This is the second chapter - I decided not to leave this a one shot. Thankyou those who reviewed me -hands over cookies and pixie sticks-
Disclaimer: Anything that it Tamora Pierce's doesn't belong to me. Anything that isn't does. No money is being made (unfortunately).
He looked terrible. Then again, he always did. Delia pondered that. How could the same features – shimmering violet eyes, smouldering red hair, a small, seemingly delicate frame – look so different on two people? Especially twins, who are meant to be so similar. She knew he wasn't really that bad, but compared to the rest he was a disgrace.
She could still remember Alan, with the passion alight in his eyes, his face lighting up in enthusiasm for one thing or another. Even posing as a boy, there had been a sweetness, a feminine overtone that couldn't be ignored. Beautiful as a boy, plain as a woman. And dreadful when mirrored on his twin brother. Ironic, really.
"Are you sure?" She purred. Her green eyes caught his purple ones, and inwardly she winced. Green and purple clashed far too much. Her body curved towards him, the dress settling so her form was obvious through the thin material. She adored the light summer dresses. Her tongue ran over her polished lips, an unconscious action that took so much effort. "Do you have the power? Are you…strong enough?"
She wondered if it would work. The seduction, that is. She knew the spell would. So much time listening to his droning voice, faking attentiveness, had assured her of that. But he was…different. The violet eyes that never paused on a flash of woman's flesh would trace a man's path avidly. But surely he could be bent both ways. All the others she'd known – and in court, there were far more than would be expected – never refused her. Perhaps he would hold out on her. There were always exceptions, or there were supposed to be.
"Of course!" His voice was harsh, irritated. His manly pride injured; his ego shattering from the cruel blow. He was a master, a king of the Gift, and filled with that arrogance he was a simple tool. Softly hinting at him, glancing mockingly towards him when she pretended she didn't know he watched. Describing all those powerful sorcerers before him, including dear Roger. Belittling his own considerable Gift.
"Perhaps we should not do this." Her eyes widened in maidenly fright and doubt, staring at him worriedly. It didn't fool him. But her hint at her lack of confidence in him did.
"We will do it! I can do it! You wait, you'll see. I am more powerful than anyone alive, and I will prove it." Violet eyes shone with his own passion, one Delia found oddly repelling. She began to picture others in her head, taking her mind of this…creature in front of her: Roger, Alex, Jon, Cythera, Raoul, Gary, Joseiane…
"When?" Her voice hissed it out; her fingers curling round a pathetically frail arm. In this world of strong, muscular knights, he really was insignificant. "When, if it is possible?"
Eyes narrowing at her constant insults, he answered rashly. "Tonight. I swear it to you, Delia of Eldorne. Tonight I will show you how powerful I am. Tonight I will raise the dead."
She smiled slowly, on the outside exaltedly. Inside it was pure triumph and mockery. Tonight, then, she thought to Roger, waiting, caught in his own spell. She let go off his arm, running her fingers gently down it as she did so. Her caress spider soft, to catch the nerves on fire. She turned and walked slowly away, smiling smugly as she felt Thom's eyes burning into her.
You're not that much different from the rest after all. You fall hopelessly just like everyone else. Not an exception, really. Maybe an exception doesn't exist.
For some reason, that thought made her depressed.