10-23-2017, 05:45 AM
She allowed Jai his theatrics; she even managed to refrain from rolling her eyes, though he would find her expression utterly deadpan, lips only just touched by a smirk. The rare intimacy she had shared with him certainly did not extend to her playing the role of fawning idiot in public, even as part of this elaborate game, though she did not think that by now he would be expecting any more than droll amusement where another woman might blush or smile behind her hand. If she were alarmed to then see him head in Tamal’s direction, it did not show. And it was not because she harboured any trust that Jai would not do something foolish. More, it was that she cared not to intervene even if he did. Male posturing would be what it was; she was not going to get involved in that. Light.
While Jai ingratiated himself into rich society like an old friend, Nythadri wandered to her own distractions, walking an outsider’s line. A celebration was only worth its atmosphere, and she had been absent for much of its build up. She knew none of these people, and of their culture only insofar as her education allowed. So she ate. Drifted. Declined invitations to dance, and indulged in the minimal of small talk. The nuances of rhythm and cadence from the musician’s dais kept her entertained. She had discovered Fate’s sister numbered among them, but there were no breaks in the performance to seek a conversation. Her harp was beautiful, crafted with all the exquisiteness one would expect of royalty’s daughter, and the fingers that plucked melody undeniably skilled.
She caught Liridia’s eye once, out of brazen curiosity for judgement; but the Aes Sedai’s expression was cool as glass, and alighted on Nythadri’s face only a moment before sweeping by. Should she have been paying more attention to the politics of the evening? Certainly, the pieces on the game board had all moved since the sun had been blazing a fierce death in the sky. And there was a new player entirely, seated on the King’s dais. The flow of rumour shifted waves towards the lady in red. Many whispered that she was Daryen's bodyguard - though if that were true, why was she absent from the hunt? - or lover or both. She was… familiar; something about her prickled at an unconscious thought or memory - and since she was not Andoran, that really only left the conclusion that she was also from the Tower.
A hand touched her arm, drawing her away from idle musing. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it, Accepted? I do believe I promised you a dance?”
Imaad’s grip was pinching, though from any distance the gesture looked friendly; naught but a gentle touch at elbow. Nythadri understood the game by now; or thought she did. With ring but no shawl, and an institution of propriety and tradition hemming her in, she was an easy target; powerless. There were no repercussions to his torments, unless she were to harbour a grudge for all the years it took to gain the Sedai title. If she ever gained it. She was his immediate relief to the slow game progressing around them.
Her head titled, the gaze behind her pale eyes detached. “And I do believe I declined.”
“Oh, your words do wound--”
“--How is your cheek, by the way.”
She interrupted his flowery drawl curtly, and pulled her arm away from his gripping fingers. Imaad’s expression darkened, and he drew closer, grasped her wrist in a decidedly unfriendly way. She almost delighted in the way her insolence bubbled his anger to the surface; that she had finally managed to trip him from the traps and snares of his sickly sarcastic words and get a reaction as pure as the one he had elicited from her this morning. She glared as his face loomed closer. Saidar lapped at her consciousness, only a surrender away. It made her fearless. The sparks from such an intense confrontation only fuelled her reckless desire for him to do something regrettable. The dare was written all over her face. But whatever words were about to embark from the sneer on his lips, they never left.
“Might I interrupt?”
The newcomer’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. But it was proof of audience enough. Imaad’s lips curved a smile that left his eyes cool and hard.
“Another time, perhaps.”
He dropped her hand and mocked a bow in her direction, lips pressed into a thin line barely concealing thick disgust. Then his masks returned, typified by the reinstatement of his caustic smile. He cast only a superficial glance over the man who had spoiled his fun as he left. Nythadri scowled at his retreating back, before turning to her would-be rescuer.
"Unnecessary. But thanks."
He shrugged, and offered her a genuine smile instead of an explanation. Pale of hair, pale of skin; he didn't fit this landscape at all; he was beautiful in the most effeminate way. At first glance she thought his shirt was drenched in lavender light, but closer inspection revealed it really did have a faint blush to it. She had not seen him with the other musicians earlier, but he had that sort of resonance to him, an impression aided by the nonchalance of the hands now slid casually in the pockets of his breeches. But despite the apparent chivalrousness of having fended off Imaad, he did not look particularly happy. She followed the trail of his gaze to the King’s platform. Daryen was bounding his way up, dazzling in white and beaming a smile to draw a thousand eyes. The illumination from behind lit him like a halo.
“The perfect time,”
she murmured.
“For what?”
She glanced back at him, and smiled wryly. “You think the king brought all these people all this way just for a party?”
The man’s jaw hardened and his gaze flickered away in such an obvious manner it caught her attention. Ill practised at internalising his emotions, else unusually open. A slender brow rose in question, calculating the stranger with renewed interest. "You know what's going on."
Not a question, but by now Daryen's voice was booming across the courtyard and he was presenting Trista to his audience, and…
Light above.
She stiffened when the final guests were introduced. Testing the waters, Liridia had insinuated, but there was nothing tentative in inviting the Seanchan to the heart of his court. The hushed hum of dozens of surprised voices thrummed in her ears, like their arrival had brought dissonance to the evening. The music had stopped; she only now noticed. Did Fate know what her brother was up to? The Tower must do, for Liridia to be here or for Trista to stand so sedately by Daryen's chair like a conspirator. But something didn't sit right here. Her eyes flicked to Jai, so close to the abject heart of a horror so loathed. The Creator only knew what was going through his head. Or if Saidin wove a net of destruction above their heads even now; and that was Daryen’s problem to deal with.
Seanchan. Light! Retrospect didn't find her surprised; Daryen appeared a man of decisive action rather than a purveyor of the empty spectacle of words, and he had gone to great lengths to sooth the path of his guests to this conclusion today. If this indeed was the conclusion. Instinct ignited doubt, and she turned with words on her lips to find the blonde stranger gone. Why announce Trista and the Seanchan together? What role did a gaidar of the Tower play here at all? Polite conversation had by now resumed, and the musicians had adopted a jauntier tune – as though to swell the dampened atmosphere back to its former glory. But for once the music failed to carry her mood with it.
It was not desire for protection that drove her to the Aes Sedai’s side, so much as that she was the single person here Nythadri was able to demand an answer from. Or pose her questions to, at least. She slipped into a chair beside the Brown.
"Arad Doman entertains Seanchan now?"
While Jai ingratiated himself into rich society like an old friend, Nythadri wandered to her own distractions, walking an outsider’s line. A celebration was only worth its atmosphere, and she had been absent for much of its build up. She knew none of these people, and of their culture only insofar as her education allowed. So she ate. Drifted. Declined invitations to dance, and indulged in the minimal of small talk. The nuances of rhythm and cadence from the musician’s dais kept her entertained. She had discovered Fate’s sister numbered among them, but there were no breaks in the performance to seek a conversation. Her harp was beautiful, crafted with all the exquisiteness one would expect of royalty’s daughter, and the fingers that plucked melody undeniably skilled.
She caught Liridia’s eye once, out of brazen curiosity for judgement; but the Aes Sedai’s expression was cool as glass, and alighted on Nythadri’s face only a moment before sweeping by. Should she have been paying more attention to the politics of the evening? Certainly, the pieces on the game board had all moved since the sun had been blazing a fierce death in the sky. And there was a new player entirely, seated on the King’s dais. The flow of rumour shifted waves towards the lady in red. Many whispered that she was Daryen's bodyguard - though if that were true, why was she absent from the hunt? - or lover or both. She was… familiar; something about her prickled at an unconscious thought or memory - and since she was not Andoran, that really only left the conclusion that she was also from the Tower.
A hand touched her arm, drawing her away from idle musing. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it, Accepted? I do believe I promised you a dance?”
Imaad’s grip was pinching, though from any distance the gesture looked friendly; naught but a gentle touch at elbow. Nythadri understood the game by now; or thought she did. With ring but no shawl, and an institution of propriety and tradition hemming her in, she was an easy target; powerless. There were no repercussions to his torments, unless she were to harbour a grudge for all the years it took to gain the Sedai title. If she ever gained it. She was his immediate relief to the slow game progressing around them.
Her head titled, the gaze behind her pale eyes detached. “And I do believe I declined.”
“Oh, your words do wound--”
“--How is your cheek, by the way.”
She interrupted his flowery drawl curtly, and pulled her arm away from his gripping fingers. Imaad’s expression darkened, and he drew closer, grasped her wrist in a decidedly unfriendly way. She almost delighted in the way her insolence bubbled his anger to the surface; that she had finally managed to trip him from the traps and snares of his sickly sarcastic words and get a reaction as pure as the one he had elicited from her this morning. She glared as his face loomed closer. Saidar lapped at her consciousness, only a surrender away. It made her fearless. The sparks from such an intense confrontation only fuelled her reckless desire for him to do something regrettable. The dare was written all over her face. But whatever words were about to embark from the sneer on his lips, they never left.
“Might I interrupt?”
The newcomer’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. But it was proof of audience enough. Imaad’s lips curved a smile that left his eyes cool and hard.
“Another time, perhaps.”
He dropped her hand and mocked a bow in her direction, lips pressed into a thin line barely concealing thick disgust. Then his masks returned, typified by the reinstatement of his caustic smile. He cast only a superficial glance over the man who had spoiled his fun as he left. Nythadri scowled at his retreating back, before turning to her would-be rescuer.
"Unnecessary. But thanks."
He shrugged, and offered her a genuine smile instead of an explanation. Pale of hair, pale of skin; he didn't fit this landscape at all; he was beautiful in the most effeminate way. At first glance she thought his shirt was drenched in lavender light, but closer inspection revealed it really did have a faint blush to it. She had not seen him with the other musicians earlier, but he had that sort of resonance to him, an impression aided by the nonchalance of the hands now slid casually in the pockets of his breeches. But despite the apparent chivalrousness of having fended off Imaad, he did not look particularly happy. She followed the trail of his gaze to the King’s platform. Daryen was bounding his way up, dazzling in white and beaming a smile to draw a thousand eyes. The illumination from behind lit him like a halo.
“The perfect time,”
she murmured.
“For what?”
She glanced back at him, and smiled wryly. “You think the king brought all these people all this way just for a party?”
The man’s jaw hardened and his gaze flickered away in such an obvious manner it caught her attention. Ill practised at internalising his emotions, else unusually open. A slender brow rose in question, calculating the stranger with renewed interest. "You know what's going on."
Not a question, but by now Daryen's voice was booming across the courtyard and he was presenting Trista to his audience, and…
Light above.
She stiffened when the final guests were introduced. Testing the waters, Liridia had insinuated, but there was nothing tentative in inviting the Seanchan to the heart of his court. The hushed hum of dozens of surprised voices thrummed in her ears, like their arrival had brought dissonance to the evening. The music had stopped; she only now noticed. Did Fate know what her brother was up to? The Tower must do, for Liridia to be here or for Trista to stand so sedately by Daryen's chair like a conspirator. But something didn't sit right here. Her eyes flicked to Jai, so close to the abject heart of a horror so loathed. The Creator only knew what was going through his head. Or if Saidin wove a net of destruction above their heads even now; and that was Daryen’s problem to deal with.
Seanchan. Light! Retrospect didn't find her surprised; Daryen appeared a man of decisive action rather than a purveyor of the empty spectacle of words, and he had gone to great lengths to sooth the path of his guests to this conclusion today. If this indeed was the conclusion. Instinct ignited doubt, and she turned with words on her lips to find the blonde stranger gone. Why announce Trista and the Seanchan together? What role did a gaidar of the Tower play here at all? Polite conversation had by now resumed, and the musicians had adopted a jauntier tune – as though to swell the dampened atmosphere back to its former glory. But for once the music failed to carry her mood with it.
It was not desire for protection that drove her to the Aes Sedai’s side, so much as that she was the single person here Nythadri was able to demand an answer from. Or pose her questions to, at least. She slipped into a chair beside the Brown.
"Arad Doman entertains Seanchan now?"