The Silver Sparrow

Against All Odds

He had envisioned her just like this in his nightmares; his mother with her silver hair shimmering like a newly honed blade, her eyes burning an incinerating amber as she told his father he would never have the White Desert in this life or the next. An old story he'd been told by both his parents. A story filled with rage from one and intrigue from the other.

He wondered if this had been how it felt, if his father's heart had beaten just as fast, as heavy, and with so much need to engage. For the first time in his life, Lasura understood why his mother had been kept alive all these years, how powerful her presence had been to his father, looking at the young bharavi standing in front of him in that hall.

There had been no vision in that moment before the lightning struck, no voice in his head that explained what had happened, how, or why. His whole life had begun to make sense. His existence became clearer, like stepping out of a fog or breaking the surface of some dark waters he'd been drowning in. And then, rising from the ground, wrapping around them like a storm—a power so strong, so unstoppable had filled the hall and altered their surrounding. In the middle of it all, he could sense some things being shifted into place, others propelled into motion. Lasura knew then, that their meeting had been planned a long time ago by something—someone—much bigger than all of them.

And so had she, that much he was certain. She knew and was using it to her advantage, standing there so large and tall despite her small frame, fearlessly and deliberately declaring war with the Salasar. With his father, to be exact.

Our warriors, she'd said, as if she had the authority to decide any of it.

No one had seen that coming, not even the Sparrow who was staring wide-eyed at her. It occurred to Lasura then, that she must have decided on it just now.

"The salar is not the only one who can offer you an army," she turned to Sarasef, spoke as if the dais also belonged to her. "Promise a safe return of me and both my men, and I will see that my father sends our warriors to deal with your brother. You can send these men back to the Salasar. There is no need here to start a war."

Words of pure arrogance with no considerations given to consequences. She looked and sounded like his mother, and that pissed him off more than anything else.

"There will be war, my lady," he said, turning from her to address Sarasef. "If you side with Za'in izr Husari, Grand Chief, you break your alliance with the Salasar." He paused, feeling a tug from years of being taught discipline and diplomacy telling him not to finish that speech. Ignored it. "My father will crush you both, I assure you."

She shot him a glare, placed a foot forward as if to challenge him into a duel. "He can try."

"He will try," said Lasura, rising to the occasion, "and succeed as he did in the Vilarhiti."

"Don't," hissed the Sparrow, "be so sure."

"And are you," Lasura sneered openly at that warning, "sure you want to do this? Have you given thought to the consequences of your actions? Our mentor, your master, the man who's bought you from the House of Azalea and set you free, twice, was just held in the Tower's dungeon before we came. He is being charged with treason for aiding your escape, for your murder. He will be," he rasped, a raw, rumbling anger rising in his chest at the thought, "executed for your crime if we fail this negotiation. Be sure, Sparrow. Be absolutely sure where you want to stand. Because as far as I know, he has been your family, your savior, and Rasharwi your home for a lot longer than your bharavi and her khagan, and you will choose this path? To stand there and see them both burned?"

For a time, the hurt in those cold, gray eyes could be seen from across the room. It disappeared the moment the Sparrow took a glance at the bharavi, his expression replaced so suddenly by the look of a man who'd made his decision long ago and was harboring no room for alternatives. There was a bond between them just as clear and irreversible as the crack on the marble made by the lightning, and for all the pain he'd let slip, the Sparrow stood his ground.