Court lived up to my every expectation: it was an absolute nightmare.
At Carcarron, my visits to court were sporadic, spurred only by necessity or Raum's request. Raum, as Avarran's heir, was made a creature of politics from youth; Jareth had a talent for it as well, and the pair of them were quite formidable when they presented their arguments to the court, tall and handsome and charming. My education was no less thorough than theirs, and my manners no less exquisite, when I chose to exercise them - but I never discovered the same passion that my brother and Raum found in debate and rhetoric, in persuasion and rumour. Jareth, as a budding sorcerer with an ample enough heritage to command respect, was deemed more than adequate to safeguard Raum from the claws of the harpies hunting him for a husband, and I was left in peace to my practices and my studies. It was only during the tensest moments that I accompanied Raum to the polls, the times when tempers ran high and issues had the power to divide the entirety of the Duchy, times that a well-placed knife between the ribs could tilt the world in one faction's favor.
Oros was right; a dagger in the dark was sometimes worth a thousand swords at dawn.
But I would have given anything to have Jareth at my elbow when I strode through those carved and gilded doors, into the glittering and deceptive heart of the High Court at Sanctum, announced on the heels of the three Daevas who had masterminded my fate.
"Marquise Jaeyarithi Cymraele nai Delainne, of House Delainne, aetheling!"
Cymraele was a recently destroyed House, Ciel's papers had informed me, the bearers of its bloodline decimated by plague, its ancestral lands consisting of a set of marches at what must have been the very end of Atreia, for Taion could find them on no map and even well-travelled Trist, relaying his words through Kit when the redheaded Daeva was roused from his bed, denied having ever overflown it. That a survivor of Cymraele had slipped through fate's fingers, held fast in the hands of Aion Himself, seemed an obvious sort of lie, but one such that was romantic enough to appeal to the rest of the nobility, to give reason for my being cloistered away until the status of Cymraele and any outstanding debts of honor could be ascertained. Kit would put it about discreetly that it was not plague that took the true Marquis and his family, but poison, a clever and subtle assassin's hand that had ended the lives of a country lord and three of his children - all save one, his youngest daughter. A trick of timing visiting friends had saved my fictitious nobility from an ignoble end, and I had apparently traveled directly to a neighboring barony, where there yet lived a lord of thin blood but steady heart, loyal stoutly to House Delainne, and stouter still to Ariel and the Daevas of Sanctum.
From there they had allegedly smuggled me into the hands of Lady Ketterine, under direst secrecy - which neatly explained the Furiae's collective absence from court, during Taion's time gallivanting about the Asmodian mountainside - and from there to Sanctum, where Ketterine begged of Prince Taion, her widely acknowledged liege-lord, to take my case to Ariel. While Ariel investigated the events at Cymraele (for she was too canny, it was invented now, to quite disbelieve that I had not engineered the tragedy myself) I was an honored guest among the Furiae, assisting Lady Ketterine in her quirky and whimsical work translating Asmodian ballads into the tongue of the Elyos, a task for which I proved to have the heart of a poetess and the tongue of a lark.
It would even explain why an assassin had come for me in the night, in the center of Sanctum, to still my beating heart before I could be brought before the court as a whole.
Too smooth, I thought. Too many holes, too many points of contact - this country baron, would no one think to question him? - but though I thought my concerns valid, when I had put the very same question to Ciel Bladewhisper, Ariel's chosen champion, she had merely stared at me with her deep, startlingly violet eyes as if I were a particularly slow child, saying not a word.
How such things could be so quickly arranged was beyond my ken. Perhaps Ciel had sent her own agents - perhaps she had taken advantage of Terekai's portals and visited this baron herself, though I doubted it, for they were so close to the edge of the world that surely these Cymraele marches had hardly any aether innate to the land to speak of. All I was aware of, as I was announced to the throng of Elyos nobles, was a desperate need to run and run far and as fast as my crippled leg would take me.
It was very delicately choreographed by Taion and Kit, prepared for well in advance; they entered together, Taion a half-step and one name ahead of Kit, side by side as commander and lieutenant, lord and lady, symbolic of the leadership of the Furiae, such as it was. Oros was two steps behind Taion to his left hand, leathers pale to offset his white hair and dark eyes, the black blade sheathed at his hip, and he did not seem expected to remove it. True, I spotted many such weapons around the room past the Daevas' shielding silhouettes, at the hips of the protectors of present lords and ladies, some overtly displayed, others much less so. Oros did not draw much attention when he was announced, and so I took it as a matter of course that he went armed into Ariel's court, the better to defend Taion's personage from the slings and arrows of Elyos temperaments. That he did not have a noble House attached to his name was a curiosity, and by extension, his announcement was by far the shortest of the three that preceded me.
Then the three of them parted, Taion and Oros to the left, Kit to the right, and I was revealed as when the clouds part to allow a single shining ray of golden light to strike the earth like a spear from heaven. The gleaming sea of Elyos swayed and turned and stopped, staring as one, a multitude of uncountable eyes focused upon my every breath. I was glad then for Kit and Nico's clever ministrations, coiffing my hair with silver pins, smoothing the folds of the grey-green dress with its dancing griffins, for though I did not feel a country lady, for a surety I looked one. I was even properly terrified of the masses of Elyos nobles, Daevas and mortals mixed together in great heaping spades, my silver eyes huge in my (most assuredly death-pale) face as I strode forward to drop low in courtly courtesy, my legs straining, stranded in an ocean of fabric.
Kit took one elbow, and Taion the other, lifting me up in formal gesture of their support, both of me and my circumstances, which I was sure would circulate the court in a trice if Trist or Kit had not already done so prior; then came the kiss of greeting, first Taion as was his right as Prince, then Kit, cool pecks on my cheek to show their approval. Touch was a language all its own amongst the Elyos, and though I seethed beneath my skin to allow such an open gesture, it would, ultimately, be necessary. I was not looking forward to the press of Elyos bodies, when I would be 'stripped' of my escort and left alone amongst the harpies, cast out upon the seas as a very special kind of bait.
And what Elyos there were, crammed into that vast high-ceilinged court! I had never seen so many of them in one place; even in my dream of chasing Mishuvel's dragon, a horde of birds and Daevas in her wake, I could not have imagined such variety in the pale people of the south. I saw handsome lords and ladies decked in silk, bodyguards of common birth in gleaming gold or silver armor, Daevas little more than children, ancient wizened men and women, their eyebrows tufts of cloud floating over craggy, mountainous faces. Everywhere I looked was a riot of colour, of gems set in armor or sewn into bodices, elaborate braids seeded with pearls or manes left long and loose to sweep the marble floor with their tips, eyes of every colour, faces of every feature, some marred from battle, all beautiful, or in the case of the elders, the matured and silvered echo of youth's first blush. I felt aether-auras about me like a tempest, keen and wicked minds seeking to take my measure, probing the edges of my thoughts, a million colours and tastes and sensations across my senses, scraped so recently raw from Ariel's closeness.
They sought to overwhelm me, but even though it dragged at my limited store of strength, I stood fast, buoyed upwards by the thought of autumn air across sand dunes. Ariel had taught me a valuable lesson, when she came too near to smothering me with her aura, and I am not one to let such important knowledge go to waste.
The Lady of Light herself sat on a modest throne at the very back of the court, alone on a high dais that allowed her to reign over the entirety of that massive room - her eyes unfathomable, her chameleon's face secretive, her aether held under exquisitely careful containment, mere tendrils of it flowing through the room as subtle reminders of her presence. Compared to the memory of her fully-unleashed might, the rest of them combined was not so difficult a trial.
And then that eternal moment passed; Taion drew me to the side, chattering amiably in my ear to allow me time to work through the blood rushing through my temples. My staggering step could be blamed, for the nonce, on my obvious startlement at being presented to so large a contingent of nobles, and I saw a few who hesitated to hunt after us, seeing my dazed face, my less than graceful hobble. Those kind faces were burned into my memory, allies to be cultivated or weaknesses to be exploited. One of those who did not hesitate, however, was Liath Beltaine, his single cobalt eye flashing.
"Lady Cymraele," said Beltaine smoothly, bowing from the hip as he accosted us, "allow me to be the first to welcome you to the High Court. Prince Helios, Lady Delainne, Lord Ourobouros," he added as he straightened, only now careful to follow the order of precedence in which they had been announced. "I am pleased to see you all unharmed. Word has it that some awfulness befell the Furiae in the small hours of the night - is it true?"
"And where did you hear such a thing, Lord Beltaine?" smiled Kit, oozing pleasant charm from every pore of her ivory face. "I was unaware that the court as a whole took such interest in the private affairs of one legion."
"Ah, but 'tis no ordinary legion we speak of, now, is it?" he smirked back at her, shifting his weight to one hip in a manner in which I expected to see a blade attached to it. It would have well-matched him, in his burgundy velvet with his swordmaster's ponytail, the mass of scar tissue where his left eye should have been a grim reminder of the dangers of mortality. "Rumour speaks that an entire unit of your militia was mobilized in the dead of night, and that some ruckus was heard from a room well inside your wing. I daresay half the castle came awake at such commotion!"
I remembered the tromp and stomp of dozens of boots, of Kit and Oros warding them well away from where I held Sathas's life in my blood-slick fingers, of Kryson's agonized face as we passed by with his brother unconscious and in tow. "I... I cannot tell you, Liath," said Kit, a hand pressed to her upper chest and her face contorted, as if it caused her unspeakable pain to withhold any such information from the one-eyed Beltaine. "It is such a horrific matter, I dare not to speak of it."
"Certainly it is not for the ears of such a well-bred lady," noted Taion, patting Kit's elbow in princely sympathy, seeming very young as he did so, a shadow of the fox I had seen in Ariel's private garden. "If only such misery could have been avoided on your part, Ketterine! My deepest apologies - my foresight was not enough in this matter."
Beltaine's cobalt eye held a magnificent hunger for intrigue, and with cunning well-veiled in his sharp-angled face, he spoke, "If you are aggrieved of it, my Prince, I humbly offer my advice, from the commander of one legion to another. The Fidelis have never lacked under my captaincy, and should my experiences prove useful to you, I would be more than happy to aid you."
He played it well, did Taion, that much I will readily accredit him with. He hesitated, ever so briefly, glancing sideways to Oros, who nodded very fractionally - a nice touch, that; I remembered the gyre naming Liath Beltaine the largest rat at court, assuredly the quickest path to rampant rumours about my true race - and then Kit burst into hysterical tears, falling upon my shoulder with such wondrous acting that even I, who was in on the game, flushed and wondered for a moment what was the matter. I murmured my apologies to a startled Lord Beltaine ("Of course, my lady," he said, his attentions quickly sopped up by Taion's own act) and drew Kit away to a sheltered nook on the wall, between heavy tapestries and marble busts on plinths, where I went about my own play of comforting and calming her.
Delicate sensibilities were to be expected of a highborn lady such as Kit, and such sensibilities, once upset, were not easily again put to rights. This allowed us more than enough time to converse between ourselves, as I made a show of dabbing her cheeks with an embroidered handkerchief, of smoothing her hair and comforting her. Apparently, it was an acceptable role for a country lady, to be the handmaiden of Ketterine Delainne. "I'm not sure I like him," I said as darkly as I dared, and Kit hid a smirk beneath the hands covering her mouth.
"He is not the most.... tactful of conversationalists," she agreed, "but he has his hand on the pulse of rumour, and used correctly, he is a weapon we may turn to our own ends."
"A two-edged weapon," I noted, and she hummed, "They are all two-edged, in my experience, Jaya."
"What do we do now, then?" I saw from the corner of my eye that Taion was speaking avidly to Beltaine, his manner that of a young lord who was unsure of himself but attempting to hide it, Oros the patient and silent guardian, watching Taion like the hawk whose wings he bore; when other lords drew too near, their curiosities burning to know what had caused Ketterine Delainne to weep so dramatically, Oros warded them off with sharp glances and even keener words.
"Well," Kit whispered as she bowed her head, to allow me to examine her metallic mane for any hairs gone rogue, "after the socializing has reached an appropriate peak, Ariel will call for all business to be brought before the throne. Oros will present your case, though I doubt any lord will be so foolish as to claim the dagger as his own, and then we will wait." These words too were calculated in case of eavesdroppers who saw through Kit's facade, a possibility which could never, except in Terekai's tower, be completely ruled out - and I had my doubts about that as well, given that Ariel knew of Kit's plans for me before Taion had been told of them, and I knew of them first while in that tower, playing with trunks of dresses. "Watch the crowd when it is announced. Perhaps some lord's face will betray him."
Yet more for my doubts to encompass. Soon I would be jaded enough to fit the whole of Atreia within the blackened wasteland of my heart. "I will." We spent several minutes upon the charade, soothing Kit's ruffled feathers while Taion rooked Beltaine with everything he was worth, and then when Kit seemed herself again, she set a hand upon my shoulder and smiled. "Try not to look so dour, Jaya! This is a privilege many a girl dreams about, to debut at no place less than Ariel's own court. Forge me a smile, hmm?"
I tried. It must have been a good one, for Kit laughed quietly and said, "Mind you our discussion, young lady. Accept no inquiries of marriage, no matter the lord's station or House, and direct any who insist to myself or Prince Taion. Any lordling who is indiscreet in his words or his offers may be sent to Lord Ourobouros for a sound thrashing. And always remember: you are my heir, and you bow to no one but the Prince, or Ariel herself."
That had been a quaint little detail that Taion had, of course, failed to mention until the last second - that, since House Delainne consisted solely of Kit herself, I was now considered an aetheling in my own right, much as Taion was one of a handful of aethelings of House Helios, a recognized potential heir. The only difference was that where Taion was one of several, I was alone, a rare prize to tempt those who would have otherwise shied away from speaking with me out of sheer natural (and well-founded) suspicion. Taion had spoken true when he said he did not expect me to seduce the secrets from nobles of the court - but that did not mean that my status could not be made as attractive as possible for those like Liath Beltaine, for whom the hunt itself was as good or better than the end result of such wooing.
Nico had laughed for ten solid minutes when this piece of the plan was revealed, finding it a just revenge for whatever slight Beltaine had paid her in the past, while I merely sat and stared at the assembled Daevas, my cheeks alternating between icy-pale and bonfire-hot.
By then, it had, unfortunately, been far too late to renege, or I would have thrown Ciel's papers back in her placid, unreadable face.
With a final encouraging smile, Kit sashayed into the crowd, leaving me adrift in a sea of blue blood and aether, and the nobles closed in upon me like a flock of silk-clad vultures.
How many Elyos caught my arm or shoulder or trapped me in their bright smiles, taking merciless advantage of my fear and slight confusion, relentlessly exploiting what appeared in full to be a green country lady with no concept of how massive and treacherous such a gathering of Elyos could be? I cannot say. Caught in a tide of bodies and propelled unwillingly between islands of important figures and their entourages, I met Daevas from all ends of Elysea, many of whom I had not seen on my earlier sweep of the court - hawk-faced generals and achingly beautiful sorceresses, mortal ladies who outshone their immortal counterparts, some with cutting remarks for me and some with veiled and calculated kindness. I answered mild and impersonal questions, often the same ones couched in differing language and accents, and showed myself to be quick of wit and unafraid of spirited speech, if in places uncertain of correct protocol, which allowed me to get away with dispensation (on my part, at least) of certain political niceties, such as touch. All of them seemed to wish to touch me in ways that would have been inappropriate, even insulting among my former people; I had to contain shivers of revulsion and intense fury whenever I was grasped without warning or permission, until my snappishness overcame my fear of being discovered, and my smile was a bright, brittle thing that awaited for the proper trigger upon which to shatter into a million bloody pieces.
It was in such condition that Liath Beltaine at last extricated himself from Taion, and strode directly to me.
I had, by virtue of a combination of smiles and glares fit to sear flesh from bone, a little space by myself at the wall of the court that had sets of double doors, leading off onto many balconies with an uninterrupted view of the southern landscape over their railings; the doors were closed, the winter rain decisive and forbidding, but the greyness of it was a poignant reminder of home to me, and standing still and lost in thought, I appeared a less appealing target for the harpies from whom I had so recently escaped. I had not accounted for how forlorn I must have looked, however, for Beltaine approached me from the side with a hunter's grin and a smooth comment of, "You seem lovelier than Amathiel herself, Lady Cymraele, standing there pining for the storm."
I did not have to feign startlement, blinking at Beltaine, turning my shoulders to face him. "Lord Beltaine." I nodded my head, but did not bow, as Kit had warned me. Diffidence would not cloak me well, but a certain studied ignorance of court manner? That, I could manage with ease, and even give some grains of truth unto the omission-lie. "You pay me a great compliment - I am, however, unversed in how to properly accept it. Would you have me quote The Dynasty to you? Amathiel's tongue is sharper than rose-thorns."
"You would do her no disservice, I think," smiled Beltaine, his single cobalt eye focused completely upon me now, intrigued. "And there are many lords here who could scarcely complain at being abused to their faces by such a lady."
"It seems I've met all of them this day," I said, rather archly, quirking one of my raspberry brows. "Sad to say, I haven't the patience for those who come unarmed to a battle of wits." That made him laugh, the smirk on his face tugged somewhat lopsided by the mass of scars below his brow.
"All the worse for them! You have the voice of a Chanter and the heart of a poet, my lady, but it is the candour of a warrior that suits you best." Too close to home, that bolt struck, and he paused, some thought, some test crossing his mind like a comet in the night sky; then he spoke in lower tones, neutral and foreboding. "The Prince told me of your predicament, my lady. My heart goes out to you."
I turned away from him that he could not see my expression, as befitted a young girl in mourning for her family, but though I schooled my features to the likeness of pain, the only thought that swam through the forefront of my brain was, You have no idea what kind of predicament I am in. "I would rather not speak of it, Liath. The pain is too near for me to bear, and I will be thrust into the center of it soon enough."
He opened his mouth to apologize, and then a ripple of aether spread throughout the court, the cloying scent of flowers sent out in a massive wave that made my fingertips tingle and my temples throb; I staggered on my feet, caught myself on a pane of the balcony doors, and my other hand rose to soothe the sudden pounding of my head. It was Ariel, it seemed, calling court to order at last, in a way that could not be misinterpreted or otherwise ignored. Beltaine noted my reaction and had gentlemanly words upon his lips, but I saw the gears working behind his blue eye even as Ariel's voice rang out acrost us all, her dulcet voice turned commanding.
"Lords and ladies of the court, Daevas and mortals, I welcome you all, and call the High Court of Sanctum into order. What business this day comes before the Lady of Light?"
The dais upon which she sat suddenly seemed to have a lot more open space about it, Elyos withdrawing from the front in order that their aggrieved brethren might reach their Seraphim queen; but dark-eyed Oros was there first, on his knees at the base of the white dais, and Ciel had appeared nearby as well, her silent grey shadow an imposing obstacle to surmount. I could not see Oros's face, could not determine if he felt as faint and overwhelmed before her as he had earlier in the day - and if he did, our cause was surely lost already - but when Ariel called upon him and bid him rise, he did so as smoothly as I have ever seen. Surely every eye was focused upon him now, much as I had been the center of the collective Elyos will only minutes before; if he felt the burden of it, it did not show on his handsome hawkish face, expression stony enough to rival unblinking Ciel in its severity.
"There is a betrayer in our midst," he said, his clear tenor echoing across the court now that the Elyos were united in rapt silence, and he turned gracefully on the balls of his feet to face them all, his back to Ariel. Only I thought to look at the face of the Lady of Light, saw the tiny, approving smile there. Oros continued unawares, his audience greater in scope if not in power. "House Cymraele has been decimated, but not by plague as previously reported. Some agent actively pursued its destruction, even into the heart of Sanctum." Where he had hidden the blade, I did not know, but between one breath and the next his empty hand of a sudden bore the dagger that should have taken my life, had taken my assassin's life instead. Its pommel glittered maliciously in the cloud-filtered light. "Some of you are aware that there was a mishap in the Furiae wing last night. The truth of the matter is that an assailant infiltrated our halls and made attempt on the life of Lady Cymraele, who has claimed sanctuary of my Prince, Taion Helios. Look well on this blade - I will find its proper master."
He was the thunder before the storm, vengeance incarnated and clad in white leathers, a performance worthy of the one Taion himself had earlier acted out for Beltaine - but I could not stare overlong at him, instead sweeping my silver gaze across the faces of the lords, seeking the merest flicker of recognition or guilt. But so many faces! I could not cover them all and hope to find the one responsible. Ariel spoke then, backing Oros's claims, with words I scarcely heard; I was not the only Elyos who paid Oros and the Lady little heed, for while Kit searched from the opposite side of the court, I found myself squarely in the sights of an unfamiliar black-haired Daeva. No lord this one - the rust-red armor gave proof enough against that - but there was a certain malicious mistrust in his poison-green eyes, a passionate fixation as if he were imagining the thousand myriad ways in which I could violently die. The blood rushed into my temples, roared in my ears, and I scented something acrid, a whiff of probing aether that was hardly disguised in its intent to put me off balance. I broke our gaze off sharply, staggered a half-step to one side to place Beltaine between the Daeva and myself, seeking shelter without truly knowing the reason why.
Beltaine saw the movement from the corner of his eye, turned from the spectacle of Oros and Ariel to instead stare at me. His words sounded faint, as if he called from very far away. "Is aught wrong, my lady?"
"Who is that man, in the red armor?" I asked of him, my voice sounding desperate even to my own ears, and Beltaine turned to seek the target of my question. He must have found it, for his blue gaze was like a spear cast, sharp and suspicious.
"Captain Esrick Blood-Hunter, of the Queen's Wolves. From some legion in Poeta, I think. - Do you know him?" I shook my head sharply, breathed in slowly to calm my fluttering heart, but Beltaine's eye narrowed, mouth curved into a frown. "He certainly seems to know you."
"I swear to you, I have never seen him before in my life." Oros finished speaking, up at the front of the crowd; the next supplicant came before Ariel and Ciel as the gyre melted into the sea of Elyos, and I quickly lost track of his white-haired head. Suddenly, without Oros to command their attention, the focus of the curious nobility was upon me again, and the press of bodies drew closer, prompting me to shrink back against the balcony doors and pray for intervention from my scant handful of allies. It was not to be - a hundred thousand aether-auras crowded into my senses, until my temples felt fit to burst and breath became hard to draw. Now even the memory of autumn dunes, of facing down Ariel herself, suddenly seemed ineffective in bolstering my strength, and overlaid across the horrid weight of energy against my brain was that acrid taste, like acid burning through wood. I knew with grim certainty that Esrick Blood-Hunter's attentions had not been diverted from me for long, but I was in no shape to find out what grudge he held against me.
Beltaine, out of some misguided notion of chivalry, turned to the nearest wall of Elyos and ordered them back, a thing I saw more than heard - my ears were full of the rushing of my own blood, the beating of my own heart. Ariel alone, I had muscled through with help and pure cussed stubbornness - but I was mortal yet, and had my limits, which were now being sorely tested. My hand was half-numb as I scrabbled at the latch to the balcony doors, desperate for air, certain that I would faint right then and there before the entirety of Sanctum high society if I could not get away -
And then a tall shadow threw itself across me, and when I looked over my shoulder I saw Oros there, a wall of white sheltering me from the rest of the world, face impassive but black eyes curious. I remembered his hair and shoulders limned in a halo of gold in the white-walled pit, remembered how he stood between me and the body on the floor of my quarters, caught between lamplight, moonlight and darkness.
I did not taste the autumn air this time, the acid of Esrick's aether was too strong in my mouth, but all at once, I could breathe again.
Sound returned to my world, which did little for my pounding head. I heard Taion and Kit warding away the rest of the court, apologizing to Beltaine and those others who sought to question me in the wake of the revelations unveiled that day, assuring them that the Lady Cymraele was a creature yet in a delicate state, her constitution uncertain so soon after experiencing such tragedy - lies, all of it, but convenient, and I was hardly about to dispute the claims. "I knew this was a bad idea," Oros was muttering, ignoring the commotion at his back. "It gets easier, I swear to you. Can you walk?"
"I've rather little choice in that matter, don't I?" I said through gritted teeth, but the gyre patiently offered me an elbow, heedless of the watching crowd, of Beltaine who stared with such vicious intent that I wondered what ire he felt for the Assassin that Oros did not return. Perhaps it had something to do with Nico's own grudge against Liath Beltaine. I came off the wall nevertheless, my leg uncertain beneath me, but pain was a constant companion in those days, and I had learned to shunt it aside in favour of brief heroic efforts until I could founder in private. My fingers prickled when they found his elbow, the only sign I had to prove that aether was indeed pouring off of him in waves; I saw, as we hobbled together away from the court, that there was a faint scarlet light emanating from the crossbar on the black sword at his hip, reflected in a stain of the whiteness of his leathers.
Ah. The blade had something to do with it, then - and I resolved to find out what, in between ragged breaths as we beat a tactical retreat from the High Court.
My headache did not ease until we were well away from the noise and pressure of the assembled Elyos nobles, Kit and Taion having remained behind, their statuses disallowing an early exit such as I had taken. Once I deemed us far enough away from the carved double doors, I released Oros's elbow and instead leaned against the wall, half-limping and wishing with all my might that I had fallen to my death, or that the cage's cladding had held - anything but this crippled state, which did nothing for the cheeriness of my mood. "Will Taion be well, without you there to guard him?" I asked; Oros frowned and glanced at me sidelong, and said, "Trist is there, should some lord take offense to a male Helios, but any assassin would have to be a fool now, to try when Tai is in the spotlight of the entire court. I daresay he is the gossips' darling right now, he and Kit."
"Good. Aion forbid I take you away from guarding the life of an immortal," I growled, more to myself than to him, but he shot me a narrow-eyed glare, his gaze as black as death.
"A simple thank you would suffice," he spat, and I saw then that my assailant's dagger had never left his right hand, was now absently twirling through his clever fingers. "I should have left you to collapse on the floor. Never let it be said that any good deed goes unpunished."
"What was it you said, that paranoia was the trait of any well-adjusted nobleman in this court?" I shot back, in an argumentative frame of mind and more than ready to eviscerate Oros in verbiage if I could manage it. "Forgive me if I am unconvinced that your motives are altruistic."
"Do they have to be, for gratitude?" he riposted; clearly, the gyre was in no mood for complacency, and was having none of my sharp tongue. "If I had let you swoon, the High Court would have been far more inclined to sympathy, especially given the spectacle it would have made when one of us needs must carry you off to safer quarters." He snorted sharply, not looking at me, his heated obsidian gaze staring stalwartly forward, for the unfamiliar hallways we navigated. "Forgive me, great lady, for giving consideration to the fact that your dignity might not agree with such an outcome."
We walked in silence, his long stride a silken hush, my limp decidedly less so.
"Thank you." I could be gracious, I decided, and Oros had not been forced, nor apparently asked to loan his aid in my cause. He risked a look my way then, suspicious of my sincerity as he had every right to be; then he muttered a "You're welcome" in tones that said he did not expect to win that battle so easily, and I let the matter drop, asking instead, "Where are we going? I don't recognize these corridors."
That, he had no qualms about answering. "Seeing as your rooms are still sealed, and every Elyos in Sanctum will be looking for you there in any case, we are going to meet your instructor."
I scoffed. "What, in dance? Already? Nico hardly wastes time on such matters, I see." But I was somewhat off the mark, it seemed, for a smirk ghosted around Oros's mouth, as though something I had said amused him.
"She may teach you dance, among other things. That's hardly the most interesting lesson she will teach you, however, if you're willing to learn."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" I said, just shy of accusatory; the only response to that I would receive, however, was a sly smirk and a "You'll see."
So we walked, and descended two flights of stairs, for which my leg did not thank me for, and walked some distance yet, until I judged that we were roughly several levels below what constituted the majority of the Furiae wing. Only then did Oros stop to knock upon a door, white wood painted with an indecipherable black sigil, and a deep, rough, but markedly feminine voice answered from within. "Enter, shadow-prince."
Oros preceded me, and I followed him, slipping through the door to let it click shut at my back - no aetheric seals here, simply mortal metalwork - and took in the room into which I had so blithely entered. It was a training-chamber, clearly, with weapons of every flavour mounted on the white stone walls, implements stacked neatly in the far corners, the floor covered with exotic rugs that tugged faintly at my memory. There was a figure seated cross-legged in the center of the square, low-ceilinged room, and when Oros knelt before it I saw it for what it was - a slender being, shoulders and hips draped in simple fur-trimmed leathers, orange-furred and darkly striped with a white face and belly, pointed feet decorated with many strings of charms carved from bone.
It was a Mau, a female of the race, and both of her eyes were hazed over with thick white cataracts, yet she stared unerringly at me, her sightless gaze more arresting than even the gyre's worst glare.
"Know me for what I am, you?" The Mau seemed to smile, flicking her furry rounded ears, which were perched high on her skull and ringed thickly with silver hoops, that clinked together with little metallic noises. Her accent in Elyan was thick, almost incomprehensible, and I would have had difficulty with it if I had not clawed my way into the language on sheer will alone. "Know you for what you are also, I." She tilted her head, gaze unblinking, and switched instead to Asmoth, in which her timbre was much smoother, though her sibilants were slightly hissed, her words rolled like a purr. "Remember you the tongue of your people, hope I? Come closer, aether-child. The door will hold itself shut."
Ice ran through my veins at her naming me thusly, but Oros did not seem to think anything special of it; with as much sobriety as I could summon, I came forward as bid, dropping into a curtsy before her, but the Mau clucked her tongue and lifted her clawed hands to wave dismissively. "Sit. I hear the pain in your bones. A difficult challenge, poses me the shadow-prince! But not impossible." I glanced at Oros, who smirked, and with a shrug, I sat in what passed for a comfortable position. The Mau nodded approvingly, then said, "Sara-shi, am I. To be your teacher, if will learn, you. A name have you?"
"Jaya," I answered, bowing my head. Sara-shi nodded once more, making a 'hmm' noise in the well of her throat that was somewhere between a growl and a thrumming purr. "A strong name. Where is the other half of you?"
I blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "What other half of me?"
"Not alone were born into this world, you?" She gestured vaguely in the air, affording me a glimpse of the white fur that lined her palms. "Other half of you. See it in your aura, do I, like a great festering wound. Sara-shi lacks eyes for seeing mortal seemings, but see many other things instead, do I."
I stared at her for long moments as I puzzled out her meaning, and then my alarm grew fivefold, watching Oros carefully out of the corner of my eye as I said, "I have a twin, a brother. He is... not here." Oros was also watching me covertly, enough so to know better than to openly react to my words; I had made him swear not to seek the knowledge of who I was, but it was a thing that was different entirely if I volounteered it, or if Sara-shi pried it from me with her questions.
Sara-shi made the 'hmm' noise again, longer this time. "Unfortunate. A great loss. Ah well," she said in brighter tones now, rising to balance on her pointed feet. "A warrior once, you? Wish to be a warrior again?"
"If you will teach me," I said, rising to stand lopsidedly on uneven feet and feeling rather ridiculous standing there, still in full court finery, pins in my hair and my coraline heavy at my throat. Oros rose as well, and I saw that he was barely taller than Sara-shi, the Mau slender and lithe. I had only seen a Mau once before in the flesh and that when I was a child, a traveling male that had accompanied a band of Shugo merchant-kings and served as their blacksmith, but he had been much more bulky and squat in comparison to the refined leanness of Sara-shi.
She smirked, flicked her ears again. "It is not a question of teaching, will I. It is a question of learning, will you. Will you?" Her milky gaze was penetrating and unnerving, and I decided then that I would rather have had a teacher who was not blind, sheerly because such was making me uneasy. But Oros had endorsed her - and I could get the lay of the land if she accepted me as a student.
"I will learn." And as soon as those words fell from my lips, Oros began to step slyly away to the edge of the room, a smug sneer plastered on his sharp-cheeked face; I did not have the time to ponder what this portended, for Sara-shi laughed raucously and turned on the balls of her feet, ankles together, the line of her body rather resembling a willow defiant against the breeze.
"Good! Begin!"
And that was all the warning I received before she launched herself forward, claws aimed for my throat.