04-27-2019, 11:40 PM
Sandstorms in the Blasted Lands could strip flesh off the bone one grain at a time. Talk about hell on fire. Eventually they put the horses down and the living crawled to safety. The spongebaths on the other side were nice, but when the time came Jai didn't turn down a Healing.
Volunteering for double guard because standing all night was better than the faceless screams in his dreams. Who needed sleep anyway?
A steel toed kick in the groin. Choking because his nostrils were plugged up from hurling a stomach of blood up and out. Guts literally laying in the mud.
All that? An apple pie picnic in the park compared to this torture.
Yeah. He told himself to not look, but taking his own advice never panned out. He looked. And his entire body sank a little. She was blank. Faceless as those screams in his nightmares. How'd she do it? Nythadri was black as a nighttime bay while Jai ripped his soul from his chest. Actually, he would have preferred that.
He caught the movement of her legs curling beneath her and braced for whatever words were about to follow sure they were going to sting. Her eyes, those Light-blasted, grace-saving, hedonic eyes, flew to his hands like an accusation. Hands which grasped hilt then touched heart like a bloody hypocrit. On his honor, Jai knew his own intentions were noble; though it was probably best to stop swearing on his honor. And noble unless it involved women. Or cards. Or ale. But good intentions paved short roads to hell.
Nythadri's question punched the air from his throat. Maybe it was sitting around, insides swimming with hunger or dragging his bloody sack of meat around all night, but in the spur of the moment decision which landed Andreu a black eye, thoughts of the Tower--the White Tower--were far from consideration. Though he was quick enough to turn his back on blood, march up and kick in the place's front door. Until now. The White Tower. Right. He rubbed his forehead.
How did Nythadri think of these things?
"Dru will keep things in house. He's ruthless, but not stupid. So long as the Tower doesn't have reason to watch him, he's careful enough to not draw attention like that." Right? He thought back to the trio they'd left behind in that alley. Were those three the fallout of a calculated, careful plan? Or something far more primal?
It'd be impossible to connect a man who smelled like fish guts to the pampered banking executive dashing around Tar Valon like social life was his sport. Blood and ashes. His own brother didn't recognize him! Granted, it'd been eleven years, and a guy can only take so many hits to the head before he starts questioning his eyesight, but Light!
Jai shook his head. Absently scratching his earlobe to hide a yawn. Poorly. By this point Nythadri could probably read him like a book. Light knew Daryen could. And Jaslene. And, probably everyone.
But he was coming to recognize Nythadri in turn. She could go still as a statue when she wanted. She'd blanked out every twist and smirk the moment Fate found them speaking in the front hall. She turned on the charm just to spite Nisele while Jai sat back, happy to let them fight it out. But now, Nythadri was bothered. He'd never seen her streak fingers through those strands of hair like this. Nor rub her eyes like she could hardly stand what they beheld. It pained him. Every moment of her discomfort was his fault, but rather than cause her no further inconvenience, he wanted to make it up to her. He'd find a way. Somehow.
Then, she surprised him with a smile. Subtle as morning fog hovering above a cold lake, but just as beautiful. More, actually, compared to the dismal tension leading up to now. It eased some of the nerves strangling his stomach, but her sudden agreement left him--uhh. Well.
Speechless.
He blinked. Then, twisted around to fully watch her. Then sat still without a single clue as to what changed her mind. Nothing could have shocked him more. Scratch that. It was best to assume he'd never figure Nythadri out. Of course she could still shock him. Of course. She was completely tantalizing and enormously frustrating at the same time and stuck in his head like a spike to the brain. The bloody woman. She agreed? After everything? She'd move the account. Her name would be erased from Zakar's mind and gone from Dru's line of sight. Thank the Light. She'd be safe. Their families could disentangle. The politics would blow over. And things could go back to the way they were before. Or--close enough.
His grin was tired, but warmed with gratitude and relief undimmed by the rest of her promise; hearing but not hearing. Before she could finish her curse, he was near. His scarred palm smothered one of her hands, then curled around her wrist and ran up along the sleeve of her dress. He pushed the pillow from her lap. He knew exactly what he was doing and did it because he bloody wanted to. After everything, why not? Probably best to not dwell on that question.
Their kiss was reunion. He'd been uneasy since Arad Doman. Not that the rest of his life wasn't peachy, but the weeks since they'd last parted was bloody delightful. But finding welcome with her, the world calmed.
He could very easily go adrift and lose himself in tangles of black and white. He could sink close enough to warm her chilled skin with his. Very warm. He could flip the Tower, both Towers, a universal gesture then carry on like warm-blooded men should.
But he didn't let himself lose control. No shades of gray permission let his hands wander too far as they had in ocean waters. He gently tilted her chin from one side to the other and softened the way his lips pressed upon hers, but they did not chase chills down her neck. His shadow covered most of her face, but upon a quick glimpse he caught a frame of dark hair falling around the edges. His lids slid low once more.
It was strengthening to do exactly what he wanted. A sane economist would claim everything came with a price, but confession and acceptance bent the rules like the Master of Currency minting fresh coin. Showing her exactly how he felt cost them nothing, because he was ready to make his own damn rules.
Damp coat and all, he ended up stretched out on her bed sometime in the semi-near future. His cheek sank into the pillow which was returned to her lap. The hearth across the way sparked a low flare to life as he stared at it, but the extent of his attempts to warm the room stopped there. He had no idea how long he stared into those orange licks and yellow sparks, and simply enjoying not fighting something for a few minutes. He knew her oaths to the White Tower chained her here. And it wasn't as though he was without obligation himself, but drained of the will to bother resisting any more, he'd figure it out. Surely he wasn't the first guy to fall in love with a woman of the White Tower?
Well. He'd gone this far. He might as well tell the rest. He had to explain the inheritance coursing his veins. The reason duty and desire were constantly at war and give her a chance to bolt while she still could. That he was born to this legacy as the namesake Arman Kojima granted his third son. By the time Jai's throat split the sounds of that crackling fire, his voice was drained. There was no need for the ward to keep conversation from breeching the walls. It was quiet enough on its own, "My greatfather's name was Asad Kojima."
He closed his eyes, burning from having gone too long without blinking. Or maybe from exhaustion.
"A generation before the fall of Malkier, his carneira was sent here as a novice. Asad never married, and fifteen years later, when the Tower was done with her, he left his trade and duty -- everything, to find her and marry her. They never went back to Malkier." Asad's sword went clean and untouched for generations afterward. Until Jai picked it up. Intending to give the blade the taste of shadowspawn blood it wanted. The steel craved action. Craved use. He knew it because the ache in his chest craved the same thing.
"I thought I deserved--" He swallowed. Then moved a little in case she was uncomfortale. But he never finished the thought.
He'd never think of Nythadri as small as the word equated diminutive presence in his mind, and she was the infinite opposite of diminutive. But with his shoulders against her knees and head on her lap, he was aware of narrow limbs beneath him. Nythadri's presence was overtaking as the blue horizon of the Aryth in so many ways, but she was delicate at the same time. She'd be easy to shield in a blast of shrapnel.
A minute later, Jai was dead asleep.
Volunteering for double guard because standing all night was better than the faceless screams in his dreams. Who needed sleep anyway?
A steel toed kick in the groin. Choking because his nostrils were plugged up from hurling a stomach of blood up and out. Guts literally laying in the mud.
All that? An apple pie picnic in the park compared to this torture.
Yeah. He told himself to not look, but taking his own advice never panned out. He looked. And his entire body sank a little. She was blank. Faceless as those screams in his nightmares. How'd she do it? Nythadri was black as a nighttime bay while Jai ripped his soul from his chest. Actually, he would have preferred that.
He caught the movement of her legs curling beneath her and braced for whatever words were about to follow sure they were going to sting. Her eyes, those Light-blasted, grace-saving, hedonic eyes, flew to his hands like an accusation. Hands which grasped hilt then touched heart like a bloody hypocrit. On his honor, Jai knew his own intentions were noble; though it was probably best to stop swearing on his honor. And noble unless it involved women. Or cards. Or ale. But good intentions paved short roads to hell.
Nythadri's question punched the air from his throat. Maybe it was sitting around, insides swimming with hunger or dragging his bloody sack of meat around all night, but in the spur of the moment decision which landed Andreu a black eye, thoughts of the Tower--the White Tower--were far from consideration. Though he was quick enough to turn his back on blood, march up and kick in the place's front door. Until now. The White Tower. Right. He rubbed his forehead.
How did Nythadri think of these things?
"Dru will keep things in house. He's ruthless, but not stupid. So long as the Tower doesn't have reason to watch him, he's careful enough to not draw attention like that." Right? He thought back to the trio they'd left behind in that alley. Were those three the fallout of a calculated, careful plan? Or something far more primal?
It'd be impossible to connect a man who smelled like fish guts to the pampered banking executive dashing around Tar Valon like social life was his sport. Blood and ashes. His own brother didn't recognize him! Granted, it'd been eleven years, and a guy can only take so many hits to the head before he starts questioning his eyesight, but Light!
Jai shook his head. Absently scratching his earlobe to hide a yawn. Poorly. By this point Nythadri could probably read him like a book. Light knew Daryen could. And Jaslene. And, probably everyone.
But he was coming to recognize Nythadri in turn. She could go still as a statue when she wanted. She'd blanked out every twist and smirk the moment Fate found them speaking in the front hall. She turned on the charm just to spite Nisele while Jai sat back, happy to let them fight it out. But now, Nythadri was bothered. He'd never seen her streak fingers through those strands of hair like this. Nor rub her eyes like she could hardly stand what they beheld. It pained him. Every moment of her discomfort was his fault, but rather than cause her no further inconvenience, he wanted to make it up to her. He'd find a way. Somehow.
Then, she surprised him with a smile. Subtle as morning fog hovering above a cold lake, but just as beautiful. More, actually, compared to the dismal tension leading up to now. It eased some of the nerves strangling his stomach, but her sudden agreement left him--uhh. Well.
Speechless.
He blinked. Then, twisted around to fully watch her. Then sat still without a single clue as to what changed her mind. Nothing could have shocked him more. Scratch that. It was best to assume he'd never figure Nythadri out. Of course she could still shock him. Of course. She was completely tantalizing and enormously frustrating at the same time and stuck in his head like a spike to the brain. The bloody woman. She agreed? After everything? She'd move the account. Her name would be erased from Zakar's mind and gone from Dru's line of sight. Thank the Light. She'd be safe. Their families could disentangle. The politics would blow over. And things could go back to the way they were before. Or--close enough.
His grin was tired, but warmed with gratitude and relief undimmed by the rest of her promise; hearing but not hearing. Before she could finish her curse, he was near. His scarred palm smothered one of her hands, then curled around her wrist and ran up along the sleeve of her dress. He pushed the pillow from her lap. He knew exactly what he was doing and did it because he bloody wanted to. After everything, why not? Probably best to not dwell on that question.
Their kiss was reunion. He'd been uneasy since Arad Doman. Not that the rest of his life wasn't peachy, but the weeks since they'd last parted was bloody delightful. But finding welcome with her, the world calmed.
He could very easily go adrift and lose himself in tangles of black and white. He could sink close enough to warm her chilled skin with his. Very warm. He could flip the Tower, both Towers, a universal gesture then carry on like warm-blooded men should.
But he didn't let himself lose control. No shades of gray permission let his hands wander too far as they had in ocean waters. He gently tilted her chin from one side to the other and softened the way his lips pressed upon hers, but they did not chase chills down her neck. His shadow covered most of her face, but upon a quick glimpse he caught a frame of dark hair falling around the edges. His lids slid low once more.
It was strengthening to do exactly what he wanted. A sane economist would claim everything came with a price, but confession and acceptance bent the rules like the Master of Currency minting fresh coin. Showing her exactly how he felt cost them nothing, because he was ready to make his own damn rules.
Damp coat and all, he ended up stretched out on her bed sometime in the semi-near future. His cheek sank into the pillow which was returned to her lap. The hearth across the way sparked a low flare to life as he stared at it, but the extent of his attempts to warm the room stopped there. He had no idea how long he stared into those orange licks and yellow sparks, and simply enjoying not fighting something for a few minutes. He knew her oaths to the White Tower chained her here. And it wasn't as though he was without obligation himself, but drained of the will to bother resisting any more, he'd figure it out. Surely he wasn't the first guy to fall in love with a woman of the White Tower?
Well. He'd gone this far. He might as well tell the rest. He had to explain the inheritance coursing his veins. The reason duty and desire were constantly at war and give her a chance to bolt while she still could. That he was born to this legacy as the namesake Arman Kojima granted his third son. By the time Jai's throat split the sounds of that crackling fire, his voice was drained. There was no need for the ward to keep conversation from breeching the walls. It was quiet enough on its own, "My greatfather's name was Asad Kojima."
He closed his eyes, burning from having gone too long without blinking. Or maybe from exhaustion.
"A generation before the fall of Malkier, his carneira was sent here as a novice. Asad never married, and fifteen years later, when the Tower was done with her, he left his trade and duty -- everything, to find her and marry her. They never went back to Malkier." Asad's sword went clean and untouched for generations afterward. Until Jai picked it up. Intending to give the blade the taste of shadowspawn blood it wanted. The steel craved action. Craved use. He knew it because the ache in his chest craved the same thing.
"I thought I deserved--" He swallowed. Then moved a little in case she was uncomfortale. But he never finished the thought.
He'd never think of Nythadri as small as the word equated diminutive presence in his mind, and she was the infinite opposite of diminutive. But with his shoulders against her knees and head on her lap, he was aware of narrow limbs beneath him. Nythadri's presence was overtaking as the blue horizon of the Aryth in so many ways, but she was delicate at the same time. She'd be easy to shield in a blast of shrapnel.
A minute later, Jai was dead asleep.
Only darkness shows you the light.