"Down the Whispering Well," post 9
Apr. 27th, 2008 05:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneTitle: Down the Whispering Well
This post rating: general
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2917
Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I'm merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.
Pairings: Vaysh/Ashmael (historic)
Novella summary: Being brought back from the dead doesn't mean happily ever after, especially if you're Vaysh. Life has its costs, and he pays dearly. An exploration of Vaysh's character in the years before and through Pellaz's transformation, and the burdens he endures, because he must.
Post summary: Vaysh discovers that the reincarnated Pellaz is not someone he wants to spend time with, meaning Thiede has given him an engraved invitation to his own personal hell. Thankfully he has a respite with Firethorn and Yadzyar, but he knows Immanion awaits, impatiently. Continued from post 8, here.
He whistles and he runs so hold him fast
Breathe the burn, you want to let it last
He might succumb to what you haven't seen
He has a keen eye for what you used to be
~ "A Time to Be So Small," Interpol
* * * * *
Ferelithia was an explosion of colour, scents and harish pheromones after years near Tollsend and the few days in Phade's tower. Thiede had been right to warn me about Pellaz. Despite his apparent mourning for his chesnari and ruminations on how Calanthe had suffered after his first death, every glance, inflection, gesture, hair toss— it all screamed "bed me now" to my sensibilities. I rued my lost opportunity of smothering him in his pre-transformed state, and then threw the pointless regret into the wind of inevitability like a handful of black confetti. Our first night in Ferelithia had been a continuation of the duel from the morning in Olopade; our verbal swords crashed together. My lip was still sore and my jaw throbbed from when he'd hit me, though I hadn't given him the satisfaction of tending to it in front of him. I'd feared he was going to physically assault me a second time and decided to surrender instead. Pellaz had seemed surprised and foolishly let down his guard. He asked questions about Calanthe and I served up answers on the sharpest skewers I could. My faint hopeful yearning for true companionship with him had been ground into the rubble of my independence when I'd first laid eyes on him, beautiful beyond words and Thiede's success. I left him in his room at the inn to mull over how broken and emotionally pulverised Cal had been, smiling coldly to myself at the nightmares I hoped he would suffer through the night.
He despised me, made fun of me, had no respect for me, was rightfully scared of me at times, and yet, continued to try and violate my privacy. Pellaz was up to his own eyeballs in self-adoration, but as we journeyed closer to Immanion, thankfully some of his righteous aggrandizing drifted off of him. I could sense that the seriousness of the task he had to complete encroached on his flights of fancy; he knew this interim period would be brief because Thiede would only wait for so long. He gave me a headache. The insufferable days of Phade and him ganging up on me was enough to cause me to grind my teeth in my sleep. I'd had the sense to buy some herbs when we'd been out in the markets and I treated myself to a bracing facial steam with the fragrant herbs thrown in. I'd relaxed enough to contemplate sleep, at least. Thiede had packed me off with plenty of currency, so I'd also splurged and had a small bottle of the liquorice spirits sent up to my room.
As I sipped the liqueur, mindlessly running my tongue over the cut in my lip, I decided to take care of myself in another way. I'd not been a faithful correspondent with Firethorn and Jaffa, but I hoped they were still here. I sure as hell wasn't going to introduce Pellaz to them, but he didn't warrant constant minding. I evaluated the dry skin on my hands before realising that actually, yes, he probably did need my constant vigilance. If Thiede wished, he could damn me through eternity, but I wasn't about to spend every moment with Pellaz now that he was the golden, luminous creation and not the battered har I'd nursed and tended.
My years with Thiede had made me far more adept at mind-touch, as well as blocking others from doing so, and I stretched out as unobtrusive a mindwhisper as I could toward Firethorn. Almost immediately I heard his voice joyously in my head.
Vaysh! Are you here? In Ferelithia?
Just his voice, so welcoming and familiar, made me smile. Yes. I'll apologise for not keeping in better touch in person. Would it be an intrusion—
Come here tomorrow for breakfast! he interrupted with enthusiasm. Jaffa and I demand it. Yaz, too. You won't believe him— he's a precocious terror and I think I'm going to have to sedate Jaffa once Yaz's Feybraiha starts.
I'd love to come over. Are you still in your old place?
He confirmed that, and I promised to be there in time for their second cup of coffee. We wished each other a good night and I allowed the sneer to settle contentedly on my lips. Pellaz would be only too grateful for time away from me, and the feeling was mutual. Let him go and do what he wished for a half-day: get his nails painted or get drunk or have leather pants made to fit him that left nothing to the imagination in watermelon pink. I had my own secrets to keep.
* * * * *
Mornings in Ferelithia are magical— serene, but with a restless undercurrent of activity which increases as the sun climbs to her zenith. I took in deep breaths of air, heavy with the salt of the nearby sea, but a chill wafted through it; this wasn't the height of summer. Only two or three industrious sellers had begun setting up their stalls for the day's trade; I glanced down the main thoroughfare and decided to take back streets as I wasn't keen on being recognised. Not that I would. Five years had gone by, and from our wanderings yesterday, it seemed there'd been a tremendous influx of hara and human women from when I'd lived here before. Pellaz could go and discover more of its frippery on his own. I'd left a message and a bag of coins for him with the bartender, sidestepping his questions and hoping that Pellaz had enough common sense to do the same. I'd be back by noon; where I went was my affair.
The front door at Jaffa and Firethorn's had been painted an eye-popping, robin's egg blue; words in a script I didn't recognise danced along under the eaves in a bold fuchsia colour; each of the wooden shutters flanking the windows was painted a different, vivid hue. It was unconventional, to say the least, but I found myself smiling because it certainly suited them. I knocked and paused, hearing a padding of feet come toward the door. It opened and my greeting for Firethorn died on my lips. The harling's wolfish light blue-grey eyes gazed curiously at me— I looked at him and then further down at a slate coloured cat who purred, making figure eights about his ankles while Yazdyar and I evaluated each other.
"Hello, Yazdyar," I said finally, placing my hand at my heart in an ancient gesture of introduction. "I'm Vaysh. Your hostling and father are expecting me."
"You look just like the portrait Firethorn painted of you," he said before picking up the cat and draping it around his shoulders. A beaming smile transformed his features and he pulled me into the house by the hand. "It's just Yaz. I only get called by my full name if I'm in trouble. I'm glad to meet you. Thorn and Jaffa told me that you were here when I was created, and I'm sort of a part of you, too."
"That's generous of them to say," I remarked dryly, noticing his wavy mahogany hair was in two simple braids, much as how I remembered Firethorn's appearance when he'd made his unforgettable arrival to Castlegar.
"Father's off at a job, but Thorn is setting up an excellent breakfast out in the courtyard."
"Off at a job?" I asked a bit stupidly, navigating a half-familiar maze of furniture to get to the back patio.
"Yeah. He's a builder. All the rich hara want him. He makes really unique and beautiful woodworks. Gazebos, chests of drawers, tables and chairs, even a few houses."
I pondered how well such a career must suit Jaffa when Firethorn strode over to me from a table set in the shade.
"Oh Vaysh, I can't tell you how much it means to see you again!" he exclaimed warmly, holding me in a tight embrace. I worried when you told us Feslavit had died and you got all secretive. He leaned back, his hands sliding down to rest at my waist. "You look—" Concern clouded his striking, hawkish visage, which seemed unchanged since I'd seen him last. "Vaysh, it's like the flame in you has been snuffed out. What's he done?"
I rested my forehead against his, greedily absorbing the waves of healing energy and affection that poured from him. "I haven't changed, not really," I mumbled. "I've had to put up with an unpleasant travelling companion, but it's nothing I can't handle."
"Serafina, get down! Bad cat!" Yaz scolded. My gaze drifted over and I saw the cat running away from the table with a piece of something from the spread in its mouth.
"But Vaysh," Firethorn continued on.
I shook my head. "Not now," I insisted. "I'm here to be with you and this gorgeous harling of yours."
Yaz grinned, his teeth gleaming. In the light I could see he'd woven coral beads through his plaits, and he seemed totally at ease with himself— not close to Feybraiha, then. That wouldn't come for another couple of years. He was a compelling mix of his strikingly different parents, which gave him a fierce beauty unrivalled by nearly anyone I'd seen.
"I'm hungry," he moaned plaintively. "Can we eat now?"
"Yes. Just go into the kitchen and get the burner for the coffee and put it in the middle there, okay?" Firethorn asked, kneading his fingers into the small of my back. He was hoping to peel away the layers he knew that I knew he saw shrouding my spirit.
Another time, I pleaded, leaning in to rest my cheek against his, hearing a faint noise of crockery being shifted around as the sound came through the open window to the kitchen. Tell me about you. It'll do more for me than you can imagine.
Aloud, I said, "I must be back at the inn by noon, but that gives you a good several hours to talk until you're hoarse. Where exactly is Jaffa, anyway?"
Firethorn regarded me with a compassion that gnawed at my carefully locked reserves before he stepped away. "He's off on this big building project. After Yaz was born, we stopped singing as much and then his woodworking skills became noticed and that was that! He's Ferelithia's most sought after artisan carpenter."
"This doesn't surprise me, somehow."
Firethorn smiled, and then walked over to the table where Yaz had placed the coffee carafe on top of a small stand with a candle burning underneath.
"Your house is very colourful," I said, hoping to engage Yazdyar in more conversation.
"It was my idea!" he said gleefully before biting into a ripe plum. "I think it's great. The words are a protection spell that Thorn taught me, but written in an old human script. I thought the letters were pretty."
"It's certainly distinctive."
"Jaffa about had a heart attack at first, but now he thinks it's great," Firethorn commented. "Now both we and the house are notorious."
"Is Yaz still the only harling, or are there others?"
Firethorn handed me a plate, glazed in a luminous jade. "There are only two others. Well, two now, but in another month there will be three." A secretive smile graced his lips. My eyes immediately went to his abdomen, which was taut as ever. His smile quirked lop-sidedly.
"Jaffa's the hostling," Yaz said, licking juice from around his lips.
"Oh. My." I pondered that while serving myself a small helping of the aromatic dishes: a creamy porridge, fruits, and warm sweet breads. "What an adventure for him! I hope he doesn't strain himself, while he's with pearl."
"No— he saw me through mine, and he's being careful. You'll have to come back again before you go so you can see him," Firethorn stated emphatically.
We spent a very pleasant few hours talking and eating. Yaz occasionally disappeared into the house and brought out treasures to show me as though I were an old friend. Being with them helped to smooth over the anger and frustration I'd had with Pellaz. Even so, my necessity to return to the inn was like a rash that itched with no salve. As it neared my time to go, it grew warmer; I took off my over tunic and saw Yaz's eyes grow wide.
"That's wicked!" he gasped, awestruck, pointing at me.
"What's wicked?"
"That pendant. It's really crazy."
I cocked my head, looking at Firethorn. "Is that a good thing?"
He sat back, crossing one leg atop his knee, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I'd say so."
"Here, Yaz." I unfastened the clasp and placed it in his palm. He'd come over to look more closely at it, holding it up so the sun shone through the amber.
"What is it?"
"A phoenix." I paused only a moment, feeling the echoing rightness of the gesture. "It's yours."
His expression was comical, his light eyes wide as saucers, mouth open like a fish.
"No, Vaysh," Firethorn murmured, his eyebrows furrowed. "Feslavit gave that to you."
"And now I'm giving it to your son. Here, let me put it on you."
Yazdyar stammered his thanks as I stood up, lifting the pendant from his upturned palm and settling it over his head. He gazed wonderingly at it, then up at me, gratitude glowing on his coltish face.
"Vaysh! Thank you so much!" He threw his arms around me and I held him close, leaning my head down to small the fragrant lilac in his hair.
"You're welcome. I wish I'd been here to be a part of your growing up."
"You've been with us in spirit," Firethorn said softly.
* * * * *
The next two days I kept closer tabs on Pellaz. The evening after I saw Firethorn and Yazdyar we went to Temple Radiant; of all the clubs in Ferelithia, it had become one of the most popular locales to be out on the prowl and to be seen by those who seemed to matter. Pellaz was full of self-satisfied glee when we finally crossed paths again late that afternoon, telling me he'd run into his human friend Kate. He informed me he was going to meet her at Temple Radiant that evening, and I insisted that I accompany him. He'd taken his sweet time coming back to the inn; I'd spent most of the afternoon waiting, wondering where he'd gone and I glowered at him when he rubbed my face in his discovery of his friend from the past. Out of the blue, however, he rummaged through a small bag and gave me a bracelet. It was a lovely, sturdy circlet of brass, finely hammered.
"Here," he said. "I bought you something. God knows why."
I took it from his outstretched hand, turning it through my fingers before sliding it onto my wrist. I spun it with my thumb, marveling at the coincidence of having given away one piece of jewellery only to have another offered to me from such an unlikely source.
"Thank you," I said, surprised at the brief flash of true gratitude to him that I felt. "I don't know why you got it either, but thanks. The metalwork is beautiful."
For a few moments he looked genuinely startled and at a loss for words. "You're welcome," he said at last, his dark eyes warm with something that might have been fondness. He pressed his luck far too quickly, however. "Where did you go this morning?" he asked, and my defenses snapped back into place with a resounding clang.
"None of your business."
"Fine! I'll just go fuck off then, shall I?" he taunted, running his fingers along the gold hoops he'd had put in his ears. Thankfully I'd seen no evidence of pink leather, but I hadn't investigated his room, either.
"There's no need to be vulgar," I snapped.
"There's no need for you to be so awful."
"Don't provoke me, then."
"All I did was ask you where you went! For God's sake! Vaysh, that's hardly an unexpected question."
"Maybe so," I countered, "but I don't feel like revealing that to you."
"You don't feel like revealing anything except that you have ice for blood," he said cheerily, striding off toward his room.
"I'm going with you tonight!" I called at his back. "We'll eat dinner downstairs. At eight."
"Whatever!" he retorted before slamming the door.
"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," I said, the mantra running through my head as I decided what to do for the next hour and a half. While the idea of abandoning him to his fate and hiding out — even temporarily — with Jaffa and Firethorn had its appeal, I knew that wasn't really an option. Instead, I went down to where Tassia was boarded and went for a quick ride. She seemed grateful, and I felt I'd grounded myself at least a little bit. She expressed her readiness to return to Immanion, which sent tremulous icicles down my spine. It was all looming, ever closer: there would be no avoiding the disaster I'd imagined in a thousand moments of tormented imagination. Immanion would have Pellaz, and Pellaz would have me, no matter how loathsome the situation to both of us. It would be my own picturesque hell, done up in Thiede's marmoreal city on a hill with its palace awaiting its chosen one.
And there, somewhere, was Ashmael, unprepared to know that he would be confronted with the living dead.
This post rating: general
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2917
Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I'm merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.
Pairings: Vaysh/Ashmael (historic)
Novella summary: Being brought back from the dead doesn't mean happily ever after, especially if you're Vaysh. Life has its costs, and he pays dearly. An exploration of Vaysh's character in the years before and through Pellaz's transformation, and the burdens he endures, because he must.
Post summary: Vaysh discovers that the reincarnated Pellaz is not someone he wants to spend time with, meaning Thiede has given him an engraved invitation to his own personal hell. Thankfully he has a respite with Firethorn and Yadzyar, but he knows Immanion awaits, impatiently. Continued from post 8, here.
He whistles and he runs so hold him fast
Breathe the burn, you want to let it last
He might succumb to what you haven't seen
He has a keen eye for what you used to be
~ "A Time to Be So Small," Interpol
* * * * *
Ferelithia was an explosion of colour, scents and harish pheromones after years near Tollsend and the few days in Phade's tower. Thiede had been right to warn me about Pellaz. Despite his apparent mourning for his chesnari and ruminations on how Calanthe had suffered after his first death, every glance, inflection, gesture, hair toss— it all screamed "bed me now" to my sensibilities. I rued my lost opportunity of smothering him in his pre-transformed state, and then threw the pointless regret into the wind of inevitability like a handful of black confetti. Our first night in Ferelithia had been a continuation of the duel from the morning in Olopade; our verbal swords crashed together. My lip was still sore and my jaw throbbed from when he'd hit me, though I hadn't given him the satisfaction of tending to it in front of him. I'd feared he was going to physically assault me a second time and decided to surrender instead. Pellaz had seemed surprised and foolishly let down his guard. He asked questions about Calanthe and I served up answers on the sharpest skewers I could. My faint hopeful yearning for true companionship with him had been ground into the rubble of my independence when I'd first laid eyes on him, beautiful beyond words and Thiede's success. I left him in his room at the inn to mull over how broken and emotionally pulverised Cal had been, smiling coldly to myself at the nightmares I hoped he would suffer through the night.
He despised me, made fun of me, had no respect for me, was rightfully scared of me at times, and yet, continued to try and violate my privacy. Pellaz was up to his own eyeballs in self-adoration, but as we journeyed closer to Immanion, thankfully some of his righteous aggrandizing drifted off of him. I could sense that the seriousness of the task he had to complete encroached on his flights of fancy; he knew this interim period would be brief because Thiede would only wait for so long. He gave me a headache. The insufferable days of Phade and him ganging up on me was enough to cause me to grind my teeth in my sleep. I'd had the sense to buy some herbs when we'd been out in the markets and I treated myself to a bracing facial steam with the fragrant herbs thrown in. I'd relaxed enough to contemplate sleep, at least. Thiede had packed me off with plenty of currency, so I'd also splurged and had a small bottle of the liquorice spirits sent up to my room.
As I sipped the liqueur, mindlessly running my tongue over the cut in my lip, I decided to take care of myself in another way. I'd not been a faithful correspondent with Firethorn and Jaffa, but I hoped they were still here. I sure as hell wasn't going to introduce Pellaz to them, but he didn't warrant constant minding. I evaluated the dry skin on my hands before realising that actually, yes, he probably did need my constant vigilance. If Thiede wished, he could damn me through eternity, but I wasn't about to spend every moment with Pellaz now that he was the golden, luminous creation and not the battered har I'd nursed and tended.
My years with Thiede had made me far more adept at mind-touch, as well as blocking others from doing so, and I stretched out as unobtrusive a mindwhisper as I could toward Firethorn. Almost immediately I heard his voice joyously in my head.
Vaysh! Are you here? In Ferelithia?
Just his voice, so welcoming and familiar, made me smile. Yes. I'll apologise for not keeping in better touch in person. Would it be an intrusion—
Come here tomorrow for breakfast! he interrupted with enthusiasm. Jaffa and I demand it. Yaz, too. You won't believe him— he's a precocious terror and I think I'm going to have to sedate Jaffa once Yaz's Feybraiha starts.
I'd love to come over. Are you still in your old place?
He confirmed that, and I promised to be there in time for their second cup of coffee. We wished each other a good night and I allowed the sneer to settle contentedly on my lips. Pellaz would be only too grateful for time away from me, and the feeling was mutual. Let him go and do what he wished for a half-day: get his nails painted or get drunk or have leather pants made to fit him that left nothing to the imagination in watermelon pink. I had my own secrets to keep.
* * * * *
Mornings in Ferelithia are magical— serene, but with a restless undercurrent of activity which increases as the sun climbs to her zenith. I took in deep breaths of air, heavy with the salt of the nearby sea, but a chill wafted through it; this wasn't the height of summer. Only two or three industrious sellers had begun setting up their stalls for the day's trade; I glanced down the main thoroughfare and decided to take back streets as I wasn't keen on being recognised. Not that I would. Five years had gone by, and from our wanderings yesterday, it seemed there'd been a tremendous influx of hara and human women from when I'd lived here before. Pellaz could go and discover more of its frippery on his own. I'd left a message and a bag of coins for him with the bartender, sidestepping his questions and hoping that Pellaz had enough common sense to do the same. I'd be back by noon; where I went was my affair.
The front door at Jaffa and Firethorn's had been painted an eye-popping, robin's egg blue; words in a script I didn't recognise danced along under the eaves in a bold fuchsia colour; each of the wooden shutters flanking the windows was painted a different, vivid hue. It was unconventional, to say the least, but I found myself smiling because it certainly suited them. I knocked and paused, hearing a padding of feet come toward the door. It opened and my greeting for Firethorn died on my lips. The harling's wolfish light blue-grey eyes gazed curiously at me— I looked at him and then further down at a slate coloured cat who purred, making figure eights about his ankles while Yazdyar and I evaluated each other.
"Hello, Yazdyar," I said finally, placing my hand at my heart in an ancient gesture of introduction. "I'm Vaysh. Your hostling and father are expecting me."
"You look just like the portrait Firethorn painted of you," he said before picking up the cat and draping it around his shoulders. A beaming smile transformed his features and he pulled me into the house by the hand. "It's just Yaz. I only get called by my full name if I'm in trouble. I'm glad to meet you. Thorn and Jaffa told me that you were here when I was created, and I'm sort of a part of you, too."
"That's generous of them to say," I remarked dryly, noticing his wavy mahogany hair was in two simple braids, much as how I remembered Firethorn's appearance when he'd made his unforgettable arrival to Castlegar.
"Father's off at a job, but Thorn is setting up an excellent breakfast out in the courtyard."
"Off at a job?" I asked a bit stupidly, navigating a half-familiar maze of furniture to get to the back patio.
"Yeah. He's a builder. All the rich hara want him. He makes really unique and beautiful woodworks. Gazebos, chests of drawers, tables and chairs, even a few houses."
I pondered how well such a career must suit Jaffa when Firethorn strode over to me from a table set in the shade.
"Oh Vaysh, I can't tell you how much it means to see you again!" he exclaimed warmly, holding me in a tight embrace. I worried when you told us Feslavit had died and you got all secretive. He leaned back, his hands sliding down to rest at my waist. "You look—" Concern clouded his striking, hawkish visage, which seemed unchanged since I'd seen him last. "Vaysh, it's like the flame in you has been snuffed out. What's he done?"
I rested my forehead against his, greedily absorbing the waves of healing energy and affection that poured from him. "I haven't changed, not really," I mumbled. "I've had to put up with an unpleasant travelling companion, but it's nothing I can't handle."
"Serafina, get down! Bad cat!" Yaz scolded. My gaze drifted over and I saw the cat running away from the table with a piece of something from the spread in its mouth.
"But Vaysh," Firethorn continued on.
I shook my head. "Not now," I insisted. "I'm here to be with you and this gorgeous harling of yours."
Yaz grinned, his teeth gleaming. In the light I could see he'd woven coral beads through his plaits, and he seemed totally at ease with himself— not close to Feybraiha, then. That wouldn't come for another couple of years. He was a compelling mix of his strikingly different parents, which gave him a fierce beauty unrivalled by nearly anyone I'd seen.
"I'm hungry," he moaned plaintively. "Can we eat now?"
"Yes. Just go into the kitchen and get the burner for the coffee and put it in the middle there, okay?" Firethorn asked, kneading his fingers into the small of my back. He was hoping to peel away the layers he knew that I knew he saw shrouding my spirit.
Another time, I pleaded, leaning in to rest my cheek against his, hearing a faint noise of crockery being shifted around as the sound came through the open window to the kitchen. Tell me about you. It'll do more for me than you can imagine.
Aloud, I said, "I must be back at the inn by noon, but that gives you a good several hours to talk until you're hoarse. Where exactly is Jaffa, anyway?"
Firethorn regarded me with a compassion that gnawed at my carefully locked reserves before he stepped away. "He's off on this big building project. After Yaz was born, we stopped singing as much and then his woodworking skills became noticed and that was that! He's Ferelithia's most sought after artisan carpenter."
"This doesn't surprise me, somehow."
Firethorn smiled, and then walked over to the table where Yaz had placed the coffee carafe on top of a small stand with a candle burning underneath.
"Your house is very colourful," I said, hoping to engage Yazdyar in more conversation.
"It was my idea!" he said gleefully before biting into a ripe plum. "I think it's great. The words are a protection spell that Thorn taught me, but written in an old human script. I thought the letters were pretty."
"It's certainly distinctive."
"Jaffa about had a heart attack at first, but now he thinks it's great," Firethorn commented. "Now both we and the house are notorious."
"Is Yaz still the only harling, or are there others?"
Firethorn handed me a plate, glazed in a luminous jade. "There are only two others. Well, two now, but in another month there will be three." A secretive smile graced his lips. My eyes immediately went to his abdomen, which was taut as ever. His smile quirked lop-sidedly.
"Jaffa's the hostling," Yaz said, licking juice from around his lips.
"Oh. My." I pondered that while serving myself a small helping of the aromatic dishes: a creamy porridge, fruits, and warm sweet breads. "What an adventure for him! I hope he doesn't strain himself, while he's with pearl."
"No— he saw me through mine, and he's being careful. You'll have to come back again before you go so you can see him," Firethorn stated emphatically.
We spent a very pleasant few hours talking and eating. Yaz occasionally disappeared into the house and brought out treasures to show me as though I were an old friend. Being with them helped to smooth over the anger and frustration I'd had with Pellaz. Even so, my necessity to return to the inn was like a rash that itched with no salve. As it neared my time to go, it grew warmer; I took off my over tunic and saw Yaz's eyes grow wide.
"That's wicked!" he gasped, awestruck, pointing at me.
"What's wicked?"
"That pendant. It's really crazy."
I cocked my head, looking at Firethorn. "Is that a good thing?"
He sat back, crossing one leg atop his knee, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I'd say so."
"Here, Yaz." I unfastened the clasp and placed it in his palm. He'd come over to look more closely at it, holding it up so the sun shone through the amber.
"What is it?"
"A phoenix." I paused only a moment, feeling the echoing rightness of the gesture. "It's yours."
His expression was comical, his light eyes wide as saucers, mouth open like a fish.
"No, Vaysh," Firethorn murmured, his eyebrows furrowed. "Feslavit gave that to you."
"And now I'm giving it to your son. Here, let me put it on you."
Yazdyar stammered his thanks as I stood up, lifting the pendant from his upturned palm and settling it over his head. He gazed wonderingly at it, then up at me, gratitude glowing on his coltish face.
"Vaysh! Thank you so much!" He threw his arms around me and I held him close, leaning my head down to small the fragrant lilac in his hair.
"You're welcome. I wish I'd been here to be a part of your growing up."
"You've been with us in spirit," Firethorn said softly.
* * * * *
The next two days I kept closer tabs on Pellaz. The evening after I saw Firethorn and Yazdyar we went to Temple Radiant; of all the clubs in Ferelithia, it had become one of the most popular locales to be out on the prowl and to be seen by those who seemed to matter. Pellaz was full of self-satisfied glee when we finally crossed paths again late that afternoon, telling me he'd run into his human friend Kate. He informed me he was going to meet her at Temple Radiant that evening, and I insisted that I accompany him. He'd taken his sweet time coming back to the inn; I'd spent most of the afternoon waiting, wondering where he'd gone and I glowered at him when he rubbed my face in his discovery of his friend from the past. Out of the blue, however, he rummaged through a small bag and gave me a bracelet. It was a lovely, sturdy circlet of brass, finely hammered.
"Here," he said. "I bought you something. God knows why."
I took it from his outstretched hand, turning it through my fingers before sliding it onto my wrist. I spun it with my thumb, marveling at the coincidence of having given away one piece of jewellery only to have another offered to me from such an unlikely source.
"Thank you," I said, surprised at the brief flash of true gratitude to him that I felt. "I don't know why you got it either, but thanks. The metalwork is beautiful."
For a few moments he looked genuinely startled and at a loss for words. "You're welcome," he said at last, his dark eyes warm with something that might have been fondness. He pressed his luck far too quickly, however. "Where did you go this morning?" he asked, and my defenses snapped back into place with a resounding clang.
"None of your business."
"Fine! I'll just go fuck off then, shall I?" he taunted, running his fingers along the gold hoops he'd had put in his ears. Thankfully I'd seen no evidence of pink leather, but I hadn't investigated his room, either.
"There's no need to be vulgar," I snapped.
"There's no need for you to be so awful."
"Don't provoke me, then."
"All I did was ask you where you went! For God's sake! Vaysh, that's hardly an unexpected question."
"Maybe so," I countered, "but I don't feel like revealing that to you."
"You don't feel like revealing anything except that you have ice for blood," he said cheerily, striding off toward his room.
"I'm going with you tonight!" I called at his back. "We'll eat dinner downstairs. At eight."
"Whatever!" he retorted before slamming the door.
"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," I said, the mantra running through my head as I decided what to do for the next hour and a half. While the idea of abandoning him to his fate and hiding out — even temporarily — with Jaffa and Firethorn had its appeal, I knew that wasn't really an option. Instead, I went down to where Tassia was boarded and went for a quick ride. She seemed grateful, and I felt I'd grounded myself at least a little bit. She expressed her readiness to return to Immanion, which sent tremulous icicles down my spine. It was all looming, ever closer: there would be no avoiding the disaster I'd imagined in a thousand moments of tormented imagination. Immanion would have Pellaz, and Pellaz would have me, no matter how loathsome the situation to both of us. It would be my own picturesque hell, done up in Thiede's marmoreal city on a hill with its palace awaiting its chosen one.
And there, somewhere, was Ashmael, unprepared to know that he would be confronted with the living dead.