*COMPLETE* Allayria promised to do what it takes to stop the Jarles, to make the ugly decision. She thinks, at last, she understands what the dynast meant. The lesson earned from the top of that lonely cliff and given the dark murky water below.
It...
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She is coming.
The wounds still itch, still leak, but it doesn't matter. She is coming.
And Mother can't find her.
She can feel it, all this intent, all this purpose, coiling darkly, thinking carefully from across the tether.
A mirror half, a rippled reflection in a pool, she thinks, her nails digging holes in the chair arms, puncturing metal in a shaking grip. Coming for me, searching for me...
Isati is at the Lower Level, stationed there to watch, stationed there to be the last defense. The Imperator's guard dog, on a leash. Wounded, but still useful.
She is coming.
What Isati is actually doing pings loudly in the silence. This doesn't hurt so much—not as much as what Mother did or how it felt to suture all of it on. The pain she gives herself is manageable. The pain is enjoyable.
Isati plies and pries in her dark room and the bits drop like raindrops, glinting crimson, tinkling to the floor, where they shimmer and shine, like stars or broken mirrorglass. These metal rings, cuffs, and jangles.
I'm not on my leash anymore, Mother, Isati thinks, trembles, and she opens the door. She only turns back to take one, tucking it into her armor.
One tether, one line, for after.
It's a red day when she steps outside. All in front of her, out in the field below Vatra, dark specks rush and clash, bloom fire and blood and carnage, metal glinting bright in the sunlight. Blood pumps in her veins, up and down, up and down, jittering, throbbing, running red; a racing, dark thing that sings along sinew and bones.
Isati smiles.
It's time to take her friends and enter the fray. Isati will bring back a gift for the Paragon.
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A/N: Wooo..... Oh no.
I meant to get this up yesterday, but I spent my evening having an existential Christmas shopping crisis in the middle of HomeGoods. There's nothing quite like wandering through overstuffed aisles at 6 pm while clutching a shopping basket wondering if what you are getting is enough or if it might be preferable if a shelf of fat Santas just toppled over and put you out of your misery.
I'm okay now, I swear. *twitches*
Chapter notes: The "Blood pumps" sentence is a throwback to Partisan's "Under The Bed" while Isati first refers to herself as "on a leash" in Prodigal's "Smile Sweetly" and Vatra's different city levels are laid out in "Lightning Bug //"... *AHEM*
