09-25-2018, 05:01 PM
It was a graceful sound, Nythadri's gentle crossing. Light let her go for the door. Let her fume a burn so cold that he could walk out knowing she was better off. It was a strange wish but a pure one. Unblemished by regret for the most part. Not for Arad Doman, anyway. Nor for Caemlyn. Not for the desert the pieces of his bloodied soul watered. Light let Nythadri give him some sign. A hint of hatred, remorse, regret, disgust; some shade of disappointment. And he could cross the threshold and not look back.
Her footfalls ceased, then cloth whipped, unfurled, and something sank onto his shoulders. Something heavy. Soft.
White folds pooled on the floor beneath him. Narrow strips of color wove in curls and loops. And he tensed when Nythadri knelt, nearly nervous for what she might do until the explanation pulled his understanding to the floor beneath. He realized his feet were cold but dry in snug seams worth their weight in gold. The soles were soaked, though. The rest of the boots wet to the ankle. He'd never cleaned them after waking at Araya's, and his eyes instantly saw the stains. They were his alright. His shoes; his blood. Meanwhile Nythadri's feet were bare as his. A bad sign, that. Going without socks. Didn't she know it was bloody winter?
He heard what she said next. Light, a guy can't dodge something like that. There was a time when he would hold his breath just to hear her say his name. But in the same breath as his, others darkened her lips like old friends. Zakar? Winther? She thought the money was Winther's? Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Jai was speechless. How did Nythadri do it? She blinks and holds the Council of Merchants in the palm of her hand. It's not a death note. The Seanchan she played like witless puppets. He was aware how much she hated her own mastery of the game, but he was in awe of it. She knew then, who orchestrated the donation. Aharon was never the charitable sort, but relieving that prick the burden of book keeping was doing him a favor. And Jai had to do something with the money. She probably knew about the pendant. Had she connected murder as well? Light! Did she know everything? That there was always another mastermind. That this time, the man pulling the strings was his own brother. That theirs was a seriously messed up situation.
There wasn't time to think about it. Nythadri's distant whisper which followed struck a brittle cord. Yet he didn't cringe at the sting of a new wound. His vision didn't go white. He didn't double over in shock. He just sat there. Unmoving. Not particularly wanting to hear any more. It was like she knew every secret he held dear. The flashes she resurrected came fast, but he watched defiance and blood and silver spray by without flinching. As though he were sitting back in another man's head and watching the fool scramble about. The guy was constantly confused and completely oblivious to pretty much everything. He only knew what was going on in himself, and then only as much to know it was all a charade, but plowed on anyway. Nythadri knew? He blinked.
She pulled his hands, but his eyes followed freely. She might as well have pulled him from the chair, for he fell forward weakly, draped still in her blanket and landed before her, knee to knee. But for that surrendered moment, he didn't let her go. His hands curled around hers, hard, like to release her now meant they would never return. There was a fresh scar on the right palm from when he found the short sword lost in the dirt, and clutched it desperately by the blade back to his grasp. There were others she'd not seen before either; but it didn't occur to him to hide a one. Bloodied hilt aside, out of all the flashes to soar through his mind, one shone in them all. The way he knew he would always remember Nythadri. Not the moment her priestly dress dropped to the sand. Nor the moment water first lifted her jet dark hair. Though he'd be dead if those weren't close seconds. But for the dare in her eyes when she turned, drenched in moonlight, and captured him breathless.
He watched her long and quietly. If there was pain soaring beyond his distant eyes, he tried to numb it from view. If there was fear, he wanted to shield it. He knew what she meant. Who they were; though he'd disagree the fault lay with anyone beyond himself. That she might offer half truths didn't occur, nor how she heard of such business, but he still prayed she didn't know half of what she claimed to know. Yet he knew what she meant, and when his eyes sank for a weary second, he noted the stripes of color pressed against his knees. He could feel her ring pressed hot between their fingers.
He gripped her hand tighter, ignoring the ring digging in her flesh and the stretch of raw skin across his knuckles. All the noise and confusion collapsed before this silver moment when they looked at one another. In that peace, he found himself turning her wrist and bringing it to his face. He brushed the back of her hand against the slope of his cheek, fingers interlaced, eyes closed. Soundless. He memorized the feel of her, the bend of her fingers, the warmth of her touch. Unlike in that sandy bed, it was her turn to press, and Jai now the one to yield. It was probably a mistake, but Jai made a lot of them. All the time, really, and lost to the trance of it, to the ache in his lungs, he wasn't sure he could tell if this was one of them.
One hand separated from hers while he lowered the other against his coat. Could she feel how hard his chest beat beneath? The cloth was wet still, but he wasn't cold. Not nestled in her blanket. Which made him want to close his eyes, draw her in and lay back for the night. They were both tired, and Jai could make it in the press of her lips, the penetrance of her study. But he didn't. Right then, what he wanted and what he feared were so completely opposite and so utterly intertwined, segregating them was soon to become impossible.
Those sinful lashes struck hard. From the depths of this morbid moment her wit dared him to forget all this bloody drama and spark something playful in her ear in its stead. Probably about the bare feet. Wit and humor. A mystery he couldn't figure out. She ran to catch him falling from the saddle. She saw something behind bloodied hands. She comforted a cold shell. She protected. When it should be the other way around. He brushed the hair from her shoulder with the freed hand, completely absorbed in the task, and finally summoned the courage to let her see what he didn't want her to see.
"Yeah. Well," he spoke quietly. "They left a mess behind, didn't they?" He slipped into a modest smile, voice tight. The day in question was blacked out as the night which followed. Their details ripped away, dissolved as a corpse in the earth. Driven from forethought not by pain, though the shame was grating, but by enlightenment. Jai knew what condition of a man was carried away. He knew his own limits, and freely admitted to them. And Light guard his thoughts, but lost in the glaze of green, seafoam spiked with iridescent blue, did he know what he wanted.
He absently watched himself release her. The guilt of surviving when others lingered in agony pulsed strong. As did the disappointment from a man Jai revered as a father.
"I'm glad i'm still alive, Nythadri," he admitted, still trying to convince himself of that stone sharp reality. He had gotten up, but not because he deserved to go on, but for the chance to atone. Thoughtless, his hand fell to a place on the other arm as roaring pounded his ears. From the ground he'd felt like laying in the bottom of an inescapable pit. Handholds crumbling in his reach and footholds falling by without tread. Until there was no other choice but sit and wither in bloody memory.
"Alive, i can fix things. And I won't stop trying to get it right." The promise sounded hollow to his ears, but he meant it. With every fiber.
He should have turned to the tiles, drawn the stars, or stared into flickering flame, but the pace of forms were hollow now, the balance of equations less beautiful, and the stability of rhythms unreliable. A smile should not be soothing. A hand should not be grounding.
It was across a cold sea he stared. Waters of night where the world seemed to end, but there was something stirring beneath that black sky. The salt and wind would whip and wear, but the hours meant nothing. He knew what he did wrong, and Jai would never stop seeking that redemption. Not if he had to blaze his own hope on the horizon.
Walking away was the honorable thing to do.
Right?
Her footfalls ceased, then cloth whipped, unfurled, and something sank onto his shoulders. Something heavy. Soft.
White folds pooled on the floor beneath him. Narrow strips of color wove in curls and loops. And he tensed when Nythadri knelt, nearly nervous for what she might do until the explanation pulled his understanding to the floor beneath. He realized his feet were cold but dry in snug seams worth their weight in gold. The soles were soaked, though. The rest of the boots wet to the ankle. He'd never cleaned them after waking at Araya's, and his eyes instantly saw the stains. They were his alright. His shoes; his blood. Meanwhile Nythadri's feet were bare as his. A bad sign, that. Going without socks. Didn't she know it was bloody winter?
He heard what she said next. Light, a guy can't dodge something like that. There was a time when he would hold his breath just to hear her say his name. But in the same breath as his, others darkened her lips like old friends. Zakar? Winther? She thought the money was Winther's? Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Jai was speechless. How did Nythadri do it? She blinks and holds the Council of Merchants in the palm of her hand. It's not a death note. The Seanchan she played like witless puppets. He was aware how much she hated her own mastery of the game, but he was in awe of it. She knew then, who orchestrated the donation. Aharon was never the charitable sort, but relieving that prick the burden of book keeping was doing him a favor. And Jai had to do something with the money. She probably knew about the pendant. Had she connected murder as well? Light! Did she know everything? That there was always another mastermind. That this time, the man pulling the strings was his own brother. That theirs was a seriously messed up situation.
There wasn't time to think about it. Nythadri's distant whisper which followed struck a brittle cord. Yet he didn't cringe at the sting of a new wound. His vision didn't go white. He didn't double over in shock. He just sat there. Unmoving. Not particularly wanting to hear any more. It was like she knew every secret he held dear. The flashes she resurrected came fast, but he watched defiance and blood and silver spray by without flinching. As though he were sitting back in another man's head and watching the fool scramble about. The guy was constantly confused and completely oblivious to pretty much everything. He only knew what was going on in himself, and then only as much to know it was all a charade, but plowed on anyway. Nythadri knew? He blinked.
She pulled his hands, but his eyes followed freely. She might as well have pulled him from the chair, for he fell forward weakly, draped still in her blanket and landed before her, knee to knee. But for that surrendered moment, he didn't let her go. His hands curled around hers, hard, like to release her now meant they would never return. There was a fresh scar on the right palm from when he found the short sword lost in the dirt, and clutched it desperately by the blade back to his grasp. There were others she'd not seen before either; but it didn't occur to him to hide a one. Bloodied hilt aside, out of all the flashes to soar through his mind, one shone in them all. The way he knew he would always remember Nythadri. Not the moment her priestly dress dropped to the sand. Nor the moment water first lifted her jet dark hair. Though he'd be dead if those weren't close seconds. But for the dare in her eyes when she turned, drenched in moonlight, and captured him breathless.
He watched her long and quietly. If there was pain soaring beyond his distant eyes, he tried to numb it from view. If there was fear, he wanted to shield it. He knew what she meant. Who they were; though he'd disagree the fault lay with anyone beyond himself. That she might offer half truths didn't occur, nor how she heard of such business, but he still prayed she didn't know half of what she claimed to know. Yet he knew what she meant, and when his eyes sank for a weary second, he noted the stripes of color pressed against his knees. He could feel her ring pressed hot between their fingers.
He gripped her hand tighter, ignoring the ring digging in her flesh and the stretch of raw skin across his knuckles. All the noise and confusion collapsed before this silver moment when they looked at one another. In that peace, he found himself turning her wrist and bringing it to his face. He brushed the back of her hand against the slope of his cheek, fingers interlaced, eyes closed. Soundless. He memorized the feel of her, the bend of her fingers, the warmth of her touch. Unlike in that sandy bed, it was her turn to press, and Jai now the one to yield. It was probably a mistake, but Jai made a lot of them. All the time, really, and lost to the trance of it, to the ache in his lungs, he wasn't sure he could tell if this was one of them.
One hand separated from hers while he lowered the other against his coat. Could she feel how hard his chest beat beneath? The cloth was wet still, but he wasn't cold. Not nestled in her blanket. Which made him want to close his eyes, draw her in and lay back for the night. They were both tired, and Jai could make it in the press of her lips, the penetrance of her study. But he didn't. Right then, what he wanted and what he feared were so completely opposite and so utterly intertwined, segregating them was soon to become impossible.
Those sinful lashes struck hard. From the depths of this morbid moment her wit dared him to forget all this bloody drama and spark something playful in her ear in its stead. Probably about the bare feet. Wit and humor. A mystery he couldn't figure out. She ran to catch him falling from the saddle. She saw something behind bloodied hands. She comforted a cold shell. She protected. When it should be the other way around. He brushed the hair from her shoulder with the freed hand, completely absorbed in the task, and finally summoned the courage to let her see what he didn't want her to see.
"Yeah. Well," he spoke quietly. "They left a mess behind, didn't they?" He slipped into a modest smile, voice tight. The day in question was blacked out as the night which followed. Their details ripped away, dissolved as a corpse in the earth. Driven from forethought not by pain, though the shame was grating, but by enlightenment. Jai knew what condition of a man was carried away. He knew his own limits, and freely admitted to them. And Light guard his thoughts, but lost in the glaze of green, seafoam spiked with iridescent blue, did he know what he wanted.
He absently watched himself release her. The guilt of surviving when others lingered in agony pulsed strong. As did the disappointment from a man Jai revered as a father.
"I'm glad i'm still alive, Nythadri," he admitted, still trying to convince himself of that stone sharp reality. He had gotten up, but not because he deserved to go on, but for the chance to atone. Thoughtless, his hand fell to a place on the other arm as roaring pounded his ears. From the ground he'd felt like laying in the bottom of an inescapable pit. Handholds crumbling in his reach and footholds falling by without tread. Until there was no other choice but sit and wither in bloody memory.
"Alive, i can fix things. And I won't stop trying to get it right." The promise sounded hollow to his ears, but he meant it. With every fiber.
He should have turned to the tiles, drawn the stars, or stared into flickering flame, but the pace of forms were hollow now, the balance of equations less beautiful, and the stability of rhythms unreliable. A smile should not be soothing. A hand should not be grounding.
It was across a cold sea he stared. Waters of night where the world seemed to end, but there was something stirring beneath that black sky. The salt and wind would whip and wear, but the hours meant nothing. He knew what he did wrong, and Jai would never stop seeking that redemption. Not if he had to blaze his own hope on the horizon.
Walking away was the honorable thing to do.
Right?
Only darkness shows you the light.