The sudden distance that had erupted hit Sabal like an unpleasant waterfall of ice-melt, banishing away the comfortable warmth that she'd been enjoying in having people to talk to. She knew when she was being avoided.
Nedelyne at least made an effort to pretend like she wasn't, but probably only because they shared a room and certain motions had to be made. The familiar salt taste of fear was always in the air, albeit hidden, when she was around. As for Alystin, they hadn't spoken for weeks. Any time Sabal endeavored to place herself in the mage's path, there was little hope.
It had to be the battle. They'd figured out what had happened. What she was. In some private corner of her heart, she'd been hoping that when she told them, they would understand. But maybe it was her fault for thinking there was a right time and not just saying it right away. She made life easier for them by going out of her way to find solitary places where their paths didn't go, perhaps for the sake of the crumbled ruins of camaraderie she had enjoyed.
For the first time in her life since the House of Abandonment, she felt wholly alone. Xullae was not here to make the aches lessen and she hated it. The exercises that used to bring her so much peace now left a bitter taste in her mouth.
You are nothing to them. And they are nothing to you. Inquisitors will always have only each other. No one else will ever understand.
I didn't do anything wrong!
That phantom argument rarely left her thoughts. Here in the darkness, with her back against the cold stone and her eyes turned out across the vast expanse of Menzoberranzan, it rang with truth. This little ledge on the vastness of Arach-Tinilith's roof had become her refuge just as her room had once been, the place she went to let her feelings brew after lessons were at their end.
It was all about the Church now, about religion, about the enemies of the Goddess and their many forms. She focused on it and drowned herself in it because it was something to keep her thoughts occupied. More than being a commoner, this was a shackle that kept her imprisoned. She was beginning to understand what Xullae had been saying so long ago. Who she was placed invisible walls between her and everything around her. There was no key, only the endless certainty that it would never go away.
A rock skittered down the roof and rolled off the edge right next to her legs, punctuating a soft curse. Sabal didn't have to turn her head to know who it was. She could feel pressure growing behind her eyes. "What do you want?" The words were harsh and cold.
"To talk to you. If...I'm not interrupting?" Alystin said, hesitating in the wake of the unspoken rebuke there.
"You have had plenty of opportunity in the past. I do not have words for you. Get off this roof before you fall to your death, mage."
It was hard not to be unnerved, but Aly took a deep breath anyway and moved just a slight bit forward, onto the flat projection where Sabal was. "I needed time. Do you know how terrifying it is to find out someone could just shred you apart without lifting a finger?"
"Could and would are not the same," Sabal said, her features as unyielding as a statue's as she stared out over the city. "Go away."
Alystin looked over, tracing the outline of the amber-eyed drowess's features with her eyes. Cold, unfeeling, hard, even cruel. It was not a face designed to inspire trust, nor was the mage ever told it was permissible to give. "Talk to me," she said, but somehow it came out not as the imperious command a noble was supposed to use. It was her own voice, small and lost and pleading. She hated herself for it.
Abruptly, the amber eyes turned towards her. "I never looked in your thoughts. Or Nede's, though Goddess knows she likes to share. I would ask your permission first."
The mage smiled awkwardly in response, somehow amused. "I'd have never thought to say this, but looks like somebody got her antics worse than I did."
"You have no idea," Sabal breathed. The humor was there, almost hidden. And as those words passed into silence, so did all the tension.
And Aly was quick to fill the quiet. Everything from the past few weeks just suddenly came tumbling out of her mouth whether she liked it or not, as if to make up for the void she'd left. Having someone to confide in was an extremely rare thing for a drow, particularly a female. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Here in Sabal's company, the fears of becoming a thrall seemed somehow less real. She even found herself relating the lurid details Nede had forced on her as a captive audience, just for the sympathetic laughs her own horror earned from Sabal.
"...and Ilivarra is being an elg'caress," she finished, leaning back against the stone near Sabal. Part of her wanted to start tossing pebbles off the roof. If she was lucky, maybe one of them would collide with the skull of Matron Baenre's daughter.
"We can't all be as charming as Nedelyne," Sabal said dryly.
"She's about as charming as a toothless bugbear zombie trying to gnaw on the top of your head," Alystin said sourly.
"You mean that's not friendly drool?"
The mage feigned throwing up before crossing her arms. "Goddess, I wish I could have been born her sister. Then murdering her would be perfectly fine. But no, I had to be from House Kenafin."
"Well, if you were a Baenre, there wouldn't be enough room on this roof for me and your pride," Sabal pointed out. "If she ends up becoming any worse of a problem, I'm certain we can make you out to be no easy prey."
"It's good to hear you're on my side," Alystin mumbled half to herself. She had been—not missing, she assured herself—but certainly noticing the absence of someone to compete against and talk to, particularly someone who didn't see her as simply a waste of otherwise useful space.
"You are my mage," Sabal said firmly. The wounds beneath the surface would be slow to heal, but at least she had this. If Menzoberranzan was a cage, it was better not to be trapped alone.
Quenthel glared at her sister's child with a look she reserved for very specific failures. "Are you really so incompetent that you cannot even defend our House's name, Ilivarra?" she said, each word intended to wound bitterly.
"It was just that Kenafin mage. I should have been fine, if that commoner hadn't stepped in. She doesn't even belong at the Academy! Why don't you just toss her out?" the wounded novice snarled, nursing burns across her arm from a well-placed fireball.
The crack of the priestess's hand colliding with her desk made Ilivarra cringe in fear. "Would you tell the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith how she should run her domain?" she barked. "Get out!"
There was no need for Quenthel to say so twice. Her niece scrambled out the door, clearly fearing a spell would come rocketing after her. The temptation certainly existed, but Quenthel knew where not to turn. Triel probably wouldn't appreciate it, and it was less about bowing to her sister's whims than respecting certain boundaries.
Sabal's presence at the Academy certainly bothered her, not unlike a splinter one couldn't avoid pulling and prodding at. The more attention she paid to it, the more irritated she became. How dare Yvonnel force this aberration into the Academy? And how dare a commoner endure for so long where they clearly did not belong?
"I see my contribution to Arach-Tinilith has met with mixed feelings," a voice said quietly in soft, comfortable tones.
"Do you actively seek to try my patience, Yvonnel?" Quenthel said sharply with no thought at all to feigning respect for her inferior. "Your pet is causing more trouble than she's worth. If the Church were not so insistent upon her value, I would put her down myself."
"I wouldn't be in such a rush to do so. Soon enough she'll be out of the Academy and in the Yath'Abban, where she belongs," the Reverend Daughter said with an infuriating calm.
"You expect me to be satisfied with this arrangement? I will not have information withheld from me by you, Yvonnel X'larraz'et'soj," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith snarled, spitting out the name of Yvonnel's dead house with a particular venom and cursed her mother silently for not wiping out the entirety of that bloodline.
"Well, I suppose I have been a bit reticent. Allow me to remedy that, Revered Quenthel," Yvonnel said with a placating gesture. "Ask, and I will tell you as much as I know."
In hindsight, Quenthel could easily see the ploy. But at the time, she was too busy fuming to pay heed to the little gleam in the agent's eyes. "Where did you scrape this wilder up from?" she demanded. "No house claims her. Do you know how much trouble this has caused?"
"The House of Abandonment," Yvonnel answered with a surprising level of cheer along with her candor. "Solaufein really didn't make good on his word, did he?"
Quenthel froze, drawing in a breath with a loud hiss. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, divine magic surging in her veins. Everything in her screamed to strike this danger dead. But unfortunately, there would be someone else who knew, held in check only by Yvonnel's survival. "You lie."
"Would that I were, Revered Quenthel," Yvonnel said smoothly. "I thought it was better to tell you, and not Matron Triel. As a courtesy, in return for you permitting Sabal to study as she should. We need our inquisitors well trained."
"If anyone else hears of this from you, I will part your miserable tongue from your mouth, and your head from your shoulders," the Mistress said. She didn't know what the game they were playing was, precisely, but if Yvonnel was giving her this message, it was probably to wreak havoc for the amusement of the Spider Queen...and her clerics.
"I don't think you'll have a problem with that." The Reverend Daughter rose from her seat with a little nod to House Baenre's powerful priestess. "A pity, that we drow so quickly decide what is valuable and what is not. Sometimes even gemstones are tossed out with the rough. Imagine where House Baenre would be now if you had only watched and waited."
