He drew in the scent of fresh flowers where only the fading blooms of the day's offerings had filled the air before, and the peace that filled his heart spoke to who had arrived even before gentle hands rested on his skin, soothing in their coolness and pouring starlight into the vessel that was his flesh and bone. He drew a breath in, deep enough to fill his lungs with seasalt and nightblossom, and his head rose with the balm that spread through him at the sound of her voice.
The voice of night. Of light. Of healing and of war. But most of all the voice of his strength and his purpose.
He turned his head alone to look at her as she joined him at his side, and the pride in her eyes drew the last of the tension from his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side, a slight shake of his head. "Not my doing," he admitted. "The cure. The imprisonment. But I will use the tools and the weapons I have been given." Proud, yes. And honorable, when he could afford to be. But pragmatic, too, was her Tidebreaker. Not above taking advantage of a situation if the opportunity arose.
He did not look down to where she played with a stray tress of metallic steel. Did not look away from her eyes, though he tilted his head to the side in agreement of her observation. "Perhaps," he rumbled quietly, remembering the aeons in Dorian's eyes, and the brief glimpse of fury. To bleed for? Perhaps. To kill for?
Most certainly.
And he bowed his head, then, taking her warning to heart with a slow nod. "We are strongest when we fight together," he said simply. "And the Family is aware of that." They had their differences, as the old gods did, but when they presented a united front they were a force to be reckoned with, as the old Court had once been.
The voice of night. Of light. Of healing and of war. But most of all the voice of his strength and his purpose.
He turned his head alone to look at her as she joined him at his side, and the pride in her eyes drew the last of the tension from his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side, a slight shake of his head. "Not my doing," he admitted. "The cure. The imprisonment. But I will use the tools and the weapons I have been given." Proud, yes. And honorable, when he could afford to be. But pragmatic, too, was her Tidebreaker. Not above taking advantage of a situation if the opportunity arose.
He did not look down to where she played with a stray tress of metallic steel. Did not look away from her eyes, though he tilted his head to the side in agreement of her observation. "Perhaps," he rumbled quietly, remembering the aeons in Dorian's eyes, and the brief glimpse of fury. To bleed for? Perhaps. To kill for?
Most certainly.
And he bowed his head, then, taking her warning to heart with a slow nod. "We are strongest when we fight together," he said simply. "And the Family is aware of that." They had their differences, as the old gods did, but when they presented a united front they were a force to be reckoned with, as the old Court had once been.
