Collecting on a Wager

[Natalie Grey]

Accepted Nythadri Vanditera

There was plenty to keep one occupied in the Tower's grand foyer, and there were worse jobs than ferrying the never-ceasing myriad of petitioners to their destinations. The endless repetition made it a recipe for tedium if one was not careful, but it was for the most part mechanical work and, considering the furious schedule of an Accepted, was something of a breather. For Nythadri, it was also the closest she got to the city, never mind the world beyond, and she was content to let her thoughts doze to mindless consideration of fashion or the flash of a man’s smile. It was also fascinating to observe the way foreigners decided to interpret the bands of her dress and the ring on her finger.

She greeted and directed on rote, but today her point of interest was the black-clad man standing idle in the great hall. And she was not the only one who watched him, either subtly or directly. Asha’man were not uncommon in Tar Valon, but they were still unusual; especially to those who had no business interacting with them. There seemed no true consensus on the Black Tower and its denizens, despite the official word. Too many Aes Sedai stoked either fear or superiority among the initiates, and she supposed they had every right to feel threatened. Men were stronger in the Power, and a woman had no natural sense of when one seized saidin to him. Or however they do it.

Nythadri felt only curiosity towards something she could never fully understand. To learn to be Aes Sedai was to nurture an arrogant sense of supremacy and invulnerability, and perhaps that had been deserved when men had been driven mad by their gift. That a sister would keep him waiting, and she had no doubt that it was an Aes Sedai he waited for, piqued her attention; she was curious to see who the woman would be, and if the reason for her lateness would become apparent on arrival; a slight, or an accident? The Asha’man had waved away the attentions of the attending initiates, but time had trickled passed and he was still waiting. She had not approached him only to be rebuffed herself, but neither strayed far from his niche of the hall. Her pale eyes roamed his form occasionally, making no secret of her interest.

There was little intentionally seductive in her gaze, though he cut a fine form (and truly, there were few men who were not enhanced by the clean lines of an Asha’man’s attire) and was handsome enough to warrant it. Rather, she was used to men seeing the white and rainbow of her uniform before the womanly body beneath, and the austere cut did nothing to enrich her curves. Beauty meant nothing when one was incarcerated in white, and what man was fool enough to show an interest? Yes, he was attractive enough, but it was not the source of her interest.

She was close enough to hear the words uttered from his lips, if barely, and perhaps only because she had been paying him mind. She directed a novice to escort a young nobleman, who wavered between treating her like she was one step below Aes Sedai to one step above servant, along with his retinue to the sister he sought, and turned her attention.

“You tell me. I should think you have been standing long enough to count all the tiles from floor to ceiling, Asha’man.”
She supposed he might take offence to her dry humour, not everyone understood the cynicism she sometimes offered in friendship, but she was only offering a diversion while he waited. If he were stiff and crotchety enough to spit an unwelcome retort, he would not make for good banter anyway.