[Always extra] "Dearest"
Note: This takes place during Chapter 29 of In the Morning--while the crew is making a pit stop in Afaloque.
Although I liked this scene, I had to cut it for pacing reasons. Also, I didn't think you guys really needed another character, however much fun I had discovering some of Dejah/Teigra's subtleties. Just so you know, Teigra...totally turned out to be not what I expected. Enjoy :)
Dearest
Dejah arrived at Teigra’s without trouble. She had grown up in a trade-oriented city, and knew how to both blend in and avoid the spray of “holy water.” The drops of the specially treated liquid were not as powerful as some of the priests pretended-consumption was usually required for serious change-but avoiding it had been one of the first things the Resistance taught Dejah. Without a clear mind, and stripped of free will, they would be exactly the weaklings they had been judged.
Unfortunately, she thought with a sigh, there was always the other name-the other disgrace that came with extreme power. She knocked on Teigra’s door anyway.
There was a pause before anyone answered the door, which might or might not bode well for what Dejah would see.
After a moment, the heavy wood door swung open. Teigra was an absurdly attractive woman, though she hadn’t prepared her face in any extra way. Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders-veiled, but only barely. No fabric concealed Teigra’s face, and Dejah knew she had been recognized. Or, if she had brought trouble, dead.
“Dejah,” the beautiful executioner purred. “Imagine seeing you here. To what do I owe the honour?”
“Women’s business.” Dejah turned her own smile, almost as pretty, as she demurely cast her eyes to the ground. “Why don’t you let me in?” She didn’t wait for consent. Teigra could be given no true quarter. Since she lost it all in a temper, Dejah’s cousin had been desperate to snatch everything.
Teigra locked her door behind them, and gracefully loped across the vibrant, rugged rugs that covered her floor. “So, dearest one. Why are you in Afaloque, and not that abbey of yours?”
Dejah scanned the room with faint surprise. Although lushly coloured and furnished, it was not so perfectly sinful as usual of Teigra’s domains. Teigra’s first husband had left her ridiculous amounts of money and titles. The first had bought well-trained servants to satisfy her tastes and to dispose of the bodies. The second drew her victims like honey.
Teigra could not stop the titles from showing in her every move, but the servants-
“What is going on?” Dejah demanded. This was not a room set for seduction and execution. The satin bed sheets were in true disarray. The curtains were firmly tied shut, but the lights blazed within the house. Clothes had been strewn across every surface, and drawers had yet to be closed. No servants were in sight. Unadorned and inelegant, Teigra was dressed only in a plain blue tunic.
“I’m packing.” Teigra stated the obvious in a terse voice. “And I ask again: what are you doing here?”
Dejah caught the thread of threat in her kin’s voice and reassuringly squeezed Teigra’s shoulders. “Peace,” she murmured. She kissed Teigra’s cheek. “I am no threat.”
The reply was hissed: “They all say that.” But Teigra’s stormy eyes benefited from her restraint. “What news? You’re here on business, of course. Did Geneva send you?”
“Teigra, please. Do you really think that Geneva would send me to do her work?” Dejah raised her eyebrow sardonically.
Teigra snorted, then laughed, and it held only a hint of her madness. “No, no, of course not.” She giggled again. “My, you and Geneva-the idea-” After a moment, her face smoothed once again, though her eyes continued to glimmer. “Niha, then?”
Dejah took a breath-stopped her words-then smiled. “Dearest,” she said. “I am on our business, true, but I came to tell you.”
Her cousin looked pleased; the expression softened her features, and made her eyes shy. “Would you like some tea? It will only take a few minutes to brew-”
Mujir help her; Dejah could never tell Teigra no when she was being so good, and looked so perfectly sane. “That would be lovely,” she replied with a smile.
A lovely beam-it was lovely-and if a touch too coy, well, Teigra had played a role for many years, had she not? It wasn’t her fault-
“I remember just how you like it: milk and just a little honey.” Teigra paused in her business, causing Dejah’s heart to rocket into her throat. “Almost like Darick, you know? That’s how I remember.” Her eyes flashed. “I don’t hold it against you, of course.”
Dejah realized she had taken a step back, and forced herself to sit on a nearby bench. It was best to steer clear of the subject of Darick whenever possible, she reminded herself. If she wanted to avoid- Dejah changed the subject before she could clearly consider the consequences of a complete study of Darick. “What are you packing for?”
Teigra’s lips twisted peevishly, and briefly she was the pure and cold executioner. But she had forgotten about Darick. “Geneva. She’s ordering me back to Quatroc.”
“Did she say why?”
“No-just that I have to come, I’ll be lodging at the base, and I’m not to bring more than two suitcases.” Teigra glared across her chamber. “Like I was a dog.”
Dejah glanced down at her hands. They were twisting her green tunic, fiddling with some of the beads. She was very conscious of the vows she and Teigra had made. “I believe she has her reasons.”
Teigra seemed to deflate. “Do you know them?” She looked up again, her eyes piercing Dejah’s. “Will I be able to come back?”
“You like it here, then?” Dejah could not quite hide her relief.
“It reminds me of-”
Oh, no. No, Teigra- Dejah berated herself even as she scrambled for a distraction. Teigra was not the girl she had grown up with, and she was barely the woman Dejah had cherished. She could not allow herself to believe otherwise; it was too great a luxury.
“It’s the Kavishka,” she blurted out, half-mad herself to keep Teigra’s insanity at bay. “Do you remember the old story?”
Teigra faltered, looking bewildered by the sudden change of topic. “The…Kavishka?”
“Yes, apparently he’s real, and he’s here.” Dejah almost stumbled over the words, fast as they came. “I’m leading him to Quatroc-him and his companions. We’re taking our stand at last. It’s going to be over.”
The tea kettle began to whistle as the two women stared at each other.
Then Teigra’s eyes blazed. “What do you say we gather some blood?”
Dejah could not deny her own soul’s longing (need) for vengeance. “There will be too much for us to hold,” she said placidly. But her eyes, too, held a fervent light, and only the tiniest doubt-what can a man do for us? Besides what his gender has already done. What if we are beyond-
“I will meet you in Quatroc, then.”
Teigra grinned, the consummate seductive executioner overriding any trace of madness. “Of course, dearest. Where else shall we be but together, at the end of Pucijir’s days?”
The tea kettle began to shriek.
[re-posted after deleting everything on wyrd]
Although I liked this scene, I had to cut it for pacing reasons. Also, I didn't think you guys really needed another character, however much fun I had discovering some of Dejah/Teigra's subtleties. Just so you know, Teigra...totally turned out to be not what I expected. Enjoy :)
Dearest
Dejah arrived at Teigra’s without trouble. She had grown up in a trade-oriented city, and knew how to both blend in and avoid the spray of “holy water.” The drops of the specially treated liquid were not as powerful as some of the priests pretended-consumption was usually required for serious change-but avoiding it had been one of the first things the Resistance taught Dejah. Without a clear mind, and stripped of free will, they would be exactly the weaklings they had been judged.
Unfortunately, she thought with a sigh, there was always the other name-the other disgrace that came with extreme power. She knocked on Teigra’s door anyway.
There was a pause before anyone answered the door, which might or might not bode well for what Dejah would see.
After a moment, the heavy wood door swung open. Teigra was an absurdly attractive woman, though she hadn’t prepared her face in any extra way. Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders-veiled, but only barely. No fabric concealed Teigra’s face, and Dejah knew she had been recognized. Or, if she had brought trouble, dead.
“Dejah,” the beautiful executioner purred. “Imagine seeing you here. To what do I owe the honour?”
“Women’s business.” Dejah turned her own smile, almost as pretty, as she demurely cast her eyes to the ground. “Why don’t you let me in?” She didn’t wait for consent. Teigra could be given no true quarter. Since she lost it all in a temper, Dejah’s cousin had been desperate to snatch everything.
Teigra locked her door behind them, and gracefully loped across the vibrant, rugged rugs that covered her floor. “So, dearest one. Why are you in Afaloque, and not that abbey of yours?”
Dejah scanned the room with faint surprise. Although lushly coloured and furnished, it was not so perfectly sinful as usual of Teigra’s domains. Teigra’s first husband had left her ridiculous amounts of money and titles. The first had bought well-trained servants to satisfy her tastes and to dispose of the bodies. The second drew her victims like honey.
Teigra could not stop the titles from showing in her every move, but the servants-
“What is going on?” Dejah demanded. This was not a room set for seduction and execution. The satin bed sheets were in true disarray. The curtains were firmly tied shut, but the lights blazed within the house. Clothes had been strewn across every surface, and drawers had yet to be closed. No servants were in sight. Unadorned and inelegant, Teigra was dressed only in a plain blue tunic.
“I’m packing.” Teigra stated the obvious in a terse voice. “And I ask again: what are you doing here?”
Dejah caught the thread of threat in her kin’s voice and reassuringly squeezed Teigra’s shoulders. “Peace,” she murmured. She kissed Teigra’s cheek. “I am no threat.”
The reply was hissed: “They all say that.” But Teigra’s stormy eyes benefited from her restraint. “What news? You’re here on business, of course. Did Geneva send you?”
“Teigra, please. Do you really think that Geneva would send me to do her work?” Dejah raised her eyebrow sardonically.
Teigra snorted, then laughed, and it held only a hint of her madness. “No, no, of course not.” She giggled again. “My, you and Geneva-the idea-” After a moment, her face smoothed once again, though her eyes continued to glimmer. “Niha, then?”
Dejah took a breath-stopped her words-then smiled. “Dearest,” she said. “I am on our business, true, but I came to tell you.”
Her cousin looked pleased; the expression softened her features, and made her eyes shy. “Would you like some tea? It will only take a few minutes to brew-”
Mujir help her; Dejah could never tell Teigra no when she was being so good, and looked so perfectly sane. “That would be lovely,” she replied with a smile.
A lovely beam-it was lovely-and if a touch too coy, well, Teigra had played a role for many years, had she not? It wasn’t her fault-
“I remember just how you like it: milk and just a little honey.” Teigra paused in her business, causing Dejah’s heart to rocket into her throat. “Almost like Darick, you know? That’s how I remember.” Her eyes flashed. “I don’t hold it against you, of course.”
Dejah realized she had taken a step back, and forced herself to sit on a nearby bench. It was best to steer clear of the subject of Darick whenever possible, she reminded herself. If she wanted to avoid- Dejah changed the subject before she could clearly consider the consequences of a complete study of Darick. “What are you packing for?”
Teigra’s lips twisted peevishly, and briefly she was the pure and cold executioner. But she had forgotten about Darick. “Geneva. She’s ordering me back to Quatroc.”
“Did she say why?”
“No-just that I have to come, I’ll be lodging at the base, and I’m not to bring more than two suitcases.” Teigra glared across her chamber. “Like I was a dog.”
Dejah glanced down at her hands. They were twisting her green tunic, fiddling with some of the beads. She was very conscious of the vows she and Teigra had made. “I believe she has her reasons.”
Teigra seemed to deflate. “Do you know them?” She looked up again, her eyes piercing Dejah’s. “Will I be able to come back?”
“You like it here, then?” Dejah could not quite hide her relief.
“It reminds me of-”
Oh, no. No, Teigra- Dejah berated herself even as she scrambled for a distraction. Teigra was not the girl she had grown up with, and she was barely the woman Dejah had cherished. She could not allow herself to believe otherwise; it was too great a luxury.
“It’s the Kavishka,” she blurted out, half-mad herself to keep Teigra’s insanity at bay. “Do you remember the old story?”
Teigra faltered, looking bewildered by the sudden change of topic. “The…Kavishka?”
“Yes, apparently he’s real, and he’s here.” Dejah almost stumbled over the words, fast as they came. “I’m leading him to Quatroc-him and his companions. We’re taking our stand at last. It’s going to be over.”
The tea kettle began to whistle as the two women stared at each other.
Then Teigra’s eyes blazed. “What do you say we gather some blood?”
Dejah could not deny her own soul’s longing (need) for vengeance. “There will be too much for us to hold,” she said placidly. But her eyes, too, held a fervent light, and only the tiniest doubt-what can a man do for us? Besides what his gender has already done. What if we are beyond-
“I will meet you in Quatroc, then.”
Teigra grinned, the consummate seductive executioner overriding any trace of madness. “Of course, dearest. Where else shall we be but together, at the end of Pucijir’s days?”
The tea kettle began to shriek.
[re-posted after deleting everything on wyrd]