A man sat, crosslegged on the ground, his back against the wall of the
town's tavern. Ribbons were scattered around him. Nobody spared him a
glance as they passed. Nobody guessed that here sat a man who had been the
Emperor of Carthak's closest friend. A shadow of a smile flickered over his
face. That was how he wanted it, after all. He wanted to find peace, solace
at last, and he found it in anonymity. He found it in the country that his
former friend had nothing but disdain for.
"You going t'do anythin'?"
He didn't reply to the young boy, who spat on the ground next to him and wandered off. But slowly, as if they had gained life themselves, the ribbons began to drift up, caught on an invisible breeze. The bright colours drew the eyes of onlookers. He flinched momentarily, but reminded himself that it was necessary, he needed their money to survive. Nobody would guess his identity. How could they?
His brow furrowed in concentration, and the ribbons whipped together, forming a tight knot. Slowly, they began to unwind, spinning all the while. As the tie loosened, flashes of light were emitted from the centre of the knot.
Coins were tossed his way by sympathetic passers-by, none particularly interested in what he did. Ribbons worked their way free and floated to the ground. Eventually, only three ribbons remained tied together.
He bit his lip, gesturing at them to work themselves free. In a manner of speaking, they did. But they also exploded.
Charred tatters of ribbons scattered the ground. The swarthy man sighed and closed his eyes. Wonderful.
*
Veralidaine Sarrasri was sitting quietly now, blue-grey eyes fixed intently on his face, awaiting his explanation. He looked away, wishing that she had had the sense to leave. He wanted to be alone, so he could decipher the meaning of the vision. Was it from the gods? Were they telling him he was this Num... whoever she said? Or was it his own imagination, conjuring up images so he could satisfy the longing in this woman's face, and in his own heart?
"What was it?" she asked softly. "Even if – maybe I can help?"
He shook his head, swallowing tightly. He would ignore it. "It was nothing," Arram lied, not able to meet her eyes. He sensed she would be able to tell he wasn't telling the truth, and he also sensed she would hate it. "A dizzy spell, that's all. Just a dizzy spell."
He got to his feet, clutching the wine desperately. Now he needed a drink. "Let's go back up. Varice – my wife – and your delightful companion will be waiting for us." His tone left no room for arguments, but she didn't offer any. She just stood, eyeing him silently.
As he led them out, he could have sworn he heard her mutter, "If that was a dizzy spell, I'm a Stormwing." She'd be right. She wasn't a Stormwing, and that hadn't been a dizzy spell.
But what had it been?
*
She didn't want to have to face Jon alone. But Varice – oh, how she hated that woman – had explained how they only had one spare room, and would they be all right sharing? Of course, the answer had to be yes, muttered whilst carefully avoiding Numair's eyes.
Because he was Numair. She knew that, as surely as she knew her own name.
"Well?" Jon asked expectantly.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly, sinking down onto the bed. "Well what?"
He sat next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder. "Well, what do you want to do?" he murmured. "We could leave now. We could stick it out, see if he remembers anything. We could magic Varice to her bed." She smiled at that. He hesitated slightly before offering his last suggestion. "I could leave you here."
She thought carefully before replying. "No. I – I want us to stay. He-" She glanced down at her hands, which were trembling slightly. He took them in his. "He remembered something today, I'm sure of it! He just... wouldn't tell me what." She closed her eyes tightly. "I just – I just... wish he trusted me," she finished finally.
Knowing that hadn't been what she was going to say, Jonathon brushed his lips against her forehead. "I know," he said. "I know."
"You going t'do anythin'?"
He didn't reply to the young boy, who spat on the ground next to him and wandered off. But slowly, as if they had gained life themselves, the ribbons began to drift up, caught on an invisible breeze. The bright colours drew the eyes of onlookers. He flinched momentarily, but reminded himself that it was necessary, he needed their money to survive. Nobody would guess his identity. How could they?
His brow furrowed in concentration, and the ribbons whipped together, forming a tight knot. Slowly, they began to unwind, spinning all the while. As the tie loosened, flashes of light were emitted from the centre of the knot.
Coins were tossed his way by sympathetic passers-by, none particularly interested in what he did. Ribbons worked their way free and floated to the ground. Eventually, only three ribbons remained tied together.
He bit his lip, gesturing at them to work themselves free. In a manner of speaking, they did. But they also exploded.
Charred tatters of ribbons scattered the ground. The swarthy man sighed and closed his eyes. Wonderful.
*
Veralidaine Sarrasri was sitting quietly now, blue-grey eyes fixed intently on his face, awaiting his explanation. He looked away, wishing that she had had the sense to leave. He wanted to be alone, so he could decipher the meaning of the vision. Was it from the gods? Were they telling him he was this Num... whoever she said? Or was it his own imagination, conjuring up images so he could satisfy the longing in this woman's face, and in his own heart?
"What was it?" she asked softly. "Even if – maybe I can help?"
He shook his head, swallowing tightly. He would ignore it. "It was nothing," Arram lied, not able to meet her eyes. He sensed she would be able to tell he wasn't telling the truth, and he also sensed she would hate it. "A dizzy spell, that's all. Just a dizzy spell."
He got to his feet, clutching the wine desperately. Now he needed a drink. "Let's go back up. Varice – my wife – and your delightful companion will be waiting for us." His tone left no room for arguments, but she didn't offer any. She just stood, eyeing him silently.
As he led them out, he could have sworn he heard her mutter, "If that was a dizzy spell, I'm a Stormwing." She'd be right. She wasn't a Stormwing, and that hadn't been a dizzy spell.
But what had it been?
*
She didn't want to have to face Jon alone. But Varice – oh, how she hated that woman – had explained how they only had one spare room, and would they be all right sharing? Of course, the answer had to be yes, muttered whilst carefully avoiding Numair's eyes.
Because he was Numair. She knew that, as surely as she knew her own name.
"Well?" Jon asked expectantly.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly, sinking down onto the bed. "Well what?"
He sat next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder. "Well, what do you want to do?" he murmured. "We could leave now. We could stick it out, see if he remembers anything. We could magic Varice to her bed." She smiled at that. He hesitated slightly before offering his last suggestion. "I could leave you here."
She thought carefully before replying. "No. I – I want us to stay. He-" She glanced down at her hands, which were trembling slightly. He took them in his. "He remembered something today, I'm sure of it! He just... wouldn't tell me what." She closed her eyes tightly. "I just – I just... wish he trusted me," she finished finally.
Knowing that hadn't been what she was going to say, Jonathon brushed his lips against her forehead. "I know," he said. "I know."