Chokeberry, Fudge Ripple and Red Currant with Fresh Pineapple
Author: ellis12
Story: Threads ( Background | Index)
Rating: PG 13
Challenge: Chokeberry #15 (it is called having regrets), Red Currant #7 (eye of the storm), Fudge Ripple #16 (suspicion)
Extras/Toppings: Fresh Pineapple
Word count: 1838
Summary: In which Leyran and Maeve have a lengthy discussion.
“Your Reverence?”
The girl couldn’t have been older than ten. Her dress was simple and quite worn through, but clean and her hair tied in a single braid pulled over her shoulder. She was also scared, Maeve thought, unsure about interrupting the High Priestess’ meditation.
From their dimly illuminated niches, the statues representing Aser and Ayun looked down in silence.
“What happened?” Maeve asked, climbing back to her feet and dusting her skirts. Exhaustion returned as soon as she stood, and she staggered, reaching out to steady herself with a hand against the wall. She had spent most of her day running between the kitchens, the storages, the sick yards and her office were the stack of reports on her desk seemed to grow at an ever increasing pace. Such matters, like supplies and caring for the poor would have normally fallen in the responsibility of Sanctuary clerks, yet with the countless refugees trouble had come as well. She didn’t afford to give those papers just a cursory look anymore. Disaster piled upon hardship, most of the time. Just the evening before, two grain stores had caught fire and burned to the ground. It felt as if the Gods themselves had decided to turn against the Emarans, and whatever she did was just a drop of water in an endless, searing waste.
The girl shot her a worried look, then held out a folded piece of paper with both hands, and made an awkward attempt at a curtsy. She must have come in with one of the waves of refugees from the Asura Wilds, Maeve thought, because she was olive-skinned and dark haired where most of the Emarans were fair. Her voice was thick with emotion.
“I was told to give you this.”
“Who told you to?”
“A man.” She fidgeted with her sleeves, frowning, then promptly blushed and lowered her gaze. “I...I didn’t ask for his name, your Reverence. I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.” Maeve took the paper and gave the girl what she hoped it was a reassuring smile. “What is your name, child?”
“Aine, your Reverence.” The girl’s head tilted back, eyes glowing. She was pretty too, Maeve thought, and as excitable as she herself had been when she first came to the Sanctuary. The fourth daughter of a minor nobleman with a dwindling wealth, she had hardly been given any choice at the time. Her father had been grateful to leave her in the care of the priests - at least she was one for which he wouldn’t be required to provide a dowry. To the day, Maeve wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Thank you, Aine." she said absently. "You can go now.”
“Yes, your Reverence. Please excuse me.” She curtsied, as deliciously awkward as she had the first time, then trotted away. Maeve unfolded the paper with numb fingers, fearing its contents. She hadn’t received any good news in a while.
To top it off, the High Priest and the Assembly spent the greater part of their time locked in the old Library, and left the city to its fate. Damn them all, she thought, almost with a vengeance, too tired to be worried about the blasphemy.
The paper in her hand read only three words. Our place, tonight.
It wasn’t their meaning, but the recognition of that neat, uneventful script that made her gasp.
***
She was panting by the time she reached the top of the battlements. The wind buffeted her, picking at her dress and cloak and nearly making her stumble. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath, flinching when thunder cracked overhead, under the ceiling of dark gray clouds.
The storm had taken her by surprise. Through the tiny window of her office the day had seemed bright and warm until late in the afternoon. She flinched again as forked lightning split the sky. There were a lot of things she hadn’t seen coming of late.
No one came up there on the battlements, except for the city guards doing their rounds. It was as isolated a place as one could go to and still remain within the walls of Emara. She still remembered the awe she felt when she had first climbed all the way up. Behind her unfolded the panorama of the city with the maze of the Warrens, the workers' and traders' quarters and the fluted colonnades of the Sanctuary. In front, the waters of the Arimir lake gleamed dully in the fading light, stretching as far as she could see. The air smelled of brimstone and salt.
Holding close to the wall she peered both sides, straining to distinguish which way to go, in the failing light.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
Even expecting to see him, she still started. He sat in the nearest crenel, one knee cradled against his chest, the other leg precariously balanced over the edge. She fought the urge to tell him to pull back; there was a long fall on the other side.
“Well, I am here now,” she said. She didn’t like the memories that place evoked. She hated how empty they made her feel.
Leyran finally deigned to look in her direction. He looked bad, Maeve thought, skin ashen and eyes sunken in the back of his head, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Knowing him, that was more than a remote possibility.
“You should rest,” she said, seating herself close to him, yet as far away from the edge as was possible. “You look wasted.”
“I feel wasted,” he murmured, resting his head against the stone behind his back. “You don’t strike me as flourishing either.”
“Is exchanging compliments why you had me climbing all the way up here, in the dead of the night?” Maeve couldn’t quite contain her wry mood. The bitter taste of their last encounter still lingered within her, the anger in Leyran’s eyes as he threw those horrible words in her face.
“I see you lost nothing of your sweet temper.” That anger was still simmering beneath, she didn’t think he was ever without it of late. When they were that close she could feel it in her bones. She almost held a hand out to touch him, and then pretended she was just brushing back the strands of hair that had escaped from her bun. Leyran didn’t seem to take notice. He just stared in the distance, across the lake. Thunder cracked again, so close that Maeve almost yelped. She squared her shoulders, trying to keep her breath even, despite the urge to run away and hide.
“I’m not here to discuss that either,” she said through gritted teeth.
“True,” Leyran shrugged. “I just wanted to give you fair warning. Someone in this city is working for the Reseish.”
“Dear Gods!” Shock washed through her with the words, sending her mind into feverish speculation. “How could you figure such?”
“We took some of them alive,” he said, and the blankness of his voice suddenly felt more threatening than the storm. “They talked...after a fashion.”
“Why would they -“It was only the habit of controlling her mind and reactions that kept Maeve from bolting. She couldn’t pick out the emotions that warred inside her. Surprise. Anger. Disgust. Fear. And worry. Sweet Ayun, what was he doing to himself? “Did you- “She wet her lips, knowing the answer beforehand, but needing to hear it nonetheless. “Did you torture them?”
"How do you think war works, exactly, Mav?" Leyran asked quietly.
“Not. Like. This.” She exhaled and clasped her hands together in her lap. There was a hint of grim satisfaction in his tone, as if trying to provoke her. And she’d heard more than rumours about what he did, enough to make her shiver. But his eyes, when he flashed a look in her direction were haunted. Her knuckles had turned white with the strain of keeping her hands still. “What did you find out?”
“That they’re planning a siege. And that someone inside the city works for them.”
“It has to be a ploy,” Maeve whispered, flinching as lightning lashed in the sky over them. “They wish to turn us against each other.”
“They needn’t take the pain. We’re divided enough as is,” Leyran said. A moment’s silence followed. “I don’t think we can’t discard the possibility. It has been...more than one of them, saying the same thing.”
She met his gaze, for a brief moment only, before both of them glanced away, the unspoken words clinging awkward and heavy in the air between them.
“Maybe they lied,” Maeve said, her mouth as dry as tinder. The very idea was troubling and discomforting. She didn’t want to consider it, but there he was, right again, she couldn’t ignore it either only because she wanted so. “Many would do the same to save their lives.”
“I never said I’d let them live,” Leyran said in an ashen voice. He seemed to be frowning at the darkening sky. “For one, I believe them.”
She shook her head, feeling sick.
“Mistrust would only bury us faster, if anything.”
“Can you just go along with me for once, instead of against me?” Leyran snapped. “Just keep your eyes open and your mind sharp in the weeks to come.” Despite his irritated tone, exhaustion seemed to lace his every breath. “I don’t know, Mav. I don’t know what I should do myself.”
Sleep, Maeve thought, but pursed her lips not to say that loud.
“Are you convinced an Emaran would be able to betray their people so?” she asked instead.
“People pushed to their limits do a lot of things they might not otherwise consider.” A crooked smile flitted across Leyran’s lips, as if he found the thought amusing. Maeve felt again that stab of angry pain through her ribs, too close to her heart for comfort. She could deal with his rage and accusations, and the arrogant way in which he stomped over everyone’s faith and feelings. Seeing him so brittle was a different thing.
“Why-“She cut off and licked her lips again. “Why let me know of this? ”
“Because I have to trust someone, else I go mad,” Leyran said grimly. His eyes met hers, cold but intense. Everything about him was intense, she recalled, and couldn’t hold back a shudder at the memory. “As much as anyone can be trusted these days.”
“Leyran...”
“You should go,” he added. A few scattered drops of rain landed on her cheek. The ceiling of clouds seemed close enough to touch, the air bristling with the raw energy of the storm. “It’s going to rain soon.” Even in that eerie twilight she saw the change in his face with the shared remembrance, that half wistful, half pained expression twisting his features, which she knew so well and wished she didn't.
She almost reached out a second time, and then caught herself short of touching his shoulder.
It made no difference now.
Leyran didn't even glance in her direction as she left.
Story: Threads ( Background | Index)
Rating: PG 13
Challenge: Chokeberry #15 (it is called having regrets), Red Currant #7 (eye of the storm), Fudge Ripple #16 (suspicion)
Extras/Toppings: Fresh Pineapple
Word count: 1838
Summary: In which Leyran and Maeve have a lengthy discussion.
“Your Reverence?”
The girl couldn’t have been older than ten. Her dress was simple and quite worn through, but clean and her hair tied in a single braid pulled over her shoulder. She was also scared, Maeve thought, unsure about interrupting the High Priestess’ meditation.
From their dimly illuminated niches, the statues representing Aser and Ayun looked down in silence.
“What happened?” Maeve asked, climbing back to her feet and dusting her skirts. Exhaustion returned as soon as she stood, and she staggered, reaching out to steady herself with a hand against the wall. She had spent most of her day running between the kitchens, the storages, the sick yards and her office were the stack of reports on her desk seemed to grow at an ever increasing pace. Such matters, like supplies and caring for the poor would have normally fallen in the responsibility of Sanctuary clerks, yet with the countless refugees trouble had come as well. She didn’t afford to give those papers just a cursory look anymore. Disaster piled upon hardship, most of the time. Just the evening before, two grain stores had caught fire and burned to the ground. It felt as if the Gods themselves had decided to turn against the Emarans, and whatever she did was just a drop of water in an endless, searing waste.
The girl shot her a worried look, then held out a folded piece of paper with both hands, and made an awkward attempt at a curtsy. She must have come in with one of the waves of refugees from the Asura Wilds, Maeve thought, because she was olive-skinned and dark haired where most of the Emarans were fair. Her voice was thick with emotion.
“I was told to give you this.”
“Who told you to?”
“A man.” She fidgeted with her sleeves, frowning, then promptly blushed and lowered her gaze. “I...I didn’t ask for his name, your Reverence. I’m sorry.”
“Never mind.” Maeve took the paper and gave the girl what she hoped it was a reassuring smile. “What is your name, child?”
“Aine, your Reverence.” The girl’s head tilted back, eyes glowing. She was pretty too, Maeve thought, and as excitable as she herself had been when she first came to the Sanctuary. The fourth daughter of a minor nobleman with a dwindling wealth, she had hardly been given any choice at the time. Her father had been grateful to leave her in the care of the priests - at least she was one for which he wouldn’t be required to provide a dowry. To the day, Maeve wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Thank you, Aine." she said absently. "You can go now.”
“Yes, your Reverence. Please excuse me.” She curtsied, as deliciously awkward as she had the first time, then trotted away. Maeve unfolded the paper with numb fingers, fearing its contents. She hadn’t received any good news in a while.
To top it off, the High Priest and the Assembly spent the greater part of their time locked in the old Library, and left the city to its fate. Damn them all, she thought, almost with a vengeance, too tired to be worried about the blasphemy.
The paper in her hand read only three words. Our place, tonight.
It wasn’t their meaning, but the recognition of that neat, uneventful script that made her gasp.
***
She was panting by the time she reached the top of the battlements. The wind buffeted her, picking at her dress and cloak and nearly making her stumble. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath, flinching when thunder cracked overhead, under the ceiling of dark gray clouds.
The storm had taken her by surprise. Through the tiny window of her office the day had seemed bright and warm until late in the afternoon. She flinched again as forked lightning split the sky. There were a lot of things she hadn’t seen coming of late.
No one came up there on the battlements, except for the city guards doing their rounds. It was as isolated a place as one could go to and still remain within the walls of Emara. She still remembered the awe she felt when she had first climbed all the way up. Behind her unfolded the panorama of the city with the maze of the Warrens, the workers' and traders' quarters and the fluted colonnades of the Sanctuary. In front, the waters of the Arimir lake gleamed dully in the fading light, stretching as far as she could see. The air smelled of brimstone and salt.
Holding close to the wall she peered both sides, straining to distinguish which way to go, in the failing light.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
Even expecting to see him, she still started. He sat in the nearest crenel, one knee cradled against his chest, the other leg precariously balanced over the edge. She fought the urge to tell him to pull back; there was a long fall on the other side.
“Well, I am here now,” she said. She didn’t like the memories that place evoked. She hated how empty they made her feel.
Leyran finally deigned to look in her direction. He looked bad, Maeve thought, skin ashen and eyes sunken in the back of his head, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Knowing him, that was more than a remote possibility.
“You should rest,” she said, seating herself close to him, yet as far away from the edge as was possible. “You look wasted.”
“I feel wasted,” he murmured, resting his head against the stone behind his back. “You don’t strike me as flourishing either.”
“Is exchanging compliments why you had me climbing all the way up here, in the dead of the night?” Maeve couldn’t quite contain her wry mood. The bitter taste of their last encounter still lingered within her, the anger in Leyran’s eyes as he threw those horrible words in her face.
“I see you lost nothing of your sweet temper.” That anger was still simmering beneath, she didn’t think he was ever without it of late. When they were that close she could feel it in her bones. She almost held a hand out to touch him, and then pretended she was just brushing back the strands of hair that had escaped from her bun. Leyran didn’t seem to take notice. He just stared in the distance, across the lake. Thunder cracked again, so close that Maeve almost yelped. She squared her shoulders, trying to keep her breath even, despite the urge to run away and hide.
“I’m not here to discuss that either,” she said through gritted teeth.
“True,” Leyran shrugged. “I just wanted to give you fair warning. Someone in this city is working for the Reseish.”
“Dear Gods!” Shock washed through her with the words, sending her mind into feverish speculation. “How could you figure such?”
“We took some of them alive,” he said, and the blankness of his voice suddenly felt more threatening than the storm. “They talked...after a fashion.”
“Why would they -“It was only the habit of controlling her mind and reactions that kept Maeve from bolting. She couldn’t pick out the emotions that warred inside her. Surprise. Anger. Disgust. Fear. And worry. Sweet Ayun, what was he doing to himself? “Did you- “She wet her lips, knowing the answer beforehand, but needing to hear it nonetheless. “Did you torture them?”
"How do you think war works, exactly, Mav?" Leyran asked quietly.
“Not. Like. This.” She exhaled and clasped her hands together in her lap. There was a hint of grim satisfaction in his tone, as if trying to provoke her. And she’d heard more than rumours about what he did, enough to make her shiver. But his eyes, when he flashed a look in her direction were haunted. Her knuckles had turned white with the strain of keeping her hands still. “What did you find out?”
“That they’re planning a siege. And that someone inside the city works for them.”
“It has to be a ploy,” Maeve whispered, flinching as lightning lashed in the sky over them. “They wish to turn us against each other.”
“They needn’t take the pain. We’re divided enough as is,” Leyran said. A moment’s silence followed. “I don’t think we can’t discard the possibility. It has been...more than one of them, saying the same thing.”
She met his gaze, for a brief moment only, before both of them glanced away, the unspoken words clinging awkward and heavy in the air between them.
“Maybe they lied,” Maeve said, her mouth as dry as tinder. The very idea was troubling and discomforting. She didn’t want to consider it, but there he was, right again, she couldn’t ignore it either only because she wanted so. “Many would do the same to save their lives.”
“I never said I’d let them live,” Leyran said in an ashen voice. He seemed to be frowning at the darkening sky. “For one, I believe them.”
She shook her head, feeling sick.
“Mistrust would only bury us faster, if anything.”
“Can you just go along with me for once, instead of against me?” Leyran snapped. “Just keep your eyes open and your mind sharp in the weeks to come.” Despite his irritated tone, exhaustion seemed to lace his every breath. “I don’t know, Mav. I don’t know what I should do myself.”
Sleep, Maeve thought, but pursed her lips not to say that loud.
“Are you convinced an Emaran would be able to betray their people so?” she asked instead.
“People pushed to their limits do a lot of things they might not otherwise consider.” A crooked smile flitted across Leyran’s lips, as if he found the thought amusing. Maeve felt again that stab of angry pain through her ribs, too close to her heart for comfort. She could deal with his rage and accusations, and the arrogant way in which he stomped over everyone’s faith and feelings. Seeing him so brittle was a different thing.
“Why-“She cut off and licked her lips again. “Why let me know of this? ”
“Because I have to trust someone, else I go mad,” Leyran said grimly. His eyes met hers, cold but intense. Everything about him was intense, she recalled, and couldn’t hold back a shudder at the memory. “As much as anyone can be trusted these days.”
“Leyran...”
“You should go,” he added. A few scattered drops of rain landed on her cheek. The ceiling of clouds seemed close enough to touch, the air bristling with the raw energy of the storm. “It’s going to rain soon.” Even in that eerie twilight she saw the change in his face with the shared remembrance, that half wistful, half pained expression twisting his features, which she knew so well and wished she didn't.
She almost reached out a second time, and then caught herself short of touching his shoulder.
It made no difference now.
Leyran didn't even glance in her direction as she left.