Light and Shadows

Masters of Revendreth: Things Unforseen

Takes place sometime after "Lost Souls", and after Denathrius' rescue by the Nathrezim

Renathal heard the Maw Walker's approach, and wished in vain she would leave him alone.

How he knew the footsteps belonged to his lover, Renathal couldn't say. This wasn't Sinfall, where the padding of her boots outside his door was a noise as familiar as his name. This was Nathria. They had entered it together only once before, and there had been more important things on Renathal's mind at the time than the sound the Maw Walker's shoes made on Denathrius' rich carpet.

Perhaps it was simply that she was the only being he knew who would follow him here, after everything that had happened ... after his new, and most grievous failure.

The footsteps stopped a few paces behind, as if waiting for permission to approach. Renathal briefly debated ignoring her until she gave up and went away. But he doubted anything - even an express order - would persuade the Maw Walker to leave him.

"You were right ... if that is what you are here for."

Renathal's voice was flat as the ground he was crumpled against. An indecorous position for Revendreth's Prince; collapsed in front of Denathrius' portrait as if the Sire himself had dropped his firstborn there. But Renathal wasn't feeling especially dignified at the moment.

Nor loquacious. The heavy silence clung to the dimly lit room like red mist.

Renathal knew the Maw Walker deserved a fuller, less petulant apology. She had been right, after all; infuriatingly, damnably right. But his throat quivered alarmingly, and he worried what sound would escape if he opened his mouth again.

The footsteps resumed, but Renathal kept his gaze fixed firmly on the carpet. From the corner of his eye, he could just make out the hem of her robes swishing beside him in the dark.

"I didn't come here to say I told you so," said the Maw Walker, in her normal, nonchalant voice.

Which was somehow worse than sorrow, or pity, or even the anger she rightly deserved; and for the first time in many months the sound grated on Renathal's nerves. What wouldn't he give to be as unconcerned as she with Denathrius' escape ... his final, ultimate betrayal?

"Actually," continued the Maw Walker, in the same conversational tone. "I've been thinking quite a bit about it since Denathrius was first captured, and I think ... you were right as well."

Renathal lifted his head, at last, inspecting the Nightborne beside him. And if she noticed the tear streaks still shining on his cheeks, she ignored them tactfully.

"I would be most surprised to learn I have ever been right about anything," said Renathal darkly.

The Maw Walker ignored this. She folded her legs underneath herself and sank to the ground next to him.

"I think you were right when you said Denathrius wasn't always this way. I think ... he must have been as good and beautiful as you remember, at some point. After all - " She nudged Renathal's arm with her own. "He created you, didn't he?"

Even without looking, Renathal knew the Maw Walker was smiling. That real, encouraging, indulgent smile; the one she saved just for him. The heat of it seared his skin like the Light, and he turned his head to escape it.

"Yes, he made me," Renathal agreed miserably. "But he did not make me like him. He did not make me to rule. He made me ... weak. So I would not be able to hinder the plans he had from the very beginning."

"But you did," insisted the Maw Walker. "You discovered his plan, and you put a stop to it."

"No." Renathal's fist pounded dully on the carpet. "You did. And the other mortals who assisted. Every successful part of this rebellion has been entirely your effort."