Post by Kit on Jul 11, 2010 20:03:51 GMT 10
Title: New-Old Threads (3)
Rating: PG
Length: 495 words
Summary: Some months prior to Speculation, Tris escapes a storm.
“I thought I would find you here.”
Tris glanced up from her book, and sighed. “Honestly, your grace. If you keep disappearing—”
“—As you do?”
The shelf-lined walls of the Citadel’s library could not, quite, muffle the rustle and buzz of rare houseguests. Low music and bright glass echoes rattled around the dark building like marbles or some other child’s toy, a little eerie and out of place and time. Tris snorted. “I’m allowed,” she said, a page rasping gently over her fingers.
The Duke smiled. “I don’t recall releasing you, Master Chandler.”
The woman’s back stiffened, faint black and silver finery catching the light of her lamp, along with the red-and-white coils of her hair. “And I was caught?”
Tris turned another page, flushing just a little. Sandry’s familiar light laughter curled in beneath the door. “Afraid not, your Grace. You have entertaining to do.”
“My heir is admirable, as always.”
That brought her head up. “You’ve decided?” She swallowed.
“That’s—”
“—the right decision.”
“Bold,” Tris said, dryly. “I was going to say bold.”
Neither Duke nor mage were slight people. And it was, Trisana had often felt, entirely unfair that the older man could carry his weight easily and silently whenever he so wished. A faint tug and the book was gone from her hands and into his own, and his presence flared between them as if it had absorbed all the weight she had never felt in his step as he crossed the room. Her breathing stilled.
“I find it best to be bold with you, now you’ve lost your awe of me, Trisana.”
Tris raised an eyebrow, and the duke nearly smiled.
“Thank goodness.” He said.
Trisana shook her head. “Who says I haven’t?”
Vedris laughed, leaning past her to slip the book back into its space. Tris closed her eyes again, sighing.
“You hide it very well,” he said.
“I must be mad.” Tris let her hand fall to the man’s arm, flushing. Vedris’s eyes slid to it, over her face and down.
“You say that so often, Trisana,” he murmured, “That it grows hard to tell truth from jest.”
Tris scowled at him, though her urge to smile softened and tugged it, until she had no hope at guessing what look sat on her face.
“How many times do I have to tell everyone,” she asked the air some paces behind the Duke’s left ear, “That I have no sense of humour?”
“How many times,” asked Vedris, eyes now full on her face, “Shall I need to tell you that I generally find myself wishing escape to wherever you are?”
The mage swallowed. “Mad.”
“Unperturbed.”
And she kissed him, hands shifting to cup his face and pull him down to her, flaring against him and only pulling away, ragged, because the chimes and toys cracked in the air around her, and both of them heard new, breathless silence as a far-off body hit the floor.
Rating: PG
Length: 495 words
Summary: Some months prior to Speculation, Tris escapes a storm.
“I thought I would find you here.”
Tris glanced up from her book, and sighed. “Honestly, your grace. If you keep disappearing—”
“—As you do?”
The shelf-lined walls of the Citadel’s library could not, quite, muffle the rustle and buzz of rare houseguests. Low music and bright glass echoes rattled around the dark building like marbles or some other child’s toy, a little eerie and out of place and time. Tris snorted. “I’m allowed,” she said, a page rasping gently over her fingers.
The Duke smiled. “I don’t recall releasing you, Master Chandler.”
The woman’s back stiffened, faint black and silver finery catching the light of her lamp, along with the red-and-white coils of her hair. “And I was caught?”
Tris turned another page, flushing just a little. Sandry’s familiar light laughter curled in beneath the door. “Afraid not, your Grace. You have entertaining to do.”
“My heir is admirable, as always.”
That brought her head up. “You’ve decided?” She swallowed.
“That’s—”
“—the right decision.”
“Bold,” Tris said, dryly. “I was going to say bold.”
Neither Duke nor mage were slight people. And it was, Trisana had often felt, entirely unfair that the older man could carry his weight easily and silently whenever he so wished. A faint tug and the book was gone from her hands and into his own, and his presence flared between them as if it had absorbed all the weight she had never felt in his step as he crossed the room. Her breathing stilled.
“I find it best to be bold with you, now you’ve lost your awe of me, Trisana.”
Tris raised an eyebrow, and the duke nearly smiled.
“Thank goodness.” He said.
Trisana shook her head. “Who says I haven’t?”
Vedris laughed, leaning past her to slip the book back into its space. Tris closed her eyes again, sighing.
“You hide it very well,” he said.
“I must be mad.” Tris let her hand fall to the man’s arm, flushing. Vedris’s eyes slid to it, over her face and down.
“You say that so often, Trisana,” he murmured, “That it grows hard to tell truth from jest.”
Tris scowled at him, though her urge to smile softened and tugged it, until she had no hope at guessing what look sat on her face.
“How many times do I have to tell everyone,” she asked the air some paces behind the Duke’s left ear, “That I have no sense of humour?”
“How many times,” asked Vedris, eyes now full on her face, “Shall I need to tell you that I generally find myself wishing escape to wherever you are?”
The mage swallowed. “Mad.”
“Unperturbed.”
And she kissed him, hands shifting to cup his face and pull him down to her, flaring against him and only pulling away, ragged, because the chimes and toys cracked in the air around her, and both of them heard new, breathless silence as a far-off body hit the floor.