enough focus, some of their extraordinary color bled through. Dancing like flames over fingertips. Jai was more than pleased to oblige the wit he sensed building up behind them. Only to stifle their teasing amusement with something dangerously suggestive.
"That's nothing. Wait until I pull out my real talent. No lying this time, I may be the greatest man alive with it."
The dramatic pause, and, "math, of course. Accounting to be more precise. Rather embarrassing, actually. May as well come clean seeming as i'm the only one in Arad Doman who didn't know everyone knew."
Hinting at the ditches Suaya dug earlier. Given Fate's lovely introduction in the Front Hall, it was no great leap for a Tower-educated to summize the son of a banking family slept with his numbers under his pillow.
He leaned around, daring her playful eyes to follow the trail.
"What'd you think I meant?"
He grinned. Like a fool. The sort of fool he'd made sure to point out in others in the past. But there was something gut-piercing to hearing the hum in Nythadri hinting at the things sparking inside her. Flared to the surface by him. Light, what a total fool. But he couldn't stop grinning. Nor could he want to stop the chill pebbling his flesh every time she grazed teasing words across his lips. It threatened to unhinge his hard-fought control. And he bloody soaked it up. It seeped through his grip on into her shoulders strong enough to redden her moon-drenched skin beneath. Heated still from their previously passionate moments cooled now to a temperature after the searing of a day boiling in the sun. Comfortable enough to make a man never want to leave. More so when he knew the rocky chill waiting with the next march forward.
He gathered her closer, if that was possible, in a decidedly conspiratorial manner. Taking a long, tedious time to travel from the whispering promises wetting her mouth toward the ear she'd given him not so long before. Thumbed the line of her jaw. Gripped the back of her neck. Pushed heavy strands behind her ears. Innocently grinned when the advantage of creator-given height fluttered a nice view while straightening the sleeves of her shift back symmetrical. Captured her snugly with both arms. Short of slithering down and out, there was no escaping. He almost hoped she'd try.
And for her promise of retribution: "I'll take that bet."
The words ended with an abrupt memory throwing her backward.
Easy as a puff of wind and with as much warning, she rose none too gently through a swirl of water and silt. Landing in the soft crest of a wave rising to greet her. With quite the splash, he laughed. With completely pure motives. Not at all to see her dunked all the way under. Certainly not to use it as an excuse to back off toward shore with a head start. Definitely not to make her chase him.
Not that he minded buckling to Nythadri when the time came to lose. But methodically drawing out so calculated a game filled the laugh ballooning his smirk.
"You should really be more careful! Those waves will sneak up on you."
Steps later, the flush of free air rivered heavy drips down to the dry sand. Laps of water chased his ankles onto shore. Nythadri close on their foamy heels.
After a bit of a search, including a scan for the sword belt and boots, he grappled into the discarded pants. Not so gracefully as they stuck to the water running down every inch of him. But when he turned around in the middle of lacing them just high enough to obscure the origin of the scar crossing up from one hip, he made sure to throw Nythadri the all too powerful innocent grin. In the next few moments of freedom, he procured the coat from somewhere flung off, and held it open as a cloak to settle on her night cooled shoulders. It was almost as long as she was; but warm enough to cover as much as she desired. The perfect blend of light wool circulated warmth against the skin safe within its folds while simultaneously opened the gates for sweat-slicking cool air without. Jaslene's charms weren't the only reason to go back to Tar Valon. There, tailors were worth their weight in gold.
With her settled, he sat, eventually leaning all the way to elbows; fingers digging fond pits into the powder beneath. Out of the water barely a minute and not so much as a drop evaporated and already sand seemed to stick to everything. Not that he minded. A few swipes and their grains would fall; gored off splatters of hide scoffed at the toughest of brush bristles. The salt was caking across the open flesh in his leg. Annoying shards rubbing reminders under otherwise soft wool. But like with every other scar, its lesson was permanently learned.
He drank it in. The glimpses of white foam, eternity of black water ending only when stars began. The scent of the sea. Wondering if Nythadri would slide away if he kissed her again. Probably not his wisest idea lately. Other images came to mind. Mostly the blockade of faces keeping his stomach from the feast. Daryen's plans to nestle up with the very race that'd see him enslaved if they had the dreaded collar to snap around his neck. The parasite brothers trying, successfully so far, to bore under his skin and chew their way back out. The warder who'd be asking more questions about malkieri heirlooms. Nisele, who's whispers hinted at swallowing him vulnerable, but only enough to slit his throat.
The shadowy pile of his sword, belt and boots waited dormant behind them on the sand. Far from the reach of corrosive waters, and too many strides out of reach to indicate its hilt was the first thing he'd seize in a surprise. He glanced back from studying the darkness blanketing the cliff back there.
"When I was a kid, my father caught me counting my steps as we walked. The next day they put a training lathe in my hands and said to count those steps instead."
He shrugged, not having seemed to mind the failed transference from one obsession to another. "My trainer always said to never trust a swordman with scars. He's either a fool who can't defend himself or likes the look of his own glory."
He looked at Nythadri with a small smile to reassure they toed no uncomfortable cliff with the topic. But he did hope she saw more than a proud fool when she looked at him.
Only darkness shows you the light.