09-05-2016, 02:17 PM
She sometimes wished her intuition for the Great Game was not so strong or so instinctive, and that she didn’t sense the underlying blackness to his words. It wasn’t really her business if he’d sinned enough to earn a chair next to the Dark One himself, but the dry laugh preceding his words at least meant he was not after pity. He wouldn’t have got it from her anyway.
“Sins can be redeemed.”
Said not quite with the confidence of one who believed it implicitly, but with the tinge of one who wished to believe it. Maybe even needed to. But unless he lent an ear to rumour, that was about as close as he was getting to any misdeeds of hers. She imagined his sins eclipsed her own anyway, just by virtue of that black uniform and its shining pins. And those soldier’s hands. Her own hand slipped away slowly, maybe too slowly. It was pathetic to covet the warmth of such incidental touch, but she did. If he minded, he showed no sign.
There wasn’t a great deal that could take Nythadri by surprise, but that question did. A measure of that surprise flooded her face. “Memory.”
Strange the things you thought to take when you were pushed from your home, and the things you forgot. Her rooms in Andor had been filled with the trappings of both a music-lover and a musician, but the only thing she had taken with her was her violin. It was the only thing she could not bear to part with. Sheet music was replaceable, and Nythadri had a startling memory; inherited maybe, or learned through years entertaining in Caemlyn’s inns and taverns. She might have said more, after the wonder of that astute observation abated, but the golden glow of Fate Sedai entered her periphery. And now it was clear who Jai was waiting for.
She was too well trained to let her brow rise in dry amusement, and the Asha’man had already turned to address the beautiful Brown. Kojima Excluding the day she had arrived at Tar Valon in Karina Sedai’s carriage, Nythadri had only been in the city once, and that had earned her the penance that even now seemed to shadow her life. But she recognised his name, and not only from her Tower education. The Vanditera’s House had been ailing even before Nythadri had left for the Tower – that fact itself had been a contributing factor to her brother’s murder – and her father had spent years trying to buoy his sinking fortunes. Initially he had been keen to marry her off, but that notion proved… difficult. It wasn’t that she was opposed to the arrangement, not at first, just that she was too engrossed in her own selfish needs to consider how it might have saved her family before they plummeted from the precipice. And then, of course, she had met Farune – a tavern boy with dreams of running away with the Tuatha’an. Marriage to a noble had come off the table completely, then.
The Kojima name rang bells from a time a year or so before the Tower. Nythadri’s reputation, by then, had dissuaded even the most ardent suitor swayed by her beauty, and her sisters were still too young. Her father began to talk of financial aid. He wanted the best, and the best lay in Tar Valon. But, as everything of quality, it came with a price. The name only lingered in her memory because her father had wanted her to sell her harp. Full-sized, beautifully sculpted, and of exquisite sound. Even melted down it would have raised a goodly sum, and as a simple instrument of beauty it was invaluable. She had refused, of course. Vehemently. And then, only a year later, she had abandoned it along with the rest of the beautiful things she had kept. And what a cruel daughter I was.
The memories ghosted her mind, but provoked no outward reaction. The Tower was bursting with the wealthy, the powerful, the legendary. When it came down to it, name meant nothing; only the person themselves could earn respect, and that had to be of their own merit. It changed nothing of her demeanour, or the opinion she had formed of him; the only thing it had confirmed was how close she had come with her guesswork. Maybe we never truly leave our old lives behind.
She was not so cold that she did not feel a stab of jealously at the golden Domani’s presence, but she would not act foolishly on such whims. She was just an Accepted, and within the confines of the Tower that would always define her identity. An initiate, a child. No sooner out of sight than out of mind. Resigning herself to that fact was always a wrench, but it was a truth she could live with. This had been a pleasant distraction, while it lasted, and many days passed without such valuable gems.
Many women would be intimidated by Fate’s beauty; any woman who claimed otherwise was either lying or the rare exception to the rule, but while Nythadri appreciated the almost painful perfection of the woman’s stunning exterior, the threat she felt was minimal in a situation like this, with the bridge of rank negating any perceived rivalry moot. Nythadri was more than comfortable with her own skin anyway; there had been no tugging or smoothing at the dress that sat so unflatteringly against her curves. Black hair fell in waves more tousled than manicured. She was beautiful, but it was not the kind of beauty that took hours of maintenance. Nythadri appreciated the aesthetic, but that did not extend to over-vanity. Particularly when there was no point to it.
So it stoked her ire, that incline to Fate’s tone, which suggested she had been caught in wrong-doing. Mostly the coarse rumours that found her ears from time to time were met with a shrug. She couldn’t care less if people thought ill of her, even when it came to womanly virtues. But an Aes Sedai should know better. And an Aes Sedai with a reputation as glorious as Fate’s should certainly know better. She had shaken his hand, which he had proffered in the first place. It was hardly seduction. And it was dangerous to point the finger at Nythadri; it only inclined her to do something to make the accusation deserved. But right now all she offered was a measured curtsy; the appropriate amount of deference and no more. “Fate Sedai.”
There were sharp words on the end of her tongue; words that coolly pointed out that she was late, and the Asha’man had been waiting, thus she was tending to her duty. But Fate would hardly take kindly to that, and she was aware how stupid it would be to provoke a sister of Fate’s power and standing. She could suffer the sting of it, and the acid of swallowing back her retort. Pick her battles wisely. And Jai had already opened his mouth; presumably to embarrass the Brown, though Nythadri doubted it would even gloss the surface. The effort was appreciated, but the smirk contained. The Accepted’s face was suitably blank.
Edited by Natalie Grey, Sep 5 2016, 02:17 PM.
“Sins can be redeemed.”
Said not quite with the confidence of one who believed it implicitly, but with the tinge of one who wished to believe it. Maybe even needed to. But unless he lent an ear to rumour, that was about as close as he was getting to any misdeeds of hers. She imagined his sins eclipsed her own anyway, just by virtue of that black uniform and its shining pins. And those soldier’s hands. Her own hand slipped away slowly, maybe too slowly. It was pathetic to covet the warmth of such incidental touch, but she did. If he minded, he showed no sign.
There wasn’t a great deal that could take Nythadri by surprise, but that question did. A measure of that surprise flooded her face. “Memory.”
Strange the things you thought to take when you were pushed from your home, and the things you forgot. Her rooms in Andor had been filled with the trappings of both a music-lover and a musician, but the only thing she had taken with her was her violin. It was the only thing she could not bear to part with. Sheet music was replaceable, and Nythadri had a startling memory; inherited maybe, or learned through years entertaining in Caemlyn’s inns and taverns. She might have said more, after the wonder of that astute observation abated, but the golden glow of Fate Sedai entered her periphery. And now it was clear who Jai was waiting for.
She was too well trained to let her brow rise in dry amusement, and the Asha’man had already turned to address the beautiful Brown. Kojima Excluding the day she had arrived at Tar Valon in Karina Sedai’s carriage, Nythadri had only been in the city once, and that had earned her the penance that even now seemed to shadow her life. But she recognised his name, and not only from her Tower education. The Vanditera’s House had been ailing even before Nythadri had left for the Tower – that fact itself had been a contributing factor to her brother’s murder – and her father had spent years trying to buoy his sinking fortunes. Initially he had been keen to marry her off, but that notion proved… difficult. It wasn’t that she was opposed to the arrangement, not at first, just that she was too engrossed in her own selfish needs to consider how it might have saved her family before they plummeted from the precipice. And then, of course, she had met Farune – a tavern boy with dreams of running away with the Tuatha’an. Marriage to a noble had come off the table completely, then.
The Kojima name rang bells from a time a year or so before the Tower. Nythadri’s reputation, by then, had dissuaded even the most ardent suitor swayed by her beauty, and her sisters were still too young. Her father began to talk of financial aid. He wanted the best, and the best lay in Tar Valon. But, as everything of quality, it came with a price. The name only lingered in her memory because her father had wanted her to sell her harp. Full-sized, beautifully sculpted, and of exquisite sound. Even melted down it would have raised a goodly sum, and as a simple instrument of beauty it was invaluable. She had refused, of course. Vehemently. And then, only a year later, she had abandoned it along with the rest of the beautiful things she had kept. And what a cruel daughter I was.
The memories ghosted her mind, but provoked no outward reaction. The Tower was bursting with the wealthy, the powerful, the legendary. When it came down to it, name meant nothing; only the person themselves could earn respect, and that had to be of their own merit. It changed nothing of her demeanour, or the opinion she had formed of him; the only thing it had confirmed was how close she had come with her guesswork. Maybe we never truly leave our old lives behind.
She was not so cold that she did not feel a stab of jealously at the golden Domani’s presence, but she would not act foolishly on such whims. She was just an Accepted, and within the confines of the Tower that would always define her identity. An initiate, a child. No sooner out of sight than out of mind. Resigning herself to that fact was always a wrench, but it was a truth she could live with. This had been a pleasant distraction, while it lasted, and many days passed without such valuable gems.
Many women would be intimidated by Fate’s beauty; any woman who claimed otherwise was either lying or the rare exception to the rule, but while Nythadri appreciated the almost painful perfection of the woman’s stunning exterior, the threat she felt was minimal in a situation like this, with the bridge of rank negating any perceived rivalry moot. Nythadri was more than comfortable with her own skin anyway; there had been no tugging or smoothing at the dress that sat so unflatteringly against her curves. Black hair fell in waves more tousled than manicured. She was beautiful, but it was not the kind of beauty that took hours of maintenance. Nythadri appreciated the aesthetic, but that did not extend to over-vanity. Particularly when there was no point to it.
So it stoked her ire, that incline to Fate’s tone, which suggested she had been caught in wrong-doing. Mostly the coarse rumours that found her ears from time to time were met with a shrug. She couldn’t care less if people thought ill of her, even when it came to womanly virtues. But an Aes Sedai should know better. And an Aes Sedai with a reputation as glorious as Fate’s should certainly know better. She had shaken his hand, which he had proffered in the first place. It was hardly seduction. And it was dangerous to point the finger at Nythadri; it only inclined her to do something to make the accusation deserved. But right now all she offered was a measured curtsy; the appropriate amount of deference and no more. “Fate Sedai.”
There were sharp words on the end of her tongue; words that coolly pointed out that she was late, and the Asha’man had been waiting, thus she was tending to her duty. But Fate would hardly take kindly to that, and she was aware how stupid it would be to provoke a sister of Fate’s power and standing. She could suffer the sting of it, and the acid of swallowing back her retort. Pick her battles wisely. And Jai had already opened his mouth; presumably to embarrass the Brown, though Nythadri doubted it would even gloss the surface. The effort was appreciated, but the smirk contained. The Accepted’s face was suitably blank.
Edited by Natalie Grey, Sep 5 2016, 02:17 PM.