09-15-2018, 06:04 PM
A frown down-turned the edges of her lips as he grabbed her arm with urgency’s force and pulled her in. His fingers cut just a little too hard, as did the tight edge in his voice, but though her muscles clenched under the grip she didn’t try and cast him off. Just followed. "Why am I not surprised." No question in her tone, just dull-edged sarcasm. If she were otherwise affected by the menace in his countenance perhaps the only sign was that when she retreated to lean against her desk her arms were folded, eyes narrowed. She looked to the door he blocked – not because she yet felt threatened, but because it was the first rule that had truly been broken instead of… interpreted creatively. She said nothing, though, just watched as his gaze managed to settle everywhere but on her. His brief effort at humour or an attempt to incite a reaction – whatever it had been – was ignored, and suggested that perhaps the folded arms was less a measure of self-protection and more the expectant pose of someone waiting for answers. Jai’s uniform was soaked cold like he had been wandering the streets; that it was still damp now, even though he had been waiting outside her door for several minutes, burned a suspicion he lacked the strength. Asha’man used saidin for everything, often without even pausing to consider it, and he took pride in the black cut of that uniform. Not that she was willing to gamble on the assumption he was powerless.
The briefest flicker of a grin was swallowed by a wince, and weariness descended for what felt like a timeless eternity. He spoke of urgency and hunting guards, and then he just stopped, like the life had simply drained right out of him. A hollow gaze took stock of all the pointless effects in her room and never once paused to look her in the eye, despite the fact her gaze never unlocked from his. It was that reluctance keeping her bare feet planted firmly on the floor instead of covering the distance. Her fingers itched to cup his face, to smooth away such wretched conflict, then to smirk and jibe the fresh shaved beard; repay him the taunt about her dress. She loved those boyish smiles, but they seemed gone now, and rejection was like blood in the back of her throat. He’d seen a rare side of her in Arad Doman, though even when he’d gathered her up close in the ocean she’d been hesitant to fall too deep into that graceful affection. Lust was one thing; the soft look that had been in his eye then was quite another, though that look was a distant memory from the one he gave her now, shadowed gravely in candlelight.
Two steps brought him close. Her skin prickled, jaw tense. He’d been unconscious when she’d confronted Imaad, but the same fearlessness propelled her now as it had then. She straightened from her perch against the desk, a hair's breathe away, all steel and ice. Jai was far too tall to stare eye to eye, but her gaze was unwavering defiance when those words washed her cold.
Never seek me again.
He'd shown too much hesitancy for the words to bleed her out completely, but she'd never even allow him to see there was a wound. She'd tend it later, alone, like she always did bar the one night she'd spilled her soul; but now, carried by the rise of habitual instinct in the face of opposition she was flooded with anger. It pounded in her chest; all the frustration pent up since word of Caemlyn had first reached her ears. Arad Doman had been an entity unto its own; a precious bubble of a memory amidst all the Seanchan horror. He had crossed the line, and now he was the one to warn her back? Disappeared. Disappeared! Until an Aes Sedai's pact had forced her hand to an Ajah and the full terror of consequences had been revealed. The beating ran fresh in her mind; she could move her hand a fraction and feel the emptiness at his hip. If he searched her desk, he would find more evidence of how steeped she was in this; how deep the guilt gnawed. And he told her to back off.
For the first time she regretted it - telling him about Tashir. Now her fingers didn't itch to caress; they burned to push him back out of her space. To glare him down until he realised the consequences he'd rained down on her. If Arad Doman had been a mistake, then it was one they had made together. The loyalty with which he had spoken about Daryen had squeezed her heart tight that night. The betrayal now made her feel sick; her own naivete. Fire burned her blood; drove her breathing deep. She'd slapped Imaad when the rage had seethed so strong, but for Jai she buried it. Not because he didn't deserve it, but because she remembered where they were; the sleeping bodies - the hopefully sleeping bodies - at either wall.
"It wasn’t me who put my name in his head in the first place. Unless it's your brother's habit to call Tower women whores, and I would imagine it isn't. It would hardly be good for a business nestled in the heart of Tar Valon." The words were low, and they were emotionless; evidence enough that such tight control was necessary - not to stop her falling apart, but to lock away the temper that would bring the Tower down on their heads. It had hardly been required for Zakar to approve the account in person, and Jaslene had stopped her in the street afterwards with all the warmth of a long-lost friend. If Nythadri's name had come to Zakar's attention, then the fault lay with Jai. And if Zakar's reception of Nythadri had been less than pleasant, then that was down to him too. She wouldn't take the blame for that when she had been forced to act with such limited information.
"The answer is no."
The threat was enough for her to swing the opposite way regardless, but it wasn't simply the threat that resolved her answer so categorically. Zakar had been quite insistent in warning against White Tower involvement, and he had clearly thought she knew something. She had guesses - but she had also been honest: whatever he was involved in, she simply didn't care. The thing was, if Zakar thought she knew anything detrimental to his affairs - detrimental to his reputation - he was not going to just let her walk away. The coin would filter its way out eventually, once the scandal in Caemlyn had died down and her father had spun a web of lies to explain the rise of his House back to health. She'd taken it all under her name to protect them, and sometimes to protect was to take a risk. Or make a sacrifice. And she wouldn't walk away. Jai could stare her down all night but it wouldn't make a difference; she wouldn't walk away.
Light.
Nythadri blinked, finally, and her eyes held closed for a few precious seconds. The poison of anger was swallowed, at least for that moment. For all the brazen strength she displayed, untouchable, unbreakable, her hold by now was tentative. She'd let Jai in too close too fast for her usual defensive apathy to take the full brunt of feeling, and she was tired. What a fool. What a light-blasted fool. She reached for his chest. She had the distinct impression he might crumble to dust the moment her hand connected, but the muscle beneath her palm was solid. The pressure was not hard; she was just urging him back enough to slip away from his chilling gaze. She had limits. Even she had limits.
The briefest flicker of a grin was swallowed by a wince, and weariness descended for what felt like a timeless eternity. He spoke of urgency and hunting guards, and then he just stopped, like the life had simply drained right out of him. A hollow gaze took stock of all the pointless effects in her room and never once paused to look her in the eye, despite the fact her gaze never unlocked from his. It was that reluctance keeping her bare feet planted firmly on the floor instead of covering the distance. Her fingers itched to cup his face, to smooth away such wretched conflict, then to smirk and jibe the fresh shaved beard; repay him the taunt about her dress. She loved those boyish smiles, but they seemed gone now, and rejection was like blood in the back of her throat. He’d seen a rare side of her in Arad Doman, though even when he’d gathered her up close in the ocean she’d been hesitant to fall too deep into that graceful affection. Lust was one thing; the soft look that had been in his eye then was quite another, though that look was a distant memory from the one he gave her now, shadowed gravely in candlelight.
Two steps brought him close. Her skin prickled, jaw tense. He’d been unconscious when she’d confronted Imaad, but the same fearlessness propelled her now as it had then. She straightened from her perch against the desk, a hair's breathe away, all steel and ice. Jai was far too tall to stare eye to eye, but her gaze was unwavering defiance when those words washed her cold.
Never seek me again.
He'd shown too much hesitancy for the words to bleed her out completely, but she'd never even allow him to see there was a wound. She'd tend it later, alone, like she always did bar the one night she'd spilled her soul; but now, carried by the rise of habitual instinct in the face of opposition she was flooded with anger. It pounded in her chest; all the frustration pent up since word of Caemlyn had first reached her ears. Arad Doman had been an entity unto its own; a precious bubble of a memory amidst all the Seanchan horror. He had crossed the line, and now he was the one to warn her back? Disappeared. Disappeared! Until an Aes Sedai's pact had forced her hand to an Ajah and the full terror of consequences had been revealed. The beating ran fresh in her mind; she could move her hand a fraction and feel the emptiness at his hip. If he searched her desk, he would find more evidence of how steeped she was in this; how deep the guilt gnawed. And he told her to back off.
For the first time she regretted it - telling him about Tashir. Now her fingers didn't itch to caress; they burned to push him back out of her space. To glare him down until he realised the consequences he'd rained down on her. If Arad Doman had been a mistake, then it was one they had made together. The loyalty with which he had spoken about Daryen had squeezed her heart tight that night. The betrayal now made her feel sick; her own naivete. Fire burned her blood; drove her breathing deep. She'd slapped Imaad when the rage had seethed so strong, but for Jai she buried it. Not because he didn't deserve it, but because she remembered where they were; the sleeping bodies - the hopefully sleeping bodies - at either wall.
"It wasn’t me who put my name in his head in the first place. Unless it's your brother's habit to call Tower women whores, and I would imagine it isn't. It would hardly be good for a business nestled in the heart of Tar Valon." The words were low, and they were emotionless; evidence enough that such tight control was necessary - not to stop her falling apart, but to lock away the temper that would bring the Tower down on their heads. It had hardly been required for Zakar to approve the account in person, and Jaslene had stopped her in the street afterwards with all the warmth of a long-lost friend. If Nythadri's name had come to Zakar's attention, then the fault lay with Jai. And if Zakar's reception of Nythadri had been less than pleasant, then that was down to him too. She wouldn't take the blame for that when she had been forced to act with such limited information.
"The answer is no."
The threat was enough for her to swing the opposite way regardless, but it wasn't simply the threat that resolved her answer so categorically. Zakar had been quite insistent in warning against White Tower involvement, and he had clearly thought she knew something. She had guesses - but she had also been honest: whatever he was involved in, she simply didn't care. The thing was, if Zakar thought she knew anything detrimental to his affairs - detrimental to his reputation - he was not going to just let her walk away. The coin would filter its way out eventually, once the scandal in Caemlyn had died down and her father had spun a web of lies to explain the rise of his House back to health. She'd taken it all under her name to protect them, and sometimes to protect was to take a risk. Or make a sacrifice. And she wouldn't walk away. Jai could stare her down all night but it wouldn't make a difference; she wouldn't walk away.
Light.
Nythadri blinked, finally, and her eyes held closed for a few precious seconds. The poison of anger was swallowed, at least for that moment. For all the brazen strength she displayed, untouchable, unbreakable, her hold by now was tentative. She'd let Jai in too close too fast for her usual defensive apathy to take the full brunt of feeling, and she was tired. What a fool. What a light-blasted fool. She reached for his chest. She had the distinct impression he might crumble to dust the moment her hand connected, but the muscle beneath her palm was solid. The pressure was not hard; she was just urging him back enough to slip away from his chilling gaze. She had limits. Even she had limits.