*COMPLETE* Allayria promised to do what it takes to stop the Jarles, to make the ugly decision. She thinks, at last, she understands what the dynast meant. The lesson earned from the top of that lonely cliff and given the dark murky water below.
It...
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She can tell he's angry by the way he stands, straight and stiff-limbed. He carries his anger in his shoulders, which tense and bunch in disapproval beneath all that metal.
"This is stupid," Caj says the moment they are alone.
"It's a calculated risk," she answers. "Let them call me callous now, when I open my home to children, rich or poor. Let them say I am sitting in comfortable luxury and watching them die."
"There are better ways."
"Are there?" she challenges, turning to him with a brow raised. "Who is going to attack us now that we are protecting children? Who is going to wash that blood off their hands?"
"It's not an outside attack I worry about," he answers, glowering out toward the darkened city.
"What? Are you afraid of the children?" She turns, walking toward the tea set, pouring herself some water. She would pour him a glass as well, but he will refuse it. She foisted one on him once and he had held it warily, mistrustful of the delicate china, the fragile expense.
"I don't rule it out."
She throws him a look but his sullen expression does not change.
"Hin hinted she'd like for you to come out on another raid," she says after a pause. "You don't have to, of course, but—"
"It's fine."
Fae sets the cup down on the marble table, walking over to him. She's still in her receiving attire and her skirts slide across the threaded carpet, brushing the feet of chairs and slipping around the wooden legs of the tables.
"I mean it," she says, quieter now that they are closer. "You don't have to."
In her near proximity, Caj's eyes meet hers, lingering for a moment.
"I'll go," he answers, "as long as there's someone here with you."
I am not defenseless, are the words she bites back, holding them in with salt and the bitter grit of teeth. But neither is she undefeatable, and now is not the time for pride.
"Keno should be in," she says instead, chin tilting toward the latched window. The Smith Skiller's face darkens at the thief's name, a twist of thunderclouds, but he nods. Now is not the time for pride.
The third time Fae must remind herself this is when Solveig's representative arrives to the tower. With the sunlight glinting off the long, golden hair Fae knows this woman, knows that she was particularly picked.
Feuilles, she thinks, remembering the thin-faced, pristine man. She saw him at a distance in Quersido, at the ball for the Paragon, though her memories of that night are a haze of sleep deprivation and deep hunger. He had stood aside as Hai Sofo had wheezed and droned over her, watching with cool calculation. She imagines he does the same now when he glances toward her horizon.
