Spiriting Away

[Natalie Grey]

Nythadri

After Daryen’s departure, Nythadri did not delay her own leavetaking, though there was a cruel sharpness in her chest for what must be left behind. The prevarication had been her own fault, however valid her reasons. Yet it felt like the loss of something vital.

---

The White Tower, Tar Valon

Shadows touched the city, the sun finally slipping beneath the horizon to welcome the night’s bright canvas. Nythadri almost held her breath in anticipation, but the Tower seemed blanketed in its normal evening routines, albeit everything felt a shade quiet. After the sultry evening heat of Bandar Eban, coolness rippled her skin; enough that she shivered. Daryen’s words strung her through with tension, but nothing untoward resonated from her warder. Her sense of Eleanore strengthened with proximity; she could almost pinpoint her exact location with a little focus, and it guided her stride as she entered the halls of her Ajah. Light send the woman had discovered enough to unravel a little of this knot, and pacify Nythadri’s fears in the process.

“Nythadri?”

At the sharp question of her name, Nythadri turned but did not pause her steady pace. Dark skirts swirled about her ankles. If the dress felt like a shroud in Arad Doman, here it felt like armour. She glanced at the Aes Sedai and with careful indifference read the woman’s pursed lip reaction to the discovery of her return. Maylis’s dark hair was swept back and braided, her lithe body wrapped in thickly embroidered green fabric and gold-worked leather. A curved knife tucked in the sash tight around her waist. It gleamed as bright as the streak of silver in her hair. Light but she looked dressed for war. Kabryn stepped tight by her shoulder, his usual affability folded away, the cloak moving queasily about him. He nodded but did not smile. Nythadri noted the formality with a little unease; it was not his usual manner.

Maylis Sedai & Kabryn Gaidin

They fell into step. She felt the Green’s measuring stare, but only weathered the scrutiny with placid aloofness. Of all her new sisters, this one probably had the most cause to query Nythadri’s short and unannounced absence, and perhaps create a nuisance she really did not have time to address. But it seemed the anomaly was blessedly far from Maylis’s concerns this night.

“Lianora is arranging for the aspirants to visit in the city,” she said. “Just for the night. I might recommend you join them, sister, since it appears you are alone?” Her gaze swept the shadows in obvious question, one disapproving brow arched. The errancy of missing their regular appointment ought to at least have been excused with the procurement of a bondmate. Apparently. The assumptions made of Nythadri’s disappearance soothed a little at least, though it curled tight defence in her stomach too. Maylis had declared it a foolish intention. Did she imagine Jai had said no?

Would he, if she asked?

She liked Maylis well enough, but light she wished the woman would mind her business.

Nythadri did not fill in the blanks, and Maylis gave no indication of pursuit on the topic. Meanwhile Nythadri’s pale stare flickered away in irritated dismissal, puzzling instead over what information was shared. It tipped her tension into the broad strokes of concern; set her thoughts racing. If the Ajah thought to sequester its Accepted, it was because they feared blood might be spilt, and there were few enough reasons to fear that in the heart of the White Tower. She’d purposefully passed the Hall on her journey, but its doors had been closed; only the monolith statues standing eternal guard without. It meant little but that the Wheel turned resolutely out of sight. Kaydrienne’s support could not just have faltered then, it was gone, or as good as. Light. Did Lythia support it? The Sitters? Nythadri’s heart sped with the implications, veins ablaze. They must if the Greens were taking precautionary measures.

How had Talin known any of this was coming?

“Is Lythia here?” she asked. For once the steady hand of someone she trusted would not go amiss. But Maylis only shook her head, and Nythadri refortified herself in silence. She was alone in this anyway; she had to be.

The corridor widened into one of the hall's many inlets, replete with lounging furniture and great windows peering out over the darkened city. Stringed music drifted in the indolent manner of burgeoning composition. A smokey male voice hummed alongside, deep and intoxicating as honey. Song was not so foreign to these halls, but it seemed markedly strange tonight given all she was beginning to suspect transpired beneath the Tower’s calm surface. Nythadri did not recognise the man reclined into the cushions. He was tall, skin gleaming copper against the crisp white of an unlaced shirt. Inky hair curled about his ears. He looked up, a warm gaze appraising their arrival with a smile for the unexpected audience. With his sharp sloping cheeks and bright eyes, it had a manner of rakishness about it.

Zahir

“Aes Sedai,” he said. Skilful fingers plucked a few more strings on the gittern, and then he stood in one smooth motion. The fold of his bow was theatrical and sweeping. His gaze lingered a little too long, the tip of his quieter smile an invitation of curiosity. Nythadri practically felt the intimate roam of his attention.

“Gleeman,” Maylis said as he slowly straightened. Indeed, the cloak nestled like jewel-toned treasure amidst the cushions, folded neatly next to where he had been sitting. By the tolerant amusement in her tone, she clearly found him charming, yet the manner of her stride as they drew closer brooked no compromise for it. She did not slow. “You might have our dear Lythia’s favour, but let us not seek a reason to rescind your invitation here, no? It seems like a fine evening for entertaining in the city. You might return to us refreshed.”

“I wouldn’t dare outstay a welcome,” he promised. The smile remained, if his eyes caught a little cold on the gaidin. But then being the object of one’s protective scrutiny – and Kabryn was clearly scrutinising – could be no pleasant thing. The gleeman rubbed his chin; it looked absent, but his fingers caught on the blush of a faint red mark against his lip. She was not sure if he grimaced or scowled in response to the pain.

Maylis nodded. Her dark gaze cut momentarily to Nythadri, thoughtful. One hand briefly rested on the hilt of her knife. “Perhaps you might make yourself useful and escort my sister into the city on your way. Kabryn says you held your own well enough on the field, all things considered.”

She turned from him to nod her farewell, then. “Take my advice, sister,” she urged. Her expression was fierce and protective, but a small, sultry smile flashed as she retreated, as good as a nudge and wink. The gleeman clearly noticed by the amused smirk at the corner of his lips, still half covered by his hand. Kabryn was tight on his Aes Sedai’s heels, though he paused long enough to address the man in question. He tapped his own mouth.

“No hard feelings,” he said. Then he nodded to Nythadri, and followed. She could hear the urgent murmuring of their conversion as they departed, but not what was said.

The gleeman moved closer the moment the two slipped from sight. He laughed a little, low and pleasant. The gittern cradled in his grip, one thumb softly striking one of the strings. It was not an instrument Nythadri knew how to play, but its tenor was deep and enjoyable, and the craftsmanship itself was markedly beautiful. He noticed her interest enough to hold it out to her in invitation. “I thought I had met everyone in residence, but you are a new face,” he said. “I’m Zahir.”

He had Lythia’s favour? Nythadri had not thought her the type enamoured of a gleeman’s swagger, but the loss of a bondmate did strange things to a woman, and this one was as handsome and warm as the ripple of desert sands. She’d met his type often enough, a lifetime ago, when she had frequented Caemlyn’s taverns under the moniker of Sacha. Before Farune it was a charm that would have won the provocative flash of smile in return, a meaningless dalliance to soothe a restless soul and steal away again before sunrise. The only question was who stole away first.

Her pale gaze rose from the play of his skilful hands to his darkly devouring gaze. “Nythadri,” she said. “But my sister may have misled. I’m in no need of an escort.” A smirk flickered her lips, but if she was a natural temptress it was a cold one. Little else pierced the stillness of her expression. Light steps drew her backwards, still holding his attention. She did not say goodbye, but she turned after a moment, pulled in the direction of her gaidar.