Blood Will Tell [Closed]

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando listened to what Ildan told him. “As you say, Most Revered Ildan.” There wasn’t anything he could do in this instance…or was there?

He addressed Ildan once more. “I will accompany Revered Quenthel, Most Revered Ildan. I will not aid her, nor will I stand instead of her. But I will not eat until it is moved, and I will not sleep until it is moved.” Errando proclaimed.

As Quenthel accepted her punishment and started for her task, Errando did a slight bow before his company. “Most Revered Sabal, Most Revered Ildan, Revered Sorn.” With that, Errando went after Quenthel, down into the lower levels.

He might not have been able to bear her punishment for her, but he could be with her and not eat or sleep until it was done. It would be hard, yes…but it seemed right. He didn’t know what to expect from this experience, but he would find out soon enough.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"You should not have come, but I am glad of the company," Quenthel said quietly when she realized Errando was following. They walked down stone steps that lead to a different section below than the sanctuary. The hall opened up into a set of catacombs, partially flooded with dry spots. In the center of the pool was a massive chunk of black stone that was jagged and irregular above the surface of the water that gleamed in lantern light. Quenthel waded out into the cold water, hissing a little at the contact of chill and her flesh. She would have to retreat from the pool time and time again to let herself warm. Thankfully there was a lit brazier burning in one of the spots of dry stone.

It would be exhausting and unpleasant to push on stone that ripped apart flesh and cloth, but it was not supposed to be enjoyable. The stone beneath her feet was slippery, another part of the struggle to overcome. She had endured this punishment before when she was still just detholusin. Quenthel braced her hands against the stone and bent her legs, leaning into the stone as she pushed hard. She could feel it biting into her hands. If she slipped, she would tear the skin off her palms...and that was only a matter of time.

"I have done this before," she said, jaw setting in determination as if she believed it was possible to move the stone. There was no use in dwelling on the futility of the task. Her job would be to meditate on the meaning of devotion as she pushed, to reconsider her motives and her course of action. "It is a simple task, if an impossible one. Ildan told me that it would teach me tenacity in the face of pain. He was not wrong."

There was a long pause and then Quenthel spoke. "It was not your place to volunteer to suffer my punishment. That is a right reserved for...others." She did not particularly want to elaborate on that. She was not certain what Errando's reaction would be. "I would not have you endure any part of my punishment. You are not Yath. These expectations, these laws, are not yours."

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando followed Quenthel down into a set of partially flooded catacombs, with the stone in question being in the center of a pool. Errando spotted a lit brazier burning in some dry stone, and he went and stood by it as he watched and listened to Quenthel speak to him.

"I have done this before," she said. "It is a simple task, if an impossible one. Ildan told me that it would teach me tenacity in the face of pain. He was not wrong."

“Well, at least there is a silver lining I suppose.” Errando sighed as he stood by the brazier. Quenthel was right…it could have been worse. But the stone looked dangerous. He knew she could get hurt, but he had faith that she knew what to do with it and could avoid grievous injury.

There was a long pause and then Quenthel spoke again. "It was not your place to volunteer to suffer my punishment. That is a right reserved for...others…I would not have you endure any part of my punishment. You are not Yath. These expectations, these laws, are not yours."

Erranod nodded as he looked around the catacombs from his spot by the brazier. “It pains me to see you suffer, Quenthel. When Most Revered Sabal reached out and struck your face, I wanted to defend you. But I couldn’t…what I can do is this, however. I am sorry.”

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel was trying not to think about the ache in her face. It throbbed and she knew it would become an angry, dark mark by morning. But while she was somewhat ashamed by the bruise, she knew that she had gotten off relatively easily from Sabal. Sorn would be limping for at least a week. "Most Revered Sabal is not a cruel woman by nature," she said. She held no grudge against the woman for venting her displeasure so. With the demand of the Quarval-sharess, it wasn't an unreasonable reaction as far as Quenthel was concerned. "I feel for her—she had to wound Sorn, and they are quite close."

The catacombs were ancient things shaped in grey stone, the site of burial for many a Mak'ur before cremation became the customary end for the dead. It was plague that had changed the tradition centuries ago. Bones were visible through the water, still tucked in the deep shelves carved into the walls. Quenthel was not troubled by the dead or their empty gazes. They were simply silent witnesses to the conversation.

Sorn's beating bothered her a little bit, largely because she knew it would not have happened even weeks ago. When foreigners were an abstract concept, she had felt much the same as her brother in spirit. She would not have dreamed of bringing one into Karsoluthiyl. But then she had been given the task by the Quarval-sharess and the Protector. In trying to do that, she had come to understand in some small way that the differences were not as vast as she had imagined. Errando was still an honorable man even if he did not always understand. How could she blame Sorn for failing to see that when she herself had been no different? If he had just allowed himself to learn, perhaps things might have been different.

And there was Errando. Ryld's advice had not fallen on deaf ears. The Ghantish man was dangerous, just not in the way she had initially expected. It was a much more subtle kind of peril. Quenthel was not certain she was prepared to deal with such an insidious force. It reminded her too much of her mother.

It had been an exhausting day. She felt it in her bones. Perhaps that was why she slipped as quickly as she did. Her foot slid out from underneath her, tearing her hands across the rough rock as she tried to catch herself. She failed, plunging into the cold water and tearing skin off of her palms. Quenthel forced herself back up despite the stinging bleeding and the cold, gasping when she surfaced. Dark muck was now clinging to scraped knees and bloodied hands. She hissed a little bit when she picked some of the rock fragments out of the raw flesh of her hands before bracing them on the stone again. It hurt, but she had not come so far to be stopped by pain. Suffering was a part of life and from it came passion. It was necessary. It was something to stop and feel without allowing it to overwhelm.

"You have nothing to apologize for. This was not your doing. I am the one who brought you to Karsoluthiyl, to the orthae qu'ellar. Besides, Sorn and I have some history that inflamed the matter," Quenthel said through gritted teeth. A few more falls like that and the tears would be in her eyes. She knew Ildan would bandage her wounds later, but that was not now and the pain was currently present. The cold water at once helped and hurt. It eased a little of the sting, but it also stiffened her fingers and the muscles in her legs. "Even had you not been here, it is possible we might have quarreled. You were simply the flame to the dry wood."

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando stood and watched as Quenthel struggled against the stone, and spoke to him. For his part, he examined the catacombs around him. It was clearly ancient place, a place that might resemble one that could be found in the deeper parts of Ghant. Grey stone, with bones visible through the water, in shelves carved into the walls. The Ghantish had many such burial areas, where the bones of the dead formed some sort of deathly congregation for all time. Errando’s grandmother, Queen Bella, used to tell him stories of how in the temple of her lands, there were the bones of people thousands of years dead.

Quenthel continued. "You have nothing to apologize for. This was not your doing. I am the one who brought you to Karsoluthiyl, to the orthae qu'ellar. Besides, Sorn and I have some history that inflamed the matter," Quenthel said through gritted teeth. “Even had you not been here, it is possible we might have quarreled. You were simply the flame to the dry wood."

The Crown Prince listened. He heard Quenthel hiss, he heard the sound of flesh upon rough stone, the sound of water, the sound of the crackling brazier. He looked at the bones too. “I wonder, if the point is not to move the stone, but to let the stone move you?”

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"The point is to struggle, as life struggles, despite its end. To persevere in the face of the inevitable. I cannot avoid death any more than I can shift this rock," Quenthel said. She was familiar with the old lesson given to every detholusin. Generations had tried and failed to shift the stone, as it was meant to be. "L'i'dol is concerned with life, but it teaches also about its end. Destruction follows birth and birth follows destruction. The patterns of nature are endless and shifting, but they become familiar. Even the worst devastation brings new life. To reach that rebirth, one must reflect on mortality and suffering. They are part of the endlessness that is divinity."

Talking kept her mind off of her damaged hands and knees, so she took refuge in it. "It is said that the only constant in the world is change. All of these generations of people that lie around us, they were transitory. Fleeting. In the measures of time, their lives were as brief as a mayfly's when compared to the lifespan of stone. And even stone must be ground into sand and earth someday. But in their day, they survived famine and pestilence, war and flame. Life is as tenacious as it is fragile. It is worthy of admiration. They too stood in the face of death and made meaning out of the brevity of their lives."

It was actually one of the prayers she felt the closest to, the verses of the Linath concerning death and rebirth. Yath went through their death ceremonies when they still drew breath, separating themselves so from the world of the living. That ritual had brought her so much peace that death had never seemed a fearful thing to her. She herself had been its instrument to many things. One day, even predators had to lie down and accept it, whether in battle or in bed. She knew she would likely not be of the variety to die peacefully at home. She was yathrin.

There was a certain peace in knowing that the last freedom waited for her, as inevitable as the march of time. Practitioners of L'i'dol did not believe in heaven or in hell. There was only the land of spirits, where her soul would become one with the primal essence it was tied to. That was what every Yath aspired to anyway: a union with something so much greater than themselves. The only difference between them was how they sought it out.

She cursed a little bit when her hand snagged on a sharp piece of stone and it cut her hand just below her ring finger. Her blood would feed the stone's spirit, so it was not a complete loss. She would have been happier without the wound, of course. Quenthel sighed and leaned her head into the rough stone. This was going to hurt. She took a moment to pause and regain her footing. When she was certain she was secure, she started to push again. The muscles in her back and arms flexed as she put in her best effort. She was not going to take the easy way out and merely pretend to push. For one, Ildan would know and force her to do it all over again.

He would come to relieve her of her duty when her stomach was aching and her muscles were about to give out. As she had said, it was something she had endured before. And that likely would not be too long from now, considering she hadn't eaten since morning. A few hours, perhaps. Long enough for her to shred parts of her body on the stone. Eventually her hands would become raw enough that she would have to use her shoulder instead, and then her shoulder would become raw enough that she would have to use her back. When that became raw, Ildan would likely arrive with bandages and food.

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

There in the depths of those dank catacombs, Quenthel and Errando had a conversation that seemed philosophical in nature. Errando was pleased to have it.

“Aye, there is great wisdom in that. In Ghant, there is a saying. Erdian errautsak ilunena haziak indartsuena hasten. Amidst the darkest ashes grow the strongest seeds. For even in death, life can spring forth.” Errando said. He watched as Quenthel continued to work at the stone.

Errando looked into the flame of the brazier. It was said that if one peered into the flames long enough, one could see some hidden wisdom that only the fire could show. “I look at the bones of these people, and I wonder, who were they, what did they do? What were their names? It brings me sorrow to know think that they were forgotten to time. In Ghant, there is this idea of Elezahar. It consists of how a person is remembered, if at all. For among the Ghantish, there is no worse fate than to be forgotten, and to have no one remember your name long after your death. So while it is true that some people’s lives are as brief as a mayfly’s when compared to a stone, they can still achieve immortality through their names. Such was the story of Orin, who even many thousands of years after his end among the realm of men, people still speak his name and of his heroic deeds. I want to achieve Elezahar too. I want people to remember me as someone who lived and died with honor, doing the right thing and accomplishing great things to redeem his name.” Errando explained.

“What about you, Quenthel? What do you wish to achieve with your life? Will they speak your name a thousand years from now?” A profound question, but one he couldn’t help but ask. He found himself wanting very much to know what she was thinking. Or at the very least wanting to distract her from the suffering of the stone.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel paused a little when Errando spoke of being a name long remembered. Immortality. The quest to stave off the unknown and mysterious gulf beyond life. "All things lose what they once were and become something else," she said. "The atoms that make us up will break apart and become other molecules. That is immortality, to be forever a part of something greater."

His question was a strange one. It made her laugh. "I am not certain I would like my deeds remembered in a thousand years. History may paint me as a villain," she said with amusement despite her pain. "But that is beside the point. The future will be as it should be. To focus on its distance is to be as distracted from the present as one is when contemplating the dead past. Life is here and now. You do not see a lion moving through the grass stop to ponder what comes after death. It instead walks on the precipice of the moment, never more alive than it is then."

The question of what she wanted to do with her life was almost unfathomable. She was Yath. That was her purpose, her code. "It is not so much about the wanting and the wishing," Quenthel explained finally. "I have a sole purpose, which is to bring the spirit that inhabits me into an experience of the physical world. The primal essence cannot touch or taste, hear or see. Spirits are facets of that. They need someone to guide them and allow them into the world. I am a guardian and a guide for the spirit of the oura, our souls forever linked. Passion is the conduit through which it speaks. Why use words when one can share a feeling?"

She sighed when she looked down at her hands. Blood was dripping off her fingertips into the pool of water she stood in. She was cold, wet, and pained. It was a fine punishment. "My personal name need not stretch on forever, because existence itself goes on and I will be a part of that for eternity. My true name is life and unlife. My true name is Yath. I have always been. I will always be."

Quenthel knew that it was the nature of humans to try and separate themselves from the world around them, Mak'ur or not, faithful or not. It was natural in its own way. Then they separated themselves out as individuals from the whole. Taken too far, it became narrow and rigid. People created restrictions and stifled their emotions in favor of fear. Fear of each other, fear of their own rules, fear of the unknown and the freedom that waited outside their walls. The Ghanti tradition too was born of fear. It was the expression of a fear that being forgotten would somehow erase the impact that they had made. She would never say such a thing, as that would be rude, but she thought it.

Even her own life was not free of fear, despite her best efforts. And perhaps that was rightness, for it too was a natural thing.

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando listened and understood what she said. That what was important was the here and now. History could paint you as a hero too.” Errando smiled. “Besides, the here and now sucks…I suspect you are looking forward to being done with this stone. At least, we are talking now because it is a distraction from the present, which is most unpleasant. But you are right, in many ways. Passion is the conduit.”

The Crown Prince contemplated her words, letting them wash through his mind like a high tide upon a shore. “And I will one day be a King. Kings must concern themselves with their legacies. For indeed, when I am dead, all that will remain is the name. The House, you see. House Odolaren. In Ghant, the reputation of your house means everything. Mine is tainted, because of the actions of long dead men. They might have turned to dust, but their deeds echo in time. I must answer for that, and I don’t want my children to have to live in that shadow as I have. I wish I could concern myself with merely the here and now, but I have to think about how my actions will effect those that come after me.”

He didn’t really think about it as much as maybe he ought to. He would be King someday, and maybe sooner than he would like. When that day came, his life would be bound to the whims of his Kingdom, his House, his people. They would speak of him after he died, one way or the other. But what would they say? Would he be spoken of in the same breath as Sekundo Snake-Eye, whose cruelty was a well known and often lamented fact of Ghantish lore? Or would he be remembered in the same light as Razaegul the Righteous, whose heroic deeds made him the subject of great admiration and praise?

Perhaps the events of the here and now would have bearing upon that. For now though, Errando was in the dank catacombs by the brazier in the dry rocks, watching Quenthel tear herself apart upon the black stone in the pool of cold water. Would I ever be more alive than I am now? he thought. He certainly hoped so.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Even this pain becomes something else when I focus on it," Quenthel said, stopping to rinse another rock out of the wound. She would need to tend to it with clean water in time, but for now what she had was what she had. "It is like the shimmering of a stone beaten beneath the desert sun. Perhaps convincingly imitating water, but an illusion nonetheless. Beneath it lies determination. Dedication."

She touched her forehead to the rough stone. "I know that others cannot live as the Yath live. The C'rintrin look to the future and the past, just as so many others do. But they must understand that the sacrifice one makes to live for the future or the past is the present. Reach back too far and allow yourself to fall into the trap of allowing the sins of others to define you. Would you rather be a great man because you wish to be one, or because you have to be just to blot out the stain of an old corpse? Would you have your children aspire to higher things for their own sake or for yours?"

Quenthel shook her head a little. "The Yath are not expected to have children, though many do. They spend their lives with the families of their parent who is not Yath. Or if both are among our number, they are raised among the detholusin. They are children of the moon and wild as is their nature. Many of them will grow to become Yath themselves. We can be doting parents and fearsome protectors, as any creature of the wild, but there comes a time when they must make their own way apart from us. They create their own present as we created ours."

It was hard for her to look at herself and see a mother. She did not have the best template to work from, though she imagined she should care for a child as Ildan and Ryld had cared for her. Certainly, that was a better example than the demanding example of the Ilharess. Her mother had taught her a valuable lesson in what not to do and what to do. The fundamental virtue of education had been a very important one for her life as an adult. The necessity of manners, that too was important. But she could let go of so many of the other focuses on appearance of power or similarly superficial concerns. What it looked like did not matter. What was on the outside did not necessarily reflect what was on the inside, and Quenthel knew which mattered the most.

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando contemplated the nature of her question. Despite it seeming rhetorical in nature, he answered it honestly. “I would rather be a great man because I wish to be one, and I would rather my children aspire to higher things for their own sake. I want to provide a foundation that can be built upon to ensure their success.”

He listened to Quenthel talk about children. Then he asked a personal question. “What about you? Do you want to have children some day? I think you could make a good mother. You are intelligent and kind enough. But it is one of those things you have to want.”

Errando often wondered if he wanted to have children, although for him it was less a matter of want and more a matter of duty, despite it not being that urgent. He did have three younger brothers, each more than capable of furthering the line should he fail to do so. But failure wasn’t a word that Errando liked to use. He got the sense that Quenthel didn’t take kindly to failure either, as evidenced by the struggle with the stone.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"I do not know," Quenthel said honestly in regards to children. "I do not feel that I am wise enough now to have a child and raise it well. It is a great responsibility to have a child. But I thank you for saying that I would possess the quality of good parenting. It is the power to shape another's life in part, and is not a small thing."

She paused and considered the stone. Her hands were really starting to burn, but she wasn't certain she was ready to let it rip apart her shoulder as well. "It would also depend on who I am with, if anyone. There is no shame in having a child alone, but it can be more difficult. The Yath would protect and support me if there were no one else, not that they do not do so already. If the child's father had a ka'lum and a qu'ilinasar, they would play their part rather than having the Yath step in. I know only that the child's name would bear my own. It does not have a bad sound."

Quenthel smiled. "I suppose it is rather a...how do you say?...moot point if I never find someone I would choose to be with and have children with. Ryld and I talked earlier on a related subject. He thinks that I look in the wrong place."

The next slip really tore her hands, so she braced her shoulder against it and started to push. It scraped at her bare skin and would gradually wear away at her flesh there too. Bloodied but undeterred, she continued at her impossible task. It was hard to meditate as she should have been with her conversation, but that was not such a bad thing. This was perhaps a more interesting subject on which to let her thoughts dwell.

"I suppose you will have to have children," Quenthel said, though she did not turn her head to study Errando. "Or at least a child. Traditions with inheritance by blood tend to demand the continuation of that line. You are not as free to choose as we are, though you are not free from choice either. Unless...I believe it would then go to siblings. That is what I remember from my reading regarding Rome. It was needlessly complicated. They should have simply allowed a new Emperor to rise from the ranks, or perhaps if they had more than one for each of their qu'ilinasar...." She let the thought trail off into thin air before frowning. "What I mean to say is that you have a very complicated way of ruling and attending to needs and that it seems unfair to force children upon parents who are unwilling or unable to raise them. It is certainly unfair to the child."

Her eyes unfocused slightly as she looked back into the recesses of her own memory. "I was the only thing that the Ilharess never planned, but I was wanted. She adapted very quickly to the change, I am told. By the time I was born, everything was laid out perfectly...save for my choice. If I were to have a child, I would do things differently."

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando listened to Quenthel with curiosity, especially one part in particular. “Ryld and I talked earlier on a related subject. He thinks that I look in the wrong place."

“Oh, was that what you were talking about?” Errando asked, teasingly. “Looking in the wrong place? Where have you been looking? Dare I say Sorn? He doesn’t strike me as your type.” Errando teased her again.

Errando thought about what she had to say regarding him having children. “It is expected, yes, but not essential. It isn’t as complicated as Rome, either. Any child I have would be next in line, with sons taking precedent before daughters. I have three younger brothers and three younger sisters. Should all three of my brothers fail to produce children, it would go to my eldest sister, Carmilla, and then to any children she might have. Woe be to Ghant should she ever become Queen though.” Errando laughed. “She is willful, headstrong and brazen. Very fierce as well. I miss her though. She has an impeccable sense of humor.”

The Crown Prince was curious about that last part as well. “If you did have a child, what would you do differently from what your mother did? She does love you, that much I can tell, but I get the sense that there was conflict between you. Did she not want you to become Yath?”

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel feigned gagging when he mentioned Sorn, then laughed despite the fact that she almost lost her footing again. "Sorn made his offer. I declined him for some reason. I think I might have bruised his feelings. Not as much as Sabal did, mind you," she said with a hint of a grin. It was funny in hindsight. At the time it had been rather...tense.

"It sounds nice to have a sibling," she commented when he spoke a little bit about his sister. She couldn't even imagine having four other children around her as she was growing up. "I spent most of my time in the company of adults, the many powerful of Nasadra. It made me mature much more quickly than perhaps was healthy."

It lead her in to answering his question about what she would do differently. "I find it...difficult to believe that the Ilharess cares for me," Quenthel said. Suddenly the stinging in her hands felt appropriate and almost desirable. This was not a subject she spoke often or easily about. "I do not know what went wrong between us, not precisely. She did not want to lose me to the Yath. She knew what it would mean the moment I let them mark me. But I wanted it. I have always wanted it, more than anything else. It was the one thing that the Ilharess could not and would not give me. As a child, I could have anything else I wanted, but there was always a...catch. She wanted me to always learn, to always evaluate the world, to examine the motives of everyone I ever met. It is only by being careful that one can survive being one of the C'rintrin, and that is what I imagine she wanted for me. It was a life of sharp demands and high expectations. The interactions between us were not always distant. As I grew, she stepped back more and more until she was a cold and unapproachable figure I saw once in the morning and once late at night when I went looking. The most passion I ever saw from her was the night I left to become Yath. A fury came out of her that you would scarce imagine having seen her as her calm normal self. We fought tooth and nail. The flames consumed everything. And then...a slap and it was over."

Quenthel took a deep breath. She hadn't realized that her vision had blurred a little until she stopped. Her voice was very matter-of-fact and it was almost as though she were describing it from a distance. She was working hard to keep it abstract and somewhat sanitized. It was much more complicated than she made it sound, but this was the only way she knew how to explain it to someone who had no context. "The inevitable happened—I burned my life before to nothingness on a funeral pyre and came through the ashes. I became Yath. She went back to being Ilharess, not that she ever stopped, and we ceased interacting. It was just...easier not to," Quenthel said. It was not a well healed wound.

She shook her head a little and gritted her teeth as she braced her shoulder against the stone in her futile struggle. "I am sorry, I did not answer the question that you asked. If I were to have a child, I would make them the center of my life. I know very few things, but I know how to release attachments to extraneous things," she said. "If I were to have a child, I would allow them to make the future they choose rather than project my wishes upon them. I would be there to catch them when they fall, but not pull them along."

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando laughed. “Did you deny him because he is a jerk? That wouldn’t be unreasonable. Carmilla was once courted by the Emperor of Ghant, and she denied him for that reason…but not before kicking him in the balls first.” Errando laughed. The story was one that everyone in Odolargia knew. That might have been what she was most famous for. He wasn’t exactly sure why she did it, only that she said “he deserved it.” Errando was content to leave that as it was.

“Not having siblings sounds nice from my perspective. Having three younger brothers and three younger sisters means that I had to tend to them. Especially when it came to the younger sisters and protecting them from the advances of young men. My other brothers are old enough now to take care of that in my stead.” Errando explained. “For somebody that spend so much time around adults, you sure are playful,” he teased. He could make her laugh, and he liked to see her doing it.

On a more serious not was the issue of her mother. “They say that mother’s know best. I know that I have had issues in the past with my mother too. She loves me and wants me to thrive, but has always had a strange way of showing it. There were things I wanted to do in my life as well, and mother would always be like, ‘no!’ A part of me thought she was cruel and misunderstanding of me, but another part was glad that she was there in my life to make me think. Many decisions I had to reevaluate because my mother was undermining my own will.”

It was another question that weighed on his mind. “You never did answer that one question though. You said that you talked to Honored Ryld about a related subject, and that he said you look in the wrong place. What are you looking for and where?” Errando asked, curiously. “Some people look for the right thing in the wrong places. I know I have too. You probably don’t want to hear about that though…”

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel's face softened a little bit as she thought of Sorn. He did not deserve what had been visited on him and she knew she had her part in delivering that pain. "Sorn is not a jerk," she said with a surprising amount of gentleness for a woman who had bitten into the aforementioned man's flesh less than twelve hours previously. "He is a good man. Just not the man for me. I might have entertained the offer when I was a little less certain of what I wanted. The problem is that in many ways, we are too similar. Ryld and Ildan complement each other because they bring different views to the table. Sorn and I are so alike in certain areas that we would clash endlessly. I even held very similar views about the outside world. Were I still seventeen, my objection to you might have been as vehement as his was. Ryld and Ildan channeled my venom into devotion to duty, a far healthier outlet than blind rage."

Her body was reaching the point of spent as she struggled with this rock and there were hours yet to come of this punishment. The conversation was a lifeline that stopped her from giving in to frustration and hurting herself out of spite. She just wasn't certain that she wanted to discuss the current subject of what precisely she was looking for and where. But on the other hand, Mak'ur didn't usually mind sharing. It was a fine line to walk between what she wanted to say and what was wise to say.

"I had turned my eyes away from Dyvynasshar and the Yath, looking for some interest of a more enduring kind. Small liaisons are natural and sometimes that is all one ever finds, but Ryld says I am reaching the years where such things become less and less satisfying. He seems to be right. He usually is. He thinks that I will be better served with someone who understands me and such a thing is rare beyond the Yath. It is the reason so many of us seek out each other's company. It easier. There is a different level of expectation from within our ranks than without. It is difficult to be with someone who cannot even grasp the way you see the world. They say that opposites attract, and perhaps they do, but seldom do they remain together. It is the commonality that holds people together in my experiences, limited though they may be."

Quenthel smiled a little bit and arched an eyebrow at Errando. "And what about you? What is this looking of which you speak. If you are half as entertaining as your sister, I imagine you have had exploits of your own that make mine far less interesting by comparison."

Her own forays into the world of love had been quick things, relationships neither party intended to really remain in. Casual, fun, and enjoyable without the investment of a commitment beyond friends. She still kept in touch with all of them and knew she wouldn't turn down another time unless she had a better offer. They had not been mistakes made unwittingly. It was just hard to have more than that as Yath. Even the faithful struggled to understand the minds of their guardians from time to time despite the teachings of the Linath. It was also difficult to balance power. Quenthel had a great luxury in her status. She could initiate any contact she wanted and pursue whoever she liked, but there was a certain level of reciprocity that meant she would have to yield some of her own control to a partner who was more than just a casual thing. It was not an easy thing to do for a yathrin, let alone one who had grown up with the expectations and affectations of an Ilharess.

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando shrugged. “As you say, Quenthel. I will take your word for it.” Sorn didn’t give Errando a good first impression, but he was going to listen to Quenthel regarding the subject, and let that dog sleep, as it were.

Quenthel spoke of what she was looking for, and her past attempts at finding it. Errando responded in turn. “That’s the case with everybody, I think. It’s hard to find somebody worthwhile. I mean, nothing worth doing is easy. I am 27, and I have spent the better part of the last 10 years with one woman or another. Noble ladies, women from various clans, even commoners, but it never worked out. They were either ambitious and wanting to be Queen, or they were just in it for the thrills. Nothing enduring…always like a sandcastle, built up and then washed away by the ebb and flow of the tide. Eventually I might just have to settle for some noble woman that I might not especially care for. Such is life…I just wish there was another way.” Errando sighed.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"There is always a better way. Just not necessarily an apparent one," Quenthel said with a little bit of a shrug. "Ryld told me never to settle. It only brings discontent. When you are with someone that you feel is far better than you deserve, and they see you the same way, that is how you know it is the right match. That, and you have to understand that you are accepting and committing to their faults too. You do not marry the frog because he will turn into a prince. You marry the frog because you love the frog, even his slimy skin and bulging eyes."

She studied Errando for a long moment. "Perhaps you too are looking in the wrong place," she said thoughtfully. Maybe his problem was the opposite of her own. Maybe he looked too long and hard too close to home, where women were fixated on who he was. In the world beyond Ghant, his status was largely irrelevant. Perhaps there he would find someone who cared about him rather than his name and rank.

Quenthel was content to let things fall into small talk there, though for the most part she was quiet and content to let Errando talk. By the time Ildan arrived from upstairs, she was not in good shape. Her hands were raw, her shoulders bloodied, and her muscles were stiff from cold and exertion. "Quenthel, enough," Ildan said. He did indeed come bearing a tray with food. Ryld was close behind with bandages and antiseptic. She collapsed onto the stone at the edge of the pool, legs giving out from under her completely.

She hissed and gritted her teeth when they rinsed her wounds out with hot water and then applied antibiotics before bandaging her up. There were patches of gauze taped to the back and top of her shoulders, while they wrapped up the palms of her hands where she had been perilously close to doing permanent damage. It might scar, but Quenthel had faded many of those over the years until they were barely visible. "Could I just sleep?" she mumbled, torn between her aching stomach and the rest of her aching body.

"First, what have you learned?" Ildan said.

"Do not get caught," Quenthel muttered darkly, quietly enough that Ildan either didn't hear or pretended that he hadn't. She said in a properly loud voice, "That division among the Yath brings only pain and suffering."

"And when you see Sorn next, what will you do?" Ildan said. When her lip curled slightly, he raised an eyebrow. Their communication was silent and brief.

"I will beg his forgiveness," Quenthel said, turning her face away.

"As he will yours," her mentor reminded her. "And no, you may not sleep. Tonight I expect you in prayer until the small hours of the morning. You are to reflect on your responsibilities and the example you must set as Yath. And for this, Errando cannot join you. Conversation would only disrupt your thoughts. Besides, he needs to sleep if he is to be clearheaded tomorrow. We will need a place to put him during the rite."

"I can—"

Ryld cleared his throat. "You will be participating, Quenthel. You are still yathrin, lest you had forgotten. That means you have preparations to make tomorrow for the evening. We will have to find something constructive for Errando to do. He can observe you preparing, but he is og'elend. The ceremonies and rites are closed to him, as it should be," the yath'abban said.

She sighed and rested her face on the ground. There was no sleep in her immediate future. She would get some, but nowhere near enough for her exhausted body. On the bright side, that would make it so much easier to slide into the mindset of a rite, where the world became blurred and alive with things that could never be fully seen. "I had best eat, then," she said after a long few moments where her eyelids grew heavy. It would not be the first time she had worked through exhaustion. Some of the rites demanded deprivation of various kinds and she had participated in all of them that were known to the yathrin, which were the vast majority. Only a few were kept to solely the yathallar and others to the Quarval-sharess alone...at least as far as she knew.

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

The next few hours were filled with small talk, with Errando doing the bulk of the talking. It seemed to help out a bit to lighten the situation. Eventually, Ildan came down. It was a relief to see him, probably more so for Quenthel than Errando.

"Quenthel, enough," Ildan said. He brought a tray of food and Ryld came with bandages and antiseptic. At that point Quenthel essentially collapsed upon the stone at the edge of the pool. That was when Errando approached the others.

“Most Revered Ildan, Honored Ryld. Tis good to see you both again.” Errando said as he stopped by Quenthel, and watched as she was tended to. Her body was in rough shape. He listened to them talk to one another about what she had learned and what was going to happen next.

“Understood, Most Revered Ildan and Honored Ryld. When the time comes, I shall perform whatever task is assigned to me.” Errando reassured them, before turning back to Quenthel, there on the ground and with a tray of food. She was very strong, and that deserved a great deal of admiration. Errando thought that maybe she was even stronger than he was.

[Nalaya]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"It is not that you must perform a task. It is simply that we should not leave you shut away in a room while Quenthel is in ceremony. She can entertain you for the rest of the day, but there will be a few hours where her duty as a yathrin must reign supreme," Ryld explained for Errando's benefit as he finished bandaging Quenthel's hands. Once his patient was no longer in need of attending, he sat down next to Ryld and put an arm around the man with the snake tattoos. There was a brief moment of warmth when their foreheads touched in an affectionate greeting of a sort. It made Quenthel smile a little bit. After her talk with Errando regarding unsuccessful love, it was nice to see a deep and abiding version.

Quenthel ate with relief easily visible in her tattooed features. There was more than enough food for herself and Errando, so she didn't object to sharing. She didn't waste any time with her food, eating swiftly so that she would be as full as possible if someone pulled the tray away from her. "Tonight, you should just rest," Quenthel told Errando once she was finished eating. "I will pray and you can sleep. Today was eventful and even had in it battle." She was definitely feeling her fight with Sorn, not to mention Sabal's strike to the face. Errando had fought Istolil to the death. Surely that was even more exhausting

"The consequences of which are already being felt," Ildan commented. "Masq'il'yr is in a frenzy. They seek to find out who was so brazen as to assault one of their own in broad daylight. They know his description, Quenthel. Errando should stay in the orthae qu'ellar tomorrow. He should stay here until you are prepared to leave the city. The Ilharess Nasadra may keep a lid on things...or she may not."

The yathrin sighed. She had sort of twisted her upper body and supported herself on her arms to eat. Now she would have to get up and walk to the upstairs. That was going to hurt. "I suppose we will find out," she said, pushing herself up into a sitting position. The muscles in her arms had a tremor to their movements. "I will need help to stand. From there, I can fall forward in a controlled fashion."

[Ghant]

Beneath the Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando was engaged in conversation with Ryld and Ildan. “Understood, Honored Ryld. Thank you for explaining.” Errando was beginning to grow fond of Ildan and Ryld. They seemed like good men and true.

Errando observed Quenthel eat for a few moments, before joining her on the ground and eating from the tray as well. She seemed much hungrier than he was, and made sure that she had her fill before Errando finished the tray. It was good, and he found that he was hungry too as he ate. He nodded after she spoke to him. “Aye, I shall sleep tonight…for you and me both!” he chuckled a bit.

On the bit about Masq’il’yr, Errando sighed. “Aye, that seems like it would be best. To stay hidden and out of sight.” The Crown Prince knew there would be consequences to killing Istolil in broad daylight. There would be those who demanded retribution, of that he did not doubt.

Finally, Errando watched as Quenthel struggled to move her body. "I will need help to stand. From there, I can fall forward in a controlled fashion."

“I will help you.” Errando answered with a smile. “Just say the word.”

[Nalaya]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Thank you," Quenthel said gratefully when Errando helped her up. She wasn't too proud to accept that much help, though she would walk on her own two feet—or at least mostly—even if it killed her. She swayed and reached out to stop herself from falling. She managed to catch her balance with the help of Errando's arm. Muscles were burning with protest and she winced a little bit at the pain in her knees from where she'd fallen. It had been a long time since she was last so battered. She would need to take a bath after she got a little bit of rest in come morning.

The walk up the stairs was a challenge, to say the least. She leaned on Errando, though she tried not to do so heavily, and nearly took a tumble or two. Once they were on even ground and warmth was flooding into her tired muscles, she could move a little bit more easily. "Here," she said, nudging Errando to steer him over to one of the alcoves with a statue of one of those predator spirits. This one was not quite human and not quite fully feline, one of the oura. It favored the animalistic side, which had a certain draw to Quenthel. She sat down on the three steps leading up to the statue and exhaled in a sigh. "I will be fine here to pray," she said, offering the Ghantish man a reassuring smile. "Have a good night, Errando. Sleep well and dream of pleasant things."

She closed her eyes once Ryld and Ildan drew away with Errando, committing herself to prayer despite her exhaustion. It was entirely possible that she would fall asleep propped against the foot of the statue, but she knew that Ildan wouldn't hold it against her if she did. Until then, she did her best to reflect on some of the verses of the Linath regarding love and what it should look like. It was the easiest thing to focus on because her conversation with Errando still lingered in her mind. It was unfortunate that he hadn't found anyone, but such a search that one could spend their whole life pursuing. She wished him well in it. Errando was a good man. He deserved someone who cared for him.

Ildan and Ryld escorted Errando back to his room despite the fact that Sorn was out of commission. It was partly because the halls could be a confusing place and partly because there was no guarantee that someone wouldn't take exception to an unescorted foreigner wandering around unhindered. "Rest well," Ildan said when they went to part from Errando at the archway that lead into his room. "We will see you again in the morning."

---

Quellarin Nasadra
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

"Do not begin to tell me what is my place, Masq'il'yr," the Ilharess said warningly, though her tone was softened by something approaching good humor. Her blue eyes were not quite as hard and sharp as flakes of sapphire, focused intently on her reading. She was currently reclining on one of the couches in the trinclinium, propped up on an elbow as she paged through copies of the reports that Errando had obtained for her on his bloody mission. It made for fascinting reading.

The Ilharn of Masq'il'yr, Adinirahc Ssambra, was a tall and handsome man in his fifties with grey hair and dark, dark eyes beneath a beetling brow. Whorls of grey ink were patterned across his body, though at the moment most of the tattoos were hidden by a very nice, tailored suit. The markings swept up his neck and face in four vertical lines that ended just below his eyes, two across each cheek. He was a powerfully built creature who moved with grim purpose, not necessarily gracefully, but with authority. <<You condoned a murder in broad daylight, at the hands of a foreigner, no less,>> he pointed out.

She looked up from her paper and smiled. <<Adinirahc, the only reason you're upset was that I thought of it and you didn't,>> she said. <<This is just the way the game is played.>>

<<The documents, Sabrae. Where are they?>> he said carefully, crossing his arms. He was watching her closely now, looking for a tell or some other indication of what was going through her head.

She flipped the folder closed and held it out to him. <<Fascinating reading, really. It would be unfortunate for you if the Quarval-sharess found out about your side deals with the Vatani,>> she said pleasantly, looking up at him. She had the same hooded eyes and thick eyelashes as her daughter. There was something more dangerous under the surface, however. A yathrin would merely kill. An Ilharess would bring ruin rather than death, a much worse fate for someone who controlled a whole qu'ilinasar.

He reached out, but she pulled it back just out of his reach. That was no small threat she had just made, veiled as it was. <<What do you want?>> he asked with an even more intense care, this one easily comparable to that of a man walking through a minefield while juggling nitroglycerin. <<You could have destroyed us already, but you have not.>>

<<I want you to make it possible for this foreigner to speak to the Quarval-sharess,>> she said, the papers still tantalizingly out in front of him. Security was only a breath away. <<Whether he succeeds or fails is irrelevant. You need only give him an opportunity.>>

<<You could do that,>> Adinirahc pointed out. He wasn't certain he liked this territory. It would not be a popular position to assume.

<<I could,>> the Ilharess acknowledged, blue eyes bright with something approaching amusement. <<But I want you to. And that's all. You should be pleased to know my discretion comes so cheaply.>>

<<You have my word that it will be done, on my honor,>> he promised. When she held out the papers again, this time he was allowed to take them. Adinirahc took out his lighter immediately and set the papers aflame, carefully disposing of them in a dish on the table for that purpose—he could see the remains of other notes and similar documents, all of them nothing more than flakes of ash.

<<The honor of Masq'il'yr is famous indeed,>> she acknowledged with a pleased smile. <<Your cooperation is appreciated, Adinirahc. And do try not to expend too much effort on hunting the boy. Istolil isn't worth that kind of fight.>>

He gave her a courteous bow and turned away, striding out. It was only after the door had closed behind him that someone broke the silence—her assistant, Nalfein. He was a patient and quiet young man who had spent his formative years on the street, honing the special skills that made him the Ilharess's last and most important line of defense. He also helped her tend to Nasadra's affairs. He spoke in Latin lest someone overhear. "Ilharess, what about the orginials?" he said. "We are not providing those to Masq'il'yr?"

"No, my darling man. I may need them later." She enjoyed the idea of Adinirahc sweating bullets when it came out that he had destroyed only the copies of the evidence that Istolil had carried.

"They will not notice?" Nalfein said, cocking his head to one side in curiosity.

The Ilharess laughed. "While their honor is admirable, I would not begin emulating their attention to detail. Adinirahc is an intelligent, powerful man. The trouble is that he is not a careful one," she explained, sitting up. "And care makes all the difference."

[Ghant]

The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando helped Quenthel up, and she said “thank you.” He was there to help her walk along, and up the stairs as well, catching her when her feet faltered. Eventually, he got her to one of the alcoves near a statue. She smiled and said her parting words to him.

Errando returned the smile with eye contact and hands on her shoulders. "Be well, my lady. I will see you again soon.” After lingering on her eyes for a moment, he turned around and walked away, joined by Ryld and Ildan.

The two men showed him back to his room, and wished him good night as well. “Thank you, Honored Ryld and Most Revered Ildan. See you in the morning.” With that, he was alone in his room, and got comfortable in his sleeping garb, which consisted of a pair of bed pants.

As he closed his eyes to go to sleep, he thought of Quenthel. He thought of their conversations down in the catacombs, in particular the one about love and such. It was unfortunate that she hadn’t found anyone. He wished her well in regards to finding someone. Quenthel was a good woman. She deserved someone who cared for her.

What Errando needed, however, was sleep. And it found him fast.

[Nalaya]

Morning
The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Quenthel dragged her body into the bath and collapsed into the cool water. It rushed over her body, a welcome answer to bruises. She'd gotten a few hours of sleep in the early part of the morning, most of it leaning up against the statue she had been praying next to. Verses of the Linath had blurred into incoherent mumbling and then finally silence. <<You look like shit,>> Sabal commented as she dried herself off. There was no real gender segregation of the baths other than an unspoken 'you have this side, we have that side' agreement. At the moment, it was just the two of them and Ildan. The yathallar was drying off as well and humming faintly to himself.

<<Imagine that,>> she said dryly before ducking under the surface. She emerged again a few long seconds later only to hear Sabal chuckling. <<What?>>

<<Ildan was just offering color commentary,>> the yathallar said. She tossed her towel to the side and started getting dressed. Today she had chosen more modest dress in the form of a white sari. It was the color for the day and so Quenthel would be attired similarly. Ildan was finished getting dressed, but he lingered in the doorway. <<Shall I have Ryld or Laele send your...guest...to the baths once he arises?>>

<<I think a Ghanti prefers privacy,>> Quenthel said. She was grateful that Sabal had chosen to use 'guest' rather than, say, 'pet'. It showed some effort to be respectful.

<<He might enjoy the view,>> Sabal said a little bit too innocently. She laughed when Quenthel splashed water in her direction. <<Ildan started it!>>

Before her mentor could speak, Quenthel fixed him with a withering glare despite the fact that he handily outranked her in authority and experience alike. It did not have the intimidating effect she had been aiming for, probably because she was still in the bath and basically harmless with her exhausted muscles. The scrapes and cuts on her body looked much better and she would be able to put antibiotics on. <<If you dare to send him down here, I will not speak to you,>> Quenthel said pointedly.

<<We won't,>> Ildan said, though he couldn't quite erase his grin. Every time he tried to hide it, his lips twitched upwards at the corners. <<But if he wanders down here on his own, you can't blame us.>>

<<Watch me,>> Quenthel said hotly even as she hunted down her bar of soap.

Sabal shook her head a little, still trying not to laugh. <<Ildan, let's leave her to her bath. I think she's been tormented enough for the morning. Afternoon, however, is still fair game.>>

Quenthel scowled at their retreating backs for a moment before sighing contently. She wasn't really angry. It felt good to have some of the distance between herself and the other Yath eased, no matter how briefly. However unpleasant the punishment that had been meted out was, it had served its purpose and broken the tension to a degree. It was now obvious to everyone that no matter what they thought, the decision would come down from the Quarval-sharess and could not be settled merely by acting out. For the moment, Errando was safe. Quenthel knew her own position was shaky at best, but it would remain that way until this debacle was over and she was either saved or damned.

Further down the hall, Ildan threw the curtain to Errando's sleeping area open. "Wake up, og'elend," he said cheerfully in Latin. "It is a beautiful morning."

<<You are too fucking happy sometimes,>> Sabal said, giving Ildan a shove towards the area with breakfast. The male yathallar snapped his teeth at her playfully, earning another push from his amused sister-in-spirit.

The complex was alive with morning activity, perhaps more than usual as activity between it and the rest of Karsoluthiyl picked up. This was a holy day—or more particularly, a holy night—so offerings and obeisances had to be made. More than that, the whole city was setting itself up for a festival that would begin at dusk. The area of the baths and living quarters was quiet, but the rest of the orthae qu'ellar was practically buzzing like a hive. The yathrin and yatharil had mostly retreated to their chosen quiet places to prepare, usually in their rooms, just as Ildan and Sabal would withdraw after a meal. The yath'abban were busy in a concerted sort of maelstrom of cleanliness. Everything was being put carefully in its place as the entirety of the place was prepared to have visitors moving in and out. There was no sign of the Quarval-sharess, of course, but that would change when the moon rose and the sun was fully set.

[Ghant]

Morning
The Orthae Qu'ellar
Karsoluthiyl, Nalaya

Errando slept soundly…for a time anyway. It ended abruptly. "Wake up, og'elend," a voice said, which summoned Errando from his slumber. It was Ildan. "It is a beautiful morning." He continued.

The Crown Prince arose with a groan, and proceeded to rub the dust from his eyes and run a hand through his short black hair. “Good morning, Most Revered Ildan, Most Revered Sabal.” Then they were gone.

Errando, not knowing what to do, decided to do the thing he always did, which was go to the baths. So he grabbed his fresh clothes and proceeded to walk down to where the baths were located, whistling as he walked.

He wasn’t expecting to see Quenthel in the water. “Good morning, Revered Quenthel.” At this point, he was wondering what he ought to do. “…Should I wait until you are done before I hop in?” Errando asked bashfully then. The only thing he was wearing at that particular moment were his sleeping pants, so he wondered to what extent he was putting her on the spot…