on the qui vive
-on the alert or lookout
-on vigilance
-on being observant
The ants march along the gap between the matt and shining stone. My heels scrape over the floor disharmonic, disturbing. They miss the street barely, so very delicate petite bodies out of balance a moment.
I feel the ants as a part of myself when I stretch myself, fingers brushing over a pillar, cold, smooth.
You'd think scrubbing servants and chemicals would purge most of the smallest part of the fauna in the palace. Maybe they just return too fast. A miracle.
The mantis was a brave but too obvious choice, and making it crawl along the glass with Ara watching was just me showing off in a non-humble way.
This is a little different. Animal control and scrying make for some interesting things to notice. You only need to play it right.
My father wanted me to be a fly for him, Larentia told me to be a scorpion, and I promised her my talents at her disposal.
Well, I can be a hundred flies and a thousand scorpions.
It all depends on the logistics, I suppose. And it depends on how careful I have to be. I have little ambition to get caught again.
The system is easy, very simple, really.
Dear Cousin, I write the first time when I return from another gathering oogling every girl and the respective members of their houses as well as being watched again by Elara Merandus. I feel very cold whenever I force myself to think about it. I'll have to make the very best out of that attention.
I hope this finds you in good health and agreeable mood. We seem to miss each other on most gatherings and the palace is so big I might get lost trying to follow you- so better not try, yes?
My head hurts. It must the small changes from the air conditioning and stepping outside the gardens in the palace the whole day. You know I hate the sun.
I saw a Shrike there today. Did you know Shrikes impale insects on thorns to eat them? It was much more impressive to watch than you'd assume. It is still no match for your favorite bird, of course. That one is not only much bigger and well trained but much more dangerous. Bird of Prey need a strong hand and control. I believe a Shrike couldn't do as much damage. I know I mishandled it the last time you let me take control, and it might never forget, but the next time I'll try to be more careful if you and the hawk let me.
The dogs had a little quarrel, the older brother has gained another victory and control over the pack. Silly, I know, but they make so much noise, you hear them through all the house.
I am afraid they are getting old slowly, but for now, they are still useful tools and good dogs.
The other old inhabitants of my boxes are fine. I don't want to bore you with more old talks about mantis and snakes or beetles and spiders. You know them well enough. You, of all people, always know how they bite, how they wait.
And sometimes, how they are tamed or appeased, at least. There are too many wild creatures, and just as much cold blooded.
Oh, I almost forgot, I was thinking about getting some additional space to make room for something more predatory. You know how it is with wolves and panthers, all those big predators prowling, would you be willing to assist me if I set up something?
It has some time after I am married, of course. I will need to settle with my dearly beloved second husband.
With only the best wishes and Yours truly,
Daliah
After I am married. I want to puke. My stomach and my head seem to take the stress badly.
How long until I am quietly given away? Five days? My loan on having my head for myself is small. Settle with Samson. I could try to negotiate, make a decent agreement with him, but somehow I am very sure we both share the sentiment of getting the better end of the deal, and that won't work out right now. I am not letting him in, and if he does as he promises, as Atara makes crude jokes about, I'll be sure to notice.
I am not talking about any fear or worries in the letters. That would be silly and sentimental and reckless. I give in to my paranoia, but that was to be expected. Better stay on guard.
Larentia doesn't answer that first letter. I don't really expect an answer. Probably just when I am about to receive instructions of some kind, and even that on paper could be dangerous.
Dear Cousin, I write a second time in late night. It is very dark in my room, with only some small white and red lamps attached. The white snake has curled around my throat, weaving in my dark hair, warm and soft, almost comforting.
My headache remains. It may just be the weather, with rain approaching somewhere.
The dogs are friendly, as far as they can be.
Bird watching is a fascinating hobby and just continues to be. Still, miss the grace and prowess your hawk has to offer, but the Shrike was almost tame today beside her thorny branch.
The other inhabitants in my glass cages are doing well. I only miss a scorpion now, like when we were younger.
I was thinking since I am not sure how much space I really can claim to set up anything for creatures as big, maybe something smaller, something more compact, would do?
How about...a fox? Sneaky small creatures, always underestimated, and very pretty too. I'd definitely not underestimate a fox, even if it lacks the obvious aggressive use that other animals have to offer. Also, they come in lovely shades. Speaking as women who wear animals.
Otherwise, I may just stick to my own little sets of critters. The latest addition to my wishlist is so rare, I was sure it was extinct! Can you imagine my surprise hearing that it isn't? Comes with a rather interesting mix of purple too. If you want me to, I can tell you about them later. Funnily enough, it was our dear and very much still sharp Ara Iral bringing it to my attention I don't ever wear butterflies? Moths, that one time, but that was the closest I ever got. She is right, I should branch out!
Did I tell you poor Cyrine Macanthos got stung by a wasp? Poor thing didn't even notice it, else she would have probably just transformed her skin. Unfortunate.
I still look for the perfect dress for my wedding. Ah, such a short time, it really isn't fair!
With love and Yours truly,
Daliah
Oh dear, I must appear terribly self-centered in this and halfway transparent for anyone that can put two and two together. Still, no evidence is produced. All I do is talk about dresses and animals. That will have to do.
When I receive a box on the third day, I know I do something right.
The Red Boy with the narrow hands doesn't look at my face. He just puts the glass box down on the table in front of me. His hands shake. It makes a small shattering sound, and the creature inside shakes a little.
A black scorpion lurks on the edge, stinger and pincers glittering, molten darkness reborn.
I smile.
In between watching Atara, not letting anything that could be remotely interesting slip and not trying to lose my composure whenever my way crosses Samson's path, I can feel the in-between of the foundation shaking.
Red people are servants, they are around all the time. They serve, they bow, they die.
Nothing about that is new or interesting.
But with that bombs and threats, silver eyes suddenly turn even more hostile and harsh.
I don't participate, but only because I don't care.
I am in control.
I am keeping my composure, and my tongue, if I have to.
Love is worth nothing, and passion is a waste of time, I keep telling myself.
I keep telling myself that through the headaches that make me miserable, the grey lightning of migraine and explosions in my brain. And I keep telling myself that when I have to link my arm through Samson's and walk off.
I sometimes wonder, is he in my head? He told me I would notice. The headaches haunt me when he is not around too. Someone else?
My spine tingles. I remember another pair of blue eyes. But she wouldn't, would she? What could I give her she doesn't know?
The palace is filled with hateful faces that remember everything. I have around two days left before I am shipped off, robbed off.
He enjoys watching me, I can see it in his blue marble eyes. I suppress twitches and the sour taste in my throat. I keep myself up, shoulders arched, back straight.
When I see her scar, lines running along with her eyes, along her nose, I can feel my pulse quicken.
I can feel how the heat and the cold chase each other in my veins, the anger, and the hatred, the wish to let loose again and do as I promised when my nails buried deep in her scar-riddled face.
Bring it to an end.
She wears uniform overloading with medals for her honor and her accomplishments. I want to rip them off, I want to steal her honor and all her pride because it is useless.
Ellyn Macanthos glares back.
I want to jump in her face, I want to- to-
To kill her. Simple as that.
He makes one low, disapproving sound, and when he squeezes my arm so tightly he could as well just twist and break it to be done.
It gives him time to drag me away more than I really walk. It redirects the anger, though. For a second he disgusts me so much I forget Ellyn.
His fingers are maws swallowing mine whole when they goad and mock me, holding on too tightly.
I hate it I hate it I hate it.
"Can you not be petty for once, merry widow?" He asks low, cold eyes, cold voice, giving me chills to the marrow.
"I wasn't about to-" Is all I say before I catch myself and remember who I am talking to. "Never call me that again."
His hand glides away from my fingers over my wrist, resting on my elbow. It looks very pale on the black, stiff coat fabric. They still bite through and leave the tingling sensation of disgust, continuing to work their way into my system.
"People gave you that name for a reason."
We are black and blue like bruises on red-blooded skin, reflecting in the glass ceiling raining light on us.
"People have no clue." I barely speak, breathing through my mouth, hissing through my teeth.
He raises one eyebrow, slightly. "I think corpses speak for themselves, widow."
He hurts me. But he doesn't let go of me. I struggle in his grip.
He has no clue, just like the rest of them. Amusing for a mind reader.
"You say passion is a waste of time." His voice could be in my head already, it's low and his lips seem to move barely. "What is your hatred?"
I rip myself out of his grip. Just as the anger has lingered, his voice does too. You say...
And then I realize something.
My pulse rushes in my ear, it stops for a moment. Burns through me again.
I turn around on my heels without a word and try not to stumble and stagger as I move. As far as my numb legs will take me in the desperate attempt not to puke.
Suddenly I know how it feels when the dogs hunt something to grab it between their dagger teeth. Because there are footsteps chasing me.
The air hits my face in a wave when I make it around the corner. It rushes loudly over my head, a small cool breeze for everyone trapped in the hallways. It still tastes stale when I take one long breath.
"I never said that out loud." I can barely breathe. Sweat runs along my collar. I feel pale, blood drained. "I never said to anyone that passion is a waste. I only-"
That makes him stop for a moment.
I only thought about it.
"How is your head, Lady Viper?" He asks, looming over me. For once in my life, I am very thankful for the cameras and eyes watching me from below the doors and endless paths. They stop me from screaming at him.
