Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Morning After

-x-x-x-x-x-

Lera's eyes opened as she sat back in her chair. Long practice had her looking out the window rather than down at what she had written. She felt drained, furious, exhausted—but it was over.

Nichyn's com-link beeped its task completion. She glanced down; her message was on its way to Sanar's sister. Preparation time was over; now there was only the unbearable waiting. Her eyes burned with tears, and she rubbed them.

Over. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Stangit. Just—

Not. Fair.

Feeling blindly ahead of her, she found her datapad and stylus on her desk. Her hand moved almost jerkily across the writing screen, scrambling to find the right words. She had to hurry—filming today, and Jolesp would need to know about this change ASAP—

When she finished, Lera stared at the words before her. She had started this story with a happy ending in mind. She had refused to pander to Jolesp's more depressing view of "true art." Apparently, her muse had changed its mind just before the scheduled holo-recording. Jolesp would be so pleased.

Lera stared at what Prophecy had wrought, and thought of Sanar and Nichyn and Devnos. She hoped it was worth it.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A harried looking Clayra approached Krista, Miko and Braun as they were finishing lunch in the mess hall. "I am sorry for yesterday," she said quickly. "We were going to come, but they found out Gantik was back in the city. Rafintair demanded he come to Court. The emperor still hasn't given up on making Gantik follow his father's footsteps."

Miko and Krista exchanged a look. "Did he find out anything?" Krista asked. "While he was with Rafintair?"

"Oh, I am certain they told him something," Clayra replied, sounding a touch defensive. "They trust him, but it certainly is not his job to know anything more than the spies. He's talking to one of Geneva's strategy chiefs right now, just in case."

"Sit while you wait," Miko offered. "What position do they want Gantik to take?"

"Head Executioner." Clayra shivered as she sat next to Braun. "Like his father."

Braun's interest was peaked. "And he hasn't taken it yet?"

Clayra shook her head with wide eyes. "Of course not. He could not do anything to save the victims—he would only be killed by his replacement."

"What if he wasn't going to have a replacement?" Miko asked, catching onto Braun's train of thought.

Clayra's eyes flicked between them in confusion. "I do not understand."

"Pucijir's Order is going to be overthrown in a few days," Braun said, quite deliberately. "If Gantik takes the role now, he could act without fear of repercussions."

Clayra's face whitened. "Even if they do succeed, the mob might kill him." Her voice rose slightly in pitch.

"The mob might kill who?" Gantik asked, coming up behind them in the mess hall.

Clayra shot to her feet. "Nobody. They were just talking about what will…happen to the spies. After. If the mob does not know they are spies."

Gantik frowned. "Not really a dinner topic, even for foreigners."

"Actually," Krista said, ignoring Clayra, "we were talking about you. And how you should see if the Head Executioner can mess up Rafintair's plans even more."

Gantik gave the blonde a long look before sighing. "Geneva is 'suggesting' the same thing." When Clayra gave a small, horrified cry, he shook his head warningly. "Nothing is set in stone by any means, Clayra. We'll talk about it later. But this would be my one chance."

"Gantik…"

"Not now," he chided briskly. He gave the others a tight smile. "I believe we have put off this tour for quite long enough."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Quatroc isn't quite Afaloque in terms of resources, but its placement makes it one of the great Na'Lein trading ports." Gantik nodded at a particularly rushed street as they passed it. "The market crowd starts there, and takes up many blocks in the eastern part of the city. That's not the part you need to worry about for the next few days, though."

Krista stayed close to Miko as they walked further into what was clearly a more Pirese part of the city. "What's with the water?" she murmured near his ear.

Miko looked around. Some of the people would occasionally spray a bit of water at passer-bys, and even at people with whom they were speaking. "Gantik," he said. "The water?"

Gantik glanced at Krista, frowning a little. "I heard her. As could have someone else," he said pointedly.

Krista wanted to make a face at him, but she very much doubted that he would be able to see it through her veil. The restriction had been the only way she could make the Whilems bring her along on the tour—apparently they thought she would stick out or get into trouble—but it annoyed her anyway.

"It's holy water," Gantik explained in a low voice. "Try not to let any of it touch you, but don't be conspicuous about your avoidance. It isn't as potent that way as when you drink it."

"And what does it do?" Miko asked a touch impatiently.

Gantik was quiet a moment, exchanging looks with Clayra, who walked just a little behind and to the side of him. "What, exactly, is hard to describe. I've seen Rafintair make a willing slave of an enemy just through a few glasses of it. They say it's Pucijir's quiet weapon. People can buy it to discipline the most virulent opponents—of their own position, or of the faith, if they are religious enough."

"Lovely," Krista muttered. This time, she made sure that only Miko could hear her. In reward, he flashed a face that only Krista could see.

"What's in there?" Miko asked, raising an eyebrow. "There" had high walls with an open but guarded gate. Through it, Miko could see a general crowd of men, and little else. "Are we going in?"

Gantik's grabbed Miko's arm before the Jedi could take another step. "Not today," the Na'Lein man said grimly. "Come, I will explain in a moment." He looked pointedly at the guards—Holy Brothers, Krista thought. Gantik nodded to them respectfully.

As they passed the guards, Miko nudged Krista with the Force. Too quiet.

She gently nudged him back with her elbow. Keep walking, slowpoke.

The Whilems led Krista, Miko and Braun through the crowds to an alleyway out of the swarm. "That was the Holy City," Gantik said, keeping an eye on the alley's entrance. "Women are not allowed in there unless brought by a priest, or as a maid for one of the high-ranking men who stay there. I, myself, am not important enough to bring a woman past those gates—not even Clayra—unless they have been extended an invitation, and have undergone a purification ceremony."

"What's inside?" Krista asked, scowling under her veil.

Gantik shot her an irritated, admonishing look. "If you have to speak, at least try to fake an accent."

"Accents aren't my think," she said, proving it with an abysmal attempt. "And you're only drawing attention to it. What's in your wannabe Bachelor Paradise?"

"The headquarters of Pucijir's Order," Gantik explained, looking disgruntled. "Rafintair moved the palace into the Holy City in the first few years of his reign. The City, however, has otherwise always contained the High Temple and housing for the Holy Brothers."

"So I get to break even more rules than the general heresy and treason on—you know—The Day?" Krista asked. She sounded happy for the first time since donning her veil that afternoon. "Excellent."

Before Gantik could freak out about Krista's breach of secrecy, Clayra suddenly jumped. "Wha— Oh!" She fumbled in her robe, looking for something. After a moment, she found the right pocket, and withdrew a battered looking com-link from its depths. "Nichyn left a new message," she told her husband. Krista didn't have to see the other woman's face to know she was beaming.

Gantik's face transformed, and for the first time, Krista realized he could—did—care about something. In a non-twisted way, even. "Not here," he said, glancing around the alley. "The Holy City was the part we wanted to show them." He looked to the others. "We'll walk around the City gates for you, and point out what you need to know… Otherwise, I'm sure you would rather prepare."

Miko and Krista shared a quick look—I want out of this damn outfit, it itches, and the colour is awful—before Miko nodded. "Time for a better tour later," he agreed. "When our minds are all a little more free of other concerns."

Krista flashed him a grin: Politician.

Brat.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When Sanar woke up, he was still there. For several heartbeats, she kept her eyes closed, waiting for the regret or shame to start. They didn't come. Instead, she felt only a deep sense of…

(Always)

…warmth, contentment. Something more—or, no, something very different from what she shared with Jaina, but…. When a familiar hand combed through her hair, she smiled.

Different. But just as good. Right. Just…unexpected.

"You're awake."

Oh. And awkward. Sanar opened her eyes. "I've never done this part before," she told his chest.

His hand stilled in her hair. "Which part?"

She wondered at his sudden fear (she could feel it now, there, the place she had ignored for so long). Hadn't he wrung out enough from her last night? She almost felt insulted by his uncertainty. Men. Propping herself up on one elbow, she stared down at him. Kyp was sprawled next to her on the small bed, ruffled dark-and-silver hair and tender green-brown eyes. His mouth was swollen from her kisses—she decided she liked the look on him. Even if it did remind her of the Awkward.

"The—you know—morning after part," she answered him, swallowing uncomfortably. "They've always left before this—or I have."

Apparently trusting her to have already run away screaming if she didn't like this, he stole a quick kiss from her lips. She forced herself not to follow his mouth when it left hers, but her breath hitched. That part wasn't quite as awkward. "So, how is it so far?" he murmured.

"Well, I didn't expect to have to put up with morning breath," she teased, smirking a little.

He grinned, flashing his devil-may-care attitude. Apparently he had recovered it from last night. "Well, if it's a problem, maybe I should—" He moved to get out of bed.

Just as quickly, she pinned him back down with one hand on his shoulder. She refrained from looming over him—wasn't ready for that, with him—but settled next to him instead, still on one elbow. "It's…weird," she admitted. "Very weird, very awkward, but—"

"Good?" he asked. For a moment, she could feel how vulnerable he was here with her.

Leaning down and into him, she kissed him slowly, lazily. "Good," she agreed breathlessly when she had to pull back. A little voice in the back of her head wondered, Too good? She did her best to ignore it.

"Then you're too far away," he murmured, drawing her closer. Instead of kissing her, however, he sighed. "So, are we going to talk about this?"

Oh, yes, definitely awkward. "About what?"

"About what…changed your mind, or…"

She kept her silence for a moment, savouring this, then wiggled free of his embrace. She caught sight of his wary expression before she sat up, then began to studiously avoid his eyes. He had allowed them to go through last night without questioning everything; she could try to allow him answers this morning. "Do you remember how I told you that Prophecy…arranged…everything?"

He sat up as well. Her eyes caught and lingered on the dark red mark she had left on his neck last night. "Yes."

"And do you remember how I told you that I fell in love with a man I only saw in my dreams?"

She thought she saw his throat clench and his jaw tighten, but it happened and disappeared so quickly that it was hard to tell. "Yes, of course I— Oh, stars," he realized. Her eyes shot up to see his flinch. "But I don't… I would have known. I would have—"

"It was the Kavishka," she explained quietly. "For the past several years, just the Kavishka. Not…you. Prophecy set it all up."

Kyp looked shaken, but he laughed bitterly. "Of course not. So what was this? If it wasn't me—"

"It was," she interrupted. Her voice became softer, almost thready as she forced herself to continue. "Before." Sanar didn't watch his reaction. "The dreams started the day my father died, when I was twelve. Nearly three years before Prophecy picked you as the next Kavishka for certain." Slowly, she raised her eyes. "I only found out the details a few days ago."

"That explains your strange behaviour. And the staring." She could hear that cracked grin in his voice.

"You know me. As soon as anyone tells to do something, I have to go and do the opposite."

This time, Kyp was the one who pulled back a little. "Sanar, about the prophecy…"

She flinched.

Kyp saw it, but didn't comment. "What exactly did Niha say?"

"Why? Trying to figure out how to move the pieces around?" she demanded, stung.

He glowered at her. "You know better than that."

She deflated, but remained sullen. He was ruining the afterglow. "I'm pretty sure this isn't typical morning-after conversation."

"Our situation isn't exactly typical," he pointed out.

She got out of bed and tightened her very-loosened robe. "I don't want to talk about it any more than we have." She could feel him preparing for an argument, and she cut him off. "There's not much to tell, anyway." They had to stop this, or Sanar had to run. Already she could hear the guilt and the reminders of Prophecy returning to press down on her chest. Given a few more minutes of this, she would be ready to regret and forget all of this, no matter how she—had loved—that original dream boy, who had been as lost as her.

"I'm only asking because I know Devnos warned you about it before he died. I'm worried for you."

She froze just as she had been about to tie the knot in her waist sash. Taken off balance, she looked at him. "Wha— How did you…?"

"Jaina told me before we left. She wanted to make sure I knew. He did warn you, didn't he?" Kyp's entire being was focused on this, and she knew that she had lost her chance to stop or run. She could recognize Durron's stubborn moods when they started.

Sighing, she returned to sit on the chair by the bed. "'Don't believe the love story,'" she repeated carefully. "That, and his attitude, made up the entirety of his warning."

"Do you think there's something Niha didn't tell you?"

She stared at him, knew him. "Maybe," she hedged uncomfortably. "I haven't properly Seen anything in years—that gift has all but left me. But I always assumed that my tool-nature in the prophecy was bad enough."

"That's really the worst possible way of looking at it," Kyp remarked, all but avoiding her eyes.

"How else can you look at it?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Her jaw set stubbornly.

When he met her eyes, she couldn't turn away. The look in his eyes scorched clear the voices and sent heat right down to a long-ignored and forgotten place in her heart. "I love you. You don't have to say it." His green eyes knew too much, because they added, Yet. "That's separate from Prophecy. But if, as the Kavishka, I need you, it doesn't have to be… I can't do this without you. You're a partner, not a strategy piece."

She laughed a little, forced the sound free, and blinked quickly. "That's…a different way of looking at it," she agreed. And there were still problems, real problems with it, but it was better than what she had come up with on her own. Much better. She relaxed, and—when had she become such a sap?—felt the corners of her mouth turning up as she thought—she could love a man who…

But with confessions that serious would come those voices of betrayal and complications and there's too much wrong for it to be this right, and she didn't want to think about it anymore. "I should warn you," she said instead, "that saying things like that…will probably get you kissed."

Just as she had hoped, he let go of the moment's stifling intensity for a return to the more manageable. "Oh, no," he said. "Really? How awful." He leaned close, closer, even closer. Masochist, really.

"Terrible," she agreed solemnly, but her expression had too much mischief. "How ever will you cope with—"

He kissed her. Deep, close, familiar and strange and knowing. "I'll find a way," he mumbled against her lips when he should have been breathing. His hands came up to gently—so very, very gently, and this was completely new for her conscious state—frame her face. "Sanar," he murmured.

She heard every letter and sound of her name, but the way he said it was so foreign, and the look in his eyes and the emotions in his touch made it sound like a different word altogether.

For that, of course, she had to kiss him back before he could turn her name into anything else.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Devnos gave up watching after the first kiss. His only hope now was that his message got through to Sanar and saved her.

He refused to pray.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Once back in Gantik's Quatroc townhouse, Clayra's hands almost shook as she set up the com-link for optimal reading. Nichyn, my son, Nichyn, Nichyn, Nichyn, her mind swirled happily. It had been too long since the last letter, and that one had been far too short. But finally, a new one. Gantik had gone to get some food for them, but she couldn't wait until he returned. She had to see her son again; even if she only had a quick preview here in the reception room before her husband returned. Her son.

She optimistically activated both the text screen and the holographic image. Last time, he had sent a drawing—of the khalan girl as well as himself, true, but it had been lovely anyway. Clayra was so pleased he had the opportunity to…

Instead of a sketch, however, or even a pre-recorded holo of her son, the holograph image became that of the khalan girl Nichyn had befriended. Clayra stared dumbly, her hope turning to ash.

"I—I apologize for taking up your time," the young, blue girl said. She looked nervous, but her eyes were raised steadily. Something about the strength in that stare reminded Clayra of her sister. But that was ridiculous, of course, because Sanar had never been this innocent or…

Clayra's resentful mind veered away from the word "gentle." She did not like the khalan girl.

"I'm sure Nichyn will be sending you a message shortly—I-I had to b-borrow his com-link, b-but I'm returning it to him right after this. It's just—this message is…actually for Sanar. Th-the text one, that is—y-you can't read it," the girl specified, panicked. "It's…it's dangerous, for everyone b-but Sanar."

Of course it was. Always with Sanar. Clayra's was reaching to switch off the holo when Gantik returned to the room. "I'm quite sure our son hasn't changed that much," he remarked dryly. "Unless there's something I should know?"

It seemed funnier when he spoke about it. Clayra paused the holo and focused on smiling for him. "Nichyn didn't send a message," she murmured. Mired in her disappointment, the words came heavily. "This—this foreigner sent one, instead. For Sanar."

Gantik's eyebrow rose. "Well, that's interesting." He kicked the door closed behind him, and placed a tray of food on the table near her chair. "Eat up. What has she said so far?"

It would seem Gantik did not share her resentment. That, or Sanar still had him in her thrall. Clayra looked away. "Not much." Her voice was soft; this was the way she spoke—like a lady, not like Sanar. She was doing everything right, but her husband loved another woman, and a khalan was stealing her son. "We are not supposed to read the real message."

"What's a little more melodrama when you've already got a prophecy?" Gantik smirked and shook his head. "Well, was that the end of the recording?"

The khalan's image still hung in the air, blue and tiny but all too significant. "No," Clayra said. She pressed 'play.' The rest of the recording did nothing to soothe her nerves. In fact, by the end of it, Clayra was more confused than ever.