Chapter 29: The Women and the Men
Brilliant, Aya, just brilliant.
That, at present, was the only word she found she could use to describe their situation. Spoken beyond the voices of her thoughts, it would, of course, reek of irony and sarcasm; yet all the amazon found she could muster the strength to do was to lean back and scowl.
It was brilliant, really. Brilliant that they, three warriors; two of whom had defeated the demoness Andariel, and another, a skilled amazonian archer, had fallen prey to the ambitions of mere bandits. The thought of it was enough to bring bitter venom into the very foundations of her pride. Commoners and thieves! They were captives of commoners and thieves! She would laugh at the absurdity of it all, if it did not hurt her quite so much to move. The constraints of rope about her chest and wrists were bound tight, as though she were a slippery foe capable of squeezing through rough hemp fibres. Then again, she was not one to complain, nor would she descend to the level of a helpless damsel in distress.
"Is it twilight already?"
She glanced aside towards the Medjai princess, who, despite her bindings, sat upright, with her legs stretched out before her. In that moment, Araeya fully began to appreciate that her companion, too, was not one to complain; she didn't think she could bear the whining protests of a spoilt and pampered child. "I don't think so."
Cordelia frowned, though her face was otherwise devoid of any other sentiment. "Neither did I, but look up there."
The skies were as yet, bright, as the amazon leaned backwards, slanting her eyes in an upwards gaze—but there was something unnatural in the way that the clouds were grey, and in the way that the great carpet of the heavens above shifted hues; bright blue, and then a darker blue, faintly tinged with shades of oranges, pinks, and golds, before finally taking on the shadowy depths of a cold midnight sky.
"An eclipse?"
"I don't know. But it doesn't feel right, somehow." The sorceress muttered through gritted teeth—then turned to meet the amazon's eyes. "More importantly, however." She paused, jerking her head towards the looters' encampment. "What're we going to do about them?"
One, two. Ah, three.
"How tight are your ropes?" She cast a sidelong glance towards the other, wrinkling her nose slightly; for her part, she could hardly move, let alone attempt to wriggle free. Several yards away, one of the three left behind to guard them—he was a short and stout man—yelled for his replacement. Araeya watched, eyes narrowed, as he was relieved; then muttered—"I don't think I can get out of this without a little help."
Cordelia gave no response but to grunt; and the amazon thought it wise to understand the gesture as a negative. Despite that, she could feel the movement of their shared ropes, the hemp grinding into the flesh of her wrists, scraping her skin raw; no doubt caused by the fidgeting of the sorceress in her efforts to free herself.
It hurt. She hated to admit it, but it hurt, and it hurt a lot.
"Will you stop it?" She spat, at last; then exhaled in visible relief as the sorceress ceased to move. "Gods, what were you hoping to achieve?"
"I don't know, but anything's better than just sitting here." Cordelia, too, was clearly annoyed now, the tone of her voice a low, irritable growl as she hissed. "Do you have a better plan?"
She bit her lip. The truth of the matter was that they were stuck; that much was obvious. Yet deep within the corners of her mind, the amazon found that she did, indeed have some inkling as to what could be done, and how. The problem at hand now was to articulate it in words that would enable the Medjai princess to understand the solution, without instant rejection.
How would a woman convince another to sell herself?
"They're men." She began, slowly. "And as such, are easily… bought over."
As expected, the Medjai princess was not quick to comprehend, and her tone suggested impatience as she muttered—"Yes, but we have nothing to bribe them with."
"Cordelia." Again. She would try again, and slowly. "Do you know where a man's eyes are affixed when conversing with a woman?"
That earned her a look of utter bewilderment; clearly, her sentiments were not understood. "—what? Aya, surely there are better times than now to speak in riddles?"
She sighed, wincing just a touch as she sat up straighter—her back was beginning to ache. "Good god, Cordelia, are you a woman or not? They look at your breasts, you foolish child, while you speak, and if they don't, it means one of two things; that you are undesirable, or that they are honourable men. These—" She hissed, jerking her head towards the looters' encampment, before continuing, "—are not honourable men, and you, naïve though you may be, are not undesirable."
Her words were met with several long seconds of silence, before, in exasperation—"Are you mad?! You would have us both sell ourselves for our freedom?"
"Not bed them, you dolt, seduce them!"
The Medjai princess was not convinced; that much was obvious from the scowl upon her face. "There is in no way I am going to sacrifice myse—" And then, cutting herself off, as though in indignance, "—do you know how much these virgin thighs are worth?!"
Araeya blinked once. Then chuckled dryly, before turning to face the other. "You really are quite foul under pressure." She observed, mildly—then managed a small, somewhat dour grin. "I like you a lot better right now."
"Shut up. I refuse to listen to the rest of your plan. I won't, I absolutely won't."
"…what if I do it?"
"What?" The sorceress was frowning, now, her mouth wide agape with disbelief. "Look, don't put yourself in this kind of danger; it's not worth it."
"It is, actually." Araeya muttered, grimly, tossing the hair from her face as she shifted her eyes towards the encampment once more. "They can't touch me if I knock them out first."
Cordelia scowled. "It's still too dangerous."
She could not help her snort of amusement as she shook her head languidly. "Let's bet on it, then. If I spring us from this situation, you, tia-aldyn, will do exactly as I say over the course of the next two days. If I fail, you may have the same service of me."
"But I—" Came the protest.
Araeya smirked, stretching out with her little finger to hook Cordelia's within it; then pulled, gently, before exclaiming, with a grin of wild amusement—"Done."
A thousand and fifty four gold pieces, plus the worth of three diamond-encrusted goblets, plus a gilded sword with a giant ruby pommel, plus a set of slip-on claws of pure platinum, plus…
"Gods, glorious gold!"
It was thus that the druid discovered; he had lost count. Again.
He swore.
Once more, he bent over, eyes narrowed in disgust. Once more he cursed the bandits—once more, he cursed Bhrett.
Once more, he thought, annoyance running strong within every vein of his being—once more he'd have to tabulate the total worth of the coins, those accursed coins.
Several hours had passed since they'd emerged from the depths of the ancient tunnels. Bhrett had been right to enter the depths; there were riches untold within the tombs they had discovered. Gold, and silver, gems and jewels; and those were but the least valuable of what they had found. The armor of the ancients, gilded and gem-encrusted, bearing crests of protective magical runes; weapons, untainted with the dull sands of time, they glimmered in the light of torches and candles—and other such trinkets that were made of gold and platinum, jewelry, silverwear, pure gold plates, and velvet-lined chests of a dark and rich copper. They had amassed the riches worthy of kings—all in a day's worth of grave-robbing.
They were set to total the worth of their lootings. Having no paper, no quill, and no ink with which to record the numbers, it became painfully evident that they were to count using that which was most basic to all humans. The brain.
Mental calculations.
It shamed the druid somewhat to discover the mathematical genius of his captors. Perhaps they were adept at mental calculations through practice, and perhaps they were adequately gifted in mathematics—but they were, none of them, coming upon such trouble with tabulations, as he was. The massive piles of gold set before them, no doubt, added to their enthusiasm. For one who did not care for such things, it was but a nuinsance.
Scowling, he reached forward to grasp, loosely, a handful of coins. Golden rain dribbled onto his lap, spilling into the sand about his legs as he lifted a single golden piece to eye level.
The mark of the supreme sovereign family of Schezirith—the Iristraizan coat of arms. The coins were all and the same, minted under the rule of the eighth Calaiph of Schezirith, Supreme Sovereign Hamod Iristraizan.
The last of the Schezirith Calaiphs. There were none to succeed him, and none left to rule. Schezirith was ruin, now.
"You are not pleased with our findings."
He grunted. Arched his shoulders to loosen the muscles of his back. Then, carelessly tossing the coins within the palm of his hand into the pile once more, turned to face the other. The sole architect of the looters' plans, and the leader of his captors.
"No, Bhrett, I'm not pleased with your findings. Mostly because they're not findings so much as they're others' treasures." Saul muttered. "What do you want?"
"To talk. You are obviously angry at something." Something of a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. Bhrett was obviously amused. "And that something is obviously your disposition—us, that is."
Saul straightened slightly in his seat. He hoped the sarcasm was evident in the tone of his voice. "You're very perceptive."
Bhrett released a quick and soft 'ha', then shook his head. "We are not your enemies."
"Of course not. You merely threaten my friends, hold us all captive, and force me to partake in your morally corrupt methods of raiding tombs."
Bhrett arched an eyebrow, now—then grinned. "I mean besides that. But you are obviously not inclined to share."
"With you?" Saul allowed himself a moment's worth of a grim chuckle—then lifted his eyes to Bhrett's. Held his gaze for several long seconds. Then turned away. "Not in a million years. Now go away so I can get to work."
The other merely laughed, tossing the end of his turban over his shoulder as he strode away. "As you wish."
And stay away.
Saul bit his tongue, hard, his brow furrowed in irritation—then winced as the winds arose about him, bringing sand and cold air to his eyes. Grimly, he noted that the eclipse was yet to end.
Do eclipses last that long?
Shrugging anxiety from his mind, he lowered himself onto the sand, crossing his legs beneath him as he did. The vastness of the piles surrounding him made him feel somewhat dwarfed in comparison; though they did offer some form of protection against the rising sands. Still, regardless, he found himself squinting, even as he picked up a gem-encrusted tray of pure gold.
It was heavy, but he had expected as such. It was not uncommon for the noblemen of Schezirith to demand upon such silverware.
It was not until upon closer inspection that he'd discovered the etchings upon the center of the tray.
Not a tray. A tablet.
He hadn't expected that.
Turning around, he studied his surroundings—he was sure Bhrett would not appreciate his dallying with poetry at present—then shifted his attention once more towards the golden tablet.
From the Writings of Khabul ad' Ranghid:
That deep within the golden shores of Aranoch
and beyond the borders of the glimmering Schezirith
rests a valley of many ancient names.
It is known to some as Ha'Krishtakh, and to some as Nu'Sarpernn,
but its true name reminds hidden as deepest of secrets are.
For within chasms clothed in midnight darkness,
there lies the secret of ancients long lost
and long sought after by all;
Those who triumph shall find their dues,
and shall in golden light be bathed.
Chasms. Midnight. Darkness. Light. The words jumped at the druid as answers to a riddle hitherto unsolved. It took but a second for all to become clear to him.
Ha'Krishtakh and Nu'Sarpernn.
He frowned. The words were unfamiliar to him. Then, in a single, fluid motion, pushed himself to his feet and strode to the center of the group, where the bandits—four, and then Bhrett—had formed a ring. He was paid no attention as he sat—but that was quite easily remedied.
"Which direction does one travel to arrive upon Ha'Krishtakh?" He leaned towards the man at his side—Kamaran.
His question was met with mild curiousity. "Southeast. Why do you ask?"
"Is there a temple, or a tomb within the valley?"
"I wouldn't know. I haven't traveled that far into the desert." A pause, accentuated with the faintest of frowns. "What's that you're holding?"
Saul blinked—then glanced down towards the tablet clutched, still, within his hand. "It speaks of triumph and golden light beneath the desert sands." The gleam of greed within Kamaran's eyes was enough to assure him of his victory; half the battle was won.
"Ha'Krishtakh is cursed. We will not travel there." Bhrett's voice was resolute, eyes stern as he held Kamaran's gaze.
"We braved Schezirith's insides, did we not?" Kamaran was adamant. "If we have traveled this far, we may as well finish Ha'Krishtakh off."
"We knew what evils lay beneath Schezirith. I have no knowledge of Ha'Krishtakh." Bhrett resisted. "It is too dangerous a journey."
For several short seconds, Kamaran looked as if he would protest; but slowly allowed his mouth to fall shut.
"Well, then. It has been decided. We shall abandon Ha'Krishtakh." It was his moment to speak, the druid decided. It was now, or never. "A pity. I should have dearly loved to see what ad' Ranghid meant by 'golden light'."
"Let us take a vote." It was one of the younger men, Sarin, who spoke up now. "I wish to see Ha'Krishtakh."
Saul glanced aside towards Bhrett. Blinked as Kamaran, too, voiced his choice. Then crossed his arms, knowing just then, and not caring in the least that his face bore traces of smugness as the other two called their sides.
Four votes to one.
Victory.
It was dark, still. Araeya had little doubt that more than eight hours had elapsed since Saul had set out with Bhrett and his men. Seven since the eclipse had begun.
"This is not a natural eclipse." Cordelia muttered. Her voice was low, curt. She had obviously not forgotten their discussion from before—and very clearly, still disapproved of the amazon's methods.
Araeya could not help but to chuckle, despite herself. The eclipse was, however odd, the least of their worries. "I'm ready."
Cordelia stiffened. She sounded anxious, now. "Aya, there has got to be another way to get around this."
She chuckled again. "One day, little princess, you will come to realise that your greatest asset as a woman is your body and your charm. When you think of another plan, we'll try that—but for now, this is as good as it gets."
The sorceress hesitated, the tenseness of her posture dissipating slowly into a slouch. Then, her voice low, "…alright, but you had better not go to far with this."
"I live on the edge." Araeya grinned. She ignored her companion's exasperated sigh. Her sights were set; her target was clear. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes, steeling herself—then tossed her hair over her shoulder, and whistled loudly across the encampment. "Oi!"
"Oi?" Cordelia hissed, fingers tensing against the amazon's as she did. "Oi? How on earth is that alluring in the very least?"
She grunted, poking the sorceress hard in the palm of her hand. They had caught the attention of their watchman—the stout one from before. Even as he made his way towards them, barbed club in hand, she exhaled deeply, tossing her hair once more, before looking up to face him.
Up close, he was not as hideous as she had supposed him to be. He was short, it was true, but no shorter than her, and the bulk of his would-be fat was, in fact, muscle. His face was not entirely unnatractive; he had eyes of deep aqua, and his chin was lightly stubbled in dark brown. If she were drunk, Araeya thought, grimly amused, she might have mistaken him for Meshif.
"What?" His voice was gruff as he grunted.
She kept her eyes upon his, deliberately taking her time; then arched her shoulders back, as though attempting to stretch. "I know it must be such a bother." She begun. It was all she could do to keep her voice a low, soft purr. "But could you please bring us some water? I'm a little parched."
He gave her a look, but was quick to comply—it was but half a minute later when he returned bearing a crystal flagon.
"How…?" She began, slanting her eyes back to indicate her bound wrists. The answer was obvious to her—he would not untie her.
True to her predictions, he smirked—then lifted the flagon. "I pour, you drink."
Perfect.
She shrugged her shoulders, curling her lips in what she knew to be a helplessly resigned smile. Arched her spine and tilted her head back to allow him a glimpse of her slender neck. And, eyes upon his, parted her lips and held them, waiting.
The water was cool, and she was grateful for it. Nonetheless, he was watching her—and she could see a wild sort of frenzy in his eyes. Swallowing her final gulp, she clamped her lips firmly shut—then turned away ever so slightly, so that the water began to cascade along the side of her jaw, down along her neck and into the curve of her bosom. When he stopped, she turned to face him, her breathing harsh. Again, she saw the familiar gleam in his eyes.
She flashed him a winning smile.
His face was but inches from hers as the flagon slipped from his fingers. It smashed against a protruding sandstone—yet he was deaf to it. He leaned into the amazon, lifting a hand to cup the side of her head, fingers entwined within her hair as he pressed his lips to her ear.
"You're beautiful." He murmured, and his breath tickled her jaw. "…but I'm not loosening those ropes, no matter how many times you try to trick me into it."
She stiffened. Straightened as he pulled back, scowling into his face as he smirked into hers—then released an exasperated 'ugh!' as he turned from them, cloak swishing in his wake.
And as he walked away, Cordelia muttered, "So, I guess he doesn't think with his phallus?"
"Shut up."
It was dark. The only light within the darkness was coming from the pale stone slab set into the very center of cavern—a ceremonial altar, upon which lay heaps of burnt offerings; but not offerings as the world of men knew. There was a heart—of human origin—set upon a crystal platter, surrounded in a sea of rotting entrails. Lungs and a spleen, burnt charcoal black. A single singed eyeball, dangling over the edge of the altar by the thread of a single blood-slicked artery. Phials of blood lined the edges of the altar, casting shadows of crimson death over the relative pallor of the stone.
They had fought bravely. Died bravely.
There was no treasure. That, in and of itself, had been evident to the druid from the very beginning. Now, staring into the widened eyes of the four—the four who had so easily trusted to the scent of gold, the four who now lay dead in various corners of the cavern, he felt a pang of sympathy, and of guilt.
They had not known any better.
Nonetheless, the enemy—the fabled clawed demon-vipers—were defeated.
And then there were two.
He glanced aside towards Bhrett, who stood, motionless, over the corpse of his last kill, the ebony blood tainting his sword, still. He had suffered some wounds, but he would live. His eyes were alert—tense. When he spoke, it was in an oddly-controlled voice, though there were obvious traces of bitterness in the rise and fall of his inflections. "I don't see your 'golden rain'."
Saul found himself wishing Bhrett were silent at present. The guilt continued to gnaw at his insides. Clutching his staff, he limped to the center of the cavern, brows knitted as he approached the foul arrangement upon the stone altar. He could feel the warmth of flowing blood along the side of his right calf, where a viper's tooth had pierced his flesh—but he very much doubted that it was venomous. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his focus from the throbbing aches of the rest of his body to the horrors of gore that were set before his very eyes.
It was then that he'd noticed the keystone.
Twisted of gold and platinum into a tornado-shaped swirl, the keystone stood upright, protruding its stony pouch at the front of the altar. Minute dots of ivory pearls, set within thin wires were twisted about the main swirls, gleaming slightly in the overcast lights.
Saul frowned. It was all he could do to keep himself from retching; the stench was beginning to get to him.
Gritting his teeth, he reached downwards, fingers closing upon the keystone. Bhrett had come up to him; he eyed the keystone, ascertaining its worth—and then scoffed, turning away once more.
"We came all the way for that?" He hissed, eyes blazing. "You can keep it—remind you of those who died under your advice."
Saul ignored him. Shut his eyes and took several long, deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.
Then, his heart thumping within his throat, wrenched the keystone from its womb.
For a moment, the world went still—and then cavern erupted in the defeaning roar of collapsing rocks. The temple had begun to crumble; its masters were vanquished, sent into the pits of hell from which they were spawned. A great boulder set directly above the altar began to shake; and Saul had but seconds to leap back into a corner, dragging Bhrett with him, the keystone within the palm of his hand, before it moaned its last, disengaging itself from the holds of its foundations.
It came into contact with the altar with a sickening crunch, bringing silence in its wake.
And then, through the cracks of stone and rubble—the remains of the ruined temple up above them, the sun, once more, began to shine.
The plan had failed.
Cordelia was not much surprised at the fact—she had never thought to use her charms in such a manner as was displayed by the amazon. Indeed, Araeya's almost obscene demonstration of sexual temptation had brought a heated flush into her cheeks, that she suspected had absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of the desert winds. Yet, loathe as she was to admit it, it had stirred something within the vestiges of her being.
Was it lust?
She watched as the guard strode away. If it were lust, it was not for him.
Beside her, Araeya was silent—whether it was from weariness, or from some other deeper emotion, she could not tell; nor had she the strength left within her to attempt to figure it out. Instead, she stretched against her restraints, wincing as the ropes began to gnaw at the raw skin of her wrists.
Only when she was certain that they were far from earshot did she make to nudge the amazon. "Aya."
Araeya's response was to grunt.
"…did you know that shattered crystal—"
The amazon cut her off. "—is perfect for severing ropes. I know."
She could not help but smile in response. "I suppose your little act wasn't a complete waste after all."
Araeya was silent for the briefest of moments—then the ropes began to tighten, as though they were being tugged at. "No. Not a complete waste." She muttered, sliding a shard of crystal into the sorceress's hands. "Get to work."
Cordelia shut her eyes, smirking—then bowed her head slightly, her hair falling forward to hide her face from view. She could feel the amazon working in silence beside her, just as she could feel the slow loosening of her ropes as the threads began to sever. One of the men gave a loud, harsh cough—she paused, going entirely still, but they had noticed nothing. Gritting her teeth, she re-adjusted her grip of the shard, wincing as it cut into the palm of her hand, drawing blood—but she would not give in. They were too close to escape.
Before she knew it, the ropes had fallen away. She flexed her fingers. Warm blood trickled along the index finger of her right hand into the sand, dyeing the golden grains crimson. She glanced aside towards Araeya, hands held, still, behind her back. They would give nothing away.
The amazon, too, was free. She smirked; then slanted her gaze towards the man who had rejected her.
Her eyes were narrowed, though she smiled, as she whispered—"He is mine."
They were silent as they crossed the desert sands of Aranoch. The sun had long since begun to disappear into the horizon, a testament to the length their day had spanned—it was twilight. For his part, Saul was exhausted, desiring nothing short of sleep, but knowing it was not possible. His leg had ceased to bleed; he had, upon leaving the ruined temple, ripped several shreds off his tunic to wind around the wound. Nonetheless, bloodloss and fatigue did not mix well, by his count.
He was hungry, thirsty, and tired.
Beyond physical needs, however, he was lonely.
Lonely and almost entirely engulfed in guilt.
He looked aside towards Bhrett—but the other was steadfast, his eyes set straight ahead in resolute determination.
On, and on they rode, their cart jolting every once in a while against rubble and rocks. Ceres was nowhere to be seen—but that, in and of itself, was re-assuring of the fact that she had, for once, deigned to listen to him. For a moment or two, he wondered at her current disposition—but was quickly brought back to reality as the cart-horse began to slow.
"Get the others and tell them to pack up." Bhrett's voice was low as he spoke. He sounded wearied—though there were the faintest traces of bitterness in the tone of his voice.
He hadn't noticed that they had arrived.
His first thought was to run for Cordelia, to take her in his arms and to ensure that she was well.
At present, he knew—he needed the warmth of her arms more than she needed the strength of his.
There was no sign of them. The tree to which they had been bound stood on its own, surrounded by several lengths of thick rope. He noted the roughened edges of the fibre where it had been hewn away—then panicked at the sight of the blood-stained shards of crystal.
They were gone.
There was a lump in his throat as he turned towards Bhrett. Like him, the bandit held an expression of utmost bewilderment upon his visage. Unlike him, the bandit cared nothing for Cordelia and Araeya.
"They're gone." He croaked.
Glass. Blood. Is that her blood?
Bhrett was frowning now. He took a step forward; then drew his scimitar, eyes narrowed as he jerked his head towards the common tent. The lights within were lit. "There's someone in there."
Their arrival was noted.
Bhrett had barely begun to take another step when two heavily armoured figures emerged from within the tent. He frowned; but did not make to move as the two crossed the encampment in favour of their direction.
"The Prince of Lut Gholein sent his men—they took the wenches." The taller of the men was the first to speak, his tone rough. From within the shadows overcast by his full helm, his blue-green eyes were narrowed. He sounded annoyed. "We were outnumbered."
The shorter of the two stepped forward, now, his tone crisp as he spoke. "The Prince's men lurk amongst us, Bhrett. We must move, and move fast."
"Has all been made ready for departure?" Bhrett sheathed his scimitar, the frown never leaving his face.
"Aye."
"Wait." Saul took a step forward, having found his tongue once more. "The prince's men were here?"
Somehow, and for some reason, he doubted it. If Jerhyn had sent his men out to seek out the kidnappers of his bride-to-be, he would have sent them out for blood. None would remain.
"Why else would we be leaving?" The shorter of the men snapped, his voice irritable. "Just get on the cart—we need to move." Then he turned his back to the druid and clambered up the cart to his side.
Bhrett, too, was seated—and he scowled as Saul met his eyes. "Get on. I'm not finished with you."
Saul clenched his fists, the thumping in his throat growing heavier by the second. Three to one—the odds of his breaking free were terrible to say the least. Even so, there was still the matter of Cordelia and Araeya to consider; if they were not at camp—if they were not with Jerhyn's men, then his chances of discovering their whereabouts lay with the two guards, who surely would know better than he where they were.
Gritting his teeth, he turned around—then climbed onto the seat of the secondary cart.
They had barely traveled but fifty paces from the encampment, when the sound of angry curses arose within the air. Startled, the druid straightened in his seat—then swung quickly around to discern the source of it. He barely noticed the gradually rising speed of his cart—his eyes were fixed upon the other.
Bhrett lay upon the ground, the sand swirling about his form as he flailed in his attempt at rising. He was cursing—but the person driving the cart upon which he had previously been seated was deaf to him. Then he rolled to his feet, grasping out to take a hold of the cart's edge—and the driver, with a flighty 'ha!', lashed at the horse with the lick of a whip, causing the cart to accelerate.
And as they galloped away into the desert, Saul found himself staring into the laughing faces of the two women—two, who had, minutes ago, been Bhrett's men. Two, who, having thrown aside their turbans and helms, were revealed to be none other than Cordelia and Araeya.
Author's Note: Oh sweet God. It's been quite some time, hasn't it? I'm sorry, guys, for taking so long—but I did say I would never abandon this fic, right? Heh.
My lack of updating has been due to a lot of things happening during my other breaks; grandma passing away (I'm fine, I'm not depressed or anything), exams, lots of art, and whatnot. However, I am on my term break as of now, and I have, as of now, a month or so. Here's hoping I can get a couple more chapters out by then, yes?
Okay, so I'd like to thank Ophelion, for always being here for me, and for generally just being awesome.
Thanks also go out to skopde, Luna, Fallen Dragonfly; thanks for sticking with me, guys.
Also, thank you to Twilight Bunny, and an especially BIG thank you to Aiko no Kaze and gLassbOy for the favs and comments!
Thank you also to Wrynn for the +fav, and thanks to Mr. J.L. Rodriguez for the PM! I'm very glad you're enjoying it!
Note if if I've forgotten you; and look out for the next chapter entitled, "Tears and Duty", where the much-anticipated Saul x Cordelia action FINALLY begins! Until then, keep reading and keep reviewing!