Collaterals

Near and Bright

The room was bursting with activity, courtiers bustling about, ladies and lords moving to and fro the tables where they were seated. Outside, the streets sang songs as people came together under Ali's family banner, sharing stories over small fires. Ali's name was on everyone's tongue, everyone's mind. 

The young Prince, rumored to sooner, rather than later, be the new king. 

And if there was anything to fuel the rumors, it was father's absence at the center of the table. He'd watched the Dance of the Flame, stood and raised his hand when they were done, face bared to his people as he bathed in their praise, the praise of his rule, his inevitable legacy. Today, no-one spoke of hunger, of oppression. Today, food was plenty, laughter was bountiful, and the future was near, bright, and with the searing flame of a young blood. Father had pushed through the swearing ins, watching one noble after the other bend the knee to Ali. Watching one sibling after the other bend the knee to their older brother. Fealty was sworn, and the Almighty would bear witness.

And after the banquet had started...father had whispered in mother's ear, petted her hand, and moved out the room. 

Leila, however, had sat on her seat, electricity shimmering to the very tips of her fingers. Her fingers, which were now itching for the familiar hold of her sword, only she knew it would not be so familiar. 

She'd stumbled into her room, tired and silently pleading for a cold shower, only to find a long box on her bed. Her maidservants had moved about, keen to pamper her for the banquet, but she'd payed them no mind. Instead, Leila had moved to the box. She opened it gently, setting its lid aside. There had been a note inside.

For the battles you fight without our knowledge. Know you are always my daughter, and the daughter of Aradia. 

It'd called a gentle warmth in her chest, one that spilled into her gut and hugged her viscera so that Leila could not help but feel...loved? She felt loved, yes. Surely that was it. Gently, she set the note aside. Inside the box was a long item, wrapped again and again in a fine material, a strong of lace wrapping it together. And when she held it: a sword, yes. Yes, it had to be. She'd ignored the urge to tear into it, instead  pulling the string slowly, unwrapping it delicately, deliberately. Then gasping.

Gems lined the pommel. Holy inscription was engraved in the hilt, painted in with molten gold. And the blade: she held it properly, moving about in her room. Perfectly balanced, perfectly crafted. For the first time in weeks, she felt that familiar feeling, the call to spar. Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, she'd wake at dawn and move to the courtyard. Tomorrow, she'd show Captain Gawain what true Aradian steel could do. Tomorrow, she'd make sure father could see her from his balcony, and watch her wield it as a taskmaster did a whip. And today...

Today she wore it at her hip, seated in its equally as impressive scabbard. Mother had sent jewels and tiaras and dresses for her to chose from, and her handmaidens had done her hair up in such a way so that the only thing about Leila that was not Aradian was the Hand's pin, secured on the fabric of her dress, closer to her left shoulder. She'd not even worn the sash, to much of Captain's dismay.

Alas, the laser focus, the fatigue, the pressure of duty had all shimmered into the Dance. She'd not known exactly what it was the handmaidens had used for her bath, but she knew that she's soaked in a pleasure that was almost dizzying, a sweet smell that lingered in the roof of her nose even now. Nothing. She had nothing on her mind. When had she last had nothing on her mind? Nothing at all but...She'd thought of him as she bathed, thought of him as she dressed. She'd even had to force herself not to think of him as she gave her pledge, as she bowed deeper than she ever had to her brother: once as Princess, once more as Hand. How many times had they exchanged glances? How many times had she been the first to bashfully looked away?

May you see only glory in your brother's reign, and may his reign be long and peaceful.

The words they'd spoken were short, formal, a quick congratulations after the Dance, a lingering Hello when they'd gathered in the throne room. Now...Ali was across the room, nodding politely to a Ladies's discussion, and Khaled was approaching him. Leila gripped the armrest below her.

"Leila." 

"Hmm?" She glanced to Zarqa, who leaned closer to her.

"I'm...I think I'm not," She sighed.

Khaled gave a formal bow, making discussion with the lady. She was nodding her head, and now she was curtsying to Ali.

"Not..what?" Leila responded absentmindedly, unable to so much as glance away.

"I think its happening again."

The lady moved away, leaving the young men alone. Khaled's hand travelled to the back of his neck and— was he blushing?! Leila held back the corners of her lips as a smile began to push through them. She pressed her lips together, even as the sight of her cheeks bobbed up into the inferior field of her vision, heat flooding them. "What is?"

"Leila. Leila Damnit will you listen?!" She hissed, and Leila didn't know the younger girl could have such an edge to her voice.

The Hand peeled her eyes off Khaled and her brother, now deep in discussion. She looked to her sister, about to ask that she simply wait a moment. Only... Only her face had lost a great amount of its color. Had it always had that tinted sickly yellow? And, goodness, had the bags under her eyes been so prominent this morning? Leila glanced to her older brother once more, who now had his arm around Khaled's shoulder, bringing him closer as they conversed. She forced herself to focus on Zarqa, "Perhaps you should rest? Excuse yourself and head to your room?"

Zarqa frowned, looking to Leila. Her eyes traveled to the young men, still in discussion. For a moment, Leila wondered if now was a good time for her to pull Zarqa closer, to gossip with her of the Young Lord, of the matter he was surely bringing up with Ali now. Zarqa gulped, head lolling to the side, "You do not think Ali would take offense?"

Leila frowned. She truly must be tired if she was walking out a banquet. In fact, Leila did not remember the young girl giving even one of the many young men a dance tonight. To say that it was most unlike her would be the largest understatement. Leila set a hand on her shoulder, "No. I will tell him you tire. Go. Get some sleep."

And she was already nodding along, rising to her feet and clutching onto Leila's shoulder. Perhaps, if Leila had been her more focused self, she'd have seen how the Diviners had shifted, how they'd stepped closer. Zarqa's hand was tight on her shoulder, "Maybe you'd...come with me?"

Leila glanced to Khaled. She took a breath, "Shortly. I... as Hand I should stay and...you understand, no?"

Zarqa frowned. But she did not argue. She only nodded, eyes drooping in a drunken haze. "No. Later then. When the numbers are odd."

And then she moved, before Leila could translate what she said. The Diviners trained her, moving in the characteristic loud silence of theirs, following Zarqa. 

Leila looked across the room. They were smiling, now, Ali nodding, taking Khaled into a strong hug. Her older brother met her eyes, a wide grin that seamed almost misplaced after a week of his everlasting gloom. He sent her a wink, and Leila let her smile overtake her face.

Father, next. 

Then the Empire.

Doable, yes. With Ali by her side, with Ali soon to be crowned...Yes. Yes. Near and bright, the future was hers. Finally hers. Her fingers relaxed atop the arm rest as, for the first time in a long time, she let herself truly relax onto her chair, looking ahead of her. 

The light was gentle, the heat of torches a mother's embrace, and the bustling energy in the room seemed suddenly a direct response to the life now blooming within her, the fruit of a seed she'd not remembered planting. But, but the doors...

Had they always been closed? The doors were always open in banquets, like the arms of a loving mother, beckoning them inside. The doors were always open but someone had closed them. Warning bells rang through Leila's mind, and had she been in Tain, had she been thinking of something other than love and settlement and a home— oh, the joy of a true home— perhaps, then, the first scream would not have caught her by such surprise.