"You know, there are some things Xullae hasn't taught you," Ryld said conversationally, snapping Sabal out of her private thoughts. "But that you should probably learn before the Academy."
It was a delicate game the male was playing now. He couldn't risk Sabal dying while he was easily held culpable—if she did, Yvonnel would know doubt throw him to Xullae so something would pacify the inquisitor's fury. But he also had to be oblique enough about his help that Yvonnel didn't find out and skin him. Females made life so complicated sometimes.
The girl set her sword down and looked up at him with a hint of confusion in those amber eyes. As much as she snapped and spat at Ryld, they had an understanding. Her normal mood towards him was a sort of warm indifference. But she was if nothing else attentive, usually more than willing to listen to what he had to say. "Like what?" Sabal asked cautiously, twisting the sand paper in her fingers. She had been carefully brushing out the little metal splinters struck up whenever a blade hit hers.
Ryld chuckled and took a seat. "Remember those stories I told you? You're older now. People are going to look at you differently, and you can use that to your advantage."
The hesitation in her face was charming, a last indication of youthful innocence. Sabal, so well trained in many of the arts Xullae knew best, had a long way to go. "I don't want a lover, Ryld. I have few enough hours each cycle as it is," she said.
Wise girl, he reflected mildly, hearing the wariness in every word. She'd live a longer life if she could keep that natural caution. "It's not about that," the male drow said, taking a seat on the floor near her. "You're thinking of it as though it were something in its own right—true enough with a consort. But when have you ever seen an inquisitor with one off those?"
The amber-eyed girl frowned. "You mean use it as a tool?"
"Precisely. What other way is there to get someone to willingly take you to a private place, past all their defenses, and remove their weapons? Drow do not like to trust, but they will take risks if they feel the reward is greater. I'll at least teach you how to give someone that impression for now," Ryld said with a chuckle. He hadn't always been so disfigured, after all—these were skills well honed.
"And what do you get out of it?" Sabal asked, tone calculating. He almost grinned. Xullae had taught her well.
"You take care of Nhilae Arkenndar. Don't look so surprised, qu'essan, I'm an Eye. My business is knowing things. Besides, who do you think ferreted her secret out in the first place?" the disfigured male drow said with a low, rasping chuckle. It wasn't a completely honest answer, of course, but he did skirt around a fabrication that would only be caught by her psionics. It was an art, really.
"Her defenses are powerful," Sabal reluctantly acknowledged. "House Baenre's even more formidable. And her bodyguards are more than I could handle."
Ryld grinned. "You see?"
"And how do you know that her attention could be caught?" the girl asked pointedly.
"Qu'essan, you have to understand how the minds of powerful people work. A conquest is about so much more than attraction, which is easily cultivated. It's about power, prestige, control. Your job is just to convince a mark you're what they want. Priestesses at the pinnacle of their authority can have any male they want. There's no challenge and no need to exercise their own personal power when their status does all the work for them. So they turn their eyes to other game," Ryld explained.
Sabal made a slight face. "I don't like being touched."
The male drow laughed. "That's because the only touches you get are being thrown halfway across the training gym, qu'essan. Besides, you don't have to like it if you can hide it. Use that will of yours, and you'll even be able to keep a clear head. And trust me, that's half the battle."
The young drowess arched her eyebrow delicately at him, an expression so like Xullae's usual demonstration of skepticism that it stunned him. "I'll need to know this at the Academy?"
"Absolutely, qu'essan. It's as much self defense and a weapon as that sword you're so attentive to," Ryld said, this time with an unshakable certainty. If she went there as oblivious as she was now, she wouldn't last five days. Honestly, Xullae could be blindingly stupid about certain things. Had it never occurred to her that the sheltered world of duty and obligation that Sabal lived in wouldn't last forever? She wasn't a child anymore.
"Alright," she said with a sigh, returning the sword to its sheath. "Teach me, then."
The ice had melted, if only for a moment. Xullae's dark red eyes were closed, hand resting against the flat plane of a chest. If she moved her fingers just a little bit, they would brush over a long, knotted scar. Nothing outside this room, this world mattered. Breathing in tandem with her own, the familiar warmth against the length of her body, sheets tangled around them both...
"I missed this," Dhauntyrr whispered in her ear, his arms holding her in a loose embrace. It was too much to hope for that they could steal more than a few hours. He felt her shift slightly, lips touching his shoulder in a soundless expression of affection.
I missed you. She rarely spoke aloud when it was just the two of them, her mind brushing delicately against his to voice her thoughts. So long...I was worried I would forget all of this. Forget the little things. You are so handsome.
There was a little smile at the rare and very simple compliment. So very much like Xullae. He covered her hand with his own rough one, holding it to his chest against the scar. She could feel the gentle, insistent rhythm of his heart beneath his sternum. There were new scars, yes, and she had given them her attention. But it was to this old one that she was always drawn, running horizontally across his chest. A mark from a battle that seemed centuries ago, a memory of that terrible moment she had almost thought him gone. But it was also a treasured recollection of everything that had been said that day. Things only a madwoman would say.
If anyone knew folly, it was Xullae. But to stop? It had never been an option.
I hate having to share you, to let go of you. Every time I see the marks she has left, all I can think of is driving my blade into her heart.
"Xullae," he whispered with a little shake of his head, pressing a kiss against her white hair. "You would die. I do not wish that."
At least I would be doing something. If I had—
"No," Dhauntyrr said quietly, angular features firm as he looked down at her. He was handsome for even a male drow, slim and muscular with a chiseled face and a bearing that spoke of strength. His frame was no longer perfect, of course, not after all the battles he had survived. "It was never your choice, never your fault."
He felt her muscles tense slightly, her fingers curl into a fist against his palm. I have nothing they cannot take from me.
"You have this," he soothed, pressing her hand to his lips. "This is ours. It will always be ours."
The inquisitor sighed, shifting close to him and relaxing as his other hand stroked along the curve of her spine. It is difficult.
"You were never content unless you were chasing something just out of reach."
Her eyes opened, looking at him with only the slightest hint of reproach. I could be content with this.
"As could I, ussta ssin," Dhauntyrr said, giving her hand another kiss. "But Triel would not be." The dark look on Xullae's face indicated exactly what she thought of Triel, but she maintained her silence, allowing him to unfold her hand and leave yet more soft kisses on her fingertips. "Once, I thought female drow could do anything they wanted."
Would that I had such choices. It would not be stolen glances, secret promises, and meetings in the darkness. Xullae paused for a long moment, turning her face towards the window. Narbondel's light was just beginning to creep in through the heavy curtains. Our time is passing swiftly. It pained her even to think it.
"Soon," Dhauntyrr promised. "I will see you again soon."
They dressed in a silence that was almost painfully thick, clothes that had been pulled off in such a hurry now slowly returning to their proper places. Armor was donned just as carefully, as if somehow they could prolong the moments. Suddenly, the closeness that was so intoxicating earlier felt painful, because they were brutally aware of how soon it would have to end and be replaced by manufactured distance.
Xullae was the one to bridge the gap, curling her arms around him from behind and pressing her lips to his armored shoulder. I will hold my thoughts of you until I see you again.
He smiled a little, hands covering hers. "Soon." It was what he always repeated over and over, a promise to himself as much as her. With Xullae, he was safe. All his life, he had been taught such a thought was foolish. But Dhauntyrr had seen into her thoughts—a gift of trust. Words could be a deception. But that? No. Perhaps that was why Xullae did not speak until their time together was at an end.
Soon, she echoed, letting go of him reluctantly. The drowess combed her fingers through her long hair, then gently brushed his into its usual loose order. Having it short allowed him to leave it just a bit messy.
Dhauntyrr pulled her back, holding her tight against his chest as if he was trying to leave a burning imprint of her in his skin. It was a kiss both of them dreaded and needed at the same time, a goodbye. No words were spoken again until they were out into the street, almost losing each other in the hustle and bustle of normal traffic.
He bowed to her, curtly and stiffly. "Thank you, Honored Xullae. Perhaps I will see you again in the near future?"
"As is required, Patron," Xullae said, returning the gesture. She watched him go, the center of her chest as cold as a midwinter night. And yet, at the heart a flame flickered.
Soon.
ussta ssin -my beauty
