Collaterals

Even if You Do Not Bask In It.

"You're sure you're up for it?"

It was clearly the wrong thing to ask. The look Zarqa gave her was sharp, with tired eyes widened in an awareness that was almost crazed. Only Zarqa had not practiced. She'd not visited the temple, not even left her room, the last Leila had asked. The Young Princess had barred everyone, save for a handmaiden and the Diviners, from entering her chambers. Now, there were circles underneath her eyes, and the skin of her face was so very pale. Her hair was braided— similar to Leila's— so that it was nowhere near her face, and nowhere near the soon-to-be all-encompassing fire. And her eyes...the black of her pupil was a pin's point, so that the blue of her irises were two infinite pools of vibrant blue.  "I'm fine," she snapped, pulling her forearm out of Leila's grasp and walking away.

Leila watched her go as Haitham moved to stand by her side, "I dare say she does not seem fine."

"No," Leila sighed. "No, she doesn't."

"If it is the dance you're worried about, you may calm." His voice took a sour inflection when he continued, "Zarqa learned it at twelve, mastered it at thirteen." He brought his hand up, picking at the skin around his nails as he recalled, "That's when father told me that fate had save my fire for Zarqa, that she'd been granted the flame meant for two."

Leila did not know what to say to that. She turned, looking to her brother: he wore the same Dragon's skin as she did, though he did not need it. The leather was fireproof, carefully handled since the dragons had up and left, stitched and restitched for one member of the family after the other. One generation after the other. The ensemble that Leila, Zarqa, and Ali wore was made to be easily dismantled, so that they could shed to the more basic layers of the leather, made for mobility during the dance. Haitham did not need to shed layers of his dressing, and so his clothing allowed for...more refinery. In fact, he was dressed as well as father was. And being in much better health than father...Haitham almost looked handsome. 

"You look dashing, Haitham."

He raised his brows, hands pausing as the compliment evidently caught him by surprise. "I—" He brought his hands down, shifting the weight off one shoulder to another. "Thank you. I suppose I'll be to mother's standard, then." He nodded to the dais ahead of them, "They have me seated by her side. Boody by mine."

"Oh," Leila turned to look at the dais. They were behind it, looking up at the throne-like chairs settled atop it. The set up was in the Spectacle Arena of the city, large enough to hold a great many of its inhabitant. 

"Zarqa used to sit by me." Haitham's eyes grew distant, his hands itching to find their way to pockets. Only his pants did not have pockets. "You know, I thought it was a balance thing. Two by father, two by mother. But your chair was always empty, by Ali. Zarqa would moan about how lonely he must be, but...he never minded, I think."

Leila looked to him. They put up  a chair for her? Even in her absence?

Haitham shrugged, "Then the flame claimed Zarqa, and she was moved by father's side." He gave a cold chuckle, "I suppose I should be glad Boody came along, what was it? A year, two later? I would have been the lonely one." 

And though there was humor in his tone— Leila looked him over. She knew what is felt like, to be set aside. She'd known it since the day she was born, since the day she was sent away. "I could have them move me. I'd like nothing more than to accompany you."

Haitham stiffened. The look he gave her was— it was how she looked at her opponents before a training session, before a duel. But then his brows lowered, and his gaze almost softened, "That's very kind of you, Leila."

"And not possible, I'm afraid."

They turned. They were the first words Ali spoke to her this week.

"Why not?" Leila raised a brow.