*Weekly updates* "There are no leashes now, no bindings," she says, her voice a dark lullaby in the flickering candlelight, "and it is their sacrifice that gave us this. Nothing can ever repay it. No one can ever take it from us. So now, in this hal...
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It comes back to him often now, the memory. It was a dim, smoky night; one of the few remaining good ones after the Paragon's welcoming ball in Quersido. After Fae and Caj came back, gaunt, but alive. This, this was one of the few remaining times they were all together.
They met down in the kitchens, in the red-orange glow of firelight, with stews bubbling and frothing over the flames, and herbs, woven in long strings, drying around the hearth.
They had all snuck down here, long after the suns set, after the responsible adults like Ruben and Dost and Feuilles turned in. They convened under the indulgent eye of the Tower cook, who kneaded dough and brewed them hot chocolate as they talked. The Tower cook who would be dead at the hands of the Cabal in a matter of weeks.
Someone brought cards—not Hiran, surprisingly, though he would have, had he the opportunity. Maybe it was Fae—yes, he thinks so now; he remembers being surprised by that. There was a mischievous streak in Fae Urilong buried beneath all that propriety, one that would sometimes emerge in a wonderful sort of way.
So Fae brought the cards, and Tara taught the game. It was some kind of dirty card slap game, played with speed and cunning. Caj seemed familiar with it, moving in a quiet, electric-kind of fashion, while Lei Chaudri was positively baffled. And Hiran, Hiran was delighted.
He liked these rough-and-tumble kind of cards, so different from the antiquated ones he learned in his youth. The violence seemed like a novelty, like a breath of something real.
They laughed and squealed. Allayria was, of course, a natural at it—though her hand would shoot back like lightning if it came anywhere near Chaudri's, who seemed, amusingly enough, in equal fear of contact. And Hiran, Hiran, spying all of this, would paw at everyone else's fingers in turn, waggle his eyebrows, hold their hands in place until they complained and protested. Tara gave him a standoff, pretended to be equally arduous in return, until Allayria loudly told them to get a room.
In time the game had calmed, mellowed out into soft conversations, and the fire had flickered on. Finn's head had drooped, laid on Caj's shoulder; a tumble of brown locks, a half-gaping mouth. They laughed quietly at that; laughed at Caj, so clearly uncomfortable but so unwilling to let anyone move the boy.
Finn always fell asleep first back then and he always regretted it in the morning, complaining he had missed out and demanding someone wake him up next time. They never did.
They talked about dreams that night; dreams for what lay ahead, dreams for where the long journey would take them. Fae wanted to explore, go with Tara and be a ranger in the North, a new place with new customs. Lei wanted to assume command somewhere, toiling under his dear Beinsho for time in continuum. Allayria wanted to be left alone; given a stipend and to just disappear. Maybe join the girls for a while, but go on, explore elsewhere. Caj wanted to build a house—or at least that was all they could pull out of him. And Hiran...
