I offer myself.
I’m surprised at how fast and easy my answer comes. “Denied.” I blink. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer?” There’s a dead silence in the room, and I cough nervously. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriately blunt of me. That’s… this is why I, uh.”
“The Magelord,” says Zidanya, coming to my rescue with aplomb, “has much to apologize for, but in faith also nothing at all. He has spoken; move on with yourselves.”
Okay, maybe not to my rescue. “Hey!” It seems to break the ice, with laughter rippling across the floor, but hot embarrassment floods me as my face heats up; this isn’t congenial, this is outright mockery, of me and of these three alike. “What—”
Amber silences me with a finger across my lips. She takes one step to the side and her hand comes down heavily on Zidanya’s shoulder, spinning the Druid around to face the Paladin’s level gaze. “You overstep, Tavedah.” I’ve never seen a scowl on Amber’s face before; it’s not a look I want to provoke. “Thrice in the span of ten seconds. Leave your petty grudges where they will not—”
“Reca. You forget yourself.” The voice is subzero, cryogenically cold. It comes from a vaguely humanoid figure who is more spectre than physical, wearing finery that fades into tatters where there should be elbows and knees. There’s no arm in the sleeves, no leg in the pants, and a soft whitish-blue glow obscures their features.
“Were I to strike—”
“Look, voidsucker, I’ll—”
Amber and I speak at the same time, in similar furious tones. We both give it a half-beat, offering to cede the floor to the other, but she just tilts her head the tiniest of degrees. “You’re one of the Rue, aren’t you?”
It’s not what I’d started saying, which surprises the … not person, maybe; all three of my companions had agreed that Rue aren’t folk, but they’d all disagreed about what that made them. Their voice is like cracking ice when they finally speak, after turning slowly towards me. “It is so.”
“I don’t think I’ve killed a Rue.” I turn to Amber, smiling a little. There’s a cold rage in my belly, the metamorphosis of the earlier embarrassment mixing with the slight to Amber; she is my friend, my lover, my companion, my Paladin, and this thing thinks it can dictate her place? “What do the rules of hospitality say?”
“Those honored guests,” Zidanya says calmly, “be they kith or kindred, they say.” Part of my anger unravels, forgiving her instantly as she closes ranks with us as we stare down the Rue, bumping shoulders with Amber; another part solidifies, because the emotions don’t tend to just go away.
“Funny. Sara, tell me something. Is a Rue kith or kindred?”
“No, sir.” Her voice is low and calm, almost intrigued. “This is known.”
“How about it then, buddy?” I stare the thing down, in its white-glowing face. There’s an open corridor between us, with nobody in the way, and a pretty wide circle of space around it. A narrower one around me, and a silence broken by murmurs that sound a lot like people placing wagers. “You’ve slighted my companion, who’s in my service. That means you’ve slighted me. Wanna take this chance to apologize?”
“Apologize.” There’s complexity in that voice, structure and meaning. I don’t recognize any of it, partially because I’m too mad to care very much. “To a Reca?”
“Is that a no? Because I bet you’d make a beautiful pendant.” My voice drops to a growl. “If you’re picking this fight, you’re too much of an idiot to make something useful, but I bet I could make you into something pretty.”
There’s a long moment of the two of us staring each other down. Two seconds become three and then four, and I start to worry that he’s going to call me on it. Four becomes five, and I’m worried because I’m not bluffing, and this could be a serious breach of the peace, but there’s no way I’m backing down.
At least I’m not worried about whether or not I can kill this thing. It’s only here in the first place because it died once; and if it died once, I can kill it again.
The Rue blinks first. Well, not blinks, but its light dims and it turns away and on long, floaty strides it more or less vanishes into the distance. It’s fast, shifting a hundred meters or more in a matter of a few seconds, fast enough that I’m glad it didn’t decide to throw down; I’m pretty sure my orbs are faster on the uptake than that thing moves, but my Motes sure as hell aren’t.
My mouth is still open and I realize that I’m about to say something, probably along the lines of Yeah, I didn’t think so, but Amber bumps my shoulder and I suddenly realize that the moment is over and I won. The heat leaves me in a rush; I don’t collapse, don’t even sag, because there’s a room full of people who just watched me face down that Rue and they’ll mistake post-confrontation drop for relief that my bluff didn’t get called. Instead, I turn and let my eyes track across Amber’s body, drinking in the look of her to fill the hollowness that’s in every muscle begging to go slack and every joint whose tendons feel like they’re threatening to detach and leave me puddled.
It makes my gut go hollower, but in an entirely different and far more pleasant way, and I grin at her.
“I hope,” I say with a deliberate attempt at nonchalance, “that makes my position clear on the matter of people disrespecting you. My companion.” I don’t bother pitching my voice low, but I don’t shout it; just calm, conversational. It’s surprisingly close to the mark on the calmness, but it’s a little detached and flat.
Amber’s smile says that she knows why, and the feeling in my gut deepens and shifts delightedly, so there’s that.
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“Maarah.” Zidanya’s voice is distant, almost a little tentative. “I… Dame Ashborn has the right of it, and long has it been since these barbs were called for. It never was by fault of yours that the Dweller took the First Spire.”
“Get to the point, Druid.” There’s a flatness to the gamahad’s voice, tired and impatient. I’m fascinated, but manage not interject to ask questions like who was the Dweller and what was the First Spire. Not by a large margin, but I manage.
“I apologize.” I glance over at Zidanya’s face, and to my surprise she’s smiling. “I regret ever holding a grudge in shared death that I should fain have held discharged by your joining us in this blighted realm.”
“Hm.” Maarah hums, a sound like a motorized blade chewing up gravel and bones, and then grunts. “You always were over-dramatic. Wouldn’t have asked for a spot if I blamed you for the two of them, but wouldn’t have minded us going peaceable a while back.” Her glance shifts over to me again, and she smiles that uncanny smile whose dentition makes her look more inhuman than any other thing about her. “You sure ‘bout that no, Outsider? Medah here and me’re square; you won’t find stronger for a fifth, and other than a couple artifacts yer gear’s some shit. Coulda take either’a mine, if you’d rather, and I’d lend a forge to your cause all the same.”
She doesn’t let the hunger out this time, which I appreciate, off balance as I am. “Still no.” I smile at her, shrugging. “I think we’re better off staying as four through the tournament. We have a good dynamic, and that’s more important than raw power.” My brain is scrambling to keep up with the things I’m learning and respond appropriately. “Maybe we can do business, though?”
“Maybe.” She looks like she’s about to say something, but then her ears go flat against her head and her eyes narrow. “Look to the Lady; we’ll talk.”
My attention snaps towards that distant place where Lily had… withdrawn to. The crowd is humming and chattering, a dozen different clumps and people circulating between them in an ever-shifting dance of social networking and wheeling and dealing, so I suspect the pressure of Lily’s gaze, or rather of Lady Sheid’s, is on me alone.
I drift forward a couple of steps and look back to make sure the others are with me, and blink in surprise. They’re… maybe thirty meters away after those two steps, Amber startled and Zidanya composed; Sara’s face is still, composed. I get a wink and a nod, and look back towards Lily.
One foot in front of the other.
She’s fully recovered from whatever ceremony-related exertion it was she’d suffered, and she straightens slowly from her lounging position. I can feel her attention resting on my shoulders, drawn around me like a cloak; it’s more comfortable than anything, reassuring and heavy with warmth.
“Lady Sheid,” I say softly, trying for formality. I’m about to continue my sentence, but she raises a finger, stopping me.
“I would like,” she says slowly, thoughtfully, “to avoid that. Shall you be Adam to me, and I be Lily to you, even here?”
My eyes flicker around. There’s nobody within tens of meters; we’re maybe twenty meters up above them and a decent distance horizontally, but… “I don’t want to be seen as undermining your authority or disrespecting you.”
“Great.” There’s a drawl in Lily’s voice, and she smirks at me. “Then get on your knees.” I blink at her for a moment, uncomprehending, as she taps the toe of her foot on the carpet in front of her barely-not-a-throne. “Carpet’s nice and thick.”
My brain catches up with her words, and my face flushes as I open my mouth to say something intemperate. I stop myself, barely, and I flick my braid back over my shoulder from where it’s found itself, letting my fingers tap on my reassurances in the process. I stand there, back straight, looking at her with my best neutral face, and she laughs low and throaty.
It vibrates in my bones and steals the strength from my spine. “Oh, don’t give me that look. If I really thought you’d kneel for me, I’d either have a cushion or a handful of uncooked rice and a nice patch of wood floor.”
About five different things to say, three of them questions, fight to come out, and I strangle them all. “I’m glad,” I say as flatly as I can, which isn’t flatly at all, “that we have an understanding.”
“They can’t hear us.” Lily’s smile keeps shifting, a little here, a little there. “My oath and word on it, offered freely and for no obligation. Not a soul nor even the Temple itself has ears when I will it otherwise.” There’s a weight to it, a shiver and a pressure. “Haven’t been able to hear us since you took those first two steps. Now, c’mere. I want to get a better look at you.”
She’s tapping the arm of her not-throne, and I glance down at it and then at her, an eyebrow going up. She looks entirely serious, which is ridiculous, but maybe it’s her voice or her laugh or the smile that’s worked its way down my spine; either way, I could really stand to sit down, and it’s not like it’s kneeling.
The thought has too much heat, too much emotion, and not enough of it is negative, for me to think I’m making clear decisions. There’s always the possibility… my Visor snakes out on reflex, and then slips back into the earring. No magic; no spells, no enchantments, or, well, nothing other than what is inherent to the space and furniture.
I’m not, I remind myself, just-of-age, and I’m not here to be dazzled by an older woman who wields her power and beauty effortlessly.
She gives me a boost up, not that I need it, her palm pressing up against mine. I hop up gently, catching myself with a shaky hand, and settle onto an arm more comfortable than most chairs.